Church Unmilitant

[poliphilo]

The curate came round to give my mother communion- as he does once a month. Usually we leave Kirstie to look after him but Kirstie is on holiday- in Rome.  He's a smiley, nervy, ingratiating chap, uncertain of his place in the pecking order- the archetypal curate in fact, though older than the traditional curate- a man in his fifties who used to be a solicitor or a stockbroker or something like that...

But then he's asking questions- which amount to "So tell me what you do all day..." And I use my trusty shield and buckler, deflecting. blocking, because, "Really, you know, I'm not one of your little flock, mate."