My uncle always told me that if I had to kill someone, then I should do it either on the sports field or from behind the wheel of a car. Since I didn't play sports and rode a bicycle - I hired a van.
As soon as Father McIntyre stepped into the road I hit the accelerator.
My cold was the perfect alibi. ‘I sneezed,' I pleaded to the courtroom.
But the priest survived.
After Easter, with six points on my licence, I turned up at the church gardens for my 100 hours sentence of community service.
The priest was waiting, smiling and holding a sledgehammer.