Being a priest isn't easy.
In 1992 I was living in North London with a mixed bunch of Serbs and Croats and war had just broken out. One of them made films, one of them worked in a bar, one of them had escaped with her younger brother and one of them had come back injured. He was dangerous, volatile, depressed. Someone said they're all like that. We played with a ball in the overgrown garden and sat on the steps drinking beer. After a while he went back, to be with a friend who'd lost his legs. Eventually he joined up again and I never heard from him again.
Perhaps no-one did.
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