There was a notice-board outside, of the sort that most churches have. This one included one of those funny statements that churches have been known to have, you know, the sort that says there are 'open and affriming'. This one said nothing of the kind:
We are an exclusive and aloof church. We only
welcome the sort of people we like, and that
varies on a day to day basis, so if you get the
cold shoulder, please don't bother coming back.
Sparrowhawk made a face at this, and tried to give the steward a piece of her mind. That caused even more friction, as the dear thing has an American accent, on account of her having been born and brought up there. Apparently they don't like Americans. In fact, if you're not English and middle class, you might as well not attend, as they tend to move when they find out. As we discovered. Still, this was journalism, so we stayed. And Sparrowhawk stopped someone from moving by putting them in an arm-lock.
We sung a few hymns, all written by Victorian English middle-class writers. Most of them were so forgettable that I can't remember them. But Sparrowhawk says that's partially creeping senility. She may even be right. The sermon was a fifteen minute discourse on the virtues of being middle class and British, while the whole service ended with the singing of 'The English are best' at top volume.
I would have talked to some people over coffee at the end of the service, only Sparrowhawk knocked someone out when they made a remark about her clothes. I'm going to have to have words with the lassie.