Eccles in the desert

Since it is Lent, I aint been bloggin during de week, cos I went out into de dessert to meditate on wot it means to be saved, and only came back on Sunday to get some clean socks. Soon I is gonna go to Rome and attend de conclave of cradinals wot is votin for a new Pop: I gotta luvvly red hat so I shuold be able to sneak in OK.

Cradinal Eccles.

I was hopin to go into de dessert alone, but two famuous comic characters wot is reggulars on dis blogg decided to come along too. First dere was my dere Anti Moly, who came laden wiv a big rucksack. "Wot is you carryin, Anti dere?" I asked.

"Rocks," replied my dere relative.

"But dey got rocks in de dessert," I explaned pateintly. "Dey doesn't need any more."

"Not dis sort, you pathetic sockpoppet," she replied luvvingly.

Anti Moly's Rocks.

De uvver one wot turned up was my freind Damain Thopmson, wot is called Holly Smock. I fink it was de word DESSERT wot attracted him, as he kept askin me strange questoins about whevver we would find lotsa custard out dere. I hope he aint gonna be disappointed. Anyways, it explanes why he aint written his usual blogg dis week.

We is on de right road!

Dere aint many desserts near Notting Hell, so we looked for a spiritaul wasteland instead, and ended up in Croydon. Dere I got tempted by de Devil, which is what normally happens to saved pussons. I aint gonna post a pitcher of the Devil, but he is a very charmin man wot is a Director of de Tablet.

De latest issue of de Tablet.

"OK, Eccles," said de Devil. "If you is saved, you gotta eat dem stones, as if dey was bread."

In fact dey was Anti Moly's rock cakes wot she had baked, in case she wanted some sollid food as well as de gin; but I was able to resist de temptatoin, havvin alreddy lost several teeth dat way in de past.

One of my Anti's molybdenite cakes.

De second fing de Devil did was to take me to de top of a Cathlic church and told me to jump off. Dat's de sort of fing dat Anti Moly's been sayin to me for years, so I resisted dat temptatoin too, cos I know what happens next, you gets hurt.

De church wot I didn't jump off, in de spiritaul dessert.

In fact de third fing de Devil wanted me to do was to bow down and worship him, and dat's annuver fing I is used to bein asked, cos my freind Damain Thopmson is always beggin me to do dat. If I ever does it, he will let me write a blogg for de Telegraph, like his uvver acollytes. So I said no to the Devil, cos I doesnt want to write for de Tablet, either.

"Ho hum," said de Devil. "Eccles, you aint no fun. Perhaps you reely is a saved pusson after all."

After he'd gone, de rest of de week was pretty dull. My Anti Moly was naggin me day and night, sayin dat I gotta vote for Cradinal Pell in de conclave, as she was in luv wiv him about 50 years ago. Damain still aint given me any giudance on who to vote for, he says dat cradinals aint been no good since de days of his hero Cradinal Wolsey, wot could reely keep his bishops in order.

Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII and Cradinal Wolsey.

Well, I'll report again when I gets to Rome. Singed, Eccles (saved).