I sometimes wonder where the good lady gets her ideas from....
Dear Mrs Scrote, she writes, I was shocked to hear that somebody saw you going into a Catholic church the other day. I can't believe you are a popist, so I expect you just poped in out of the rain, or maybe to admire the priest's apse. Personally, I can't stand all that parpheneralia and rigormarole, you know, the smell of burning incest, saying Harvey Maria all the time and generally making more fuss than is needful. Give me Primitive Methodism every time, just simple prayers, a few Welsh hims, plus fire and brimstone and gnashing and wailing of teeth, etc, and then home to a nice hot cup of lava bread.
Yours faithfully, sic,
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, Retd