What Ho Proles!
Never mention God in my company again. I've avoided games of rugger at Eton that were gentler than the morning I've just spent among the rich tea biscuits and bibles.
I've just returned from the home of our local clergyman, the Rev. Dewey, where I had ventured in order to explain to him the error of young Dewey's ways, vis-a-vis, the theft of apples belong to Yours Truely. And do you know what his high priest of Christian virtues did about it? He laughed in my face. A clergyman complicit in the act of apple theft. I should have expected it. His whole business is premised on the belief that Eve pocketed a stray Cox's Pippin and I don't think they've changed their ways.
As I was leaving, the smell of cooking came walfing through the hall. 'Mrs. Glover is making me a fresh apple pie,' the Reverend informed me.
'And where did the apples come from?' ask I.
'Aren't all apples the bounty of God?' came the reply.
I departed, there an then, but not before issuing a sharp reminder that God can get his blasted apples at Tesco next time.
More anon.
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