Our discovery that Lent is very little fun at all has led us out into the garden, in an attempt to revel in the goodness of growing things, the sermons in stones and books in running brooks - all that stuff we say when we can't be bothered with any kind of faith that demands we change something.
Today's count of "natural things we encountered while trying to meet God in nature" included a dead badger, a discarded tyre and the remains of the pancakes which Bernie cooked but nobody wanted yesterday so he threw it out for the birds. He was hoping, somewhat improbably, to attract blue-tits and willow-warblers. What he actually got were seagulls and magpies.
We also met a man, taking a short-cut home from Aspley through the grounds, with a runny nose, called Trevor. Which is a strange name for a runny nose, when you think about it. Trevor's discovered that the sign that reads "Trespassers will be Persecuted" is not a misprint. We've accused him of heresy and locked him in the Doily Shed, while we decide whether to throw stones at him or play him the last series of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps. I'm going for the former, as it's over more quickly and less likely actually to damage his soul.
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