A sin-based approach to weather-forecasting

Following Councillor David Silvester's comments that recent storms and floods were caused by David Cameron's same-sex "marriage" legislation, and the Rev. Drayton Parslow's consequent explanation of many of the events seen in the last few thousand years, we have enlisted the aid of leading moral theologians and meteorologists to present a sin-based approach to weather forecasting. Simply see what sins you have committed recently, and we can tell you what tomorrow's weather will be like - more accurately than the Met Office.

Alice, affected by flooding. Was sex to blame?

LUST. Lust is normally associated with extreme wet weather, leading to floods in some areas. Remember the book of Genesis, and what happened to the cities of the flood plain? That.

GLUTTONY. Put that pie down for a minute and I'll tell you what to expect. Probably a foggy day tomorrow, where you'll be wandering round aimlessly in circles.

AVARICE. Well you may have been saving for a rainy day, but, tough luck, you're more likely to get hail, with snow on high ground.

SLOTH. Expect one of those days that are cloudy and dull, without even a trace of a breeze. Since you're probably in bed anyway, you won't even notice, will you?

ANGER. Shocking weather, with disruption on the rails, flights cancelled, long traffic jams, and road rage. Apparently it's the wrong kind of sunshine, so don't get cross. I said, don't get cross.

Sunshine! Doesn't it make you want to beat someone up?

ENVY. Expect lousy cold weather, with scattered showers and sunny intervals. It's much nicer on the Costa Blanca, I assure you. Some people have all the luck, don't they?

PRIDE. You have got wonderful weather, but that's because where you are it's the height of summer. But remember, this always comes before a Fall.

Forgive me father, it's cloudy today.

This guide can of course be used in the converse sense: if you go to Confession and it's foggy, that may mean that you overdid on the pies last night. Be warned.

Hell awarded "City of Culture" title

The City of Hell (full title, Kingston-upon-Hell) has just been awarded the prestigious "City of Culture" title, fighting off stiff competition from Purgatory and Heaven (better luck next time!)

Some of Hell's cultural assets.

Said a spokesman for the judging committee, Mr Dante Alighieri, "We always thought that the Devil had the best tunes, and now that old-fashioned hymn-singing is falling out of fashion, to be replaced by Paul Inwood's Greatest Hits, the Kevin Mayhew Book of Vogon Songs, and the like, it is clear that modern Christianity, at least, is making little effort to catch up."

A modern cathedral. Heavenly, but very ugly.

In architecture, too, Heaven offers little to challenge the supremacy of Hell, as we see ancient churches converted into supermarkets, or palaces of consumerism, while "prison-style" construction inspires so many new religious buildings.

Said a prominent resident of the new City of Culture, Baron Prescott of Kingston-upon-Hell, "I am very excitable and delightful to hear the news - denigrating Hell as the City of Cultivation puts us firmly on the map, rather than just off the edge, and the working people of Hell will be calibrating tonight, no mistake. This would never have happened when we had a Tory Governess. Oh, have we?"

The James Joyce of Kingston-upon-Hell: nothing he says makes sense.

Meanwhile, spokesmen for The Church of Purgatory, such as Lord Carey and A.N. Wilson, have expressed feelings of despondency, saying "We've still got one or two nice churches - although we didn't build them ourselves - but nobody wants to attend them."

Indeed, it is hard to see what the solution could be. Modernizers have done all they can to bring the C of P up to date - they don't mention God any more, and many bishops are very happy with same-sex marriage, adultery, even a little discreet theft and murder. What more could they do?

Could glamorous vicaresses be the answer?

But enough of the problems of Heaven and Purgatory. Today is definitely a day when Hell - an increasingly attractive destination for modern youth, with its fabled lakes of brimstone, and jolly twerking demons to make them feel at home - has every right to celebrate.

Celebration in the streets of Hell.

What class are you?

Don't have time to use the BBC calculator to find out which social class you are in? Don't trust your butler to do it for you? Let us help.

Am I tourist class? Business class? First class?

Simply match yourself against one of these profiles, and see which one you have most in common with.

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Sorry, I could only find an old photo.

You live in a big house in London, with your husband and some dogs. Whenever you visit someone they force you to listen to a piece of music (always the same one, in fact). Your picture is on all the postage stamps. You really enjoy watching reruns of Morecambe and Wise on TV, but instead they make you attend Royal Variety Performances, where you are bored to death by Ricky Gervais and Marcus Brigstocke. Upper class.

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Owen Jones.

You grew up in the rough tough gritty wastelands of Stockport, the scion of a deprived family (a humble local authority worker and an IT lecturer who were forced to work in order to make ends meet). You went to a run-down polytechnic - well, Oxford, actually - and you write a column in the second-most-depraved newspaper in Britain. Not interested in girls. Working class, obviously.

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Old enough for a bus pass.

You are 76 years old, but still forced to work in order to make ends meet. Although an immigrant from South America, you recently moved into a tied cottage in Rome, and tend to dress simply. You have met many interesting people in the course of your work, and also Cormac Murphy-O'Connor. Very keen on religion, but not much of a hymn-singer. Lower-middle class.

