Pipe Smoke and Mirrors and a Clerical Error

This morning I inadvertently dressed up as a bishop. Black trousers, a jumper of ecclesiastical purple with white shirt and black jacket. This impression was further reinforced when I stopped outside Zurich Cathederal to enjoy a contemplative puff of Scrotum`s Old Fandangable Ready Rub with my new cheery wood pipe.

Before I was eventually challenged by a passing Papal Legate and had to leg it I had conducted two baptisms, heard 17 confessions and done a roaring trade in Holy relics and Papal Indulgencies. I may have made some of that up but I certainly had an uncanny resemblance to a man of the cloth and there are a group of North Koreans out there who are blissfully unaware that their souls are in mortal peril.

All this would not have happened if the wife allowed mirrors in our home. I am not for one moment suggesting she is a vampire but it would be nice if I could leave home safe in the knowledge that I don`t look like an extra from Father Ted. It is worth reflecting on the subject of mirrors for a moment.

Ok, moving on. We are enjoying balmy spring weather here and the residents are out in force. Down at the playground the gangs were out last night, the Sunny Mountain Street Mother`s Mafia on one bench and the Daughters of the American Revolution on another. I sat alone on the rocking horse, gently swaying back and forth, watching. I think they have come to tolerate my presence by now. I wouldn`t go so far as to say that I have been accepted but at least they have stopped throwing things.

Anyway, out of the blue there was a kerfuffle on the Daughter`s bench. Two mothers rose and squared up to each other, Miu Miu handbags swishing menacingly. There were shouts of "fight!" (ok that was me) and "leave it, she`s not worth it" and "Won`t somebody think of the children!".

As quickly as it had started it fizzled out. One group of Daughters headed off up the hill while the rump stayed on the bench. I strained my ears as hard as I could and picked up fragments of conversation..."bad parenting....bitch....that`s it now...why is He listening in?". At that stage I decided it was wise to make my exit.They had a nasty glint in their sunglasses. I will use all my powers to find out what happened but there is undoubtedly a split in the ranks of the Daughters. Tee hee. I have missed this over the winter.

Post Script: Snooker Report: Wednesday 24 March 2010. Big J, our very own Rab C Nesbitt, had been in the pub since last Thursday so he wasn`t at his fighting best last night. Philthy, who hails from Essex and gave up his job as an armed robber of sub Post Offices to pursue his dreams, performed like a man who had been taking secret snooker lessons. Like a Mayfly enjoying a brief flirtation with life before the inevitable oblivion, he played with aplomb. I was playing with a piano leg. It was the only cue like object left by the time I arrived, but that in no way takes anything away from the his first ever thingy.

Some independent commentators have suggested that my game was badly affected by playing against the wind, with the sun in my eyes, a septic finger and a touch of the vapours but I said no. So hats off to Philthy, well done mate. All the lads in Pentonville Maximum Security Wing must be proud.