Thursday, 1 September 2005

In The Court Of The Crimson King

Yes, it’s the title of an album but apart from that it is irrelevant to this post.

Don’t let that put you off. I’m quite mad.

So, I go to this rehearsal for this show the other day that is held at a church hall. I get there. It’s raining. Everyone else gets there. It’s still raining. Nobody has a key. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So, telephone calls are made and it turns out that the guy who normally has the key is away on holiday, but he’s left it with this woman. This woman’s nowhere to be found. That’s because she’s in Ireland. That’s right. And we are in the UK with the church hall. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So, we try phoning someone who might know all the answers about the man, the woman, Ireland and the key. They tell us that the vicar will have the key. A vicar they call ‘Al’. So, a brief, wet jaunt to the vicarage and nobody’s home. Nobody at all. It is still raining, ominously. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So they come ‘galumphing back’ from the vicarage and, as they pass the actual church, they see a sign. A real sign, you understand, not an epiphany. And on the sign, on the door of the church, it reads

‘There will be a mass for Al tomorrow. Everyone welcome.’

Al’s dead, isn’t he?


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