The next stall was Hoop-La, an easy win for me I've always found; I could do this with my eyes folded, it would be like taking candy from a chicken. I paid for three hoops and steadied myself for some serious prize-winning - every worm has its day. Well, the first hoop flew well wide of the table; it had some gel on it and it felt as sticky as PVC glue when it left my hand. I knew I shouldn't have counted my eggs too soon. The second hoop was slightly better but instead of landing over the star prize - a bottle of champagne - it hit it hard, knocked it off the stall and smashed it to bits. "If you do that again" the stall holder shouted "I'll come down on you like a house on fire!" "Sorry!" I said "No man's indelible!"
Third and final hoop coming up. You never know your luck in a cowshed and the proof of the pudding is always in the pie! The final hoop flew from my hand, bounced off the top of the tin of caviar I had been aiming at and smashed straight through the stained glass window in church vestry which was behind the stall. The chickens were about to come home to roost with a bang and I didn't want to be around when the flak hit the deck.
"Go away my good fellow", the stallholder shouted, or something very akin to that in French. I walked away quickly with my tail between my teeth.
"Pardon me, my son, can I have a word with you? Did you just break our vestry window?"
"Yes it was me, I'm to blame, Mayor Cooper. Accidents aren't usually my faux pas!" I replied
"No, no, no, I'm not the Mayor," he replied "I'm the padre". That put the wind of God up me.
"I'm sorry about the window" I said "Don't mince hairs. I can smell what you're going to say."
"Don't worry about the window, my son. There's exterminating circumstances. It's been ready to fall out of its own accord for years. The verger's just been looking for an escape goat and I thought I'd better nip it in the bug and extrapolate you from that situation. Walk with me for a while and let's talk." The padre and I began to stroll around the fete.
Talking to the padre was the best thing I could have done. He had already heard of the ISMS and our world-wide search for isms. He was keen to participate and ensure that we were all signing from the same playing field.
"How much can you pay me - well, not me personally, the church - for assisting you in your search for genuine isms?" the padre asked.
"I can only give you a ball-pen figure at the minute, padre, but it should be our standard fee of about ten thousand grand pounds plus commission for each ism accepted by the Institution."
"That's fine" said the padre "with the state of the locals around here I could be sitting on a land mine in this parish."
"Right, let's hit two stones with one bird. Give me your telephone number and your bank details. Oh, and I'll also need your PIN number"
"Well, I've just changed my telephone number because I was getting unseen phone calls. Come into the vestry and I'll give you some details." said the padre. "I don't know about you but I'm as dry as a shark. I'll send one of the parishioners down to the bordello to buy some of that fruity red wine."
"Henri," he shouted across the courtyard "run down to the shops and bring back a bottle of the old vino for me and my new friend." Henri waved and ran out of the church yard towards the village shops.
"Poor Henri" the padre said "he wears his heart on his arm and we might not see him for the rest of the day. He forgets things; it's his dimensions. He has an invalidity pension and every Tuesday he gets wheels on meals and every Monday and Thursday he has meals on walls!"
As we walked in to the church there was a group of people huddled in the corner. They must have been Muslim because they were on their hands and knees praying to Abba.
When we entered the vestry it looked like a pig had hit it and I could look the padre in the mirror because I thought I'd caused most of the damage with my misdirected flying hoop.
"Don't mind the mess." said the padre "It's not all of your doing. I'll tidy this place up in one fell sweep."
