In which Drayton says Thanks

It is true to say that I have fallen on straitened circumstances over the last few weeks. It was probably the Lord's doing, bringing me low after I had risen so high. When men's praise was flowing in over my beautifully-crafted sermons and prophetic beard, I listened to that praise and took it to myself, instead of handing it to the One that deserves all praise.
But truly I have been brought low. From the heights of the pulpit in Frisby on Soar, I plummeted as the evening star to that concrete pipe in Wellingborough, where I passed an uncomfortable few weeks. But then I remembered - like unto the prodigal remembering the pea-pods that were fed to the swine - the many evenings I spent eating road-kill and noting down ungodly activities here in Husborne Crawley.

So I conclude by saying "thank you" to "Archdruid" Eileen for her generosity in once again welcoming me into her bosom. Not literally, I hasten to add. I would not want anyone to suspect ungodliness.  I shall of course be praying for Eileen's soul - in the unlikely event that she actually has one.
I am now going into town to buy a new set of A4 notebooks and a fountain pen, therein and therewith to record all activities in the Beaker fellowship that can be identified in the broadest sense as "deserving condemnation". I suspect that my notebooks shall not cease from mortal strife, nor shall my fountain pen sleep in my hand. There's always something dodgy going on in Husborne Crawley.
But rest assured, once again I shall be joining in all activities that are either theologically acceptable, or without any genuinely religious content whatsoever. I suspect that, like a Taize evening in Solihull, the latter is more likely than the former.