Real Live Vicars!

Finally took my birthday cards down today, thus giving Joe Strummer back his prominent place on my shelf. I counted a record 13 with flowers on them.

Realise I could quite happily get used to living on my own. This weekend, with Frank up in Edinburgh busy tying his brother to lamposts, or whatever Best Men do at stag parties, this weekend has seemed gloriously endless. Never have I fitted so much into so little time. Which seems odd: you'd think with two of you that things would take less time, not more. Not only have I finished a presentation for my course on Wednesday and designed another from scratch for a job interview on Friday, I have also done some shopping, two loads of watching, and seem "Brokeback Mountain" and "Memoirs of a Geisha" (both of which are far too long) and written another 3000 words of "The Man on The Doorstep". Answers on a postcard about what said Man might be doing there, as I have still not been able to decide.

"Brokeback" is worth the effort, although a disproportionate amount of the film is taken up with the two men rolling around against a backdrop of snowtopped mountains, which I understand makes a point (and has the added benefit of pissing off those who rage about such things on Catholic Online), but I would argue it shouldn't take a third of the film to make it. I was also slightly peturbed by the man in the seat next to me, who kept bursting into tears at certain key moments. One of the things I thought was well done, though, was the contrast between rich and poor between the two main characters. That, coupled with the way homosexuals are viewed, really makes me hate America. (Am I allowed to say that? Or will I be hauled up for some new offence for daring to criticise the States?)

Friday was perhaps even more fun, and confirmed to me that I am subconsciously stalking London-based Anglican clergy. Went along to a free event at the Tate Britain, which intrigued me on the basis that part of the invitation was "tea and cakes served by real live vicars!" This makes vicars sound rather like rare birds, or perhaps an exhibit at a Museum of Oddities, and perhaps the end result would, in comparison, have been disappointing had it not been for the Salvation Army band playing jazz in the room next door and a chap standing on a soap-box performing some kind of parody of the Oxford Street Sinner-or-Winner chap. What was most amusing about this was not so much the stand-up (which was one of the funniest things I have ever seen) but the audience's reaction to it, that is, utter bemusement, and perhaps a hint of fear. The event, I'm sure, must have enraged some of the more evangelical churches, and that an event that attracted such a huge amount of people was organised by a minister friend and her Duckie-compere partner does make me feel as though it's one-nil to us.

As I have nothing worth adding, here is a snippet of "The Man":

ED: What’s he doing?
GRAHAM: Still sleeping, I think. Unless he’s dead. Oh, my God, what if he’s dead?! We’ve just moved in and we’ve got a bloody corpse on our doorstep!
ED: I expect the police might come round eventually if he was actually dead.
GRAHAM: (sitting down) Oh, God, I can’t cope with this. I’ve overslept, I ache from carrying goodness knows how many boxes yesterday, there’s no milk and there’s a dead pensioner on the doorstep. Picturesque, they said. “Delightful location”. Bloody “popular, quiet suburban neighbourhood”. Picturesque, quiet neighbourhood, may find stiffs on your doorstep from time to time.
ED: “convenient for Tescos”
GRAHAM: What?
ED: I was suspicious when they felt they had to say “Convenient for Tescos”. It suggested there wasn’t much else to say for it. And it isn’t even that close to Tescos. I suppose “close” is quite a relative term. I mean, if this was a country village, which it seems to think it is, to have Tescos at the distance…
GRAHAM: (interrupting) THERE’S A DEAD MAN ON THE DOORSTEP!
ED: (peering out of the window) He isn’t dead. He just rolled over. (gets up and looks more closely) He’s just frightened the postman away. Were we expecting anything?
GRAHAM: Oh, God, he’s probably an alcoholic, then. A violent drunk! Or even a drug addict! God, at least a corpse can’t attack you, but a drunk…
ED: I think the postman just startled him. And then he rather startled the postman.
GRAHAM: He could be anything! Do they have gang warfare in Finchley? He could be a…
ED: Well why don’t you go and ask him?
GRAHAM: Oh, yes, I’ll just go and ask him, shall I? And how exactly would you suggest how I phrase it? Oh, excuse me, old chap, sorry to disturb you, my partner and I were just wondering if you happened by any chance to be a murderer!