After discovering an un-redeemed lotto scratch card (value £1), The Society considered all of its birthdays to have come at once. We immediately entered the most luxurious building available but were quickly rebuffed by the duty manager who recognised us as the chief culprits in what the police report described as an ‘unprovoked attack’ on his six-year-old daughter (we were there first, it was our bit of the beach, the little tramp had no right to build sandcastles there).
Luxurious surroundings in the locality were few and far between yet we remembered seeing the local vicar drive past us in a rather natty new automobile whilst mixing cocktails (seeing such a thing while out late at night turned us entirely flaccid and ruined the night’s activities). But nevertheless it was possibly our best shot, and at least it would be warmer in the church than in our current lodgings (a bench).
Our prayer technique was modelled on our usual manner of supplication when brought before the courts. The vicar seemed slightly bemused at the huddle of weeping chaps arrayed around his altar, hands clasped, shouting “howay man, i didn’t do it”, “let us off buddy”, “it weren’t me mate”.
He proposed we waited in an ante-room until the service was completed. As we surveyed the room for exits we came upon a cupboard filled with two types of whiskeys (one expensive, one cheap) we swiftly mixed them together (shaking and stirring ad-lib) and topped the concoction with a 330ml can of Doctor Pepper that we had earlier liberated from a broken vending machine. We had barely taken a sip when the vicar came in. What we had expected to be a convivial chat about the redemption of our scratch card quickly escalated into what could have been described as a fist-fight (if only he punched us back). His body may have been blocking the door, but escape was still possible. As we fled, the entire congregation accused us – in our opinion a little too readily – of being blasphemers, which we considered personally injurious. We extracted recompense from the collection plate as we spirited by, and had a smashing afternoon eating rusks – which were much improved by being liberally pickled in a rather magnificent cognac.