Anyway, the goddess..

We used often to deliberately wait until the jumble van arrived from the ashram in the evening to rout out a few volunteers from our premie house, before we used to set to. It gave an added soupcon of wickedness to hear the ashram tyres squeak away, knowing it was filled with cats such as yourself clapping hands and singing The Lord of the Universe, while we were getting down to completely different music.

Cool? Good question..

Well, about a year later, when my Durga ran off with a dwarf Glaswegian van driver, I realised she had been Kali (consort of Shiva, and like signifying Death and such shit rather than Life) all the time.

I realised I was well and truly off the boat, and guys like you - probably fantasising half the time about what a great time guys like me were having - had been right all the time.

I crawled back to the Lotus Feet, but with some good memories and an honest lesson learned, namely I should have chinned the Glaswegian the first time he came 'innocently' sniffing around.

The goddess went on to become the fantasy of a well-known local sculptor, and her sculpted boobs are apparently a familiar sight to all now in the art museum of the local university.

I occasionally think of popping in for a butcher's, but think, nah, it wouldn't be the same.