a predicament
a predicament

May 19, 2010

Dear friends,

    I am in a bit of a predicament.

Last evening was the first meeting of our new Alpha course at St Cliff’s and seven souls (as yet
unredeemed one assumes) assembled to journey together on Mr Gumbel’s wonderful food-enhanced exploration of the Christian faith.

    Whilst an ‘ice-breaker’ component was not featured within the helpful notes supplied I simply felt unable to resist beginning the evening with one of my favourite party games namely, ‘Passing the Orange Under the Chin’ .

    Being somewhat preoccupied with a rather enticing phone call from a gentleman offering me (and one other) a free holiday in exchange for just an hour or so of my time on Saturday somewhere in Central London I dispatched my good lady wife to purchase an ample supply of oranges from our local greengrocer.

    Reg’s Veg and Fruit (though originally referred to without the fruit component in its title until the proprietor realised that whilst the word play pertaining to his name might have been mildly amusing, it had the net affect of withholding from the casual passer-by the full potential of his wares) was the purveyor of oranges of such a bright hue that it was difficult to imagine that even nature (and by that I mean God) could create such a vividly coloured delicacy as that which met my wife’s bedazzled eyes.

    There was more truth to my surmising than you might imagine.

The enterprising (and slightly dishonest) greengrocer, on taking delivery of the oranges in question, considered that they were a tad under-ripe for his liking (and that of his picky clientele) and thus gave the green-tinged fruit the quick ‘once over’ with a can of orange automobile paint which he had to hand for the use of touching up his battered (and tastelessly orange) delivery vehicle.

    That this additional coating to the ‘doctored’ fruit chose to remove itself onto the sweaty chins (and clothing) of my Alpha attendees at the onset of the amusing party game scuppered St Cliff’s hopes of upping our membership numbers (by seven to be precise) in an instant.

    Resisting my attempts to remove the offending paint from their persons with turpentine and an abrasive scourer borrowed from the church kitchen (and which will need replacing before the
terrifying matriarchs who rule that domain discover its disappearance) they exited the church, en masse, vowing never to set foot in the place ever again.

    As a mark of protest I have instructed my good lady wife that from now, and until further notice, we will be reneging on our commitment to ‘buy local’ and forthwith purchase our fruit and vegetables from the popular out-of-town supermarket.

    I safely predict that the good folk at Alpha will not be tapping us up any time soon for a ‘success story’ to grace the pages of their promotional newspaper.

    Onward and upward.