So, we're here . . .

. . . and even the painted toenails have survived.

Simon and Mike seem to have fallen asleep during the sermon.

A leisurely morning followed - some went swimming, some for showers at the sports centre, some kept watch at the hall. We combined the latter with updating the web pages and synchronising our files.

Then it was a picnic in front of the Cathedral.

Gradually more pilgrims joined us.

Some of us were lucky and got a tour of the Cathedral - others weren't so lucky as the National Youth Choir of Great Britain were rehearsing for a concert, and their guide had laryngitis.

We went into the crypt and saw this sculpture by Anthony Gormley (who did the Angel of the North). It looks even better when the crypt is flooded and the vaulting and sculpture reflect in the water.

In the ancient north transept this modern crucifix caught our eye.

By St Swithun's shrine they have recently installed this array of icons.

From the choir we admired the wood-vaulted ceiling and the colourful bosses.

We looked down into the choir where we sat yesterday evening.

And we raised our eyes to the ceiling of the crossing

This is the font, of Tournai marble, showing a scene from the life of St Nicholas (providing a dowry for three young ladies).

The hangings in the nave had been temporarily replaced with these made by schoolchildren, which we admired.

The west window is made of fragments of glass from this and other windows which were retrieved by local residents, following their destruction at the Reformation.

And so we left the Cathedral.

Peter found a corner to read and listen to the cricket.

We then prepared for our celebration - mass and supper. We celebrated a lively Eucharist, with the youngsters illustrating the Gospel (Get behind me Satan) with temptations that pilgrims face along the way - rustling bags in the early morn, staying in bed, taking too many sandwiches, jumping the queue in the pub, catching a bus, staying in the pub and missing prayers, taking more space in the hall, using all the hot water. All of which they resisted (even Patrick!).

We then moved into supper, cosily sitting around the tables.

It was Chris' umpteenth birthday, so he got a cake and breathing exercises.

Gifts were presented to those who had helped, and cards listing the fruits of the spirit to all participants. This cross was presented to Coordinator Sue and her husband Fred . . .

. . . and Fred read it to the assembled community.

Frances, our cook, was given a long service award (not to be interpreted as a retirement present).

From above you could look down on the proceedings.

Some of the not-so-youngsters wanted to try dressing up. For Joan it was hardly a disguise

Peter and Cora wanted to appear holy.

And so, after singing our hearts out, we retired to the floor for the last time . . .