Rob Marris, the proposer of the bill, commented, "I know that the bill was very sick, and was going to die anyway; it probably had less than six months to live. But it is really shameful to see people deliberately killing it off, rather than letting it die naturally, as Lord Falconer's bill was allowed to. If I'm in the House of Commons for one purpose, it is to protect the weak and vulnerable - and I don't just mean the Labour Party."
Undertakers - expecting extra business but now to be disappointed.
Apparently, many of the opponents of the Bump-em-Off bill were people of a religious tendency - which of course means that their views are totally invalid, and they should not really have been allowed to vote. On the other hand, those who actually wanted the Death-Blood-Cut-Psycho bill were mostly an alliance of actors, second-rate comedians, and other celebrities - in short, the modern opinion-formers.
Lee Hurst - will his comic career be allowed to die naturally?
It is believed that a "compromise" bill may soon be introduced, allowing doctors to help people who wish to self-harm but not kill themselves. Thus, if you feel an urgent need to gnaw your own arm off after watching David Baddiel, you will be able to go to a doctor's surgery and the doctor will gnaw if off for you. It is not clear whether this is against anyone's religious principles.
Eric Idle. Obviously an expert on the morality of killing people.
As many will remember, the prime mover for the "Why can't people be bumped off?" campaign is Lord Falconer. Note that a falconer is one who has control of a certain bird of prey, which is used to kill off weaker creatures - sorry, "assist weaker creatures to die" - and it is possible that Charlie Falconer is merely reverting to the traditions of his ancestors.
Set phasers on "assisted dying"! Patrick Stewart joins the campaign.
Of course, not all the signatories to the Telegraph letter are actors. Oddly, Stephen Fry is absent (which must automatically invalidate the list). Some of them are very eminent: one signs himself as Lord Rees of Ludlow OM, so that you know that he is a Very Important Person indeed, and not just any common or garden Lord Rees who wouldn't know one end of a telescope from the other. The fact that Martin Rees knows his Mars from his Albireo means that we should take his opinions on assisted dying more seriously than those of a man with no telescope. Lord May of Oxford OM, who has been Chief Scientific Adviser to the UK Government (yes, one man who knows all the science there is to know), is another who was wearing his "I've got an OM" tee-shirt when he signed the letter.
.jpg)
Lord Rees of Ludlow OM demonstrates the use of a telescope by putting it to his ear.
Fortunately, there appear to be no Catholics signing this infamous letter with the stench of death about it - how nice to be able to praise Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor for being a wise and moral Christian! There is one senior but retired Anglican who - as is well known - has gone over to the dark side: namely, the Humpty-Dumpty lookalike, George Carey. O George, time for a refresher course in Christian morality, you poor deluded buffoon. We've done this before, but this picture is worth another airing.
George Carey dresses up as the Angel of Death.
Somewhere near Faversham.
The chef de train summoned Poirot to one of the compartments, where there lay the dead body of a fattish man in his early sixties. One could tell at a glance that he was dead: there were stab wounds and bullet holes in various parts of his body, a rope round his neck, an empty bottle of pills by his side, and the marks of a blunt instrument on the back of his head. "His name is Charlie Falconer, and he was some sort of gangster," commented the train guard. "Could it be suicide, M. Poirot?"
Charlie Falconer in happier times, singing the Nightmare song from Iolanthe.
Poirot examined the body carefully. "I think not, mon vieux. Someone evidently helped him on his way. The worse case of assisted suicide that I have ever seen. We must find an explanation for his death."
An eager, fresh-faced man joined them. "Hi! I'm Tony!" he said. "I used to be something big in politics, but now I go round the world making money. Also I've been bringing peace to the Middle East. Charlie was an old friend of mine, and I gave him a job once."
"I have heard of you, Monsieur," acknowledged Poirot. "You are a pious Catholic who supports abortion and same-sex marriage. Can you think of any reason why M. Falconer could have opted for assisted suicide?"
Tony gives Pope John-Paul II some tips on becoming a saint.
"Well, he had a sore throat, and he didn't like train journeys, and England did badly in the World Cup, and he was worried about his pet hamster, Miliband, and he scratched his car against the gatepost last week, and they'd run out of gin, and he thought it might rain later, and..."
"I understand. All perfectly good reasons for a doctor to recommend assisted suicide. Now, let us see if there are any likely suspects." At that moment, a strange character entered the compartment.
John Birt. Formerly of the BBC.
"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE! AS-SIST SU-I-CIDE! AS-SIST SU-I-CIDE!" screamed Lord Birt, for it was indeed he. This was a man who had been Director-General of the BBC, an organization that had employed megastars such as Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris. During his rule, it was said that more people had switched off their televisions and said "I can't go on!" than ever before.
"There are indeed marks of extermination on Charlie Falconer's body," said Poirot, "but they may have been inflicted after death." He was then joined by a bumbling figure dressed as an Anglican archbishop.
"And if my sermons don't finish them off, a good swipe with the crozier will do it."
