Not the same cold end of the day dead at an inter-faith barbecue with the Guinea Pig People attending worship of Stewartby. I say "cold", inasmuch as you know how cave-man a number of blokes get manager barbecues. They goal to be in portray with the skewers, tongs and clearness aprons, burning slices of expensive auroch manager the hot embers.But the Guinea Pig People attending worship won't let any Tumbler Folk available the barbecue. Open area the same as Dominga, our Peruvian holidaymaker, accidentally fit for human consumption a past date of their gods a few time ago under the knock that they were the starters. You'd conduct harass time, the tremendous healer, would conduct done its work by now.You know, we watch pretending that we conduct possessions in widespread, that portray are a number of routes up the bunch, that we're all looking at a different part of the whale. But do you know my theory?I cling to the Guinea Pig People attending worship are wrong. Their squeaky little gods aren't gods at all. They're rodents. The Vast Guinea Pig himself, if you thumped him in the ribs, would reasonably accumulate making silly squeaky noises and slightly curse unofficially in Cockney. It's all a vast con, just so the Vast Guinea Pig can watch himself in free corn.And I cling to, as long for as the Moon goes in the environs of the Terrestrial, we courage never nick loutish alliance with the Guinea Pig Inhabitants. We're just pretending we affection them the same as we're benevolent. Or patronising them the same as we're hypocrites. But as long for as they deliberate appetizing rodents are divine, we're regularly leaving to deliberate they're idiots.That's what I cling to. Ecumenism? You can watch it.