Underneath the Habit.
At university I spent every Sunday afternoon hanging out in the University Parks with my mates. I suppose we went there because it was a suitably open space in which to batter each other with swords, spears and Dane axes.

Yes. I'm a Viking at weekends. (Hi Wychwood!)

But this is not a tale of bizarre Dark Age habits. Oh no no no.

This is a story about another Sunday afternoon regular in the Park. The 'OH MY GOD, HE'S TAKING IT OFF' monk.


Now, Oxford has several Permanent Private Halls. These are religious foundations which admit undergraduates. Some of these undergraduates are monks. And they wear habits, sandals and beards. Really.


I believe the protagonist of this story to be a Franciscan.


So we're all strapped into our armour and fighting a pitched battle in the shade of the large tree by the gate, when this chap wanders towards us along the path. And he does look just a little like he just got off the set of Monty Python's Holy Grail.

No one bats an eyelid, men in habits are a familiar sight in Oxford, and anyway a bunch of Vikings are in no position to go "Ha-ha, a man in a dress".

Then he bends over and grasps his ankle length, brown woollen habit by the hem and starts to pull it up...




...revealing pale, nobbly knees...







(now we're staring)






...and a pair of enormous...









...bright red...











...running shorts. He was going for a jog.



Healthful exercise in the fresh air. He's a friendly chap, we wave at each other from time to time.

But it's always a joy to watch the faces of passers-by who have a different preconception of what's under those robes, or have mistaken this Godly fellow for some kind of habit-wearing-flasher-pervert.


Jogging monk, we salute you.
(HaHa!Snakes! was last seen on, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 12:02, 1 reply)

ah
those crazy jogging monks, god love 'em
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Wed 7 Jul 2010, 13:22, closed)