Thursday, 17 October 2013

Theology for Loonies



When my previous employer returned my soul and my P45, I had no idea what to do with them. A chapter had well and truly ended. But life continued, and it hung on like grim death.

I felt the urge to take my newly restored soul along to church for a bit of a clean up job. If nothing else it would be the one place where I wouldn’t be upstaged by my Dalmatian. Ironically perhaps, the one place I would have preferred to have transferred the attention.

Dad’s ministry was respected throughout the parish, nay, diocese. But being a protégé of Reverend Sourby he didn’t quite project the optimism that salvation suggests. Often misinterpreted as reverent solemnity, he was actually as miserable as sin. The type of man, for example, who when told to, “Take up thy bed and walk,” might still complain of, “a slight twinge.”

Having thought long and hard about it, I finally filled in the application form and transferred my spiritual account from the Anglicans PLC to the Baptists.

OK, so that was my soul taken care of, now what about my P45? I needed to earn some money.


Only a few weeks ago the summer dusks saw butterflies and moths swapping places like The Changing of the Guards. But the demise the wasps finally spelled out the end of the season.

While traversing pastures old, the parched fields of summer gave way to the boggy swamps of winter. From dusty great expanses to squelchy marshland seemingly overnight. A veritable Wellington wonderland. I’d been creating memories for tomorrow, even if I never revisited them. And I’d found a time to think . . .

What would I do with my dog when I began working again? How to get a job without going through those demeaning interviews? How to avoid deluded managers with no clue about management?

The general consensus assured me that’s not how life works, you’ve just got to get on with it. No one likes their job. You’re not supposed to like your job! That’s what you get paid for.

I had stepped outside the box now and wild horses couldn't drag me back in to it again! But time lost is time lost forever and I had to do something.

I’m still roaming the pasturelands with my dog today. But these days we’re joined by an increasing number of other canine companions. And these days people pay me for the privilege.

And furthermore, my dog has dealt with my P45 for me.

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