So, three months ago, I wrote
Working... in a parish thirty-five miles drive from home sometimes feels a foolhardy endeavour, especially when any particular request threatens to tip me beyond the ‘half-time’ limits set. But actually the only real casualties so far has been the habit of blogging and any diligence in house cleaning.
Which remains true.
I’m not quite sure why the discipline of shaping and preserving an idea by making it a blog post length reflection and making an often-enough gesture towards a less dusty environment should be the things which feel most days like taking a step-too-far, but there it still is.
It may, of course, be age. It was in 2019 that I was first offered a seat on a crowded train (between Naples and Pompeii); I wasn’t even 60. It was in 2021 than I realised I’d lost the energy to work full time and look after a large house and garden; it was time to retire early.
My report is that last week, sitting in a back-row stall during Cathedral Evensong, I heard the opening of the second reading, and woke for the Gloria at the end of the Nunc Dimittis. Only a brief doze, but another first.
Meanwhile, here is a picture taken after Matins in Grimsby Minster last week too.
