Candles

“What is it with Christians and their obsession with feet?” Kane asks me.

Surrounding us in a neat semi-circle are a range of framed photographs of people washing other people’s feet. It looks like these photos are from some kind of evangelical mission to various countries around the world.

“I think it’s a Jesus thing”, I say. “I remember somewhere in the Bible that he washed people’s feet, to get the dust of the road off the travellers or something. Maybe that’s why this young lady loves washing so many feet.”

“Either way, this is the weirdest photo gallery I’ve ever seen.”

We move past a large rack of coat hangers into the cathedral’s small courtyard again. A slight cold breeze whistles in between the stone arches to greet us. Kane, wearing a grey track suit (or, the Jeremy Kyle tuxedo) wanders off to a discreet corner where a family are placing candlesticks in a pot filled with sand. He asks me if you have to, like, donate to the cathedral or something if you want a candle. I shrug and drop the only coin I had with me, a shiny 50 pence piece, into a small wooden box secured with a padlock.

“This can represent our love for each other”, Kane says after he digs his candle into the very centre of the pile. “I’m not gay, though.”

Hmmm. I light my candle on one of the outside ones and add it to the collection, making sure it doesn’t fall over. I step back and admire my handiwork – my candle becoming swallowed up in a sea of other white candles the further we get from the display.

Outside, we have a look at the food on offer. I would buy something, but I seem to have spent my last 50p.