‘So what you’re telling me,’ said the priest to the builder boyfriend, ‘is that you were brought up by Irish tinkers, moving from place to place, and have no idea whether or where you were baptised or confirmed?’
‘And you,’ he said, turning his gaze to me, ‘think your confirmation was done by the Pope at Coventry airport on his official visit to Britain in 1982, but it was a hot day and you fainted so you’re not sure if you got to the stage or were carried away?’
With their attempt to spread plant-based living in a cattle-rearing society, this lot are the new colonialists
The BB and I shifted uncomfortably in our seats in the priest’s office. ‘Would you like us to just leave now?’ the builder b suggested, leaning forward and smiling his most charming embarrassed smile.
We were perched uncomfortably on two small chairs in front of the priest’s desk, surrounded by heaps of papers and books all over the floor.
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