They're more scared of you than you are of them

It's what my mother used to say when I used to get scared of dogs that were too big and fluffy and wooffed at me too loudly.

I realised it again when this week Fiance and I had social intercourse with two more of the church ministers who refused to marry us.

We had to visit Minister One to collect our Banns, which Church of England law had required him, regardless of his personal objections, to publish for us. His vicarage, nestled awkwardly between a crop of identikit multi-storey inner-city tower blocks, the premises known locally as "that building where them from the social get your bairns took off of you" and the local arterial motorway, was one of the grimmest I'd ever seen. He opened the door, despite the horizontally-snarling snow, in the very most flimsy of shirt sleeves. I wanted to ask him to please go back inside and put a jumper on before speaking to us. He seemed just so nervous of us. "You work with children, don't you?" he said to Fiance.

Minister Two came up to me, entirely unexpectedly and out-of-normal-context in the corner shop and announced to me, triumphantly, "Grace!!! I've just spoken to your Fiance in the Post Office!" As he beamed at me, I suddenly saw a friend's three year old son grinning proudly as he told me he'd got his shoes on all by himself. I didn't know, then, how to respond to Minister Two. I felt like congratulating him - but that would have come across as patronising or insincere. I wanted to ask him what they'd talked about - but Fiance would no doubt be ringing on my mobile any minute to tell me all about it. But I could see that, for Minister Two, the conversation had represented a huge achievement.

I don't want us to make people uncomfortable. I don't want to spend my whole life frightening and antagonising the church and all its structures and leaders.

Jesus did, Fiance pointed out.