Eccles sees an apparition at Medjugorje

Pope Francis has expressed doubts about the alleged apparitions at Medjugorje, but we on this blog tend to show more love and mercy, so I took a Medjugorje Holiday, advertised as "SEE YOUR OWN PERSONAL APPARITION, AT A TIME CONVENIENT TO YOU, OR YOUR MONEY BACK". Note that the claims of Medjugorje are really spectacular - SIX kids and NINE secrets - making Fatima, in comparison, seem as ordinary as Luton.

Having a lovely apparition. Wish you were here.

What the Holy Father really thinks is that the apparitions are nasty wicked things, probably the fault of Cardinal Burke and his sock-puppets, although he is not yet ready to say this definitively. Anyway, I checked into the Hotel Apparitio (2 star), and requested an apparition for midnight.

I prepared myself with some spiritually nourishing reading, namely Amoris Laetitia, the Da Vinci Code, and Bosnian for Dummies (just in case MY apparition didn't speak English). Also a good bottle of Château Karadžić plonk ("The wine for war criminals").

Father Ted Karadžić, a local priest.

Anyway, at midnight precisely there was a knock on the door, a voice announced "Your apparition, sir!" and in walked an old lady.

Now, I think the Pope has hit the nail on the head here, as this apparition is totally unlike the Blessed Virgin Mary in all respects.

My personalized apparition.

She didn't have much of a message for me, just muttering "Got any gin, Eccles?" before she reeled out again. But... but... she did turn up at midnight, and she did address me directly. Makes you think, doesn't it?

But what can the message mean? Gin... spirit... Holy Spirit... spirit of Vatican II... juniper berries... Jupiter... Barnabas (Acts 14:12)... it's all too deep for me.

I returned home spiritually nourished, but I don't know what it was all about. No wonder the Pope is baffled.

Eccles isn't made welcome in church

I gotta apollogise for this post as my secretarries, Ecclesiam and Ecclesiis, is both away todday, so there may be the odd typpo and spelin erorr that creeps into this post. I think we're OK so far, but figners crossed...

Fr Phil of the church of St Daryl the Apostate, at the Hallowe'en Mass.

On Sunday I went to Mass at the very libberal church of St Daryl the Apostate, takin with me my big bruvver Bosco - him wot is even more saved than Pop Francis - and my dere Anti Moly, wot is not at all saved and don't want to be. Bosco only goes along so that he can interrupt the preist by sayin "You is not saved, only I is saved," and Anti Moly just finds the church a conveneint place to slubmer peacefully once she has emptied her bottle of gin.

Bosco and me when we was kids. I is the one bein chaste.

So we gets into the church, and Fr Phil welcomes us at the door, sayin, "Ullo, Eccles, is you gay? If so, you gotta special welcome todday, cos that's what the Snyodd decided. Or if you is cohabitin and never got round to marryin, then Cradinal Nickles says that's wonderful, and he wishes all Cathlics was like you." I explaned that I is a saved pusson leadin a chased and cellybat lifestyle, though I got lotsa lady admirers on account of my handsome looks.

"And I gotta girlfriend," said Bosco. "She's called Camilla, and lives near the cemmetry. But she sleeps in the day time and only comes out a night."

"That's super," said Fr Phil. "We really values a vampair's lifestyle: they has a lot to contribute. I must invite her round for a bite one evenin."

Who is I to judge this lady's lifestyle?

"Now, how about you, Anti Moly? Is you perchance a lebsian? You is one of the few women round here whose name aint been linked with that of Bishop Keiran Corny."

My dere anti explaned that on the contrary, she had many years ago been deeply in love with a young Austrialan student called Goerge Pell, wot had jumped into a billaboing to avoid her unwanted attentoins. Later he became a preist, and is now a cradinal, but we is sure that secretly he regrets not tyin the knott with Anti Moly.

"Got that? If Anti Moly gets near, shoot on sight."

"Well you ain't no fun, is you?" said Fr Phil in disgust. "It's a two-way process, you know. If you wants the fatted claf and the lovvin welcome as a sinner, you gotta do some interestin sins wot we can admire. Remember the prodigious son's elder bruvver didn't get nuffink."

"I got into a fight wiv some nuns last night," said Bosco hopefully. "I was tellin them rotten critters they wasn't saved, when they started beatin me up. Wot's more, one of em nuns cut my leg up wiv a broken bottle, and I had to have stitches."

Training for a re-match with Bosco next Friday night.

"You ain't been paying attentoin," said Fr Phil grumpily. "It was a Snyodd on the Fambly, and that means SEX. We aint interested in people what does greivous boddily harm, or shopliftin, or other non-sexaul sins. Now clear off, the lotta you."

Eccles in the desert

Since it is Lent, I aint been bloggin during de week, cos I went out into de dessert to meditate on wot it means to be saved, and only came back on Sunday to get some clean socks. Soon I is gonna go to Rome and attend de conclave of cradinals wot is votin for a new Pop: I gotta luvvly red hat so I shuold be able to sneak in OK.

Cradinal Eccles.

I was hopin to go into de dessert alone, but two famuous comic characters wot is reggulars on dis blogg decided to come along too. First dere was my dere Anti Moly, who came laden wiv a big rucksack. "Wot is you carryin, Anti dere?" I asked.

"Rocks," replied my dere relative.

"But dey got rocks in de dessert," I explaned pateintly. "Dey doesn't need any more."

"Not dis sort, you pathetic sockpoppet," she replied luvvingly.

Anti Moly's Rocks.

De uvver one wot turned up was my freind Damain Thopmson, wot is called Holly Smock. I fink it was de word DESSERT wot attracted him, as he kept askin me strange questoins about whevver we would find lotsa custard out dere. I hope he aint gonna be disappointed. Anyways, it explanes why he aint written his usual blogg dis week.

We is on de right road!

Dere aint many desserts near Notting Hell, so we looked for a spiritaul wasteland instead, and ended up in Croydon. Dere I got tempted by de Devil, which is what normally happens to saved pussons. I aint gonna post a pitcher of the Devil, but he is a very charmin man wot is a Director of de Tablet.

De latest issue of de Tablet.

"OK, Eccles," said de Devil. "If you is saved, you gotta eat dem stones, as if dey was bread."

In fact dey was Anti Moly's rock cakes wot she had baked, in case she wanted some sollid food as well as de gin; but I was able to resist de temptatoin, havvin alreddy lost several teeth dat way in de past.

One of my Anti's molybdenite cakes.

De second fing de Devil did was to take me to de top of a Cathlic church and told me to jump off. Dat's de sort of fing dat Anti Moly's been sayin to me for years, so I resisted dat temptatoin too, cos I know what happens next, you gets hurt.

De church wot I didn't jump off, in de spiritaul dessert.

In fact de third fing de Devil wanted me to do was to bow down and worship him, and dat's annuver fing I is used to bein asked, cos my freind Damain Thopmson is always beggin me to do dat. If I ever does it, he will let me write a blogg for de Telegraph, like his uvver acollytes. So I said no to the Devil, cos I doesnt want to write for de Tablet, either.

"Ho hum," said de Devil. "Eccles, you aint no fun. Perhaps you reely is a saved pusson after all."

After he'd gone, de rest of de week was pretty dull. My Anti Moly was naggin me day and night, sayin dat I gotta vote for Cradinal Pell in de conclave, as she was in luv wiv him about 50 years ago. Damain still aint given me any giudance on who to vote for, he says dat cradinals aint been no good since de days of his hero Cradinal Wolsey, wot could reely keep his bishops in order.

Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII and Cradinal Wolsey.

Well, I'll report again when I gets to Rome. Singed, Eccles (saved).