This strangely Dalstonian story is apparently and allegedly true according to my neighbour. During midnight mass on Christmas Eve, two twitching ne'er-do-wells moved from the fairly empty pews up the front and close to the pious yet indecipherable priest and moved to the pews on the side down the back. My neighbour ("I'm a nosy cow") was curious and kept copping a glance at the quiet activity taking place behind her. She reported that the two men were hunched over making circular motions with their hands and then licking their fingers, smiling and nodding at each other. There followed the rustling sound of money changing hands. She caught a flash of a mirror as it was replaced in the pocket when they stood up and returned grinning madly to their original seats. No batted an eyelid. Recently the police had a bit of a try in controlling the business in dealer's flats in my street and it seemed to be successful after witnessing at least a dozen grimy folk being led out cuffed and shouting obscenities at the coppers. The rozzers gave as good as they got; the force have definitely moved on from the platitudes of Dixon of Dock Green even though, personally, I miss the politeness. In fact, I miss politeness everywhere but that's another blog.
You've got to hand it to the dealers' fortitude to use A House Of God to deal drugs but I feel I must inform the vicar of this disturbing news as he's such a nice man and it would be scandalous and tragic if he somehow was found in any way responsible - not his fault; drug dealers and addicts have an extraordinary iron-will when it comes to supply and demand.
Trouble is, I can't stop laughing about it. It's a
church for God's sake
.
