Sinister: The Dream Life Of Angels

[Saint Peter]

Good afternoon mortals- er, that is fellow listees.  My name is Peter.  I am
an Angel of the Lord, and I live in Heaven.  Of which, the less said the
better.

I am appealing to you for help, information, about a lady I'm told you all
admire.

Her name?  Ms. Isobel Campbell.

Perhaps I should explain -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm a very busy man, a very busy man.  I have a job, you know.  I work for
Afterlife Services Plc.  I'm an Exterior-Preservation Assistant.  I am NOT a
security guard.
I keep out the riff-raff, the living, and the Minions of Satan.  We don't
get time to stop.  You never know when a demon will attempt to storm the
gates.  Granted, its been 1500 years since I saw such a creature, but that
only means we're due for another visit soon.  You can't shut your eyes for a
second, and do I get any help?  Do I buggery.  Find me an assistant, I ask
the Big Guy, I need a holiday, but he just laughs, and tells me that I am
fulfilling a role which is mine for the rest of Eternity.  Easy for him to
laugh, he just sits on his arse all day, rolling spliffs with Bob Marley and
ogling Marilyn Monroe.

I don't take breaks.  We don't get time.  They come at all hours of the day
and night.  Of course, since Privatisation in the late 1680s we let them all
in.  As long as they're dead.  Sometimes we're not sure, and the Chief says
let 'em in anyway.  We had Barbara Cartland in and out several times before
she came to stay for good.  If you ask me, the place was better without her.
Comes up to us, starts complaining about the colour of the sheets - "a lady
never sleeps on white sheets.  it implies she is hiding something".  Over a
bloody year later and the stupid mare doesn't realise that the whole POINT
of Heaven is that you don't have to hide ANYTHING..

I've already said too much.  I'm like this, when I get started.  I'm so
pushed for time that I don't get chance for hesitation, thinking before
speaking.  Leave that to the guys that look after the Trappists.  Saint Mmm
and Saint Nnnn.  They used to have proper names, but they haven't spoken for
so long that everybody forgot them.  You can tell it pisses them off, but
that's half the joy of calling them such names.

So, yeah, what was I telling you... oh yeah.  One day, a kid comes up.
Always the worst, the kids, pushing their way in, giving you cheek, no
respect for authority.  He asks me "what do angels dream of?".  Well, I
guess you lot think you know the answer...fields of nectar, cavorting with
cherubs, beautiful sunrises...  well you're WRONG.  The truth is, we don't
dream about anything at all.  Dreams are for the imperfect.  And you all
seem to love them.  We are Officials of God.  As such, we embody perfection
and need dream of nothing.  It gets fucking boring.

Anyway, I take a holiday one day.  I come down to Earth for the first time
in, like 1000 years (there was some talk of a second coming around 1000
time, but we couldn't get the staff to cover the desks upstairs, and,
really, the folks around at that time were pretty unhygenic.  We didn't want
a bunch of smelly peasants clogging up our marble halls.   Those days, we
could be more selective.  We got more RESPECT, you know what I mean.  Not
like now, when we just don't have time to think.)
So, I'm taking this holiday, in a smelly town in England.  I go and visit
this guy, because he's promised me a few things, and he delivers on some,
but reneges on some others, like people do, always letting you down, and he
shows me this picture.  I don't know why he shows me it, I'm quite happy
looking at other things, but he says I have to see it.   And, curse me, I
look at it.  And its a picture of this woman.

Who's that, I ask.  "oh, its Isobel Campbell" he says "she's beautiful" he
says "you should go to Scotland and fall in love with her"
Well, I'm not keen.  I've got things to do - "I've got things to do", I tell
him, but he doesn't listen, and he tells me I have to go and look for her...
and, as I travel North, I find myself thinking about this woman, thinking
about her face, thinking about her frown, and the way her lips turn down at
the edges.  And I can't get her out of my head.  I'm thinking, thinking,
thinking about her, and I can't get her out of my head, and I'm thinking I
should go back to Heaven, I don't have time for this...those queues will be
mounting up, but I tell myself, Pete, old boy, you've got to go, you've got
to find this woman or you'll have the rest of eternity to regret it.

And I'm watching the tracks speed past, and I close my eyes, and, for the
first time in two thousand years, I can see something other than spiralling
shifting fucking eternity.  I can see her face.  It hangs before me, it
haunts me, terrifying in its simplicity.

And now, I've woken up.  And I've got off the train where the conductor told
me - he said "get off the train, or buy a ticket, or I'll have you arrested"
and I'm in some place called Arbasomethingorother, and I'm looking for the
woman who, I reckon, I love.  Cos, if this aint love, why does it feel so
good?
So, I'm in Scotland, I'm in Love, and I'm lost.  And I've not got much time
before I get back to the Old Place.  Otherwise, I'm in for Eternal Torture
in Hell, or whatever the punishment for turning up late is these days.  The
last guy to do it hasn't been seen around for some time.  I reckon they put
him in the Ambrosia Stew, but I've got no proof, and you don't go around
making accusations in that sort of place, know what I mean?

So, I stop the first person I see.  We're outside this bus station, I'm
standing there, and people are looking at me like I'm some sort of freak,
like they've never seen a guy in a robe and sandals before so I shout at
them, I say "what's the matter, what you looking at?  Never seen a guy in a
robe and sandals before?" and they shout back something about it being
January, and it being a shame that I haven't got a coat.   I finally find
this guy that'll talk to me, and I ask him, I say "where's Isobel
Campbell?", but he just looks at me weird.  You know what he says?  He says

"the kingdom of God is upon us.  Repent thy sin, or suffer in Hell"

I say "I don't have any fucking sins, I'm an angel" I tell him that, I tell
him "I'm a fucking angel" and he starts shouting at me and quoting the
fucking BIBLE.  I say "don't give me that shit.  I've had that for the past
two-thousand years, and right now I could do with a break.  Either help me,
or fuck off".  So he shakes his head, mutters something about the blindness
of those who will not see, and walks off.  And I want to tell him I can see
everything, I can see how he's going to die, but I've been away from The Old
Place too long, and I'm losing my Temporal Omnipotence (what's the fucking
good of temporal omnipotence anyway, I always ask.  Doesn't mean I've got
less to do.  Give temporal omnipotence to the likes of David and Jonathan -
sitting around sucking cock all day long, I haven't got need of it, I don't
want to know I'm ALWAYS going to be busy)
Yeah, and I'm losing my temporal omnipotence, and I can't see what's going
to happen, and I don't know what I'm going to do now.

I need to find her.  I do, I need to find her soon.  And I'm sitting here,
in this library, and I've had to pay two POUNDS just for an hour on this
thing, I had to steal it from this woman in the lobby, and the librarian is
watching me, she's watching me, and she's counting how long I sit here, and
I'm thinking fuck off, I could turn you
into a warthog if I wanted, but then I remember that I can't do that any
more, not till I go back, and I'm not ready to go back.  And my time is
nearly up, and I don't know what to do, and I need to find her.

Isobel Campbell.

How do I find her?  What do I do WHEN I find her?  What do I say to her?
Will she be impressed that I'm an angel, or should I lie and say I'm, like,
something really glamorous, like a whore or a hustler?  What do I wear?
Where do I meet her?

Am I suffering for a sin?  Is this my sin?  Is love the first sign of
imperfection?  I haven't got time to think about such things.  I'm a very
busy man

Help me,

Peter (Saint) (of Heaven)

Oh, you can just reply to me here.  My money shouldn't run out for at least
another fifteen or twen





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