11th June 2010

A Chaplain’s Diary

 

Large Bills, Large Socks and a Laugh

 

Tortilla or fillet steak

Don’t you just hate it? You have made do with a tortilla and chips because things are a bit tight this month but all the others have had fillet steak and yet the bill is still going to be divided equally between everybody. You finish up subsidising their finest fillet steak and they simply think you chose the tortilla because that is what you would have chosen more than anything else on the whole menu.

 

It’s not something to be proud of but over the years I have worked out that whenever you are having a restaurant meal with a group of people, the best plan is to order the most expensive thing on the menu. This is based on the somewhat shameful assumption that there will be others in the party who will order more modestly priced dishes; so that when the bill eventually gets split 15 ways, or whatever, you end up paying less than the price of your meal – and they end up subsidising your “lobster thermador.”

 

Subsidising the lobster

The problem comes of course when the plain pasta people (price 5.30 euros) make a fuss about having to subsidise the lobster thermador lot (price 27.90 euros). Usually they won’t have the nerve to draw this to anyone’s attention but it can be quite a stressful moment. Should there be a militant madam amongst the munching mob then militancy sometimes takes over from modesty. It’s then that the “who had what” debate starts in earnest. The restaurant is transformed into a Junta interrogation cell, with people being asked to detail exactly what they ate – from the amount of ali oli to whether it was cortado (price 1.20 euros) or café con leche (price 1.50 euros). Yet take strength faint heart, even the highly detailed restaurant will not have kept a record of how much wine you consumed!

 

An uncomfortable moment

So it’s always a slightly uncomfortable moment when the bill arrives. First there is that mass averting of eyes as the waiter scans the assembled diners, looking for the first signs of anyone breaking cover and offering to pay. That’s when the waiter’s heart starts to sink, especially when he or she hears the words, “Now, how are we going to do this?” What follows next is usually ten minutes of chaos and pandemonium involving the classic line, “I haven’t got the cash, can I do this with a card?” At this point there is usually a search for a chartered accountant with a PhD in Economics or Mathematics and the financial transactions usually result in a whole range of payment types involving euros, sterling, credit cards and cheques that looks more like our church collection plate on a Sunday morning than a neat little “that’ll do nicely” transaction.

 

When in Rome

In Rome I shop at the same place as the Pope. Since 1798 various generations of Mr Gammarelli have over the years, fitted out the Pope with clerical gear and vestments. He has a discreet little shop just behind the Pantheon in one of those narrow streets filled with scooters that are so quintessentially Italian. Whenever there is the election of a new Pope he has three standby, white cassocks made which stand in the window of his shop until the white smoke appears from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel to show that an election has been made. Then the three cassocks; the short fat one, the long lean one and the medium size are whisked off to the Vatican – no doubt on the back of a scooter – in the hope that at least one of them will fit the new Pope as he appears on the balcony of St Peter’s for the first time. Normally there is simply a white skullcap on a cushion sitting in the middle of his shop window display to show that Gammarelli is by Papal Appointment clerical outfitter to the Pope.

When I was in Rome for a series of meetings a few years ago, I bought a pair of clerical socks with “Gammarelli” embroidered on them as a quirky Christmas present for a friend who is a clergyman. They were dammed expensive for what they were but they were a bit of fun and he would have enjoyed the in-house jokey connection. Horror of horrors! As he undid the Christmas wrapping and held them up we could see that they would have fitted the most enormous feet. They had to be for an English size 14 shoe at least. Fortunately he saw the funny side (some mistake in the Italian for “sizes” here) and I retrieved them with the promise of swapping them for the correct size on my next visit to Rome. The promise was duly kept. Mr Gammarelli didn’t seem to notice the bill was 12 months old and he exchanged them with no difficulty whatsoever. After all he could probably smell that they hadn’t been worn at all. But whether I can get away with them as this year’s Christmas present, I’m not so sure!

 

 

A round of applause

On my first visit to Portugal over twenty five years ago I was mildly amused when the TAP flight landed at Lisbon Airport to hear all the Portuguese passengers applauding the pilot as we taxied to the terminal. Since then the custom seems to have slowly disappeared. Now it’s simply stony silence and the roar of the engines in reverse thrust as we hit the tarmac. It was one of those quaint things that I rather liked but which appears to have disappeared in Portugal forever. Yet on my flight to Italy a couple of years ago it was lovely when a round of applause greeted our arrival at Fiumicino Airport. The Italians have obviously not lost the custom or they have heard something I haven’t, about the servicing of Alitalia aircraft!

Meanwhile, the Spanish have their own way of making their presence felt on an aeroplane. Despite repeated requests to turn mobile phones off during the flight - for fear of them affecting the electronic navigation equipment, it’s quite unnerving to hear mobile phones ringing and passengers having long telephone conversations on their mobiles. Perhaps that’s why the Italians clap because they know that the pilot has managed to arrive safely in the right place despite the Spanish attempt to create chaos and mayhem. Yet no one dare say anything though a few of us do try giving a good long hard stare but which, quite frankly, is a complete waste of time.

 

Having a good moan

They all arrived in style by road, plane and ferry. Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration actually. My new colleague Canon Mel Smith drove down from Puerto Pollenca, Michael Bunce, the Chaplain of Minorca and Andrew Tweedy from Barcelona came by plane and Bob Short, the Chaplain of Ibiza arrived on the fast ferry. Once a year the Anglican Chaplains working in the Balearics and Barcelona get together for a one-day meeting. It’s obviously easier for the Minorca and Ibiza people to get to Majorca so we usually finish up having the meeting at the Chaplaincy House in Palma. It’s an opportunity to talk about common concerns, have a good whinge and grumble, as well as do some serious talking about issues affecting us in our work. In some ways it’s a mini trades union meeting when we can have a good moan about our congregations, the Bishop and salary levels. Then we finish the day off with a good meal together and a glass or two of wine. On Tuesday we didn’t stop talking from 10 o’clock in the morning until we broke for supper at 7 o’clock in the evening. We ranged far and wide over such diverse subjects as weddings, funerals, civil partnerships, adult education, finance and baptisms – all interspersed with lots of laughter. Why is it that afterwards I’m always surprised when my wife comes up with comments such as, “They seemed quite good fun for vicars!” and “Whatever did you find to talk about!” – and that coming from someone who manages to spend two nights a week in the local bar with a load of women after their choir practice when you can’t hear yourself think for the noise of the giggling, glugging and gossiping going on. What exactly do they find to talk about?

 

How could you!

What is it about us Vicars? A friend who is a teacher in Yorkshire revealed recently to me that she had felt bold enough to admit to her class that she was married to a clergyman. The girls were startled, but couldn’t believe such a relationship with a priest could ever have its physical side, “We’ve got four children”, my friend the teacher admitted, leaving them to draw their own conclusions. “Ee, Miss” one of the girls piped up, “with a vicar – how could you?”

 

Fr Robert Ellis is the Anglican Chaplain of Majorca

St Philip and St James

Nunez de Balboa 6

Son Armadans

Palma 07014

Tel: 971 737279

E mail: anglicanpalma@gmail.com

www.anglican-mallorca.org