Letters to the Catholic Herald

SIR,

I was horrified by the rude and offensive article from Damian Thompson, entitled "Can Bad Catholic Music be stopped?" I have always regarded Damian as a very meek and mild writer, without a harsh word to say about anyone; hence, this sudden meltdown came as a shock to me, and, may I add, to my fellow-members of the Royal Association of Bad Catholic Musicians. In particular it caused distress to Bernadette Farrell (lovely lady, she rehearses all her hymns with the aid of a kazoo before releasing them to a delighted public), and of course The Master of the Queen's Bad Music, Sir Paul Inwood C.H. C.H.

Rehearsing a new hymn "Lord, aren't we jolly super, pip-pip".

Damian Thompson's views have obviously been formed by too much listening to classical music (he mentions Haydn, Parry and Vaughan Williams, which are names totally unknown to me and my fellow bad composers). Damian doesn't appreciate that the youth of today want religious services in which the music is produced by guitars - electric, of course - the hymns are all about what a wonderful time we're having, and there is the opportunity to do the kiss and cuddle of peace after a spell of liturgical dancing and a sermon about how God likes football.

Get lost, Damo!
Yours in The Light of the Lord,
Doris Muzak (Ms)

Damian Thompson and Paul Inwood do a "gig" together.

SIR,

I'm puzzled that an eminent Catholic historian, Tim Stanley, doesn't seem to understand the role of historical drama. In his review of Downton Abbey, he complains about the historical accuracy of some of the scenes. For example, he thought that the episode where an army of Daleks broke in and exterminated Lady Mary was unrealistic, as there are no recorded accounts of Dalek-extermination among the upper classes in the 1920s. He has obviously forgotten the 1922 Dalek Invasion of Hull, where the whole town was reduced to a wasteland (not very different from today's Hull), including - and this is the key fact - the Duke of Prescott's ancestral home, "Puddings".

Davros returns as a woman - note the unconvincing rubber mask.

Academic historians - especially Cambridge ones - should be aware that nobody cares about history. If Julian Fellowes chooses to invoke the atmosphere of the 1920s by writing dialogue such as "I wear a fez now. Fezzes are cool!" or "EX-TER-MIN-ATE", then we should accept his Tolstoyan skills for what they are, rather than heckling from the sidelines.

Dr William Misery-Guts.

Tim Stanley comments on the latest episode of Downton Abbey.

SIR,

Your correspondent is critical of ACTA's role in influencing the bishops of England and Wales before the recent Synod, apparently sharing the view of many traditional Catholics that ACTA is a quasi-Masonic organization with aprons, rolled-up trouser legs and funny handshakes. Whether or not it is (and I have promised not to divulge ACTA's secrets on pain of having my heart torn out by giant vultures), I am anxious to make it clear that we do not dance naked at the full moon - well, not all of us - we do not sacrifice babies to the god Pan, and we certainly do not stick pins into wax dummies of Cardinal Burke.

It may help your readers to understand us if I mention that we do not attend church and we do not believe any of the standard Catholic teaching. So in that respect we are exactly the same as any other Tablet-reading Catholic.

Andrew Bowman
Lead author of the ACTA report "The smell of the donkeys".

"You fool, I ordered sheep! How will I get a donkey round my neck?"

SIR,

As a very well-known bishop, I am getting increasingly embarrassed by your page of "Bishops' Engagements". My Dean has remarked to me that, whereas some bishops are able to record "Pilgrimage to Lourdes", "Blessing of the camels at the zoo", "Mass in memory of St Tharg", etc., all that I can find to list is "Watching television", "Going to a football match" and "Pub crawl". It would be best if you could omit this feature altogether.

+Paresseux, Bishop of... well, never mind.

Sex-selective murder is not prohibited

In the UK, we have traditionally taken a dim view of murder. Of course, the law has always recognised exceptions: when the killer's life is in danger, or someone else's, then killing may be allowed (the self-defence plea). Moreover, murder on health grounds - assisted suicide - is not usually prosecuted as it would not be "in the public interest". You're not interested in the fact that old Mrs Goggins was bumped off, are you? Well, you've no right to be.

