It was unheard of in the village. Everyone knew what one was but it wasn't something they'd ever been invited to. Well, Helen had, and I had, but that wasn't around here. Helen had even met The Queen at one. I kept quiet; I didn't want her taking the mickey again.
Colin and Faith were having a Garden Party. To add a further new occurrence for the village they were including a barbecue.
As well as half the village they had invited some of their former parishioners from Bristol. There was much speculation amongst the locals. No-one thought that they would have two heads but it was well known that city folk could have some strange ways. I suggested that as they were devout Christians they probably wouldn't be that bad. This only added to the general idea that they must be weirdos.
If you asked most of the villagers what their religion was they would probably all say they were C of E. If you asked them what C of E meant only half of them would know it was Church of England.
When I was at school Sister Bridget would often say, "The English are a godless people."
When I told her that I considered myself more English than Catholic she pulled my knickers down and used the slipper on me. I've never held the opinion that the slipper was a valid way to win an argument.
Along with a lot of my generation, I feel the Anglican Church is more about belonging than believing. If you asked me now what my religion is, I would probably say C of E.
Sister Bridget would turn in her grave; and I sincerely hope that she has a grave to turn in.
That said, I still don't go to church.
The W.I. ladies had been press ganged into helping with preparations for the garden party. They were offended that they'd been asked but they would have been far more offended if they hadn't been asked. In the week leading up to it they made bunting from scraps of material of every conceivable colour and pattern. They dug out their spare tablecloths and crockery. Some of them made cakes.
On the day they dragged trestle tables and chairs from the church hall. They washed and prepared salad. They buttered rolls. They laid out condiments.
Everything edible or drinkable was ordered from the village shop and supplied by the wholesalers. I suggested this, so somehow I got the bill. I didn't matter, I would have taken care of it anyway.
Colin said that the good weather on the day was due to the power of prayer. It seemed to me more likely that the people that do the weather forecast had finally liaised with the people who organise the weather.
Most of the local guests were in the garden by the time the visitors arrived. As soon as they set foot in the lane outside the Vicarage Harry had a lustful look in his eye. He really has a thing for minibuses these days ever since I hired one for Glenda's wedding.
Introductions were made all round. It was a little disappointing as they seemed, well, normal. There were a few couples, of varying ages, as well as some people on their own. They made the usual jokes about the fresh air being bad for their lungs and it being too quiet to think; I was impressed. No-one even mentioned religion. Old Tom managed to ask a couple and their son, who were obviously of Caribbean descent, where they were from. Darlene and Noris graciously told him that they were from Bristol but that their parents had come over from Tobago. Their son, Chris, thought it was quite funny. When I spoke to him later he said old people don't mean to cause offence, they are just interested in you but their vocabulary is forty years out of date. Very Christian of him, I thought.
Chris also related the story of the first time he visited Glasgow. An old drunk called him an English Bastard. He didn't know whether to be offended or proud to be disliked simply because he was English.
It was after that that Chris' problems really started. Rita latched on to him. She cut him out from the others. Then she got him a drink. Then she got him some food. Then she insisted he needed more of both. She flashed her smile at him. Then she flashed her tits at him. The poor boy was doomed.
She said to me quietly, "His dick is enormous!"
"How do you know?" I hissed.
"Well, I may have accidentally grabbed it," she replied.
I circulated a bit. Speaking to some of the visitors and some of the locals. I tried to stop them from sticking in their seperate groups. I know it wasn't my place to do it but it meant I didn't get landed with just one person.
Mind you I wasn't so sure that the mixing was a good idea when I heard Glenda talking to a middle-aged couple. "Craig and me spent a weekend in Bristol a couple of months back. We wanted to go to the *********** Club. Have you been there? she asked.
Fortunately, they had never heard of it. I managed to steer the couple towards the Alices before Glenda could explain what sort of club it was. I didn't want her telling them that although it was supposed to be a mixed sauna night, they were the only couple there. When Glenda had told me about it, she said she had never sweated so much in her whole life. She said it was really seedy. There were about twenty dirty old perverts there. She had sex with about half of them. Evidently, Craig and her are going back again next month.
I managed to speak to quite a few of Colin's former parishioners. Most of them had never left the city before. They were intrigued by village life. The fact that we knew and actually spoke to all of our neighbours surprised them.
The Vicar, Colin, pulled me to one side. I thought, "Here we go, he's going to ask me why I don't go to church."
Instead he said, "I wanted to thank you for helping Faith to settle in. She's a changed woman since you've found ways for her to spend her evenings."
"We have become much closer lately. She comes home from the monthly gatherings at the pub full of spirit. And entertaining the young man at Henchard's Farm has opened up a lot of new things for her."
I wasn't sure if he was letting me know that he knew that I knew that he enjoyed fucking his wife after she had been out strumping. So I just said, "Glad I could help."
At one point I remembered to eat something. While I was getting to grips with a slightly burnt beef burger in a bap, Chris found me. I asked him what he did for a living. He worked for the City Council Museums Department. I was stunned when he said that he had studied social history at University. He had always been fascinated by the lives of ordinary people, particularly the ways in which they enjoyed themselves. "You should talk to my friend Imogen," I said.
He wanted to know all about the pub and the role it had played in village life over the centuries. They had old buildings in Bristol, of course, but they tended to be quite grand. None of the working class homes survived. I thought that most of my predecessors as licensee would have been quite horrified to be included in the working class but I let it go.
I would have liked to have spoken to him longer but we both got dragged away to talk to other people.
