On Earnestness and Failed Humour.

Mel was telling me tonight that she went to a pagan-themed festival at a park in Nottingham last weekend. She said it was full of people in strange costumes talking earnestly about having seen the light. She said it reminded her of when she was a Buddhist, especially the earnest bit.

I suppose I’m a bit of a pagan by inclination, but I would never call myself one. That’s because:

a. I never join clubs, religions or cults.

b. I wouldn’t expect it to have any ultimate answers. Nothing ever does.

Still, it’s heartening to know that a pagan-themed festival can be held openly at a park in Nottingham. Imagine trying to do the same thing in Khartoum.

She also said that she’s discovered an interesting fact about the house she’s just moved into. Apparently, some sort of far-out Christian group used to hold meetings there, in the basement.

‘Why on earth would they hold meetings in a dark, damp cellar,’ she queried, ‘when there are light and airy rooms above?’

‘Maybe they wanted to get back to the roots of Christianity, when the faithful held secret meetings in the Roman catacombs. Did any of them go to a zoo and throw themselves to the lions?’

I thought it was funny, but she didn’t laugh.