Marc Hasenfuss Editor-at-large

Plague diary — week 10. Opening places of worship — to as many as 49 followers — has done little to bolster my faith in the gospel according to St Value (who does move shares in mysterious ways). Maybe I should head back to the pews to find salvation before it’s too late? Unlikely.

My churchgoing days were unceremoniously halted on a crisp autumn Sunday in 1976. Perched on top of the stairs of the church building just before Sunday school, a couple of us were innocently spitting down on the rubbish bins below. Bored at potting the bins, we decided to see who could spit the furthest. Unfortunately my best effort coincided with the Rev Young ambling around the corner. I inadvertently baptised his bald pate. In a few seconds a red-faced reverend was striding up the stairs bellowing: "Which of my flock has picked up this bad habit?" A very sheepish Hasenfuss was shoved forward by his petrified mates.

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