Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Victor On the Radio

Years ago I used to present Radio programs; one of which was on a Sunday afternoon entitled Time for Reflections. 

Here's a short clip from one of those programs which brings back fond memories to mind.

Monday, 30 July 2012

Father Donald to the rescue



It was just after ten o’clock at night when the phone rang. Father Donald got up to answer the call and then said: “It’s for you Ignatius … It’s Carla Perkins …”

“Dear Lord … not again …” mumbled Father Ignatius as he picked up the phone.

When he’d finished the conversation he said to his fellow priest: “Carla’s husband has come home drunk again and became violent in a heated argument. He has hit her hard this time and she said she is bleeding from her mouth … I’d better go over I suppose …”

“You’re not going alone?” asked Father Donald.

After a few seconds of waiting for a reply he went on, “Tom is a big man you know … if he turns on you …”

“Don’t worry Donald,” replied Father Ignatius “he wouldn’t hit a priest, would he … but just in case, I’d better wear my white collar just to remind him …” he added with a chuckle.

Half an hour later Father Ignatius was at the Perkins’ home. Tom was lying asleep on the settee whilst his wife was nursing a cut lip and crying softly whilst cuddling her two years old daughter.

Her husband’s behavior had got worse over the past few months ever since he lost his job in the latest factory closure. To his credit, he had tried finding a job everywhere in town, even further away out of town involving daily travel by train, but he had been unsuccessful. He considered himself a failure unable to provide for his family and as a result spent a lot of time in the pub wasting whatever little the family received from Social Benefits.

He often came home in a bad way and somehow got into an argument with his wife. This, however, was the first time he’d ever hit her. It was totally out of character as normally Tom was a mild-mannered individual who wouldn’t hurt a fly, as they say. But it shows the extent of his despair since losing his job.

The priest asked Carla whether she wished to spend the night with her daughter at the Convent. He could easily ring Mother Superior to arrange it. But she preferred to stay at home, not wishing to further upset her young child.

“He’ll wake up in the morning and be all apologetic …” she sobbed, “he always does that and can’t even remember we’ve had an argument … although this time my fat lip will serve as a reminder …” she smiled weakly.

Father Ignatius stayed for a while and having ensured that she and her daughter were safe returned to his home.

On his journey back he prayed that God may intervene and help this family torn apart by a financial crisis not of their making.

The following day at about midday there was a loud knock at the door of the Parish House.

Father Ignatius opened the door and Tom Perkins barged into the house and stood in the entrance hall, almost pushing the priest out of the way.

“Don’t interfere where you’re not wanted …” he shouted at the priest.

Father Ignatius said nothing and maintained his calm composure in the face of the angry giant.

“You were round our house last night …” continued Tom loudly, “are you interested in my wife? Is that it?”

“Don’t be absurd …” replied Father Ignatius somewhat shocked at the accusation.

“If you come anywhere near her again I’ll knock your lights out …” shouted Tom threatening the priest.

At this point Father Donald came out of his office having heard the commotion outside. He was a big man with a pronounced Scottish accent from his native Glasgow.

“And would you care to pick up a fight with me too?” he asked Tom in a quiet yet firm tone of voice.

Tom said nothing. Father Donald continued.

“I’m the same size as you Tom, and I reckon if I take off my white collar which can be a bit of a disadvantage I can take you on man to man as it were …”

Tom remained silent.

“Or would you prefer to hit someone smaller than you?” asked Father Donald, “like your wife for instance …”

At this Tom stormed out slamming the door behind him.

“Thanks Donald …” said Father Ignatius after Tom had left, “the poor man is desperate …”

“That’s no reason to behave like that …” growled Father Donald proudly pronouncing every syllable to emphasize his accent.

“You wouldn’t have hit him would you?” asked Father Ignatius.

“No way … these stiff white collars are too difficult to take off in a hurry” joked Father Donald as he returned to his office.

Father Ignatius did not let it rest at that. Having prayed about the situation he set out to contact his many acquaintances in town and eventually, after weeks of searching, he managed to find Tom a job with a local builder.

It did not pay as much as Tom earned at the factory but it was a start to help him back on his way to regaining his self-esteem and confidence.

Tom was extremely grateful and very apologetic at his disgraceful behavior when he threatened his priest. His character changed overnight and he has not had one argument with his wife ever since.

And now he always looks down sheepishly whenever he meets either priest as he accompanies his wife and child to Mass on Sundays.

Friday, 27 July 2012

What was THAT post all about?

Well ... what was the last post all about?

Was it about a woman with a flimsy skirt caught in her ample buttocks and revealing her rounded contours?

Was it Victor being rude and outrageous as ever?

Or was it about the innocent mind of an autistic youngster?

Some readers found the story funny and wrote in to say so. I agree with them ... it was funny. Humour has a way of happening in the most solemn and serious of occasions and places. I'd like to thank Remedia, T J Burdick, Rae, Michael and Mary for taking the trouble to write in. I much appreciate your comments and support which encourage me to go on.

But ...

Some readers chose to disassociate themselves from this author. I really regret that.

I will, however, continue to visit their Blogs because I have in the past learnt a lot from their posts. But I will not comment there to save them any further embarrassment.

My writings have always been straight and to the point. If any one is looking for a Saint here then they'd better look elsewhere; because they will not find him in this Blog.

God bless.

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Going to church with Rain Man



I recently went to church with a young autistic lady aged about twenty and her mother.

The young girl behaves and acts very much like Rain Man (Raymond Babbitt) in the Dustin Hoffman film of that name.

We were not at Mass. This was an evening meeting where we had a visiting speaker going on for hours on end discussing missionary work in various countries around the world.

The young lady’s mother left her with me and went to the kitchen just by the Sacristy to help prepare the teas and coffees and other refreshments for after the talk is over.

The talk started and the young lady’s mother had not returned, so we sat down and listened to the visiting speaker relating stories from various far off lands.

It was a very hot summer’s evening; and after a few minutes of sitting there, the hardness of the wooden church pews combined with the humid stickiness of the atmosphere to create a very uncomfortable feeling in the Southern regions of the human anatomy.

To be fair, my companion stayed quiet throughout the long ordeal although it was obvious she was getting a little uncomfortable and tired with the monotony of it all.

Eventually the visiting speaker stopped and the priest asked us to stand up for final prayers.

As we stood up I noticed that the woman in the pew just in front of me must have been wearing a thong. The reason I say this, apart from its obviousness, is that as she stood up her delicate flowing skirt got caught or wedged within the crack of her voluptuous derriere revealing its ample contours and curvatures.

Now normally one would tend to ignore such a distraction and look the other way; and believe me I tried; even though she was standing only inches in front of me. But what was an unexpected distraction for me became something completely different to my young lady friend. For her this was not right at all.

To my horror, she lent forward and carefully pulled out the skirt from whence it was caught.

Surprisingly, the woman in front of me did not feel a thing and did not react whatsoever.

I shook my head violently and whispered to my friend to leave it as it is.

