The problem with living next door to the office is that the line between what is work and what is not work gets easily rubbed away. In my previous jobs, the vicarage has been located a decent walk from the church. So if I wanted to spend a quiet morning at home pottering around in my underpants and slippers, that was my business.
But here, the doorbell goes constantly. And those who just pop by to see the vicar – often for no apparent reason – can sometimes get a little bit more than they bargained for.
So it was with the bloke who came round last week to borrow money. I wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. “Are you the vicar?” he asked, looking me up and down, staring at my feet. “You don’t look like a vicar.” Read more
Sources
- Giles Fraser in The Guardian
- Image: Crooked Halo
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