Thursday, 7 August 2008

The Play's the Thing


I have returneth from my pilgrimage to bow down in front of the Lord in Shakeyland. Mine eyes have been blessed and mine bloomers destroyed. I will provide full and frank details in our special place later. In the meantime here is a *spoiler*.

The e'en ere my arrival at the Lord's cathedral known as the Courtyard, He was visted by shepherds and kings in the form of the critics of the British Press. I have seen that they brought the Lord gifts in the form of praise, wonderment and awe.
That he deserves such gifts was never in doubt, but it was pleasing to read them nonetheless.

Of mine own trip, I had a wondrous time in Stratford, dinner in the Dirty Duck, and then the experience of a lifetime in the theatre. My paltry words cannot do justice to the magnificance of the whole play. I fear that only Shakey himself would find the words to describe how the Lord turned into the mad, moody Dane.

Following the curtain call, my converses took me at breakneck speed around to the stage door (which is on the left of the Theatre as you stand and look at the entrance. I am sad to report that I did not get a spot at the metal barrier which had been erected to keep the rabid wenches apart from the Lord's person. However, being a Sister of Pervitude that was not going to stop me. I saw the Lord dressed in a T shirt of most ecological green, come out the stage door. Fighting the urge to shout out "Shag me David" I awaiting his coming to my position with bated breath. When his vision appeared in front of me I squashed all those infront to shove my programme into his face! He held onto the other end as he signed and i felt every movement of his pen...

Floating on air I then set off back to the car for my return journey to my own altar, not expecting a further encounter with the Lord until November. I was surprised therefore when I noticed a Black Prius kerb crawling me. The driver was shouting and gesturing at the slow traffic infront of him and seemed to be in a state of turmoil as if he were in a hurry to get somewhere. I looked and noticed that the driver was dressed in a green T and wearing glasses. He had ruffled hair and then it dawned on me that it was indeed our Lord in his popemobile. I did not have time to use my phone to take a pic as he turned the corner and disappeared into the night. I did have the presence of mind to write his car reg on my hand!

So my night was complete. All tasks accomplished. I am dead, sisters; poisoned by the tip of the Lord's weapon of mass destruction.

To the nunnery Sisters....

Tennant xxx

1 comment:

Sister Shagwell said...

Welcome back dear sister. I was light of heart to read your latest offering. In fact many pairs of bloomers have been destroyed since you imparted texts of wisdom to mine own instrument of mass gossiping.

Am I right in thinking our Lord was making rude jestures to the great unwashed in his penismobile? After he hath preached upon the great thrust altar does he turn into the devil's incarnation at the wheel of sinful engineering? (Toymota Penis, for those who do not parlez SOP lingo. Indeed we should take our beloved in hand and purge him of his rage.

I look forward to hearing your full confession shortly.

Until then, "Come, to England....Wheeeeeeeee" or however he did say this.

Let us give thanks that the Lord has bestowed his name upon the holy book.

Tennant x