De Voyage of St Eccles

1. Dere was a young man whose name was Eccles (wot meaneth "Church" or "Chappel") and he was saved. He also liked savin uvver poeple, and dey came from far and wide to read his luvvly blogg.

2. And dis Eccles was de bruvver of St Bosco, wot hath got his own book of de Bibble, so I aint sayin much about him, except dat his way of savin poeple was to get actors to dress up as preists and do nasty fings so dat he cuold put dere pitchers on his blogg.

3. Now Eccles goeth on a juorney to a far cuontry called Austriala, wot is full of boomerangs, and didgeridoos, and uvver savvage creechers. Dis was in order to look after an old lady called Judy, she dat dey calleth Moly-ben-Dite, wot was his Grate-Ant.

4. Some sayeth dat dis Judy, or Moly, hath also a grandson in Brisbane, wot was imprisoned for showin his nether regions to de Queen Eli-Zabeth when she visiteth from de North. But Moly doth deny dat it was any rellatoin, even dough dey hath very simmilar manners.

5. "Anti Moly," sayeth Eccles. "Where thou goest I is gonna go too, cos dey will lock you up if I doesnt." And dey took provisoins for de juorney, dat dey hungereth not, niether doth dey die of thirst, wot is somefink dat truobleth Moly terribly.

6. And they came upon a town called Pottymouth, which being translated meaneth "The mouth of de Rivver Potty." And dey settled in Anti Moly's luvvly home in Stickybeak Street.

7. Now Anti Moly was grately truobled by insonmia, and sleepeth not. And she crieth out in de nihgt: "Woeful! Yeah, verily, it is woeful!"

8. For she imagineth dat dere is rabits under her bed and possums jumpin up and down on de roof. But some sayeth dat it is de strong drink what is a mocker.

9. And one of de nieghbours in Stickybeak Street waxeth angry, and he sayeth unto Eccles, "We cannot abide dis Ant of yours, for she waketh us in de nihgt wiv her cries."

10. Dis maketh Moly sore wrathful too, which aint hard to do, and she grabbeth de shirt off dis nieghbours back. Den she looketh at de labbel, and sayeth, "Dat proveth it, you is a member of de Traddy Cathlic Clique wot is tormentin me."

11. And Moly she venteth her spleen by writin messages on de blogg of a man called Damain, wot was formerly a grate sage, known as de blood-crazed ferret.

12. Latterly, dis Damain aint very good at profuond spiritaul matters, as his only engagement wiv relligoin was to discuss de quallificatoins of de learned Doctor Charters, and de foolish prattle of de not quite so learned Nick Banes.

13. But Moly she continueth her vendetta against de Church, and she imagineth dat dere is sockpoppets writin, so dat she can attack dem even when dey aint dere. For it is written in de book of Joell, "Your old ladies will see visoins and dreem dreems, at least if dey dont sober up and get some propper spectacules."

14. But the time cometh when Moly sayeth unto Eccles, "Arise up, Eccles, you nubmskull. For I is called to go to Sidney to see a Holly Man, he that is called Pell. For when I was yuong, he adored me, yeah he sayeth unto me, as it is written in de Song of Sollomon:

15. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them."

16. "Dat aint rihgt, Anti," sayeth Eccles, "cos thy teeth is in de glass of water by de side of de bed."

[Pitcher of Anti Moly's teeth removed cos it mihgt offend sensitive poeple.]

17. "Never mind dat," snappeth Anti Moly. "We is off to rejoin my beloved."

18. "Shall I saddle de ass, Anti Moly?" asketh Eccles.

19. "Nay, Eccles, thou moron," sayeth his Ant. "We is gonna take de Indian Pacific trane."

Here endeth de fust chapter of de story of Eccles's voyage to Sidney.

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Continued here.

Who will succeed Rowan?

We is very interrested in knowin who will succede Rowan Willaims as chief cosstume hollyman of de Angliccan church, so I has asked a geust blogger to give us de front runners.

