Give me just a sign that there's faith and that there's something better than This

Well, my priest has now been on the roof for 7 days. I won't go Goddy on you fellow Bloggers and Bloggerettes as I know what your reaction will be, but I don't, as per usual, have any great news, so I need to explain this away somehow. So, Fr Malcolm (whom I'm reliably informed by a parishoner is in fact a Deacon and not a priest - and he refused to give me money on account of the fact that I incorrectly said he was a priest) is sleeping on the roof of St Michael's Church in Camden Town for ten days to raise money for our Community Renewal Project (as well as, more mundanely, the good old Church Roof). Why the roof exactly I'm not sure, but it seems to have got him lots of publicity. He is doing it to live "like the homeless", though quite how this translates into sleeping on a roof with a laptop I'm not sure. But anyway, he is relying on others to give him food and sunhats (we're worried he's going to get sunstroke) and he details his toilet arrangements, or rather lack thereof, in his online diary, where he is getting righteously indignant about the delightful people of Camden Town. (My God, there are some odd people in Camden! While collecting money for Fr Malcolm outside Sainsbury's, aside from the Deacon comment, I have been hugged by drunk people, asked how much I cost, been called various unrepeatable names, and one woman told me in great detail about how Jesus came to her in a vision when she was in hospital, smiling at her through the crown of thorns.

You can donate through the website, too, if you so wish...

In other news, I only managed to catch the second half of the Italy match, which meant that the beautiful, glorious and generally wonderful Luca Toni was substituted about ten minutes after I started watching. But they win - my goodness did they win!! So three guesses what I'll be doing when I'm done running round Regent's Park on Sunday.

The third floor cubby hole that I call My Flat is uncomfortably hot. Open the window and you're kept awake by freight trains and people vomiting outside your front door and singing "Danny Boy". Oh, joy.