Yoof at the Catholic Herald

Meanwhile, the younger generation are firmly in command at the Catholic Heraldwith the appointment of 23-year-old Ed West as Deputy Editor.

Ed West.

Ed is author of The Diversity Illusion - why don't they all go home? which takes a critical look at immigration.

With his departure, the Telegraph blogs are looking somewhat diminished, but at least the staff were out in force to wave goodbye to the man they call "Mr Misery."

Thompson, Chivers, Hannan et al. say farewell.

An even younger recruit to the Catholic Herald is wunderkind Megan Hodder, aged 13 and only 4'6" tall. With her brilliant article, How those idiot atheists made me a Catholic, she has burst onto the scene as the only person in Year 8 to have read Aristotle, Aquinas, Dawkins and Little Women.

Madeleine Teahan, Mary O'Regan, Megan Hodder and 2 other Catholic Herald writers whose names begin with M.

Said veteran Catholic Heraldjournalist "Wild Bill" Oddie (age 83), "How can we old-timers hope to compete with such brilliant young people?"

Is this interview with God genuine?

The following interview, allegedly with God the Father, appeared on the Diocese of Salford website. According to the Press Officer, Fr John Flynn, "I am sure it is real."

On reflection I think the interview has to be fake, but I am reproducing it on my blog just in case it is a genuine scoop.

Our distinguished guest, creating life.

JOURNALIST: Welcome, God. Er, how should I address You?

GOD: Oh, don't stand on ceremony. Abba, Father, Lord, Sir, Boss - any of those will do. Even "Lord Sugar."

J: Can I assume that You are speaking as God the Father right now?

G: Yes, the doctrine of the Trinity is a little complex, but take it that I'm also speaking as God the Son to Johann Hari at the Independent, and Ruth Gledhill at the Times has booked me as God the Holy Spirit.

J: How do you see Your job? Is it a job for life, or do You think You may retire some time?

G: Oh, definitely for life, which means for ever in My case. After all, who could replace me?

J: Richard Dawkins, maybe?

Richard Dawkins cuddles another fossil for comfort.

G: Oh, poor Richard thinks he's God, but he's not got much of a clue. We converse regularly - well, I speak, and he sticks his fingers in his ears.

J: Tell us what you think of the new Pope, Sir.

G: Oh, a good man, I'm sure. A little different from Pope Benedict, of course. Perhaps it's a shame that he bundled up all his ceremonial robes and sent them to a charity shop.

You too can wear a fanon - modelled here by Pope Paul VI.

J: Many of our readers will be asking whether you are a "Traddie" or a "Liberal," Lord.

G: Ha ha ha, good question. Just think of me as being very orthodox. Can't abide those fools at the Tablet, though.

J: Oh, You read the Tablet?

G: Yes, I skim through it - when you're basically omniscient it's best to keep up with the enemy. Here's an example: TINA BEATTIE CALLS ON VATICAN TO SURRENDER. No, no, she's lost it.

J: These days, the Church seems to spend a lot of time arguing about abortion, same-sex marriage, and so forth. Any comments?

G: Oh get real. I made My views clear on those issues, centuries ago. By now everyone should have understood the basic moral principles of Christianity, and got on to more serious things like loving their neighbour.

Love your neighbour, François Hollande style. Les plods gassing les enfants de la patrie.

J: What do you think of the other burning issue of the day: the decision of the Telegraph to charge for its content?

G: Apparently, they have to pay for Geoffrey Lean to jet off to more conferences on global warming, and the airlines are threatening to charge double the price for fat people. I see their dilemma.

J: Will You pay the £1.99, O Lord?

G: No, for obvious reasons I won't need to do that. Besides, I really only read it for the cartoon and some of the blogs.

J: Do You listen to the radio?

G: Yes, I simply adore Thought for the Day. St Peter and I play this game in which we listen to Giles Fraser and count the number of theological errors, inadvertent blasphemies, and examples of sheer foolishness that he makes. I've seen St Peter rolling on the floor, laughing at some of Giles's blunders.

Giles Fraser has fans in very high places indeed.

J: One final question, Sir. Vatican II - what did you make of it?

G: Oh, it had some good points, but then some of what happened afterwards was simply hilarious. All that stuff about priests standing with their backs to Me, so that I couldn't see what they were up to. Totally clueless. And the hymns they make Me listen to these days - I do wonder why Paul Inwood and his friends hate me so much.

J: God the Father, thank You very much.

G: PAX VOBISCUM, and I'll be seeing you again in - oh, about 38 years from now.

J: Oh, er, right.

Not-very-relevant photo.

Clash of the Titans.

Yes, already they're calling it the Debate of the Century. Peter Hitchens and Damian Thompson, acknowledged experts on addiction, discuss the question: Whose book is better?

