The Pilgrim's Ogress 1 - Eccles writes

It has been observed that this blog is a little too serious sometimes, as it endeavours to give its readers spiritual nourishment and theological teaching, as well as guidance on hymns and up-to-date religious gossip news. So, inspired by another great blog, we are starting a very exciting serial, which will appear here from time to time. Each instalment will be written by a different person. Today, it is Eccles. Next time it may be his brother Bosco, or Cardinal Murphy-O'Connor, or A.C. Grayling. Wait and see!

A.C. Grayling and a young Richard Dawkins discuss why atheists need honey.

Dis is de story of Eccles, wot is a saved pusson, but who never misses an opportunitty to get more saved. One day he decided to go on a pilgrimage, not sure exactly where he was gonna go, cos he was very anxious to get away from de City of Destructoin (Notting Hill). He had been livvin in de basement of a huge mansoin, owned by best-sellin writer Damain Thopmson, along wiv his Anti Moly, wot is an unsaved pusson who goes "ROFL" at funerals. She is de ogress of de title, and is gonna be goin wiv him unless he can shake her off.

Eccles, the pilgrim.

Anyway, Eccles had had enough of living on custard and cupcakes, so he packed himself a proper pack, wiv spare clothes, Eccles cakes, and books for spiritaul nuorishment such as the Bibble, Shakespier, Lady, don't fall backwards! by Darcy Sarto, and a copy of Damain Thopmson's The Fox, which was thrust on him as a leaving present. Just as he was startin on his way, his Anti Moly, wot had been peacefully sleepin under the table after a long night screemin at the Internet, woke up and asked him where he was goin.

"I is goin on a pilgrimage, Anti," said Eccles, "and I will probably visit many sacred sites, like Walsingham, and Santiago de Compostela, and Fatima, and maybe even de holy city of Croydon."

Vanity Fair, 10 miles.

"All right, I'm comin wiv you," said his Anti. "We can take my donkey, wot is called Micky Ross, to carry our gin bottles wiv us."

"But you ain't a saved pusson, Anti," complained Eccles. "In fact you is banned from most of de churches inside de M25 for goin ROFL rather than AMEN. I been studyin this book by a man named Bunion, and he says dat de way of a pilgrim is hard, and it aint just goin into pubs and drinkin oneself into a stupor. He says you may even meet de foul fiend Apolly on de road (I fink she writes for de Gaurdian)."

"It's time for me to write another foul and fiendish article!"

But even this frightening prospect did not deter the old lady. Thus, Eccles and his Great-Ant Moli began their pilgrimage, heading westward towards the sinful fleshpots of Hammersmith.

What nameless horrors will our pilgrim encounter in Hammersmith?

Continued in Part 2.

Charity Appeal

The charity CATFOOD (CATholics For Oddball Overseas Development), has asked for an appeal to be posted on all spiritually nourishing blogs such as this one.

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We are hugely grateful for the support you have shown for CATFOOD's work over many years, as we have acted as a lobbying agency for extra taxes, action on climate change, and access to condoms for all; we have also done something about those people in the Third World without access to those simple necessities of life that we all take for granted: such as Tenderized baby kestrel with a Welsh truffle sauce, tortured parsnips, weeping Norfolk onions, and a salad of pumpkin leaves with balsamic vinegar; with this, most experts would recommend a Chateau Coldfitte 1992.

A baby kestrel. In London we take food like this for granted.

Well now we need to turn our attention to nearer at home. Do you remember me telling you about Zimi, a 10-year old girl from Islington? Zimi's family have been without proper drinking water for several weeks: her parents could no longer find Mont Blanc Glacier Water in the supermarket, and she was forced to drink the rubbish that comes out of the taps.

Zimi now says, "When the deliveries of Mont Blanc Glacier Water stopped, my family had to change its lifestyle; we stopped taking baths or showers, and now nobody at school wants to sit next to me."

Mont Blanc, where the glacier water is lovingly harvested by Dominican friars.

Thanks to CATFOOD, Zimi's family is now getting regular deliveries of climate change posters and contraceptives, and we are looking into the water problem as well.

We'd now like to tell you about another child, a 9-year-old boy from Notting Hill called Gift. You might be wondering how Gift got his name. It's because in Notting Hill they go in for pretentious names these days (his brothers and sisters are called Square-Root, Proust, Biggleswade, and Beckham). Gift's family have been without a refrigerator for over a week, as they wait for Zanussi to deliver another one. In fact, it was partly their fault, as they first contacted ZANU, by mistake. Although Robert Mugabe was very pleased to hear from them, he was unable to provide a refrigerator.

Robert Mugabe and an unidentified friend discuss the fridge crisis in Islington.

As a result, Gift and his family have been forced to eat out in restaurants every day this week, as the only alternative to living on slightly stale food. CATFOOD is coming to their assistance, and Gift's family will soon have a shiny new fridge.

Did I mention that we are a Catholic organization? No, well we don't want to scare people by bringing religion into everyday life: go to our website and see how long it takes you to find the word "Catholic" on the front page. Still, do keep sending us your money, and we'll make sure it is spent the way we think best.

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.