Gervillian and the Vicar: A Dialogue

From our upcoming Edinburgh show.

A Church. Gervillian Felch is looking for reassurance from the Vicar

Gervillian: So obviously I took the matter to the police.

Vicar: Yes indeed, for a neighbour to be so uncooperative with his Rhododendron is most grave.

G: And yet they were no help at all!  I do not pay taxes in order to fund a bunch of clowns, but a bunch of clowns they most certainly were!

V: Oh yes, clowning should really be left to the private sector.  Were the council of any assistance?

G:  Well they just sent round the Political Correctness Gone Mad Brigade!  I was treated most rudely and refused assistance in a distinctly Socialist manner.

V: Oh, that is most unfair…

G: I thought to contact the press, in order to publicly embarrass the EU Human Rights Council Stasi Brigade.

V: Yes, I saw the Mail… it rather seemed to involve more than just your azaleas though.

G: In their quest for a story, matters were made… somewhat worse.

V: How much worse?

G: My garden looks like Basra now.

V: Oh dear..

G: I suspect they may have salted the earth.

V: You poor fellow.

G: I must say, I simply don’t know what to do now.  The matter is becoming most desperate, and still his rhododendron encroaches…

V: Let us pray for you and your garden, then.

G: Oh what a good idea, Reverend!  The good Lord shall provide!

V: Oh Lord, King of all kings and mightiest of all, we pray to you in this, Mr. Felch’s darkest hour.  Oh Lord, we pray for Mr. Felch’s garden, and for his other garden; the garden that is his soul garden.

Lord, hear our prayer.

Oh Lord, we pray that Mr Felch catches some debilitating disease, preferably something involving the loss of his voice so that I may never again hear his self-involved prattle.

We stand before you, oh Lord God our God Lord, in humble appeal, that something really unpleasant and embarrassing happen to Mr. Felch at an inopportune moment, such as his eyes turning orange in the queue at Marks & Spencer, or his nose falling off at a party.

But most of all, darling Sky-Yahweh, we pray to you that he just go away and never come back, as I have had quite as much as I can take.

Blessings be upon the meek and also upon the vodka I shall be gulping as soon as I get home in the futile hope of scrubbing the memory of this man, this human stain, from my mind.

Amen.

Gervillian is staring, face agape.  The Vicar smiles warmly at him and calmly walks out.


One Response to “Gervillian and the Vicar: A Dialogue”

  1. Knckoed my socks off with knowledge!


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