Another Sunday Morning

Sunday mornings happen every Sunday.  As usual they come long before I am ready for the day, and when preparing to go out as I did this morning the hours disappear faster than Labour voters at an election.  I rose, made an omelette and soon regretted this.  I ought to have eaten the two gluten free hot cross buns, reduced price that's why they were bought.  

My chauffeur arrived before I had got myself downstairs, the 1956 Rolls Royce estate being unavailable again we were back in that grey thing he has.  We trundled along to church discussing their holiday in the sun, mostly in their back garden, or the sick amongst us in the Kirk.  And there are a lot of them once again.  Being old brings certain drawbacks but it also brings lots of support from those around you that understand the position.  That was in operation today once again.

A decent turnout today, the girls as expected were looking for me, and all appeared quite harmonious.  When the wife of one man now in hospital with a serious problem came to me I realised how accepted I am by the people here.  We need each other, even if we meet rarely.  That's how it ought to be I suppose.

The 'Sharing of the Peace' is always interesting.  During lockdown we had to 'wave' to one another and now we can move freely about the hall offering peace to one and all.  Naturally, this leads to a stramash with bodies charging this way and that, elbows swinging, hands shaking, people hugging and falling over one another.  Peace it is not.  

Then communion follows.  This is a more solemn affair here, we are guided out row by row, usually bending at the rail, stand if you wish, for the bread and wine to come around.  More ;churchy' than I would like, but the Anglican rules must be followed.  It would be easy to make a comedy clip of old folks attempting to knee, or indeed rise here, let alone stepping up onto the low platform to reach the rail.  Many have almost gone flying here.  Naturally, I would never do anything to cause laughter here, usually.

Home in time for most of the Rangers v Celtic waste of time.  More sectarian bigotry, more throwing of empty 'Buckfast' bottles onto the field, more wishing I was watching Scottish football and not Irish football.  My mood not enhance by my mostly bean stew, nice as it was I was hoping for something more exotic today and this was all that came from the freezer last night.

Tomorrow is a May Day holiday.  Shall I make a banner and walk the streets demanding a new, New Labour Party, or should I just lie in bed as it will make no difference what I say?  Yes, bed it is.