As the radio, on its timer, went off at 8.15, I fell asleep. I woke with a headache, slept again, dreamed fitfully and busily and woke again, realising it must be 9 o’clock. I squinted at the clock. 9.30. Ah.
I hurried about the bathroom affairs, but did not take the ultimate time-save in the shower. By 10, I’d drunk tea, dried hair, applied makeup, fumbled in contact lenses and replied to two emails and a comment. I shot off to church, clutching the numbers of the hymns I’d not looked at in my hand.
I switched on the electricity, unlocked various doors (not that of the church, which is ever open) and went to check the hymns. I didn’t know one. I played another, decided the key was too high and found it in another book of tunes and wrote down the number. I learned the new hymn and played the others.
The sidesman came in and went to get everything ready for Communion. “Where’s the chalice?” she called. “It’s not in the safe.” I’d unlocked the safe and nothing was wrong with it. “I don’t know, I haven’t been here for the last two Sundays.” “I put it away myself last week and it’s not where I put it.” I trudged down the aisle to check. I didn’t panic. I reached in the safe. The chalice was there, in its baize bag. “Here it is, darling, the microphone was in front of it.” The safe is about 1 foot cube. It would be hard to miss a mouse in there. She speculated on the dismay of losing a chalice for several minutes. I put the microphone out and the numbers up. I filled the urn and the kettles. I put out the mugs and the cafétieres. “I’ve put out twenty wafers, is that enough?” “A few more, I think”. “The box is empty, we haven’t any more.” I trotted back to the cupboard and fetched one of the three boxes of wafers in plain view.
When the service started, I hit the notes of the first hymn. “Ah. Sorry. I’m playing the wrong tune.” I found the right tune (83, not 81 as I’d written. Rightly, Troy, the child in the front pew, laughed.
After the service, I apologised for my carelessness, drank a mug of coffee and ate a chocolate cake. locked up and went home.
Later, I wrote up notes for the PCC meeting, cleared twigs and stuff off the lawn ready to mow it (sometime), picked a couple of boxes of apples and had lunch. Then I made a batch of quince jelly, prepared fruit for quince jam and cotignac, looked at the peelings, went to the shop for more quinces, cut up fruit to add to said peelings for more jelly, made the jam and cooked dinner. Oh, and ate it. And emptied the dishwasher, filled it, put it on, emptied it again and have half-filled it. The Sage and I agreed that we will need a new dishwasher soon and I suggested buying it before *the event in three months time that it’s too early to mention* as the last one that went kaput did so on *the event in three months time that it’s too early to mention* Day, in the evening, when it had just been filled.
I’ve just finished making the cotignac, which is cooling ready to be potted. In a few minutes, the quinces will go into the jelly-bag to drain, ready to make more jelly tomorrow afternoon (I’m working in the shop in the morning). It’s after 10 pm and I haven’t looked at the paper yet.
I don’t have a proper job. What am I doing wrong? Day of rest, MY LEFT FOOT.