ST IMULUS: IT’S ‘CHEERS!’ AT OUR LOCAL

As per usual, there’s a goodly turnout of us saints (actually, “we saints,” as Saint Paul regularly reminds us. We don’t call him “Pedantic Paul” for nothing). It’s always good to chill out at the end of a hard week’s work of doling out blessings, organising cloud storage, harp tuning, Pearly Gate polishing, border security, intercession processing, and so on. Saint Phoebe (Fi for short) is duty manager today. Again. It seems like she has been running this place for aeons. (She has).

Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John arrive early. “The fish aren’t biting today,” they tell Phoebe, as they move to sit by – where else – the tropical fish tank. At the next table, we see Tim, along with Eunice his Mum and Granny Lois, we call them the eternal trio. They look like they’ve already had a few. Tim, as he swirls, sniffs, and then sips from his eternity-sized wine glass, pats his ample stomach with his other hand. “Ah!” he says, “a fine nose. So good and healthy too. Thank God for good old Saint Paul.”

Matthew and Judas (yes, he lives here, to the surprise of a few) are sitting nearest to the till, along with their neighbours Martha and Mary, and a recent arrival called Karen (whose name change request is still being processed). “Lazarus will be along a little later,” Mary explains to me. “He’s watching a James Bond double-header at the Paramount. Which do you reckon?”

I sigh, kindly, as I reply, “Could I hazard a guess? You Only Live Twice and Die Another Day?” Mary smiles approvingly. She knows I know. Lazarus has watched those two movies some ten thousand times. Or ten thousand times ten thousand, counting is different up here. He is a privileged attendee at the Paramount and is often invited to act as MC at special screenings when he explains how his own experience gives him an enhanced understanding of the genre.

The late afternoon sun is streaming warmly in, the sound system is quietly and appropriately playing My Way (the cover version by JC and the ‘Postles). Over by the window, Eve offers Adam a sip of her Strongbow cider. “I’ve always been a bit partial to an apple, and I just so love the spirit within which you share it,” he tells her, appreciatively.

Jesus appears in the midst (like old times), and nods welcomingly around the room. He smiles warmly at Peter, who last week attempted the “appears in the midst” thing. Unfortunately for Peter, his timing wasn’t great, and he’d bruised his head on the entry wall while unsuccessfully trying to bypass it. Andrew gave him a hard time over it, whereas their good mates James and John had missed the spectacle completely, lagging behind down the road arguing about who was the humblest among the fishing band of brothers.

Jesus orders his usual Bl**dy Mary (we’re not allowed to swear here, his Mum doesn’t approve, it’s a bit of an in-joke). Passing by Peter’s table he observes that Peter’s glass is empty. “Another syrah?” asks Jesus. Peter doesn’t hear him, being distracted by the game on the large-screen infinity-sized TV. Jesus repeats his question. Again Peter appears not to notice. On the third “another syrah?” Peter realises he’s being spoken to and replies affirmatively. The bar’s resident parrot whistles.

“You’ll have to pay for it this time,” Jesus tells Peter. “We’re clean out of large stone water pots.”

Simon Peter (Simple, we sometimes call him) sighs, and peruses the snack menu, noticing the pie – fish of course – but that seems too much like work. His eyes hungrily devour the line “grilled lamb sliders”. He reaches into his raiment pocket for the food vouchers he scored at the recent charity fundraiser, but his hand comes out empty. Peter remembers he had given them to Judas for dry safekeeping when he was heading for a stroll across the lake. Looking over to Judas’s table, he’s just in time to see Judas hand them over in exchange for twenty large pieces of Heaven’s Pizzas pizza-of-the-day.

In the end, he orders the fries, and the barperson throws in some fish nuggets on the side, a nice touch. Touchlessly, of course.

Thomas is leaning on the bar in animated conversation with a couple of newcomers with 5G CAUSES COVID embroidered on their arrival shrouds. “For crying out loud!” St Tom tells them, ever so slightly exasperatedly. (You can’t do BIG-sized exasperatedly here, it is not considered kosher). “Sometimes I wonder how people like you get into this place. We here stand for truth, honesty, and impeccable sources. The kind of rubbish some of you guys (formerly) believed has caused excessive demand on our Calm the Worried Humans Department, while the Smiting Office has grown rather tired of receiving your requests. Don’t forget it is the Boss here who raises up governments down there. Get over yourselves.” Strangely, eternally, they do. (Discreet enquiries Indicate why these two newcomers arrived here earlier than the typical three-score-and-ten. It wasn’t the 5G towers that got them, but their abject refusal to heed the calls for mask-wearing and social distancing).

Next Tuesday is the first Tuesday of the, well, Aeon (we don’t do months here, we haven’t got any moon for the lunar thing), so it’s time (as it were) for our regular pub quiz. Jesus and God are going to give it a miss after their miraculous performance last time – they got all the answers right – and even knew what the questions were before they were asked. Peter, Andrew, and the Zeb lads wondered if it was fair – but were swiftly reminded that all’s fair in love and … well, love, actually.

Cheers!