Bristol is filled with conviviality at the moment. Take a stroll down Broadmead’s Christmas Market, sample the traditional bratwurst, and let the festive spirit fill your belly like a bowl full of jelly.
Unfortunately, two club-kids’ spirits weren’t so warmed yesterday evening, having been subject to the stringent door policy at the student haunt The Love Inn. The Whip happened upon Mary and Joseph as they were about to trudge home from the club having been denied entry to their mate’s disco night, donkey in tow.
“We’ve come all the way from Galilee. My wife, she’s with child, heavily pregnant with the Son of God. All I’m saying, all I’m saying: if you don’t let us in here, you might not get in somewhere else later, somewhere else up there. That’s all I’m saying mate.
“Look, you’re a fucking bastard!” snapped Joseph, shouting at the doorman from afar. Turning back, “no, no, not you kiddo” he said, gently stroking his partner Mary’s belly.
“You’re not a bastard, you’re an immaculate little conception aren’t you? Your daddy didn’t get cuckolded by anyone, but by the big G-man, the big G-to-the-O-to-the-D.”
While Joseph smiled and lightly rubbed his wife’s tummy, Mary spoke about the mildly disheartening evening.
“We just wanted to have a couple of drinks, a boogie, and give birth to the Messiah. We’d have loved for him to pop out to the hook of Diana Ross’ genre defining, ‘I’m coming out’. That was our dream. Little baby J, naked, lubricated with spilled jaeger and a post-natal glow, sliding across that dance-floor to an undisputed classic.”
Giving a resigned sigh, Mary finished, “I guess we’ll just have to go to a stable and listen to some drum and bass then.”