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Audio: Readings by the author
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Honest to God:
Having withdrawn from ant-psychotic drug, I’m literally crying out for sanctuary.
I go to my local church, St. Mary's in Staindrop, County Durham.
At the atrium I hear a voice:
‘Be honest to God, stand naked before the cross.’
I walk through the nave until I reach the altar, position myself behind it, take off my clothes, fold them neatly, and place them on an adjacent pew. I then face the cross and yield to trance.
Unbeknown to me, four German tourists enter the church, then beat a hasty retreat to report what they’ve just witnessed to the shop keeper in the newsagent across the road.
Shortly after I hear another voice:
‘Aidan, this is not appropriate, this is a house of God.’
I open my eyes to find the curate and a member of the congregation standing before me.
I assert:
‘You are a man of the cloth, you're covered up…I’m standing naked before the cross…tell me which of us is being true to God?’
The two men leave the church and me with my maker in my birthday suit. It’s not long before I’m joined by my mother, who with a wry smile, says:
‘Look darling, you can remain here as you are until the men in white coats come to take you away, or you can put your clothes back on, come home with me, and have a cup of tea and biscuit … now which is it to be?’
Rather sensibly I choose the latter.
Having withdrawn from ant-psychotic drug, I’m literally crying out for sanctuary.
I go to my local church, St. Mary's in Staindrop, County Durham.
At the atrium I hear a voice:
‘Be honest to God, stand naked before the cross.’
I walk through the nave until I reach the altar, position myself behind it, take off my clothes, fold them neatly, and place them on an adjacent pew. I then face the cross and yield to trance.
Unbeknown to me, four German tourists enter the church, then beat a hasty retreat to report what they’ve just witnessed to the shop keeper in the newsagent across the road.
Shortly after I hear another voice:
‘Aidan, this is not appropriate, this is a house of God.’
I open my eyes to find the curate and a member of the congregation standing before me.
I assert:
‘You are a man of the cloth, you're covered up…I’m standing naked before the cross…tell me which of us is being true to God?’
The two men leave the church and me with my maker in my birthday suit. It’s not long before I’m joined by my mother, who with a wry smile, says:
‘Look darling, you can remain here as you are until the men in white coats come to take you away, or you can put your clothes back on, come home with me, and have a cup of tea and biscuit … now which is it to be?’
Rather sensibly I choose the latter.