If Archbishop Welby thinks he has problems... The only public meeting places in my village are the pub, the church and the village hall. Since 1) the pub is now fantastically crowded and cheerfully loud, while 2) the church is as cold as a catacomb and 3) the village hall (when not trimmed-up for weddings and dances) is vast, bleak and echo-y, our parish church council likes to hold its quarterly meetings in my sitting room. In front of the fireplace. The half-dozen PCC members always leave looking much less down-in-the-mouth than when they came in - but it isn't easy trying to keep a little 19th-century church going when the average congregation is fewer than half a dozen souls, week in, week out. I don't mind them using the sitting room, but I scrupulously take no part in the proceedings, apart from carrying in a pot of tea. And (in the winter) making sure the fire's built up beforehand, because that end of the cottage is oddly colder than it has a right to be, facing south and west. Nor do I hover around, earwigging; nor do I cross-question the family member (treasurer despite being atheist) about what is discussed in my sitting room, once everyone's gone. If anyone tells him a joke, he passes it on, but he's not a gossip and he doesn't give chapter and verse about parochial matters. We're very ethical. I know enough about the Anglican church I was christened in (but not confirmed into or married by) to know that item two on the PCC agenda every single meeting (after Apologies) is Finance. Lack of same; necessity of raising more of same. We raised some last year by holding a charity croquet match on the cricket field (you have no idea how long it took to mow and prepare). But some of the non-churchgoers wondered why their largesse couldn't be divided between the church, the school and the village hall? Then more people would benefit...? I am a heathen myself, and see their point, but I have a romantic belief in Anglicanism and in the little churches themselves, tucked away in every village. Which is why I listened with interest to the BBC interview with the Archbishop of Canterbury yesterday, which I really wouldn't have, normally. But the words "the five and a half billion pound portfolio" had me bolt upright in bed and screeching, long before the Archbishop actually spoke. The Anglican Church works like a business, as some chap from Ecclesia (a think tank) was explaining lucidly to John Humphrys. Humph was looking forward (with audible relish) to bearding Archbishop Welby about ethics, since we learnt that the Church has been profiting from five and a half billion quid in various investments - some of which include porn, gambling and arms dealing - and the spokesman for Ecclesia prepped him up nicely, explaining that the Church ran like a business, thinking about its assets, let's make the buildings work. It had gone down the route of maximising profits. A business that works well makes five per cent above the rate of inflation - everyone would like to make five per cent year on year, he said. I know exactly what he means, because our church's parish share goes remorselessly up year on year, while the congregation inexorably shrinks year on year. Florrie still walks the half-mile through the village, week after week, but her husband John can't get much farther than the end of his road. He'll be 100 come August. "If I make it," he told us merrily, while we walked the dogs. Our parish share is not a lot of money. It approximates to the annual wage of an administrative and clerical assistant who might work 37.5 hours a week in Surrey Heath, say, for something like "community-based adult services." If only five people go to church this Sunday (ninth Sunday after Trinity, I believe), there's no way the collection will mount up to one-50th of the annual salary of £18,000 or so that this sort of person might earn. Ethics don't come into it, do they?