Scotland Yard investigates Moses

As part of the latest stage of Operation Yewsless, in which the police investigate the lives of dead celebrities to see whether they may have been sex offenders, Scotland Yard confirmed today that it was seriously looking at the Old Testament religious leader and lawgiver Moses. Naturally, most of Moses's alleged crimes would have taken place overseas, but there is a mysterious 40-year period when - according to scripture - he was wandering in the wilderness. This may mean that Moses spent some of this time in a British wilderness such as Croydon, Luton, or Dagenham. In any case the police are co-operating with Interpol on the affair.

Moses. "He gave me some strange tablets," said one contemporary accuser.

Moses is already under investigation by the Egyptian police for the crime of killing an Egyptian citizen (see Exodus 2). As they say round there, "Justice is slow but sure," and they expect to be ready to press charges within the next thousand years or so. But it now turns out that Moses may have done even worse things.

Some people are asking why Scotland Yard is wasting its time investigating crimes against dead people, rather than leaving that sort of thing to historians. Said Superintendent Grave of the Yard, "The alternative would be to use our scarce manpower for chasing modern criminals - burglars, muggers, that sort of thing - and frankly, it's much easier to track down and arrest dead celebrities. They won't be going anywhere."

It has been observed that some police will only investigate burglaries at even-numbered homes, a measure approved of by David Cameron (10, Downing Street), but not George Osborne (11, Downing Street).

St Thomas More. You can die, but you can't hide!

Following the publication of Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, Sir Thomas More is now also on a list of people the police would like to question. "He may have already been executed on a trumped-up charge of treason, but that doesn't mean that we can't still make life uncomfortable for him," explained Superintendent Grave. "So far we have no evidence against him, other than a general impression from Dame Hilary's book that More was up to no good. Still, we cannot rule out the possibility that he was at the centre of a vice ring involving sex slaves, drugs, and hate crime. After all, he was a Catholic."

William Blake. What were these "arrows of desire" that he boasted of?

Grave of the Yard has also tracked down the author of a familiar hymn about "arrows of desire", and identified him as a Mr Blake, now deceased. "We would like to question Mr Blake, as these "arrows of desire" sound very suspicious to us. We have also ascertained that Blake was encouraging people to sing "songs of innocence and experience". Do I need to say more?

The investigation is expected to finish some time within the next century.

Into the wilderness for Lent

So Eccles prepared to go into the wilderness for Lent. On the day before Ash Wednesday the world had celebrated a big festival: formerly called Shrove Tuesday, it was now universally known as Pancake Day, being a day when all mankind - except for the starving millions - was obliged to gorge itself on pancakes. Apparently, this was in honour of the blessed St Pancake, a Roman martyr who achieved immortality by having a railway station named after him.

The face of St Pancake appears in a plate.

Enough of this foolery. Lent arrived, and Eccles retreated into the wilderness. The first wilderness he tried was the desert of Telegraph blogs. Here there had clearly once been a great civilization: people spoke in hushed tones of the legendary Damian Thompson, James Delingpole, Tom Chivers, Daniel Hannan, and the millions who hung on their every word.

But when Eccles arrived, he saw a deserted wasteland. In one corner, Judith Potts was gallantly carrying on her popular series of "cancer" posts: "Why cancer can be fun", "Make the most of your cancer", "How we grew to love cancer", ... and so on. In another corner, there was still Pete Wedderburn with his "furry animal" blog: "Why the possum is man's best friend", "Give your mother a scorpion for her birthday" and "A gorilla is for life, not just for Christmas".

One of Pete Wedderburn's remaining fans.

But apart from that, nothing. No Toby Youngs, no Norman Tebbits, not even a humble Geoffrey Lean. What calamity had struck the Telegraph? All Eccles could find was a broken statue, bearing the following words: MY NAME IS DAMIAN THOMPSON, KING OF KINGS, LOOK ON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR...

Lies, all lies...

