The Mystery of the Methodists (A vignette)

Sunday morning, 10.20.
The sky is a little overcast and the temperture bordering on chilly but I bravely pull on a sweater and decide to venture "outside" to visit the Methodist church as the Anglican service at 9.30 has proved to be just a little too early and a little too rigid for my tastes. (For rigid, read unfortunately dull). So, I pull the sweater closer and walk the five minutes up the hill towards the Post Office and through the gate into what passes for the car park and make my way around the building to the side door because the front door is closed. But... there is no side door. Baffled, I wander around to the other side of the building, to see if it might be hidden round there. Nothing but brick; I can't understand it so I move onto tiptoes to peer inside through the window and the church looks empty. At least there is no music coming from inside, the lights are off and I do not hear anyone talking either... Frowning somewhat, I look up at the sky, it may rain soon although it seems to be getting warmer... I consider calling the Minister at the number on the notice board outside but there seems to be little point, if the service has simply been moved and no one has thought to put a notice up, the Minister is not likely to be answering the phone... and if there is no service after all, what on earth would I say "get your bum to your church and do the service just for me!"??!
Bemused, I wonder if I have the time wrong and go back to the notice board on the wall outside the grounds to check but no, there it is in black and white (well a blue bordering on royal and gold at any rate) 10.30 and a lady preacher to boot... so where is she...? Sighing, I come to the conclusion that there is no service today and start to amble home when out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple walking through the gate and I decide to follow at a safe distance to see what they do. They too, look totally confused and as they stand in front of the church gaping at each other, I make my presence known. "I think it's locked" I say quietly "But I didn't actually try to open the door..." The chap urges his lady friend/wife/sister/cousin to try the door and she does, but it doesn't budge, the steel handle looks faintly rusty and the reddish paint crumbling from the door clashes. We stand in a little circle gazing at each other, wondering how to proceed. We make small talk, complain about the state of public transport, speculate as to the whereabouts of the congregants and the lady preacher, discuss the possibility of rain this morning. My life in Tokyo makes me appear enigmatic and glamorous as we continue the theme of transport and me not having to have driven anywhere because Tokyo's public transport system is second to none. We nod vaguely at each other and smile in a faintly embarrassed way, as if we have each intruded in the others' lives and then I decide to go home for a cup of tea and a nice sit down and the couple wander on to the Vineyard to see if the coffee shop is open.


Tune in soon for "The Cheerful Choristers"
*Name subject to change