Sunday 24 September

Gwen has forbidden me to talk to the press.  I knew I was in trouble when she changed the hymn boards and we did Amazing Grace instead of Bread of Heaven, and after the service she had a private meeting with Mum and Mrs Ramsbotham that went on for ages.  Mum won’t tell me what Gwen said, but she was in a very bad mood when she came home and I had to cook my own dinner (beans and spaghetti on toast with a perfectly cooked poached egg on top, and a bowl of Aunt Bessie’s delicious oven chips.  Aunt Bessie isn’t my Aunt Bessie because my Aunt Bessie can’t cook for toffee: she is another Aunt Bessie.  She must be very busy preparing oven chips every working day, because they have them in the Co-Op as well as in our Spar, but perhaps that is her vocation in life, preparing oven chips, as mine is professional organisting, and as we are so frequently enjoined from the pulpit we should not make judgments about people lest we have a beam in our own eye) (whatever that is supposed to mean.)

Antony wasn’t in church.  Not only is he very conceited but his attendance record is appalling.  I shall have to say something to Gwen next Sunday in my secondary capacity as Choirmaster.