Diary Of A Sociopathic Vicar – Part 37

There are many advantages to being a sociopath, despite the mild awkwardness it brings to my calling as a vicar. For example, I have to really concentrate in order to feel guilty. It just doesn’t come naturally to me. This means that when I am confronted by an authority figure, I do not have that sense of panic that many people have. Other people seem to feel that they must have done something wrong, that somehow, they are to blame for something, even though they’re not sure what. Frequently, they are so panicked that they will make a mistake that gets them into trouble.

Being free of such encumbrances, I was more than happy to talk to the council hygiene inspector, when he came to inspect us. My church had been running a soup kitchen called Souper Saturday, at the Saturday market for several weeks now. I suppose this visit was inevitable.

“How can I help you?” I asked the hygiene inspector, then paused and added, “Oh, I suppose I should ask you for some ID first?”

He opened a wallet containing an ID card. The way he flashed it made me think he’d seen too many American cop shows.

“Iain Jones,” I read aloud, and compared the photo to the person. Average height, average build, average suit, face as bland as blancmange, forgettable after five minutes.

“Perhaps if I look at your kitchen area first?” he suggested.

I led him to the kitchen area, where Psycho was hard at work. He looked up, and said, “Oh, hi Iain.”

Iain slumped a little and said, “Hello, Psycho.”

“I’m not just Psycho now – I’m Souper Psycho!”

“Um. Yes. Well, you know the routine.”

“Splendid!” I said. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

I returned to my duties while Iain and Psycho attended to the inspection. This mostly seemed to consist of checking paperwork. I hadn’t really seen the point of the paperwork when we started the venture, but Psycho had insisted. Now it appeared he had been right. This is a valuable lesson. Do not take someone on for their expert knowledge if you don’t intend to use it.

Within ten minutes, the hygiene inspector departed, so I walked over to Psycho and asked, “How did it go?”

“Piece of cake. I knew it would be this week. See, they don’t inspect the week you open, because they know you’ll be really on the ball. Same the week after that. But leave it a few weeks, and people get sloppy.”

Just as I was congratulating Psycho on a job well done, a male voice behind me said, “Good grief, it’s David!”
I turned to see a couple with two young daughters. One was in a pushchair, and the other was about eight years old.

“Mike! Marina!” I said, “And how are you, Lucy?” I asked the older daughter.

“OK,” she said.

“Can I get you something?” I asked.

“Well, we were going to get some soup,” said Marina. This seemed a sensible choice in a soup kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s something my church is doing. Psycho, this is Mike, Marina, Lucy, and Jessica. Friends from my last parish. I’ll pay for these.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Mike.

Psycho started making faces at little Jessica, who started laughing. I remember visiting her every day in the antenatal ward for the first month of her life. Her parents weren’t church people, but that shouldn’t matter. They needed support, and I gave it.

“I saw the church burning on TV,” said Marina, “But I hadn’t realised it was your church.”

“Yes, well, it’s been an interesting time since moving here.”

“In what way?”

“Let me see… The church warden was murdered, the church was set on fire, the parish treasurer committed suicide after being caught embezzling church funds, the Rural Dean was discovered crushed to death in the burnt out remains of the church with his trousers around his ankles, and I got engaged.”

“You got engaged!” said Marina, immediately forgetting three deaths and an arson.

“Oh, well done!” said Mike.

I introduced Mabel, who had been cleaning down tables, and everyone was jolly.

“What brings you to Sutley?” I asked.

“Oh, new job,” said Mike. “Do you know Minkley Engineering?”

I nodded. They made some kind of light metal frames for the construction industry, although I wasn’t familiar with the details. They operated out of the industrial estate on the other side of the river.

“Well, I’m their new chief accountant.”

“Congratulations!” I said. “Will you be moving into the area?”

“Renting at first, while we look to buy. We’re just looking at a couple of properties today.”

I had to cut the conversation short due to other customers, but it was turning into a good day for sales.
To my surprise, I saw Porker turn up for some soup.

“Hello Porker – not running your stall today?”

He had been selling fake amber in the market, but he shook his head. “Nah, decided to move on.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“It’s important not to stay on the same thing too long. I found that out when I got done for forging vehicle logbooks. I’d thought, “just one more”, and that’s what had me.”

I nodded understanding. Sometimes wisdom comes with a high price. “So, what did you do with the rest of your stock?”

“Sold it to an amber dealer. He reckoned it was some of the best stuff he’d seen. Hang on, see this bloke?” He nodded in the direction of a man with a short-back-and-sides of grey hair, probably in his early sixties. He was dressed from the Marks and Spencer Portly Man range of clothing.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Southern... Andrew? No, Adrian. That’s it. Adrian Southern. He’s a magistrate.”

I watched, to see if anything interesting were to happen.

Adrian Southern waited his turn in the queue, and when he reached the head, greeted Psycho. “Now then, Psycho! Haven’t seen you at the mags recently.”

“Morning Adrian. Of course not. I’m a reformed character, me.”

“I think you say that every time I see you.”

“Must be true then. But don’t take my word for it – ask the vicar,” said Psycho, beckoning me over. “And do you want tomato or potato and leek?”

I approached, extending my hand. I am not a fan of handshaking – after all, who knows what the person was doing with that hand before shaking yours? - but it is a regrettable necessity.

I introduced myself, and Adrian made the customary responses, adding, “Psycho here tells me he’s a reformed character.”

“I have only seen exemplary behaviour from him during our acquaintance,” I replied.

“Really? The number of times he’s been up before me for assault of one kind or another, I find that quite surprising.”

“I can only tell you what I’ve seen,” I said smiling. “But I’m not sure this is the appropriate place to be discussing such matters. Perhaps if we were to have a quiet word over here…”

Psycho’s face lit up.

“Looks like my soup’s ready. Another time, perhaps,” said Adrian. Psycho’s face fell. “Besides, we generally let him off. He always represents himself, and his defences are so entertaining that we prefer them.”

The next day was, inevitably, Sunday. While I was getting changed in the room we use for a vestry, I heard the piano start to play. Clearly Danni had been successful in persuading Al to take the place of our regular organist, Jill Baildom. Jill had rather thoughtlessly broken both her wrists, leaving us relying on a CD player. He was playing some Bach - “Sleepers Awake” - and it was very good.

My good mood was ruined a moment later when Mordred Williams - who insists on being called “Mordred of the family Williams” - entered the room. He dropped a bag on a table and started robing. For a blissful moment, I had forgotten that I had suggested he take the prayers this week.

Disclaimer: Considering that his parish has been without a Church Treasurer for some time, it is a failing for Rev. David Wilson to neglect to encourage Mike to take on the role. Clearly ensuring sound church finances is the prime duty of a vicar, and co-opting people into such roles is a long-established tradition.