Sede Vacante

Conspiracy theorists are still arguing over the significance of the "vacant seat", marking the absence of Pope Francis from a concert last week. We asked some of our local bloggers if they could explain this.

Eccles: Apparently, the little girl sitting behind him had asked him to move, as his mitre was blocking her view. This happens to me in the cinema a lot: I'm sitting down to watch an exciting James Bond film and a bishop comes in and sits in front of me. Still, in some dioceses you're lucky if they even wear a dog-collar.

Ven. Fulton Sheen - hearts sank whenever he came into a theatre.

Father X, expert on cannon law: I'm told that Pope Francis took the evening off in order to practise his shooting. It's not widely known but he always packs a pistol whenever he celebrates Mass, just in case a Tabletjournalist should walk in. And a good thing too.

Good shooting, Holy Father!

Father TF, hermeneutical expert: No, in fact Pope Francis spent the evening attaching corks to his papal mitre, in readiness for a forthcoming trip to Australia. He was envious of the corking biretta that my parishioners have made for me.

The Pope prepares to meet Cardinal Pell.

Catherine Pepinster, Tabletista: Pope Benedict XVI would have attended this concert, which featured music by the misogynist dead composer Beethoven - a shabby attempt to revive the sort of music which is totally against the Spirit of Vatican II. Pope Francis, when he discovered that there would be no music by living female composers - such as, er, Sandie Shaw, Lulu, Dusty Springfield and Cilla Black, who appeal to the younger generation - rightly boycotted the concert and spent the evening reading the last 50 issues of the Tablet, which we'd sent him.

Cilla Black, as modern and relevant as the Tablet.

Damian Thompson, custard expert: Sorry, I'm too cut up about the death of James Gandolfini, surely the most important overweight actor since Orson Welles. I must go and write three more blog posts on the subject. Surely his beatification cannot be far away?

A scene from The Sopranos.

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).

On de road to Wallsingham

As I has alreddy explaned, my big bruvver Bosco has gone to Wallsingham, de scared shrine in Norfolk, in de hope of savin a few suols. Anti Moly and me has been in London, stayin wiv Damain Thopmson. It is very hot and so Damain has got some of de Indian Ollympic team to act as punka-wallas.

A punka-walla helpin Damain Thopmson to keep his cool

Originally he had been employin some of his usual staff - Will Heaven de butler, Dan Hannan de chuaffeur, and Goeffrey Lean de gardener - but dey wasn't very good at punk, and dese Indians is much fitter.

Damain himself has been watchin a lot of de Ollympics. He likes de beach valleyball, as he says de girls is all very thin and has good hairstyles, which is very important (read his blogg and you will see dat he hates people wot is fat or has bad hair, like Archbishop Tarteater and Bradley Wiggon).

Not likely to be criticised in a Damain Thopmson blogg

Anti Moly is findin life very woeful. She was hopin dat her old admirer, Cradinal Pell, would come to London for de Ollympics, but he decided to stay in Sidney to judge de Aussie Bishops' Tinnie-chuggin Competitoin (whatever dat is). And althuogh de Aussie government has promised to return de bones of her grandad Ned Kelly to her, dey still has not arrived.

So when I proposed a trip to Wallsingham to help bruvver Bosco wiv his evangellising of de unsaved Cathlics (he said "bring a chain saw," but didnt explane why), she jumped at de chance. Indeed, she even proposed dat we take along Tilde Swindon de famuous actress, wot is very good at evangellising, as you can see from my photto.

You'll come to Wallsingham, Tilde, wiv me?

But de luvvly Tilde wasnt avialable. Damain Thopmson said he didnt want to come wiv us, but he offered us de services of Hannan, de chuaffeur, de one wiv a part-time job in Brussels. De Brussels chaps is on summer hollidays from April until November, so he is quite free at de moment.

So Anti Moly, Hannan and me set off for Wallsingham, but Hannan was led astray by de Satan-Nav, and we landed up in a village nearby.

Why does dis remind me of Damain Thopmson's bloggs?

Well, we is stayin de night in Great Snoring, and Anti Moly is sleepin very sweetly if rather loudly, as a result of de gin dat she bruoght in her hippo flask.

A hippo flask. Contains enough gin for a whole evening's drinking

Tomorrow we is to be reunited wiv dere bruvver Bosco.

Anti Moly replies

WOEFUL!

I want to make it clear to all of you that I never under any circumstances read Eccles's vicious and cruel blog, which takes trivial incidents from my life and exaggerates them out of all proportion.

