There is a really awful clanger in today’s Sunday Times, normally the epitome of correctness. Well, perhaps never quite as up-market as The Times, but for a Sunday newspaper, not too sensationalist.
In today’s paper there’s a horrifying story about a three-month old baby who was mauled to death by pet dogs. The baby was being looked after for the night by his grandmother, but at about midnight was attacked and killed by the dogs, a Staffordshire bull terrier and a Jack Russell. And here’s the appalling clanger.
The paper says (I kid you not):
Wilson (the grandmother) was later taken to the same hospital suffering from shock. Yesterday she was being interviewed by police while the boy’s parents were being comforted by detectives. The couple, who are in their thirties, married just over a year ago and live a mile away.
They were taken to a local veterinary surgery where they were destroyed.
Surely that must rank amongst one of the most insensitives glitches in living memory?
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Today marked our first joint choir practice for our Easter offering. We join with a church choir from a different deanery, around fifteen miles away (we share two organists and an organist’s father with them. Why an organist’s father? He sings and plays almost as well as his son, so we need him.) On Maundy Thursday we’ll be singing here, and on Good Friday we’ll be singing there. Or is it the other way round? Can’t remember.
We’re singing Passiontide music for the first part of the programme and Faure’s Requiem for the second part.
Today was a complete shambles, especially for those of us unfortunate enough to sing (no, ‘attempt’ would be a better word) alto. Not only was I totally incapable of finding the right note, I didn’t even finish at the same time as everyone else. So we’ve all been sent home with a recording of how it should be sung and strict instructions to listen to it, and a copy of the music. I can manage alto quite well if there is a powerful alto voice in my left ear. Or even my right ear. I’m not fussy. But without anyone else to lean on, I’m utterly lost. Sadly, all us altos were in the same position.
Oh well. It’ll be alright on the night. Honestly. And it’s a lot of fun trying.
I didn’t manage the whole of the practice as I was in the office first thing. I open up on Saturday mornings for people to drop in on neutral territory for whatever reason and I often have nobody. Today, because I wanted to finish early for the choir practice, I was inundated with wedding couples, baptism families, and folks who wanted a quiet word. Correctly known as Sod’s Law.
At last I have my bicycle puncture mended. Nigel the curate took me (and the bike) into Diss in his hatchback (the bike won’t fit into my car or Ed’s), I left the bike with the cycle man and Ed dropped me back this afternoon to retrieve it. Of course, the only way to get it home then was to ride it.
Good job we’re the only area of the UK devoid of snow.
Even so, I’ve been trying to thaw out ever since.
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Had to drive to Norwich at the crack of dawn today. Well, nine fifteen, anyway. No snow, but everything was frozen. Couldn’t turn the car key in the lock except by dint of a hot water bottle. High technology, there.
Discovered just how icy the road was when I slammed on my brakes to avoid a kamikaze pheasant who decided to gallop across the road in front of me. The rear (of the car, that is) executed a graceful arc in the middle of the road but the pheasant escaped with its life, as did I.
It was a College of Canons meeting at Norwich Cathedral which I generally enjoy as there are only about three meetings per year, they start with coffee and end with lunch. Actually the morning starts with a Eucharist in the Cathedral where all the Canons robe and occupy their stalls in the choir. Makes me feel very important. Then we go on to coffee and learn all about the recent business of the Cathedral.
There’s been a lot of building work at the Cathedral which will result in a new Hostry, due to open in September. It’s a kind of welcome centre for visitors with all the latest technology plus conference facilities. Should be really swish when it’s finished and I intend to pay a visit at the earliest opportunity.
Tonight I’m out to a PCC meeting (oh joy), and then, we’re told, the snow will return.
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Had yet another meal at the Half Moon today. That’s three in less than a week, but don’t go thinking that I’m always in the pub. I’m not. Honestly.
Today was the over-sixties lunch, provided free for all over sixties in the village by a local charity. Fortunately it’s a very small village.
So today we had Christmas dinner – turkey and all the trimmings, a drink to start and wine with the lunch, followed by Christmas pudding. We pulled our crackers, laughed (for yet another year) at the same cracker jokes and wore our paper hats. It was great. I really enjoyed it.
Had to leave early to dash to the next village for the first TFT session. It turned out to be half TFT (Thought Field Therapy – involves a lot of tapping and thinking) and half EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique – I think. May have got that wrong. Don’t quote me.)
Have to confess I was unconvinced, but have an open mind so will reserve judgement and go again next time.
Had to cancel tonight’s Deanery Synod (I’m Acting Rural Dean at the moment because the proper Rural Dean is off sick) because of the snow. Not that it’s particularly thick round here, but it’s going to freeze tonight and I couldn’t see many people (almost all are well over sixty) driving very far. Well developed sense of responsibility, me. And, it has to be admitted, no wish to venture out after dark in weather like this.
When it snows in the UK we happily grind to a standstill and it remains a talking point for months.
Well, it is called ‘The Old Country’.
Baptised Georgina Rose, aged three months, today during the Communion service at St Mary’s. She was gorgeous and never uttered a peep, so the service went well. I like to keep the service user-friendly, because most of the people who attend – guests of the young family – aren’t regular churchgoers. So while not frivolous (I hope) it is quite light-hearted with plenty of colour and visual aids.
After the service, Ed and I had been invited over to the Half Moon for lunch with the baptism party (Georgina Rose’s Grandma is one of my Readers, i.e. is authorised to take services and preach). We were a party of around fifteen, so had a long table in the conservatory (where we could watch the snow falling. Was it only two or three days ago that I wrote about the first green shoots of Spring? Forget it. I was wrong.)
The two oldest members of the party chose to have starters. Big mistake, since meals at the Half Moon are massive. The old couple don’t live round here, so perhaps they didn’t know. Along came these huge prawn cocktails plus rolls and butter and there we all sat as the old couple slowly and methodically chewed every mouhtful. The old guy couldn’t undo his butter pat, so that took ages too. Half an hour later when all the rest of us were starving and sick to death of waiting, the old couple finally admitted defeat, after about four mouthfuls each.
Eventually the main course arrived. Huge platefuls. I’d often been before, so knew to choose salmon and new potatoes which is about half the size. The place was full, so with all the bodies, the radiators on, precious little ventilation and hot food, it soon became really hot in the room.
The next thing I saw – or rather, heard – was a commotion over by the door. I looked up to see the old dear looking distraught and people gathering round, dinners left untouched. It soon transpired that the old guy had collapsed. The proprietor called the ambulance and we heard her say, “An old man has collapsed in my pub. He’s ninety four.”
I could see he was ancient, but hadn’t realised he was quite that ancient.
All’s well that ends well, he came round and it looked as though it was just a faint. But they left him lying on the floor anyway (which was somewhat awkward as he was lying in the doorway.) Apparently they’d stayed overnight in some hotel or B&B and he’d got really cold, the church wasn’t too warm (well, not if you’re ninety four) and now it was so hot you could hardly breathe. Me, I blame the prawn cocktail. Should never have had a starter….
Ed and I waited for the ambulance to arrive, just to make sure everything was OK, then we came home as our youngest daughter, up for the weekend, was travelling back to Swindon and we wanted to say goodbye.
So, I’m sorry to leave you without a punchline. Can’t tell you the end of the story ‘cos I don’t yet know it myself!