Encounters with religious people on various streets

 

    A while back, probably twenty years or a bit less, a pamphlet popped through the door.

It was by and from the Christadelphians. The main article was called The Middle East Crisis – Solved. Obviously the Christadelphians didn’t get the chance to implement their plans yet, so here’s my idea: Get rid of all the oil that’s there. Then the West and East and whoever else would have to find other reasons to bomb kids and stuff; I am pretty sure they would find plenty.

A while back, maybe six years or so, I heard a knock-knock-knocking at my door.

A woman, dressed in white and black, plus her friend, who was very smiley, both started saying how they thought they’d seen me before. It wasn’t true. They told me they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I didn’t offer my well-rehearsed reply that he had just popped out and they’d missed him by minutes. I just smiled back and gently told them to leave a leaflet instead, because they had a small child with them of around six or seven; really that is child abuse isn’t it.

A while back, say, twelve years or so, I was walking with my wife in New York City.

A young woman dressed in Christian Aid clothes thrust a clipboard in my guts in the street and said, ‘You look like you want to help kids out of poverty,’ and I told her, ‘Sorry, I don’t speak English. My wife tells people that story and punches me and shakes her head. But as we walked away the young woman said, ‘Hey, you do speak English!’ And of course, she was right. Later I had a hot dog from a man selling them in the street and the onions smelled much better than they tasted; I think I would have preferred a bit more mustard, too.

A while back, about thirty years or so, I had a conversation in a youth club.

A blond student running the church club was a decent bloke to talk to so I said I was confused about his love of god. He said, ‘To me, God is like Bryan Robson.’ At the time I still thought I might be a midfielder when I grew up and still do so I said, ‘Robbo doesn’t tell me I’m going to hell for not supporting United.’ I thought this was pretty good for a ten-year old and silently we carried on passing the ball to each other; really I was just being a little shit to get a rise.

A while back, I’d guess eight years ago, me and my wife were walking down the street in Bangor.

We passed some handsome young men were wearing black shiny shoes sharp black trousers starch white shirts grinfaces shiny eyes and badges called Elder Greenland and Elder Bandersnatch. I said, ‘Why can’t they rely on alcohol and prescription drugs like the rest of us?’ Once they’d gone past and were out of earshot. But a part of me was jealous because, ultimately, what is life but finding your own answers? That said, people who have found answers that suit them usually insist that these are your answers too, and they almost never are, so leave me the fuck out of it.

I am well aware I am running out of whiles and on my heathen head be it.