Wonder what happened to the concept of August being a quiet holiday month. Priest-in-charge sensibly decides to spend most of it in France, whilst I stay at home minding the Moor. Realise that when I suggested an activity week to keep us out of mischief, I hadn’t taken into consideration the possibility that I’d be rushing back and forth to Derriford in support of brother curate, or dealing with a disproportionately high number of weddings and funerals in addition to the annual fetes and fun days. Good job the theme was rainbows and creation – a timely reminder that there is always hope of sunshine after black clouds and that even if our tiny part of the cosmos seems a bit gloomy, the picture as a whole could still be wonderfully glorious.

Having looked forward to spending August Bank holiday on a much needed break at Cheltenham for the Greenbelt Festival, panic when pre-booked ticket fails to arrive, and nearly decide not to go. Fortunately common sense prevails when the thought occurs to me that by and large Greenbelt stewards are a lot less fierce than churchwardens, so throw everything I think I might need, plus a watermelon, into the car, and head off up the A38 at the crack of dawn. Arrive early enough to stop at Sainsbury’s for a cup of coffee and a flushing toilet before the delights of portaloos, and come out with a rather eclectic basket of extra supplies which includes strawberries, chocolate, a pork pie, Greek yoghurt, a bottle of organic Bishop’s Ale and the new Harry Potter book. Common sense pays off as there’s no problem about the ticket, so happily pitch tent, and settle down in the sunshine to wait for festival to start.

Go to several seminars on prayer and spirituality, touch base with the Wild Goose worship group, have a good laugh at the Reduced Shakespeare Company, and feel obliged to explore a remarkable new venue called the Organic Beer Tent. Wasn’t aware that St Peter had interests in the brewing industry, but thought it only right and proper that I should pay my respects by sampling one of the ales he’s lent his name to.

Participants in festival communion service are invited to bring picnic, so pack remains of bread, cheese, chocolate and a bottle of wine in rucksack and throw in watermelon too as it’s still sitting there looking lonely. Gather with several thousand others for open air service. Liturgy is ecumenical and somewhat unorthodox, so solemnly break open watermelon whose red flesh seems to fit the occasion beautifully. Worship extends into lunch and lively theological discussion with small group of new friends that just happens to include fellow curate’s sister and fiancé. Four hours later return to tent for nap and a bit more Harry Potter, then in the evening, join in an improvised bongo session with motley assortment of complete strangers. Never a dull moment at Greenbelt.

Return home after interesting break, to more wedding preparations, service rotas, and the rapidly approaching season of harvest festivals. Do my best, but am somewhat preoccupied with continuing concern for fellow curate, who is still in hospital on a rollercoaster ride of recovery that seems to have more downs that ups. Refuse to abandon hope, especially as the fat consultant shows no desire to sing, and stubbornly hold on to the belief that whatever happens, its part of a bigger picture which will ultimately make sense.

New united benefice scheme becomes official. Have to explain to parishioners that my new title doesn’t include a pay-rise and that I’m still only supposed to be ‘part-time’. When Team Evangelist phones to say that he is once more under doctor’s orders and confined to quarters for at least a month, get nasty feeling of deja vue and give up all attempts to even begin to grasp the meaning of the bigger picture. Contemplate renaming The Curate’s Diary, but decide that although ‘The trials and tribulations of the Team Vicar’. . . . is a more accurate description of my present frame of mind, it’s probably not quite in the spirit of one who’s supposed to go around preaching good news, even one with an allegedly ‘wicked’ sense of humour. Guess I’ll just have to Carry On regardless.

Copyright © 2005 Corynne Cooper.

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