The secrets of Notre Dame

Apologies for a third post on Notre Dame this week (plug1, plug2), but news is just breaking from the investigative journalists of Associated Press that, besides being a tourist Mecca, Notre Dame is also revered as a place of worship (by Muslims, presumably).

Mecca.

We asked some of our religious friends to comment:

Jew: Well, it's certainly a place that I find very kosher.

Hindu: For me, it's something of a sacred cow.

Anglican: It's been a centre for the Church of England since A.D. 597. (Oops, that last one's almost genuine. See below.)

An entry for the David Lammy prize for religious knowledge.

Buddhist: I go there to listen to the sound of one hand clapping.

Muslim: Well, if the mountain will not come to Mahomet, then we have to go there ourselves.

Whatever else goes on there, it is rumoured that Catholics are also interested in Notre Dame. However, the New York Times is still a little hazy about the "body of Christ".

Journalism at its finest.

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By the way, for those who missed the reference above to David Lammy MP, here it is again.

If Notre Dame's smoke is anything to go by, the next pope will have grey skin.

The suit and tie bloggers have lost

A special report by Damian Thompson.

It started at the Telegraph, moved on to the Catholic Herald, the Spectator, and ever onward: the demise of the professional "suit and tie" blogger, who was actually paid for writing his or her piece for a newspaper or website. For it was discovered that the "pyjama" or "underpant" commentators, who offered their services for free, had so much more to say, even if they were never allowed out of their bedrooms.

"Would you care to write a blog for us, your Majesty? Any old rubbish will do."

Originally designed as learned essays on matters of common interest, in the tradition of Bacon, Swift, Chesterton, Orwell and so many others, the professional blogs gradually declined, as people were invited to read them and comment on them. Would Francis Bacon have written a piece on whether James I ate too much custard? Would Chesterton have criticised Cardinal Vaughan's haircut? Did George Orwell have a crush on Judy Garland? No, these were heavyweight essayists.

Scarecrow, Dorothy (Judy Garland), Lion and Tin Man in the Izzard of Oz.

In the end, it was not necessary to write a full blog post in order to generate the valuable "clicks" that so delighted the advertisers. A simple one or two-word title, such as "UKIP" (mysteriously written "Ukip" by the Telegraph), or "Islam", or "David Cameron", or - in the great days of "Holy Smoke" blogs - "Vincent Nichols", would guarantee pages and pages of mouth-foaming nonsense, as shelf-stackers, donkey-obsessives, drunken journalists, sinister deacons, bad-tempered Australian grandmothers, mollusc-molesters, implausible priests, and perverts from Stockport would tumble over each other as they rushed to issue insults, to suck up to the blog's author, to dump the contents of their brains, to explain why the Catholic Church was damned and they alone were saved, or to tell tedious anecdotes about life in Adelaide. Or perhaps it was just one person using an army of sockpuppets.

Of course, an army of semi-literate "muddlerators" was required to keep them in order. Sometimes the blog author himself was muddlerated, sometimes rival bloggers would drop in to join the fun.

"I see they've moderated my comments about giving communion to adulterers."

Curiously, the Guardian, a newspaper that will be totally forgotten by about 2025, took an entirely different approach. To write for Comment Shall Set You Free, you had to buy into the liberal consensus, where men could become female just by putting on a dress, where an abortion was considered to be every woman's dream, where Shami Chakrabarti was actually taken seriously, where a man could marry another man - or his mother - or indeed his pet hamster, and where Keith Vaz was regarded as a saintly character of irreproachable morals. Then, any comment below the line other than "I agree with you, Fr Fraser" (or whoever the writer was) was rewarded with instant banishment and accusations of "hate crime". But nobody read the Guardian so it didn't matter.

The fate of "professional" bloggers was inevitable. The best writers went off and wrote their own spiritually nourishing blogs, in a world where deadlines did not exist, the writer was not obliged to produce any old tosh if he or she didn't feel like it, and no money changed hands. Hence there were casualties among the professional bloggers: Fr Dwight Longenecker's family starved to death when his own blog was drowned in a sea of rivals; Fr Zuhlsdorf had to sell coffee to make ends meet; and as for that huge army of brilliant Telegraph bloggers - Thompson, Delingpole, Hannan, Hough, Mary Riddell no not Mary Riddell - they disappeared without trace. Although sometimes you may see Ed West selling matches in Trafalgar Square; he still wears a suit and tie.