For example, in his entry of 8th July 2011, when he first recorded my arrival, he referred to me incorrectly as "Grate-Ant Molly," and claimed that I had been detained at the police station for vagrancy (which my illiterate nephew spells "vaguerancy"). In fact, I had merely gone there to report that someone - probably a fanatical Catholic - had put 25 baby possums in my hotel room; they were running round the room, bouncing up and down on my bed, and they knocked over six bottles from my meagre supply of medicinal gin.

Then again, in the entry of 9th July...

[50 pages deleted here. Sorry, Anti Moly!]

Anyway, having corrected all the errors in Eccles's nasty blog, let me take the opportunity to dispel the most recent rumours, namely, that I deliberately tried to kill my nephew by cooking a poisonous meal for him.

Delicious bush tucker

In Pottymouth, the beautiful Australian city where I normally live (although at present I am an exile in London), we don't have any pathetic pommy squeamishness about food. Spiders, snakes, old socks, hairbrushes... all these constitute "bush tucker," and are delicious when fried in gin. On Sunday I decided to do some cooking, as everyone else in the household had gone to church, and I made a delicious Pottymouth Goulash à la Cardinal Pell - named after an old admirer of mine. Perhaps I added too much anti-freeze - such is life, eh - for when Eccles came back to partake of this culinary delight, he was very ill. However, I ate some myself, so that proves it was harmless.

Eccles has also written some misleading comments about my false teeth.

My new set of false teeth

It is true that I lost my previous set of false teeth, and it is even true that a Catholic priest found them and venerated them as a relic. However, I did not throw the teeth at him - they slipped from my hand when I was gesturing to him to get lost. I'm just putting the record straight here, although those fanatical traddy Catholics are determined to lie about the events.

While I am here, perhaps I can also set the record straight about the events of June 2010, when judy8 (note, no capital letter!) was not banned from Damian Thompson's blog, whatever people say. Far from it: indeed, Damian invited me to write my own Telegraph blog, because he was so impressed by my incisive debating style. It's true that judy8 vanished and I came back under the names of AlfredHaddock (no space) and molybdenite (lower case); however, these were not sockpuppets but...

[Another 50 pages deleted here. Sorry again, Anti Moly!]

Well, that's the short explanation, anyway. I can give more details if anyone wants them.

Let me close with a few comments about England. It really is a woeful place, with a high concentration of pommies, Catholics, males, females, young people, old people and middle-aged people - these are all sections of society that I dislike strongly. The worst freaks of all are to be found on the Telegraph blogs pages, although I make an exception for courteous, saintly, polite and charming Charles Cutley Utley, the celebrity blogger, novelist and lawyer. He has not been seen lately, and it seems that he is greatly changed by his sufferings; however, he has sent me a recent photograph, which I would like to share with you.

"Slightly grumpy" Charles Utley

Well, stands the church clock at ten to three, and are there spiders still for tea? I think so. Such is life, eh.

moly

We is comin to Enggland

We was rellaxin in Anti Moly's huose in Stickybeak Street one evenin. I was queitly readin Damain Thopmson's blogg and wonderin whevver UKIP was saved, and Anti Moly was watchin her favuorite programm on de telly, which is Benny Hill cos he does de Yakety-Sax music at de end where he gets chased by lotsa girls. She fuond it much more soothin dan de prevviuos programm, which was an interveiw wiv Cradinal Pell abuot de menttal probblems dat old ladies suffer - when she saw him she screemed "Woeful!" and frew her flase teeth at de telly.

We gotta knock on de door and a strangley familair cosstume lawman was standin there.

 

 "G'day, g'day, g'day!" he said, dis bein wot Austrialan police is trained to say. "Molly Badnite alias Judy Headache, we has been gettin dozens of compliants about you bein a  public niusance. Why doesnt you go away for a while, so dat we aint forced to arrest you?"

So my dere Anti decided dat we wuold vissit Enggland, which is where Anti's ancesstors came from until dey was sent off to Bottany Bay. We made a list of all de poeple we wuold try and visit, dat Moly has said she reely admires, such as Damain Thopmson, St Cuttley, Richard Dakwins, Tina Beattie, de Duchess Camila, Tom Chivvers, and so on. We got a good range of celebritties dere, includdin de devuot and saintly like Cuttley and Thopmson, de loonies like Beattie and Dakwins, and de braney types like Chivvers and Camila.

