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The Rt On Rev meets some new parishioners Downtown Aberdeen isn't the first place you might consider sending a gay Unitarian minister, but the world's spiritual compass moves in mysterious ways. Wrenched from his liberal perch in East of Islington, Rt On Rev was dispatched with a mission; get the numbers up up north. His flock were devastated. Aberdeen?' they wailed. If they wanted converts in the north, what's wrong with Hendon? But head office was unmoved. 'They'll welcome you with open arms,' they insisted. 'Just don't try anything fancy.' The Scottish league had been without a minister for several years now and it showed. There was barely time to unpack in the concrete motel block before the demands for pastoral attention began. His badly-lit room with nylon-covered twin beds, a faulty shower and a cracked mirror, was not conducive to the kind of caring and sharing he liked to offer, so he arranged to meet his new flock in the bar. Something they generally seemed quite keen on. His first, and almost his last, visitor was a diminutive red-headed man who had reached the age of 35 without ever having had a girlfriend. 'What can I do to get a girl?' It was a question for which Rt On Rev admitted he had very few answers, but he felt something would probably come to them over another drink. On his way to refuel their glasses, he met a gregarious young woman called Mona. Apparently her father was an integral part of the failing ministry; he played the organ. She was pleased to meet him although ashamed to admit that she hadn't been to church in years. Perhaps she should return. After all, it would make her dad happy and she needed a little spiritual guidance right now. Her job as a pole dancer did take its toll. Rt On Rev gave her his telephone number and urged her to call; in the bid for souls, every one counted. He returned to his parishioner's problem with renewed vigour. There were obviously nice girls in this town he explained to the loveless young man, he had just met one. The important thing was to be sensitive, he had no doubt that this was exactly what women like Mona were looking for. He was warming to this theme when he felt the weight of a very large hand on his shoulder. Turning round, he was confronted with a man who bore a striking resemblance to a bulldog with bad teeth. 'See my woman,' the man snarled, pointing at the lovely Mona. 'See this fist,' he added. 'You've got it coming.' He was convinced that Rt On Rev had been trying to 'pull his bird'. 'But I'm her minister,' he squealed. 'Prove it,' the man snarled. Despite proclaiming his belief that dog collars and other religious signifiers were unnecessary in the modern world, Rt On Rev only managed to further antagonize his assailant. His eyes bulged. 'Out f**in side,' he grunted, nodding towards the swing doors. Rt On Rev felt his knees giving way, but just as he felt he was about to assume the prayer position he saw Mona striding towards them. A barrage of expletives were exchanged before Mona thrust a mobile into her boyfriend's hand. On the other end was her father, the organist. Minutes passed while the boyfriend grunted into the phone, his glare never leaving his victim's orbit. Finally, he hung up. 'So, you're a southerner?' he said. Rt On Rev said that yes, technically he was from the south, but originally he came from Ireland. 'Aye,' the man nodded. 'He said the new minister was a short, fat, mincing paddy. So you're okay' Rt On Rev was speechless. He looked over at his parishioner. 'So much for sensitive,' the man observed. Sam Taylor Reprinted from THE OLDIE - July 2007 |