To my double horror and near heart-attack she proceeded to lean forward once again and replace the skirt in its previously wedged position.

This time the woman felt someone touching her particular sunset; she turned round suddenly to see me standing right behind her and my companion busily reading the hymn book she’d picked up.

She was about to slap my face when she suddenly remembered where she was.

She sat down promptly and said nothing.

We waited until prayers were over and everyone was leaving. I asked my young friend to go and help her mother in the kitchen, and then I tried to explain to the unfortunate woman what had happened and that it was not really me who tried to do what I did not do.

I doubt she believed me and she left without saying another word.

And that’s another confession I’ll have to explain to my priest. He said once he looks forward to my confessions as he’s never laughed so much in his life.

Don't upset anyone

Do not ever do or say anything that is likely to upset anyone.

Can you imagine how different the world would be if no one ever did or said anything that upset another human being?

If Jesus never said or did anything to upset anyone they would probably not have Crucified Him.

Monday, 23 July 2012

My mortal sin


I left the hotel hurriedly in a taxi on my way to the airport. It was then that I realized that I had sinned deeply and severely the night before.

This was in no doubt a mortal sin. I had succumbed to temptation and been led astray by the devil. The horror of the situation filled me with dread and a cold sweat started trickling on my forehead. What if the worst were to happen and I was suddenly face to face with my Maker, my Creator, and my ultimate Judge?

The taxi drew past a church and I asked the driver to stop suddenly. I paid him off and rushed into the building. Suddenly, missing the plane didn’t seem to matter any more. It was Saturday and the chances are there would be Confessions in progress.

I was fortunate. A dozen or so people were waiting their turn to enter the old fashioned Confessional. 

I waited with them and could only think of one sin. My mortal sin of the night before! The dark blot on my soul leading me to eternal damnation unless it is wiped clean once again.
 
How could I succumb to such sin once more? The shame and humiliation of it all played over in my mind time and again. I could see myself sinning vividly at Satan’s feet. And now I had to tell the priest all about it.

Eventually my turn came and I knelt down by the thick curtain hiding my Confessor.

I confessed my hideous sin leaving no detail unsaid. I told him exactly what had happened and how I succumbed to temptation and how I needed absolution.

When I finished, somewhat relieved off the heavy weight on my soul, the voice behind the curtain said “Yo no hablo Ingles!”

In my hurry to confess my mortal sin I had forgotten that I was on a business trip to Spain.

This was a Spanish church with a Spanish priest, and he does not speak English, and he has not understood a word I said, how can he possibly forgive me my sin?

How could I mime my sin from behind the curtain? And would he understand me if he saw me re-enact it? Are some sins so international to be easily understood in any language?

I did what most English people do when abroad and not understood. I repeated every word again slowly and loudly.

Somehow, there’s the belief that by speaking loudly the English language is suddenly universally understood.

Eventually, the Spanish priest repeated in an equally loud voice “Yo te perdono! Yo te perdono!”

I said “Muchas Gracias” and left the church before waiting for absolution and penance.

When I arrived back home I thought I’d make doubly sure and I went straight to my English speaking priest, albeit he has a Scottish accent, by I forgive him that.

I told him about my Spanish mortal sin.

I explained that the night before I left Spain, whilst in my hotel room, I was so tempted that I succumbed to temptation itself. I took a chocolate from the little ice box they have in some hotels. I really enjoyed that chocolate.

The following morning, when asked by the receptionist whether I had used the ice box, I had forgotten about the chocolate bar and I said “No!”

It wasn’t until I was in the taxi heading for the airport that I realized I had technically stolen from the hotel and committed a mortal sin.

The Scottish priest laughed at my face and did not give me absolution. Luckily, I had a Spanish absolution instead. I think!

Sunday, 22 July 2012

What God wants


The biggest mistake that most of us make about God, the one that most consistently undermines the peace of our soul, is the idea that God demands a lot of us, more than a fragile being like ourselves could ever give.

Such a God is frightening.

But God in reality is content with the little we can give, because God knows - and accepts - the little that we have. 

We need to do just three things:

Do the best we can to find and honor God in everything we do.

Do whatever - however little - we can to live this way.

Let God do the rest.

If we follow these simple rules, we will possess God. And possessing God we will not be disturbed, we will not be anxious, for we will have no need to fear a God who never asks of us more than we can give.

– St. Francis de Sales

Saturday, 21 July 2012

My dog is on Twitter

My dog has joined Twitter.

He has just tweeted the following:

"Went for a walk. Did a poo. Victor picked it up. LOL!"

Scientific Facts

I was reading a science book the other day and I was fascinated by the number of facts which I did not know. In fact the more I read the more I realised how much I did not know and how ignorant I really am.

For example; did you know that the majority of men with beards (about 68%) sleep with their beards tucked under the bed covers rather than over the bed covers?

And that beards grow faster and longer than hair on men's heads?

Human ears grow bigger in proportion to the rest of our bodies as we grow older? I remember I knew a man with his ears sticking out quite a bit. He looked like a car with its doors open.

Did you know that if you had a meal in a restaurant that is totally dark you would not be able to tell the difference between steak and a beefburger?

Did you also know that if you're in a vacuum and you shout loud no one would hear you? And it would make no difference whether the vacuum bag is full of dirt and dust or whether it was empty?

Do you realise that if you had a small bird in a cage and as you happen to weigh the cage if the bird jumped up from its perch then its weight would not register on the scale?

Also, if you were to weigh the cage under water the small bird would drown?

And in order to peel and cut an onion without tears you have to do it under water; that is if you can hold your breath for that long?

Here's a video I found with more scientific facts.

Friday, 20 July 2012

In a pickle


I just love pickles. They are juicy, crunchy, sour, salty, tasty and all other good things besides. If you happen to like them, as I do.

I had a large glass jar of pickles and every day I took some out to enjoy with my meal until eventually there was only a tiny little bit of pickle right at the bottom of the jar. It would be a shame to waste it.

So I put my right hand into the jar and tried to dislodge the bit of pickle at the bottom. It was quite a squeeze to get my hand in and … ehm … how shall I say this … my hand got stuck inside the glass jar.

No matter how much I tried to pull it out my hand was stuck inside the jar at the wrist. No twisting or turning would release it.

I remembered from science classes at school that heat expands things and makes them bigger … so a little heat would enlarge the neck of the jar and release my hand.

Wrong.

I poured boiling water inside the jar and nearly cooked my hand trapped in there. I raised my arm up in the air to empty the jar quickly and got hot water splashing all over me.

There must be a logical solution to this. I don’t want to break the jar in case the glass cuts my hand to shreds.

I decided to phone Aunt Philomena. She’s an expert at everything and is sure to have an answer.

It’s difficult picking up the phone and dialing the number with one hand. I picked the phone with my left hand and balanced it gingerly on my left shoulder. Then I started to dial Auntie’s number. As the phone was ringing I got an itch just above my right eye. I raised my right hand to scratch it and hit my head hard with the glass jar knocking myself to the ground.

I must have passed out for a few seconds.

