St Blaise Does His Stuff

The malign effect of colds on one's voice is familiar enough but Messy Church always seems to provide the possibility of strain as well. Although I make sure I'm miked up when doing the talk and I'm only addressing a group of small children who are never that rowdy there usually comes a point when my voice is on the brink of cracking. On Saturday it tipped over that brink and caught me completely by surprise, I think in the course of turning awkwardly between laptop and projector screen. Several glasses of water were rushed in my direction and with a great deal of trouble I carried on and some of my words were heard. 

Sunday brought four services with it. My voice was still ropey when I got up and fragile throughout the 8am mass, but with the aid of some disgusting throat lozenges and, I like to think, the intercession of St Blaise, nothing problematic occurred through the rest of the day. Although I once had to step in and take a service when our former curate lost her voice, and watched it, horribly, happen to our previous bishop in the middle of a confirmation service (most inconvenient as nobody could stand in for him), it's taken nine years for this to happen to me and I would prefer it not to occur again. I must take greater care in Messy Church! A worthwhile maxim generally.