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Is this one of your best friends?

Originally from Wales, you became an MP, and then one of the most senior politicians in the country. Interests include pies, croquet-playing, Jaguar cars, and claiming toilet seats on expenses. No obvious achievements when in politics, but was rewarded with a seat (well, two seats) in the House of Lords. Middle class.

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Do you like to dress up as Mrs Hudson in your spare time?

Born in the slums of Reading, you reached Oxford University on sheer brilliance after writing a prize essay about custard. At one stage you worked for the Catholic Herald, but now, instead of bringing religion into every conversation, you prefer to blame addiction for all the evils of the world. A brilliant pianist who is at much at home with the toccatas and fugues of Gladys Mills as the honky-tonk tunes of Johnny Bach. Intellectual, upper middle class.

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The Johnson twins

Coming from a privileged background, you attended Eton, and initially went for a job in journalism. After that everything started to go wrong, and in your degraded career you became first an MP and then a local government official. Occasionally, like the disgraced rector of Stiffkey, you appear in the public eye in a humiliating position. Evidently suffering from an incurable addiction to publicity. Upper middle class, but vulgar.

Well, I hope that helped. Not much spiritual nourishment today, sorry.

Directly-elected bishops

On the day when voters are rushing to the polling stations to elect their own police chiefs for the first time, it was announced today that from now on the Catholic Church would ensure that all future bishops were directly elected (as the American Catholic Countil recommends), rather than relying on a murky process involving the Pope, his Nuncio, and malicious gossip spread by well-known Catholic bloggers.

The Anglicans have had directly-elected bishops for some time.

Although for the time being all bishops will necessarily be male - a great disappointment to Prof. Tina Beattie, who had set her heart on a cosy diocese as a way of relaunching her career - the Catholic church is obliged by law to allow non-Catholics to stand for election.

We spoke to three people who are planning to throw their mitres into the ring, one from each of the largest political parties.

Boris Johnson, in cycling mitre.

Manifesto: Cripes! What Westminster needs is a go-ahead bishop who will build cycle paths in the Cathedral, in order to speed up the circulation of the jolly old customers. Then, in the longer term, we shall reduce congestion by moving Westminster Cathedral to a whizzo new island that we're building in the middle of the North Sea.

Religious opinions: Our new liturgy, beginning "What ho, God!" is guaranteed to get the Almighty's attention and give Him a friendly nudge towards smiting our enemies. Under my leadership, the Geiger counter of Catholomania will go zoink! off the scale, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, Romney!

Richard Dawkins, modelling the BBC-approved mitre.

Manifesto: The Catholic Church needs to rebrand itself as the Dawkins Foundation for Religion and Faith. At present it is too busy focusing on peripheral issues like God and morality, when it needs to be getting out there and preaching the Good News from my books. Science has solved all the problems of the Universe, and so we don't need any more scientists. Er, no, I'll have another go at that one...

Religious opinions: There's probably no God, but then again there may be, and I'm not being indecisive here. So I'm pretty much in touch with mainstream Liberal Catholic opinion on that one.

John Prescott, being measured for a bespoke XXXXXL mitre.

Manifesto: I may not be a pious Cathartic myself, but my friend Tony Blair certainly is, and he thinks it is important that New Labour should be at the heart of the Church. I see the job of a Bishop as one of derogation - so I shall sit in my pew mediocritating, while someone else does the work.

Religious opinions: The Bible is far too complicated for the average bishop in the street to understand, but "Give us this day our daily pies," or whatever the exact wording is, seems to be something I can relate to.

New Telegraph bloggers

As Telegraph blogs editor, Damian Thompson has not been idle this summer, and he has recruited an all-star line-up of new bloggers for the autumn season.

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Dr William Oddie, a leading Catholic writer and broadcaster

Nobody could have been more surprised than I to receive a letter from Damian Thompson, explaining that the Telegraph urgently needed more Catholic bloggers of distinction. For a moment I wondered whether Damian's secretary had confused me with someone else, but when I phoned the Telegraph, explaining that I was a Goodie, Damian merely replied "Of course you are, Dr Oddie, I have never doubted it."

I suggested that my first post would be about cardinals, and this went down very well.

At present there are but two cardinals on the British mainland, and, being both male, they do not constitute a breeding pair. However, these birds are never entirely extinct on our shores, and new sightings appear regularly. The birds migrate regularly to Rome, where they flutter around rather purposelessly...

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John Prescott, former Cunard waiter and Deputy Prime Minister

In my inorgyral blog post for the Telegraph I have been asked to take on the mental of Peter Mullet and Tom Shivers, and so I will be undressing the lamentable decline in the qualify of English that we see nowadays.

When I was Debity Prime Monster, I always insisted that my staff send me reports in plane English. "Keep it simple!" I said. "We ain't all been to poncey schools where they learn about active conjugations. I've 'ad to learn about them from my secretary!"