However, Anti gave me a warnin about Enggland, as we walked down de street to de shops: "Dem Pommie bastards is all racists, Eccles. Dey aint multicultured and tollerant like we is." Kickin a passin abboriginal wot had strayed onto de pavement, she continnued: "Look at dere spellin, for instance. Dey is racist cos dey tells off Americans for spellin baddly." Pussonally, I aint never had a probblem wiv spellin, so I didnt reely understand wot she was gettin at.



Dat's a pitcher of my Anti Moly in a bad mood, some poeple says dat she ressembles Dr Jonhson slightly. Sometimes I feels like Boswell takin down de immotral words of Jonhson, cos my Anti never reely stops producin purls of wissdom, like de epiggrams above. I admits dat dey is a bit repettitive, like when she says "ROFL" half a dozen times. I don't fink Jonhson said "ROFL" except on specail occasoins. Also dere is a limmit to how many times you can prettend dat "Such is life" is a new and strikin obversation on de humman conditoin. De way of a boigrapher aint so easy.

Our freind Damain Thopmson have got a new book out soon, which Bosco and me helped him write when he visitted us in Lost Angels. Anti Moly finks we mihgt go and see him sing coppies of it, but she promissed she wont take a few locks of his hair as souvennirs, like she did wiv poor old Cuttley.



In Enggland dey got a delickacy called an Eccles cake. I hopes it is better dan de Austrialan delickacy known as de Moly cake, which is pretty repullsive, frankly. Eatin dem widgety grubbs is an acquirred taste.

De Voyage of St Eccles, Chapter 3

1. And an Angle spake unto Eccles, saying, "Dis sagga of thine is taking a long time to finish off. Thou willst miss the deadline for de new editoin of de Bibble."

2. "What is I to do?" asked Eccles. "De love life of mine Ant is too complex to be resolved so easily."

3. "Perhaps thou couldst rewrite it for de new editoin of de Korran?" said de Angle. "It could be de story of Anti Mullah, wot goes to Mecka to find de Imam El-Pell. If thou dressest thine Anti in a Burker, den she will not frighten de children so much."



Moly-ben-Dite as she ain't often seen

4. "Nay," saith Eccles. "For I doesnt fink de Musslims is saved. Anyway, strong drink is condemned by Isslam, and my Anti cannot do wivvout it. We will continue as we has started." And it was so.

 5. So she that is called Moly-ben-Dite saith unto de blessed Eccles, "Let us attend the service dat mine beloved Goerge doth conduct for de Easter Viggil. Perchance, Eccles, we couldst disgiuse ourselves as alter servers, dat we may carry de candels into de Cathedral? Den, at de crittical moment, I may hit mine belloved over de head wiv de Pascal Candel, and screem 'Libbertine! Don Jaun! Cassanover! Nick Cleg!'" And she nameth some of de gratest lovers in history.

6. And it was so. De blessed Eccles and his somewhat less blessed Anti didst robe demselves in de white graments of holliness.

7. And dere came a grate processoin into de Cathedral of Sidney. Dere was de famuous Monsinger Rolf Harris, de Dame Edna Average (wot aint reely a woman, so it's OK), even de famous Spin Blower, Farver Shane Worn. All was dressed in de white graments of holliness.



Farver Shane givvin de blessin

8. And in de processoin was concealed Eccles and Moly.

9. And Cradinal Pell spake unto de mulltitudes, sayin, "G'day, cobbers, here we got de Pascal Candel, cos it's Easter. Cor, chase my pet wombat up a coolibar tree, it's dat crazy woman from Pottymouth..."

10. And Lo, Moly hurled de Pascal Candel at de Cradinal, dat it might come to pass wot was written in de book of Relevatoin Chapter 2, Verse 5, I come to thee, and will move thy candlestick out of its place, except thou do penance.



A dangerous waepon in de wrong hands

11. And de costume holly man fled at de sihgt of de wrathful old lady, sayin, "Canst thou direct me to de nearest billybong?"

12. For in the days of his youth, so men say, he had fled de pursuin hag by jumpin into de billybong, where no man durst follow.

13. And Eccles said unto his Anti, "Let us deppart from hence and return to Pottymouth. Dem Cathlics aint to be trusted, anyways." So they departed.

14. Here endeth de book of de voyage of St Eccles.

De Voyage of St Eccles, Chapter 2

1. So it came to pass dat Eccles and Anti Moly-ben-Dite went to de Pottymouth trane station, for to catch de Indian Pacific trane to Sidney.

