Memorial Service

I'm not religious. I don't even dislike religion. What I hate is "religiosity". This tends to go hand in hand with the laying of cheap bunches of flowers at the scene of "events" [I've covered this one before, so won't re-visit my feelings on that particular subject].

Today, coming back from one of our daily plods we happened upon an occasion being set up. I can only really call it an occasion because we didn't know what it was / was going to be. All we could tell was that it was going to be something.

As it turned out, it was the set up for a memorial service for a mother and child who had been murdered by the mothers "partner" [a schitzophrenic drug user].

My erstwhile colleague asked what time things were going to kick off [probably literally, for the area in which it was being held].

7.00pm we were told.

No sooner had we gotten back to the "office" than he blurted this out to the boss.

"I think we should show the flag, sort of thing" said the boss.

All well and good but my over enthusiatic colleague was off shift at 6.00pm and I would be one of the saps going to this so called "memorial service".

Seven o'clock finds me and another poor sod trying to be unobtrusive.

Others present included [well, actually, totaled...] a known heroin user, a known drug dealer and three alcoholic lesbians. Leading this "flock" in some form of service was Father Bob [left wing, happy clappy type].

To keep the proceedings warmed up, literally, they had no end of candles and a bit of a bonfire in a wheelie bin [plastic].

So, for his incense, Fr Bob had the scent of melting plastic, inter-mingled with candle wax, and for his alter cloth, a leopard skin blanket / fleece type thing.

All it needed was for one of those present [not either of us, by the way] to throw their bottle of meths into the bonfire and the headline in next weeks Camden New Journal would be "Crack-Head Cremation Carnage at [memorable] Memorial Service".