I was lying in my sunroom yesterday listening to this sparkling sermon from the Very Reverend William (Bill) McNamara.
Of the Reverends I know Bill is definitely the Veriest.
He's also some man for the words and they fairly danced and sparkled from his mouth, each more layered and imparting deeper metaphor than the previous. As I lay there, watching the dip and swell of the ornamental parachutist in my vestibule, my brow became fevered and my spirit fervoured.
Then I realised that I'd left the bath running and water was cascading down the stairs destroying everything in it's wake. What a calamity!
Never had the powerful motif of this forgotten old piece of scratched shellac seemed more prescient.
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