On one occasion, I overheard a member of staff saying about me: "Mr Prescott's an 'ideous orang-utan." Well, I wasn't standing for that. I got the whole office reciting in unicorn together: "Mr Prescott's a hideous orang-utan." That taught them!

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Louise Mensch, chick lit novelist and Catholic figurehead

As Damian Thompson removed his elegant polyester shirt, young sexy Louise gasped in admiration at his rippling muscles, and knew that, whatever he asked her to do, she would have to agree. "Louise," he said, in tones that brooked no denial, "we at the Telegraph have certain... needs."

"Oh yes, yes, Damian," she said. "What do my constituents in Corby matter, when the blood-crazed ferret makes his demands on me?"

"I'm glad you see it that way," said Damian in the husky, virile tones that always sent a shiver down Louise's beautiful spine - a spine which had won the Conservative Spine of the Year award on three separate occasions. "I want you to write us a blog about your experiences in New York."

"Oh my God, Damian!" exclaimed Louise. "Yes, yes, yes!"

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Julian Assange, security adviser to the Ecuadorian government

All users of the Internet need to be made aware of the advantages of cyber-security. My new main employer, President Correa, was shocked when I told him that there is a rogue web-site called Juiquilics, which is carrying details of his secret plans to flood neighbouring Colombia with poisoned llama-meat, in a cunning attempt to destroy its economy.

My first tip to internet users is Change your password. It was a great embarrassment to the CIA when someone - I won't say who - guessed that the password used for the site storing their most secret documents was "CIA."

Next week I hope to blog about my experiences of Swedish nightlife, and how to make your mark with those busty Swedish girls.

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Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, Archbishop Emeritus

I'm very glad to help out my old friend Damian by blogging on some of my memories, drawn from a long life as a priest. I thought I would start with my experiences as a student at the Venerable English College in Rome in the 1950s. We were a wild bunch indeed, stealing cardinals' red hats on Boat-race Night, then putting drawing pins on Pope Pius XII's Cathedra. And to think that two of us became cardinals, and four others became bishops!

I expect the seminarian who provided the whoopee cushion to make a full confession later.

I remember we invented something called the cardinal martini, a very potent drink which we offered to Cardinal Griffin, when he came to Rome to ask us why we we'd been skipping all the Latin classes! After 3 of those, old Bernie Griffin was going "Hic haec hoc," like the rest of us!

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.

Celebrity endorsements

A new papal encyclical "Liber Fixus"

The Pope reading "The Fix"

Liber Fixus beati Damiani mirabilis est, et omnes fideles emptores sint (II euro apud Vaticani Emporium, cum "Vita Sanctae Cristinae Odonis"). Addictio problematicalis est, et Damianus infallibilis est, cum scribit calico-libae et cannabum*.

Paolo Gabriele

Nunc Paolo Gabriele, meus servus, in vinculis est, quia de multis addictionis passus est.

Oh hang it, they've just arrested Cardinal Google too, the one who does all my Latin translations. Still we're near the end, and my message is simple. Buy Thompson's book, to understand the real evils of the XXIst century. Blessings upon you all.

*of cupcakes and cannabis

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John Prescott writes

I used to be addicted to pies

I consider it a great honour and privethedge to be allowed to contribute a small testimonacle about Damian Thompson's book, "The Fix." In the days when I was the second most powerful man in Britain (responsible for so many portfailures at the same time that I never got round to dealing with any of them), I saw many examples of addition in the Cabernet. That creepy nancy-boy Mandelson, for example, addicted to lying, cheating and drinking blood - in the end we sent him to Brussels, the only place where this was considered normal. Then there was Brown, addicted to violence and brutality - we tried making him Prime Minister, but this didn't cure him.

You're nicked, sunshine!

As you may know, I am hoping to become an elected police chief. In this, I have the full support of the criminal fratality, who say that they have always thought of me as a "Pig," and are confident that I will do nothing to upset their traditional way of life. However, I shall certainly make it a priory to deal with addition, and maybe even subtraction as well!

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Lord Justice Leveson writes

I just can't stop asking questions

Some of you may have heard of the Leveson Enquiry, which I have been running since 1997. It started off as an enquiry into the death of Princess Diana, and I am pleased to say that Mohamed Fayed was finally able to leave the court without a stain on his straitjacket. It then turned into an investigation of Tony Blair's addiction to declaring war on unlikely countries at the drop of a hat (thanks to him, we are still technically at war with Finland, New Zealand and the Vatican, but we expect to surrender any day now). Now new evidence has emerged, and we are investigating phone-tapping, e-mail hacking, and all the other standard methods by which journalists get stories - apart from simply making them up, of course.

Rebekah Brooks - addicted to evil

I hope that Damian Thompson's excellent book will help poor Rebekah Brooks come to terms with her many addictions, which go far beyond mere cupcakes.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking of joining forces with Damian Thompson, and launching a far-reaching enquiry into all aspects of addiction. I had promised my wife to give up enquiries, but another year or two can't hurt, can it?