"I don't need any assistance, thank you very much."

Still, things have drifted slightly since the 1960s, and it became necessary to clarify whether one was allowed to bump someone off on the basis of their gender (sex). Having Auntie Moly around the house all day long drinking gin is such a nuisance, and I would have preferred an uncle, with whom I would have had more in common. He would probably have helped with the garden too. Auntie Moly's presence is damaging my health, indeed you might exaggerate 100 times and say that my life is in danger. So I can murder her, right?

WRONG. The law forbids this. Or does it?

"Legislation isn't needed," says Yvette Cooper.

Yvette Cooper ("the only woman with Balls" as a rude joke has it) thinks that legislation to clarify this matter would be a bad idea. As explained by Tim Stanley, the arguments against making sex-selective murder illegal are:

0. It's already illegal, but we mustn't say so, as that will stop 
people from doing it.
1. Using the word "murder" isn't in the spirit of anti-murder 
legislation.
2. There are faults specific to each sex, e.g. men are lazy and women 
are garrulous (or vice-versa) and so, er, this is a bad idea.
3. Stopping murders may cause people to murder, in frustration at not 
being allowed to murder.
4. It stigmatises the "murdering community".

Jack the Ripper. Chose his victims by gender, but don't stigmatise him!

So, no change there, then. Murder remains mostly illegal, even though everyone's doing it. Murder on the basis of the victim's sex is also illegal, but we mustn't say so. And in fact, the law will probably turn a blind eye if you try it. British justice - the finest in the world!

Don't let Pope Francis turn into Sylvester McCoy!

In a very interesting piece for the Catholic Herald, Tim Stanley complains that the modern Dr Who character is becoming too atheist. There has been a change from the Jon Pertwee days, when the Doctor was almost certainly a staunch Anglican - if the Anglican Church was the Conservative party at prayer, then Dr Who was the Anglican Church hiding behind the sofa. Over here we have observed a different phenomenon: the Catholic Church is being led by a new Pope, who bears a suspicious resemblance to Sylvester McCoy.

Pope Francis (L) with Guido Marini.

The signs are all there - a general feeling of bewilderment, as if the Holy Father is unaware what forces he has unleashed, together with an air of total chaos as nobody really knows what direction the Church is heading in. Pope Francis's aim is not to judge anyone (except when he chooses to, of course) and the state of play in the fight between good and evil is generally uncertain.

Pope Francis has an ecumenical meeting with a Buddhist from Kandy.

Contrast this with the more rigorous, formal, regime of Pope Benedict XVI. Here of course the Doctoral model was William Hartnell, a thoroughly orthodox but much stricter character, who wouldn't suffer fools gladly.

Pope Benedict gets tough with a renegade monk.

Pope Benedict made great use of his Tardis to visit earlier times: one famous story in which he was involved was Summorum Pontificum, set in Rome. Here, the language of Latin was used throughout (although when shown on television it was dubbed into English).

Pope Benedict explain the use of Latin in the story Summorum Pontificum.

Before the Pope regenerated into Benedict XVI, the role was played by John-Paul II, who may be seen as a Patrick Troughton figure: saintly, but sometimes prepared to clown around. Still, a good man to follow when fighting Cybermen, Yeti, Communists, etc.

Pope John-Paul II working on his latest encyclical.

Pope John-Paul II was known for visiting many far-flung parts of the Universe (he would usually kiss the ground on the planet when his Tardis landed). As a result he met a plethora of exotic creatures, many of which seem to be immortal.

A meeting with Cormac Murphy-O'Connor.

However, the Sylvester McCoy model is definitely prevailing in the Catholic Church right now. So, what shall we see next? A female Pope is as unthinkable as a female Doctor, even though his arch-enemy managed to regenerate into a woman (the Mistress Beattie). Moreover, we are unlikely to see a Pope along the lines of ultra-liberal modernists such as Tennant or Capaldi. We may end up with a Colin Baker - some cardinals really have no taste in vestments - but a calm, sophisticated pope with fantastic hair is expected next time round.

