Radka left me the enigmatic 'Two loaves of brown bread and life is wholesome.'
But when I hear the phrase 'brown bread' it's not in connection with life - it's more connected with death for me. He's brown bread, mate. Whole ground. A whole meal for the worms.
This is, of course, wholesome in its way. The circle of life depends on the activity of worms and the eating of bread and the hole in the ground and the endless meal which we pass through, course by course. Life is a banquet, and we go from diners to dish to dirt.
It's a strong image, and as I stand here listening to this fine medieval music which would grace any banqueting hall, I can't help but look at the people gliding up the escalator or skipping down the stairs and wonder where their journey is taking them. Are they on their way from the ban