Tag Archives: drink



Those who drink, sleep;

whoever sleeps, doesn’t sin;

those who don’t sin, are holy;

therefore… those who drink are holy!


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January 10, 2016 · 14:49

Vices. [via John Orr]

There was a man whose life was marked with extreme vice. He smoked like a lum, drank like a fish, and had unbridled sexual passions.
He decided that he was headed for an early grave and resolved to turn his life around.
But he realised he would need some serious help, and so prayed to God.
That night God appeared in a blinding flash and said, “How can I help you, my son?”
“Well,” said the man, “I really need to turn my life around. I smoke like a lum, drink like a fish, and my days are spent in unbridled sexual lust. I don’t want to die young, so I need some help to reform.”
And God said, “There’s nothing for it. You’ll simply have to give up the fags, the booze, and the sex, if you want to live longer. (Well, it’ll seem longer anyway.) I’ll visit you again in a month and see how you are doing.”
A month later God once again appeared to the man in a blinding flash.
And God asked, “So, how is it going with the smoking?”
The man replied that he had been able to stop smoking completely.
“Very good,” said God, “and what about the drinking?”
The man replied that he had also been able to give up drinking completely.
“That’s excellent,” said God, “and what about the unbridled sexual lust?”
“Well,” said the man, “that’s been a bit more difficult.”
“Tell me,” said God.
“Well, I had been managing just fine until a few days ago,” said the man. “But then I saw my girlfriend bent over the freezer to get a packet of frozen peas. And I just had to have her, there and then.”
And God said, “There’s no room for that sort of behaviour in the Kingdom of Heaven!”
“Aye,” said the man, “and apparently there’s nae room for it in Tesco either.”

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An Irishman moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers.

The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone.

An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more.

This happens yet again.

The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. “I don’t mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers?”

‘Tis odd, isn’t it?” the man replies, “You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond.”

The bartender and the whole town was pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening – he orders only two beers. The word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, “Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know-the two beers and all…”

The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, “You’ll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well… It’s just that I, myself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent.”

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The Rune of Hospitality


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May 5, 2013 · 21:06


The Meenister’s Log

The mini-bus came to a halt in the church car park in this beautiful rural part of Scotland, and out came a dozen members of a “Christian Youth Group”  unexpected and unprepared for.  And it happened to be a Sunday when Holy Communion was being celebrated.

I noticed that a couple of our visitors had slight learning difficulties.

During the sermon, one could be heard saying to the Group Leader, “when do we get the coffee?”

“Hush – afterwards”

Then, the Communion…… these small individual glasses… the same voice from the body of the kirk: “Is that it?  Where’s the coffee?”

One of his pals at least had the courtesy to raise his glass in a toast and say”Cheers!”


In my first year in  my very first congregation, on the Thursday of Holy Week I visited several members of my flock who were housebound. to give  them Holy Communion.  Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I recalled that the celebrant – in this case, myself , had to finish off what was left of the “consecrated” wine  (not in fact a Presbyterian practice).  So, back at he manse, the afternoon’s exercise finished, I chugged back more than half a bottle of cheap fortified wine……….

…….. in parenthesis: in student days, a pal got a day job during the University holidays, working in an off-sales booze shop in a kind of insalubrious area of Glasgow.  This down-and-out came in one day, asking for a bottle of “Thunderbird”

“Red or White, Sir?”

“Disnae matter, son, it’s awe wan” came the connoisseur’s answer………

…….. so, having polished off his warm, sticky, sickly uber-alcoholic cheapo pant-stripper, I then set off to be the guest preacher at the local Episcopalian Church for its Maunday Thursday evening service.

I truly cannot remember what I preached about ….  and perhaps just as well.


Fast forward many years… and it was the custom of one of my Kirk Sessions to create a “cocktail” of the dregs of previous Communion wines, mixing an assortment of previous “left-overs” into one bottle (and, yes, it tasted foul)

The day following Communion was known as “skitters Monday” amongst those who has partaken of the Sunday’s Sacrament.


A drunk staggered down the main street of the town. Somehow he managed to make it up the stairs to a cathedral and into the entrance, where he crashed from pew to pew, finally making his way to a side aisle and into a confessional.

A priest had observed all this, and figured the fellow needed some help, so he entered his side of the confessional. After the priest sat there in deathly silence, he finally asked, “May I help you, my son?”

“I dunno,” came the drunk’s voice from behind the partition. “You got any toilet paper on your side?”


Visiting Parishioners some years ago in an old fashioned “Nightingale Ward” I came came across  a particular gentleman who was notorious for overindulgence in a “wee refreshment” on the regular basis .

Our visit was just about over when he asked me to go to an off-sales same five minutes away to buy him a bottle of whisky.  Despite my protestations, he insisted on pressing a ten pound note into my hand – and added, cryptically, “And a bottle of Irn Bru for yourself”

So, here’s this wee meenister, resplendent in dog-collar, sneakily   smuggling a bottle of Bells (and a small plastic bottle of Scotland’s other national drink) back into the Ward whence he came.

“Right!  Get that down you,” he said, indicating the warm soft drink.

“Just a sip, perhaps?”

“The lot!” sounding almost belligerent.

So there I am in suit and dog collar standing, surrounded by other curious patients, chugging on a bottle of Irn Bru.

I eventually finished it and was about to throw the empty plastic bottle into the waste bin, when he grabbed it out of my hand and deftly and steadily refilled it with some of his whisky.

Taking an almighty slug followed by a ferocious burp – he wheezed “Cheers!  See you next week” [then, somewhat ominously, “if not before}

If anyone had found out that I’d been involved in such bootlegging, I surely would have been “uncorked” by the Kirk Authorities!

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Lights, action, blood

The Meenister’s Log

Very occasionally, I felt that the best place (having assessed the client) was to invite the person in need of pastoral help to a hostelry in a neighbouring town.where nobody knew us and we could have a private conversation

On one occasion, a particular gent whose wife had discovered that he was visiting massage parlours and was about to divorce him, met with me in some pub in a neighbouring town.

He tried, pathetically, to justify what lay behind all this.

I was very frank and ,perhaps, somewhat too blunt  in my opinion of him, (though offering what I thought was positive advice )  but he somewhat lost the plot, and hit me over the head with a beer bottle (luckily empty)

It wasn’t even his round!!!!!!

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Predestination 2

The Meenister’s Log


Believing in predestination, a new father set out three objects on the dining room table in preparation for his son’s arrival home from school.

The first object was a £100 note. “That represents high finance. If he takes this, he’s go into business.”

The second object was a Bible. “If he takes this one, he’ll be a man of the cloth.”

The third object was a bottle of cheap whisky. “If he goes for this one, he’ll be a drunkard!”

The father and his wife then hid where they could see their son’s approach.

Soon, the son entered the room and examined each article briefly. He then checked to make sure that he was alone

Not seeing anyone, he stuffed the money in his pocket, put the Bible under his arm, and strolled out of the room draining the whiskey. The father looked at his wife and beamed, “How about that! He’s going to be a lawyer!”


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