The Bishop called. Not here, at the church. There are suffragan bishops and diocesan bishops, the latter being senior in rank – to the extent there’s a hierarchy, I don’t understand it. It was confusing enough at my Catholic primary school when they tried to explain the difference between seraph, cherub and angel. It didn’t sink in, I thought for some time that a seraph was different from *a* seraphim.
Anyway, Bishop Alan turned out to be a jolly good sort (he’s been in post a couple of years or more but I hadn’t met him before) and he understood how to programme the church boiler. The churchwarden had tried to do it yesterday but had somehow managed to convince the system that today was Monday and I couldn’t change it back. He could. Good man. He was, quite rightly, impressed with the quality of refreshments – proper coffee and really nice home-made food.
I have no idea why anyone serves poor tea and coffee. Stewed tea and the cheapest instant coffee made too weak are nasty. The Fellow (my former fellow-churchwarden, neither of us being in that position now) used to say “Good coffee is part of Mission!” I’m not really into mission, but I am into decent coffee.
Tonight, I cooked dinner rather early. Butternut squash risotto and sausages. Once the three and a half remaining squashes are eaten, that’s the rest of this year’s food crop apart from the Jerusalem artichokes. Al, with Dilly’s brothers-in-law, took out the rest of the furniture from the bungalow tonight. There must be more stuff left as they haven’t returned the keys yet, but I think the big stuff has gone. The bungalow is too far from us to hear them, so we won’t really be aware of their absence. Still, end of an era.