I had bad dreams. At one point I was scrambling about on a roof with my daughter and my long-dead grandmother's long-dead little dog; we were stuck up there; we couldn't get down.
It's the arthritis; I ache.
When I was a vicar Good Friday was one of the biggest days in the year. I ran three hour ego-trips "At The Foot Of The Cross", featuring my own empowered preaching and the dreariest hymns in the book.
Jesus died for you! Oh how he suffered! Why don't you care?
Very Mel Gibson.
But very few people came to hear me so I don't suppose I did much harm.