It comes to something when you can’t even pour yourself a nice delicious Nespresso coffee (well, you press a button) without the Baby Jesus sending you a bloody message. A buggery bloody message at that. There we were, pouring/pressing our ninth of the morning, and none other than the Archangel Gabriel appears to our very left, in a coffee stain. You can’t make this shit up. No really.
Wings are looking a bit shoddy, but the message was clear. The Baby Jesus was paging, yet again. We can’t do anything without that upstart sticking a celestial Post-it all over our business – weekly shop? There He is in the Be Good To Yourself Potato Salad. Showering down the YMCA? There He is, smirking on the condensation on the cubicle doors, all pervy. Making a nutritious snack using Ryvita crunch biscuits and perhaps a sunblushed tomato? You guessed it. He’s in the fucking Ryvita. We think it might be a matter for the police.
But after this morning’s little cameo? The message is clear. Not only is the Baby G now sending some flouncy angel to do his dirty work, He’s obviously got a thing for gays. And Nespresso machines. And wipe-clean surfaces.
Jesus, leave us alone!,