The doorbell just rang.
Jason went to answer it.
Half way there he realised it was carol singers.
He hates social interactions like this. When trick or treaters come he turns the lights out and hides.
He called Tilly to answer the door and came in to the office saying:
‘Help. What do we do with carol singers?’
I suggested that they usually wanted money.
In the meantime, Tilly was conversing with them.
We were intrigued and stopped squabbling over loose change to listen.
It transpired that they were religious carol singers.
You might think these things go together. They do not. Mostly carol singers are teenagers in hoodies singing badly and demanding money with fa la las.
They did not want money. They wanted to tell us about a carol service at the nearby church we might like to go to.
Tilly said ‘Thank you’ about ninety times in the space of five minutes and returned clutching some Quality Street and a Gideon’s bible.
Jason was outraged.
He accused her of leading them on by taking their offerings.
He painted images of Gideon people wandering around the house, cooing parables through the letter box and lighting candles for us in the drive.
Tilly is used to this kind of nonsense, so she just rode it out patiently.
Not getting a rise, he tried a different tack.
‘I’ve told you ever since you were a baby. Don’t accept sweets from strangers. What if they’ve got poison in them?’
She calmly said:
‘I hardly think they’d poison the sweets they’ve given me if, as you say, they want to keep coming back to the house to woo us into the bosom of the lord.’
She followed this up with:
‘They looked like nice people.’
Which opened a line of attack.
‘Right! Right! Because serial killers don’t look like nice people hmmm?’
She dug further:
‘They must have been nice because they had a guitar.’
He pranced about:
‘So! You’d take sweets from a nice looking serial killer wielding a guitar eh? I suppose you’d let them into the house to rob us and then murder us in our beds?’
‘With their guitar.’
I interjected at this point, as he started talking about how soon there would be Gideon people at every turn, popping up in the toaster etc.
I asked him how many times he had been visited by the Gideons in his life.
I asked again.
Said very grudgingly.
Then, more excitably:
‘This is the first wave of the attack. They woo you with their guitars and their poisoned sweets, and then they come after you in hordes.’
Tilly: ‘Like the zombie apocalypse?’
All enmity forgotten, I left them planning how they would defend the house from a plague of zombie Gideons clutching bibles.