Thoughts for a Sunday.

My strongest memories of church are of hard, wooden pews and an incredibly itchy short trousered tweed suit. The combination was purgatory.

At University, singing in the chapel choir at St. Andrews, church was a place where you nursed hangovers and lusted over the sopranos sitting opposite.

But as I get older I find myself drawn to sitting in churches. The sense of centuries of people spending time thinking about life and its meaning, especially in small, rural, English village churches, creates an atmosphere of thoughtfulness and seriousness that I relish.

If I could just feel confident that I wouldn't be accosted by someone who believes in a beardy guy in the sky I might visit them more often.