"You will leave the EU..." Hannan has a new career as a stage hypnotist.

P.S. Comments are welcomed. They're usually better than anything I have to say, anyway.

Welcome to Tablet blogs!

Many of us remember the Telegraph blogs, in the days when they were run by Damian Thompson, the blood-crazed ferret and expert on catholicism, Chopin, cup-cakes and custard.

Lest we forget: Damian Thompson at the National Custard Museum.

Damian persuaded the great and good (and Mary Riddell) to write for him: Norman Tebbit, James Delingpole, Stephen Hough, James MacMillan, ... Even Cormac Murphy-O'Connor took an interest (but failed to shut the whole thing down). These days, with Damian gone, there is nothing left to see: in the last ten days we have had pieces from Hannan (politics), Wedderburn (health and lifestyle), Potts (health and lifestyle), Hannan and Hannan. And that's it: Spam, Egg, Sausage, Spam and Spam. Why, you see more activity on this lovely blog!

Herman Van Rompuy shows what he thinks of Daniel Hannan.

So, over to the Tablet, where the blogs are alive and well. People who hate Catholicism need not fear - you're in good company! Look at some of the highlights from the last week!

Tony Flannery.

I refuse to be silenced. The Pope would like nothing better than to tie me to a chair and stuff a gag in my mouth. But I won't have it! I have just had a great time in the States, talking to anti-Catholic organizations, and preparing for the time when I shall march into the Vatican and demand justice. I spoke at the Call to Action conference, and gave them tips on how to avoid excommunication while still denying Catholic teaching on women priests, contraception, homosexuality, etc. I also met some Westboro Baptists, who welcomed me by holding me upside-down above the toilet bowl, saying "You may be a bit too friendly with faggots, Tone, but we are proud to recognise someone who hates Catholics almost as much as we do!" Praise indeed, and a sign that I've got Pope Benedict on the run!

"If you're in a hole, keep digging!" says Tony Flannery.

Tina Beattie.

The Pope! Arentchasickovim? He went to the EU Parliament, and what did he tell them? He hates grandmothers! Well, we can see what that means, can't we? He won't be ordaining any grandmothers in the near future, in line with the sexist, misogynist Catholic tradition that goes back all the way to, er, ... Jesus Christ! Let me tell him that in my daily life I meet many grandmothers and grandfathers, and it's the grandfathers that are the useless ones - they sit in a chair all day long, drinking beer and watching television, just as Jesus did, while the grandmothers do the shopping, the cleaning, and the washing, and they bring in the coal; then they stay up all night writing theological tracts (just like Martha). Phooey! If I were not a distinguished professor of Catholic Flourishing (memo: check exact title), I would quit and become a Pagan!

Pope Francis shows his utter contempt for a grandmother.

Una Kroll.

As a former Anglican vicar, and now a Catholic layperson, I want the Catholic Church to be more like the Anglican one: it was a big mistake when some pope decided to break away from the Anglicans in the 16th century. So I want to see Catholic women ordained bishops - never mind what the men at the top of the Church think. Also, we need to change Catholic teaching, and drop patriarchal concepts such as faith, hope and charity. We need to use more buzzwords, such as equality, cultural diversity, gender awareness, sustainability, organic unity, low-fat, gluten-free, climate change, recycled, cis and trans, and empowerment! Empowerment for me, that is, and not for some silly men in Rome! I may be 102, but it's not too late for me to take power! Mwahahahaha!

"The power of Kroll" (Dr Who, 1978). The men stare at Una in amazement.

Bosco returns, and we sees King Lear

We left my bruvver Bosco hidin in an Ecuadorian souvenir shop "Llamas 'R' us," run by de mysteriuos Juliano Assangua. But you cannot keep a good man down for long, and it was no surprise when he turned up at Castle Thopmson in Notting Hell, where Anti Moly and me is stayin.

