Seem to have spent most of the last few days trying to get hold of Father Charles at St James Church, Shere, in the desperate hope that we can reschedule the date of the carol concert (see previous entry).
At one point, when I rang his number for the 58th time, I thought I'd finally got lucky:
Man on phone: "Hello."
Me (sounding desperate): "Father Charles? Is that you? Oh, thank goodness..."
Man on phone: "I'm so sorry, dear, you've got the wrong number."
Me (horrified at having just addressed a random stranger as Father Charles and probably sounding mildly hysterical): "Oh dear, I'm so sorry to have troubled you...I do apologise... terribly sorry..."
Man on phone (clearly assuming I was on brink of suicide and trying to contact Father Charles for spiritual guidance): "Now don't you worry at all, dear, I was only in the kitchen.. It was absolutely no trouble at all to come to the phone. Now best of luck getting hold of father Charles - and you take care..."
I tell you something - if I don't manage to get hold of Father Charles soon I will be on suicide watch...