I came across another marvellous find this morning. Scattered on the pavement outside the gates of St Michael's Church were half a dozen enormous votive candles. The church doors were wide open and the unctuous strains of Mantovani were drifting across the rain-soaked graveyard.

I picked up a couple of the expensive looking waxy objects. 'These will come in handy when we are entertaining sexy ladyfriends,' I told Audrey.

I suspected the vicar and his rector of breaking into the supplies of communion wine last night and of holding some kind of chaotic pagan celebration. I fancy they were nursing terrible hangovers - or were perhaps still drunk - and were listening to the sickly-sweet Mantovani music while they were cleaning up the mess in the vestry.

On a purely objective basis, I can see no reason why men and women of the cloth shouldn't kick back and party hard whenever the inclination takes them. In fact, I imagine they would easily be able to control their alcohol intake, using the substance to alleviate divine tension, thus allowing them to progress in their careers unhindered by stress and anxiety; unlike many artists and musicians I know who use it as a springboard to oblivion.