Out of a situation which many would give up on, John Pridmore writes a captivating, moving, funny and self-deprecating account of life as an inner-city priest in one of the most deprived parts of London.

His jottings, he says, are a collection of the absurd, the poignant and the comic. They are emphatically not a record of ‘good practice’, he insists, but anyone countenancing working in a city parish will find more wisdom in this book than in all the theological volumes on the subject put together.

For the last ten years John Pridmore has lived what he calls a roller-coaster life as vicar of an inner city parish that incorporates Britain’s ‘murder mile’. Police raids, gun and knife crimes are everyday events. In this unpromising soil, stands a vast, ugly and largely crumbling building which is the parish church. From here, John says his work is to suggest ‘that Christianity might be true’. It’s an uphill struggle, not helped by constant insistence on growth strategies and targets from an increasingly managerial church hierarchy. He is sure the bishop thinks he’s doing a terrible job. Yet warmth and love shine from every page. No-one can fail to be moved by this extraordinary memoir.