Recently I bumped into a lady I've known distantly for a long time. To be honest, I've never really spoken to her much, but on this occaision we got talking.

She began by enquiring about my historical research, something she'd noticed me doing at the library. The reason for her interest had nothing to do with my natural charm, physical assets, or bank balance, but rather my soul. It turns out she's a keen member of one of those odd christian sects that you see from time to time. Hers is a door leading to a church over the top of a popular pub in town, in an old refurbished cinema. Seems an ironic place to hold prayer meetings doesn't it?

I was politely invited to attend a meeting. No thanks. Especially after she innocently told me that a 'Great change was afoot'. She tried to stop me in mid-guffaw and explain why all these miracles were coming to pass. Sorry, but I still guffawed.

Then we got down to business and spent an hour engaged in a religious debate that certainly made a change from the usual football and nightclub scores. I don't she realised we had an audience!

Like most of these cults, hers has filled her head with talk of miracles and typical end-timer prophecies. Hers is a world filled with miracles. Unfortunately, I think it would take one to get me through her door.

Nightclubber of the Week

Walking home through a side street at night, I spotted a young black woman waiting for someone. Usually this sort of encounter is with a woman of the night, something I don't bother with and couldn't afford even if I was interested.

This lady was different. Her clothes were way upmarket to what I usually see in Swindon, more like the sort of thing you see in expensive london clubs. She noticed me looking as I passed by and stopped swigging champagne from the bottle. Oh, sorry dear, do carry on.

She did.