Another year, another school harvest festival in the local church. There's just one difference. We've managed to lose the vicar.
In my quaint old-fashioned or possibly just pig ignorant way, I'd always assumed that a vicar was central to a happy and harmonious communication with God. But apparently not.
"So where's he gone?" I ask the deputy head. "Is it down to my piano playing? He never was keen on the way I transposed 'We plough the fields and scatter," into C major and removed all the other chords."
She sighs, slightly.
"He's retired. Apparently, a nice little cottage by the seaside came up and he felt he had to grab it now or the chance might never come again."
Obviously he wasn't given to premonitions. If so, assorted financial events since then would have allowed him to get his hands on any number of nice little repossessed seaside cottages, assuming he didn't require a nice little mortgage to go with it.
"So who's going to take the service?" I ask.
"I am."
"You?" I say. "Excuse me, bishop, but I had no idea."
"I'm just going to announce the songs and do some kind of story," she says.
"If I play specially well, would you consider blessing the piano?"
"Play all the songs in the key they were written in and I'll get it fast-tracked as the next Archbishop of Canterbury."
"Do that and I'll crochet you a dog collar," I say. "And things are looking up. At least it's you taking the service and not -"
"Not who?" says an icy voice from behind me. Naturally it's Sasha.
"Not me," I say, with quite astonishing presence of mind. "I know God moves in mysterious ways, but even he's unlikely to choose a part Jewish atheist as the Sat Nav approved quickest route to Jesus ."
"Quite," says Sasha. "I'm sure it will be a great success."
She stalks off.
"Mind you," I say to the deputy head, watching her retreating back. "If she goes anywhere near a church I'd have thought they'd have to do some sort of superstrength exorcism afterwards. That's assuming that she doesn't turn to smoke when she looks at the cross."
"I'm packing a clove or two of garlic," says the deputy head. "Apperently there's a very nice smoked variety you can buy these days. Once you've ousted the vampire, it adds a really subtle quality to casserole dishes."
"Now that's what I call credit crunch thinking," I say admiringly and go off to put on some suitably stirring music while the school files in for assembly.
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2 comments:
So you're still not done with Sasha. I thought maybe you had found another way of earning your hard come by salary, but here you are, still pounding on that old piano under the deathly gaze of Sasha the Gestapo dog. I feel for you, woman, I didn't think you would last another year.
Would I let Sasha go that easily? That woman is my ticket to a sitcom, film or a life sentence in jail for murder using piano. Not sure which just yet.
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