All In A Vicar's Day

The following letter is fictitious (although the real one is very much expected), and reflects a real event in recent days.

Dear Mr Vicar

I am writing to you because I am disgusted by an incident that took place outside my house last week. 

Imagine my surprise when I left my house only to find a large black vehicle parked in the road at the front of my property. I am given to understand that it's occupants were inside your building being religious, or something. Living directly outside a church, I would have expected far more considerate behaviour, and I especially chose a house nearest the front gate because it is the most picturesque view of the church. It doesn't harm the house prices around here either, but that is not the point. 

I can only write in exasperation to express to you the profound inconvenience and deep distress that your appalling lack of consideration caused me; I had to drive eighteen feet out of my way to visit my dear old mother, and that. Don't let that fact that my drive was not obstructed diminish my sense of great distress. That the aggressive man (who, even on a warm and sunny day, chose to wear a black suit - so clearly odd) told me to be grateful that my dear old mother was still alive only adds to my pain.

I will, of course, be taking this case to the European Court of Human Rights. How dare you use your front gate to carry in dead bodies. How dare you allow those cars to stop there while they do so; it's not like its a space dedicated to deliveries, and that. This is simply not the behaviour I expect from a church. 

Enclosed are the photographs that I took. It is a pity that so many of the bystanders looked so gloomy, even tearful, on such a warm and sunny day. They were clearly strange, because they were wearing black. However, they did move aside for me as I took my pictures - including the one of that pretty cabinet you were having delivered. 

I await your response, and offer of compensation for the trauma suffered by me last week. I was always happier when your building was locked and only used by those nice people with their own keys.

Yours in a paddy

Juanita  Fleschov de Preest