It's a phenomenon recognised in ministerial manses country wide. After one, two or even three Sunday services, the minister returns home. According to character and denomination, they'll have dinner and maybe a drink of wine, beer or tea.
And then they'll wander off for a nap in the conservatory, study or front room.
The suspicion is that a minister after Sunday lunch is more tired than a grizzly bear in November. But what happens in the ministerial mind, in those vital couple of hours between snoozing off in the reclining chair and waking up ready for a shot of espresso before the hike back down for the evening service?
I snuck into the Beaker Conservatory, surreptitiously slapped a couple of electrodes on Eileen's temples.... And this is what I found.
Eileen woke up screaming "Please! Not If I were a Butterfly again!"
I think she needs help.
She needs help. Yes, like a curate or assistant priest!
ReplyDeleteI need help after googling the words to If I were a butterfly. Dorothy Parker, writing a book review as Constant Reader, once expressed her opinion of a work by AA Milne as following:
"Tonstant Weader fwowed up." Can't better that.