Free Millom in the Dock by Frankie Lassut Page B

Hodbarrow Point, or the Duddon Estuary. You’d smile
too if ‘God’ prayed to ‘you’ and, you also had a watch with jewels
to shame the Crown, wouldn’t you M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the
Jury, dear reader? But still! Hell! (Oops! Hail Mary!). A cold wind
straight off the Irish Sea, brrrr! It makes everyone else
miserable, especially at night when some poor soul finds it
necessary to open their back door to put the cat out and let the
kids in or vice versa and the wind blows out the living room
light.
    As the Winter
draws in some of the locals i.e. ‘the poor’, huddle in groups
around the Reverend’s front garden as they dare not stand on the
holy consecrated grass (freezing is one thing, but if a little
wrath is thrown in too that could be serious). They’re hoping for
Alms i.e. scraps of bacon, bread etc., which he throws into the
crowd for holy power amusement between penning profound
philosophical sermons. Sometimes if it is really, bitterly, beyond
a joke cold, he will open the door and throw out onto his crazy
paving, a real gift from God via him the Divinely appointed finger
of condemnation, a glowing ember from his blazing antique
Dickensian hearth (a goodwill ‘good Will’ gift that one), from
which bitterly cold hands may glean a little warmth. “See you all
Sunday” shouts the Rev. “Remember now, in the meantime, if you
can’t afford bread you must eat cake or starve! God bless me and
maybe remember you with great ‘massive’ effort, goodnight!” Through
his closed curtains, they can see many people in silhouette, stood
talking politely to each other it appears, while the Rev floats
amongst this obviously blessed throng. Yes the perfect host,
visiting with all of his guests. Occasionally he is seen to sit
down and lean over what is presumed to be his work desk … exhausted
no doubt? “Oh! Ooooh! The pooor, pooor man” say the shivering
ragged trousered philanthropists to one another. Some of the women
cry with emotion at being blessed in having such a martyr seeing to
their souls needs and tears have been known to freeze on
cheeks.
    There was one
memorable night when a lady with no arms came to a party … this
saintly man even entertains the disabled??? Well “HELL!” (Hail
Mary!) Where is he supposed to put all the inherited Italian marble
statues? Thank God for widows (not Windows, that’s Microsoft or
Stormglaze). The armless one disappeared from view after partying
constantly for a week (such rock hard stamina), soon after which
the Rev had four large crates of money delivered by the postman’s
cart, dragged huffingly, puffingly by Peg. I’m assuming it was
money because each crate had ‘MONEY’ written in large letters on
the top and sides, so I’m told by the Catholic Priest (Hisssss!
Blasphemer!) in his chilly living room one afternoon when he was
chatting to me about his neighbour Sharpo’s loud rock music, from
his Kite CD. The gorgeously huge amount of money received by the
Reverend from a deceased relative via the Rev’s personal grovelling
butler … God, was for the roof fund said the notice board A4. This
was rather confusing because soon after the money arrived, that
notice disappeared and this one appeared … I think the first bit is
from Bambi?
     
    Pit pit pat
little April showers … drip! Drip!
     
    CHURCH
NOTICE
     
    WE WOULD BE
GRATEFUL FOR THE LOAN OF UN-HOLY BUCKETS … THANKS. RETURN NOT
GUARANTEED … THANKS AGAIN.
     
    His Holiness …
THE REV
    P.S. TO NOT
LEND OR, TO TAKE BACK OR DEMAND THE RETURN OF YOUR DONATED BUCKET
IS A SIN! BE WARNED!
    SATAN IS
WAITING FOR YOU.

 
     
    A large bird in
silhouette appeared on his living room curtain show one night. To
the locals it did not seem to close its wings so, they assumed it
must have been waiting for the set bones to repair? The Rev must
also look after God’s sick creatures, convalescing after local Vet
Rick Brown has repaired them? He is like Saint Francis of
Assisi!
    Naaaaa.
    Eagle