The Confessional.

When I decided to get married, my mother in law decided that the local churches in our part of London were not up to her standard.

So my then future wife and I visited Westminster Cathedral, ( not to be confused with Westminster Abbey) to see if they would accommodate the wedding event. We explained to the resident priest that we were both lapsed Catholics, but he said that was ok as long as we went to Confession and attended at least once, our local church for Mass.

So off I trot to see Mum who I was living with at the time to ask her advice. Mum was a practising Catholic, but dare I say, canny with it.

"Go to the Canon in Brookgreen" she advised. "He is a nice old priest, and you will be lucky if you get one Our Father and a Hail Mary."

Reassured, off I go. I remember the church well from when, many years ago I was instructed in the Catachism and had my First Holy Communion. I was comfortable in it's surroundings. There was the main altar, the side chapels and a faint smell of incense in the air.

I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the confessional process? It's just you and the priest seated behind a wire mesh in two adjoining cubicles. You confess your perceived sins, recieve a penance, and absolution. Well that's the gist of it anyway.

It was quiet as I entered and took my seat. I could see the priest, head bowed ready.

I had predetermined that if I was going to confess then it was to be the Full Monty, holding nothing back.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been ten years since my last confession."

He appeared to sit up rather quickly!! Not your usual weekly fare!

"I don't know where to start Father", I said.

"Start with the big ones he replied." I detected an Irish accent. This was certainly not an ageing English Canon. I was later to discover this was a freshly ordained priest from a small rural area in Galway where time stands still for aeons.

However I took his advice and went through a litany of women I had slept with, lying, swearing, ( or taking the Lords Name in vain), fiddling the petty cash, self abusement. In fact the works.

He took it in good grace. In fact he pressed me particularly on my sexual excesses. How many times? Where? How long? To which I answered truthfully.

He gave me the Rosary to say twice and absolved me.

As I left there was queuing up outside on their knees, about six old ladies, looks of horror in their eyes, as if it was Lucifer himself. I have one of those voices that carries and am not prone to whispering. That, combined with the length of time I was in there must not have give a very effacious impression.

When I went home to Mum, she laughed. "It must have been a bit of an event for both of you" she noted, a smile on her face.