I shouldn't be grumbly, so you'll have the pleasure, hem hem, of another post tonight.
The Bishop called. Not here, at the church. There are suffragan bishops and diocesan bishops, the latter being senior in rank - to the extent there's a hierarchy, I don't understand it. It was confusing enough at my Catholic primary school when they tried to explain the difference between seraph, cherub and angel. It didn't sink in, I thought for some time that a seraph was different from *a* seraphim.
Anyway, Bishop Alan turned out to be a jolly good sort (he's been in post a couple of years or more but I hadn't met him before) and he understood how to programme the church boiler. The churchwarden had tried to do it yesterday but had somehow managed to convince the system that today was Monday and I couldn't change it back. He could. Good man. He was, quite rightly, impressed with the quality of refreshments - proper coffee and really nice home-made food.
I have no idea why anyone serves poor tea and coffee. Stewed tea and the cheapest instant coffee made too weak are nasty. The Fellow (my former fellow-churchwarden, neither of us being in that position now) used to say "Good coffee is part of Mission!" I'm not really into mission, but I am into decent coffee.
Tonight, I cooked dinner rather early. Butternut squash risotto and sausages. Once the three and a half remaining squashes are eaten, that's the rest of this year's food crop apart from the Jerusalem artichokes. Al, with Dilly's brothers-in-law, took out the rest of the furniture from the bungalow tonight. There must be more stuff left as they haven't returned the keys yet, but I think the big stuff has gone. The bungalow is too far from us to hear them, so we won't really be aware of their absence. Still, end of an era.
The Bishop called. Not here, at the church. There are suffragan bishops and diocesan bishops, the latter being senior in rank - to the extent there's a hierarchy, I don't understand it. It was confusing enough at my Catholic primary school when they tried to explain the difference between seraph, cherub and angel. It didn't sink in, I thought for some time that a seraph was different from *a* seraphim.
Anyway, Bishop Alan turned out to be a jolly good sort (he's been in post a couple of years or more but I hadn't met him before) and he understood how to programme the church boiler. The churchwarden had tried to do it yesterday but had somehow managed to convince the system that today was Monday and I couldn't change it back. He could. Good man. He was, quite rightly, impressed with the quality of refreshments - proper coffee and really nice home-made food.
I have no idea why anyone serves poor tea and coffee. Stewed tea and the cheapest instant coffee made too weak are nasty. The Fellow (my former fellow-churchwarden, neither of us being in that position now) used to say "Good coffee is part of Mission!" I'm not really into mission, but I am into decent coffee.
Tonight, I cooked dinner rather early. Butternut squash risotto and sausages. Once the three and a half remaining squashes are eaten, that's the rest of this year's food crop apart from the Jerusalem artichokes. Al, with Dilly's brothers-in-law, took out the rest of the furniture from the bungalow tonight. There must be more stuff left as they haven't returned the keys yet, but I think the big stuff has gone. The bungalow is too far from us to hear them, so we won't really be aware of their absence. Still, end of an era.
12 comments:
Ah, well, you see, that's why women can't be bishops. Only Men can programme boilers.
My mother made me howl with laughter this week. She was telling me that the house at the end of her lane, in Battle, had been raided and the elderly occupants (she is 77 and one of them had been - !78!) had been charged with possession of £30,000-worth of cannabis. That was not the problem, though.
'But darling, the house is right opposite the house where the Bishop of Rwanda lives!'
We bow to men's superior time-clock programming skills, Tim, as well as your crozier-wielding abilities.
That's brilliant - and if that was for their personal use, it must be a pretty mellow houseful, JaneR. But why doesn't the Bishop of Rwanda live in Rwanda?
Of course, that's it! That's why those six people voted against! Commissioning female-length croziers will take years. And don't even think about the mitres! It's totally impractical.
Jesus would be turning in his grave if he had one!
Your dish sounds nice! And your description about the days before Christmas of your mother is funny.
Have a nice week ahead.
One of my oldest friends'oldest friend is a Bishop and - to my discomfiture - G- my friend used to regale him with tales of my racier doings which - apparently -he lapped up.
Even better, there's enough risotto left to make into another meal!
My poor mum, if we said we'd like it simplified she felt unappreciated, but no one but her could see the point of the elaborate preparations. And I still can't see what took her so long!
Pat, you're such a goer! I should think that Bishops love to hear about some fun, there's too much solemnity!
I would assume the bishop must be retired. I have met bishops but have never thought to ask them what they would like to be called once they have come to the end of their term. Perhaps you could ask on my behalf? :-D
I've been programming boilers for years me. AND brewing decent coffee. I reckon if I'd ever got round to joining a church, I'd be a shoo in for a bishop.
Watch this space...
Next time I'm chatting to one, I will.
Macy! Hello darling, how lovely to see you again. I think you'd be ideal, but the clothes, though colourful, aren't honestly that flattering for most women. Do give it careful consideration, because these things matter.
I'm impressed by your Bishop. I can't believe that boiler programming is part of a normal Bishop's repertoire. But maybe I'm prejudiced against Bishops?
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