The end of Lent is within sight and, taking stock of my penances and mortifications I find that I have not progressed much further than the 'soft' options.
The ones lambasted by Fr J in his first Lenten sermon.
I cannot quote him word for word but the essence was that giving up chocolate and strong drink is not exactly penitential.
Yet that was what I did; I refrained from eating chocolate and imbibing beer and alcohol of all kinds. I also resolved (successfully) to ramp up my daily prayer routine and I fasted a bit.
That, basically, was it.
In my defence I plead a weak will and a lifestyle that should, by rights be sedentary and serene but, in actuality, is a manic mix of work, family and desperate DIYing on a property that, at times, seems to be falling down about our ears (why ears for goodness sake?).
That is probably the same for most of us but, nevertheless, Sunday will bring a special glow over and above the glory of the Resurrection.
Priority will have to go to a pint or two (but no more than that) of the Reverend James. A draught bitter that is, according to the Scribe of Jarrow, too sweet for manly Northerners but it suits my adolescent, softie, Southern palate.
But that can only come after we drive our grindingly boring 70 plus miles to Mass.
With a 3pm Mass the day is basically gone, you cannot do much beforehand and very little afterwards, except, perhaps, drink a glass or two of the amber liquid.
The ones lambasted by Fr J in his first Lenten sermon.
I cannot quote him word for word but the essence was that giving up chocolate and strong drink is not exactly penitential.
Yet that was what I did; I refrained from eating chocolate and imbibing beer and alcohol of all kinds. I also resolved (successfully) to ramp up my daily prayer routine and I fasted a bit.
That, basically, was it.
In my defence I plead a weak will and a lifestyle that should, by rights be sedentary and serene but, in actuality, is a manic mix of work, family and desperate DIYing on a property that, at times, seems to be falling down about our ears (why ears for goodness sake?).
That is probably the same for most of us but, nevertheless, Sunday will bring a special glow over and above the glory of the Resurrection.
Priority will have to go to a pint or two (but no more than that) of the Reverend James. A draught bitter that is, according to the Scribe of Jarrow, too sweet for manly Northerners but it suits my adolescent, softie, Southern palate.
But that can only come after we drive our grindingly boring 70 plus miles to Mass.
With a 3pm Mass the day is basically gone, you cannot do much beforehand and very little afterwards, except, perhaps, drink a glass or two of the amber liquid.
