Being of an age when having a best friend was of greater importance than having oxygen to breath. Janet Lillington of 64, Barrowmead Drive, Lawerence Weston in Bristol was my very very bestest of friends. We were almost conjoined. If you saw one of us, you saw two of us. Our very ordinary lives mirrored one anothers. Same age, same street, same school - all the same!

That's why as an inseparable duo we joined the Girls Brigade, why I am not sure. Maybe we were seduced by the home-made navy piped with red uniforms. Or was it the promise of merry hours around the camp-fire. It's beyond me, but we joined! As part of the Girls Brigade package we had to attend a Methodist Church, so with equal gusto we embarked on attending Sunday school, and evening bible classes.

Months flew away, autumn showed its chill winds, the colours all around became sombre, and muted. Christmas was on the horizon, and in its grasp the nativity play. Surely now our devotion to the Girls Brigade and Sunday school would be repaid many times over. Perhaps a starring role, with a splendid speaking part. And please let's not forget the lavish, envy causing costumes. Even the thoughts were exciting! We couldn't wait.

Full of childish anticipation we listened for our names to be called. We waited and waited. The main roles vanished even the lesser roles evaporated. Then hallelujah our moment arrived we were to be angels. Ok so at least we would get to wear dresses made from white sheets, a lopsided tinsel halo and of course unflappable crepe paper wings.

Undeterred we attended the rehearsals. Although our miniscule parts actually amounted to one brief Christmas carol of two verses. This was it, the night of the nativity play. We arrived but the other angels has flown. Leaving just the two unhappy cherubs. In front of us neatly laid out were the costumes. No glitz, no glamour nothing just choir boy outfits. Cassocks in a very serviceable blue, the surplice looking as if it needed a wash.

Oh no, it was too late for childish protests. We dressed with hatred in our hearts. Only to be ushered into our places. Sitting on the floor, in between a row of cinema type seats. Then on the given cue we would appear like the angelic hoste!, and then listen to this, stand on the seat. Some heretic must of dreamt this up! We appeared on cue then disaster struck. I pulled down the seat remember it's one of those lethal cinema type then by some religious fluke the seat went under the grubby surplice and I went back with it. There I was with my back to the gathering stuck! The all-seeing minister moved like a greyhound after a rabbit, he untrapped me from the grip of the seat. When free I slid back down on the floor telling myself not to cry.

Janet Lillington looked on a state crossed between girly giggles, and total disbelief. Her mouth staying firmly closed. She too slid down by my side. The nativity play continued minus the angelic hoste. Hades could of quite happily swallowed me, or the good Lord could of claimed me right there and then. The shame was unbearable.

After the audience had left, the two now ex-angels slowly emerged. Hurridly throwing what we considered stupid costumes into a heap - we ran to the bus stop. Sitting side by side in an almost empty double decker slwoly we started to laugh, I declared in a voice full of knowledge. 'It would have been ok is we had costumes like real angels.' Janet Lillington turned her crumbled face to the window 'So what do real angels wear then?'

Christine Griffiths