Not. Going. To. Happen. I can tell.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nI pointed out that the bishopric was 800 years old and although they probably hadn’t had a phone for all of that time, I was pretty sure they had one now. Despite that, Del Boy’s Directories couldn’t give me the number<\/p>\n
They had a number for Bishop of Bath though. I took that.<\/p>\n
Ring out, wild bells<\/h4>\n
I was quite impressed when the bishop answered the phone himself on the third ring. More impressed, if a bit disconcerted, to find they’d picked a local man to do the job, judging by the sheepy noises he made bleating ‘Bishop of Bath.’ You have to have heard it to know how that sounds. I could do it now but it wouldn’t help you, reading this. Sorry.<\/p>\n
I told the bishop what the problem was, that I wanted to get married at Orchardleigh, that it was in his diocese (‘if you say so’) and the bans and residency qualifications and how long and what was it all going to cost and could it be done at all. And stuff.<\/p>\n
Don’t know, the bishop said. He could see the problem and he’d like to help, but he got three calls like this a week.<\/p>\n
I thought that even for a busy bishop this wasn’t actually the most helpful thing I’d ever heard.<\/p>\n
Me: How come?<\/em><\/p>\nBoB: ‘Cuz Bishop of Bath has been a motorcycle shop since 1926.<\/em><\/p>\nTis a sign and\/or a portent, I think. I only proposed to one other person. None of the three people I ever talked to about getting married ever took me up on it. I don’t think it’s going to happen now. Looking at this, I don’t think it’s supposed to.<\/p>\n
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