I sort of have my own driver now. I'm a bit conflicted about this as part of me appreciates that the company will pay for a taxi for me because of the job I do, and another part of me is violently insisting that I should pay for my own taxis and not think I have a driver. I might resolve this by paying the taxi bill myself but keeping the relationship through the company I think.
For no particular reason we're going back to Father Thomas today. Offline It had been a nice morning with little white clouds lazily drifting across the sky and people outside washing their cars, and that was probably what had done it. The rain demons had accepted the sacrifice and opened the flood gates, and just before 11 o'clock grey stormclouds had raced in seemingly from all directions and the heavens had opened. The family approaching the church for the Christening scurried for the porch as fat droplets of rain exploded on their heads, their clothes, and the ground -- splashing back up to dampen legs and dot mud everywhere. By the time they were all assembled inside they were in various states of sodden and there was a queue to use the mirror in the vestry to correct make-up and try and fix fabrics that were dry-clean only. The verger checked over Father Thomas's notes and made sure that there were only one set, and that they were all appropriate for a Christening. While there seemed to be no danger of the priest losing his job -- the Bishop was distinctly odder but seemed to like Father Thomas -- there had been some tart criticisms of some of his services in the local papers. The notes seemed all in order; the only thing missing was Father Thomas himself. "Virgil," said a familiar voice, and Father Thomas stumbled in. There was a bloody gash on his forehead and something black and oily on his hands. "Did you know it's been Friday all morning?" "Father Thomas!" said the Verger, anxiety creeping into his voice. "Are you alright? What happened?" "I fell off a bike," said Father Thomas. "You don't ride a bike." "Yes, it came as a bit of a souffle for me too. I was perambulating along the road past the whore-dressers when something creaked into me and there was a lot of banging and I was somehow sat on a bicidical with a cyclotron on the pavement and a pushcart with two small chilblains upturned next to it. Then I fell off the bikey-wikey and rolled over the bonbon of the car that had driven it into it. I think." "Father, are you alright? You don't sound quite right. And since when has there been a whore-dre-- ah, you mean hairdressers, don't you? You were in a pile-up on the high-street, Father?" "The showgirl must go on!" said Father Thomas. He swayed for a moment, and then lurched out into the church. The verger stared after him, and only when the Father picked up the baby in his oily hands did his brain finally get through to his legs that they needed to move. He hurried after the priest. "Dearly benighted," said Father Thomas holding the baby over the baptismal font. "We are gathered here today to crystallize this chimp into a Christmas Faberge." The verger gently lifted the child from the Father's hands and handed them back to the mother. "Father's a bit offline at the moment," he said. "Please give us a few moments to get him rebooted."
2 comments:
I sort of have my own driver now. I'm a bit conflicted about this as part of me appreciates that the company will pay for a taxi for me because of the job I do, and another part of me is violently insisting that I should pay for my own taxis and not think I have a driver. I might resolve this by paying the taxi bill myself but keeping the relationship through the company I think.
For no particular reason we're going back to Father Thomas today.
Offline
It had been a nice morning with little white clouds lazily drifting across the sky and people outside washing their cars, and that was probably what had done it. The rain demons had accepted the sacrifice and opened the flood gates, and just before 11 o'clock grey stormclouds had raced in seemingly from all directions and the heavens had opened. The family approaching the church for the Christening scurried for the porch as fat droplets of rain exploded on their heads, their clothes, and the ground -- splashing back up to dampen legs and dot mud everywhere. By the time they were all assembled inside they were in various states of sodden and there was a queue to use the mirror in the vestry to correct make-up and try and fix fabrics that were dry-clean only.
The verger checked over Father Thomas's notes and made sure that there were only one set, and that they were all appropriate for a Christening. While there seemed to be no danger of the priest losing his job -- the Bishop was distinctly odder but seemed to like Father Thomas -- there had been some tart criticisms of some of his services in the local papers. The notes seemed all in order; the only thing missing was Father Thomas himself.
"Virgil," said a familiar voice, and Father Thomas stumbled in. There was a bloody gash on his forehead and something black and oily on his hands. "Did you know it's been Friday all morning?"
"Father Thomas!" said the Verger, anxiety creeping into his voice. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I fell off a bike," said Father Thomas.
"You don't ride a bike."
"Yes, it came as a bit of a souffle for me too. I was perambulating along the road past the whore-dressers when something creaked into me and there was a lot of banging and I was somehow sat on a bicidical with a cyclotron on the pavement and a pushcart with two small chilblains upturned next to it. Then I fell off the bikey-wikey and rolled over the bonbon of the car that had driven it into it. I think."
"Father, are you alright? You don't sound quite right. And since when has there been a whore-dre-- ah, you mean hairdressers, don't you? You were in a pile-up on the high-street, Father?"
"The showgirl must go on!" said Father Thomas. He swayed for a moment, and then lurched out into the church. The verger stared after him, and only when the Father picked up the baby in his oily hands did his brain finally get through to his legs that they needed to move. He hurried after the priest.
"Dearly benighted," said Father Thomas holding the baby over the baptismal font. "We are gathered here today to crystallize this chimp into a Christmas Faberge."
The verger gently lifted the child from the Father's hands and handed them back to the mother. "Father's a bit offline at the moment," he said. "Please give us a few moments to get him rebooted."
Greg - I feel as though I am now friends with someone very important and fancy, what with you having your own driver now :D
The dialogue here is top notch :) The description of the accident is definitely my favorite part, but the rest is great too.
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