Apparently, Bosco has got a new obsessoin, and now he hates images of muvvers and babies, cos dey reminds him of de Madonna and Child.

Mother and baby. A symbol of Catholicism.

So he got cross when he saw de pitcher above, wot is a lama wiv her baby, and smashed it. After dat he had to leave "Llamas 'R' us," so he came to London to be wiv his nearest and dearest (me and Anti Moly).

Bosco was explanin to us dat pitchers of Mary and Jessus was reely based on de Babbleonions Semiramis and Tammuz - notice de grate cioncidence dat dey both features a muvver and a baby. You don't often see muvvers holdin babies, so dat proves it's de same poeple.

Semiramis and Tammuz. A symbol of Catholicism.

Anyway, to get to de main story, our host Damain Thopmson wrote annuver luvvly blogg, which started as follows:

I have just rediscovered a playwright who will probably be totally unfamiliar to most of my readers. He's called William Shakespeare, and he's definitely one to watch. When I was a child my teacher, Mr Pegnall, took me to see Hamlet, which is a jolly super play in which everyone gets killed. I had a whole bag of cupcakes, and was sick over Mr Pegnall. Soon I am going to see King Lear, which my friend Daniel Hannan says is a searing indictment of the European Union.

I have just built a "Gladys Chapel" in my home, Castle Thopmson, where I pray each day to St Gladys of Mills...

St Gladys of Mills.

Anyway, this explains why Damain, me, Bosco, and Anti Moly is sittin in de theatre, watchin a performance of King Lear. It's a rather complicated story about a king wot gives away his kingdom and goes mad, and I wonder if dat is an allegorry for what happened to Damain when he stopped bein a relligiuos blogger.

Anti Moly said she liked de play very much. When Gluocester got his eyes guoged out, she shouted "Hooray!" and explaned dat dis was de way to treat traddy Cathlics. Then when Gluocester got to de edge of a cliff, she shuoted "Go on, jump!" but was disappointed dat he survived dat bit.

King Lear and Bosco de fool.

Bosco made up his mind dat de main poeple in de play weren't saved, except for de fool, a pusson like Bosco wot seems to be totally mad. Unlike Bosco he is in fact very wise, and maybe even saved. Bosco said de best lines in de play was "There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit, Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!" Dis is only what unsaved pussons can expect.

Damain was, as usaul, more interested in de pussonal quallities of de characters. He knew dat Edmund was a baddie cos he had got bad hair and was slightly overwieght. Dese are de sort of detales dat will only be noticed by a quallity juornalist and critick.

Well, now dat Bosco is in London, we expects him to make a tuor of Cathlic churches in order to save dem from dere sins. Lock up your iddles!

Soon you will no longer be able to worship dis iddle.

De weddin of Tom Chivvers

Tom Chivvers in his weddin graments

Anti Moly and me is still stayin at Castle Thopmson in Notting Hell, but we doesn't see much of our host Damain Thopmson, as he is lockin himself away in his studdy to work on his new book, de definitive boigraphy of Glayds Mills, de concert painist.

Damain is very fond of paino music, especailly de classics. De great Stehpen Huogh was round here recently playin a meldey of his favuoite concert pieces, such as "Where did you get dat hat?" (arranged by Rachnaminov) and "We wish you a merry Christmas," wiv de immortal lines about "We all likes figgy puddings," which was condenmed by Paul Inwood as bein thoelogically too complex for de modern Cathlic chruch.

Stephen Huogh

Anyway, Damain looked up from writin his definitive account of Glayds Mills's weight probblems, to tell us, "By de way, my colleageu Tom Chivvers is gettin married on Satturday." Anti Moly has got a bit of a crush on Tom Chivvers, because he is pollite, charmin and non-Cathlic, and she put down her gin bottle and fainted dellicately.

Damain went onto explain dat de lucky bride was called Pat, but, because Tom is in de forefront of libberal thinkin, and likes to shock de traditoinalists, he wasnt sure whevver it was a man or a woman.

When my dere Anti recovered, she decided dat she would emullate de story of young Lockenvar, wot is a Scots chap who interrupted a wedding to carry off de bride on his horse.