"Hello, everyone, I'm George," said the man, who was wearing a strikingly silly mitre and carrying a large blunt instrument. "I am man of deep Christian principles. Can I be of assistance to you as you seek to end your life in a truly Christian way?"
"No! No!" said Poirot. "I wish to live to be 130. Indeed, if Agatha Christie doesn't sort out the chronology of her stories, I may be forced to."
At that moment the compartment began to fill up with other well-intentioned supporters of assisted death: apparently, the House of Lords had organized a day trip to Margate for all its most irritating members.
Ian Blair as seen in "Hello (Hello, Hello)!" magazine, deals with the old and Sikh.
"You've all been very helpful," said Poirot. "Of great assistance, in fact..."
Entitled "Carey on Killing", it stars Sid James as Sid Falconer, the dodgy proprietor of the "Zap-Yer-Grandad" Assisted Suicide Company.
Sid Falconer and Bishops Wilson and Carey come to a patient's assistance.
Glamorous support is provided by blonde bombshell Rosie Harper (Barbara Windsor), who tells the House of Lords that the "moral and Christian" approach to sick and dying people is to push them over the edge.
Saucy boy! Wait till I tell my bishop!
A key role is played by Archbishop George Carey (Bernard Bresslaw), who, sick and tired of promoting orthodox Christian doctrine (or at least an Anglican version of it) decides to go out in style!
George Carey dresses up as the Angel of Death (non Angeli sed Anglici...)
It is a pity that this film is so poor. Our own personal favourite amongst the Carey-on films was "Carey on Praying" in which George Carey was molested in Canterbury Cathedral by Peter Tatchell (a comic role played by Kenneth Williams) when he tried to defend the traditional family. This film simply does not compare in terms of spiritual nourishment.
"Infamy! They've all got it infamy!" says Tatchell.
Eccles verdict: do not go and see this film. The characters are totally unbelievable.
1. An Anglican calling herself Canon Rosie Harper, Chaplain to the Bishop of Buckingham, tells the House of Lords that voting against Lord Falconer's Assisted Death bill is "neither moral nor Christian".
"... and there's a poor old man behind me that we could bump off..."
2. The Anglican blogger Cranmer points out that she is wrong and misguided (and her views are contrary to the C of E's official position).
3. The Bishop of Buckingham jumps in with both feet and describes Cranmer's comments as "outrageous trolling".
4. The Baptist blogger Geoffrey Sales asks "Bishops: what are they good for?" with special reference to recent blunders by +Buckingham, +Oxford and +Lancaster, whom he memorably describes as a "bunch of Vichyite jellyfish".
5. The world looks to Eccles for a ruling.
"Hello, I'm your new bishop."
Well, when in doubt go back to the scriptures and see what Jesus said and did.
Mark 1:40. And there came a leper to him, beseeching him, and kneeling down to him, and saying unto him, If thou wilt, thou canst put me out of my pain.
41. And Jesus, moved with compassion, put forth his hand, and touched him, and saith unto him, I will; go forth and die.
42. And the leper lived happily ever after dropped dead.
Jesus bumpeth off the leper.
Pretty conclusive, eh? Jesus saveth the man a lot of unnecessary suffering. Let's see what else Jesus did.
Mark 5:22. And, behold, there cometh one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and when he saw him, he fell at his feet,
23. And besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: I pray thee, come and "do a Falconer" on her, that she may be finished off quickly.
Of course this one hath a twist in the tail...
35. While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue's house certain which said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further?
36. And Jesus said, Great! That letteth me out!
Get the point? If the girl had been brought back to life, she would only have had to die again one day!
"Bring Me a hammer, in case she is not really dead."
Well, that's enough of that. But think how cross Lazarus would have been if Jesus had raised him from the dead? "Owwwww! Now I've got to go through that suffering all over again," he'd have complained.
VERDICT: Three cheers for Rosie Harper, the Apostle of Assisted Suicide!
As most people will know by now, Damian Thompson is leaving the Daily Telegraph after an entirely amicable beating up by "self-content officer", "editor-in-chief" and "supreme commander", Jason Seiken. This blog has been given exclusive rights to the Dame's last Telegraph column, the one that was never actually printed.
Jason Seiken - he wants you to consume great content. Or something.
Just what is happening at the Telegraph? Mekon lookalike Jason Seiken has sacked nearly all the staff and from now is going to write the entire newspaper himself. However, all is not lost: reports are coming in that my friend Brainy Gordon is still on board. Brainy is known for her tasteful memoir The wrong knickers; some have compared her descriptions of the angst felt by young ladies seeking men to Jane Austen at her best ("Fie, Mr Bingley! You have sent me the bloomers of Lady Catherine de Bourgh by mistake!"). Brainy is said to be working on a sequel, to be called The wrong bra, or My cup runneth over. My spies tell me that she is in line to become the new business editor of the Telegraph.
Professor Gordon. The badge reminds her how to spell her own name.
I myself am moving on to pastures new. After giving the best years of my life to the Telegraph and recruiting such star bloggers as James Delingpole, David Lindsay, Martin Salter, Gerald Warner, and George Pitcher, I have decided to take my talents elsewhere. Of course I do have my regular column at the Spectator, in which I introduce readers to composers they may never have heard of before, such as the "three Bs" - Bach, Beethoven and Mozart - but this hardly pays enough to keep me in CDs.
