Two visitors this week. My cousin The Priest and Merriment, one of The Actress’s Labs, who took up residence in Sister P's basket while her mistress was back on set at Claridges in the corset.
The Priest is an easy house guest.
Armed with a copy of the Daily Mail, a plate of Stinking Bishop, celery, a packet of Bath Olivers and a bottle of Merlot, he sinks into the sofa with the dogs and channel surfs between Frost on ITV4 and replay matches of his beloved West Ham.
He and the Labs have so much in common. Dog collars, a tendency to snore in front of the fire and a voracious appetite.
The last time he came, he blessed a friend’s car and a neighbour’s rabbit before it underwent a routine teeth-filing procedure, slightly disconcerting when our cousin in the Canadian outback reminded me how the within a year of him blessing her log cabin, it caught fire.
But then I reminded her of the time he gave the Last Rites to one his parishioners and a week later, she turned up at mass to thank him.
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