I woke up at seven without needing an alarm, and with a bit of effort we were out of the door walking to St Nicholas' Parish Church at the other end of Kenilworth for the eight thirty Eucharist of the day. It was a the slightly modified 1662 Prayer Book service, from Common Worship 2000, taken at an unhurried pace with meditative silences throughout, in keeping with the timeless tradition of a quiet early Communion. I didn't feel I'd missed out because I didn't get to sing carols at midnight Mass. I appreciated the difference.
As we returned to join the early turkey roasters over breakfast, we hear the sound of church bells being rung the other side of town. The arched gateway to a private house, clad with evergreen bushes covered in range berries was full of chirping sparrows when we passed by. The owner of a Chinese takeaway was out with a roller brush repainting the facade surrounding his show window. He gave me a big grin. Apart from him High Street was deserted except for the occasional speeding car.
After coffee and toast, served as the others appeared from bed, I took the car back to the hotel car park and walked back to join the party, the bubbly already circulating before midday, Christmas songs on the sound system, and the aroma of red cabbage and turkey already in the air.
By two o'clock the seven of us we at table enjoying a smoked salmon starter with the first of four different wines, the last a Chateauneuf du Pape of which we had two different bottles, mostly embellishing a 2021 Christmas pudding from Clare's treasure trove. The dish of the day was beautifully cooked, along with all the veggies. Superbly organised by Kath with a willing band of helpers. I enjoyed the fact that my help was not needed at any stage, for a change.
Presents were exchanged around the tree afterwards, but I didn't last to the end. At some stage I fell asleep and spent nearly two hours on the sofa out of this world. This isn't unusual for me on Christmas Day after a busy few days of services, and for good reason. Admittedly, getting up early and in church by eight thirty curtailed a night's sleep a little, but I didn't feel especially tired. I didn't just nod off slowly but lapsed into sleep without realising, and woke up refreshed eventually. The good thing about being old is that nobody worries much if you conk out spontaneously. As long as you keep breathing, and don't have a fit.
We listened on iPlayer to King Charles' maiden speech as monarch. I was interested to see it was branded as 'The Speech' to avoid confusion with the movie about his Grandfather King George VI. He spoke well, covering all bases in terms of appreciation for all the voluntary and professional workers whose lives of public service have made life tolerable and worthwhile for the nation in this past year, and affirmed the diversity of British citizens working together for the common good.
He paid tribute to his late mother, and was transparent about the importance of his own Christian faith in his life, openly following in her foot steps. A worthy successor to her as chief lay person of the Church of England. The speech was filmed in St George's Chapel Windsor, and was rich in video cutaways to people in all walks of life engaging in public service across Britain, illustrating what he was speaking about. Brilliant thoughtful editing, maintaining a high standard and quietly demonstrating what a head of state can and should be in leading the nation.
We walked back to the hotel at half ten, ready for a much longer sleep after a lovely day of excellent food and conversation laced with hilarious anecdotes and repartee.
No comments:
Post a Comment