Two Sundays ago I was invited by my neighbours to attend the village's big Baptist Church recital of their bell-ringing groups. P. was out of town and, quite frankly, I had nothing better to do. It was an entertaining spectacle, to watch people with white gloves and various sized hand bells ring out hymns. They were solemn and concentrated and focused on their music sheets. There was singing by the congregation in between the ringing. The performance was only marginally marred by the frequent braying of a mentally-handicapped congregant and the exit of a whole pew of people once their sprog had performed his part in the children's percussion group. And there was no collection plate in sight.