This business over people reserving their own seats - forever - has gone too far now.
Chester has put barbed wire around his now.
Young Keith used finger-print detection to allow only selected people to sit in his seat - if anyone else does, the bottom falls away, dumping them on the floor. Mind you, Charlii's not impressed. She discovered that he's programmed it for himself, her, and Solway, that little blonde flautist. Young Keith's explanation that Solway might need a seat nearer to the Singing Corner when she's a bit tired after a tricky tune, has not completely poured oil on the waters as far as Charlii's concerned.
Rodrick now brings his chair home with him every day.
Jargo has managed - I have no idea how - to tame a Weeping Angel, and persuade it to guard his seat. It has the twin advantages that it keeps other people well away, and it can manipulate time to get him through sermons quicker.
While Jemma-Jay has built her own box pew, and fitted a padlock. That way, she not only gets her regular seat - she also gets to say who else she's sitting with.
I'm pondering the best way - in love - to wipe out all this selfishness and weird behaviour. But I don't want to do anything too radical today. The French Polisher is in, giving my Archdruidical throne its annual spring clean. I wouldn't like him to be in the firing line, when I wipe out everyone else's selfish insistence on personal seating locations.