We gave thanks and blessing to the Saint of Dentistry this afternoon;
“Blessed are the fillings, joy to all veneers! Under his implants!”
I have driven by the small church hundreds of times since moving to Guernsey, and today I went over its threshold for the first time! In the Proustian sense of the universe, that’s what I love about this hobbity island – seeing new things with the same old pair of eyeball goggles on! You could literally park a small tractor by the front gate and toddlers can enjoy exploring the garden. We could see that the fae were in residence as there looked to be a doorway at the base of one the trees in the garden. However, we didn’t knock or take any chances that they might just put the kettle on for us and rustle up some biscuits… It is well worth a visit (but don’t visit RIGHT NOW or THE GOVERNMENT will fine you TEN THOUSAND POUNDS – if you don’t have a valid permit).
It all feels a bit like ‘f*ck off if you’re not from here!’ in G-land at the moment, and that’s sad. We could have all taken in a shielded person from the UK for the duration of the pandemic at this rate. St Appoline lived in Alexandria 249BC and her house still stands – yet we continue to ‘define local’ in a way that betrays the myriad and beautifully rich depth of colour and culture of the island itself. There’s a well of sadness holding up the armpits of any victory cheer we may raise to the skies; all dark and comfortless. Ringing the bell when it’s not a church service gives an air of the impression that if you did such a thing, it may, albeit microcosmically momentarily, take the edge of it. Ring the bell! Up yours corona!