Mogg turns to the dark side

The scene is breakfast at Mogg Towers. The Right Honourable Jacob Rees-Mogg, Leader of the House of Commons and Lord President of the Council, one of the UK's most senior Catholics, is eating breakfast, watched as always by his faithful nanny, Nanny Ogg.

Jacob: That's all, I've finished!

Nanny: No you haven't, you naughty boy. Eat up your kippers.

Jacob: I ask the honourable nanny to note that I have never liked kippers.

Nanny: Jacob, you will eat those kippers or go to your bedroom!

Mogg at the breakfast table.

Jacob: Oh, all right, Nanny.

Nanny: There's a good boy. Now, Jacob, I want to have a serious talk with you. Are you still a Catholic?

Jacob: You know I'm a Catholic, Nanny! Didn't Helena and I go to Mass in the private chapel on Sunday? Didn't we take the children, all the way from big Prima down to little Quartus Decimus? Father O'Blimey said he was delighted to see us. And you were really good as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, Nanny!

Fr O'Blimey's sermon on "The best bits of Laudato Si'" fails to grip.

Nanny: Yes, all right. So perhaps you could explain why you are member of a government that is doing so many wicked things?

Jacob: Wicked things, Nanny?

Nanny: Yes. For a start you are trying to remove abortion restrictions in Northern Ireland. Fr O'Blimey says you can be excommunicated for that.

Jacob: Oh heck, that was Bozza's idea. You know Bozza - blond, unkempt, bit of a sex-maniac, but basically a good guy. He's my boss now.

Mogg's choice of anti-virus mask should have warned us.

Nanny: And now I hear that you're changing the divorce laws to make it easier to put asunder those whom God hath joined, or at least whom a spotty man in a grey suit in a registry office hath joined.

Jacob: Still, we did scrap one of Bozza's ideas, which was that randomly-selected people would be contacted by the Home Office and told "Surprise, surprise! We've just given you a divorce! From now on your registered address is the garden shed."

Nanny: It's not good enough, you know. Also the nation's Catholics want to go to Mass - even the bishops want to, and they're the last people you'd think of getting involved! Moreover, the Anglicans are missing the helter-skelters and crazy golf that their own cathedrals normally provide. And all you can do is witter on about needing a haircut!

The inside of the Mogg private chapel, St Mogg's.

Jacob: Can't the Catholics go to their private chapels, as we do? No, I suppose not.

Nanny: It's not good enough, Jacob. You're a naughty boy. What are you?

Jacob: A naughty boy, Nanny. Sorry!

Nanny: We had intended you to be the next Prime Minister but three.
But after this, my patience fails. Go off and govern New South Wales!*

*Hilaire Belloc.

De Napoloen of Notting Hell

Dat rarver clever tittle is a tribbute to our dear freind Damain Thopmson, who is puttin us up in his humble aboad now dat we has arrived in London.

Dis is a pitcher of Castle Thopmson, which is a large huose in Notting Hell, where Damain lives wiv just a few servants to look after him.

Our flight from Austriala was a bit probblematical. Half way, de pilate said dat dere was a horrible noise commin from de engines of de Beoing 747, and so he told us, "Don't panic folks, we is gonna make an emurgency landin in Dubbai. But if you knows any good prayers, den let's be havvin dem if you wants to be saved." Well of course, I is saved alreddy, but I did sing a few Calumny Chappel songs, like "Come, Thou holy Parachute." But when we landed it turned out dat Anti Moly had fallen asleep in de tiolet, and it was her snorrin dat was causin de niose and vibbratoin.

We got to Heathroar eventaully, and made our way to Notting Hell, which is a posh part of London. We was admitted into Castle Thopmson by de butler, who is called Will Heaven, it seems dat his parents was very infleunced by de poster above.

Anti Moly was a bit jet-logged wiv gin, so Heaven showed us to our rooms. I has got de Paddy Pio suite, and my dear anti has de Nanny Ogg suite, I aint heard of dat saint before, but she does seem to resemble my dere Anti a little. Dem Cathlics like kissin saints, but I fink even Damain would draw de line at dat one.

Talking of Damain, we heard some loud crashes at aruond 4 a.m. and a male-vice chior singin "Four and twenty vergers came down from Inverness." I later fuond out dat it's called a Rugby song, I spose dat Damain goes to Mass in Rugby sometimes, it's a place in de Midlands dat we may visit.

Now, Damain was very pleased to see me,  but he said he had got a blogg to write just now. Anti Moly was still in de Nanny Ogg room snorrin away her jet-logg, but Damain who is a true professoinal managed to keep typin away, even wiv de cielin vibratin above his head.

Eventaully Anti came down lookin for booze. Damain had to go to de bathroom, and when he came back he said "What's happened to my bottle of Geoffrey Lean Patent Hair-Restorrer?" Apparently, Anti Moly had drunk it, finkin it was gin. So now Damain dont seem to be very pleased wiv us, but perhaps he will soon be charmed by our kind and gentle natures.

Damain is havvin a party soon, and I is lookin forward to meetin all his freinds like Joanne Hairy and Giles Frazor. Anti Moly is lookin forward to meetin Damain's stock of drink.