I try to do even the slightest justice to the Revd Richard Coles’ memoir on Vulpes Libris today.
I know a priest who, after he had shut up shop on Christmas Day, would get into his pyjamas and take a bottle of vodka alone to bed, watch The Sound of Music and cry.
That’s the first line of the first chapter of Fathomless Riches, the Reverend Richard Coles’ account of his life from birth to ordination. The story doesn’t start with his birth, however, but with a particular Christmas: one of those comfortable but dismal post-lunch stretches, somewhere “between falling out of pop music and getting ordained myself”. Coles is suffering with a migraine; his father and brothers are sleepy and silent; his mother, bright and supportive. Later, Coles drives out into the cold rural night and picks up a stranger in a layby. The stranger, as a nice festive touch, has festooned his balls with tinsel.
There’s a lot of sex in Fathomless Riches; not…
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