The Vicar's Knickers

One of the crematoriums where I regularly take services is housed in a very peculiar building. If you came in as a mourner, you wouldn't notice anything odd: you'd go into the chapel through the front door, then out again through a side door, in the usual kind of one-way system. But for those of us who work there, the architect kindly created a labyrinth of passages and rooms and toilets behind the scenes, so we can get from A to B without interrupting a service or bumping into a group of mourners on the move.

The only trouble is, it's an absolute rabbit warren, with lots of options for taking different routes or using different rooms, depending on where the current groups of mourners are in their process through the system. The passages and rooms are mostly featureless with small frosted glass windows, and there are no signs on any of the discreet wooden doors, so it's very easy to get lost or misjudge an entrance. Worst of all, the door from the vestry into the chapel opens onto a short passageway facing the side of the altar, so there is no line of sight into the chapel itself. Early in my career there was one occasion when I listened carefully, heard nothing, walked out into the chapel and then beat a quick retreat as I saw a congregation with their heads bowed in silent contemplation. Now I tiptoe out and peek round the corner – but it's far from ideal.

I did a service there last week, very straightforward, all went smoothly, and as usual I left the chapel at the end and waited outside the door to say goodbye to the mourners. I should make it clear that I was still inside the building at this point: there's a short passage with double doors at either end, one set leading from the chapel and the other set leading to the outside world. Although perhaps in some ways misguided, that architect definitely had his heart in the right place; he built somewhere for us to say goodbye to mourners with full protection from the weather – not something every crem provides.

I was shaking someone's hand when a door behind me, that I'd never even noticed, opened into my shoulder. I turned to see a vicar disappearing swiftly back inside, and made a mental note to give him a shout when everyone had gone. So a few minutes later, when the last mourner had left the building, I turned, pulled the door open, looked into a room containing a couple of armchairs, and merrily called 'All clear!'

Only the vicar was doing a wee.

In the small toilet off the room with the armchairs.

And he had left the door, between the two, wide open.