So, after my brush with a roaming group of faith healers the other weekend, I decided that I should, perhaps, get up close and personal with the touchy-feely-preachy buffoons.There they were, in the town centre of a Saturday afternoon, day-glo flags, comfy chairs, little cushions and great big beards, stalking the bit of pavement outside Nat West for victims.
I would, I decided, be one of these victims, and walked past three times - once with a pronounced limp and speaking in tongues - until I was noticed, flung into a chair, and prayed over.
Prayed, good and hard.
Now, here's a hint:
When they have quite finished their bonkers little ritual, DO NOT jump out of your seat and scream "PER-AAAAAISE THE LOOOORD!"
Neither should you run up and down shouting and dancing "HALLELUJAH! PRAISE HIM! PRAISE HIM! I CAN WALK! I CAN DANCE! PER-AAAAAISE HIM!"
This is because they will tell you to fuck off in a most unchristian manner.
And I've still got this windy bottom. Q E bloody D.
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