Let me set the scene: I was in the kitchen finishing a cup of tea at the end of a late lunch, following on from a busy morning when I had assisted my fellow almshouse trustees at an Open Day.
Suddenly an enormous clap above my head jerked me up and out of my seat, the drink splashing across my knees. The noise was accompanied by a flash of lightning and then the skies opened and the rain came down in torrents. The electricity went off momentarily interrupting Mister E's televised viewing of the World Cup, but he instantly became more interested in seeing just how much rain was falling and to what extent it might replenish those empty water butts.
As soon as he mentioned those, I felt a sense of guilt. Zeus the ancient Greek god of the sky, had responded to my request in style and made no secret of announcing his presence, hurling thunderbolts in the process. I understand now just how easy it must have been to get duped into worshipping a pagan deity. I almost wanted to build a stone circle and start chanting.
Whilst I'm looking for a simplified form of living in retirement, neo-paganism hasn't been part of the strategy. Should it be?