My life is falling in ruins about me. Mrs Ramsbotham phoned Mum this morning while I was at my ablutions. My church is being sued by the Civic Society because of those old choirstalls, and the only way the PCC can raise the funds to pay for a possibly lengthy lawsuit is to sell off the church organ. It is all the Treasurer’s doing, I see it all now. She does not like me because my musical tastes do not accord with hers, and by selling off the organ she will save on my stipend and probably cajole some simple-minded guitarist into playing Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross every Sunday unto Eternity.
I shall be redundant, with no other Profession to fall back on, save that of Paperboy, which offers little chance of progression, unless it be to own my own personal Newsagents. I cannot see what the future holds for me.
How I managed to get through the service I do not know. I made hundreds of mistakes though mostly it was the hymns’ fault for having too many sharps and flats.
Everything now depends on the results of my GCSEs, which are due on Wednesday.
I confided my worries to my old Vicar. He nodded wisely, pondered for several minutes, then proffered his advice: “Trust in the Lord, and all will be well.” It’s easy for him to say. But it seems that The Lord only looks after his own, for I have so far seen no sign of eg Antony’s* getting a good hard kick up his bottom.
It is an awful thought, but what if The Lord, like the Treasurer, actually prefers the guitar to the Church Organ?
*Despite my woes I still remember the Gerund and its correct employment!
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