John Sentamu, Archbishop of York.

From now on I'm not going to wear socks until Mugabe is deposed.

Although at first sight, St Emu is in pole position to take over at Canterbury, his insistence on traditional Christian values will probably count against him. There are worrying rumours that he will attempt to reinstate Bible-reading in churches, and not just the politically-correct bits.

Richard London, Bishop of Chartres.

When the St Paul's protesters shout at 6 a.m., they are, in a very real sense, giving us a wake-up call.

A popular choice among the liberal wing of the Anglican church, Chartres is said to have the Queen's ear (although it could be someone else's in that pickle jar). However, Chartres suffers from the fact that his intellectual credentials will always be in doubt, since he does not have a "proper" doctorate like Damian Thompson.

Jeffrey John, Bishop Dean of St Alban's.

I'm only in this job for the fancy dresses.

Strongly supported by those who want to see a "gay" Archbishop. Tipped to be the first homosexual to be "married" in a Church of England service. It would be most unkind to say that the main reason that he was not promoted is that he is a power-crazed pervert.

Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop of the American Episcopalian Church.

Men!! Arentchasickofem??

Women bishops are on the way, and what better way to bring them in than to start with the Battleaxe-in-chief of the American Episcopalians? Bishop Schori is believed to be female, but when our reporter asked her to "get 'em off and prove it," she was strangely unwilling to comply.

Kieran Conry, Bishop of Arundel and Brighton.

Pope Benedict XVI really hasn't got a clue, has he?

Although technically a Catholic, Kieran Conry has shown such a scepticism about traditional Catholic beliefs and practices that his attitudes are indistinguishable from those of many Anglicans, apart from being even wackier.

Eccles, currently caring for his aunt.

Ullo, has you been saved like me?

A surprise candidate, Eccles is a celebrity blogger who could save the Anglican church. If chosen, he will get rid of the "costume holy man" role of the Archbishop, and insist on cement doves in Canterbury Cathedral.

Gohst writers

As I has alreddy mentoined, we is lookin for someone to gohst-write my Anti Moly's memiors. We has now had offers from de gohsts of three poeple wot knew her when she was a little girl. Each one has sent me a specinem of dere work, but I dont fink any of dem is quite what we wanted.

The trouble with aunts, by P.G. Wodehouse

"What a lovely day it is today, Jeeves!" I exclaimed, as my man shimmered into the room bearing a glass of the old Calvados Chapel brandy. "I am feeling particularly saved today, don't you know?"

"I fear that your Aunt Moly is at the door, sir" responded my man Jeeves. "That is why I am taking the liberty of fortifying you for an encounter with her."

"ECCLES!" screamed the aged relative, slamming the door behind her, grabbing my brandy glass, and hurling it through the window. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY WRITING THIS VILE AND SLANDEROUS BLOG OF YOURS WHICH I NEVER READ?"

Recently, to oblige my older brother Bosco, I had written a little blog explaining how the only way to salvation lies in being a personal friend of Jesus, and how Catholics in particular are doomed to the Lake of Fire. I inadvertently mentioned that the chaps in the Drones club are also tipping my dear Aunt Moly for a prime spot in the aforementioned L.o.F., and this is what seems to have riled her.

"But the disciple John says..."

"TELL THE DISCIPLE JOHN FROM ME THAT HE'S A FOOL AND A WOEFUL SOCKPUPPET," replied my aunt, laying me out unconscious with a solidly-bound Calvary Chapel Bible. When I came to my senses, my Aunt had left, and Jeeves was struggling to revive me.

The importance of being harassed, by Oscar Wilde

"So, Mr Pell, it is time you declared your intentions towards my sweet daughter Judith, known in Australian Society as the Rose of Pottymouth. Judy, dear, there is no need to choke the life out of Mr Pell; pray allow him to answer."

"Well, Lady Haddock, I scarcely know your daughter. We have exchanged but a few words since we met."

