Last Hurrah

'Very bold!' cried Edward from the congregation who was sat on the station platform having coffee with Rick the verger and Rena, another regular at the church. He was referring to the fact that I was catching the train to go and see S.D. for the first time in a long time, and possibly the last for a bit, too. Earlier that morning I'd been to the Park-and-Ride near Guildford to have my booster vaccination - which probably shouldn't be called that now, but simply an additional vaccination. I'd been booked in for the third inoculation at the end of the month, but my mother wanted me to get it sooner. I'd looked for a walk-in centre, but wasn't overly bothered until Professor Abacus, who should know, emailed me to say I should get it done as soon as I possibly could. Really. I was going to go to Kingston, until Sandra and Clarice in the church office pointed me to the Park-and-Ride which isn't listed publicly as a walk-in centre, but is. I called: no bookings until after Christmas, I was told at first, but then the nice lady spotted a cancellation early the following day, so I went along and waltzed past the poor souls queuing for their walk-in jab, waiting for just a little while before I was speared and free to go.

By the New Year the whole population will have been infected, says the BBC, or various scientific sages through it. We are not shutting up shop at the church unless we are told to by the Lawful Authorities, but I am anticipating lots of people falling by the wayside and many souls deciding they will prioritise, if they must, family gatherings rather than worship. In fact some have already told me this is what they will do. My chief problem is what happens if I fall victim myself: anything else I can absorb, short of playing the organ (and I can lead carols a capella if need be). If I do, Christmas at Swanvale Halt will be reduced to one mass on Christmas Day and the funeral I am booked to do on the 30th, and I have asked for help with those. I suppose I really need a Plan C as well as B.

S.D. asked me a couple of probing questions but proffered no advice. He was most put out by attending Mass for the Immaculate Conception at St Mary's Bourne Street the other day, and finding that His Grace of Chichester, presiding, chose only to use one mitre rather than the mitra simplex and the mitra preciosa to which such an occasion entitled him. 'He now looks like Pius XII in the last stages of his life', he offered.