Today I went to visit a potential new parish. The Rural Dean of the area, an affable gent who dresses suspiciously well for a clergyman, took me to the church to meet the current curate, the only existing churchwarden, and the 'un-warden', who acts as a warden but for understandable reasons doesn't want to be written into the role - the reasons being that it's a mug's game, which is eminently understandable. It's a very agreeable place, basically a socially-mixed village forming one side of a small country town while remaining a distinct community. I like it, and them (though to be fair I was pretty determined to); now it remains to be seen whether they like me. Hopefully they will like me enough not to want to go through all the tedious business of having the post advertised, my fear being that some plausible idiot will turn up and I will be left floundering. Competition is so very tiresome.
At home, I took a gin out on 'the terrace' and sat for a read, listening to the single mum and daughter next door talking about tea and admiring the apple blossom. I have been very happy these last four years in my little house. All in all, I am very blessed and privileged. I wonder whether 'real life' is about to begin?