The miracle of Christmas – I've been to church. It’s becoming something of a habit; that’s twice this year. First the Iraq memorial service, now this.
I’m almost a regular.
My attendance was completely unplanned. Christmas Eve started innocently enough with a few pints with my Dad in my uncle’s local in a village outside Shrewsbury. But Guinness does strange things to one’s judgment and before I knew it I’d been persuaded to accompany the family to “midnight” service (Shropshire is apparently on a different time zone to the rest of the UK because the service actually began at 10pm – aptly, the same time that churchgoers in Bethlehem were seeing in Christmas.)
I’m a confirmed atheist, more so than ever after the events of this year, but I confess that singing carols in an old country church decked out for Christmas filled me with a warm festive glow.
But maybe it was just the Guinness.
Picture: Christmas Church
Picture: Christmas Church 2