“And, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth.” That’s how it felt at the Cheltenham Literature Festival a couple of weeks ago, seeing a live audience after so long: sign of the abating, for a moment at least, of the wretched coronavirus. Two hundred or so sat socially distanced in the town hall, which normally seats a thousand; but, goodness, did we all appreciate it (and those watching the live-streaming). Some of the festival staff were tearful. I chaired four panels, one of them on St John Henry Newman, on his feast day no less. Taking part were Newman scholar Mgr Roderick Strange, and Ruth Gledhill, former religious affairs correspondent of the Times and now online editor of the Tablet. When I’d invited Ruth she was an Anglican, but by the festival she’d crossed the Tiber. That wasn’t a problem because my third panellist was AN Wilson, but then he had to withdraw at the last minute. So I myself had to be the voice of “scepticism”. I reprised my former Anglican advocacy of Tract XC, but it was like Rumpole up against a couple of silks.