Young Lockenvar on a horse

Since Tom is an athiest, he wasnt gonna get married in a chruch, althuogh dere is chruches in Soho and de Plymuoth diocese dat will do same-sex marriages (we saw a card in a tellephone box, "Kinky Cathlic weddins, all tastes catered for. Ask for Farver Muriel"). Instead, he had hired de Allbert Hall, as dere was gonna be quite a lot of poeple attendin. He was gettin Stephen Hawkin to conduct de weddin, a proniment atheist wot knows all about big bangs; he has also been competin in de Parrylympics.

Anti aint gotta horse, so I suggested dat, bein Austrialan, she could ride to de Allbert Hall on a crocodile, or maybe have a cart pulled by a team of wombats. But in de end she managed to borrow a donkey, and rode off on her heroic missoin.

Old Molyvar on a donkey (note de bridal bouqeut)

Well, I went dere by more traditoinal means, gettin Dan Hannan, Damain's chuaffeur, to drive me to de Allbert Hall. He refussed to obey de "Keep Left" signs dat David Cameron has been puttin up everywhere, so we was nearly late.

As you can see from de pitcher bellow, de weddin was well attended. Is dat Edwina Curry in de photto bellow?

Tom Chivvers Weddin. De geusts is very happy.

Well I has been keepin you on tenterhocks, but now I can reveel de identtity of de blushin bride, Pat. Well, Tom he is wot dey calls a geek or a nerd, and it turns out dat PAT is a laptop computter (PAT is Personal Applied Technology). Dis explanes a certian cryptic remark dat Damain's butler, Will Heaven, made, when he told Muvver Odone de cook, "I saw Tom wiv PAT on his lap again." Tom got de idea from a flim of Walt Sidney, and I fink dis is what de Chivvers fambly will look like in 15 years from now.

Tom Chivvers fambly, 2027

When Anti Moly learnt dat her successfull rivall was a computter, she said "Dat's reely woful," and decided to cancel de elopment. So Tom's weddin went ahead as planned. I aint often sentimenttal on dis blogg, which is normally written to provide spiritaul nuorishment, but I do fink de happy couple is made for each uvver. Readin his blogg, I has sometimes even wondered whevver TOM is de name of a computter, as well. Thinking Opinion Machine, maybe.

Our return to Notting Hell

We decided to leave my bruvver Bosco hidin wiv Juliano Assangua in de Ecuadorian souvenir shop, and we came back to London to stay wiv our friend Damain Thopmson again. Dere is a lot goin on in London dis weekend, as I will rellate.

We finds ourselves in Little Giddin.

We is still havvin a little trubble wiv our Satan-Nav, and instead of takin' us to London, it landed us in a holly place called Little Giddin. Our chuaffeur, Hannan, tapped de machine, and it stopped its usaul dialogge, originally programmed by Anti Moly:,

Turn left, no I mean right, look where you is goin you nearly hit dat little old lady you poor old fool, aint you gonna get your eyes tested? Woeful.

Instead it waxed poetical and said:

If you came this way, taking any route, starting from anywhere, at any time or at any season, it would always be the same: you would have to put off sense and notion.

Which is very luvvly, but don't help much when you is lookin for de A1 Motorway.

We is lost.

Still, we got back to London finally, and found dat Damain Thopmson had buoght an oil painting, called Moaner Lissa, which he wanted to give to his great friend Cradinal Murphy-O'Connor as an 80th birthday present. It used to belong to de Luovre in Paris, but Damain is a rich man cos of de runaway success of his book "De Fix," and he made em a generuos offer.

Anti Moly had been readin about an old Spannish lady who restored frescos, and said "I can do better dan dat." So she set abuot restorin de Moaner Lissa. Sadly, I fink dat at de end it didn't look quite right.

Moaner Lissa, after restoratoin

Still, Damain says it will give Cradinal Cormac somefink to remember him by.

Damain was very excited too because he heard dat someone called Harry was phottographed wiv no clothes on. He was wonderin whevver it was Joanne Harry, de great juornalist, but it turns out to be a Prince.

