My Lack of Faith

This evening the local choir in which I drink sang at the ordination ceremony of a new priest. Young chap from one of the many parishes in this rather large diocese that almost stretches down to the sea in Liguria. Interestingly he is Italian. Even more interesting (or predictable) is that now there are no more young Italian nuns (damn! damn!). All the new nuns are from China or India or Africa. Apparently all young Italian girls want to be on Italy's Got No Talent or the Z-Factor or whatever.
Being from the paramilitary wing of the Anglican Church I wonder whether my participation at an ordination is rather heretical. I stare blankly at the staggering amounts of pink and grey marble and gold filigree work and statues of the bleeding Jesus and the Madonna with her tacky crown of electric candles and wonder at the utter lack of spirituality that for me is the singular hallmark of Catholic places of worship. And then from the choir gallery I see all the new priest's young friends from his village beaming with pride, young children playing in the aisles, couples cuddling and people talking on their mobiles and think maybe this is the way a living church should be. Shortly afterwards Bruno says from the back of the gallery, "hey Ron, we've just opened a bottle of grappa that Giorgio gave me, you must have a glass."

Drawn to the Flame

I left an exterior house light on the other night and this little chap showed up, lying trashed and seemingly no longer of this cruel world on the terrace presumably having spent quite a few hours hurling himself against the synthetic flame. Actually he wasn't so little, about three inches tip to tip, and I immediately presumed it was a butterfly but then twigged when I saw the offending light still switched on. I took him into the Mad Brother Memorial Shed which is quite dark and left him there to get his wind back. The next day he was no longer there so I do hope (and think) he recovered.
Continuing the Nature Notes theme, last Saturday I heard the first cuckoo and on Sunday saw the first swallow, twisting and turning northwards.

Please, stop me!

One barely knows where to begin. But I will. All my Italian pupils use the word lavatory. Some interim punctuation would not go amiss. And as for issues....God help us.