"There is no need for you to have an exchange of words, Mr Pell. There is only one thing more pointless than talking to Judy, and that is listening to Judy. Investing in a pair of earplugs is your surest route to marital bliss."

"But..."

"Mr Pell. Since I made Judith's father the happiest man in Pottymouth, he has confined himself to producing endless drafts of his magnum opus, his own suicide note. As yet, it is unfinished, despite my every attempt to bring it to a conclusion. Now, you will find that, like her mother, my daughter has enough conversation for two. Should you stay up until 5 a.m. one night, and think of retiring to bed, you will find that she is still chattering away, mingling her insults with her anecdotes in a tapestry of tedium which has brought her so many admirers."

"Mother, every time we meet he jumps into a billabong to get away from me. That's twice he's done it. Such is life, eh? Woeful."

"I fell in, Lady Haddock."

"Mr Pell, to fall into a billabong once may be regarded as a misfortune. To fall in twice looks like carelessness."

"But, Lady Haddock, I was hoping to train as a priest, with a view to becoming a bishop and eventually a cardinal."

"A PRIEST, Mr Pell? You would throw away the love of a gentle sweet maiden in order to follow the cult of a sky fairy? Are you no better than a Bronze Age goat herd, sir? I scarcely think that you are a fit person to wed my precious daughter Judith."

The case of the secular journalist, by Arthur Conan Doyle

"This case presents interesting features, Eccles!" said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as he perused the Telegraph website. "I have been consulted about the problem of a Catholic journalist, formerly known for his wittily acidic commentary on religious matters. This latter-day Swift has now given up all pretence at serious debate, and is dumbing down and writing banalities to please the masses."

"Could he be looking for a job on the Daily Mail?" I wondered. "All he needs to do is to start writing about celebrities and their baby bumps, and they will take him like a shot. That's what happened to Simon Heffer."

Holmes nodded gloomily to me, and injected himself with a 7% solution of Mother Odone's Elixir (guaranteed to help you escape from reality). Then he picked up his trusty Stradivarius didgeridoo, and boomed out a few bars of Elton John's haunting song "Candle in the wind."

"It's my own arrangement," said my friend, unnecessarily, as our neighbours started hammering desperately on the wall.

At that moment the door opened, and a wizened old lady entered, clutching a gin bottle and tunelessly singing "Roll me over in the clover, Roll me over, Lay me down, and do it again." She then cackled evilly and said "We've won! We've managed to kill Damian Thompson's interest in religion! Now the masses are forced to read Ruth Gledhill."

"These are deep waters, Eccles," said Sherlock Holmes. "This poor sad creature is not just the simple witch that she seems to be; rather, she is a professional blog-troll from Australia, although formerly employed as a cleaner in a molybdenite-processing factory. Look at her shoes, and you will see what I mean. Did I ever mention that I have written a small monograph classifying 2048 types of mineral dust?"

"Amazing, Holmes. Can this be the solution to the Thompson mystery which has baffled readers all round the world?" I asked.

"In part, Eccles," replied my friend. "But I would draw your attention to the curious incident of Vincent Nichols, when the Catholic church was under attack."

"But Vincent Nichols did nothing!" I said.

"That was the curious incident," explained Sherlock Holmes.

Banning the cross

I has cut dis artticle out of de Dialy Tellegraph. Singed Eccles (saved).

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The Government reaffirmed today its intention of banning the cross from all aspects of public life, since it is a religious symbol causing terrible offence to atheists (also known as humanists, secularists, rationalists, etc. when they're running scared of the A word). The damaging effects of this CR*SS are so powerful that, as surveys have shown, approximately 80% of atheists are deeply disturbed individuals with only a tenuous grasp of reality.

BANNED from all supermarkets will be the dreadful hot cr*ss bun, a cake known to inspire terror wherever it is seen. A certain Polly T. of London and Tuscany commented, "Eeek! It's one of those religious things! To me it signifies nothing but brain-washing and child abuse. Disgraceful!"

