And prayer is more than an order of words

I think I'm getting the hang of this travelling business. K was celebrating his first Eucharist as a priest yesterday, so I thought "what the hey?" and hopped on a train to Swansea. The journey was completely uneventful, and I even managed to do some work, including reading what may be the most boring article I've ever read in my entire life on weapon-terminology in Beowulf. I was ready to chew off my own feet for entertainment by the time I was halfway through it.

Naturally, as soon as we passed over the border into Wales it started to rain. And to add to my discomfort, my mother refused to believe that I was standing outside our front door when I rang her and insisted on checking on me through the window before letting me in. But she made up for it by taking me for a curry, so all is forgiven!

The service on Wednesday evening was lovely, the choir was excellent as always (with a brave conjunction of Parry and Victoria for the anthems!), and I managed to catch up with quite a few old friends. And now I suppose I'll have to call him "Father"...

The journey back was also beset by rain, and I arrived in College to discover that some evil person had stolen my dinner from the fridge. Bloody students.

Images: Didcot station (2005); Millennium Window, St. Mary's Church, Swansea (2004)