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Diary:
if I were Diana I'd give the royal couple
a good old panda-eyed haunt as they bray
their wedding vows. |
Diary: if I were Diana I'd
give the royal couple a good old panda-eyed haunt
as they bray their wedding vows. Go on, Di, vibe
some icy shivers down the aisle.
It's the Year of the
Rooster, and I'm somehow excessively aware of the
fact. My corner shop has been flogging Chinese lanterns;
I felt moved to buy the kids a beast-infested gold-on-red
New Year's card; noodles were being boiled to glue
at my son's school, and the offspring in question
greeted me at home-time in a rooster mask. So rooster-happy
did I feel that by the evening, meeting my old friend
Maggie McKernan in London's Chinatown and admiring
the illuminated floating streamers on Gerrard Street,
I was surprised when she told me that it was also
Ash Wednesday. Even after a half-hearted pancake-toss,
I'd forgotten that it was Lent, or that Jesus got
up to anything remotely Jesusy at this time of year.
This
seems to me like a perfectly average response
to today's religious climate. As a youngster at
a mud-and-thickoes C of E primary school in the
Somerset sticks, I was excitingly, shamefully
out on a limb as the only member of my class not
christened. Leap forward three decades, and I'm
off visiting a monolithic barracks of a church
to see a potential nursery for my daughter.
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