Holy Week, but not everywhere. After reading that the diocese of Birmingham wanted to hire staff to help with deconstructing whiteness, only one conclusion is possible. Large parts of the C of E have become a theological and liturgical wilderness. The Devil is in charge and it is unholy week, 52 weeks a year.

Anglican friends assure me that this is overdoing the pessimism. There are sound clerics – even the occasional sound bishop – and in some areas, traditions survive. Certainly Sherborne Abbey has just put on a superb Palm Sunday, and the procession included a donkey, the sweetest-natured of animals and a perpetual outlet for sentimentality. It is a delight to tell small children that the donkey’s cruciform markings are a reward for faithful service to Our Redeemer, on His fateful journey to Jerusalem, sacrifice, and Eternal triumph.

Alcohol is the most common Lenten concession, and the most likely to end in the breach

Apropos donkeys, one has to be careful with slightly older children. I remember once in Italy discussing the ingredients of a proper old-fashioned bollito misto, which should include a large hunk of donkey. I imagine that a young beast would be preferable. Eeyore would be too tough: only suitable for saucisson. Anyway, we were overheard: sunt lacrimae rerum.

That could also apply to the Church of England, despite Sherborne. It is easy to feel that it and similar pockets of light resemble the Irish monasteries on their embattled islands in the Dark Ages, under constant threat from the Norsemen, but determined to keep Christianity alive. Today the threat comes not from the Vikings’ battle axes, but from the battle axes of wokery. They may be harder to defeat.

Semana Santa also makes one think of Seville, where it ends with the first bullfight of the season. Such a fusion of piety and paganism: what a magnificent expression of the Spanish character.

To some of my friends, Holy Week also leads to the end of Lent. I know a surprising, and I think increasing, number of people who attempt some level of Lenten renunciation, although they do not necessarily finish the course: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Alcohol is the most common Lenten concession, and the most likely to end in the breach rather than the observance. But I can think of one RC friend, a convert whose devotion often exceeds that of his cradle Catholic confrères, who was told by his Confessor to stop trying to give up grog. He is a man prone to irascibility, and if he did not mitigate that – a little wine, for thy temper’s sake – he would be likely to fall into the deadly sin of wrath.

Cardinal Wiseman, who brought the Church of Rome back to the centre of English national life, would have appreciated a sophisticated approach to Lenten austerities. During that season, he was observed dining with three senior priests, and dining well. His secretary later commented: ‘Remember that His Eminence has always had a lobster salad side to his character.’

Being a mere buttress, supporting the Church from outside, I have not been Lenten. One evening stands out. A Californian friend, whom I have mentioned before and who has acquired an enviable collection of Armand Rousseau wines, wanted me to try some Clos De Vougeot. That had originally been planted by the Cistercians. This came to an end with the Revolution and then the Napoleonic Code forced the subdivision of most properties. That said, it would be hard to find a poor Clos de Vougeot. I will return to that subject, but for now, a 2002 René Engel Grand Cru was a wine that could stand up to the same vintage of Chambertin-Clos de Beze. That was a fitting overture to Holy Week.