Holding hands across the pond

I have been struck for some time over the use of a picture of the traditional chapel at St Non's, just outside the tiny city of St David's in Pembrokeshire.

My good friend Catholic and Welsh actually features it on his blog and so does Tony Layne (or, so I thought).

But Tony's chapel has too many windows for it to be St Non's.

Here is the real chapel.....much as featured on Catholic and Welsh, albeit sans the rather handsome, raffish (roughish) type and lurcher standing strategically to one side.

And here is Tony's chapel, from where only he knows.....




You can, I trust see the similarity and how easily I was duped.

This ramble is by way of leading onto Impractical Catholic's excellent post today on holding hands at the Our Father (or, as we holy traditionalists say, the Pater Noster).

Sadly, it is one of life's pleasures that has passed me by and now, thanks to a Pope who is  hell  heaven bent on bringing Christ's Church and all who dwell within it back to a base of truth and sincerity, I shall now never experience it (sob!)

Just think....no warm, moist limp hand contact with Mrs Overly-Leftwing, no dead fish contact with Mr Peadar O'File, the Irish maitre d'hote of all things parochial and no hands held high with Ms Cerys Mattick leader of the tambourine and spoons section of the parish choir skiffle group.

Oh, woe! Oh tragedy!