My nephew Sundar and I had this very interesting exchange on Facebook. Please click on the image to get an enlarged version.
Sundar is die hard Wodehouse fan as I am too and this quote must be about the best ever from the mouth of Bertie Wooster.
Sundar will now go off on his regular hunt for contented hens. He will be content if he gets even one. His mother and I will be more than just content too.
Welcome to the Loose Bloggers’ Consortium, where every Friday, some of us post on the same topic. Today’s topic has been chosen by Maria the Silver Fox.
My exposure to Saints are restricted to three. Two from my misspent youth, and one from my present.
The first one was a fictional character called Simon Templar. Because his initials were ST, he was called The Saint. He was a thief. My readers, mostly of my generation, will remember the days when the only entertainment was reading – comics and books mostly with the odd movie thrown in. In India, we read most English authors and two of my favourites were Leslie Charteris, who wrote The Saint books and the other was P G Wodehouse. One of my greatest wishes was that these two authors could get together and write a book involving The Saint, Jeeves the butler and his master Bertie Wooster. I still think that some enterprising soul who can do it, will have a best seller and a block buster to follow.
The next Saint in my life came via my then steady girl friend who was a Roman Catholic. She insisted that I stick a magnetic medal of St. Christopher on my scooter and carry one photograph of his in my wallet all the time. She told me that he was the Patron Saint of all travelers and that he would protect me. I was an atheist those days, but humoured her anyway. He certainly saw to it that I lived long enough to write this post!
After these, the only Saint that has come my way has been our irrepressible Mayo. Just see how saintly he looks!
Now coming to Holy People. I know plenty of them. Why, I am known as one too. Not one of my shirts is without a hole or two. Result of years of smoking and careless sparks burning holes on the front of shirts. All my smoking buddies are similarly holy too!
There are others, including some regular readers of this blog, who are also convinced that I am eminently qualified to be called Holy; for the reason that, I appear to have a big hole in my head. What say Conrad and Grannymar?