A Spiritual Bloomer

It never ceases to amaze me how even an innocent night out can turn into a farce. Last Tuesday Bro and I dutifully turned up at the Padstow Assembly Rooms for a peek into the hereafter courtesy of the local Spiritualists. We were not looking for trouble, had parked the harmonium off-road and were determined to scoff our refreshments with the minimum amount of racket. We were going to be good boys that evening.

I thought it was a bit odd that the medium seemed to be worshipping at an altar of roses, carnations and chrysanthemums but naturally assumed this was some local Druid offshoot cult.  However, as the strangely didactic monologue continued, it began to dawn on me that we may have mistakenly wandered into a flower arranging class.

Quietly securing a snoozing Mordecai in a head lock I began a stealthy but awkward retreat towards the exit. That was when some daft bint began screaming and we were subjected to a frenzy of hysterical swatting as if we were wasps invading a Portaloo. No doubt some twisted unfortunates would derive unwholesome satisfaction from being thrashed with gladioli but I can assure you it is not nice at all.

Luckily, with cries of woe and limping worthy of Olivier I managed to effect a truce and earned us a reprieve from a vicious towsing. In fact the atmosphere warmed considerably after I complimented them on their displays and once I had explained my interest in preserved fruit I was asked to return later in the year to judge the harvest jam and pickle competition.

I can't really demand payment for that gig but I'll wear my Octomac (see "Also Ran" in The Ambrose Files # 7) with its multitude of deep pockets. I won't be leaving without a hefty stash of tasty and nutritious perks. Ambrose comes up smelling of strawberries in light syrup yet again, he he!

So it's holding hands with ghosties next Monday at the St Austell Old Mackerel Sheds & Community Centre at 7.30 sharp. If it all goes nipples-skyward I'll give Mordecai such a clump. Not that it will be his fault, but in Groida's absence ...