I'm just back in the land of the living, having fought an heroic and monumental battle with the Catholic Church. I emerge bloody, yet unbowed, with my daemon and dust still very much in tact...albeit rather vomit splattered.
On Sunday morning, I had a showdown with The Almighty and the Consistorial magisterium, at the Catholic Church in Lynton. The Christening.
Had rather a hangover from the night before, but managed to get myself and Ava washed, dressed and in the pews by 10.30. I can't remember going to a catholic mass before - that's not to say that I haven't, it's just that my memory doesn't register much at that time of the day. As only a few hours have passed, I can still recall the nuns - one bearing a terribly close resemblance to Tubbs from League of Gentlemen, which could have proved problematic, had I not had my mind on other things.
As I mentioned before, I was a little peeved at the prospect of having to renounce my favourite fallen angel - for one thing, it's bloody rude. 'Do you renounce Satan and all his works and all his false promises?' - a bit petty if you ask me. 'False Promises?' pot and kettle. I must point out, that I am not a devil worshiper or anything that involves heavy metal, drinking blood or defecating in inappropriate places - except when absolutely necessary - or by accident.
Don't catholics sing loudly. It's slightly frightening to stand next to somebody belting it out to the man upstairs...I must be extremely thick, but I finally started making some connections between Catholicism and Islam. Hijabs, habits...duh, give me a biscuit - or holy wafer. This in no way passes derogatory judgements on these or any religions - still hoping for that C of E primary School place...
Well amidst this splendid setting, Ava was remarkably well behaved at first...at first. She clung to me and watched quietly. then something very strange happened as we moved to the font for the church to claim another scalp. In a loud perfectly clear voice she said 'Daddy, I don't like this. I don't like it here, take me away Daddy.' over and over. As everybody answered "I do, I will, three bags full sir" to the Priest, Ava's head covered my mouth, so I didn't have to answer anything. It was an embarrassing solution to a moral quandry, but highly effective none the less. I got away with it. At least...Hooray for howling children.
Of course, we didn't get off as lightly as all that.
At a quarter to four in the morning, Ava cried out. Then she vomitted - mostly in my face, hair, and bed...and all over herself. I took her to the bathroom and washed us. She did it again. I washed us again. We went to sleep in another room - She couldn't possibly be sick again could she. Two beds to clean then. So much too. Pretty colours though.
Just like the Excorcist, the evil spirit left Ava's body and entered mine - probably through my eyes, nostrils and mouth.
I have been very well acquainted with the lavatory and the bucket for the past two days. Finally, I feel recovered enough to tell you about it. Still, all things considered, it was a lucky escape. I am Henry's God Father...in a non chained to the church kind of way, my and my daughter's demons are still in tact ( read Phillip Pullman ) and I weigh an awful lot less than I did before the weekend. Wicked.
Oh by the by - I'm on the radio tonight. 8 O'clock BBC 6Music. guest of my dear pal Alex James.