"More Tea Vicar...."

Do you know, that in all the years I've trod the largely rural boards as a fair to middling - I aspire no higher - parson about the place, no one has ever enquired of me whether more tea would be my thing?

No great surprise perhaps as I make it one of my very first tasks in any new parish to inform the suspicious - they always are bless 'em - locals that coffee alone is my drug of choice. Strong, dark, no milk and not a molecule of sugar thank you very much.

Doesn't always go down well that I own. "Oh, but Canon Dewhurst was never one to refuse a good cup of strong tea freshly made," they may well whinge. To which I could only firmly reply "Well, 'Drippy' Dewhurst may have been a weak-kneed tea drinker who a) is seriously dead and I in his place, or b) has run off with Farmer Perkins' youngest and the least said about that the better!" (The text according to the circs., but the message clear - new man, new ways, new tastes.)

Once then that hurdle has been successfully jumped, it does not need forever enquiring about any top-up. Show me an addicted coffee drinker, such as myself, and I'll show you a man who needs no prompting when his cup is observed half-empty. 'Bring it on' is all that silently has to be breathed.

It is, of course, a bit mean to rob the average parish punter of one of the accepted rituals of conversation. After all, what does one say to a fellow bearing a dog-collar? Terribly hard, certainly in the early days of acquaintance, for the poor souls to know whether to opt for the "Don't fret about me Reverend, my heart belongs to Jesus right enough", or the "Any thoughts on the 3.30 at Kempton Vicar?"

Cancer too brings its own stock phrases, some more welcomed than others. Passing by on the other side for fear of contamination or from mere blind panic of not knowing what to say is pretty common. That one accepts, if with a certain sense of increased isolation from human kind and kindliness.

The worst, of course, is the often blurted out "Don't worry, you'll be fine!" To which one can only, in all honesty, reply, "Why, you've seen the frigging scan results already then have you? God you're a prescient genius! Any danger of letting me know next week's Lottery numbers while you're at it?" Harsh maybe, but the only possible response to such nonsense.

In the middle way are all the perfectly reasonably human sentiments, ranging from the supportive "So sorry to hear your news, hope it all works out" to the rarely directly spoken but oft implicit "God this is awful, but rather you than me."

A tip though should you wish one, but please only use it in good faith. The one thing that, in these circs., one loves to hear is this: "If there's anything I can do, just let me know." You might even get a hug for that. Be warned!