The Infants School were in church this morning for their Harvest Service - or services, split into three year groups, and very minimal and simple. I looked at the tinies in Reception and, reflecting that this was my eleventh Harvest in Swanvale Halt, could have sworn that some of those little faces were ones I'd seen before, coming through the school for a second go.
In the evening, older and naughtier children were hanging around the church, surreptitiously smoking fags and eating radioactive foodstuffs from the kebab shop. They asked how old I was. 50. 'Whaaaat? Mate, you're on the way out!'
And sometimes, brethren, that's a comfort ...
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