On Breaking The Fast...

Tolstoy, dear if sometimes deluded man, knew that one could never anticipate everything that would happen in the course of a battle; that the least little act of heroism - or cowardice - or moment of inspiration could decide the outcome and that an amalgam of such incidents most certainly would.

That though is not to say that there shouldn't be plans of campaign, far from it. As a wise general I had thought ahead and realised that the Archdeacon would be likely not to want to break his morning fast until after the early communion service. (Not wishing though to seem the miser host should his hunger outweigh his principles, I left a few tactical cupboards open in the kitchen so that he could help himself if desired.)

H, E and I meanwhile had smuggled a toaster upstairs, together with the vital coffee percolator, so that we could refresh the body in our customary manner without being detected as too unforgivably carnal by the FDH.

So far, so well planned. What, however, all had overlooked were the new and state-of-the-art smoke detectors installed by my somewhat risk-adverse predecessor. No sooner had we sat down in the attic to a couple of slices - with marmalade or jam according to preference - than the wretched fire sirens were tripped by the toaster fumes and a bedlam of unbearable noise shrieked through the entire house.

'DANGER, there is a FIRE. Evacuate the building IMMEDIATELY.' Not mine or anyone else's hysterical words, but an auto-voiced message repeatedly booming out from the central control panel in the hallway! We, knowing the alarm to be false, had little choice but to file down the stairs as if making an obedient and a safe exit. Poor Archdeacon though, not being in the know, bolted from his bedroom - wearing what E swears was a horsehair nightshirt - and flew past us out the front door onto the driveway, where he stood shivering with fright and cold.

Had poor H not overlooked a small fleck of marmalade on her beauteous lips, I believe the whole episode could have been swiftly resolved; the FDH reassured and all returned to indoor safety and warmth in a moment. The wretched man's eagle eyes - ever on the lookout for any and every falling-by-the-way - at once though fixed on this clue to the truth of the matter and, without a single word but with a withering stare, let us know how he felt about being dumped into the morning chill of a Wolds' autumn because we had been nabbing an unliturgical breakfast.

Oh dear. FDH 2 : Palladas family minus 3!