The Jehovah's Witnesses were the latest in a long line of religious sects to erect their temple on the already cramped ley lines crisscrossing their way through East of Islington. Jostling for position alongside the Catholics, the Buddhists, the Evangelical Christians, the Hassidics and the Re-Bimhers, the Jehovah's Witnesses had arrived to warn residents that things were about to take a turn for the worse.
Daily the doom-laden believers would set out from their recently constructed hall behind the 24-hour Turkish supermarket and head off in search of new converts. Dressed in formal, low-key suits, they looked more like insurance salesmen than religious gurus -and were greeted as such. Door after door went unopened and they would return to base with not a single soul on the scoresheet.
One day they decided to change tactics and do their rounds in the evenings. They figured that people would have seen the gloom of the six o'clock news by then and would be looking for answers. It was a bold initiative but one that did reap some rewards: two of their members were offered dates and another was mauled by an overly enthusiastic dog. It wasn't exactly the reaction they were looking for, but at least they had managed to get their feet in the door.
One night a couple of enthusiasts working overtime knocked on the door of Les Mums. For most non-locals, two mums, one baby and no dad was an unorthodox arrangement. For the Jehovah's witnesses, it was completely off the song sheet.
Mum Mum opened the door with little Liam in her arms. She smiled warmly, pleased at the opportunity to introduce her offspring to a new audience. Besides, Dad Mum was out at work and she could do with the company. Officially, his father was an anonymous sperm donor,'-- she explained to the men. 'Although we are fairly certain that it was Liam Neeson,' she whispered, conspiratorially.
Mum Mum certainly wasn't what the two men usually looked for in a potential convert, but numbers were at an all-time low and needs must. 'Have you ever wondered why there are so many disasters in the world?' one of them asked, desperate to get on with his sales patter. 'Or why there are so many bad people in the world?' Mum Mum smiled knowingly. 'Sorry, I'm a Unitarian,' she said, giving them her stock reply for religious hawkers. The visitors were taken aback. 'What do they believe in.?' they asked.
Mum Mum had to admit it was a bit difficult to pinpoint. She only went every now and then, and only because they had a gay babies playgroup. 'I'm sure you understand,' she said. They said they didn't. Undeterred, she explained that the Unitarians liked everyone really, including Jesus, although they thought of him as a nice guy, a bit like Bob Dylan, but a lot more upbeat.
'You know,' she said, finally, waving her hands skywards, 'they're part of your gang.' The Jehovahs looked shocked. 'What gang?' they asked in unison. 'The religious lot,' she replied. 'Cults, that kind of thing. I thought you all knew each other?'
Somewhat baffled, the Jehovah's witnesses decided to give it one last shot. 'Armageddon is coming and we know there are only 144,000 places available in Heaven.' Mum Mum said she found this fact a bit difficult to believe. After all, that was barely enough to fill a sizeable council estate let alone the whole of eternity. Who was in charge of handing out the tickets?
That, they insisted, was beyond their control, but one thing they did know for sure: being a Unitarian wasn't going to cut it. 'Jesus would be there though,' they said. And she should take comfort from that. 'What about Cliff Richard?' she demanded. The two men shook their heads. 'So there is a God,' she replied.

Reprinted from THE OLDIE - January 2007