Acts and Omissions by Catherine Fox Page A

still wears a beard: a vestigial much-sculpted affair these days. To his horror the 1970s full beard is making a comeback. If he goes down that route now he’ll look like a hobo! A homo hobo! People will start giving him their spare change in the street! No, he prefers to cut a suave Renaissance gentleman sort of dash. Funny old world. Here he is at fifty-three, chastely abiding by the current Statement of the House of Bishops. More by accident than design. Equal marriage? Of course equal marriage, you grumpy old hag! (Sometimes he hates Jane.) But not, in all probability, for him.
    This is big news, as my reader is doubtless aware. Right now equal marriage is being discussed throughout the whole diocese of Lindchester, in homes and churches, in the street, in the pub.
    Everyone has an opinion. Or at any rate, a gut reaction. How many Anglicans does it take to change a light bulb? Ah, if only it were that simple! What sort of bulb are you talking about? Furthermore, we need to discuss the whole concept of bulbhood – is it timeless, or can it be contextualized? Who decides, and on what basis? After decades of anguished debate the C of E is more or less OK with screw-in as well as bayonet fittings – for table lamps, that is. When it comes to overhead lights, bayonet remains less controversial; but so long as it’s shining, most good-hearted folk won’t insist on scrutinizing the packet it came in. In theory we can even use screw-in bulbs in chandeliers – provided the screw-in bulbs aren’t ever actually screwed in. You’re asking me how many Anglicans it takes to change a light bulb? Thousands. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands. Millions, maybe. And how long does it take? God only knows. In the meantime, it’s night; and from the outside it seems for all the world as though the Church is dark and closed.
    Come with me and we’ll take a closer look. The recycling box outside the deanery is full of empty champagne bottles again. I believe there was another little celebration there yesterday. Discreet, in deference to the views held at the palace; but gleeful all the same. We will turn a blind eye and pop in on Miss Blatherwick instead. I wonder what she thinks about all this? This morning Miss Blatherwick is hanging up her bird feeder which she’s just refilled with niger seed to attract the goldfinches. Unfortunately, in doing so she has also attracted Amadeus the cathedral cat. Bad puss! She claps her hands at him and shoos him away; but of course, Amadeus will just bide his time and slink back when she’s not there. Nothing in this life is ever simple, that is what Miss Blatherwick thinks on the subject. One acts with the best of intentions, but there are always unforeseen repercussions. Casualties. Tears and regrets and recriminations. Doesn’t she know it. However, Miss Blatherwick is of the firm opinion that this ought not to deter one from doing all the good one can. Careful on that stool, Miss Blatherwick: we need you! You’re no use to the birds or anybody if you fall and break your neck!
    In the perfect kitchen of the palace Susanna is baking again. The passing of this bill means that Paul is in for another round of flak. Later this morning he’s giving his reactions on local radio. He will reiterate his support for the Statement of the House of Bishops, and then everyone will brand him a homophobe, just like they did poor old Michael Palgrove yesterday. Honestly! What do they expect him to say? What a way for him to start his new ministry as archbishop of Canterbury! She pauses her electric mixer – dear Lord, please be with Rosemary and the children in all this – then resumes beating the dough.
    They are probably going to quiz her this afternoon at work, too. Susanna volunteers for a charity that supports young offenders on their release. This is how her path crossed with Freddie’s and why she feels so responsible for the situation. (She has