Monsignor Porter goes off the rails

I think I left you (before my slight digression into the history of St Peters) in the narthex, and I must now draw your attention to the lonely figure of the septuagenarian Mgr Porter, who, unlike my good self, can operate a satnav. I could see his little bald head going pinker and pinker until it had reached the hue of my favourite Laetare Sunday rose vestments - not that he would have appreciated the simile. As I pushed through a crowd of angrily gesticulating Trollingtonian parishioners I noted that his face had changed to a Lenten purple, and mindful of the fact that I had just heard Tony Archer having a heart attack in the milking shed as a result of an argument, I determined - despite my sympathy for the altar rail supporters, to apply some balm of Gilead and sow peace where there was discord.

Come to think of it, those altar rails are not brass, but don't tell Mgr P

"I say, Monsignor - I think I might just need to check out a few bits from the archives before we unscrew the rails, as I seem to remember Fr Crusty telling me they were retrieved from a bombed out church in Trollford, which is now the site of Mr Hussein's Camel Accessories Emporium. I'm not quite sure if there is an ownership issue here....". I thought this was a splendid delaying tactic - but the prelate's face was as black as an EF funeral as he hissed, "You are a fool of Shakespearian proportions. Just because you got away with selling my chalice - with those palpably forged documents....you won't thwart me again. I have a coachload of ACP* guerillas who are even now on the hydrofoil, and are due to disembark within the hour at Holyhead - and they are armed with copies of Sacrosanctum Consilium and hacksaws. We will re-order this abominable throwback of a church before Gabriel Burke can get his biretta on".

It appeared Fr Crusty had been a little creative with his documentation in support of the chalices - Fr Porter's friend Sr Judy had looked up the synod of Rath Breasil, in Wikipedia, and had found out that it had taken place  almost sixty years before St Finian had mislaid his chalice. This rather put me on the spot, and I was about to say something which would no doubt have made matters worse, when a motorbike courier stormed into the church and delivered an envelope to Mgr Porter. He read the contents and turned pale, and ran out of the building, got into his Ford Capri, and zoomed away. I picked up the discarded message and read it, perplexed. It said, simply "Congratulations - you have won a free makeover courtesy of Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid".

*ACP = Association of Communist Priests