Well, apart from Cradinal Cormac's birfday party, to which we is all invited, de other grate social event of de weekend is de Notting Hell Cranival. By traditoin, de gruonds of Castle Thopmson is given up to music and dancin, while Damain retires to de cellar and puts a pillow over his head. Dis sounds like fun.

Cradinal Cormac dancin at last year's Notting Hell Cranival

Pussy-footing round Wallsingham

The story so far: Eccles (saved) and Anti Moly (unsaved) has gone to Wallsingham, where my dere bruvver Bosco (very saved) is tryin to save de suols of de piglrims wot turns up.

So it was a great surprise to see Bosco drivin north out of Wallsingham wiv a great truck full of tommato ketchop.

Bosco heads for de seaside

He was headin for a place called Wells-next-de-sea, so we went and fuond our chuaffeur, Dan Hannan, and gave chase. I should mentoin dat Hannan is a great expert on Shakespeare, and he has got nicknames for all of us: he calls Bosco "Caliban," Anti Moly "Hecate," and me "Fool" (dem's cruel words, Dan). Some time I will reveel what nickname he has got for Damain Thopmson, his employer. Any geusses?

Well, we got to Wells, where Bosco was preachin to an audeince of holiday-makers, explainin dat de Rapture is at hand, and dat dey aint saved like him. By some strange miracle, which Bosco aint gonna explain, de sea had gone all red, and Bosco says dat it was turned to blood. Which is a sign, innit, Bosco dere?

De North Sea has turned to blood.

Bosco says we is gonna see more signs dat de last days is at hand. I is wonderin what he means.

Anti Moly didn't like Wells, and instead showed us some snaps of de seaside at luvvly Pottymouth in Austriala, her home town. She is feelin a little homesick.

De seaside at luvvly Pottymouth

We returned to Wallsingham, and Bosco got himself into truoble. Dis time it wasnt de Cathlics but de Orfodox Church dat was de recipeints of Bosco's missionary activities. Did you know dat de Greek Orfodox church used to be a railway station?

One of de stations of de cross

Bosco decided dat de Wallsingham Calumny Chappel was gonna organize a "Pusey Riot" in de Orfodox Church. I aint reely understood dis, but I looked up on Wikkipedia who Pusey was, and he was an Angliccan. Dey dont worship iddles as much as de Cathlics and Orfodox does, so maybe dey is a bit more saved.

De Calumny Chappel's Pusey Riot.

Well, dis is likely to lead to all sorts of truobles, as churches doesnt like you goin outside de bounds of de litturgy. I remember once Damain Thopmson took us to a Lattin Mass and we had to say "Lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor." I fuoght it meant somefink like "I is washed in de blood of de Labm," but no, it means "Frow holly water over me, Farver." Bosco weren't too pleased at bein soaked, and he struck back.

Lavabis te, Fr Prescott

Anyway, never mind de remminiscences, I fink dis Pusey Riot of Bosco's is goin to have severe reppercussions.

Wallsingham

Well, we cuoldn't stay in Great Snoring for too long, as we wanted to go to Wallsingham to see my big bruvver Bosco. But both Anti Moly and Dan Hannan, our chuaffeur, received kind invitations from de good poeple of Great Snoring, so we stayed an extra day.

Anti Moly was invited to stay awhile, drink lotsa gin, and take some well-earned rest, as dey said that a Great Snoring Woman would be a tuorist attractoin. Anti Moly was very pleased to be de centre of attentoin, so we put her to sleep, and sold lotsa tickets.

We heard later dat de poeple of Little Snoring had all taken dere washing indoors, finking dat thunder was on de way.

A sleepy village

Also, someone had heard dat Dan Hannan is a part-time polliticain, and dey invited him to make a speech to de Snoring Conservatives Associatoin. "But I ain't used to speakin in front of crowds," he said. "When I wants to make a speech in Brussels, dey all shows great consideratoin and leaves de room."

Well, in de end he gave an impassioned speech about "De unpleasant pussonal habits of Herman Van Rompuy" to de faithful "Mangel-Wurzel Mafia," as dey is known.

