There Is A God .....

And he's watching us!

In the supermarket today. With my stick. Back's still crucifying me.

Got to the checkout and paid for my bits. The girl's dashed off to do something else and a glints caught my eye. There, far below me, lays a one Euro coin. Think of it as a quid.

No point in calling the girl back then. She'd probably just dismiss it. It certainly wasn't my quid. I hadn't dropped it. So, I thought about it for a second and started slowly, rather riskily, squatting down towards it. Hanging onto my stick like grim death.

Got the bugger and started my accent. As I came up level with the counter, I saw the charity box there and popped this quid in. Civic duty done, I fucked off on about my business. Staggering, slightly zombie like, and glad of my strong staff for support. End of story.


And there I am, wincing and flinching, as I hobble over the cross roads and back towards the pub which is my 'Home Base From Home'. And, just before I get there, lo and behold! I'm only looking at a fucking Twenty quid note! Right there, all screwed up on the pavement before me! I shit ye not!

Down I go again. Clamber back up my pole, like some geriatric fucking monkey. Score grasped tightly in my mitt.

Back in the warmth of the bar, I lever myself onto my stool and regale 'The Lads' with the little story I've just told ye there. Usual response, of course; " Oh! Is that the twenty note I've just dropped, outside? " 'Yes, James; It has ye fucking name written on it!'. Good humour all round.

Then, the Landlord returns, from pouring a pint. I give him the abridged version of my bit of luck and loosen my fist to show him the twenty ..... and, as I so do, I wonder if I'm not mistaken. It now looks decidedly more gray than blue ....?!

Fuck Me! There's only a fuckin Fiver wrapped inside the score note!!!

How happy a bunny am I then? That's my trip into town paid for. Then God's' bought me my pint, look. And I still have a fuckin' Euro left in change! Not a bad return, eh?

Pocketed that original quid and I'd probably have collapsed in a fucking heap, half way back to the pub and in some dark bloody corner!

One only hopes that the guy who lost the 25 was some youngster who'll go out and get smashed tonight. Not knowing, by tomorrow, what he'd spent anyway. I expect what ever powers there might be had something in mind all along ;-)