Four years ago I drove to Chatham to pick up a cast-iron figure of Christ. Don't ask me why. I have a thing for religious collectibles. Somewhere packed in my boxes is a glass Virgin Mary that lights up.
I'm sad to say that Christ has been leaning against various walls and pieces of furniture ever since and more than once I have shouted his name after smacking my toe on him. So now he is going back on Ebay. I feel a bit sorry about this, but he's terribly heavy and I'm trying to travel light.
I would not say I have leanings but, growing up in a strongly atheist household, God and all his trimmings have always seemed fascinating. Particularly the Catholic trimmings which are always wonderfully opulent.
As a child I flirted with church - not Catholicism, just normal old C of E. I remember waking my parents to say I was off to church on Sunday. They thought I sang in the choir because we were paid 1/6d for weddings. Actually it was because of the blue cassock and huge white collar and singing to an audience.
I still like to sit in churches. In fact I spent a (truly) divine half hour in St. Salvator's Cathedral in Bruges last year. My head just seemed to fill with peace.
Rightfully my Christ belongs in a place where he won't get tripped over and someone might look up to him. Here is a photo of him on my bed, which reminds me of a Madonna song.