An sordid confession

Sometimes, I like to watch Sunday morning religious programming. You know, the stuff where they try to hold serious discussions about faith and all that kind of stuff? I love it. Nothing more guaranteed to have me shouting at the television than people debating religion. Shout, shout, shout, shout, shout. When I start hurling personal insults at the folks on the screen I know it’s time to go get a nice cup of tea and do something else with the morning.

Today I lasted a whole five minutes! (something of a record for me)

And what was the topic de jour? Science Versus Religion – three falls, a knockout, or a submission. Funny, funny, rant-inducing stuff. My favourite was the woman with two wee kiddies, standing in the Science Museum in London telling the nation that she’d “rather trust a man with a white beard than a man in a white coat.”

Light blue touch paper and run like buggery.

Who? Santa Claus? He’s got a white beard. So has Saddam Hussein, come to that. Hell, even my Dad’s got a white beard these days... But wait, look at that coy little tilt to her head, that mischievous sparkle in her eye: she’s not talking about any old white-bearded silly-sausage, she’s talking about GOD! Wow.

Actually, now I come to think about it, the guy who sells fish in Oldmeldrum on Saturday mornings wears a white coat, and so does the woman who delivers the rolls and rowies to the local shop. So, no offence to Agnes (who’s a lovely lady and does a fine job with her floury baps*), but if I’m standing in the queue for the checkout – perhaps having purchased a bottle of wine, some cheese and a copy of ‘What Beard Monthly’ (it’s handlebar moustaches this issue with a free chin-shaped hairnet for those unruly furry bits) – and up pops God with a contrary position on the correct maintenance procedure for a hedge trimmer, I’m going to have to go with the white beard option too. He’s God, and being omnipotent presumably knows his way around garden tools and other household implements.

Mind you, if it’s about the correct oven temperature for making rowies, I’m probably going to lean more Agnes-ward. Fair’s fair after all.

Is it normal to watch television programmes just because you know they annoy you?

* Don’t be childish now... tee-hee: that sounds like boobies...