29/04/2026
VICAR'S MACCIES ADVENTURE
Geraldine Grainger stood in the middle of the vicarage living room in Oakham, hands on hips, surveying her new domain with cautious optimism.
“Well,” she said to no one in particular, “it’s not Dibley… but at least the roof doesn’t look like it might baptise me in rainwater at any moment.”
From the kitchen came a distant crash followed by a cheerful voice.
“I dropped the kettle, Geraldine! It made a funny noise when it hit the floor!”
Geraldine closed her eyes briefly. “That’ll be Alice.”
Alice, her verger and now apparently her lodger, emerged moments later holding what remained of the kettle.
“It’s alright,” Alice beamed. “It’s only broken into two pieces. We can still use one of them.”
Geraldine took a deep breath. “Lovely. We’ll put the… top half on display and call it modern art.”
Alice nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes! Like in London. Very posh.”
Geraldine flopped into an armchair. Moving parish had seemed like a grand adventure at the time. New people, new challenges, a fresh start. What she hadn’t anticipated was that within 48 hours she would be kettle-less, slightly hungry, and listening to Alice explain why biscuits taste better when dipped in orange squash.
Then, like divine intervention—though perhaps of a slightly greasy variety—she remembered.
“The Maccies Runs,” Geraldine whispered.
Alice perked up. “Is that like a church run? Do we have to wear trainers?”
“No, Alice. It’s far more spiritual than that. It involves chips.”
Alice gasped. “CHIPS?”
“Yes. I’ve heard there’s a taxi firm here—Kia Kabs—run by a man named Freddie. Apparently, he takes people through the McDonald’s drive-thru. It’s practically a pilgrimage.”
Alice clasped her hands. “Can we go? Can we go now? I haven’t had chips since Tuesday. Or was it 1998?”
Geraldine was already reaching for the phone.
—
Freddie was midway through a perfectly respectable cup of tea when his phone rang.
“Freddie Cars,” he answered.
“Hello! Is that Freddie? This is the Reverend Geraldine Grainger speaking.”
There was a pause.
“…The Vicar of Dibley?” Freddie said.
“The very same—well, formerly of Dibley. I’ve relocated. Bit of a transfer. Like a footballer, but with fewer shin pads.”
Freddie chuckled. “What can I do for you, Vicar?”
“I’ve heard about your… Maccies Runs.”
Another pause. This one more reverent.
“You’ve heard correctly.”
“I’d like one,” Geraldine said firmly. “For two people. Possibly more if divine inspiration strikes.”
“Say no more. I’ll be there in ten.”
—
The taxi pulled up outside the vicarage just as Alice was attempting to toast a crumpet directly on the hob.
“Step away from the appliance!” Geraldine cried, grabbing her coat.
Alice followed eagerly, still holding the crumpet.
Freddie greeted them with a grin. “Evening, Reverend. Alice, I presume?”
Alice nodded. “I brought bread.”
“That’s… helpful,” Freddie said diplomatically.
They piled into the car, and within minutes they were on their way.
“So,” Freddie said, glancing in the mirror, “what’ll it be?”
Geraldine leaned forward. “I’ll have a Big Mac meal, large fries, chocolate milkshake, six nuggets, and… oh, let’s say an apple pie. For balance.”
“And you?” Freddie asked Alice.
Alice thought deeply. “Do they do fish fingers?”
Freddie blinked. “Not exactly.”
“Then I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Alice said, pointing at Geraldine, “but without the apples because I don’t trust fruit.”
“Two Big Mac meals it is,” Freddie said.
—
The drive-thru queue was, as always, a test of patience and faith.
Geraldine peered ahead. “It’s like purgatory, but with better smells.”
Alice nodded. “Do we get judged at the window?”
“Only if you order a salad,” Freddie said.
When they finally reached the speaker, Geraldine leaned out.
“Good evening! We would like to partake in your finest offerings of fried delight!”
There was a long pause.
“…Is that a Big Mac meal?” came the confused voice.
“Yes, two of those, please. And nuggets. And pie. We are very hungry and only mildly sinful.”
“Drive to the next window.”
Alice whispered, “I think they liked us.”
—
Back at the vicarage, they laid out the feast on the coffee table like it was the Last Supper—if the disciples had preferred fries to bread.
Geraldine took her first bite and closed her eyes in bliss.
“Oh, this is heavenly.”
Alice was already halfway through her nuggets. “These are better than church biscuits.”
“That’s not a high bar,” Geraldine said.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
Geraldine frowned. “Who on earth—?”
She opened it to find two familiar faces.
“Evening!” Jim said cheerfully.
“Smells like chips,” Frank added.
Geraldine blinked. “Jim? Frank? What are you doing here?”
“We heard you moved,” Jim said. “Thought we’d pop by.”
“And we followed the smell,” Frank said.
Alice waved a nugget. “We have loads!”
Geraldine hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping aside. “Well… I suppose loaves and fishes are my thing. Come in.”
Within minutes, the vicarage was filled with laughter, the rustle of wrappers, and the unmistakable sound of Jim trying to open a ketchup packet with his teeth.
Freddie, who had stayed “just to make sure everything was alright,” leaned back in his chair.
“Not bad for a Tuesday night.”
Geraldine raised her milkshake. “To Oakham,” she said. “To new beginnings. And to Maccies Runs.”
“To chips!” Alice added.
“To chips,” everyone echoed.
And somewhere, perhaps, a higher power looked down—not with judgment, but with quiet amusement—at a vicar, her verger, two unexpected guests, and a taxi driver, all brought together by faith… and a very good drive-thru.
