"The worship did nothing for me", said Denzyl to me after Pouring-Out of Beakers.
I just don't get it. We had the best line-up of the Beaker Quire we've had in a very long time. They were even able to do without Oxlade on the comb and paper.
The pebble-bearers glided majestically across the Moot House on their skateboards. The Little Sisters of the Holy Herring, our community of Discalced Rockhoppers, performed some beautiful synchronised diving into the Holy Well. The Winter Maidens, resplendent in their Tongan national dress, strewed snowdrop petals over our the central aisle.
The holographic Dalai Lama floated over the heads of the worshippers before spinning through the Summer Sunrise Window. Whale noises, pumped quadraphonically into the Moot House, represented "deep calling to deep". And we hired a stand-up comic to deliver a precisely-timed ten minutes of morally impeccable humour.
So why didn't the worship do anything for Denzyl? What did we do wrong?