Overheard in the Oratory forecourt on Palm Sunday

I caught Fr Dom after mass, and as we were chatting about life, the universe, and everything important, including how wonderfully curly the ribbons on Fr Richard's vestments were, Andrew, the organist and a GBF, joined us.

Andrew asked if Fr Dom had liked the organ improv he'd done during mass. I half drifted out of the conversation then, till Andrew said something about 'village organist'. It was too good to pass up: I looked up at Andrew and said, "Village People, more like."

"She has an answer for everything, doesn't she?" said Fr. Dom, resigned after years of friendship.

"She does," replied Andrew.

More conversation about music, and at a semi-appropriate point, I piped up with, "I'd be very happy to stand behind you whilst you play and appreciate your great ass," I said, reaching around cheekily.


THAT was too much even for Fr Dom, who looked at me in shock and said - albeit warmly - "SCANDALOUS woman!" (If only he knew...oh yeah, he's my confessor, he does.)

I gave my (in)famous WTF eyeroll (though I swear, it is nowhere nearly as good as Hyphen's newborn daughter's, who has the *mother* of all WTF looks. I want that.)

Andrew and I immediately shifted into our Indian accents:

"It is not a sexual thing, my friend, don't worry, it is just aesthetic appreciation," I said.

Andrew said, "Just aesthetic appreciation. Good."

Andrew came an put an arm round my shoulder and said, "No, she's not. She's one of those women that Jesus loved very much and spent a lot of time with." Then he looked at me wickedly and said,

"Your problem is, honey, you don't charge enough."

I burst out laughing and replied,

"Damn right I don't charge enough!"

"Perhaps you could bring a jar of ointment next week," said Andrew, which earned him a flippant two-fingered salute and a "I'll bring some in on Friday, shall I?"

"Yes, you can do my feet then," said Andrew.

Not your average Oratory forecourt conversation.

Good thing I was on form, though, because not two minutes later, when Nick told me he'd done three masses that morning and was doing (ie, reading the Passion) the 6.30, I uttered, "Jesus Christ!" and quickly had to backpedal by saying, "I mean my Hispanic friend Jesus in NY, whose mother is Mary and father is Joseph, erm, Jose."

Though actually, I was more concerned for Kevin's sensibilities, since Nick knows me.

Yet another non-average Oratory forecourt conversation.

I'm not sure I'll ever have one...