when I was younger, so much younger than today, I went to a primary school and an old irish lady would visit once a week and burden the few Catholic kids with an hour of scripture class. we would sing hymns, such as 'god is dwelling in my pheart' and 'sons of gough'
occasionally, we had to go up the road at lunchtime to the local church for confession but I would never go (since lunch was always fun & games)
the old irish lady would keep visiting my home & dob me in until my mother forced me to go, alone, on Saturday arvo, to the old church, for confession
I would sit there panicking in the horrible dark quiet church until the priest called me into the booth
I would then lie to the priest, i.e., make up a sin to tell him, such as: "I stole 20 cents from my mother's purse", even though I never stole anything
