Maybe it's my Methodist upbringing, but I've always had this thing with when vicars come round. I always feel like I've wandered into a Whitehall farce. I'm expecting to let the guy (or - in your time - possibly guy-ette) in, and then Hnaef's trousers will fall down and we'll find a pantomime horse and the local UKIP candidate hiding in the drinks cabinet.
So all these thoughts ran through my mind today when Mr Maybold the vicar was announced. I had been expecting him to be round fairly swiftly, but that was moving.
It turns out that some things don't change. Mr Maybold caused a certain amount of fuss a few years ago when he sacked the string quire (sic) and installed an organ and choir (sick). Then he caused a bit more fuss when he had the West Gallery partly removed. Now he's hoping to have the rest of the gallery removed and replace what's left of the box pews with the most up-to-date modern Victorian-style pews. And guess who he's hoping might be encouraged to divvy up some of the folding stuff to help? Right first time.
Well, of course I was Lady Gracious. I had to keep Hnaef away a bit - was coming over all Cambridge, and Maybold's an Oxford boy - but we can't go jumping on people with safety boots when we don't agree with them. Not, at least, when they're gentry. So I told Maybold we'd love to discuss it more another day.
Meanwhile I left the poor fellow a little confused. I congratulated him on sticking to the Bible and the liturgy in the traditional language. He seemed a but unsure as to what the alternative might be.