It’s confession time, folks. Here we go:
Some years ago, I actually attended a memorial. You see, I was enviegled into it. Let me explain:
My JW Mum was due for a visit, and happened to mention that she would be attending the memorial at the local KH, would I go with her? ‘Course, I snorted with derision and said pigs were more likely to fly than me ever set foot in that place again. No way, ancient Momma, no way!
BUT, I had not allowed for the connivance of ancient Matriarch with her Ladyship, who said, very sweetly, that wouldn’t it be nice for your Mum for us both to go to her church for her Memorial thingy.
Damn me if I didn’t agree, so off we went. Yuk. Same old musty smell, same old pee smelling toilets, same old damp raincoats hanging in the foyer, same old ex-girls friends mother with the same old gossipy mouth that resembled a puckered–up dogs bottom. Bleah.
Then it started. Some unknown to me Greek fella with Nathan Knorr glasses scowled at me and pointed to the back row. I ignored him and sat with Momma and HL towards the rear of the main section. I sat in an aisle seat.
It droned on, as it does, then around came the bread (or wine, can’t remember the order its dished up in), attendants at either side, passing it down a row each time it gets to the end. Remember, please, that I am sat in an aisle seat. I’m also sat next to ancient Englishmummy who is in between HL and myself.
As the emblems were passed from hand to hand along the row, HL passed it to Mum, who was just about to pass it to me when a hand reached in between us and whisked it away before I could even touch it! Now, I had my hand out towards my Mum and when the emblem was whisked away she was even more appalled than I was. I was furious too at the attendant’s presumptiousness. No way was this going to happen again!
The proceedings ground along a little further, then around came the wine. Suddenly I realised that they had started to pass it around from the other end of the first row, which meant that, when it arrived, it should logically go from me to Mum instead of from her to me. Aha!
Well, along came the second attendant, another John Denver clone. He was stood at the end of the row in front of me, and I could see that he was as nervous as hell. The wine passed from hand to hand until he collected it ready to pass it along my row. I knew he would attempt to pass it across me to Mum, but I was ready for him.
As he went to pass it out of my reach, I sighed and leant forward in my seat. He stopped abruptly and went to pass it behind me, so I leant towards mum as if to whisper something, effectively cutting off his access. Know what he did? He turned his back to the row and leant over backwards with his elbow above my head. The last time I saw that technique being used it was known as “The Bunny Dip” and was only to be seen at a Playboy Club.
That’s almost the end of my little story, except for the Greek fella with the Nathan specs. Some months later I was surprised to see that he had joined the same horticultural society as the one that I belonged to. He headed straight for me, grinning broadly. Know what I did, folks?
Yup! I shunned him!
Englishman.
