Those who know sweet, opinionated, boiled carrot old me have been treated (frequently) to a discourse concerning my religious beliefs, which are, in a word, nonexistent.
In the last few days I have experienced visitations. Only minor ones; not ethereal visions of unparalleled beauty, or thunderous voices: no, just vague grumblings from aloft. Inadvertently, it seems, I have offended someone very important.
I can only plead ignorance. I did not know ‘Thou shalt not commit a typo’ had been added to the Commandments, or that Bad Editing had joined the list of Deadly Sins (part of a fresh marketing approach on the part of Heavenly’s sales department, as I understand it, to appeal to the new twenty-first century technology-hip market). Had I known, I would have been more careful.
I am the world’s worst editor. I am always doing it. No matter how I try, something slips beneath the radar – the more determined prisoners invariably manage to escape. So I shall have to listen to the spiritual voices. I shall have to start attending confession.
Anyway, my apologies to all my long-suffering readers, and to A. Gabriel, Esquire, for inadvertently altering his name to ‘Gabrielle’ in ‘Two Books’, a recent post. I fully appreciate how vulnerable he feels, wearing that white dress and those feathery wings. Apparently Raphael has been ribbing him mercilessly, and he is somewhat miffed.
There. Now can I have my Ninja Turtles DVD back, please?