I could hear a distant voice saying “Hello … hello … stop breathing heavily down the phone or I’ll call the police …”

I said incoherently “Is that you Aunt Philomena?”

I explained that I was not a phantom obscene phone call maker and told her my predicament. The poor lady must have been in shock because all she muttered was “Butter … plenty of butter …”

She was obviously thinking about making cakes or something delicious which is quite her forte.

All the talk of butter made me hungry. I went back to the kitchen and with my free hand I put two slices of bread in the toaster.

I got a packet of butter from the fridge but it was too cold and almost solid. To soften it a bit I put the packet in the microwave oven for a minute or so.

When I got it out of the oven it was too hot and I dropped the packet of almost melted butter on the floor.

I bent down to wipe it with a towel and I slipped backwards on the melted butter and the water I had previously splashed all over the place.

As I landed on my back my hand must have struck the ground hard and broke the glass jar into million pieces.

I was found later when my family returned from the shops lying unconscious in a pool of water, congealed butter and broken glass … but no blood.

I blame Aunt Philomena for this!

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Sapristi alors!


Our church has one of those huge baptismal fonts made of stone or concrete or such like material. Why it’s so big beats me. It’s an old church and I reckon babies in olden times must have been born really big which must have been an ordeal for their poor mothers. Either that or perhaps in olden times they put the whole baby in the font rather than just wet his head.

Anyway, that aside, it has become a habit in our church to baptize babies during Sunday Mass rather than at a private service at some other time. Just after reading the Gospel, the priest moves to one side near the font and baptizes the child whilst the whole congregation witnesses and joins in the event. It’s rather nice I think.

This week Father Gaston celebrated Mass. He is a temporary priest whilst our priest is away. He is French, severe looking with a gaze that would turn you into stone before you even thought of sinning, and a monosyllabic conversation only used on rare occasions when he has something to say.

He also uses reading spectacles which he balances precariously on the end of his long aquiline nose; and looks at you from above them whilst speaking to you. I believe he looks at people from above the glasses so as not to wear out the lenses.

He stood by the font reading from his book whilst the proud parents and god-parents waited patiently as they handed the baby to each other. He was a lively little mite; the baby that is … about eight or nine months old. You could hear him gurgling and laughing throughout the church.

At the appropriate moment the mother held him on top of the font and as Father Gaston poured water on the child’s head he raised his hand out and hit the priest in the face knocking the spectacles in the font.

The priest stopped and said something in French which is not in my Missal. He then reached into the font for his glasses forgetting that his vestments had long and wide sleeves.

He withdrew his hand and put the wet glasses on. As water dripped on his face he realized his sleeve was soaking wet. He tried as best as he could, with as little dignity as remained in the situation, to squeeze the water from his sleeve back into the font. He then dried his face and glasses; and continued with the Baptism.

I felt sorry for the poor parents.

But not so much for Father Gaston.

Is that a sin?

Monday, 16 July 2012

Waspy Situation



It was one of those annoying Springs you sometimes get in Britain.

Rain and a little sun, then rain, and sun again. Over and over for days.

This meant that the grass in the back garden grew taller and taller and it proved impossible to cut it. Whenever we had a little sunshine the grass was too tall and still wet and it would not cut with the lawn-mower. As it dried and we got ready to cut it, that’s assuming we had nothing better to do at the time, as soon as we got the lawn-mower out it started to drizzle again.

I went out to the shed to put the lawn-mower in again and I noticed just under the roof what appeared to be a large nest of wasps. They were buzzing around all over the place and saying to each other: “Here he is again … shall we have some fun like last year?”

The previous year I had inadvertently disturbed their nest and got stung several times, no doubt to their delight and amusement.

But not this year … revenge will be finally mine.

I quickly got into the house, searched my telephone directory, and rang a Pest Control Firm. I’d never used them before but their name sounded quite proficient: “Pest Control” – Direct and to the point.

About half-an-hour later a small white van with absolutely no signage whatsoever turned up.

“That’s good …” I thought, “very discreet. I wouldn’t want the neighbors to know I have pests … and have them speculate what they could be.”

 Mice … rats … cockroaches … fleas … or other vermin. Some neighbors can be quite nosey and would look at me with disdain if they knew I had pests. And let’s face it … some pests are more acceptable than others. Like wasps for instance, and bees, or bats … they are treated with respect and are environmentally more acceptable to society.

Anyway … out of the little white van comes a man in his forties dressed in a yellow T-shirt and blue jeans, and a young lady in her mid twenties dressed in a thin, almost transparent blouse, and the miniest of mini skirts.

Now I’m not a very clever man but I’m sure that a yellow T-shirt is not the ideal apparel. Bright yellow tends to attract flying insects. Even I know that.

But then, maybe this is part of their disguise to fool the neighbors. Perhaps they’ll dress up in overalls and face masks once they’re in my garden to avoid being stung.

They got to the back garden and I warned them that the grass is slippery and wet.

They ignored me and walked all the way to the shed. The man took out a little notebook from his pocket and said: “Let’s see what we have here … asp … adder … bee … bumblebee … cockroach … cricket …” 

“Great …” I thought, “he’ll go through the whole alphabets until he finds they are WASPS !!!”

Then, to my amazement, he took a little extendable metal stick from his pocket and opened it out like you do with old style car radio aerials until it was some five feet long. He moved a little closer to the nest, leaving the young lady a few feet behind him, and started poking the nest with the stick.

As I said, I’m not a very clever man, but I knew straightaway that this was not a wise thing to do. I withdrew a little.

The young lady remained a few feet behind him as he disturbed the wasps which started buzzing like a small dark cloud up ahead.

He kept poking, almost destroying the nest, with his stick.

“There are no wasps in this nest” he said to the young lady behind him, “it’s empty”.

She stood there and said nothing.

I shouted “They’re right above your head … you’d better move away quick!”

He looked up at the dark cloud getting nearer and ran away knocking the poor lady so hard that she fell flat on her back sending her legs flying right up in the air.

He then slipped and fell right on his face in the wet grass and mud. He got on all fours and ran towards me like a dog; followed by the young lady doing the same.

They stood up beside me cleaning themselves from the wet mud which covered them from head to toes.

“They’re wasps all right!” he said with authority, as he looked at the poor creatures buzzing around their destroyed nest.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Oh … I’ll spray some powder to stop them returning to the nest!” he replied.

He got some powder which he sprayed like a white cloud everywhere; no doubt including his lungs.

I paid him, somewhat reluctantly I must admit, and they left never to be seen again.

As for the wasps; I suppose they built a new nest somewhere else.

Sunday, 15 July 2012

Dandelions nettles and daisies


Three years ago I had reason to visit an allotment.

What is that? I hear some of you ask.

It’s a system peculiar to Great Britain whereby the Local Government Authorities (Local Councils) rent a small piece of land to anyone on which to grow their own fruits and vegetables.

The piece of land is called an “allotment” and these are usually situated in the middle of towns and cities all over the UK. The land has been earmarked for such use and (hopefully) will never be built upon.

