A Religious Experience

In the beginning, God created all manner of stuff...

(then, several days later)

God said, "Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: the livestock, the creatures that move along the ground, and the wild animals, bacteria, parasites, mosquitos, arachnids, each according to its kind" 

And it was so.

(the very next day)

God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness (especially Trump), so they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, bacteria, parasites, mosquitos, arachnids....

Thus veterinary surgeons were created.

Then, around 1977, it all started going wrong...

Every year since then, many of us get together to celebrate the fact that our livers have survived another year. 

This was to be our 42nd pilgrimage. 

Kev & Jane had been given the cruel and unenviable task of following on from last year's extravaganza in the South of France (in that evil place called Europe). 

In desperation, in a radical attempt to compete, they called upon the intervention of Trump God himself. 

This years reunion was to be held in monastery.

Stanbrook Abbey in Worcester to be precise.

It's an impressive building, onto which, to uphold its long monastic tradition, a large concrete block has been attached.

The first evening was spent in the traditional christian way of topping up alcohol levels. Here's Phil explaining that all the bottles belong to Judy...

That evening's food was monastic. I was impressed. I thought only British Rail could reach such dizzying heights.

The next day, after a hearty breakfast (I love it when I ask for an espresso and get what is obviously their normal coffee in a small cup) we were led on a stroll up the Malvern Hills.

Wick was given the honour of carrying the crate of holy water.

We walked at various speeds with various heart rates. Thank God there was an electric fence to keep us on the straight and narrow, and to kick start our tickers when required.

After an hour of stumbling along, we gathered near the summit for prayer. Not everyone was kneeling in supplication.

Spot the difference.

 On reaching the summit we searched for enlightenment a bar.

 even asking a passing monk,

 but no pub could be found.

 Nice view of the local pollution though...

Someone did, finally, spot a pub where we gathered to give thanks.

 Clearly a sign of our devotion.

Fasting seemed appropriate.

That evening we all went to church to repent our sins.

This part of the abbey was kept solely for deeply meaningful contemplation

 We contemplated soulful replenishment.

 We sat to pray that the food would be good. We ate flesh and drunk red stuff.

 Touching was encouraged, as in most Catholic Churches.

Our souls fully replenished (the meal was bloody good, BR must have been on strike), the next day we searched for further rejuvenation. In another pub. Not that it shows any signs of revitalising us as yet...

And so, to the end of another three day liver-enlarging sojourn. Kev and Jane did us proud. Thanks both for all your efforts and your attempts to convert us from the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
See you all next year, by the grace of God, or shear bloody luck...

May your god go with you...

Postscript

Bellow the abbey can be found the dungeon realms where the spawn of hell hang out. Here are the wine cellars, games rooms and lost souls wandering in a state of delirium.
I half expected to find Mike Hayes...