I arrived somewhat later than I’d intended. It was nearly mid-night and the house party was, as the kids would say nowadays, in full swing. As soon as I’d walked in, most people were aghast. I fought my way through the crowd and took my place, in the front room, where most people were dancing. They had to clear a space. I stood there for two hours.
Earlier on in the day was especially busy for me. I knew I’d have a lot to prepare for the fancy dress party, and it was imperative that I made an impact.
Finding all the components to my costume was easy, well relatively. I already had all the cloth and foliage I’d need, but the lengths of balsa wood was going to prove difficult. I’d already been to the local timber merchants and they’d basically laughed me out of the shop. In the end I opted for a light pine wood bought from B&Q, which in hindsight was probably not a good idea, because of the weight.
When I arrived it took me several attempts at getting into the house, past the large rugby-types hoarding the space in the font garden. Twice I was spat at, but some party-goers standing by a car were quite visibly amused.
This morning had not been any different from any other morning, only that I’d deliberately not washed. I hadn’t brushed my teeth in a week. After breakfast it was time to assemble my costume. Wearing a pair of garden gloves made it a lot easier, and less painful, to twist the rose branches, already stripped of leaves, into a circle.
So, here I am, stood, arms out wide, nailed to a cross at a fancy dress party in Fulham, wearing only a loin cloth and a thorn of crowns made from rose branches.
The nails I used were obviously sterilised, and the thorns had the desired effect, causing enough blood to drip down my face, but not enough to obscure my vision. It was the gash to my abdomen that was causing most discomfort.
Funny, most people left within thirty minutes of my arrival, but I had a thoroughly good time, though I didn’t smile once. The only words I’d spoken all night were “I am here to die for your sins”.
Despite those people wanting to go home early, I would say that Methodists really know how to party.