The practice, I understand, started in the Second World War when food was scarce and to encourage people to “dig for Britain” and grow their own food.

Anyway … at this allotment I met an old man whom I’ve never met before. I don’t know why, but usually complete strangers feel at ease to talk to me and tell me their life stories. So I listened.

He said he’d had that allotment for about ten years or so. His piece of land was about 20 metres by 10 metres or so. On it he had gooseberries, black currants, red currants, rhubarb, a small vine, a fig tree, spinach, cabbage, parsnips, runner beans, marrows, courgettes, and a variety of herbs and other vegetables too numerous to remember.

He complained that since he injured his hand in an accident cutting the tendons he found it difficult to grip and uproot the weeds in his allotment. But his children and grand-children helped him toil the land.

In conversation he let slip that he was 82 years old.

I silently prayed for him and wished I was as fit as him if I ever were to be his age.

He then added: Never, ever give up. No matter how hard it is, how difficult it is, or how tired you are: don’t give up. If you do give up, the weeds will soon take over your allotment and all your hard work will go to waste. And you have to start all over again.

I left him with those words ringing in my ears. A complete stranger with a message which can be adapted to our Christian walk.

Never, ever give up. Or the weeds (sin) will soon take over your life and all your hard work will go to waste.

That night I said a prayer for that old gentleman with a salutary message.

A few days later it was another beautiful, warm and sunny day. I spent sometime in the garden pruning the bushes.

Half an hour after I started a friend came to visit. I must explain that I’ve left a corner of the garden to grow freely. My friend looked at it and said: “these are all weeds … they must come out …”

I pointed at the little yellow and blue flowers and said they looked pretty; and they attracted butterflies and other insects.

My friend said: “They’re weeds. You’ve dandelions there, and nettles and …” naming a variety of plants I hadn’t even heard of.

What is a weed I thought, isn’t it a plant that you don’t want? There are people who make nettle tea – you can buy it at the health shop. I suppose to them a nettle is not a weed but a livelihood. I also read somewhere that dandelions are used in medicine.

Then I thought … I hope God is more selective when He comes to judge us and to choose whom from His creations are worthy to enter Heaven.

Will He say disparagingly: “You’re a weed” – or will He welcome us in His Kingdom?

Saturday, 14 July 2012

GPS Lady


There I was driving on the highway and listening … no, obeying, every word that the GPS Satellite Navigation System lady is telling me.

Turn left, go right, keep straight ahead … and so on.

To be honest, she was doing pretty good and was not reading the map upside down as happens when I have a certain person next to me guiding the way. Not once did the GPS lady say “you should have taken the left turn we just passed” half a mile after we passed it. And she never told me to watch out for that cyclist, and I’m too near the parked cars, or that I was going too fast in a built-up area.

I was very impressed with the soft spoken GPS lady, especially since she never shouted that I don’t listen and where did I ever learn to drive.

But she did something very strange.

She suddenly said, “I’m going for a comfort break”.

“Hein?” I thought.

Then there was a lot of chatting in the background. A number of female voices talking about all sort of things. They talked about knitting patterns and the price of wool, then they talked about cooking and the best way to make pizza dough, and after that they started gossiping about various TV programs and celebrities.

It was obvious that the GPS lady had abandoned me and left her microphone on; and I was listening to her colleagues chatting amongst themselves in between calls and giving directions to their vehicle drivers.

I continued driving since you’re not allowed to stop on the highway and I prayed and hoped as every mile went by that she’d soon return from her comfort break and direct me to my destination.

I slowed down a little to give her time to get ready, wash her hands, that sort of thing, and return to me.

As the miles went by on my dashboard meter there was no sign of my GPS lady and plenty of signs of my nervous tension reaching new heights.

Then I saw that the highway was splitting into two some miles ahead. I read the notices above the highway saying that to the left you go somewhere or other, and to the right you go somewhere or other totally different.

But which way is my way? I knew where I wanted to reach my destination but did not know how to get there. If I took either of the two roads ahead I could well end up miles from where I wanted to go. I had a pressing meeting to attend and I could not afford to get there late.

I decided to get off the highway and stop at the safest place possible. I got out of the car and searched for an old map book I knew I had. If modern technology gave up on me I’ll get back to the old and tested technology.

A few minutes later a police car drew up and stopped behind me. Two huge policemen in high visibility jackets came out and approached me.

“What seems to be the problem Sir?” asked one of them, “has your car broken down?”

“No … the car’s OK,” I replied hesitantly, “It’s my GPS lady …”

“GPS lady? You mean the announcer on your system. What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s gone for a comfort break!”

“What?” asked the incredulous policeman.

“The GPS lady directing me to my destination said she needed the toilet about half an hour ago and she hasn’t come back!”

Try as I might I could not convince the two policemen what had happened. They suspected I’d been drinking and asked that I take a breathalyzer test there and then to check the level of alcohol in my system, followed by urine and blood tests at the police station.

I protested and they threatened to arrest me. I took the breathalyzer test which of course was negative. I was as sober as a judge who’d lost his GPS lady.

Then it occurred to me to tell them that she left her microphone open and I could hear her colleagues chatting about cooking and knitting.

They approached the vehicle and opened the door. Mercifully, her colleagues were still chatting away. This time they were talking about ballroom dancing.

“Sir,” said the second policeman in a stern face which he could hardly keep straight, “this is Women’s World on the radio. You must have inadvertently turned off the GPS system!”

They let me off with a warning to be more careful, and went away to write their report.

My GPS lady guided me to my destination, albeit somewhat late.



Friday, 13 July 2012

Bad things happen to me again

Why do bad things keep happening to me?

I bought one of those electronic measuring tape type machines. It's a small box which you place near the wall and it sends an invisible beam to the opposite wall which somehow measures the distance; and then you can read the distance between the two walls on the little display screen.

Marvellous.

I measured one of our rooms so that we can fit a new carpet.

I discovered the room is three kilometres long and four centimetres wide. Now the shop tells me they don't do carpets in those measurements. Wrong colors too!

Day Dream


I was day dreaming the other day and I wondered; what if I came face to face with a genie? You know, the one out of a bottle or an old oil lamp. And what if he gave me one wish.

Just one wish. What would it be?

Happiness for myself and my family? Riches? Good health? That’s three wishes for a start; and I only have one wish to make.

As I sobered up and considered this carefully I thought I’d ask the genie to end all suffering in the world.

Now wouldn’t that be wonderful? No more suffering from hunger and poverty. No more suffering from illness and old age. No more suffering from violence and bullying. No more suffering of any kind anywhere in the world.

I wonder what that would be like.

Then I thought about suffering. It comes our way from time to time and stays with us for varying periods, sometimes for ever, and hurts us to varying degrees.

Why, and what should we do about it?

I believe that God allows suffering to come our way for reasons best known to Himself.

But I also believe that He takes no great delight in seeing us suffer. It isn’t for Him a means by which He somehow “purifies” us from our sins, or an essential condition which we should accept gladly as a badge of honour, or some sort of sacrifice to repay Him for what He has done for us.

