This morning I spent so long at the eat-till-you-burst breakfast that I was running late for the Mass and had to hurry through the red light area, the icy wind blasting the urine smells up my nose. Still, as I got closer the scenery became more like Amadeus and cathedral bells got louder and louder until it seemed amazing the spire didn't shatter. I got there just as the last peal sounded, and I slipped into the very last seat in the last row.
The organ I had admired yesterday didn't disappoint, and as the modernist improvisation swelled I was glad of the earplugs.
I had never seen an RC service before, so it was interesting. The sermons and bible readings weren't as interminable as I remember from a Protestant childhood. Incredibly ritualistic and choreographed, and all guff of course but historic guff, given the setting.
The music between acts was good and varied, and the incense was a nice change from the stink outside.
When the overflowing collection plate was passed back to a kid near me, he dropped the thing on the floor and there were coins and notes everywhere. And of course the only couple with a screaming baby was right in front of me. At one point they tried breast feeding to placate it but I think it was too old. I could have craned my neck to see the breast but I didn't know the RC etiquette, and besides it could have triggered a screaming neck outburst.
I lasted an hour, and managed to do most of the movements but when they were forming queues for drinks and crackers it was time to
leave before blowing my cover.
This afternoon faced with deserted cold streets or 20 dreck TV channels I succumbed to jetlag sleep. I woke to Dr Who and realised it's been ruined in the same way they spoiled The Bill, by flooding it with enraged pouting ladettes.
I've just opened the black white beer and can tell you it's too hoppy. It's going to be hard to finish the bottle but somebody's got to do it.