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Dec. 7th, 2014 06:09 pmMass was hard today. I was serving solo with one of the least-liked priests we've got. He's weaselly, snide and astoundingly sexist and dismissive. There have been a few run-ins already. Mum very politely did not correct his Latin, which he was declaiming at her to demonstrate his surely superior knowledge of everything. *scowls*. Endeavoured to behave myself, respect the cloth if not the man, as a wise lady once told me, but honestly it was like serving for the most objectionable teenager-!
We have so few Masses left to us, I wondered idly if a petition could be made to only get Fr Tony and Bish John who we like, until they close us?
To make the mood much worse the hymns were absolutely dreadful. Not a whiff of 'O Come O Come Emmanuel', some misery-making one at the begining and two desultry 'chants' at Offertory and Communion. I didn't sing the latter one- fed up of it! Made me recall that line from Goodnight Mr Tom "Yer call that singing? You're meant to raise them up not bury them!" (paraphrasing).
Anyway, the weather (I'm British, I'm blogging about the weather. I'm sorry. But not that sorry. It's a reflex.) was sudden downpours of rain and hail interspersed by sun, so Auntie Irene was not best pleased as she wanted to get out and brush the water off the veranda. She was then subsequently even less amused as she was going to go and get petrol and went out to find her car has gone kaput. Uncle Paul said it is a garage job (he was a mechanic by trade for years) and our other family experts concur with this so I have a horrible feeling that she's going to be wanting money for Christmas- the dog's vet bills have already been high enough lately.
Cooked the dinner, did a quick nip to the shops for work-supplies and then a quiet couple of hours washing up and then scrubbing the bathroom. Rock and roll lifestyle. Oh, and watching Songs of Praise which had much better bloody hymns so there.
Trying not to thing about tomorrow. Oh heavens. Bloody conference. Shitshitshitshitshitbuggerwhatzitpoo.
We have so few Masses left to us, I wondered idly if a petition could be made to only get Fr Tony and Bish John who we like, until they close us?
To make the mood much worse the hymns were absolutely dreadful. Not a whiff of 'O Come O Come Emmanuel', some misery-making one at the begining and two desultry 'chants' at Offertory and Communion. I didn't sing the latter one- fed up of it! Made me recall that line from Goodnight Mr Tom "Yer call that singing? You're meant to raise them up not bury them!" (paraphrasing).
Anyway, the weather (I'm British, I'm blogging about the weather. I'm sorry. But not that sorry. It's a reflex.) was sudden downpours of rain and hail interspersed by sun, so Auntie Irene was not best pleased as she wanted to get out and brush the water off the veranda. She was then subsequently even less amused as she was going to go and get petrol and went out to find her car has gone kaput. Uncle Paul said it is a garage job (he was a mechanic by trade for years) and our other family experts concur with this so I have a horrible feeling that she's going to be wanting money for Christmas- the dog's vet bills have already been high enough lately.
Cooked the dinner, did a quick nip to the shops for work-supplies and then a quiet couple of hours washing up and then scrubbing the bathroom. Rock and roll lifestyle. Oh, and watching Songs of Praise which had much better bloody hymns so there.
Trying not to thing about tomorrow. Oh heavens. Bloody conference. Shitshitshitshitshitbuggerwhatzitpoo.
