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house-sitters while he’s on a lecture tour in the United States. You’re very excited about all this because you are working on a new book and plan to make some astronomical, or maybe even astrological, observations from the top of the church tower.”
    “Whoa, spooky,” I say, interrupting the flow of her story. “That’s an almost word perfect description of the church at Denburgh and the rectory there does now belong to a well-known author.”
    “Is he a friend of yours?” asks Ursula.
    “More of an acquaintance. We share the same literary agency although I’ve also visited his house. But, and this is the really weird coincidence, the church clock at Denburgh always does run 20 minutes slow. Some longstanding fault the parish can’t afford to fix. It’s a mechanical clock and needs rewinding every 14 days. According to my writer acquaintance, one of the covenants that come with the rectory is its owner has responsibility for keeping the clock fully wound, though in return you do get free access to all parts of the church tower. Anyway, back to your dream.”
    “As we unpack the car, I notice you’ve packed a big brass antique telescope, mounted on an equally impressive brass and wood tripod. This is dream logic for you, as there is no way we could have ever fitted a thing that size into the Beetle. I ask you why you are suddenly so interested in stargazing and you reply, cool as a cucumber, that you are planning to watch the apocalypse!
    “You go on to explain this is not the Biblical Apocalypse of St John the Divine or our mutual friend John Patmos but an End of Days caused by all the planets falling into alignment and cosmic gravitational forces ripping the Earth apart. You know, the usual New Age, hippy-drippy mysticism, counter-culture conspiracy theory stuff.”
    “You are aware,” I say, “that real astronomers reckon all these cosmic alignment theories, like the Mayan
b’ak’tun 13
Long Count Calendar
thing, and the risk of a collision with the lost planet Nibiru everyone was talking about the other year, are just bollocks and will never happen.”
    “I know that and you know that but in my dream you are a firm believer in the coming cosmic disaster. You even talk about podcasting from the roof of the tower. ‘Reporting live from the Apocalypse,’ is how you put it. Oh, and then you toss into the conversation the fact this little hill the church and rectory are built on, is located on the same
Great Saint Michael
ley-line that makes life so miserable at the Hopton vicarage.
    “The next incident in my dream,” continues Ursula, “is one morning I walk into the kitchen only to find it piled high with cases of canned food, long-life milk and bottled water”
    “Well that makes sense,” I reply. “If the world really is going to end and the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse are in the neighbourhood, you wouldn’t want to inadvertently starve to death because the cupboards were bare and you couldn’t pop out to the nearest store. I hope someone in your dream also remembered to bring a can opener.”
    “Very droll,” says Ursula. “I must have missed the scenes in the
Mad Max
movies where Mel Gibson is tucking into tins of
John West
tuna,
Del Monte
sliced pears and
Heinz
spaghetti hoops.”
    “So go on,” I say, “tell me what happens next?”

5. Beat the Clock
    “What happens next,” says Ursula, “is it’s the eve of the Apocalypse and we are sitting on top of the Denburgh church tower waiting for darkness, so you can resume watching the planets positioning themselves for a final frame of cosmic snooker. We are also well into our second bottle of rosé, which is clearly your bad influence again, as the first time I’d drunk it in years was when I visited your cottage that first time.
    “The night rolls on. Overhead us hangs a large yellow harvest Moon. We talk about life, love, sex, music and work. We talk about ley lines: You tell me before the present Christian church was