January 13, 2006
Landers has gone all religious this afternoon - well, prophetic, anyway - and it's brought out the pious side of me. So here goes:
I have a confession to make, and I might as well get this out of the way sooner rather than later.
I, um, used to be an altar boy.
Not, I hasten to add, a choir boy (yes, hard though it is to believe, there is a hierarchy in these things) but a mere servant of the altar; a fetcher and carrier of wine and water, of hosts and bibles; of running around after priests for hours on end; of - on a particularly dull Good Friday three-hour service - being a "book bearer", whereupon I would stand with a v large book on my head for the entire service a la The Boy Human Lecturn.
And so to the answers to the questions:
Yes, my parents are Catholics.
Yes, they made me and my brothers go to church.
No, I didn't want to be a priest.
Yes, I went on the altar through choice - because sitting in the stands bored me to tears.
Yes, I occasionally nicked 50p from the collection box.
No, I wasn't abused by the priests.
No, I haven't been to mass since I was 15.
No, I have no idea how little angelic Triple Zeds ended up as a nasty hack chasing after dirty vicars and getting them to swear on the bible that they don't shag members of the flock.
And yes, I did wear these (the cassock and surplice, not the dog-collar):
13/01/06 @ 15:58