So I am currently weighing up various offers: the Australian Pottymouth Gazette, incorporating Rolf Harris's Kangaroo-tying Weekly, is looking for a new correspondent specialising in Catholicism, cupcakes and custard, and I may be in with a chance there. Alternatively, my old friend Cardinal Vincent Nichols has been getting a bad press lately - mostly from me - so I am thinking of offering my services as his new press officer.
Of course, since he suppressed the Protect the Pope blog, Bishop Campbell has also started feeling unwanted. I have written to him, offering to revive the PtP blog, leavening its usual heretic-smiting with a few witty anecdotes about Gladys Mills and Noele Gordon (mother of my friend Brainy!) We'll see if he bites!
Bishop Campbell asks for an extra helping of custard.
One of the great things about my blog is the number of daughter blogs that it has inspired. I regularly read Mundabor's blog, although I don't really understand his references to Pope Quisling and the Sodo-Nazis - I think they must be some sort of rock group.
I even read Bosco's blog!
Then there are Catholicism Pure and Simple, Eccles is Saved, All along the watchtower, the donkey man, etc. Of course my favourite blog of all is On the Side of the Angels, written by my great friend the Archbishop of Corby.
Dude, aren't you homologising the contradictorily monolithic contextualisms of mimetic space, by disregarding the tensely granulated actualities of logocentric wholeness?
So, what else is happening at the Telegraph? There's still a strong religious presence, both from the slightly silly wing of the Catholic Church (Tim Stanley) and the Monster Raving Pelosi church (Cristina Odone); Geoffrey Lean (aged 107) is there to warn us of the dangers of a new technology called the "horseless carriage"; and Dan Hodges is ready to give his expert opinion on the World Cup (apparently England are hot favourites), UKIP (not likely to get any MEPs), and Ed Miliband (a man of impeccable table manners).
The affable Dan Hodges.
Although I am sorry to let my blogging sheep wander unattended, I have every confidence that they will continue to generate click-bait by writing controversial articles, such as "Do Muslims cause climate change, or should we be blaming Steve Gerrard?"
So, farewell to all the readers of my blog, most of whom were banned long ago by my zealous team of Sri Lankan "muddlerators" (thanks, Eccles!) as soon as they said anything intelligent. I'm not generally in favour of euthanasia, but I've arranged for the last remaining trolls - mainly mollusc-molesters, Dawkinsites, incognito deacons, Fabian teenage girls, and of course a coach-load of "Phil" sockpuppets - to be sent to the Lord Falconer Death Camp, as they clearly cannot live without me. Byeee!
Freed from the evil Telegraph Empire, Damian looks 20 years younger already!
Literary giant Dan Brown attends the launch of his new Missal at the Vatican.
For the first time, we are able to release some excerpts from the new Creed, as translated by Dan Brown.
I believe in one divine God, the paternal Father, almighty and known for being very competent, reputed for making things, indeed He made the celestial Heaven and terrestrial earth, and all things visible and invisible, including things you can see and things you can't see. Plus a few things that you can sometimes see but not always, like the Moon.
The invisible man - never mentioned in official Vatican documents.
...I believe in one Lord, the highly-esteemed Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Celebrity Son of God, born of the Father before all ages - which includes the Ice Age, the Stone Age, the Bronze Age and the Iron Age.
The Ice Age: Robert Langdon discovered that this was a cold time.
... was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man. Also he married Mary Magdalene and had children, but they keep this secret from you.
Mary Magdalene, a woman with a secret.
...He ascended into heaven, which is a bit like going up in an elevator, only without the whirring sound, and is seated at the right hand of the Father, which He keeps at the end of His right arm.
A rough idea of how the Ascension works.
The next step will be to translate this back into Latin for use at EF Masses.
Meanwhile, Lord Falconer is to present a bill to the House of Lords this week: it would introduce a system allowing doctors to provide a fatal dose of drugs to patients judged to have less than six months to live.
Overweight, probably a bad health risk. Will he last 6 months?
It's generally considered by Christians that euthanasia is a bad idea (as indeed is suicide), and, looking around, we see many people who might be in danger of being "pushed off the edge."
Enda Kenny - could that problem with his mouth be fatal?
Many Irish, worried about the horrible things Enda Kenny's mouth keeps producing, are hoping to club together to send him to a clinic in Switzerland... or England... or indeed anywhere except Ireland.
Finally, as a bit of light relief from the serious items above, we attended a service at the Church of the Holy Bubbles, and were pleased to see the dignity and holiness with which the Mass was celebrated.
The Elevation. "Take thee much soap" (Jeremiah 2:22, KJV).
Don't worry, this is not Pope Francis.
Pope Francis, as a former chemist, is of course extremely capable of synthesising bubbles whenever he wishes, although he has the wisdom to recognise that the Mass is not the most appropriate occasion for this.
Pope Francis sends a giant bubble in pursuit of a heretic.
