Parting is difficult. I loved my time as the Vicar of Holy Island, and lets face it @holyislandvicar is perhaps one of the most cool twitter handles in the entirety of Christendom.
Here I am, I am about to become the Vicar of Bro Eleth, a geographical area that covers a lot of northern Ynys Mon (Anglesey).
It is a challenge.
I am a Sheffield boy. Sheffield is northern England's premier city. (You all know that this is true). I am now in an area where I am more likely to encounter sheep in the road than wait for a considerable time at a roundabout.
I am from the wrong side of the dyke (Offa's that is). I am an Englishman, although with a Yorkshire prefix. I have been learning Welsh attentively for under 3 years and here I am about to be incumbent in a place where Welsh is the first language of many.
And, yet it seems right in its glorious inconsistency.
Tomorrow evening at about 19:50yh/pm, I will cease to be the Vicar of Holy Island and I will slip metaphorically through the wardrobe into an entirely different world
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