Let’s face it; there is NOTHING we can do which will ever repay what God did for us. And He does not, and never has, asked for repayment by means of suffering and donning sackcloth and ashes.

In fact the New Testament is full of evidence that God is against our suffering.

Christ acted against suffering when He saw the sick and the poor, the blind, the deaf, the dumb and the lame, as well as those possessed by the devil. On every occasion He stopped suffering by healing those brought to Him. Even when suffering was the result of death itself, as for instance when His friend Lazarus died and his family were distraught; Christ acted against the suffering of death and raised Lazarus once again.

I suppose it can be said that Jesus took upon Him all the suffering of the world when He hung dying on the Cross.

And even today, Christ is fighting against suffering. For He is alive and with us now as He was after the Resurrection.

His Holy Spirit fights against suffering through the hands of many who can heal through prayers and the miracles performed in His name. His Holy Spirit is at work fighting suffering through the miracles in Lourdes and elsewhere. His Holy Spirit is fighting suffering through the miracles and intercessions of the Saints. And His Holy Spirit is fighting suffering through us; yes … you and me.

When suffering befalls us God does not want us to accept it as a sacrifice and suffer in silence. To do so is tantamount to saying that He wills it and delights in it and we should accept it.

God does not ask the sick man to suffer in joy and not seek any medical advice, not to pray for healing and to do nothing about it; anymore than He asks anyone to accept suffering willingly and do nothing about it.

Only Christ accepted suffering willingly and He did so for a Divine purpose to redeem us all from our sins.

That God wills our suffering is in no doubt. But I repeat, He does not delight in it and He does not wish us just to accept it without any attempt to confront it and fight it. He would wish us to act against the evil of suffering just as Christ did when He walked this earth.

Through prayers we act and seek help for the ending or easing of our suffering. Through the intercession of the Saints, the Archangel Rafael known as The Healer, or through the help of those blessed with the power of healing. We can and should act to ease or end our suffering whatever it may be.

Like the woman who dared to touch Christ’s garment we too should dare to ask for His help; rather than accept suffering as if it were our duty to just grin and bear it.

To suffer in silence and do nothing about it is a great disservice to the Lord as it portrays a certain lack of Faith in Him and His love and mercy.

Many people struggle under suffering for years and then miraculously they are healed. Miraculously whatever their reason for their suffering, whether ill health or something else, their suffering is eased or ended.

On every occasion those people have done something in great Faith to end their situation and condition. They may have visited a Faith healer, they may have visited a shrine like Lourdes, they may have asked a Saint’s or Archangel’s help. But they did something, rather than accept their suffering and not confront it.

Just like the woman who touched Christ’s cloak. They dared to believe that God is but a prayer away and He wills the end of their suffering.

And we too, you and me, can perform our little miracles and end suffering when we see it in others.

When we see Lazarus starving at our doorstep, when we see the old neighbour needing help with the shopping or the housekeeping, when we see our colleague at work struggling under the bullying of an oppressive boss … we too can reach out our hand and help in some way to ease and end that suffering.

Maybe that is why God allows suffering to happen in the world. Not for us to accept it and suffer in silence. But to give an opportunity to others who see our conditions to help in any way they can to end or ease our suffering.

When I think about it, we don’t need a genie to end the suffering of the world. We have the power of that genie within us. We just don’t want to use it.

And that makes God sad.

Thursday, 12 July 2012

The Deal

There are times that whatever Father Ignatius says or advises is sure to be misinterpreted or misunderstood. Yet, his duty as a priest and guide to his flock is to teach them, as best he can, about God our Creator and His unrelenting love for us.

One day he entered the church from the Sacristy and saw an elderly lady kneeling in the middle aisle right at the back of the church. He said nothing and proceeded to the Altar where he took away the candlesticks back to the Sacristy for Mrs Davenport to clean.

A few moments later he re-entered the church to find the same old lady still on her knees but a few paces further forward towards the Altar. He approached her gently. He hadn’t seen her before in church.

“Welcome to our church” he said in his soothing kind voice, “you’re new here … I haven’t seen you visiting us before …”

“I can’t get up Father …” she said looking up at him from her kneeling position.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, “Do you wish me to help you up?

“Oh no Father … I’m able to get up … but I can’t … I don’t want to upset God.”

“I’m sure God will not be upset if you have a rest for a while …” said Father Ignatius comforting her, “here … sit down for a while … and tell me all about it.”

He held out his hand and the elderly lady got up with some difficulty and sat down on the nearest pew. He sat down beside her and asked, “Why did you think God would be upset?”

“Well Father …” she hesitated, “my son is fifty years old, and he’s just lost his job … he has a wife and three children to look after … he won’t find another job at his age … not in the current situation. So I said to God that I’d pray the whole Rosary on my knees … walking one step at a time … from the back of the church to His altar. Then I’d do the Stations of the Cross on my knees … so that He would help my son get a job.”

Father Ignatius was touched by the love of this elderly mother for her son. He smiled gently and said “It’s good of you to pray for your son … it shows how much you love him and his family …

“But God does not want you to walk all around the church on your knees.”

“I’d do anything Father …” she said, “tell me what to do … and I’ll do it no matter how much it hurts me …”

“God does not want you to be hurt …” replied the priest gently, “God loves us and He listens to our prayers as long as they’re honest and come from the heart …

“He does not want us to beg like dogs … He does not want to humiliate us and make us lose our dignity …"

He stopped for a while and then continued.

“Humiliation and loss of dignity is the work of humans. See how we humiliated Jesus when we stripped Him of His clothes, we spat on Him, beat Him and mocked Him; and eventually killed Him most cruelly by nailing Him to the Cross.

“The Stations of the Cross are a reminder of how we humiliated Him and took His dignity away. And we still do so today when we hurt and hate one another instead of loving each other as He commanded.

“God does not want you to walk around in pain on your knees … He listens to your prayers no matter how or where they are said. Even sitting at home just say to Him in your own words how you care for your son and his family … ask God to help them. I’m sure He’ll listen and … in His own way and time … He will respond.”

“But I promised to do the Stations of the Cross on my knees …” she protested.

“Hey … trust me …I’m a priest …” Father Ignatius said with a smile, “I’ll pray to God for you and your family … Believe me, you don’t need to go down walking on your knees. Just sit here for a while and say a little prayer.”

“I’ll do that Father …” she said as the priest got up to go back to the Sacristy, “although I might stay on my knees for fifteen minutes to show God I’m willing …”

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Sins and Consequences


Father Ignatius often attended the questions and answers sessions organized by one of the parishioners to encourage members of the congregation to learn more about their Faith.

At one of these sessions the conversation turned to sin and the consequences of sin.

Father Ignatius explained:

“Jesus recognized our sinful nature when the Pharisees brought to Him a woman caught in adultery. Of course, she had sinned. But what Jesus had to say about the situation was more significant than the sin she had committed.

"Jesus knew full well that according to the law of the time she had to be stoned to death. The law is the law and who is He to disobey it and encourage others to do so?

