Church. It was packed to the rafters. I don't even know what rafters are but if there are rafters in a church - it was packed to 'em. And there wasn't a wedding/funeral/christening/harvest festival/recording of a Sunday night ITV drama in sight. It's Port Eliot Festival and this wonderful festival has its own church as a music stage.
A blue-grass band were cutting bluegrass up at the alter whilst we lounged in the pews supping on plastic pints of ale. We were having a rare old time when ... DISASTERIA STRUCK!
David dropped his full pint all over the floor. God's floor. I felt sorry for David because:
a) He was really embarrassed
b) The poor lad was out of beer
What would God do I thought. He'd tell David to pick up his empty glass and then he'd pour half of his own pint into it. So that is exactly what I did, but then ... DOUBLE DISASTERIA!
David's glass now had a large crack in the bottom and my half pint went right through it to join David's pint on the church floor.
We laughed. Oh, how we laughed! We laughed like naughty school kids playing hooky behind the bike sheds, with our ties ripped off and massive reefers hanging out of out gormless little mouths.
That is until we noticed what was happening on the floor. Our combined spillage had formed into a pattern resembling Jesus – dressed as a referee, holding up two yellow cards. I looked at David, we held out our hands apologetically to the wet floor, hung our heads in shame, muttered a few words and turned back sheepishly to face the bluegrass band.
To be honest, though I thought it harsh at the time, in hindsight, we were very lucky not to get red cards. It just goes to prove that Jesus is indeed a good man and a damn fair referee to boot.
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