HAHAHAHA!

Paul and Peter kicked aside the drying palm leaves that littered the streets as they walked through the deepening twilight. “Was it Pizza Express or Pizza Hut?” asked Peter. “Beats me,” Paul answered, “He just said we’re going for a Pizza and a walk in the park. It’s usually Pizza Hut though ‘cos Judas likes the salad.” “Well he didn’t book it this time, it was James.” “Jesus only knows where we will end up then!” Laughed Paul. “Well I hope so; it's his turn to pay,” Peter smiled back at his old enemy. Turning a corner they entered the Herodias Memorial Shopping Arcade and Baths. The familiar smell of olives, dates, spices, leather and damp loincloths enveloped them. Slowly they picked their way past tables groaning under the weight of cream eggs, gaily decorated donkeys bearing squealing children on their backs and enormous chocolate bunnies. Finally they reached the central square where a platoon of Roman soldiers were busily erasing the words 'Romanes Eunt Domus' from the base of the fountain. “Let’s try Pizza Hut, it's nearest,” suggested Paul.

HEHEHEHEHE!

The two disciples pushed open the familiar plate glass doors to be greeted by a sour-faced waitress whose greasy complexion and rolls of bare skin hanging over her mini toga bespoke of a diet of pizza and oven-ready chips. She had a small badge that read: ‘Hi, I’m Rachel.’ The red and blue paper hat perched on top of her scrubbed back, blond hair sported three stars showing she could apply toppings, clean the toilets and operate the cash register. A fourth star would have indicated she could wash her hands as well. “Table for two?” she asked in a clipped, nasal whine “Er…thirteen actually. We’ve booked,” said Peter. “Name?” “James.” “James?” asked the waitress, shuffling through a pile of parchments. “Got nuffink for James.” “James son of Zebedee maybe?” suggested Paul “Or Alphaeus?” offered Peter. “James or Alphaeus?” queried Rachel. “Make ya bleedin' minds up.” “No.” Said Peter, beginning to see a never-ending sea of confused Sunday school faces stretching out before him. “There are two James'—one is the son of Zebedee and one is the son of Alphaeus.” “Never 'eard of neither of 'em." “Not many people have,” said Paul. “But one of them may have booked the table.” The waitress made another half-hearted attempt to find the booking. “Nah, nuffink 'ere. D'you wanna wait until something comes free or wot?”