Tristan

It had never occurred to Tristan that any ladies of his congregation would attend a hen night.
Their average age was 67 and they were typical country gentlewomen.
All the same, he thought it best to play safe so he always wore the fake moustache for his
routine, just in case any young people from the area were in the audience.
He was a clean cut blond young man of 35, and a country vicar’s stipend doesn’t go far, so
the £40 or £50 once or twice a week came in handy.

At Service, this morning, Mrs Porter had looked at him strangely and then, in the afternoon
at Bible Class, the room fell silent as he walked in. Had they been talking about him? Worrying.
Something had to be done, but what? He promised himself he wouldn’t do it again, if he
could just get past this. He’d find something else to make up a living wage.
At Evensong, he announced that there would be a short meeting afterwards, to discuss some
issues which had arisen.
When all the ladies were comfortably ensconced in the Church Hall, cups of tea in hand, he
coughed and stood up. Twelve elderly faces looked up at him expectantly.
“Well, ladies I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours, so I think the time has come for me to
explain myself,” he began.
The ladies looked bemused.
“My appearance with the Hot Rods at Diamond Lil’s, last night, was my attempt to raise
funds for, ahem, for the Christmas Parcel Appeal.”
He stood up straight and continued, “I don’t make a habit of taking off my clothes in public.”
The gasps and rattled teacups signalled his mistake.
Mrs Porter, who had once worked in a soup kitchen in Sydenham, and was therefore less
shockable, spoke up.
“Vicar, this has come as rather a shock, as you will appreciate, since we had NOT heard the
rumour of which you speak.”
“But..but..” Tristan was taken aback.
“However,” went on Mrs Porter, “we WERE all wondering what had possessed you to start
wearing a diamond stud in your ear.”

©Avril King