"Jesus was of course no stranger to challenges like these from His enemies. They wanted an opportunity to trap Him into disobeying the law and a reason to arrest Him. On a different occasion He was challenged into healing a sick man on the Sabbath and disobey the law. But Jesus saw beyond the law. His love and compassion for the man was reason enough to heal him there and then, even if it meant disobeying the law. Jesus asked whether any of them would leave their wounded animal to suffer on the Sabbath because the law did not allow them to work.
 
"Christ's enemies lived by the law written by their ancestors. An un-bendable un-shakeable law to be obeyed at all costs.

"But He believed in love, compassion and mercy. He was love. He came into this world because of love to redeem us and reconcile us with God our loving Creator.

"No doubt, seeing this sinful woman at His feet, Jesus remembered His mother who years previously would have been accused of a similar sin. Here was a young woman, un-married and pregnant and deserving punishment from society. What is worse, she claims that her pregnancy is Divine and she is carrying the Son of God. Blasphemy at the very least and deserving punishment according to the law.

"The law is the law ..." repeated Father Ignatius.

Then he continued in his gentle voice.

"So what is Jesus to do? Did He pick up a stone to obey the law?
 
"He challenged her accusers to throw the first stone if they had not sinned themselves in one way or another.

“In doing so, He pointed the finger at us to remind us that we too are sinners, in need of confession, forgiveness and redemption from our sins. There’s a veiled hint there of what He will go through for us. His arrest, false trial, torture and Crucifixion just to redeem our sins. All done because of love for us ... not love for the law.

“And when all the accusers left the scene, Christ forgave the woman and told her to sin no more.

“Sadly, in this world, forgiveness is rarely given without a price to pay. There’s often the demand for a punishment, retribution and revenge."And there's also the hidden price of sin. For every sin there is a victim who suffers the consequences."

Father Ignatius stopped again to allow his words to sink in.

“Christ never said that sin does not have any consequences. Whilst we may seek and obtain God's forgiveness the consequences of our sins are very real for others to bear and suffer.”

At this point someone asked why when someone sins God allows others to suffer the consequences; for instance when infidelity results in divorce and suffering for the innocent spouse and children. Surely consequences should befall the sinner not other victims.

The priest cleaned his glasses from imaginary dirt; a trick which he had perfected to gain him more thinking time.

“I’m not going to second-guess God and His reasonings,” he replied. “As I said just now, most often our sins have consequences not only to us but also onto others. Perhaps we should bear that in mind when we decide to sin.

“A few years ago a young lady came to see me with a problem. About a year after marrying another Catholic she discovered that he had been married before and had been divorced. He had kept that secret from her.

“She quite rightly felt totally betrayed and could no longer live with him. Yet at the same time she knew that Christ taught against divorce; and said that anyone who divorces and marries again commits adultery.

“In any case, she felt that by forgiving her husband, if that were at all possible, and remaining with him, she would be guilty of helping him commit adultery against his previous wife.

“What was she to do? She could hardly be expected to remain married to him. A catch-22 if ever there was one.

"And let us not forget the law ..." smiled Father Ignatius.

"The law is the law ..." he continued, "the law is clear about divorce and adultery. The Church is very clear about that!"

“Gosh,” said a parishioner, “what did you do?”

“Well, I passed the problem to the boss” chuckled Father Ignatius.

“Two bosses actually. First I asked God to help in prayer.

"Then I discussed the matter with the bishop. Eventually, after a lot of consideration on the part of the Church, we allowed an annulment of the marriage. We saw our way around the law ... annulments are a means for the Church to deal with very real human situations.”

“So, you ignored Christ’s teaching and divorced them all the same,” challenged a questioner.

“I can see what you’re saying; but we priests are humans just like you, and there are times when we have to consider the realities of life and try to resolve a dilemma as best we can.

"Not unlike Solomon, we are often called upon to walk a very thin line between the teachings of God's law and Church law and the very human situations you bring to us to help resolve.

“The wages of sin may well be death; but they’re also a cause of major headache to us priests everywhere, as well as having serious consequences to the innocent victims left in sin's wake! So think on before you sin.” concluded Father Ignatius with a laugh.

Monday, 9 July 2012

You’re feeling sleepy


Sometimes in life one gets drawn into situation out of which it becomes very difficult to extricate oneself.

Now there’s a sentence in perfect grammatical English which took me half-an-hour to compose. I’m so proud of it I feel like re-writing it again; but I’ll let you re-read it instead and applaud.

Anyway … let’s get on with this story before I forget it.

A few friends and I went to the theatre the other day. It was one of those variety shows where you have dancing girls in skimpy costumes, a comedian or two, a juggler perhaps, a magician or hypnotist, and of course a big name singer to round off the evening.

The singer was the world famous tenor Ivor Loudvoice singing Nessun Dorma from Turandot. At one point he sang a duet with a lesser known female opera singer called Lucy Biglungs.

But I digress once again as is my want.

So let me tell you straightaway that I don’t agree with hypnotism. It’s something I’ve always been suspicious of, and although I accept it has been used medically to some effect; I don’t consider it a matter for entertainment.

I have never been hypnotized myself because I doubt there’s a microscope powerful enough to detect any brain waves of mine; and in any case, if the hypnotist were to dangle a watch on a chain in front of my eyes, the chances are I’d put on my reading glasses and tell him the time every ten seconds. Now that would irritate him no end!

OK … back to the story once again and this time with no interruptions. Concentrate and don’t fall asleep on me.

The hypnotist got on the stage and called for three volunteers. Unsurprisingly there was no shortage of hands that went up. He chose three people supposedly at random. Why do they always choose more women than men? He picked two women and a man; all in their late twenties or early thirties.

He sat them down on three chairs side by side and asked a few questions to introduce them to the audience and to make them feel comfortable and at ease.

Then he started his hypnotic instructions. Without swinging a watch on a chain or anything like that, he just said;

“When I clap my hands you will all turn into a block of cheese! You’ll be an English piece of Stilton,” he said to the man, “and you’ll be a French Camembert, and you an Italian Gorgonzola,” he informed the two women.

“You will wake up when I say ‘Smile please and say cheese!’ and you’ll remember nothing!” he ended his instructions

He tapped his hands and the three of them went to sleep sitting on the chairs. For some reason the audience applauded. I couldn’t see why since they looked like three sleeping people side by side and not like lumps of cheese I buy from the supermarket.

He then moved off stage and came back holding a small mouse in his hands. The audience laughed. He moved close to the three sleeping beauties and told them that he had a mouse loose on the stage.

All three suddenly jumped on the chairs. The man started shouting in a posh English accent “Begone you bounder! This is an indomitable disgrace … what?”
    
The two women held their skirts up and one shouted in unintelligible Italian whilst the other one kept repeating “Oh zut alors … sapristi!” Possibly the only words she’d ever memorized in French.

The audience thought it was all very funny and laughed themselves silly. I felt rather sorry for the three poor people and to be honest, I wondered whether this was all for real or whether they were accomplices and were acting with the so-called hypnotist.

