Let me out out

I wrote a quick note to Knitty earlier this week, just to touch base.

I was struck by a couple of dismal notions while writing it.

First off, I’m not missing going out anymore, at least I’m not as desperate as I thought I’d be.

Then I was going to recommend, A Discovery of Witches, to her but I remembered that Mr Knitty likes history. There’s a lot of dubious history cited in it I’m sure. Not that this is surprising in an entertainment that assumes the existence of witches, demons and vampires. No, what is shocking is that I haven’t fact checked any of the doubtful historical references or the lives of non fictitious characters included. Usually I would, we have books and google, hours of fun for pre COVID me. I just couldn’t be arsed, so I didn’t suggest it for her watch list.

Lazy.

I am lockdown dulled, blunted, not that I’d have previously been described as sharp, I’m talking relatively, obviously.

As I said to Knitty, I’ve not got much to say at the moment. If this lockdown shite carries on much longer I might have to start making stuff up, if I could muster the wherewithal.

Having said that, I went out on Wednesday, an allowable entertainment. I dressed properly, new dress, new coat, favourite boots. Could this trip out be described as out, out? No, but it’s the closest I’ve come to it for weeks.

I went to church.

Although I forgot that it was pancake day on Tuesday, I did remember Ash Wednesday and that the church next to my work studio had a lunchtime choral mass.

Warm and comfortable, this church is immaculate and takes hand sanitising very seriously, I wondered if they bless it, the hand sanitiser that is.

My trip to church might be classed as desperate, or as covid dodgy although in theory allowed, but let me remind everyone that I’m not a Christian, that I don’t believe in God. I do however believe in ancient religious sites, beautiful buildings, the smell of incense, the theatre of ceremony and, importantly, live music.

I haven’t been Christened, I may not have the correct spiritual sensibilities and am easily distracted. The vicar/priest’s shocking pink cap and his white and gold pointy hat that can snap flat fascinate me. I’d love to see them up close. I appreciate all of the outfits, the embroidered parts, the crisp white cotton bits. The big stained glass window has an image of red velvet curtains, swags and tails. Surely that’s there specifically for the wandering minds in the congregation to wonder at.

I am in awe, but arguably not the right sort.

Anyhow, in the presence of the choir I could almost believe that heaven does exist.