Several weeks ago, I paid a visit to the twenty four hour Tescos at Burnage.
What a visist! It was my first, and although it was only early evening, every round of the aisles held untold pleasures.
However, my journey there was less than satisfaactory, though it can hardly be blamed on the good staff at the said superstore. For it was on that fine May evening, that the heavens above Manchester decided that it would be a good day to hold a monsoon.
I hid under a railway bridge, but it was already too late. I was drenched.
For several days, I wondered why my favourite corduroy trousers smelt a little dank, before realising that it was no doubt due to the stinky rainwater with which they had been saturated, calling out to me from the inner fabric. Soon enough, the stench went away, and I committed myself (lazily) to washing them at some point before heading off to the USA.
I am now stood up in those same trousers, in a beautifully clean Christian Science reading room, wearing those same trousers, which contain the same filthy water particles as they did all those weeks ago.
This is testament not to the profound depths of my depravity (which are indeed, most profound), but rather the hectic time I had before departing. Now that I am here, I recognise and realise that this is of little consequence. Of greater consequence, is the deoderant that I left in Manchester, and the razor that I could not take through customs. I am hairy and smelly, and I thought that all such nonsense had been laid to rest years ago.
In the past few days, I have been privilidged to shake hands with some of the senior officers of my Church, with a crappy beard and a faint odour hanging about me. If you can imagine a more degrading position to be in, I would be overjoyed to reflect upon it.
Other than this sadness, my journey is well underway. My host has proved to be as hospitable as you can imagine, and I am well at home on his cosy airbed.
I am exhausted and learning.
