And now about my lunch.
Another priest kindly said my 11.00 Mass this morning. Lovely; that meant that I only had to say three Sunday Masses this weekend; something particularly welcome as yesterday we had our annual procession of the Blessed Sacrament and I'm a bit tired.
So I thought that instead of spag bol for the third lunchtime running (I'd made a lot), I'd cook myself a traditional roast Sunday lunch. I haven't had one for some time, so I stretched the law a bit and (sorry!) went to the Co-op and bought a chicken.
Sunday observance is a bit of a thing of mine, so please don't protest that I'm being a hypocrite. I know that I am. I tell myself that this was a special occasion, as I rarely have a chance to do this.
But, once I'd roasted the chicken, I tucked in. The spuds were great, the broccoli with its cheese sauce a triumph; the roasted peppers were lovely. Even the gravy was pretty good. But the poor chicken was utterly tasteless. Despite having been cooked with half a lemon, rosemary, garlic and bay in the cavity.
I was angry. Honestly!
I could easily be a vegetarian. I don't really like the idea of eating meat, but I enjoy the experience too much to give it up. Besides I don't think there is any really valid moral argument against carnivorism. But I thought that the poor chicken had really probably had a pretty miserable life and a pretty miserable death. And for what? It didn't even provide a good meal which might, repeat might, have given a little justification for the rest.
I was angry for the chicken. How silly is that?
I can't afford huge amounts of money for a really good organic chicken.
So, the moral is whether on Sundays or legitimate days; don't buy chicken from Co-op!