A Steeple House near where I live lost its weathervane recently, blown down by an exceptional storm. The bronze cockerel fell to the ground and broke into pieces. So the church commissioned an exact replica to put back on top of St Jude’s, a church designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens over a century ago in 1909.

Before the steeple jacks ascended the spire with the new weathervane, an ancient tradition was enacted. The youngest child in the congregation was invited to jump over the cockerel as it lay on the ground. All through her long life to come, the child will be able to point to the top of the steeple and say, I once jumped over that weathervane!

There were many children present at the protest in London on 6 November 2021 in support of the COP26 conference in Glasgow. And in their long lives to come, they will be able to recount how they attended a protest that changed the climate.

We marched together from the Bank of England past St Paul’s Cathedral to Trafalgar Square. It was a rare treat to wander down the middle of these chartered streets, unhindered by cars or buses that were banned for the day, at a pace that revealed the glory of the architecture, and our fragility in the monumental scheme of things.

If my body temperature rose by 1.5 degrees Celsius, I would have a serious fever. If it rose by 3.8 degrees I would be dead in a matter of days. The Climate Crisis is at the limits of what we can comprehend, yet there is an Inner Weather. An atmosphere where every breath I take ripples out across the planet. A personal bubble that our conscience can prick.

Do I dare to eat a peach? Shall I shoot the last Tyger?