I had to abandon Mass after 15 minutes.
There were Baptisms going on, screaming kids galore.
It amuses me how the regular non attendees give themselves away.
They are the people in suits and their ‘Sunday Best’.
The regular attendees have on whatever was to hand and clean.
It was all too much for me and I had to get out.
The regular ‘Mass Mental’ added another string to his bow of burning bonkers.
Hitting himself in the head really fast then spitting on the floor.
His nose picking has taken on a ‘Cowboy’ flourish.
Make your forefinger and thumb into a gun, like when you were a kid.
Place the tips of both ‘barrels’ up each nostril, now fire like you were in the shoot out at the Ok Corral.
Returning to nostrils to reload.
When my rocking synched with his, I knew it was time to go.
This! could only happen to Mad Matt.
Mr and Mrs Crisp-e dropped him at the station at 9.20pm last night.
This is the text I received from him at 11.56pm, dyslexia and all.
“Fucking disaster! Train delayd buses runing late got stuck in a faulty caredge and stranded at bersaldon! Next train 6am. 118 think weding chofers r a taxi ferm. And its very cold. Thanks for lovely eve and tunes. Hope 2 see u very soon x.”
As any good friend would do, I immediately forwarded the text to Crisp-e so we could laugh our arses off at his expense.
It started with me calling him the High Priest of Hapless, the list progressed like this:
The Clergyman of Chaos
The Druid of Disaster
The Rabbi of Recklessness
The Friar of Fuck Ups
The Shamen of Shambles
The Monsignor of Misrule
The Pontiff of Pandemonium
The Lama of Lawlessness
The Minister of Mayhem
The Buddha of Bedlam
A Samaritan, fit enough to drive, was dispatched to rescue him.
I saw a programme today that mentioned The Passing Bell.
This is tolled at the instant of a person’s death to invite their neighbours to pray for the safe passing of the soul.
The single tolling bell was also thought to frighten away the devil and his minions.
The Puritans got rid of ‘The Soul Bell’ by an act of Parliament claiming it was ‘a popish practise to be stamped out’.
Catholic churches in England still aren’t allowed to ring bells.
It gradually worked its way back in.
I can’t remember the last time I heard church bells in the city.
Every Sunday when I’m in Wiltshire I hear them.
It seems to be confined to villages these days.
Just as well really, as the man said,
“Never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”
4 comments:
I miss hearing the church bells here, although my church does ring its bells just before the service, it's too far away to hear.
When I was in Pompey, I lived just opposite the cathedral, so I could hear them every Sunday morning, I can't remember ever living anywhere in England where I couldn't hear the bells on a Sunday morning.
I always seem to think that I should be doing something when I hear church bells.
Glad Matt made it home okay. Tis a funny list. Still trying to think of more.
I think we did well coming up with those!
Schnee.. Well, down with the posh people you get to hear all that!
Crisp-e... The Cardinal of Catastrophy!
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