I’ve spent more time on my knees in churches than even the holiest of vests, that’s because it’s the level of the heating pipes, under the pews or under the floors. Along with the graves they seem to have built all the Victorian churches over. You shout “Pass the stilsons” at your mate in the dark and reach behind you, but instead of feeling cold metal you end up shaking hands with the ancestors.
I enjoy it, time it right you get the ladies at their coffee mornings or lunch clubs and you get some banter and grub, always home made too. If I’m really lucky like today, they’ll even leave a welcome message for me if I have to let myself in.