So here it is, hipster Christmas

The first time I took my heathen boyfriend to church, it was Easter Sunday.

“Skip straight to the good stuff”, I thought. “God’s greatest hits!” It’d be all daffodils and alleluias and egg hunts round the vestry, nothing too terrifying for an ecclesiastical virgin. It wasn’t until I looked down and saw his white knuckles gripping my hand anxiously halfway through the eucharist that I realised the service…