But the next thing that happened tickled my sense of humor, and perhaps convinced me of the reality of what I was seeing.

Somehow, as the hypnotist was walking backwards and forwards in front of the three chairs the mouse fell from his hand and ran towards the edge of the stage and down where the audience is sitting.

The hypnotist ran after it and slipped falling on his back and banging his head so hard that he was out like a light.

The audience up front got up from their seats and started screaming. Most stood on their chairs and started imitating the three sleeping beauties; but they did it in English. Then those in the second row also started screaming on top of their seats; followed by others in the third row. It was as if people suddenly noticed or imagined seeing the mouse, and as one person stood on her seat others followed suit.

The sight of all those women standing on seats and lifting their long flowing evening dresses was quite amusing as they instructed their men partners not to be wimps and to do something about it.

The comedian host of the show came on stage and tried to calm everyone down; which he eventually did by announcing that the mouse had been captured.

He then tried to wake up the three hypnotized people by saying “It’s OK … it’s over now … stop talking and get off your chairs … wake up!” But it was to no avail as the three of them had been brain-washed to only follow the hypnotist’s instructions.

He of course was still lying flat on the ground being revived with cold water, smelling salts and what have you!

The whole audience remained silent as they watched this whole scenario unfold, although, for some reason, I was the only one laughing silently under my breath at the sudden turn of events.

Eventually the ventriloquist and voice impersonator who had just performed about half-an-hour previously came on stage and in his best accent imitated the hypnotist’s voice by saying “Smile please and say cheese!”

This was enough to fool the three volunteers into believing this was the hypnotist talking. They woke up from their trance, stepped down from their chairs and re-joined the audience, having no recollection of what had just happened.

The hypnotist was carried away on a stretcher. He showed signs of waking up as he left the stage. I bet he too will not remember a thing of what happened!
 

Saturday, 7 July 2012

The Fear of God


Father Ignatius waited until the congregation sat down and then he started his sermon.

“We often read in the Bible about people fearing God, and the fear of God. And that’s an issue which I would like to address today.

“What is meant by the fear of God?

“Do we fear that unless we obey Him and do as He commands He’ll send thunder and lightning from heaven and destroy us and our cities? Like in Sodom and Gomorrah?

“Or perhaps He would allow illness and terrible things to happen to us because we failed Him in some way or other?”

The priest stopped for a few seconds to gauge the mood of the congregation; and then continued.

“There are, of course, many kinds of fear. If a tiger were to suddenly enter this church we would all fear for our lives and we’d run out from every available exit. Most of us would even forget to genuflect as we rushed out of the building.”

The congregation laughed.

“But that is not the fear I speak of …

“If we believe that our God is a loving, caring fatherly God, whose only wish is that some day we all join Him in Heaven; then what is there to fear?

“Our fear is not, and should not be, a fear borne of the possibility of punishment and retribution. A fear that, unless we do as He says, we’ll end up in hell and eternal damnation.

“That is not the fear that God wishes for us. After all, He gave us the choice to love Him or not.

“Sadly, many do not either love Him or fear Him. And they seem to be thriving all right! He has not punished them or turned them into pillars of salt! In His loving nature, He has allowed them the luxury to choose as they wish.

“So … what fear is there for us then, who proclaim to believe in Him and to love Him?

“It is the fear of hurting Him.

“I repeat … the fear of hurting Him. Just as when we have a loving father or mother who do the utmost for us; and they set their standards and values to teach us how to grow up as decent, kind human beings. We, their children, follow their rules, through gritted teeth perhaps, just because we love them and do not want to hurt them.

“That’s the kind of fear we owe our God, our Creator and our loving Father in Heaven. The fear of hurting Him. The fear of disappointing Him by our behavior. A fear borne out of respect for Him; a fear nurtured by true love given to Him freely just as He has loved us.

“Not a fear of what He might do to us. But a fear of hurting someone who loves us.

“Remember … even the devil fears God. But he fears Him in a different way. He fears Him because he knows Him very well. The devil certainly knows God better than any of us does; because he has met Him face to face.

“And yet, having been close to God and experienced His love, the devil chose to disobey and strike out independently on his own. He thought he could do better than love and follow his Creator.

“And God’s loving nature let him go. He did not punish him and destroy him once and for all. He just allowed him to walk away free out of Paradise.

“It is that very act of rebellion by the devil which resulted in death for all of us. We were not destined to die, but to share Paradise for eternity with God. But the devil in his destructive, impudent rebellious nature has upset what was meant to be and his sin resulted in us undergoing death.

“God our Creator favors life. He created life.  In order to redeem us and save us from death, He loved us so much that He sent us His only Son, Jesus, so that we may have life, and have it to the full.

“All we have to do to receive this eternal life is to accept Jesus as God’s only Son, our Savior, and to fear the possibility of ever hurting Him again by our behavior.

“God will never send us to hell. It is we who choose to go there by our way of life; and by choosing the devil instead.”

Thursday, 5 July 2012

At the doctor’s


I went to see the doctor today. He was checking whether my sense of humour was still intact.

Ours is a big medical practice with several doctors and nurses. It has a large waiting room with a speaker system which plays soft music and every so often it calls patients to their appointed doctor.

“Would Mr Herbert Pixon please go to Dr Smythe’s room please?” said the speaker as a weedy tall middle-aged man got up and left the waiting room.

Now Dr Smythe may well be the best doctor in the world, but he is certainly not that good at technical matters; because he inadvertently left the microphone open in his room, and this is what we all heard.

“Do sit down Mr Pixon. What seems to be the problem?”

A lady in the waiting room suddenly got up to advise the receptionist that the mike was switched on.

“It is rather very embarrassing!” interrupted Mr Pixon.

The lady sat down again to the relief of everyone in the waiting room.

“There’s no need for embarrassment,” soothed the doctor, “we’re here to help and I’m sure whatever is the matter, we’ve dealt with it before.”

 “Well … I’ve met this young lady …” Pixon hesitated.
An elderly lady in the waiting room reading her book suddenly took off her spectacles and started listening with the rest of us.

“I met her on an Internet website …” continued the hapless man, “she came to my apartment yesterday evening … for a romantic encounter …”

A man in the waiting room started tapping his hearing-aid violently to make sure it works all right.

“I understand,” said the doctor, “you want to discuss precautions …”

“Well … not just that,” muttered Pixon, “it’s that something actually happened … I feel awful about it!”

At this point the receptionist entered the waiting room. Everyone pretended they were reading a book or newspaper and not paying attention to the loudspeaker on the wall. She looked at us suspiciously for a moment or two, and then she stood on a chair and increased the volume on the speaker, and sat down with us to listen.

“The young lady arrived at 7:35 …” said Pixon, “this put me off a little because she was five minutes late.

“I took off her coat and she was wearing a nice pink blouse and a short blue skirt.