Br Pertwee (R) - the next Pope?

Sister Judy Piranha on free speech

Cis transit gloria mundi!!?? That's part of the Latin liturgy, you know!!?? And it means that the world's a glorious place full of cis and trans people!!?? No longer do we divide up the human race into male and female in that stuffy old Biblical way!!?? We are all either cis or trans - unless we choose not to be of course!!?? Get used to it: cis is boring, trans is fun!!?? Who would want to be male, just because their parents told them they had to be??!!

Sister Judy Piranha.

Here's little Judy back again, one of the famous "Nuns on the poor broken-down donkey", and I'm here to stand up for sister (or brother??!!) Niamh McIntyre!!?? Yes, she's the plucky girl who protected Oxford from the threat of Stanley Tim and Neil O'Brendan!!?? They wanted to discuss her uterus, and that's a no-go area!!?? (Luckily for any babies, eh??!!) Niamh's a brainy girl - she got into Oxford!!?? And the same goes for cuddly Squirrel Nutkin!!?? He's at Cambridge, so he must be nearly as brainy!!??

Squirrel Nutkin demonstrates against free speech.

So what was the debate all about, eh??!! Well, nasty bigoted sexist cis male pig Tim wanted to debate with nasty bigoted sexist cis male pig Brendan!!?? See the problem??!! Two perfectly ordinary people!!?? Nobody to represent the BLT community!!?? No womb at the inn!!?? Not even a token lesbian transsexual human-duck hybrid, and Heaven knows there are plenty of those ready and waiting to quack!!??

Of course the real problem is the subject!!?? Abortion!!?? A right extracted from nasty sexist King John by those lovable cuddly barons, who forced him to sign the Magna Cum Laude!!?? An inalienable human right recognised by the founding fathers, who signed the American Declaration of Intransigence!!?? Why - didn't we fight Adolf Hitler in order to win abortion rights for all women??!! I know I did!!?? And hasn't Pope Francis said how much he admires abortionists??!! Well, actually he hasn't but I'm sure he will, when our "Nuns on the donkey" have a word with him!!?? And the Prophet Emma Barnett has got a hot-line to Jesus, and He told her "Spare those poor weak helpless abortionists!!?? Suffer little abortionists to come unto Me!!??"

Judy Piranha goes off to confront the Pope.

But the issue goes further!!?? Why should we allow people even to discuss whether debates can be held??!! HANDS OFF MY EARS!!?? I don't want to hear nasty bigoted chauvinist males talking about the right to debate!!?? THEY DON'T HAVE FEMALE EARS, DO THEY??!! So how can they know what misery their words cause to Sister Judy (or maybe Brother Judas if I'm having one of my trans days)??!! JUST SHUT UP, MEN!!?? Got that??!!

This is how I like my men!!??

No platform for extremists!

Oxford Undergraduate: As an Oxford Undergraduate, I am very anxious to make sure that any views that I disagree with get a fair hearing, i.e., none at all. After all, isn't that how education works? For example, a college which must remain nameless (Christ Church) wants to hold a debate on abortion, involving two "cis" males...

Eccles: Cis?

OU: This means males who are not really females thinking they are males: tragically, Tim Stanley and Brendan O'Neill really are males. Therefore, they are automatically prejudiced against a woman's right to cut her baby to pieces. Eccles, do you think we should allow extremists a platform?

Two extremists, looking for platform 9¾.

Eccles: How else are they going to catch trains?

OU: Be serious for a moment, Eccles. Should extremists be allowed to tell us their views, so that we can decide whether they are extremists or not?

Eccles: It's never really bothered me. The real extremists - the ones who think the gas chambers were a pretty neat idea - never really get very far in the UK. The "jihad" bunch don't organize debates on "Should we cut the heads off unarmed women and children?" as they know they'd lose. So they run off and join the Satanic State nutters.

