Flick

Boofuls and yours truly went to church the other day.

Not just any old church but a special one. We went to the spooks.

I can hear you thinking, ‘what the hell is she wittering on about now. Spooks? What the…?’

The spiritualist church. Or, as Lashes used to call it when she was a small child and sitting on the back row of the church with a colouring book and pens, the spirilitch church.

Some time ago we went to the spooks all the time for a spot of God bothering. At the spooks we immediately felt accepted, and of all the religions we’d looked at (one, the one we were born into) this one felt like a good fit. For many years we were active members of the local spooks and sat in development circles, meditated for hours, practised healing, made lovely friends and spouted home spun philosophy to each other. Good times.

Then came the not so good times. Then came the times when my good old mum, bless her deceased heart, went though a stage of being not so mentally sound. No need for any details except the ones relevant to this story.

My mum decided that, as avid spooks goers and having been introduced to the church in the first place by her, we had stolen her religion from her.

Bit of a blow, that.

As I’m writing his I’m resurrecting feelings of hurt, confusion, guilt, anger and loss which I have never really dealt with. How do you deal with being accused of stealing someone’s religion from them? It was never our intention to steal anything from anyone. We thought the church was there for anyone who wanted to attend it. Obviously we were mistaken. The end result was that we stopped attending the church, stopped sitting in meditation circles, stopped going away for weekends on various courses and left the world of spooks, spirits, ghoulies and ghosties behind us.

*thinks* this is kind of ballsing up the witty, funny little story I had lined up for you. Damn those memories!

So. Shaking off the past and moving on…

Since mum is long gone and we have a new life down in the deep south we have thought several times we might have a look at the local spiritualist church.

So on Monday we did.

Off we popped and arrived in good time for the service. As we arrived at the door we were surprised to see a very busy and bustling church. The lady at the door asked us for our tickets. “It’s a ticket do tonight.”

Oh no!! We didn’t know there was a special speaker on.

“You can buy a ticket on the door if you like.”

“Brilliant, how much.”

“£15.00 each.”

WHAAAAA……..are you kidding? It used to be a fiver for a special at our church.”

“It’s a great speaker, it’s up to you.”

We decided to go in, it had been a bugger of a day and we felt we deserved it.

We took our seats on a row nearish to the back, an excitable crowd of people sat in front of us. Just as I was saying to Boofuls that the rows were very close together and I felt like I was in a plane, the woman in front of me flicked her hair back and hit me straight in the face with it!

I jumped back into my chair,it’s a good job the seat behind was empty or I’d have headbutted them.

The excited throng ( I said THRONG not THONG! Tsk!) settled down eventually as the speaker was introduced.

“Ey up!” he said. “It’s bin a long while sin’ I were in Paignton. Me mate Val W used t’ come ‘ere a lot.”

“Blimey, I thought, “He’s from up north. Val W? THE Val W? We know her!”

We settled down to listen to a medium who not only gave amazing evidence of life after death but was also a very good public speaker. It’s quite unusual to get a person who can do both and I was starting to enjoy myself.

“Now, if you understand what I’m talking about, stick yer ‘and up in th’ air. When I speak to you, answer me because I work on a voice link and they *nods towards heaven* need to hear you. Otherwise it’s like being on t’ phone and just nodding. Alright? That’s not too difficult is it?”

It would appear that it was in fact too difficult. The row of people in front of us, which of course included Flicky hair, who at this point was pulling her clothes around as if they were incredibly itchy and she was wanting to remove them, looked at each other every time the medium spoke and started to whisper to each other “That’s us! That’s us! instead of sticking their hand up in th’ air as instructed.

Eventually he noticed their looks, gestures and whispers and spoke to them. They received a wonderful message which included some very good evidence.I was pleased as it turned out they’d recently suffered a major loss and were in need of a bit of comfort.

However.

My lovely, fluffy and warm feelings towards them rapidly turned to intense irritation when after their message they proceeded to chat amongst themselves discussing it.

Rude.

I didn’t pay £30 to listen to them chat amongst themselves.

Boxfuls, sensing my irritation and fearing that I’d lean over and tell them in words of no more than one syllable each to be quiet, kept touching my arm and giving me warning looks. “Just keep calm. They don’t know the etiquette.”

Etiquette? It’s got nothing to do with etiquette, it’s simple good manners not to talk during any performance but especially a speaker in church.

‘It’s nothing more than good manners,’ I quietly fumed too myself as I watched Flicky hair pull her clothes around and lean across three people to talk to her bestie at the other end of the row. BY this point I had stopped enjoying the service and couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

I was bitterly disappointed with the whole evening, not because we didn’t get a message but because my fragile hold on a pleasant evening after an awful day had been thwarted by a few rude strangers.

Boofuls and I drove home in silence. What a shame, we should have just kept hold of the £30.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, you are just destined to have a crap day.

Ah well, it’s over with now.

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