It’s finally happened: I’ve been to Mass in my carpet slippers. One Sunday morning I found myself at a lovely house party, staying with friends not far from Dundee. In previous years a convoy of vehicles has trundled down the drive towards the nearest church, but the preaching style of the parish priest and the liturgical arrangements into which the devotional life of the local community have settled are not necessarily to my hosts’ tastes. As it happened there was a priest among the guests, and so we kept it all in house – literally.