OU: But there are extremists everywhere, Eccles! For example, those people who tell you that gay marriage is not actually marriage at all! They disapprove of same-sex unions and rent-a-womb babies! They refuse to make cakes bearing political slogans about the right to wed anyone or anything we wish! I've suffered myself, you know - I wanted to have sex with my washing-machine in Tom Quad, but the porters stopped me!

Tom Quad - washingmachinophobic hatred at its worst!

Eccles: That's shocking. You're another Alan Turing. They should make a film about you with Benedict Cumberlandsausatch.

OU: Quite so. They've even made me lock my washing-machine away in a garden shed.

Eccles: I expect it will become a relic to be venerated, like the famous Shed of Turing. Anyway, haven't we wandered away from the point?

Turing - made a Turing machine out of paper tape in order to decipher Elgar's Enigma variations.

OU: Quite right. The point is that there are extremists everywhere, and they're not yet being beaten up by us peace-loving tolerant liberals! In fact we are so peace-loving and tolerant that we have asked for the debate to be cancelled, so that we aren't forced to go and beat up the participants!

Eccles: You're being very reasonable there. By the way, do you know why the college is called Christ Church? Could it be something to do with Christianity?

OU: Christianity! I was away the day we did that at school, but it's extremism, I know it is. I must consult my friend Freda M'Speech on this one. A few peace-loving threats, and we should be able to eradicate the religion for good. Now, leave me in peace, I just typed "Abortion" into Google images*, and I'm not feeling too well... How dare Google allow people to find out what abortion is really about?

*Don't try this at home. Seriously.

The Two Doctors

Yes, it's the 50th anniversary of the first Dr Who episode, and we have an exciting new adventure starring the Two Doctors, Dr Tim Stanley and Dr Damian Thompson. Those alien time-lords from the planet Telegallifrey are back!

Dr Tim, with some of his most notorious enemies.

In this special story they encounter a whole range of famous villains. For Dr Tim - the one with the truly extra-terrestrial hairstyle - the one big threat comes from the Obamamen, loathsome, unscrupulous and totally amoral creatures whose only aim is total power.

See! I really am a Doctor!

For Dr Dame, the senior doctor, there is a whole range of enemies to confront, such as the repulsive Johanns of Hari, the terrifying Hitchens, and the fiendish Cormacmen, who threaten to turn the pope into robotic creatures like themselves.

"WE WILL CHANGE YOU. YOU WILL BE LIKE US..."

Of course the Master is back, too, vainly claiming to be a time-lord like the Doctor, but thwarted because he does not have a "proper" doctorate in sociology from the London School of Custard.

The Rev. Magister (or Master).

As always, Dr Dame's assistant Cristina will be at his side, ready to scream "Doctor! Doctor!", or simply to say in confused tones: "I don't know what's going on - but I'll blog about it anyway." We also see another would-be assistant, Paul, a part-time archbishop from Corby, but he turns out to be on the side of the angels, and does not survive long.

The angels practice some liturgical dance steps.

It would be wrong of us to give away the entire plot of the story: anyway, since it was written by Steven Moffat, it doesn't make a great deal of sense, being just a conflation of manic scenes with no logical connection between them. But we can reveal that the doctors zap some of the nasties with their sonic screwdrivers (while assembling a set of IKEA bookshelves with the aid of their sonic laser cannons), and they also rewrite Time itself on three occasions.

Hide behind the sofa - it's a Yeti!

The story finally ends with the Doctors defeating the Yeti, robotic creatures who serve a disembodied entity knows as the Great Stupidity.

Living with Telegraph blogs: my week with a cult

Mark Templer writes:

Mark Templer, former head of the London Church of Christ.

I was recently invited to spend a week at Thompson Towers, the secret London headquarters of Telegraph blogs, a group so authoritarian that it has been accused of being a bullying cult.

The director of the cult, Damian Thompson, presides over a team of sinister people whose job it is to produce propaganda in order to win converts. I met some of these during my visit, but some operate from outside Headquarters: for example Mik "Bluebottle" Wright lives in a Dublin pub, where he bites passers-by in the ankle.

