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The Jesus Diet

I hadn’t seen him in ages. He looked happy and was wearing a big smile and a rather brisk cologne.

‘Lovely morning, Davy.’

‘Yes it is, Reg. How are you?’

‘Putting on a bit of weight since Maria left me. She’s gone back to Italy.’ He gazed into the distance for a second before lifting up his arms and giving me a twirl: ‘Do you think I look fat in these jeans?’




‘I’m on a diet. One of them new ones.’


‘It’s called the Jesus Diet. That Ginger Spice recommends it. Bread and fish – I can only eat bread and fish.’

‘It sounds wonderful.’

‘I know I’ll lose the weight: God is on my side.’


‘Got any plans for the summer? Going anywhere nice?’

‘Same as usual, Reg. I should think Nelson will be coming up from London and we’ll spend a week sitting in some of the local hostelries drinking warm beer that tastes like urine samples from circus animals and wondering why we can’t find girlfriends.’

‘Sounds like fun.’


‘Nelson Galaxy? Your brother? He’s one of them transvestites, isn’t he? Funny business, that.’

‘Yes, indeed he is. But it could have been worse; at least he isn’t a folk dancer or something.’

‘Does he ever take you to any of his funny clubs in London?’

‘He did once. I felt as out of place as a violinist in a jazz band.’

‘Well you would, wouldn’t you. Tee hee: violinist, jazz band – I like that. You’re a funny man, Mr Lawrence, a very funny man.’