The things I do for the Latin Mass!

It's well-known that traditional Catholics often have to go to great lengths to get to a traditional Latin Mass on Sundays. When I lived in Bayreuth, the nearest TLM was in Bamberg, 30 miles away (thanks to Summorum Pontificum, that's no longer the case). The train journey there and back cost €19 and took up a good chunk of my Sunday. I know trads who make really heroic sacrifices to get to a TLM.

But even when a TLM is in your own city, getting there can sometimes be a costly business. So it was with me yesterday. I had got up a bit late, as I had a ferocious hangover (some readers of this blog know why!). I left the house and struggled to the Luas stop, just in time to see the tram leaving. The next one wouldn't come for 10 minutes. That would get me in around the time of the Gospel - a bit too late for comfort. So I took a taxi.

The taxi cost €14, but since I had spent - well, okay, wasted - a lot more than that on booze,taxis and food the night before, it didn't seem like such a huge amount. I made it to Mass on time, and afterwards had a nice cup of tea with friends. Then it was on to the Christian Solidarity Party office for an afternoon meeting, and then I had to head home - relatives were coming over.

I have no explanation for what happened next. Maybe I'm losing it, or maybe I was just too tired after my long night. Basically: as I plodded towards the Luas, I assumed I had a return ticket in my pocket. I normally buy a return ticket every day when I'm going into town. I completely forgot that I had taken a taxi into town and so had no return ticket. You can see where this is going.

I got on the Luas, sat down, it started to roll. And as we pulled in to the Harcourt Street stop, I saw a group of orange-clad inspectors waiting to get on. A young mother beside me said to her toddler son "Oh, look - inspectors! Better get your ticket ready!" I reached into my breast pocket and found ... no ticket. What was this? Where had my ticket gone? I thought about it for a second, and then remembered ... of course. The taxi. I had no ticket.

I leapt out of my seat just before the doors opened. There was a golden moment when they did open, just before the inspectors got on. At that moment I could have bolted. I was respectably dressed in a suit and tie, no one would have suspected that I was fleeing the inspectors. But some perverse instinct, or fear of dishonour, made me stay where I was. The inspector got on, and mustering as much dignity as I could, I said to him: "I'm sorry, I've no ticket. I thought I had a return ticket, but actually I haven't."

With an exceedingly bored air, he got out his notebook, took my details and handed me a €45 fine. "Mammy, what's that man doing?" inquired the toddler.

"He's just taking notes, pet" came the reply.

I stayed on the tram until it reached my stop, and trudged up the hill towards my house. Making the 10:30 Mass had proved more expensive than usual. In future I'll try to go to bed earlier on Saturdays - or at any rate get up earlier.