Cheerful start to the month with wedding in Widecombe, and temporary return home of fellow curate. Celebrate feast of St Thomas, and the anniversary of my priesting. Realise that I cannot compete with some of my illustrious colleagues who can claim St Peter as their patron, but am comforted to know that in Thomas I have a worthy example of one who wasn’t afraid to ask the awkward questions, or occasionally feel left out, or admit that he didn’t understand everything, but that at the same time was willing to walk into danger with his friend, if that friend was foolish enough to insist upon going.

Widecombe school fete. A success as usual despite the weather. Persuaded by parent to enter into the spirit of the children’s fund-raising games and take part in competition to pick up ball from bucket of water and then sweet from plate of flour, without using hands. Both children and parent seem delighted with result and headmaster has great difficulty keeping a straight face.

After taking fellow curate to communion in Ashburton, visit Abbey bookshop to order bibles for school leavers. Recognise that I could probably do with a serious attempt to get back to basics, so buy one for me too whilst I’m there. Fed up with having to listen to too much obscure 17th century English, decide to brave the odd Americanism, and go for The Message // Remix instead, which is beautifully bound and printed, is a handy size, and even comes with a lifetime guarantee and offer of replacement should I read it so many times that it falls apart.

Spend afternoon with very confused colleague at Widecombe and realise that sadly all is very far from well. Muster the troops who respond brilliantly with quiet support until the family cavalry arrives.

Don’t look forward to having to grapple with this Sunday’s bible readings: – the birth of Jacob and Esau and the bit where Jacob cheats Esau out of his inheritance when he’s vulnerable by bribing him with a mess of potage; a particularly obscure piece from St Paul’s letter to the Romans abut the sins of the flesh; and the over-familiar parable of the sower who went out to sow. Feel distinctly like the path – too trampled upon to absorb the seeds. Turn in desperation to The Message and am amazed to find that Eugene Peterson has even managed to translate Paul in a way that finally makes sense. Love the bit where it says that in Jesus, God “personally took on the human condition, entered the disordered mess of struggling humanity in order to set it right”. Figure that if God’s in this mess with us, things can’t be as bad as they sometimes seem.

Go on from crematorium to visit colleague in hospital, still waiting for postponed operation. Conversation is interesting and at times understandably earth bound. Quote from Oscar Wilde comes to mind: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars”.

Outing of the Holne garden Group proves exceptionally diverting this month. Bus driver takes the scenic route to garden in question, circumnavigating Brentor three times before finally stopping behind mobile library van to see if they have a map.

Pray that the surgeon who is busy operating on Michael’s brain has a better sense of direction than our bus driver. Much relieved to hear that this is indeed the case when phone rings later on with news that he is still alive even if it might be some time before he’s actually kicking.