Liturgical Slut

I did the thing I said I wouldn't do and cheated on Mags with Smoky Tom's. I promised it was just one Evensong, that it meant nothing to me, that it would never happen again, but somehow there I was at mass this morning. I could try to defend myself and say that it was the Palestrina that did it, but we all know you don't do anything under the influence of Palestrina that you don't secretly want to do otherwise. The liturgy is no better, the acoustic is far worse, it's nothing like as pretty, but for some reason I let myself be drawn back.
The reason may be the lure of twenty more minutes in bed, since St T's is virtually round the corner from my house. To use this excuse on the very day when the clocks go back providing an entire hour longer in bed is, I know, especially pathetic. I can also say that the homily was excellent. Apart from the great advantage of being English and therefore sounding like Home, this morning's preacher suggested, reasonably, that if in 1st Century Judaea Zealots (Simon) and Imperial functionaries (Matthew) could unite under the love of Jesus, then surely the Evos (I don't think he used that term, I'm paraphrasing) and liberals of the present age should be able to manage it. This does rather suppose that the love of Jesus and dogmatic theology are not, after all, one and the same thing, a view so controversial that it is sure to cause consternation wherever it is voiced. Luckily I am so ill-qualified to judge these matters that you are not going to have to listen to my views on the subject. I'm only there for the music, remember.