Eccles moved on to the Guardian, well-known as a wasteland full of dangerous creatures. There he suffered three temptations at the hands of Giles Fraser. At this point, some readers will say "There is no such thing as Giles Fraser. He doesn’t exist. At his best, he is a very human projection of ourselves and our darkest nature." But still, the legend goes as follows:

Fraser showed Eccles his Guardian articles and said: "If you are a saved person, then turn these stones into spiritual nourishment." But Eccles replies: "It is written: 'Man cannot live on the words of Giles Fraser, but only on words that come from the mouth of God.'"

Then Fraser took Eccles up to the moral high ground, from where he could look down into the abyss of Radio 4. "Jump in," he said. "If you are a saved person, then the Lord will protect you from the Today Programme, the Moral Maze, and all other places where my views are to be found." But Eccles replied, "Don't tempt me to turn on the radio. Please."

Can Radio 4 really lead you to Evan?

Finally Fraser showed Eccles all the United Kingdom and its splendour. "Bow down and worship Ed Miliband," he said. "and a new socialist era will dawn, in which children may learn all about homosexual relations, yeah, even at the age of five. What's not to like?"

But Eccles shouted "Get thee behind me, Fraser!" and left for another wilderness.

Eccles flees the human projection of our darkest nature.

To be continued.

Eccles visits the wilderness

Prayer and relfection is a great way to spend Lent, but for a saved pusson like me it's a bit too easy. Therefore, I asked my bishop - a man of great spiritaul insights - to recommend somefink extra, as befits a trully saved pusson.

"Eccles, you is right," he said. "Go ye forth into the waste lands of the world, where the word of God is never heard, and bring em spiritaul nuorishment."

A place for prayer and relfection.

"Not Croydon again!" I remonstarted. "Even Jesus didn't spend forty days locked in a shed wiv a deacon."

"Nope," said +Thingummy, "I have something even worse for you. Do the words 'custard', 'hair salon' and 'Gladys Mills' suggest somefink to you?"

"You want me to visit Damain Thopmson's blogg?" I gasped. "You know, Croydon isn't so bad, reely. Even deacons in sheds is almost human."

A nightmarish vision, caused by playing the "2048" game too long.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I registered on Diqsus as "ecclesiis" (for it is Eccles, I is), and went along to the holy smoking wastelands.

Is David Cameron a saved pusson?

That was the title of Thopmson's blost, in which the author gave an in-depth analsyis of the spiritaul state of our Prime Minister, concluding with the mysterious comment: "Personally I don’t care if Dave is a Chinese frog-worshipper..." (I spose he means Chinese-frog worshipper,as it don't seem very likely that Dave is reely Chinese).

David Cameron communicates with his deity.

As usual, Damain didn't have enough material to last him to the end of the piece, so he includded some stuff about Charles Hawtrey, Monty Python, and Vaughan Willaims clibming up his wall.

So I rolled up my trouser legs - sorry, I meant sleeves, I was thinking of ACTA for a moment - and took a look at the comments section. It seemed to be populated mostly by the resident troll, one "Phil", posting anti-Cathlic sentiments under half a dozen different usernames. There was one or two other trolls around, mostly based in South America, so clearly there was a crying need for the contributoins of a saved pusson.

The new avatar of Ecclesiis.

I challenged a few of the nastier comments of "Phil", offered a cup of tea to anuvver pusson who was gettin a bit incoherent, and basically shone the light of my widsom on the poor desolate blogg, wot had seen better days.

In less than one hour, all my posts had been deleted, and I had been banned.

Well, we knew that the muddlerators on the blogg were creul unsaved pussons, and that even the bloggs editor had no control over em. But this was quick work. Apparently, Phil is a pusson wiv a mark on his head like Cain, wot says he is under specail protectoin.

So I has given up on the wilderness of Damain, and has decided to convert pagans instead. Phew, at least it's nearly the end of Lent.

A pagan dances round a stone circle.