(no subject)

Twice a term the local (C of E) comp comes in for a Eucharist. On the whole it's a very good thing; they have an enthusiastic choir run by the obligatory Eccentric Music Teacher (a rabid Scots nationalist from Glasgow, who resembles an even-more-run-to-seed Francis Rossi, and is never seen out of a saltire tie), the kids are generally well behaved and attentive, and today some of them had produced a slideshow on the Ascension and Pentecost using the Brick New Testament. Also, they raised a good deal of money, to judge by the weight of the offertory plates, for a teenage cancer charity.

The one difficulty is that it's almost impossible to work out how many people are going to receive communion.

Which leads, inevitably, to Tree and Third Virger standing in the Vestry, desperately trying to consume 160 wafers. I do sometimes wish that the bread-of-heaven-containing-in-itself-all-sweetness tasted more as if it did... (though the worst bit's the dry mouth, I think.)