Day 311: Living Vicariously

Venue for today's job is a massive modern church in Milton Keynes.  Altar hidden by a projection screen.  Full-scale bodily-immersion font concealed behind a Marler Haley pop-up display board.  Evidence of religious stuff (crosses, candles, hassocks etc) is minimal. 

But still remains in the Cornerstone Cafe, an annexe attached to the side of the church.  Staffed by doughty matrons wearing aggressively large crosses and cardigans in pastel colours, it is defiantly slow-paced and school dinnerish.  And clearly a refuge for many.  There are tiny frail bird ladies, slowly crumbling scones.  A man with facial tattoos and tics, whose barky dog waits impatiently outside.  A woman in a stained anorak, ploughing furrows in mashed potato with her fork and humming to herself.  I buy a bottle of water.  It appears to be a unusual request - a matron has to go 'out to the back' to find it.  Dog man loudly offers to 'watch the till' while she is away, and takes his duties seriously, looming menacingly and proprietorially.

Not me

Back in the church auditorium I find myself, absurdly, talking to two hundred people about a psychology experiment based around the parable of the Good Samaritan.  I comment that I am fully aware that this is as close as I'll ever come to being a vicar.  At this point, my laptop starts playing up in a off-the-scale display of temperament.  The timing is interesting and very entertaining for all concerned - is this divine intervention?  Is it money-lenders and temples all over again?  May be I have crossed the line? 

Back home, my lap top recovers its equanimity, secure in secularity.  Clearly I am not meant to be a vicar.