"Tis I, Brokenbottleboy. Waits for audience applause. Not a sausage."

Thompson himself writes propaganda, but, as he was at pains to admit, his intention was not to convert me, simply to bring Blog into my life. "Sometimes I write about Catholic issues: indeed, I have a contact in the Vatican who keeps me fed with the latest gossip - Pope Emeritus Benedict at death's door, Archbishop Mennini poisoned with polonium, Piero Marini to be named Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship, Arthur Roche to become Archbishop of Westminster, Jimmy Savile to be canonized - and I pass it on. Admittedly, most of what he says is false, but there's no holy smoke without fire, is there?"

Damian Thompson: "Mostly, however, I write about custard."

Some of the Telegraph bloggers are even weirder than Thompson. For example, I met a man they called simply "Delingpole", who spent all his time kicking kittens round the office, and his deadly enemy, an old fat man called "Lean" (evidently an alias), who told me that climate change would cause the polar ice-caps to catch fire and kill us all by 2015 unless we taxed cows, banned foreign holidays, and made it illegal to go to the toilet on Thursdays.

Every time you make a cup of tea a polar bear drowns.

It's been said that the Telegraph bloggers are predominantly Catholic, and that their propaganda is designed to brainwash readers into knocking on Vincent Nichols's door at 3 a.m. demanding to be saved. Far from it! Admittedly, there is Tim Stanley who sometimes writes on Catholic issues, and Cristina Odone who puts forward a variety of irregular opinions, pretending that they are Catholic, but that's about it. After all, there is also Tom Chivers, the token liberal atheist Guardian-reader, who has held a succession of meaningless job-titles, starting with "Assistant Brainwasher", then "Strategic Brainwashing Coordinator", and finally "Vice-Ferret and Brainwashing Executive".

Damian Thompson again, looking distinctly brainwashed.

So for a week I stayed in Thompson Towers, while the Telegraph staff watched old episodes of Are You Being Served? on a giant screen, occasionally taking time off to send each other funny cat pictures on Twitter, or even to churn out another 300 words to confuse their readers. In the end I left, still puzzled, but definitely unbrainwashed and with my sanity intact needle nardle noo f'tang ying-tong iddle I po. I need a lie down.

Rear: James Delingpole, Janet Daley, Toby Young.
Front: Damian Thompson, Jenny McCartney, Benedict Brogan.

Argus gets into trouble again

As readers will surely know by now, the religious blogger, Jesus of Nazareth, recently suffered a hatchet job from the malicious giant Argus Panoptes.

Argus Panoptes, the giant with 100 eyes, attacks his victim.

The story is that Argus sent a rather slow-witted creature, Bill the Lizard, to torment our Lord by misrepresenting everything He said.

For example, when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, it is known that Martha, the dead man's sister, had commented "Lord, by this time he stinketh, for he is now of four days." In the capable journalistic hands of Bill the Lizard, this became "Jesus told me that he really hated raising people from the dead, because they were so smelly."

At least I don't smell as bad as certain journalists.

On another occasion, Jesus is reported as having written on His blog: For the poor you have always with you: and whensoever you will, you may do them good: but Me you have not always. Argus's tame lizard rendered this as "Jesus told me that he had no time for the poor, and always told his disciples to kick them out into the street."

"... and it's really irritating to have sick people let down through the roof when I'm talking."

Fortunately, many bloggers have rushed to the defence of Jesus, including St Timothy the hermeneutic, St Timothy of Stanley, St Laurence of England, and even the eccentric St Z (and many others too numerous to name individually).

Finally, even Bishop Kieran has taken notice of these events, and given support in the way he knows best. "I must apologise for any offence given by Jesus Christ," he said. "Sometimes in his enthusiasm for religion he goes too far. Be reassured that there will be very few Catholic priests in my diocese who act like Jesus - at least not if I have anything to say in the matter!"

Bill the Lizard was unavailable for comment: it was believed that he had been been engaged in an errand of mercy, rescuing a child called Alice who had become trapped in a house. Unfortunately, she kicked him up the chimney when she knew who he was.

