By some small stroke of fortune, Firstborn and The Small(er) One slumbered peacefully until well past 9am this morning but this state of bliss had a flip-side. As Alpha and I have come to rely on their shrill demands for breakfast as our weekend alarm call, we too slumbered and missed the 10am Mass. Big deal, I hear you say, finger poised on the mouse as you prepare to go a-blogging in a more secular zone. No, I'm not about to confess my sins and bewail my lack of Godliness; my sleeping for longer than a gnat's fart (as is usual) just happened to deliver an entirely new experience. Rocking up at midday Mass, I felt confused as I scanned the crowds. Where were the coiffed heads of the usual genuflecting Euro-contingent? The designer labels? The dizzying array of cashmere? All I could see were ordinary looking people, mostly on their own, getting on with their churchy thing, heads down in serious contemplation. No sidelong glances, no loud hailing of neighbours and school-gate co
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