The True Path

“Father.”

“Son?”

“Father.”

“To what do we owe this visit, my son?”

“Father. It’s these oranges. Produce of Israel.”

“Ah, and you seek, what? Guidance, prayers?”

“I do, Father.”

“And you come to me even though we’ve not seen you at communion for the past five years or so?”

“Yes, Father. It was my wedding. To Mary. And it’s four years although it feels like forty.”

“Well my son, I can only hope you consider the words of Titimus 5: 11 in which he ponders the concept of loyalty to the holy spirit.”

“Father. I will.”

“Bless you my son, etc, but back to the oranges?”

“They were packed under the supervision of a rabbi.”

“Yet you bought them?”

“It’s the small print, Father, a busy supermarket, baby Patricia screaming her head off, young Michael pulling packs of condoms from the shelves. Too stressed to read the labels. It’s just a pack of oranges, for god’s sake.”

“Ah, but what about Semolina 10: 3?”

“The oranges, Father. Can we eat them?”

“Is it exorcism you’ll be wanting, my son?”

“Maybe just a blessing?”

“It’s certainly cheaper.”

“And you’ll write to the supermarket.”

“I will my son. And I’ll pray for them. And for you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“And for Mary. And Patricia. And Michael.”

“Is all that extra?”

“Fifteen percent? Is that okay?”

“Credit card okay?”

“Fine.”

“Love thy neighbour, eh?”

“Peace to all mankind, not so?”

“Blessed are the meek.”

“And the money lenders.”

“Is the Pope…?”

“Do bears…?”

“Amandicus 3:4-7.”

“Eye for an eye.”

“Do unto others…”

“Blowing in the wind…”

“All you need is love…”

“The bells of St Clement’s…”

“St Martin’s…”

“Shoreditch…”

“Can’t afford Shoreditch. Gone all gentrified.”

“Blessed are the developers…”

“And interior designers…”

“Money lenders, again…”

“That’s enough, son. Go home to your family now, they need you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Bless you my son, and don’t leave it so long again. Classifucus 2:4, eh?”

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