BANNED is the humble plus sign, which resembles a cr*ss. A certain Richard D. of Oxford and Colney Hatch commented, "I never use plus signs. No need - my arguments simply don't add up to anything. BAN THEM! Aaaarggghhhhh!!!"

The Red Cr*ss was tonight said to be reconsidering its position.

Religious leaders have also waded into the debate. A certain Rowan W. of Canterbury and Lambeth made a typically hard-hitting comment. "You know, in a very real sense, I think that we Christians should be only too pleased to discard the more controversial parts of our faith, such as belief in the crucifixion and resurrection. After all, they only jeopardise our chances of a truly meaningful dialogue with other faiths. The time has come to stand up and be counted, and to say in no uncertain terms, 'We wouldn't dream of offending anyone, my dear friends.'"

It seems that from now on, only outlaws and pirates will continue to use the hated symbol of the cr*ss. Said a prominent activist, "Long" John S. of Bristol and Treasure Island, "Aha! Jim Lad! Shiver me timbers!" However, Mr S. will not get everything his own way: this evening a Ban The Cross spokesman commented "He should drop this campaign of his: he really hasn't got a leg to stand on."

Anti Moly's Memiors

"Has you got any organs, Anti?" I asked my dere Grate-Ant Moly a few days ago.
"Well, we has got an old barrel organ in de attic," she said. "As you know, I was a virtouso performer of de Yakety Sax tune at Methoddist funerals, in my yuonger days. Also I used to take Bosco out into de street to make music, when he was a wee lad."

Dat's Anti Moly and my dere bruvver Bosco givvin a recittal in de street.

"Nope, I don't fink dat's what I meant, Anti," I explaned. "You see dere is a loony in Manchesster wot finks dat Jessus had both male and female organs. Dem's what dey calls hermenuetics. De Pop knows all about it."

Anti Moly told me I was an idoit (dem's creul words, Anti), and went on to reveel dat de time has come to write her memiors, becuase she has lived a very interrestin life, and it is only rihgt dat de humman race shuold be able to read all abuot it. At pressent all she does is reveal little snippets of her autoboigraphy on uvver poeple's blogg, which of cuorse is much more interrestin dan discussin de actaul topic of de blogg.

"But you is very busy, Anti, pickin fights wiv Cathlics 24/7," I said. "Why doesnt you get someone to gohst-write de book?"
"Dat's a good idea, Eccles," said Anti Moly. "I can tell dem de story about how I trekked in de Himalayers lookin for de Dolly Llama, and got mistaken for de Abonimable Snowman. Also de true facts about my romances wiv Hermann Gorring and Cradinal Pell. Den dey can write it up propperly."

Anti is still very cross becuase George Pell refusses to admit dat he ever knew her, but she is tryin to console herself wiv anuvver admirrer, wot comes ruond to drink cammomile tea wiv her (dat's a code word we is now using for cream de menth, cos we doesnt want people to fink she drinks a lot).

We has tried askin St Cuttley, de cellebrated novelist, author of de best-cellar "Thopmson takes charge," to gohst-write Anti's memiors, but he has very pollitely declinned, cos de stresses of copin wiv his fambly is keepin him too busy.

I mentoined to Anti Moly dat dere is a tallented writer wot keeps donkeys on de Costa Blanca (Spane), and wot is very used to writin under false names, but she went into a fit of historics and I had to give her some more cammomile tea - if you knows what I mean (dere is a sutble clue below).

So we is still finkin abuot a gohst-writer. Dere's a cosstume holly man called Peter Mullen wot has retired now, and mihgt be availlable. Or else dere is Damain Thopmson, wot dont seem to be doin very much dese days.

I spose I might try writin up Anti Moly's memiors myself, but I is reely quite busy wiv dis blogg, wot gives spiritaul nuorishment to many poeple who wants to be saved.

I is concluddin today wiv a jolly pitcher of a dove, as authenticatted by Anti Moly de grate orthinologist. I fink it is saying "Ho Ho, you aint saved!"