Justin here, and as I type 2014 slowly ebbs away into the past. This year will become last year and a new year, unsullied by the will of man will be upon us. “Where does all the time go?” is a question often asked in our hurly-burly lives, but do we really consider it? I mean, where DOES it go? Into some cosmic storehouse of the past? Or does it simply disappear, as the minutes I have used typing thus far have possibly done?
What would we do if we had access to the past? Would we seek to rectify mistakes? Would I drop one of the religious tunes I chose for my recent appearance on “Desert Island Discs” and select “Bat Out of Hell” instead? Given the chance, I probably would.
If, one day, by dint of techno-scientific advancement, we are able to change the past, exactly what WOULD we change, bearing in mind that the past inevitably affects the future?
However, these and other metaphysical musings must now cease as I lend a hand in organizing the Palace’s New Year celebrations. There will be hot soup and bread rolls for the homeless of course, supervised by local Police officers on the lookout for outstanding warrants.
Midnight Service is always very popular with parishioners overflowing with Festive spirit and I shall try to offer as light-hearted a sermon as possible, perhaps likening life to a game of football.
But before that we have dinner and guests chosen this year by my lady wife. The young man with the wire in his ear chose last year’s who were, in fact, all footballers. No such thing for my lady wife. At the head of the list is one Daniel Craig – a film actor, I am told, whilst slightly further down is Father Dougal O’ Houligan from our local Catholic church – something of a trencherman and spirits expert. “If ye can light it, I’ll drink it” is a typical O’Houligan bon mot. Then come some ladies whose names quite frankly do not ring a bell although one of them was pointed out by the young man with the wire in his ear as being “hot”. An ongoing medical condition perhaps. What would Jesus have thought?
I am proud to announce that our special guest this year is none other than Mr Boris Johnson, mayor, and soon to be – some would say – our next Prime Minister.
And so, with these thoughts clamouring in my head, I shall prepare a few words of greeting for our guests, as well as putting the finishing touches to my sermon. When I confided to the young man with the wire in his ear that I sought a little levity this year, he told me a joke about a duck, a rubber glove and a fat lady. Sadly, I didn’t understand it.
A Very Happy New Year to you all.