Skinnydipping, theivery and Canadians

No doubt you have already managed to see many links between the three title components to this entry. Indeed worldwide these three things have been closely associated, the Canadian Skinnydipping Pickpocket Championships being only one of the reasons for this association. And of corse the fact that 'Canadians' ends in an 's' and we all know what that refers to.

Casting aside any Tarrentinian urges I shall convey this tale both fair and foul in chronological order.

Some time ago, I gave into a wee bit of Divine prompting I had been resisting for some time and sent an email to my church in Canada asking if they had any positions I might be able to fill. I had been resisting this call not because I didn't want to go but because I didn't think anything would come of it.

Regardless, as an opening to our stage I received an email from our Canadian Church offering me a position in Ottawa, that I have since accepted. From this point on the story becomes sordid and rife with intrigue and drunkards.

As with any story that includes questionable content, Andy Simpson was involved in leading many innocents astray. In this instance he led an innocent, if tipsy Jonathan into flamboyent displays of the flesh. (Much like he led myself and a small flock up a hill in order to sprain ankles as one might recall.) This rampant display of two raunchy backsides was thankfully masked by the night and, briefly, the sea.

This happened at a time when the rest of the party who went to Coldingham for the new year, were stolidly standing around the fire, talking about many edifying topics and choking down any vomit caused by the cheeky sight in the distance. Regardless of this dispicable, deplorable act that decimated the moral of many present, the New Year came without a hitch and much happiness.

Meanwhile... in Manchester, my brother left a party infused with fire water. Unable to drive he decided it would be wise to leave the car unlocked while he took a taxi to another friend's place. When unlocked the door locks stand a good two inches high, proclaiming the car to be decent loot. In the boot of the said car sat an X-Box 360 I had bought for Christmas along with £300 worth of associated equipment.

I'm getting bored of writing this - it was stolen. The end.

(But it's ok he bought me yogurt to apologise.)