Greetings once more from St Petrifieds.

Well, at last, the new roof has been completed and we are back worshipping in St Petrifieds. I must admit, it has been a traumatic time these past few weeks living a nomadic existence.

To celebrate the completion of the roof, Rev Spasm organised a service of dedication and even persuaded the bishop to perform the blessing. Everyone was really excited and we were expecting a bumper congregation, probably in the high twenties, but when the vicar announced that the Misses Sweet would be providing free refreshments afterwards, hopes were raised of a fifty-plus turnout.

The village remained in a state of excitement all week and heightened as the evening approached. The Misses Sweet spent hour after hour in their kitchen at Honeysuckle Cottage preparing the refreshments. The evening of the service arrived and our hopes of a bumper turnout were more than fulfilled. Despite the torrential rain, the church was packed and I began to worry a little in case the food would be limited to only three or four helpings each.

The new roof looked superb and the service started with the Bishop's procession as Mr Dribble misplayed our favourite hymn, 'Oh God our Help in Ages Past'. Rev Spasm had certainly done us proud and, probably remembering why we had a new roof, kept the curate completely out of the service.

Then, as the bishop stood to perform the blessing of the new roof a large drop of water fell onto his mitre with a loud 'plop'. There was a hushed silence and then a second drop descended, quickly followed by a third and then a whole stream of drops fell onto his head. The bishop moved aside and looked up to the heavens in disbelief.

Suddenly we were aware of drops descending all over the church and we realised that the new roof was leaking - and leaking badly! The vicar turned pale under the bishop's withering look and asked the major to find something to collect the drops from the roof. Suddenly Mr McNasty appeared with an armful of plastic buckets, which he said, were for sale at £5 each. The vicar had no alternative but to purchase the lot and these were dispersed around the church.

The bishop, now in a foul mood, continued with the service, which was accompanied by the ever-increasing sound of dripping water. I don't know why the Chinese used this as a torture in bygone days, because it certainly gave a snappy ring to the hymns as we tried to synchronise them to the drips.

At the end of the service the bishop swept out in a state of high (and damp) dudgeon, informing Rev Spasm that he would be speaking to him 'first thing in the morning'. The vicar smiled weakly then fled to the church hall to be first in the queue for the refreshments, with the rest of us hot on his heels. After a sumptuous supper I managed to stagger across to the verger and remarked that it was lucky that he had those plastic buckets on hand.

He informed me that luck had nothing to do with it; he simply purchased them when he found that Rev Spasm had cut the cost of the repairs to pay for the refreshments by giving the roofing contract to Bodgit and Scarper! The rest was a forgone conclusion.

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