“I offered her a cup of nettles tea. She took one sip and said she didn’t like it. I offered her dandelion tea and she turned it down too. She wanted a gin and tonic but I didn’t have any tonic. And I didn’t have any gin either …”

“I understand,” interrupted the doctor gently, “what exactly happened which made you come to see me?”

“I’m getting to that …” answered Pixon, “we sat down for something to eat. We had tofu and nettles salad for starters, and quinoa with broad beans for our main. She didn’t like either and asked for some meat; but I didn’t have any. She just nibbled at a multi-grain bread roll.

“I got up to put some romantic music on. Insect sounds of the forest. Have you got that record?”

“Mr Pixon, please get to the point,” suggested the doctor, “I have other patients to see …”

“Don’t rush me!” said an upset Pixon, “you’re like my mother. She always says Herbert get to the point.

“Well the point is that when I put the music on, the young lady started running her finger through my quinoa. She had her own plate full, but she ran her finger provocatively in an enticing and beguiling manner through my quinoa moving it around in circles all over the plate. I had difficulty eating from around her fingers because I did not wish to stab her accidentally with my fork.

“Wherever I ate, she followed my fork with her finger.

“I didn’t know what to say … I asked her ‘Would you like some of my quinoa?’ and she said rather abruptly ‘No … I’ve dropped my contact lens in your plate!”

The whole waiting room chuckled and then realized that this was not appropriate in case they missed part of the conversation.

The doctor encouraged Pixon once again, rather sternly but politely, to get to the point.

“After the meal I showed her my organ pedal collection,” continued Herbert whilst the waiting room filled up with more patients and nurses.

“I don’t actually play the organ, but I collect the pedals from old ones which have been decommissioned. I have some that date back to Napoleonic times. And some from the reign of Queen Victoria, King George, and even as far back as Henry the Eighth. And of course there are pedals from modern electronic organs too …

“I brought all the pedals which I keep in separate boxes, all properly labeled. Both the boxes as well as the pedals so that each pedal goes back in its proper box. I write carefully in my best hand-writing which organ the pedal appertained to, the date of manufacture of the organ, as well as the date of decommissioning, the price I paid for the pedal when I acquired it, although mostly I got them for free, and the date and place of such acquirement.

“I have six hundred and seventy two pedals. Some are wooden and some are brass or other metallic substance such as cast iron or steel.

“I took each pedal out of the box carefully and explained their history to the young lady.

“I had reached number two hundred and ten when it happened … the embarrassing thing I came to see you about doctor … I noticed the young lady had fallen asleep. She had her face in her plate full of quinoa and she was snoring loudly.

“Doctor … are you OK? Doctor … why is your head down on the desk? Are you feeling a little tired? Have you not been listening to me?” 


Tuesday, 3 July 2012

A B Duck Ted!!!



I often write about humorous situations which happened to me which I suspect amuse you no end at my expense.

This time however it is different. This is a very serious and true story.

I was yesterday evening abducted by aliens. It happened just like in all the stories you hear and read about alien abductions. Usually you don’t believe such stories and you suspect they’re all made up. Well. For me reality actually happened. I saw a UFO and I was abducted by its occupants.

I can imagine a few of you sniggering already, but I wish you wouldn’t, because I have not quite recovered from this horrendous and frightening experience.

I was out in our garden at about midnight, having finished viewing a movie on TV, and I was there counting the stars as I usually do whilst the dog does his last business for the night. That’s if it’s not raining of course. It’s difficult counting the stars when it’s raining because water gets in your eyes.

I had counted up to 976 when suddenly; out of nowhere, there was this huge cigar shaped thing up in the sky, about 30 or so feet above me.

It was glowing red at first, then an orangey color, then it turned green, and then after a while it turned red again. It took me a while before I realized it was the reflection of the traffic lights nearby.

The actual cigar shape was darkish gray and obviously made of shiny metallic material of some kind. It made no noise or humming sound or anything like that. It just stayed still some 30 feet above me.

The dog didn’t seem to have seen it and continued sniffing around as he often does.

Then a little white aperture appeared on the underside of the cigar; like some door opening. Then a light from the aperture shone on me, like the spotlight you get in the theatre when it shines on a performer on stage. I was very frightened and I must have cried a little because tears ran down my legs.

Loud music started playing all around me. It was Elvis Presley singing “You’re nothing but a hound dog!”

I felt myself rise up from the ground, as if I was being lifted gently by my whole body. Not like having a belt tied to your waist or a harness on your chest and shoulders; there seemed no upward lifting pressure on my body whatsoever. I was just floating gently upwards to the beat of rock music.

It lasted a few seconds and then I was inside this large room with bright lights everywhere. Just like you see in space movies.

Dark shadows hovered around me and spoke in squeaking high pitched sounds, like mice I suppose.

I was led gently towards a large bed by two humanoid shapes. They must have been females because they looked like wearing earrings and red lipstick and well developed chests.

I moved along, almost gliding, with them and next thing I was tied by these big metal clamps to the bed. Clamps round my arms, wrists, legs, waist, chest and neck. I could not move and a bright light shone above me. Exactly like it happens in abduction stories.

I heard a voice speak in English. “Ah … we’re having duck à l’orange for dinner I see!” 

Then another voice said “No point in changing him into a duck! He’s a poor specimen anyway, no fat whatsoever, all stringy and wiry and tough as the sole of my shoe!”

“Shall we analyze him all the same?” said another voice, “see what we can learn!”

I felt as if a million eyes were watching every bit of me.

Then they started laughing in unison. I can’t imagine why.

The next thing that happened was truly horrible and really humiliating.

One of the aliens stripped off my cowboy hat with feather. They replaced it with a metallic helmet with lights going on and off and a lot of wires and tubes attached to it.

“Let’s test for signs of intelligence” said a voice which sounded knowledgeable and authoritative.

The process took a second or two and then the lights above me went out and the clamps set me free.

Everyone left what must have been an operating theater or lab and I was alone with just one individual.

He said, “Hello, I’m Ted, the Captain of this space ship. We have just studied you and analyzed every biological, physical, mental, emotional, psychological and every other possible detail about you.

“Now would you like a tour of the place?”

I couldn’t refuse such a generous and friendly offer after being invaded so thoroughly.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, showing me into his quarters, “my little kitchenette is over there in case I get a little hungry or I’m entertaining privately. My bathroom with power shower is over there. And this is where I sit and relax reading the works of Shakespeare. We all have similar accommodation.”

He then showed me round the whole spaceship and he introduced me to his crew as we had a pint or two with hamburgers and potato chips in their onboard authentic pub and restaurant.

He then suggested we take some souvenir photos together with him and the crew.

“You’ll be able to show these to your leaders,” he said. “You humans never believe that we exist unless you have well developed photos to prove it. Well this time you’ll have all the proof you need.”

We said our goodbyes and the next thing I was in my garden and the cigar shape had disappeared.

I rushed to the authorities and told them what happened. They did not believe me.

I pulled out the photos out of my pocket. Those clever aliens had magically turned them into square pieces of toilet paper.

I have a sneaking suspicion that you don’t believe me either!