On the Road Home
I revisited our old stomping ground last week, before we set out on this trek. Remembering all the good times we’d had there, and no mistake! Maz’s always been one for a good time, you know?
“Jezza” she’d say to me, “You are a one, so you are!”
And we’d roll in the sweetly scented hay, stifling our laughter with kisses.
But that was BC - before conception. When she fell, she told her parents she was still a virgin; swore blind we’d never done IT. Well, she’s a good girl, isn’t she? We didn’t want people to think she was a slag, y’know? A miracle they all said. I went along with it; stood by her. They were suspicious, but I was clear of any dog-house. Then some old bastard passed that law about the likes of me returning home to pay my taxes.
So here we are on our way back, with Maz sitting on a donkey that’s on its last legs, and her bulging fit to burst. God knows if we’ll make it all the way before the baby comes. To make it easy, we're just following that new star in the east; even a sightless man could follow that all the way home.
And when we do arrive, what’s the betting there’re no rooms to be had, anywhere? S’pose in the end we’ll be grateful for a stack of hay in any old stable. Mind you, I’ve got very fond memories of Maz in stables; know what I mean?
Last night she turns to me, with a big goofy Madonna-like smile plastered all over her face, and says:
“Don’t worry; we’ll get through this Jezza. And then the baby’ll be born... and we’ll be a proper family.”
Now there’s blind faith for you. Women – eh?