Normally, I prepare the altar, sort out the wine, water & biccies (whoops! sorry - wafers!), prepare the priest's vestments (chasuble, stole, girdle - um: cloak, long neck tie, belt), make sure the choir & servers will be wearing the right colour girdles, check the candles, light the candles (but not those I can't reach - I let husband do them), make sure the altar frontal cloth is the right colour for the season, sort out the front table for the sidespeople, find the collection basket, get the right gospel & NT readings for the day, light the sanctuary candle (the sign of Christ's presence in a church - which I should usually do first thing, but I never,
ever remember) and make coffee for Ray, our resident tramp if it's summer. (If it's winter he's always in prison because it's warmer there - he does something naughty each autumn to achieve this, but always to men, never to women).
It's dreadful at the moment, as we're between priests, so we get a lot of visiting priests who have no idea what's happening, so I have to start explaining stuff before the head server turns up and takes over that part. 99% of visiting priests are about 120 years old and incredibly sweet (some might even be dead, but it's hard to say ...), but there's one that's absolute hell (and who shall remain nameless), who finds fault with everything I do, and nothing is ever quite right. Mind you, I don't think he likes the fact I'm not a bloke - but I console myself with thinking he'd have even more to complain about if he'd read any of my novels!!!
Then I collapse in a heap in a pew and wait for my lunchtime sherry to arrive. Hey ho. Well, you did ask!!
Glad we sorted out the time differences too!!
)
A
xxx