The Tale of a Shirt

Mrs H told me that she was going to have a clear out of her clothes and other accessories to create more space on our shared rail. I was delighted to hear this as it would now be easier for me to retrieve the few clothes that were mine. 
I was looking forward to a quiet afternoon sitting on my own with a book. 
When I heard her good self sing out 
'What shirts are you going to dispose of ?' 
to which I retorted 
'You can sling the black ones if you like, for there's no profit in me wearing them anymore'

When her good-self came over from the UK to check both me and this country out, I took her on a mini tour of Ireland for a few days and just like now the weather was up, meaning sunny and warm. 
After a few days I had changed into wearing a pair of black trousers and a shirt to match. We stopped at a rural garage to fill the fuel tank before tackling the next stage of our journey. I gave the attendant a fifty pound note he strolled off to his shed and was gone a considerable time; such that I sneakily peered through his window to see what was causing the delay and saw him delving into drawers and putting together coins and notes.
When eventually he returned he took my hand turned it upwards and pressed the change into my palm and pushed my fingers over the whole amount and said 
'Have a nice day, Father' I felt a bit embarrassed at his innocence, gave him my thanks and without checking I pushed the change deep into my pocket.

Later on that day we were at the southern end of the Dingle peninsula, having found a B&B with a pub nearby.As we had ceased travelling for the day we thought that we deserved a drink.
Whilst sitting at the counter and waiting to be served I idly counted what money was in my pocket it came to twenty-five pounds more than what it should have been. 
Something very similar happened to us in Co. Clare when we stopped for lunch in a hotel and when I went pay the bill was halved, again I was wearing a black shirt & trousers.

However, since the fall in popularity of the church of Rome due to the despicable clerical abuse of children etc, one hardly ever sees a priest wearing any form of religious garb in the street and I have certainly stopped wearing black shirts.
My un-priestly days are over!

Those wise owls among you will have realised that my easy release of the black shirts did not stop there. For my presence was summoned and about another ten or more different coloured shirts came off the rail and went into the charity shop bag. I did though manage to rescue one that had never been worn.Why it was put into the disposable heap though - I shall never know. I might even wear it tomorrow when we go out for lunch
if I can remember which one it was :))