2. And de statoinmaster at Pottymouth hardened his heart and said, "Lo! Dis dame is a well-known trubble-maker and she aint gonna go on any of our tranes unless you puts her in a wooden crate."

3. And Moly she was very wrathful, but she knew dat dere was no real chioce, if she wanted to see her beloved, he dat is called Pell.

4. So Eccles he made a crate out of de finest gopher wood. Lo, it was 4 cubits long, and nearly 2 cubits wide and 2 cubits deep. And in it he placed his beloved ant, together wiv a supply of de finest liqours and a wondrous engine called an iTroll, wot is able to send forth insullts to bloggs on de Internnet.



5. And de Pottymouth stationmaster hardened his heart and said, "Peradventure we shuold also handcuff and gag de old biddy? For she will scream 'woful!' in de nihgt, when de honest man sleepeth."

6. But Eccles he pointed out dat de regullatoins for transportin livestock on de trane said dat dey must not be creul to de animules. So it came to pass dat he buoght himself a Saver ticket (for he was Saved) and he placed his beloved anti in de gaurd's van.

7. And Anti Moly spake forth wiv her iTroll, sayin, "WOFL, WOFL, WOFL. I has got an Easter message for all traddy fanatical Cathlics. Easter is a time for buying chockolate eggs and smashin dem over de heads of sockpoppets. It aint got no uvver purpoise."

8. But de Internett connectoin faileth, and her vioce cryeth out in de wilderness, "WOFL" and no man heareth de Easter message of Anti Moly.



9. Thus dey came to Sidney, a city of great baeuty and cullture, where dey hath an opera house and signeth all de famuous operas, such as "De Barber of Pottymouth," by Micki Rossini, and "Gotterdamian," abuot de Twillight of de Bloggs.

10. So dey released Anti Moly from her wooden box, and she walked in de streets wiv Eccles, her saved nehpew, wot is loved by de Lord and gets Vallentine cards from Him (althuogh some saith dat it was a practical joke played by his creul bruvver Bosco).

11. And dey meets a Momron, who saith "G'day, yuong man. We has a projject to bapptise all de dead poeple wot can't say no. But we also bapptises people wot is old and decreppit, so maybe de old skellington lady wot walks wiv you wuold like to be bapptised?"

12. "Whom hath thou bapptised recently?" asks Eccles.

13. "We has done Gahndi, Buhdda, Mahommed, Atilla de Hun and Pop Pious X. Dey is now all good Momrons," saith de Momron, "but dey doesnt ware de magic undies like we does, of cuorse."




Dat's a pitcher of Gahndi, wot is now a Momron

14. And he spake the name of de magic undies; that is, de Abracada Bra, de Wonderbra and so on.

15.  But Anti Moly saith that she hath no wish to be bapptised, and they moved on in deir quest for de Cradinal known as Pell.



16. So dey came in due course to de Cathlic Cathedral of Sidney, wot is called St Mary's.

17. And dey saw dat de Easter Viggil Mass was gonna be cellebrated by Cradinal Goerge Pell, who got de job of carryin de Easter Candel into de Cathedral. Probabbly he gonna kiss it, as dat's wot Cathlics doth.

18. "We gonna attend dat!" shreiketh Anti Moly in glee, and she began to make her plans.

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

---

Concluded here.

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.

---

Continued here.

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.

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!"

Bird watchin

My Anti Moly, who is a keen reader of dis blogg, said to me, "Eccles, dear, why doesnt you tell your faithfull public about me bein a keen birdwatcher, wot can tell a koot from a cookaburrer even when I has been drinkin? I fink it will stop dem from mockin me all de time. I is a twitcher, you know."
"I has notticed," I repplied. "Maybe you should lay off de gin a bit, Anti?"

She hit me wiv a fryin pan at dat point, I fink she been watchin too many Tom and Jerry cartons. So I went off to look at some old phottos dat Anti Moly has kept.



Dat's a photto of my dere Ant as a young girl in de 1930s (she's de one on de right), starin at a bird and sayin confiddently, "Um, dat's a rare speceis of albbatross, but dem traddy Cathlics likes to prettend dat it aint." Dat's in de days before Goggle and Wikkipedia, so she cuoldn't be omnicsient, like she is now. But even in dem days she had a wide knowlegde of our fevvered freinds.

