Confessions: Blaming Fergus

Twenty years ago, when Simon was a whippersnapper presenter on BBC Radio 1, he received thousands of letters from listeners confessing their darkest secrets and worst misdemeanors, begging for his forgiveness. Every day, Father Mayo read out a confession - and then he'd decide whether to grant forgiveness or not.

Now Confessions is back on BBC Radio 2 Drivetime. Read a Confession below, then Send Simon Your Confession

 

Father Simon, Mother superior and assembled clergy,

My confession dates back as to when I was a young apprentice painter in North West of England in the late 70s. My partner in crime was known as the "Bull" as he was large, hairy, ex army gentleman and when working with him you did as you were told.

We were sent to work on a very posh house in the area and on our first day we were greeted at the door by the very well spoken lady owner of the property and her small black terrier dog called Fergus.

As the bull introduced us and we were ushered into the house with the words "SHOES"... to which we immediately removed our footwear as our feet sank into the deep blue shag pile that ran through the entire house. "No mistakes on this one" the Bull whispered to me with one of his stares.

The first week went well; we had finished the bedrooms and had worked our way out to the top of the stairs and very grand hallway. The Bull was as usual charming the lady of the house and I had made a good friend of Fergus the dog who now followed me everywhere.

At the top of the hallway was a large window, quite high up on the wall, which the bull had allocated me to paint, I carefully laid out the dust sheet below being very careful to cover the deep blue shag pile and proceeded to climb up onto the sill with my tin of white gloss and began painting.

I suddenly became aware of something by my foot as the tin of white gloss slid off the window sill, bounced off the dust sheet below and down the stairs spilling white gloss paint all over the uncovered section of carpet, the paint flowed from stair to stair like a little white waterfall soaking deep into the thick carpet.

I looked at the bull from up on the windowsill too terrified to speak… As I did so he picked up poor little Fergus by the scruff of the neck and dipped his rear end into his own tin of paint before releasing him to run down the stairs after my paint can.

"EH LUV" he bellowed down to the lady of the house," the dogs knocked the paint over".

Poor Fergus was now trotting along the hallway leaving a trail of little white doggy footprints on the blue carpet. The owner quickly appeared, "Don't worry boys, these things happen" she then pointed at Fergus, "You naughty little dog, no supper for you tonight".

The rest of the job went well and I was off the hook thanks to the Bulls quick thinking. As we left the house a week later a van was pulling up with the words "Carpet Fitters" on the side. I looked at the Bull with a feeling of guilt as he was just tucking an envelope into his pocket containing a small tip from the grateful owner; He smiled waving back at the lady, "Cheerio Madam".

Father Simon am I forgiven?!

Ryan

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