A Message from the Padre during the Covid-19 Pandemic by Captain the Reverend Malcolm Sinclair 28 Aug 2020.
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Here is the sought after transcript of the PADRE’S PUDDING
Set-up - A CROSS CANADA PRE-CHRISTMAS EVENT ON A DESIGNATED EVENING (for example the FIRST SATURDAY AFTER ALL SAINTS DAY... NOVEMBER 1ST). A PRESCRIBED, CREATED LITURGY. TO WELCOME IN THE WINTER SOLSTICE. FIRE CEREMONY. SPICED CIDER. A MEAT DISH EATEN WITH FINGERS. A SERIES OF PIPED TOASTS: TO VALOUR, TO ADVENTURE, TO VICTORY, TO THE WARMTH OF LOVERS AND TO THE UNSCALED HEIGHTS OF THE FUTURE. THE PUDDING IS CARRIED IN AND SET ABLAZE WITH BRANDY.
Address: TO A PUDDIN’
Oh you, sweet, enchanting thing. What promise does your presence bring. Upon the table, bubbling there, you’d set the hair of one on fire, who overreached his strong desire to lick you up, and jump the queue, to celebrate the zest in you.
His spoon, see eager passion choose, since noon he’s been dabbling at the booze. He digs in with a gentle push, and how your innards outward gush. Some are for nuts, and some for flesh. All flail about and intersperse, new appetite with old tradition, it could be wobbly, could be worse!
The purist has a piece of cheese. His curd of choice will never please, or maybe just a slice of melon. His girth, it never will be swelling. But mark the puddened of the race, a splash of sweetness on their face. Even though the night is cold, their belly’s layered broad and bold. Fit to swagger to the car, or linger for a fine cigar.
Ye Powers beyond our cynicism, who fashioned sugar, and fermentation, as the days are turning cold, and salads are no longer sold, we soldiers want no wilting lettuce, creeping through dressing, like a trap to get us, but if you would our grateful cheer, serve us a pudding with our beer.
Gratitude to the regiment
