Holy Day of Obligation

All Souls. It's up there with Good Friday for me. There wasn't a morning Mass which was a good job as I couldn't lift my head from the pillow. Walt had come back to mine last night after the pub and we had carried on until the early hours. But, I remember being alone. He must have gone home at some point. Anyway, I awoke this morning with a body that ached like only a man who drinks can know how his body can ache. My sweet wife had taken the kids to school while I inhabited a delerium world of dreams and sweat.
After the longest day dying, I Went to seven o'clock evening Mass to pray for the departed souls within my heart, and, oh Stephen, my dear sweet Stephen, I prayed for your soul like a man possessed. As the weather has turned cold, I was wearing a hat. As I easily removed the hat from my head before entering the church, I wondered how many generations of my family had made the same ritualistic gesture before me. All Souls is always a very moving Mass and I spent forty minutes fighting back my tears. "The Mass is ended, go in peace." And indeed I did go in peace, straight to the-worst-pub. Liam was in an odd mood. He always is when Wilson is elsewhere. Panic Attack was particularly spikey. The twins were arguing. Wallace was at the bar on his own and Tony Blackburn was setting up for quiz night. Even though I was standing at the smoking-table, the back part of my head was still in Mass. I left soon after I arrived, and as I walked home with the moonlight reflecting off the red-terraced brick, I prayed a prayer of thanks. I thanked God that the three Irish nurses kneeling in the pew in front of me all had really bad figures . . . otherwise I wouldn't have been able to concentrate.