Seeing how Mr F has blogged about You Know What and everyone in town seems to be talking about it, it behooves me to stay off the subject. This is not difficult. I have nothing to say except I'm ready for the week ahead and feel very calm about it. Almost...too calm.

My mind is already moving ahead to new challenges, such as staying off the booze until my Mother of the Bride dress feels a little more comodious. And finding a way to get through five hours of The Meistersingers without my stomach rumbling. I'm thinking of a stash of hard-boiled eggs in my evening purse.

A bad morning at church where, it being a feast day, the bishop was in attendance and so, therefore, were the Greeks. We never see them any other time. Since they got outnumbered by the Slavs they've been sulking and staying away, but they'd obviously decided to greek the place up this morning. They arrive late and they expect to occupy certain prime positions, on the basis that Greekness trumps all other affiliations. That's bad enough in itself. I hate it when Nationalism shows his face in church.

Anyway, I was apparently an invisible woman. In spite of my Russian hat and my scarlet scarf two Greeks so didn't see me that they squeezed into my stall, stood in front of me and forced me out. I mean physically forced me out. It was funny. Kind of. School yard behaviour. But episodes like this are bad for me because they bring out my most Pharisaic tendencies. As in, 'I thank Thee God that I am not an uncouth gum-chewer like these here Greeks.'

I may not go to church next Sunday. I may just wait till my fur has stopped bristling. Let me not judge my brother and all that. Or at least, let me only judge him very slightly.