Dear Father Simon

Many years ago, in the early eighties, I was working as a professional jump jockey, on the day in question myself and three fellow jockeys had travelled down from the North (where we all lived) to a racecourse in the Midlands for a day of competition.

We had a good day at the track and as had become traditional after the finish of a days racing, we called in at a local shop, located about a mile from the racecourse, to buy food and provisions for our journey home. It was probably about 3.30 in the afternoon when we arrived on this particular day.

It had just started to become popular about this time for local corner shops to have microwave ovens at the counter, in order to heat up the meat pies, sausage rolls etc. that you purchased. We all collected and heated our various items, I for example chose what looked to be a tasty steak and kidney pie, and then quickly returned to the car to continue our journey back up North.

Once in the vehicle, (fortunately it was not my turn to drive and so I was sat in the back behind the front passenger.) I went to start on my pie but it had been heated so well, that it was far too hot to eat immediately and so I put it to one side to allow some cooling to take place!

The homeward journey continued and eventually the pie had cooled down sufficiently that I was able to take my first bite. Quite frankly Simon, it was a huge disappointment (particularly after the long wait!) It may have looked tasty but it tasted absolutely revolting!

Arrrrrgh, I exclaimed to my fellow passengers, I can't possibly eat this rubbish it's disgusting. Murmurs of sympathy went round the vehicle until one of my fellow passengers finally suggested that I should get rid of the offending pie sharpish as not only did it taste revolting, it smelled pretty bad as well.

Just about this point in the journey we were approaching a fairly large local school on the road out of the City and being almost 4pm the children were leaving for the day, various groups of screaming kids laughing and throwing balls at each other, swarms of children pouring out of the School gates and up the road… you know the sort of thing.
Suddenly one of our number spotted a cyclist just ahead, he was middle age business man type in a white shirt and trousers peddling slowly up the hill a few hundred yards in front… well… the challenge was on. "I bet you can't hit that bloke on the bike with that pie" said my mate mischievously.

Well I have never been one to turn down a challenge but neither had I ever been a particularly good shot, so I thought the cyclist would be pretty safe and couldn't see the harm it launching my rancid pastry and the hapless gentleman. So for a small wager I agreed to the challenge…

Just to give me a sporting chance, the driver, who will know exactly who he is but whom will remain nameless (as he is now a well known racehorse trainer!), slowed down as I took careful aim.

With an almighty throw, the pie exited the car and to my shock (and actually I must admit pride!) hit the bloke smack bang on the back of the neck. The putrid pastry exploded everywhere, brown gravy and goo and lumps of what must have been kidney splattering his clean white shirt and dribbling down his back, he wobbled precariously, trying desperately to figure out what had happened, eventually the bike screeched to a halt and he dismounted (well actually it was more like he fell off flat on his face on the grass verge, I'm just trying to allow him a little dignity here!)

The car erupted into laughter, we couldn't believe our luck or my shot!

But that wasn't the end of it… Oh No!

Remember the children that had been leaving the school? Well it just so happened that the cyclist had just passed a group of 3 who were quietly walking home minding their own business.

The man jumped up, the front of his white shirt now covered in grass stains and his face as red as a beetroot he started shouting, using words which I don't think you can use on Radio 2 (certainly not at 5pm) and started wagging his finger at the three totally innocent kids, who turned on their heals and ran. The man gave pursuit and the last we saw of him was the rear view of his brown Steak and kidney stained white shirt!

So then Father Mayo, I have to ask for forgiveness not only from the cyclist who received a hot meat pie on the back of the head, but more importantly from the three innocent children who were probably scarred for life following the tirade of abuse they had to suffer from the equally innocent cyclist when and if he ever caught up with them.

Can you forgive me?

Phil