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Short story.

The other morning, I looked out of my front room window, to see the Pope, in all his regalia approaching up my drive. In a panic, I grabbed a Bible out of my bookcase, brushed the little hair I have and headed round to the back door.My mind raced, why would the Pope be visiting me, should I be filled with joy or foreboding, had I transgressed or excelled.
But what`s this? Not the Pope apparently but a Cathar Knight in all his glory, I am called for the fourth crusade methinks. But no, a Templar knight, newly fledged, with the beaming face of Ed beneath the Bishop`s hat. The latest of a number of visitations over the years resulting in valued stomach muscle exercise from laughing too much.It brought back memories of Ed dressed as the plague master, standing in the shadows at night at Culham station when the train stopped, and the panic stricken face of the middle aged woman through the carriage window as she spotted him emerging from the shadows. Love it! Long live practical jokes!!

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