Bill the Lizard finds that charitable acts aren't as easy as they seem.

A day in the life of Damain Thopmson

A blood-crazed ferret

I shudder into wakefulness as my alarm clock rings (today it plays my friend James MacMillan's cantata "The Lord smote Glasgow Rangers"). Giving my teddy-bear, Benedict, a quick hug, I leap out of bed and get dressed. Breakfast is a simple affair of cupcakes and coffee.

Telegraph cupcakes. Can you spot Cristina Odone, Tim Stanley and Ed West?

Of course on Sundays I omit breakfast and go straight to the Oratory to look for liberal and modernist tendencies in the Latin Mass, but on weekdays I go to Telegraph Towers where I hold the highly important job of Editor of Telegraph Blogs. This means that all the bloggers kow-tow to me, bring me cupcakes, and laugh at my jokes. The only person I have to fear is the Telegraph's Editor, Tony Gallagher, who is a West Ham United fan, and regularly says things like "I don't like your face, Thompson, you little squirt. Beat it!" But now I've stopped blogging on religious topics, he doesn't kick me so often.

One big happy family of bloggers

Like most journalists, I spend most of the morning reading the papers, insulting people on Twitter, and swapping silly jokes. But Friday is my big day, as I have to write a Saturday column for the Telegraph's distinguished readership of London lawyers and retired colonels. So I look for pictures of fat people with silly hair or strange clothes, and weave a hilarious (or as my brainy friend Tom Chivers says "an hilarious") narrative about them.

Arthur Roche, always good for a laugh

The lost sheep?

My Telegraph column also provides the material for a very witty blog. It attracts comments from the intellectual elite, who post under names like GI Joe, Mahatmacoatmabag, An Aussie Carrot, Chap With Wings, Molybdenite, Cutley in Florence, Ernest Chaussette, and The Great Stalin. Most of these names are real, but I suspect that one or two may be made up!

Well, the day draws on, and in the evening there are many options open to me. Sometimes I stand outside Victoria station selling copies of my new book The Fix to commuters. "Big issue!" I shout, as I think that addiction is indeed a big issue for all of us. Many commuters agree, and some are so impressed that they give me 50p, saying "Get yourself some tea, young man," without even taking a copy of my book.

Did I mention that I have written a book?

This is the book of which the great Clive James, writing in the prestigious Wallamaloo Possum-Breeder's Gazette said "Some wonderful books have been written on the subject of addiction. If you want something totally different, try this book instead." Praise indeed, I'm sure you'll agree!

Another thing I may do in the evening is go home to Notting Hill, and play one of my 50,000 CDs. I am a very cultured chap, and I have 94 recordings of James MacMillan's Orchestral Variations on Donald, where's yer troosers? Often I lie in my bath, playing games with my plastic duck, Donata, and singing along to James's immortal music.

Before I know it, it's 9 p.m. and time for bed. A quick anonymous phone call to one of my enemies (e.g. Austin Ivereigh or Johann Hari), with a burst of demonic laughter, and we've reached the end of a perfect day. Off to bed with my teddy-bear!

Good night, Damian!

Song from Twelfth Night

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Or, as portrayed by the Seven Ages of Man...

---

When that I was but a little boy called Knowles,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
They found my childish essays full of holes,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When as a young man, known to all as Tim,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I told Obama what I thought of him,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley in Africa

---

Then as a young-ish nerd by name of Tom,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I split infinitives with great aplomb,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was but a balding chap called Dan,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I spoke and all the Europeans ran,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was an addiction-crazy Dame,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote six blogs essentially the same,
For the rain it raineth every day.

The Fix: How book-plugging is invading our lives and changing our world

---

When that I was but an aged man called Norm,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
My trolls were lefties from the lower form,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was but a basket-case called Lean,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote no facts, just propaganda green,
For the rain it raineth every day.

A nuclear power station. (Are you sure you've got that right, Geoffrey?)