I find it a little worrying when the post-lady knocks on the door and enquires as to whether this is number whatitsaysontheenvelope. This is the woman who has been delivering our post since we moved here – you’d think that she’d know by now that she was delivering post and packages to the correct address. Pheesh. Still, I shouldn’t grumble … she handed me three parcels and I took great delight in ripping them all open [one was Narnia (for The Blokey’s Easter gift – we were just going to get each other DVDs but at the weekend we succumbed to the seasonal aisle in Tesco, badbadbad), two were from two different wedding craft sites, so I can make some invitations / place-cards] and ooh-ing & aah-ing as the contents were revealed to me.
I have to admit that I’ve become a little obsessed with TomKat. It’s very unlike me to become obsessed with actors I don’t even like [although Tom Cruise was quite superb in Vanilla Sky] and it’s fairly freaking me out. Hopefully the need for obsession will pass once the TomKitten pops out, silently, and Tom does the decent thing and runs off with the
alien baby. Or maybe I’m just broody, and therefore ever-so slightly jealous. Heavens!
I have an unhealthy appetite for all things cultish. Not in the We Love Doctor Who / Smallville or the Robert Smith sense of the word, but the ‘religious’ tones that make one [see how posh I can be?] think of Scientology, the Moonies, and David Koresh. Up to a certain point I can respect [and sometimes admire] those who belong to a tradition / religion that many of us would call a ‘cult’. But only up to a certain point. I mean, even Christianity began as a branch of Judaism and some of the early beliefs were [perhaps still are considered to be] a tad strange and immoral.
I’m quite happy to be angry with, and amazed at the audacity of, those religious people who take things to the extreme, and who aren’t always necessarily a member of a ‘cult’. It’s easy to have solid feelings for something that is tangible. But it’s the Scientologist’s who spook me. Really spook me. Sunderland’s Fawcett Street holds many happy memories for me, not least because I spent much of the five years I was at university in the fine city dodging the Scientologist’s who stood outside the Scientologist Centre hoping to grab unsuspecting folk off the streets. Thinking back now, it amuses me. Sunderland is not the wealthiest of cities, but in its glory days it was the Master, Wife and Mistress of ship-building rolled into one. And we all know that Scientology attracts the wealthy … I can only assume that the Centre in Sunderland [one of only about nine in the whole of the UK] does well from the rich foreign students who seem to thrive in the city.
I suppose I simply feel pity for Katie Holmes. We all know that she was Tom’s second choice [he attempted to get into the knickers of Scarlett Johanson first, but she wasn’t interested in the whole ‘cult’ thing]. He asked her to marry him because she wanted to stay a virgin till she married [and what’s the best way to get into someone’s knickers? Yessir, offer them your undying love and a Big Fat Diamond]. He got her pregnant because he needed to prove he wasn’t firing blanks. And now he’s tried to get her to sign something to state that if the relationship breaks down HE can have sole custody of the child.
Pffft. These rich men and their unhealthy lifestyle choices. Hmmm, Catholicism or Scientology for the bringing up of baby? Oooh, tough choice. Ms Holmes, I have little time for you, and I fear you to be naive and gullible, but do the decent thing – Run. Now. Or waddle, whichever is easiest really.
Tom Cruise? You scare me. Muchly. Your way of life is dark, secretive, controlling and very very strange.
But of course, this whole post harks back to knocking on doors, and more specifically knocking on doors on Saturday morning, and Jehovah’s Witnesses with the little girls following the good-looking daddy, who attempts to convert me on the doorstep, till I tell him I’m an RE teacher and we laugh and talk nicely and then he goes away with a smile …