
One of the finest sights I have seen all year has to be the man I found myself walking alongside last night. White-bearded and clad in (among other things) a red silk robe with a gold flame pattern on the front and some kind of skullcap, he was striding along Millbank using a staff, with a satchel slung around his neck with the handle of something that looked very much like a ceremonial dagger protruding from it (the satchel, not his neck), with a dog at his side on a leash and—to be honest, this is the really impressive part; without it he’d probably have looked as if he was on his way to a Halloween party, at least if he hadn’t been wearing such a severe expression—
a black cat on each shoulder. One was draped comfortably while the other sat to attention and occasionally stood and stretched. How the hell do you persuade one cat to sit patiently on your shoulder for the duration of a journey, let alone two? I didn’t like to ask.