How a pope should give out medals

This is the latest instalment in our self-help guide "How to be a good pope", designed to help those of our readers who may suddenly find themselves catapulted into the Chair of St Peter.

Now, as Pope you have lots of gongs that you can hand out to your friends. For example, the Badge for Amoris Laetitia Learning and Study (BALLS) is for those who unquestioningly agree with everything Amoris Laetitia says, showing aggression when anyone asks them to explain something.

Likewise, the St Ignatius Medal for Profoundly Lecherous Explanations (SIMPLE) is for Jesuits who suggest that naughtiness - especially between members of the same sex - is all right really; while the Francis Order of Logic (FOOL) goes to those who maintain, in the face of all opposition, that 2+2=5.

"Look! The Pope loves me!"

There are also some older awards that your more rigid predecessors instituted. For example the Pontifical Equestrian Order of St. Gregory the Great. These are for giving out in a "goodie-bag" to any visiting dignitaries who come to see you, together with a chocolate model of Martin Luther, a copy of Amoris Laetitia, and a comical red nose.

Now, as Pope you are a very busy man, with lots of other duties to perform. Obviously, you've managed to save some time by cutting down the praying and worshipping, but you still have to keep your "frequent flier" platinum status, and catch up on your unanswered correspondence - some cardinals have been waiting for answers from you for over a year.

So you delegate the award of the goodie-bag to one of your lackeys, who probably didn't bother to check the credentials of the people who received them. And here's the problem.

"The Pope loves me too!"

Among the lucky recipients of your latest batch of medals are five euthanasiacs, four torturers, three war criminals, two serial killers, and an abortionist in a pear tree. Well, that's fairly normal, if you will insist on giving awards to politicians. But it's embarrassing.

Your critics are going to say, "The Pope should withdraw the honour. The buck stops here. We don't think he's very pro-life anyway. Remember Emma Bananas?"

Your fans are going to say, "Of course he knew nothing about it, and will never find out, as he doesn't read the paper, and anyway he's far too busy partying in Chile right now, and have you noticed that it's always the same people who criticise the Pope? The rigid ones who believe in Christian doctrine! Didn't you read America's latest survey in which 99% of women who never go to church said he was a living saint? Now get lost, I've got to practise the piano."

Playing the piano versus populum, as recommended by Vatican II.

And you? What will you do? Why, nothing of course. You're in Chile, where they don't have the internet, or newspapers, or telephones. And by the time you get back there will be some new scandal to amuse people. Well done!

A retirement plan for the Pope

Vatican memorandum - confidential.

In view of the Pope's increasingly bizarre behaviour - for many people the award of the title of Commander in the Pontifical Equestrian Order of St Gregory the Great to the blood-drenched abortion-campaigner Lilianne Ploumen was a final sign that he had flipped his lid - we are putting together an attractive retirement package for the Holy Father.

"Just the Ploumen's lunch for me, please."

Whereas Pope Benedict XVI has used his retirement to concentrate on praying, studying, and beer-drinking, these activities do not appeal to his successor, and we have had to find other ways of keeping him occupied.

One apartment in Francis's retirement home has been furnished as an aeroplane cabin, and - since he is not significantly more modest than Donald Trump - we have branded it as Air Francis. It is expected that the ex-Holy Father, or do we mean Holy ex-Father, will spend hours wandering round this, inventing new Catholic doctrine. Some actors will be hired to sit around all day listening to him, and they are encouraged to clap whenever another piece of the New Testament goes into the dustbin.

"The situation's serious. Pope Francis has woken up."

Apart fom this, we are a little short of ideas. What exactly does the Pope do when he's not talking? We could arrange some video games for him, I suppose; Vatican chain-saw massacre, is a good one, in which you have to dismember as many cardinals as possible. Extra points if they are wearing a cappa magna or saying Mass in Latin. We think this game should keep our client amused for hours.

We have arranged for another room, labelled simply Jesuit meeting room, where Francis can have parties with Spadaro, Martin, Sosa, and the rest of the gang. The Freemasons are kindly helping us with the decor.

"Now you're no longer Pope we can paint the Vatican red!"

We should perhaps provide the retired pope with a small study and a laptop with which he can write his final messages to mankind. Admittedly Francis's publication list so far is a little variable in quality: from his time as a research chemist we have his thesis Why cyanide is perfectly safe, and from his time as a bishop in Argentina a small biography Austen Ivereigh - the Great Performer; also, more recently, the work we're not allowed to mention, although its initials are AL.

Francis is already preparing his magnum opus Why I was right and all previous popes were wrong, although we understand that he currently has writer's block, and hasn't got much beyond "BECAUSE I SAY SO"; still, he'll probably be with us for another 20 years or so, and we think he may be able to expand on this a little.

Finally, if anyone has any further ideas for keeping Francis occupied, then the new pope, Cardinal Blase Cupich, Pope Francis II, will be glad to hear them!