I am very busy today.
In fact, I am so busy, I don’t have time to write anything.
And if I’m too busy to write anything, I certainly don’t have time to answer the bloody door.
The door bell rang earlier. I tripped over Sandy on the way there, so I wasn’t in full greeting form when I opened the door.
There was a couple there. He was a respectable enough looking bloke, and she was a tasty blonde. We looked at each other for a moment. The fact that I had no clothes on may have put them off their stride a bit.
I thought it was a bit early for election canvassers, seeing as they haven’t called an election yet, and the meter reader came yesterday, so I waited. Luckily it wasn’t too cold.
He started blustering then and waffled on about something, when suddenly I spotted the pamphlets he was carrying. Religious freaks, out to convert me!
Our Puppychild had left a stick of chalk in the porch, where I had been teaching her to write on walls, ready for their new house. I took the chalk and carefully drew a pentagram on the ground outside the front door.
“Right,” says I, “I will happily talk to you, but you must stand inside the sacred symbol”.
They gave me a strange look and ran. Obviously their faith isn’t that strong?
I am a bit baffled by these people.
I have my beliefs, but I don’t try to convert anyone, except maybe the Rector. My religion is my business, and yours is your own. Fine. Let’s leave it at that.
But they feel compelled to “save” me. Why? Does it really matter to them if I go to hell?
I’d say they’ll have their work cut out in this neighbourhood. I doubt many will even answer their doors.
Most people around here will be knackered after the midnight sacrifice we held last night.