You know, I'm old. Really, really old. Positively ancient, in fact. Don't let these youthful features kid you, dear reader.
It's one thing when the policemen are starting to look young. I've had to deal with that for some time.
But a Catholic priest? Blimey.
Tonight we met the priest who'll be officiating at Dad's funeral* next week. I swear, he was scarily young. I thought all priests were churned out of a factory at the age of 50, Irish, and a little bit scary, too.
Of course, mum was referring to him as 'Father'. I think I may have joined in at one point. I suspect if you don't treat the clergy with due deference, the Vatican attack helicopters get scrambled. Or perhaps you get a Chinese burn from a passing cardinal.
Clearly I'm gaining some semblance of normality if I'm noticing stuff like this.
*(While I'm here, I'd like to thank you all for your various messages of support over the past week or so. Your kindness has been overwhelming and has really helped us in what has been a truly awful time.)