Family Humour London

Nuns on our run

Almost every Saturday morning I drive the kids to their karate lesson in Catford, and almost every time I go via the Catford Gyratory System.

And almost every time we pass the MacDondald’s Burger Bar Drive-Thru we see a group of oriental-looking women shuffling along the pavement, clad in duck-egg blue cape dresses with white-edged wimples and sporting rude crucifixes slung around their necks.

Which means that almost every time we see them we chorus — unprompted and more or less simultaneously — the word: “Nuns!” in a cod-Irish, Father Jack stylee.

This morning it suddenly occurred to me just how much of a co-incidence this was and how much it would fit nicely into some sort of Groundhog Day parody if there were some way in which we, as a family, were interacting with the Sisters of Perpetual Punctuality.

Alternatively, this may be some indication of a virtual reality world similar to The Matrix.

Of course, in the Matrix, glitches in the playback mean something has gone wrong with the “program”. The nuns are there every time of course, so things must be fine.

… Actually, the only Saturday they weren’t opposite the Drive-Thru (in fact, they were 400-paces further along the Gyratory) I was laid off the following week!

Just as well they’re back in their rightful position now.

Mmmm. This isn’t happening; it only thinks it’s happening.