because Meredith quickly butted in to say how much they appreciated our input, overall, and that she couldn’t deny we’d invested a great deal of effort. (Remember our special DVD night, Jess? The Name of the Rose, The Omen, The Da Vinci Code, Nacho Libre and The Passion of The Christ, all in one go?)
Seb wasn’t to be put off, though. He started muttering under his breath about how ‘unhelpful’ he’d found your views on the Catholic Church turning Mary Magdalen into a whore because ‘they all feared the vagina’.
Obviously I leapt straight to your defence! I said I’d told you that because I’d read it on the internet.
‘Oh! On the internet, Emily!’ Seb snorts. ‘Well, that speaks volumes, doesn’t it?!’
Then, before I can even open my mouth to respond, he continues, ‘And how about when you said Jesus “hated his own family”, and “thought Buddhism was a big pile of mumbo-jumbo”? Were these shining little gems also mined online?’
Well, that was it, Jess!
WAR!!
I drew myself up to my full height (5′3″, in heels) and said (in my best Ice Queen voice), ‘If you want to take issue with those views, Sebastian, then I’m afraid you’ll need to take issue with the Holy Bible itself!’
Meredith gazed at me for a second, perfectly astonished. ‘It says Jesus hated his own family in the Bible?’ she demanded (plainly shaken to the core).
‘I believe there’s a fairly memorable moment in the Gospel of St Matthew,’ I loftily enlightened her, ‘when Mary and Jesus’s brothers arrive, unannounced, to pay him a visit. A disciple comes to tell him (he’s preaching a sermon at the time) and Jesus refuses – point-blank – to interrupt what he’s doing to give them an audience. He simply asks, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” Then, later on, he justifies this slightly high-handed treatment by saying, “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother,” i.e. Jesus doesn’t play favourites…’ (I deliver Meredith an especially, stern look at this juncture.) ‘We are all his kith and kin.’
‘Poppycock!’ Seb scoffs. ‘That doesn’t mean he hates his family!’
‘You can chose to interpret it any way you like,’ I sigh, turning to look at him with an expression of infinite sadness (and of infinite pity. And of infinite patience – it was a highly complex and abstruse expression, very Sphinx-like – as I’m sure you can imagine). ‘But haven’t you hated your family sometimes, Seb?’ I continued, swinging out my arm, rather dramatically. ‘I mean haven’t we all? Just as our Sweet Lord did?’
Everybody was (quite naturally) rendered dumb for a couple of seconds by my infallible logic, but then Meredith started muttering something about ‘Tammy being very hurt, very injured, by the mumbo-jumbo comments’.
‘Matthew 6: 7,’ I announced, crisply. ‘“And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many worms.”’
I meant to say ‘words’, obviously (I don’t really know where the ‘worms’ part came from), but, as luck would have it, I was saved from possible ridicule by the sudden arrival of Peter Bramwell (the metallurgist) who came to inform Meredith that the bulb had just blown in the storeroom (which meant he was unable to locate a ladder – I’m not entirely sure why a ladder was required at this juncture).
I decided that this timely interruption presented an opportune moment to beat a hasty (if still perfectly dignified) retreat. (Always quit while you’re ahead, eh?!)
Phew!
So I think that’s pretty much the sum of it, Jess. Sorry if I’ve run on a bit. My fingers are all cramping up – I feel like I’ve been writing this for hours (Crikey! Look at the time! It’s five after twelve and Duncan’s not even had his Bournville yet! He’ll have committed hara-kiri by now!).
I do hope the earring is still intact by the time it reaches you. I’m not entirely sure why you were so desperate to have it back over the festive season – I was under the strong (if possibly erroneous) impression that your mother’s proclivities (fashion-related and otherwise) bordered somewhat on the conservative. If this is the case, then you should definitely think twice about wearing it again until you’ve broken your other piece of ‘Big News’. Let’s hope she takes it a little better than your father did!
I’m very confident (as I said earlier) that he’ll have cooled down enough by now to let you drive at least some of the way to Birmingham.
When’s your test? Jan 5th?
We’ll definitely speak before then –
Happy Christmas, my Gorgeous Boy!
Give ’em hell, eh?!
XXXXXX
Em
PS KIEREN KNOWLES!!!!
‘Professional actor!!’
VA-VA-VA-VA-VOOM!!
PPS Always remember: They only hate us because…
Oh! You know!!
XX
Threadbare Cottage
‘The Calls’
Burley Cross
20th December 2006
Oh Donovan,
How ghastly! Green ink! I’m terribly sorry – it wasn’t planned, I can assure you. In fact it’s given me quite a turn! The pen’s an old favourite of mine which I haven’t used in ages because you can no longer buy the cartridges. Then I found one – this very morning – at the bottom of the pine dresser, while I was hunting down that photograph I’d promised to send you (aren’t you just beautiful in your christening robe? Plump as a plum pudding, cheeks like little apples, huge, gummy grin! And then that brilliantly incongruous black eye – like a miniature Billy Bunter!).
It looked perfectly uncontentious as I popped it in (the cartridge, I mean), the address went off without a hitch, the first half of the date was fine, but then as soon as I hit the year, this terrible green colour exploded from the nib (I say ‘terrible’, although in truth I actually quite like the green myself – in the abstract – it’s just all those unfortunate connotations…).
I’d have started over (of course), but this is Rhona’s best paper (handmade – manufactured in situ, no less – from recycled egg boxes, which makes it ludicrously absorbent and fractionally stiff). There’d be hell to pay if I wasted a piece.
Enough of my waffling, though (I know how much you hate my waffling – my ‘pointless flummery’ as I believe you once called it!). Can I just say how broken up we all still are about your mother? We miss her horribly. Chester’s
