It ended very strangely, for me at least.
Raymond is shortly to be ordained officially within the Anglican Catholic Church.
How this works, I have no idea.
All I know is he's a liberal-minded, erudite (he's ex-BBC, ABC, advertising, etc.) bloke with a great sense of humour (and a motorbike – he's no spring chicken), whom I've known and loved for two decades.
He's also very stubborn and insisted on a brief religious ceremony before he left, despite being aware of my utter disregard for piety.
It involved a laying of hands and holy water. If it had been anyone but Raymond I would have felt ridiculously hypocritical. As it was, I cried.
Fortunately, we just happened to have a ginchy little scent bottle into which Raymond poured said holy water. He left me some.
It's now in the guest bedroom:
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