WHEN you have a week such as this one it's hard to write a column to lift the spirits.

I could write about custard or barking dogs but after seeing what happened in London this week there's a couple of other things I would like to write about.

First is a shout out to my very good friend and ex-colleague Owen Bennett, who was once a reporter for the newspaper but is now the Deputy Political Editor for the Huffington Post.

I should by all rights hate the guy. He's young, talented, has an awesome girlfriend and a beautiful daughter. He also has a super cool job which comes with an amazing office space located within the Houses of Parliament.

When I heard about the attack this week my first thoughts were for him. I suppose when something like that happens it's a fairly natural thing to hope one of your mates hasn't been caught up in the horror. Fortunately he was fine, although in his own words, 'feeling a bit freaked out and dazed'.

Sat at my computer 50 miles away you can never get a true sense of what it must be like but knowing Owen as I do, particularly how nothing really phases him, for this hard nose reporter to be shaken by the whole thing, you know it was a very scary time for a lot of people.

The other people I want to shout out to are all the policemen and women out there.

My grandfather was a policeman in the Met for more than 30 years, eventually reaching the rank of Commander. My brother and sister in law were also police officers and I know what a ridiculously tough job they had to do day in and day out.

I cannot possibly imagine what it must be like for those officers who had to return to the Houses of Parliament yesterday following the death of their colleague and while my condolences go out to all the victims of this crime, it goes out especially to the men and women that worked with that brave man.

Like Owen posted the very next day 'Off to work - let's have it' I too will carry on. That's what we do when things like this happen.

So custard and barking dogs it is.

Let's start with custard mainly because it involves my 93 year-old grandfather who I went to visit recently. Inviting me to lunch with him at his home just outside Peterborough he informed me that the chef's speciality are soups and that whatever type it is I simply must try it.

I'm not a huge fan of soups but I thought 'hey my grandfather is 93. He flew planes in the war and battled with East End gangsters in the Met, the least I can do is eat the soup'. So I did.

Almost immediately I thought something wasn't quite right because it tasted really sweet. I looked around. all the other residents, including grandad, were digging right in, loving every mouthful. Perhaps it was me?

Then one of the carers came over and whispered in my ear that the soup wasn't soup, it was custard. The chef had put the custard terrine where the soap terrine should have been and what with parsnip soup looking a little like custard, well, you see what happened.

I eventually got my parsnip soup and it was pretty good, while the residents finished their custard none the wiser!

And barking dogs? We'll save for next week.

NEIL D'ARCY-JONES

This Week We've Been Enjoying

Fred Astaire songs - to cheer us up.