Ecumenical Matters

I've known worse evenings I must admit.  Especially with the Guinea Pig Folk of Stewartby.  After all, last time we got together all their gods were eaten due to an awful cultural misunderstanding.  And the time before that, after one of the guinea pigs ate the electronics from a Blackberry and became a rodentoid, it all ended up in a shoot-out on Weymouth sea front.  They're a forgiving bunch.

The sermon from the Great Guinea Pig itself was, it is reasonable to say, totally incomprehensible.  Being one of the more traditionalist of the Guinea Pig People, he speaks entirely in grunts, squeaks and whistles.  It was a shame the sermon lasted three hours, and I'm afraid the simultaneous translation didn't help much.  I guess, when all's said and done, there's only so many things you can say about hay.

Afterwards the Great Guinea Pig and myself had a very important discussion for very nearly a minute.  I told him how important it was that we kept the channels of dialogue open, how we all essentially have the same aims in mind, and how we can all work together in the future.  And his squeaks and whistles - as far as the translator can tell - were deep and profoundly moving.  "Shut up, I'm right" appeared to be the gist of it.  I feel we've made real progress.

But I'm afraid that Young Keith let us down later in the evening.  A couple of glasses of the home-made carrot wine obviously went to his head.  A few choruses of "Roll me over in the Clover" may be acceptable in some environments.  But not in a religious meeting.  And particularly not in the Guinea Pig community.  Not when they regard clover as the food of the gods.  So once again we were run out of Stewartby on a rail.  But at least on this occasion the guinea pigs kept their lives.  I'm starting to feel hopeful about the new year.

Good luck to the Guinea Pig folk when their New Year finally does arrive.  The year of D'phweeeeep kk-kk-kk-wheep starts on 27 January.