Here is anuvver photto of my Anti as a young girl, watchin a bird. She says it may be a very big duck.



De bird watchin habit she got explanes de followin photto, which she has by de side of her bed for senttimental reasons.



She tells me dat it is Cradinal Pell, as a yuong man, trying to win Moly's affectoin by gettin her a Norwegain Blue parrott as a birfday present. I fink de parrott must have died.

I asked my Anti Moly wot was her favuorite bird, and she said, "Dey all tastes nice if you cooks em properly. When I was yuong my Mom used to give us stewed doddos, but den dey became extinct so we had to stop eatin em." She did confess a waekness for vulltures, cos dey picks over de remanes of corpses. Dat's a bit like what Anti Moly does when she comes to Damain Thopmson's blog and she replies to debates when everryone else went home six months ago.



Of course when I asked Bosco wot his favuorite bird was, he explaned dat to be saved you has to worhsip cemment doves like we does at de Calumny Chappell.



Dat's my dere bruvver Bosco wiv what he says is a real dove. But Anti Moly, de expert orthinologist, is sure dat it's a barn owl, so I dunno what to fink. Has Bosco and me been kissin cemment owls by mistake? If so, can we still be saved?

Relligiuos News

Now dat Damain Thopmson has thrown in de towell, it is up to me Eccles to give you de informed commentarry on de week's relligiuos news.

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De Pop got a visit from Barroness Warrsi, wot is a Brittish polliticain and a Muslim. Dis was very confussin to me, as de Pop aint allowed to talk to wommen, and Muslim girls aint allowed to talk to men, so I calls dat an impass. But it seems dat in de interests of world peace dey was allowed to be more freindly dan ussual.



Dere main point of agreement was dat dey doesnt like Evan Harrass, wot is a seckularist dat dey calls Dr Death. Sometimes when I goes knokcin on doors and sayin "Ullo, bruvver, has you been saved?" I finds that de old folks I is talkin to says "Nope, anyways we is just off on holliday to a place called Dignittas." Dat Evan Harrass finks it's a wonderful place, but strangley he never goes dere himself, and we aint never met anyone who has been dere.

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Richard Dakwins has got hisself into trubble. Dey asked him about Darwin's book "De origin of de speeches" but he cuoldn't rememmber who wrote it and started prayin for divine inspirratoin. So he got humilliated by Giles Fraser, wot is a costume holly man who lost his job and now lives in a tent outside St Pauls. Dakwins reckoned dat you needs to know all de books of de Bibble in order, if you is a true Chritsian. I knows dem of cuorse, for example if you says "4" to me, I replies "Nubmers", cos 4 is a nubmer.

Acksherly I is very cross wiv Dakwins, as he has written a book abuot me, which seems to be a bit creul. I fink he is angry about de hard-hittin blogg I writes explanin dat he aint saved.

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Biddeford Town Counsel has been told by a jugde (or cosstume unholly man) dat dey aint allowed to have prayers before dey meets. It seems dat de Natoinal Seckular Soceity throws a wobbly if you mentoins religoin in publick. De jugde in questoin is called Mr Justice Ouseless, and we fink dat de next fing he gonna do is stop de oath in his court. My bruvver Bosco once tried swearin "I promises to tell de truth, de hole truth and nuffink but de truth, but if I doesnt den dont worry, M'Lud, as I is alreddy saved, and I aint gonna go to de Lake of Fire like you is," but dey said dat was Contemtp of Cuort.

Late news: de Minnister, Mr Eric Pickles has overturned de jugdement and so it is now OK to sing "Has you been saved? Yeah!" in Counsel meetins. But I spose de Cathlic Counsellors is gonna be bringin in iddles and kissin em all day long, so it aint all good news.

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Well I has run out of relligious news so we is back to discussin my dere fambly. Dere has been more sightins of my bruvver Bosco, which is surprisin as we fuoght he was still in Callifornia. He is now a 13th degree freemasson warrlock, and maybe at dat levvel dey is allowed to have astral boddies. At any rate, we keeps seein him actin suspiciuosly near Cathlic churhces. Bosco if you is readin dis, please git in tuoch.



Anti Moly has got a new tattoo, we finks it is somefink to do wiv her long-runnin passoin for Cradinal Pell.



Howevver, she is also a grate admirer of de handsome good looks of Micheal Vorris, a traddy Cathlic wot she saw on de televisoin. To me it seems like de storry of de beuaty and de beast all over again, excpet dat dis time it is de beast wot is female.