Finally, we got to Wallsingham, and it didn't take long to find Bosco, as he had set up a shrine by de side of de road, and was sellin souvenirs of Wallsingham.

Bosco's sacred souvenirs from Wallsingham

Bosco explaned dat dese are not iddles, even dough dere was a steady stream of piglrims buyin dem and kissin dem.

A rival shrine, after Bosco visited it

Apart from settin up a Calumny Chappel shrine, and givvin public letchers on "Why Mary hadn't a clue who Jessus was" - a point of thoelogy dat is new to many poeple - Bosco has been doin his part in bein ecumennical by trashin uvver poeple's shrines and iddle shops.

Dan Hannan in Wallsingham iddle shop

Bosco has asked me to point out dat pussons wot kiss dis polliceman aint saved.

On de road to Wallsingham

As I has alreddy explaned, my big bruvver Bosco has gone to Wallsingham, de scared shrine in Norfolk, in de hope of savin a few suols. Anti Moly and me has been in London, stayin wiv Damain Thopmson. It is very hot and so Damain has got some of de Indian Ollympic team to act as punka-wallas.

A punka-walla helpin Damain Thopmson to keep his cool

Originally he had been employin some of his usual staff - Will Heaven de butler, Dan Hannan de chuaffeur, and Goeffrey Lean de gardener - but dey wasn't very good at punk, and dese Indians is much fitter.

Damain himself has been watchin a lot of de Ollympics. He likes de beach valleyball, as he says de girls is all very thin and has good hairstyles, which is very important (read his blogg and you will see dat he hates people wot is fat or has bad hair, like Archbishop Tarteater and Bradley Wiggon).

Not likely to be criticised in a Damain Thopmson blogg

Anti Moly is findin life very woeful. She was hopin dat her old admirer, Cradinal Pell, would come to London for de Ollympics, but he decided to stay in Sidney to judge de Aussie Bishops' Tinnie-chuggin Competitoin (whatever dat is). And althuogh de Aussie government has promised to return de bones of her grandad Ned Kelly to her, dey still has not arrived.

So when I proposed a trip to Wallsingham to help bruvver Bosco wiv his evangellising of de unsaved Cathlics (he said "bring a chain saw," but didnt explane why), she jumped at de chance. Indeed, she even proposed dat we take along Tilde Swindon de famuous actress, wot is very good at evangellising, as you can see from my photto.

You'll come to Wallsingham, Tilde, wiv me?

But de luvvly Tilde wasnt avialable. Damain Thopmson said he didnt want to come wiv us, but he offered us de services of Hannan, de chuaffeur, de one wiv a part-time job in Brussels. De Brussels chaps is on summer hollidays from April until November, so he is quite free at de moment.

So Anti Moly, Hannan and me set off for Wallsingham, but Hannan was led astray by de Satan-Nav, and we landed up in a village nearby.

Why does dis remind me of Damain Thopmson's bloggs?

Well, we is stayin de night in Great Snoring, and Anti Moly is sleepin very sweetly if rather loudly, as a result of de gin dat she bruoght in her hippo flask.

A hippo flask. Contains enough gin for a whole evening's drinking

Tomorrow we is to be reunited wiv dere bruvver Bosco.

Song from Twelfth Night

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Or, as portrayed by the Seven Ages of Man...

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When that I was but a little boy called Knowles,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
They found my childish essays full of holes,
For the rain it raineth every day.

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When as a young man, known to all as Tim,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I told Obama what I thought of him,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley in Africa

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Then as a young-ish nerd by name of Tom,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I split infinitives with great aplomb,
For the rain it raineth every day.

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When that I was but a balding chap called Dan,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I spoke and all the Europeans ran,
For the rain it raineth every day.

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When that I was an addiction-crazy Dame,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote six blogs essentially the same,
For the rain it raineth every day.

The Fix: How book-plugging is invading our lives and changing our world

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When that I was but an aged man called Norm,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
My trolls were lefties from the lower form,
For the rain it raineth every day.

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When that I was but a basket-case called Lean,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote no facts, just propaganda green,
For the rain it raineth every day.

A nuclear power station. (Are you sure you've got that right, Geoffrey?)