Postcard from Earth (6: Moving on)

Dear Pater,

I am now fully grown it seems. I've done more than 30 of these annual circles around the sun which is how they reckon age in these parts. You have no idea how time drags for a biological entity. But of course you do, ha ha.

Anyway, I have decided I'm done with carpentry. Yes, "horny handed son of toil" and all that has a certain ring to it I suppose, but, honestly, one plank is very much like another.

I said to my earthly papa, Joseph, that I was thinking of moving on, do a bit of a roadie, find some like-minded chums to hang out with etc. In effect that it was time for him to look for a new skivvy. And he says? "Whatever"! Whatever? I mean, OK, we haven't always agreed exact criteria for the difference between a dovetail and a mortise and tenon, but still.

My earthly mum Mary was a bit more choked. She mumbled on about me being quite grown up now and it was about time, one less body to tidy up after, one less mouth to feed, at last some room to swing the cat in blah blah, but I think I can tell when someone is putting on a brave face.

So, that's me sorted. Well, not quite. Having decided what not to do, I've got to make a start on figuring what to do. I hear they need some help on the forex desk down the local temple. Might start there.

Anyway, that's all for now,
Love to Mama.

PS - I take it you'll be good for a reference in the unlikely event I need one? Latin or Aramaic, in case you need to brush up.

Postcard from Earth (6: celibacy)

Dear Pater,

Sorry not to have been in touch sooner; mostly I have been doing carpentry and growing up.

On which matter, growing up that is, not carpentry, I have the following observation to make. There should be a user manual for these monkey bodies.

For a start, there is the quaint habit of walking on the back legs in a body design that is clearly quadruped. I mean, for goodness sakes, it took me the best part of two years to learn this trick. And there isn't a tail to balance with or anything.

Then there is the practice of wearing the genitals outside the body. Inconvenient or what? And speaking of which, why is it that parts of these bodies, and those parts in particular, seem to have a mind of their own and not do the bidding of the central nervous system?

Reproduction itself is a trifle quaint and seems to involve the direct introjection of genetic material into the other party. At least it seems that way to me, though no one is very forthcoming when probed. Whoops, that doesn't sound quite right, but I'm sure you know what I mean.

That said, one or two local lasses have discretely hinted that they would be happy to help me in my researches. I was quite interested since I gather that there is a recreational element to the whole thing, but the Ghost has absolutely and completely prohibited same.

For why? It appears, and I quote, that I am "a walking meiotic disaster zone".

Naturally I pressed for something a bit more useful than this, and the Ghost was, for once, explicit, if brief. It has to do with the gene cloning and splicing that he was required to do to manage the virgin birth thingy. It seems it was a complete lash-up, a botch, though this is my description, not his. The upshot is that my genes are NOT to be dumped into the local pool unless I want everyone to sprout armpits and glow in the dark.

However, there is a carrot that goes with the stick, and it is a clever invention called celibacy.

What the Ghost says is that some folks voluntarily forswear this introjection thing and live life on "a higher plane". Turns out that other folk think rather well of them etc etc and it's quite a useful credential to have if one plans to be a holy man blahdy blah.

Well truth is that carpentry is a bit samey, so I'd like to keep my options open ref future occupations. More on this later.

Anyway, that's all for now,
Love to Mama.

PS - I don't think that Mama will be all that interested in the introjection discussion. Just my opinion.

Postcard from Earth (5: loot)

Dear Pater,

Slightly stung with indignation and a bit of guilt thrown in, ref the birthday bash.

Let me elaborate:

- the turnip, well yes, OK, that was jolly good
- the broom; I think you can draw your own conclusions
- the sandals; hmmm, fair enough, and may be the start of a fashion
- the sand; apparently someone's idea of a joke in case I don't know what the broom's for
- the stick, which I though quite original, turns out to be a replacement shaft for the broom
- and the lump of cheese is, it appears, soap

All in all a touch utilitarian. Never mind, they're jolly nice really (I mean my Earth family, not the presents).

That's all for now,
Love to mama.

PS - no pressie from the Realm, yet. May have fallen down a worm hole?

Postcard from Earth (4: happy birthday)

Dear Pater,

Celebrated my (Earthly) birthday today. It seems to be one of the few benefits of being here, since as far as I know I don't have a birthday in the Realm. You must explain that to me someday.

Anyway, everyone was very sweet. They put my presents under a tree - I suppose it is the thought that counts because the presents themselves were rubbish, to whit:

- a turnip
- a broom
- a pair of sandals
- some sand
- a stick (not sure if this is intended to be burnt, or to support me as I walk)
- a lump of cheese (at least I hope that's what it is)

The younger children were very kind, as was Mary, my surrogate mum. She did at least cook a nice meal including one of my favourites, Jerusalem Sprouts.

It was somehow telegraphed to me that this was a one-off and that I needn't expect an annual bash.

Fair enough.

Anyway, that's all for now,
Love to mama.

PS - send a pressie if you like, but no pressure.

Postcard from Earth (3: we do laugh)

Dear Pater,

Trust all is well in the Realm. Things continue to limp along here. I would like to make my mark, but how? Need to reflect on that a while.

Anyway, enough of the serious stuff. You'll laugh at this. I'm still sneaking off to the temple to have a bit of argy bargy with the local clerics and we've got into this kind of comic routine. When I get there they say "Well, if it isn't the little whippersnapper" and then I retort "Well, if it isn't the big whoppersnippers".

We do laugh.

But maybe you have to be there.

That's all for now,
Love to mama.

PS - of course it occurs to me that you may not know about genital mutilation, in which case the joke falls rather flat. I'll explain it sometime.

Postcard from Earth (2: mucking in, mucking out)

Dear Pater,

Nothing much to report. I have to say that I thought "Planet of the Apes" would be rather more fun than appears to be the case, but, early days. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Well you for one. Ha ha, just a little celestial humour there.

Despite being the oldest I have to do loads of household chores, clean out the chicken run, sweep up the shavings. Honestly!

Lost it recently after being told to muck out the stables and said to my biological mum, Mary, "Now look here! I am the son of God you know!"

Well, she just fixed me with her beady and responded "We are ALL the children of God, sunshine! Now get going you little mucker" or words much to that effect.

Blimey, slightly more to the wench than I had credited. Honestly, that glint put me in mind of mama, bless her. Is there a common thread running through all female entities that I had failed to spot?

Anyway, that's it for now.
Love to mama.

PS - it might be better if you did not relate the above to her.

Postcard from Earth (1: chewing the fat)

Dear Pater,

So far things are going pretty well. I'm not as little as I used to be which is good. I mean I can walk on my own and stuff.

My Earthly parents are Joseph and Mary; maybe you knew that. Worthy types, but a bit literal.

Everyone is pretty ignorant here. Recently engaged some Holy men in a little debate and ran circles around them. Now I know what you're thinking Pater ... anyone from the Realm should be able to take on a primate and all that, but still. I was good. I know I was.

My Earthlies had a bit of a purple fit because they had gone on ahead with the caravan (how was I supposed to know) and I'd got left behind. Does suggest that their parenting skills are a couple of brownie points short of illustrious ...

Anyway I expect they were dead chuffed to see me chewing the fat with the Holy ones. I got grounded all the same and have to wear a horrid itchy scratchy shirt thing as punishment.

That's all for now.
Love to mama.

PS - any chance you can do something about my internal and external parasites? Ta.

[Editor's note: an interesting change in format; anyway, let's see where it takes us.]