I had just stuffed the last of a Double Decker in my mouth when the young female missionary approached me. I forget what her opening line was, because I was frantically trying to swallow about a square inch of chocolate and nougat so I could say “I’m not really interested.” If you’ve ever tried to eat a Double Decker in a hurry, you’ll know how I felt.
This might be something they teach in Missionary School – “when their mouths are full, they’re ready for Jesus!” – but I managed to pull out a few facts from her. She stood out from the other missionaries that had accosted me (unsuccessfully) in the streets, because she wasn’t a lantern-jawed white guy. Sister Anne, it turned out, was from Hawaii, was going to be in the UK for 18 months, and got Mondays off.
To be honest, I felt a bit sorry for this young woman, so far away from home and at such a weird time in her life. My early twenties were a mess, and being forced to spend a year and a half (or two years if you were a man) away from my friends and home probably wouldn’t have made it any less messy. But mainly, I felt sorry for her having to spend all that time in Bedford.