Laughter and Memories

I had my first visit to church number three in my pastoral charge in my new Circuit today. It was Harvest and there was a lunch and "entertainment" afterwards. I really enjoyed being there with them. We had a time of fun together and belly aching laughter. It culminated in a lady getting an old Pam Ayres book of poems out of her handbag and reading "Pam Ayres And The Embarrassing Incident With The Parrot."  

There was much hilarity in the room but I think people wondered why their new minister was nearly under the table crying. When I was very young, at the church I grew up in, Folly Methodist in Wheathampstead, we used to have "entertainment"after Harvest like they did today. I used to read Pam Ayres poems out of the same book the lady used today. The parrot poem has the line "get off you little buggers" in it. I remember my Dad (or perhaps my Mum telling my Dad to do it) putting a sticky label over the last word of that sentence and altering it to perishers! I haven't heard that poem read for years. When I recovered, my senior steward said, "I think we are learning lots about our new minister today!"

It is good to laugh - I am glad to be part of churches that laugh. It is so refreshing. If we can't laugh together we are in serious strife. Pam Ayres is a genius. I follow her on Twitter and she is hilarious on that - @ayrespam if you're interested. I might have to save some pennies to see her on tour next month - she is near here in Crawley. I reproduce the parrot poem below in case anyone doesn't know it. Hearing it today being read by an elderly lady and watching people collapse in laughter and collapse with more laughter watching my reaction to it has been the highlight of my day. Thank you Pam Ayres, and thank you St Helens Methodist Church!

At the Cotswold Wild Life Park, In the merry month of May, I paid the man the money, And went in to spend the day, Straightway to the Pets Corner, I turned my eager feet, To go and see the rabbits, And give them something to eat. As I approached the hutches, I was alarmed to see, A crowd of little yobbos, 'Ollerin' with glee, I crept up close behind them And weighed the scene up quick, And saw them poke the rabbits Poke them! . . with a stick! 'Get off you little buggers!" I shouted in their ear, 'Don't you poke them rabbits, That's not why they are here." I must have really scared them, In seconds they were gone, And feelin' I had done some good, I carried on along. Till up beside the Parrots Cage, I stood to view the scene, They was lovely parrots, Beautiful blue and green, In and out the nestbox, They was really having fun, Squawking out and flying about, All except for one. One poor old puffed-up parrot, Clung grimly to his perch, And as the wind blew frontwards, Backwards he would lurch, One foot up in his feathers, Abandoned by the rest, He sat there, plainly dying, His head upon his chest. Well, I walked on down the pathway And I stroked a nanny goat, But the thought of parrots dyin' Brought a lump into me throat, I could no longer stand it, And to the office I fled, Politely I began: 'Scuse me, Your parrot's nearly dead." So me and a curator, In urgent leaps and bounds, With a bottle of Parrot Cure, Dashed across the grounds, The dust flew up around us, As we reached the Parrots Pen, And the curator he turned to me Saying 'Which one is it then?" You know what I am going to say, He was not there at all, At least, not where I left him, No, he flit from wall to wall, As brightly as a button, Did he squawk and jump and leap, The curator was very kind, Saying, "I expect he was asleep." But I was humiliated, As I stood before the wire, The curator went back, To put his feet up by the fire, So I let the parrot settle, And after a short search, I found the stick the yobbos had, And poked him off his perch.