David, my partner, thought I ought to go to church today. So I did.
I wished I hadn’t.
It was like a bad episode of “the Vicar of Dibley”. And the music was a complete farce; one of the hymns was an upbeat “modern” hymn that no-one actually knew the words or music to, and the two halves of the second verse of “O LittleTown of Bethlehem” were round the wrong way. Half the congregation sang what was on the projector whilst everyone else sang the correct version, and it was a complete dog’s breakfast. And some idiot thought it would be a good idea to let off party poppers and drop balloons from the upper balcony – cue several terrified babies screaming and various small children crying because either they didn’t get a balloon, or they got one and it popped.
Half-way through I started feeling ill and light-headed, and Freda started playing up (which in itself is unusual), which doubtless was contributing to my negative impressions. By the time the service was over, I was in no mood to chat or hang around for coffee; Kit, Freda and I just came straight home.
I shouldn’t have gone. It was an uncomfortable experience that did nothing to dispel the current feeling I have that I just don’t belong there.