Hells Bells

Agreed to see the Reverend Spencer at last, but only because I need the cash (one session only you understand - I'm not making this a regular thing). At the appointed hour the girls all slink off into the shaddows, best mugs are hidden, cake is carted off, wraps thrown over chairs....

He's come as usual "in disguise" in his "civies", as he likes to call it, by which I mean cords, jacket, jumper, scarf instead of priestly garb, so he doesn't draw attention to himself visiting the Shrink or get the church into trouble. However he still arives in his bright yellow Nissan Micra and parks directly outside the door. The girls have great fun placing large signs in the car park around it saying "Space for use by psychiatric patients only !".

Spencer's problem is that he falls between two worlds the priestly one with little boys and closed doors, and the normal one with women and mortgages. He likes the free house, free car, little work, extensive social life etc that comes with the C of E vicar package. He's not so sure however about the dodgy uniform, dodgy boss, dodgy sexual advances from work colleagues, or indeed the whole sleeping with men thing. Not a problem you say, there's plenty of straight C of E vicars out there some married, some actually women ! But as I pointed out to him myself the problem was the uniform, the boss, the advance, not the fact it was dodgy. Oh no ! Dodgy was in Reverend Spencer's eyes very good.

Spencer enthusiastically talks about everthing (or rather everyone) since his last visit; a 13 year old girl playing tennis at the sport centre, a confused old pensioner in the park behind tescos, a middle age teacher at the bus stop, but mostly, endlessly about Miss Scott. Miss Scott is one of the bell ringers at Cleeve, a strapping country women in her late fourties with two dogs and a freelander. (She also goes to Weightwatchers). He's almost drooling as he describes how he looks up through the cracks in the tower's floorboards and suddenly he whips out a digital camera.

I light up and slowly help myself to another cup from the blackened old Samovar in the corner. I do not want to see or even imagine thunderous thighs clad in Burgundy woollen tights flying around Cleeve's beautiful norman church. I remind him that Miss Scott is a wealthy lady and not married, has he talked to her about this ? He looks horrified, what would be the fun in that !!

I glance a look at the clock, and stir the slice of lemon in my tea slowly. I realize that sometimes if you cure a person they'd have no personality left.