Oh Lordy.The God-botherers of Weymouth have struck again.
I return to my car following an afternoon waiting in the man-seats at New Look, Marks and Spencer, Debenhams and various emporia with the word "Shoe" in their name, to find a leaflet under my windscreen wiper.
On most occasions ,it is a flyer informing the reader of the Tuesday market up on Portland, a veritable where-are-they-now of former satellite TV pitchmen, still selling their miracle cleaning products from damp, faded boxes at a substantial mark-down.
This time it is different.
A pair of hands, together in prayer.
Bless.
And the words, all in hideous red-on-yellow: "Driver in Front"
"Don't waste time in your car! Do something useful!!!" says the blurb committing at least one deadly sin against the commandments of grammar in the process.
"Pray for the driver in front, that he and his passengers may fulfil they journey and arrive home safely."
Of course, the value of prayer may go down as well as up, although I refuse to offer up any kindly thoughts to taxis, prossie-killing truckers and anyone behind the wheel of a Nissan Micra.
But, all the same, I beat down my world-weary cynicism with my stolen copy of 'The Teachings of Buddha' and thought I'd give it a go. Nothing to lose, and far cheaper than a Dashboard Jesus.
Hands together.
Eyes shut.
Purge all thoughts of ladies' bosoms from my mind.
"Our Father, who art..."
...Straight up the arse end of some old duffer in a Rover 75.
Luckily, he said it was all his fault, blinded as he was by the Heavenly Host coming down Boot Hill* for a late shop at Asda.
That's one car you owe me, Jebus.
* There really is a Boot Hill in Weymouth. Sadly, it doesn't lead to a cemetery, but more than makes up for this by spitting you out at The Boot Public House, proof that if there is a god, it is surely Bacchus.
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