Smelly and tired

I arrived in church this morning to discover that we were having one of our periodical ‘get to know you’ weeks where we’re invited to wear sticky name labels. It was tempting to write ‘Sleepy’ on mine; Neither Mr M or myself slept a wink last night. I eventually dropped off, only to wake up in a panic at 8.20 am. For those who don’t know me well, I’ve a half hour walk to church so this was cutting things rather too fine for comfort; ended dashing in hoping that I’d not a) managed to put any clothing on inside out or b) got my skirt tangled up in my undies.

Dozed through the service – only springing to life, relatively speaking, during the gospel – that wonderful passage from John 1 which always brings me close to tears. One great advantage IMO of belonging to a trad quite high up the candle congregation is that it’s possible to have a mini ‘dozette’ relatively unnoticed; you’re unlikely to be exhorted to ‘jump right up…turn around’ or do the liturgical equivalent of the hokey-cokey.

In case you’re wondering where the ‘smelly’ comes in, this was due to my daft attempts at holding back the march of time, which I’ve been blogging about in Greenpatches. Thus it was that I went to last night’s cycle club annual dinner ponging of parfum de takeaway curry et chip shop. Curry mustard and cinnamon powder with a touch of wine vinegar in the last rinse. Not a clever idea. I’ll stick to my more subtle rosemary and sage mix in future.