The much hailed date for ‘the end of the world’ came...and went. We’re still here. Thank goodness, because I spent a bloomin’ fortune on Christmas presents.
I never thought the world was going to end. My understanding was more along the lines of ‘new beginnings’. Well let’s hope so. Our Mother Earth could certainly use nicer human beings living upon her. How wonderful would it be if there was no more war, terrorism or people going barmy with hand guns?
To celebrate the 21st December, my sister – who is incredibly spiritual – arranged an event with lots of other people who were (no surprises) also very spiritual. I love to dip into this sort of thing, but on my own. Group events always tend to smack of religion which I shy away from. Don’t get me wrong. I love God. He’s fab. Really. But I like talking to Him on my own. I don’t need somebody telling me how to worship, when to worship, or in what way to worship. But my sister insisted I attend and support her. So I did.
My sis sang a number of celebratory songs. Now at this point I’d like to say my sibling should put herself forward for X-Factor or Britain’s Got Talent. For talent she has. In shed loads. So it was something of a rude shock when she introduced a lady following on who was going to give the audience a ‘sound bath’. Anticipating another round of tuneful singing, I sat back ready to enjoy. As unearthly wailing hit the microphone, poured out of the sound speakers and filled the small village hall, I realised what Simon Cowell puts himself through. Except Simon gets an X button to press. And I’ll bet Simon’s never listened to a contestant playing the gong. As the gong went bong I had a terrible urge to giggle.
After twenty-five minutes of weird noise, there was an interval. My mother, doddery on a walking stick, needed the Ladies. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ she said, ‘I’m so slow at walking. You go ahead.’ So I did. Inside the Ladies Rest Room were a row of uniform cubicles. I chose one, went in and – not being a hoverer – layered the seat in loo paper. As I sat down, I had an epiphany. A very alarming one. The sound bath had affected the toilet’s dimensions. Either that or my backside had tripled in size. If Mr V had been there I might well have asked, ‘Does my bum look big in this toilet seat?’
I leapt off the loo and roared out of the cubicle. I’d ask my mother instead. And actually, where was my mother? She’d yet to make an appearance. I found her wandering around a corridor looking bemused. ‘Where have you been?’ I cried. ‘In the Gents,’ she said. ‘I see,’ I replied. I didn’t. ‘So have you used the loo?’ I asked. ‘No. A man re-directed me. But I ended up in a cupboard full of carpet remnants. Not a toilet in sight.’ I was starting to think the sound bath had sent us both doollally. ‘The Ladies is this way,’ I took her arm, ‘and can I ask you something Mum? Be honest. Is my backside big?’ My mother looked at my denim clad bottom. ‘No bigger than when we got here. Why?’ I pushed open the door to the cubicle and pointed. Behold. Turned out I’d layered up a toddler training seat somebody had left behind.
So there we have it. A new Golden Age has arrived and everybody has survived. Which reminds me. Did you hear about the enlightened dyslexic cow? It kept chanting ooooM...