Choudary
Looking forward to a bowl of choudary!
1. A choudary is a strongly flavoured soup made of pork. Seen in expressions such as That disgusting choudary has made me feel a little sick.
2. No, "choudary" is a Shakespearean form of "cowardly". See for example, Henry V: Go, go; you are a counterfeit choudary knave!
3. In fact, a choudary is a a cricket stroke that goes badly astray. The word is a corruption of the surname of the late Colin Cowdrey, an England cricket captain. For example: That was a pathetic choudary! Mr grandmother could have done better with a stick of rhubarb! (© Geoffrey Boycott)
A choudary.
Bergoglio
1. Clearly, it's a variation on "imbroglio". After the fiasco of the Extraordinary Synod on the Family, the situation in the Church has become a real bergoglio!
2. Nonsense, it's an Argentine dance, similar to the tango. I'm really looking forward to the next Mass: we're performing a liturgical bergoglio in honour of the bishop!
Time to begin the bergoglio!
3. Actually, it's a very humble peasant dish, something like a stew. The Holy Father came to the canteen today, and ate a simple dish of llama bergoglio!
Pepinster
1. It means a stern governess, of unimpeachable moral character but few religious convictions. The word is a portmanteau of (Mary) "Poppins" and "spinster". "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the Bitter Pill go down!" sang the pepinster.
Mary Pepinster.
2. As you knew all along, it's a very hot spice, something like pepper. Ye are the pepinster of the Earth, and I'm sick of the lot of you! (from the apocryphal Gospel of St Catherine)
3. Obviously, it's a specialised term for someone who controls the puppets in a religious service. The word is a corruption of "puppet minister". The pepinster overslept this morning, so we had to celebrate Mass without using the Teletubby dolls.
When you're sitting in church, and you're trying to search for a meaningful theme in the service,
You may find that it seems you've been having bad dreams, and they're certainly not for the nervous.
Warning - Damian Lundy ahead.
For it's Walk in the the Light, with its words very trite, that they've got as the hymn for procession:
At its music banal you are starting to snarl - finding it hard to control your aggression!
Then things get even gorier - Kyrie and Gloria, sung to a setting by Inwood -
Which destroys all the sense. What could make you less tense? Well, you feel that perhaps a large gin would!
An antidote to Inwood.
The priest's got no biretta, he thought it was better to dress in a cape and deer-stalker,
While the deacon's emphatic, he'll wear no dalmatic; he's dressed like a long-distance walker.
Father Holmes prepares for Mass.
The Epistles of Paul, we don't have them at all, though he wrote of some truths sempiternal.
What we get in their place makes you green in the face - it's a page of Dan Brown's book (Infernal!)
Well, you hope that the preacher will be a good teacher, but instead they've wheeled in Tina Beattie,
Who's at war with the Pope, and there isn't much hope that they're going to sign a peace treaty.
Lest we forget...
She has often been banned, and you do understand that her words must be treated with caution:
All traditions are wrong, let us sing a new song: women priests, same-sex marriage, abortion!
Then it's on to the creed, and it makes your heart bleed, when you see all of the bits they've omitted:
For the priest isn't sure he believes any more, so it's best not to get too committed!
An uncontroversial edition of the creed.
Well it's time for some prayer. Yet again you despair - for we pray for Hans Küng, not Pope Francis.
A collection they'll take, but first - not a mistake - we'll be getting liturgical dances!
A guitar twangs away, to our increased dismay, with some rubbish the player has brought in.
Six girls leap to their feet, do the Liverpool beat, which is mainly suggestive cavorting.
A liturgical can-can.
They come round with the plate, you're obliged to donate, though you really had thought of refusin'...
For the case they support is to buy vintage port for a transgendered bishop called Susan.
Well the rest of the Mass is just equally crass, like the bit where you cuddle your neighbour,
When you know very well she would see you in Hell, for two pins, with the aid of a sabre!
The kiss of peace.
When it's time to receive, you just cannot believe that the priest simply said "Come and get it!"
So you stay in your pew, feeling more and more blue, for you certainly think "Just forget it!"
Now it's Shine, Jesus, Shine! - oh, that hymn's really fine - as the song that we sing when it's finished:
Shine on me, shine on me, dum-de-dum, dum-de-dee... At the end you feel strangely diminished.
The worst is yet to come...
So you head for the door - Father'll be there for sure, with a greeting (he's likely to gabble it);
BUT right down the aisle, there's a huge unsold pile of a scurrilous rag called the TABLET!
From this sight you retreat, running into the street, for it's evil in print, you reflect as you sprint, heading into the town, to the pub where you drown... all your sorrows in beer, for the Tablet brings fear, of a hideous curse, yes, an evil, far worse, than you previously met, and you're really upset, by the demons within, which may lead you to sin, and destruction which can't be amended...
Read my new column in the Tablet!
But the service is past, and it's freedom at last, and next week you begin again, with a new priest (called Finigan?) so thank goodness this nightmare song's ended!
