Dear Philippa,

 

Yesterday I went to an ordination service at York Minster. There were fifteen ordinands, ten men and five women, a statistic that would infuriate Harriet Harman but I suppose they can ordain only those who step up for it. The situation in heavyweight boxing is much grimmer so I suggest Harriet start in on that area as a priority.

 

It was quite a spectacle. The central character, apart from the Holy Spirit (there’s a clue there, Hatty), was the Archbishop of York, John Sentamu, a man with a light touch with the humour. In addition there were several bishops, archdeacons, a host of clerics, choristers, a wigged barrister – all, apart from the barrister in his subfusc, gorgeously attired in rich fabrics of gold, scarlet and green. The bishops, I noticed, were wearing the new suitcase-packing friendly collapsible mitres, but the Archbishop’s looked like the real deal. Half the minster was filled by family and friends in a special enclosure, the rest by me and a few hundred other rubber-neckers, less favourably located.

 

I was tricked out in my fetching new linen-silk mix suit, not quite white, £149 from “My M&S”. It was the suit’s second outing. I also wore a tie, an unusual thing for me. I thought I looked pretty cool, especially with the tan, until I was mistaken for a programme seller. I am sorry to report that many of the spear carriers came dressed for the beach. A small number of perplexed looking tourists backpackers wandered in and, undaunted by the solemnity of the occasion did the full tour as if the rest of us weren’t there. They had the look of Australians about them, judging from their dress sense.

 

Anyway, I had a prime spot by the aisle, ideal closely to inspect the procession and I noticed on a large scale something that I had seen before in individuals in clerical costume – their shoes were all very similar. Peeping out from under there robes were those thick rubber-soled jobs favoured by all beat police officers and most geography teachers, most of them in need of a polish. Many of them were of a superior design, with uppers stitched along one side giving a sort of Cornish pasty appearance. I wonder why clerics like this sort of footwear. I cannot report of the Archbishop’s shoes; I confess it, I was too shy to peep.

 

At one point in the service the Archbishop urged the ordinands to “pray that your heart may daily be enlarged”, startling words for any cardiologists in the congregation.

 

After the ordination was over, the new deacons plunged into the crowds of family to embrace their nearest and dearest rather in the manner of Wimbledon winners, before we all poured out into the sunshine where the atmosphere was like that of a wedding before the fighting starts. I lingered only briefly, to congratulate the new deacon known to me on successfully crossing the finishing line, also I suppose the starting line, before pressing on the “My M&S” to buy some kippers. “My M&S” kippers are the only ones I’ll eat, they’re excellent. As are their chocolate coated American peanuts, so I bought a few packets of those too.

 

Best wishes,

  

Howard