I visited York Minster today, as I sometimes do. Wandering in without paying, courtesy of the card York residents are entitled to apply for. Always feeling privileged. Usually looking for a quiet corner.
I could go and look for facts about the Minster, regarding dates of building, how big it is, how tall its towers are. None of this means much to me.
I see this building as my parish church. It's ten minutes walk from where I live, it's been within walking distance for most of my life, and it's where I go every now and then, a few times a year, when its massive silence is just what's needed.
Even the commentary of the guides is somehow swallowed by its vast space, and there's always an escape to a corner with stained glass and pillars ascending to heaven.
I don't believe in heaven.
But do believe there's something more, something deeper, than the shopping streets outside here, the tourist trail, the overflowing bins, the apparently mindless ticking off of tourist destinations, the buying of useless landfill-destined tat.
And to remind myself of the things that matter, sometimes I come here, to this vast building, so high and wide, so ornate, so full of memorials, so full of everything, ancient and modern, with something new appearing each time, and each time comforting, putting things in perspective.
So many memorials here.
Here's the 'Five Sisters' window.
And here's the one sister I came here to remember today.