Friday 17 May 2013

Thought for the Day. More from Justin Webly, more or less Arch. of Cant.

On Monday last, I accompanied my lady wife to Scrimpton – an old  parish of mine - to open the village’s Spring Fayre. I was Vicar of Scrimpton for three or four days at the beginning of my meteoric rise my present position. Nevertheless, Jocasta, my publicity person, says that it is important to be seen to be keeping in touch with one’s roots and whilst I do not approve of the widespread use of quasi-olde English to describe this sort of community event, the time we spent with these delightful people reminded me that in a world dominated by electronic devices, it is still possible to amuse oneself with simple pastimes. Despite the torrential rain, I could just about make out an enthusiastic throng enjoying “Stone the Housebreaker”, whilst further down the field a round of “Spot the Pregnant Teenager” gave rise to merry shouts of, “No she ain’t. She’s just chubby”, and “Ooh, there’s one in the oven there, darlin’!”

Jocasta suggested that I should talk to some of these ordinary folk as it would be good for publicity and indeed, the Rev Prendergast, who helps Jocasta by photographing me in a good light, took some lovely snaps.

Sadly, after sheltering with a score or more villagers under an awning, the young man with a wire in his left ear and bulge in his jacket, and who follows me everywhere suggested that we should leave. I must admit that it was something of a squash under that awning and I could feel people fiddling with the heavy gold crucifix I wear on these occasions. And so we made a dash through the rain to our waiting cars followed by merry shouts of “Oi, mate. You gorra gun under yer coat ?” and, “Come on – show us yer weapon!” Oh how we laughed with my lady wife joining in by intoning, “I wouldn’t mind a look at his weapon too". She has such an impish sense of humour.

And so back to the Palace for Evensong, then toasted crumpets, a mug of steaming Horlicks and up the wooden hill to the Land of Nod. 

Yours affectionately,

Justin               

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