Down at the Bottom of the Garden

Early today I was offered salvation by a boy in a white shirt and black tie, he asked "What's the most important thing in your life?". All I could think of was the fact I'd just eaten one finger of Twirl and saved the rest for later, and whether or not that makes me King of Everything or whether it further marks out my decent into adulthood.

He had an American accent, both him and his friend, who was busy exclaiming his disbelief in other's disbelief. I wonder if it was just a coincidence, or if this particular faith based organisation actually fly over agents to recruit on the mean streets of Preston, and do they do this because they have no locally based affiliates, or because they believe that the use of home grown talent is essential to the success of the mission. Maybe it's the accent, maybe it's hard to take someone seriously with a familiar North English accent, or it's too easy to brush them aside. The sincerity and movie star tones of someone who learned to talk in the US of A however, catches your attention, makes you think Bruce Willis is talking to you and so you better damn well listen to what he has to say.

Maybe. It didn't work on me though really, I didn't even break stride, just continued on home full of Twirl based musings and the dilemma of whether I should, as he might have said, 'take a nap' when i got in, or soldier on through. His question did hang there a little, but only as much as a recent expulsion of gas from the digestive system, rather than an in use noose.