Reflections on a Monastery Table

 'I blame Eve,' said the T-G.  He shifted position in his green leather armchair as he reached for the skull-shaped tobacco jar on the gleaming oak monastery table which stretched from the door, across the fireside to the tall mullioned windows at the far end of the room.    

'That's rather striking,' said Geoffrey.

'I always think it's good to be reminded of one's own mortality,' replied the T-G. 'The wife gave it to me for my ninety fifth birthday, which wasn't yesterday.  In fact,  I believe it was thirty five years ago next Saturday.'

'What do you blame Eve for?' I asked.  I didn't really want to know - I could hazard a guess, myself.  And hazarding a guess was about as far into it as I wanted to go.  I just wanted to get whatever it was, over and done with without being overtly rude so we could all move on and get our teas without a row.  Geoffrey had made a sausage and tomato casserole with extra sausages and no tomatoes and I was starving after only having had a triple black pudding and bacon sandwich for luncheon.   I could only hope that the T-G would exercise some self-control and keep any exposition to a minimum.

'The Fall. And every disaster that's happened as a result of it.'

Oh no, I thought.  Here we go.  'Surely you don't believe we're all tainted with original sin T-G.'

'I wouldn't go that far.  But there's certainly something there that needs looking at.  Something profound Tuppy.  Even you, with your tiny cholesterol-beset brain and your preoccupation with sausages and greasy snacks must understand that.  Human beings have made such an almighty mess of everything, despite the best efforts of some.  We can't help ourselves, it seems.  Therefore I must conclude that we should never have been allowed free will.  It's like a cosmic credit card, and most people can't handle it.  Especially Mrs T-G by the way.' 

'Aren't you saying all this just because you've - how shall I put it - had a row with Mrs T-G?'

'Certainly not!  If Eve hadn't picked that apple...well, we'd all still be living in the Garden of Eden and everything would be fine and dandy.'

'T-G - I'm sorry to stop you mid-flow but there is a sausage casserole with my name on it simmering on the back ring of our kitchen stove.  It will have reached the perfect consistency in approximately ten minutes, so I'll need to get a shift on.  Can we continue this later?'

'I look forward to it.  Genesis, by the way.  Have a gander after your tea.'