This, I have to say, is no great hardship. Balinese temple ceremonies continue to be among the most surreal, divine and relaxing of all manifestations of religion, a joy to behold in glorious day-glo technicolour.

They start with the donning of temple togs. First a sarong, then a clean white shirt, followed by a sash around the waist and a golden overskirt. The whole sartorial sensation is then topped off by an udeng, a piece of white cloth tied around the forehead with a flourish. On the odd occasion I have been known to add a bougainvillea petal to this fetching headdress.

Temple time is primarily a community event market days and religious ceremonies in Bali provide ample excuse for a lusty young Balinese chap to eye up the wenches in their finest smockery, and I am sure that many a flame has been ignited across the offerings of fruit and rice cakes as the priestÕs temple bell has called all to attention.

At the sound of this noise, the gathered congregation clasps hands together in prayer, closes its collective eyelids and raises fingers to the forehead. The whole scene is deliciously spiced by the sight of a hundred varieties of petal and the intoxicating smell of burning joss, all against the backdrop of an ancient and elaborately carved stone courtyard.

At these moments, I generally reflect on the richness of the Balinese religion and marvel at the fact that it is popular only to this one island in Indonesia. We should never forget that Bali is in many ways an anomaly, not least because of the fact that it is a tiny island of Hinduism situated in the largest Muslim country in the world.

The short-term visitor to the island, captured by the kaleidoscopic pageants of this colourful faith, is likely to overlook this point, and, conversely, the fact that other minority religions also exist here.

Their implementation, however, has not always been easy. Consider, for instance, the story of the Rev. J de Vroom. He came to Bali in the late nineteenth century as a missionary for the Dutch Utrecht Missionary Society, built a house on the island and then set about the stuffy task of saving souls for the Christian faith.

Finding no one really interested, however, he began preaching to the only person who could stand to be around him - the servant of a Christian colleague, Wayan Nurat Karangasem.

Poor old Wayan. Despite de VroomÕs feverish attempts to convert more of the Balinese to his faith, he was unable to find a single extra follower. So what did he do? He upped the tempo of his preaching to the hapless Wayan, focusing all the AlmightyÕs fervour on his delicate soul.

Shunned by his Hindu peers, Wayan found himself the uncomfortable centre of de VroomÕs zealous Christian rantings. Indeed, such was the relentless intensity of his zeal that the poor chap finally said OK, enough is enough, thatÕs it, I cannot possibly take any more, and had the old man murdered.

Inevitably, the servant was rounded up, displayed in a cage and finally executed for his crimes by the Dutch colonialists in Jakarta.

Not surprisingly, I always like to believe, Christianity never really caught on after that.