It struck me halfway through yesterday’s mass (that’s how bad it’s been) that I’d promised to let you know I was back. I apologise for the delay, although I trust that Father’s typically frank reminder that you’d hear soon enough if there were a problem reassured you, Mother. Apart from bringing me back in one piece, the flight had little to recommend it. I was sitting beside a well-groomed man in his thirties with the attention span of a gnat (although, given the tenacity of gnats in the convento, I’m maligning them). On hearing that I was a priest, he lectured me – at length – on the iniquities of organised religion. Thankfully, he fell asleep somewhere above the Alps, giving me the chance to reflect on the trip. It’s a truism to note how the month sped by. After the initial adjustments (sorry about the beard; I thought I’d warned you), we’d barely resumed our old rhythm when we were plunged into the excitement of the wedding. Then, a week later I was preparing to fly back.
What do You think about The Breath Of Night (2013)?
