The sun is shining. It’s a Beautiful Day by U2 plays in my head because it is, a beautiful day. Belinda has laid out the blanket, popped the Moet and is spreading my gluten free crackers with pate. The river is full of water and fish are jumping out and displaying themselves in their full magnificence only to fall back into the stream with a splash that leaves you wanting for more. Ah yes doesn’t get any better that this. Belinda places her hand on my thigh and I tingle with delight and to where this could lead [Stop, stop, cut, Warrigal here, look Sandy, when I was knee high to a grasshopper my father taught me to stay focused otherwise you will lose the audiences interest] [Groan, yes Waz, whatever you say]
In the distance I can hear a strange beeping noise, you know, like when a truck is reversing. It’s getting louder and louder.
I sit up. I’m in my room at the B&B. The clock tells me its 4 am. The phone is ringing. “Sandy, Bish here” How did I know it would be the Bish, “Hey Bish aren’t you on holidays?” I politely ask. “Yes Sandy but a Bishop is never off duty. Now get over to the Oval for the last test, we can’t lose this one. Now I want you to do a few things for me at the test if we need them done” Now there are millions of things that interest me more than some cricket game but as usual I never let the Bish know that, not his precious game of cricket, not of a bunch of grown men chasing a ball around a park for five days, “Now what may that be?” I ask with an air of obedient disinterest. “Look if we need you to have to streak, slow the game down, so yeah, streak” Streak, you have got to fecking joking mate, it’s too cold here at the best of times, me peter will shrivel up and I be the laughing stock at the next heads of church meeting. “Streak Bish?”, “Yes and start a fight.” Oh for fuck sake, a fight, me a simple man of the cloth, a peacemaker, start a fight, “But Bish I’m a lover not a fighter” I bemoan. Probably end up in jail with some psychotic killer with a pension(sic) (no, really sic – but funny !) for priest abuse. “Yes a fight” the Bish roars “Look its simple, tell the Barmy Army that the Aussie fans called Ian Botham a poofter and tell the Aussie fans that the English fans called Warnie a dickhead”. “But Warnie is a dickhead” I inform the Bish, “Yes I know but never let the truth get in the road of a good story. So streak then fight and if that fails ring the Emergency crew with a bomb hoax”
- Darkness envelops the room and casts a shadow over my heart. Oh for the riverbank with the beautiful Belinda, blest with beauty but challenged for brains, a picnic in the sun, sharing a novel and some fine wine, chatting about this and that “Sandy who was that on the phone, would you like a coffee and a cigarette” Belinda calls, well maybe and ain’t that bad being a priest after all, “Yes dear, strong and black”.