Peter Hitchens prepares to confront Damian Thompson.

For those who don't have time to listen to the Spectator podcast, we present a transcript of the debate between the two greatest intellectuals of our day.

DT: Well, I should point out straight away that I'm an expert on addiction, as I've written a best-selling book on the subject. I don't normally plug it, but it's called The Fix.

PH: I've written a best-selling book too. It's called The War We Never Fought: The British Establishment's Surrender to Drugs.

DT: Well, my book's better than your book. My friend Cristina says so.

PH: No, my book's better than your book. You see, I claim that addiction doesn't even exist.

DT: What? How dare you say that! I hate you!

Damian Thompson, modelling the new Michael Voris wig.

PH: Well, I'm sorry, but any addicts you see are purely a figment of your imagination.

DT: Look here, mate. Your brother Christopher may have been a lunatic left-wing atheist, but he was still much cleverer than you.

PH: Well, your sister Emma may be a lunatic left-wing atheist, but she's still much cleverer than you.

Emma Thompson expresses concerns over her brother Damian's latest meltdown.

DT: I'll get you for that. Wait until I write my Saturday column.

PH: Look, calm down, Damian. And please stop throwing cupcakes at me.

DT: I'll ruin you, as I did Johann Hari, David Cameron, and Keith O'Brien. Nobody will take you seriously again.

(Storms out, slams the door, and knocks over two secretaries, a security guard and a passing Monsignor. Returns to Telegraph Towers to launch a barrage of Twitter abuse and hostile blog posts. Phones Telegraph hit man and orders him to pour custard through Peter Hitchens's letter box.)

Preparing to fill Peter Hitchens's house full of custard.

PH: Sigh... it looks as though I'm not going to get that job on Telegraph blogs, after all.

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).

Rent-a-troll

Hello, Damian. Speak later...

Many people only write blog posts when they have something interesting to say, and they are not too concerned with the number of hits they get. Others, however, are under contract to write 1000 words each week, and they lie awake at night worrying about their hit count.

Things are particularly bad at the Daily Telegraph, where the influx of a new generation of unreadable bloggers has made the blogs editor look very foolish. Some bloggers have been very successful - for example, cheeky Tom Chivers knows precisely what his largely conservative audience wants to hear, and writes exactly the opposite. Although he tries to give the impression that he spends his days discussing Che Guevara while drifting along in a cannabis-induced haze, the fact is that he is a stalwart of his local Conservative club; most days he takes the 7.53 from Surbiton, wearing a pin-striped suit and carrying a rolled-up umbrella.

Tom Chivers and his friends on their way to work.

Other bloggers recruited have been less successful. William Handsome, the etiquette correspondent, recently hit the scene with a fascinating post on "Should you blow your nose on your neighbour's sleeve in the Underground?" however, his follow-up post, "Dropping your trousers in church is only for Harrovians and other oiks," was rejected for being too Catholic.

A Harrovian is removed from the Brompton Oratory.

Which brings us to poor Damian Thompson, author of a book on addiction called Apologia Pro Vita Suaor, in the English translation, I'm sorry, I can't stop eating Ryvitas. Reduced to writing Saturday columns of ever-increasing fatuousness, he took the unusual step of hiring Phil Istine, a professional troll, in order to keep discussions going on his blog.

Phil Istine is a solitary man, whose main hobbies are snooker, drinking, and stealing underwear off people's washing lines. But he has a dazzling array of anti-Catholic sockpuppets, designed to provoke the traditional readership of the "Holy Smoke" blog into paroxysms of rage.

"I like to maintain an on-line presence," says Phil.

Among Phil's 100+ sockpuppets are such memorable characters as Phil, the lapsing Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Daryl, the faithful post-Vatican II Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Deborah, the liberal Anglican, who wants women bishops and hates traditionalism; Pau, the homosexual priest who stalks other posters and hates traditionalism; and Wendy, the lovestruck girl who wants to seduce a monk, but - and this is a neat touch - hates traditionalism.

Phil is of course immune from banning, as he is on the Telegraph payroll; moreover, anyone who criticises him or points out what he is doing is also banned. "I've had a good bag recently," boasts Phil. "Two Anglican priests, one retired schoolmaster, a young wife, and a Welsh anaesthetist. The more respected they are, the harder they fall!"

J.B. Priestley - banned because his writing put Damian's to shame.

Others who are immune to banning, as their witless remarks make Damian look good in comparison, are the notoriously senile Australian harridan "Anti Moly," or molybdenite (herself a skilled user of sockpuppets), and her sidekick MickyRoss the biologist, who recently pleaded guilty to 24 sample charges of mollusc-molesting.

But Damian's days are surely numbered, and, if so, then Phil will be looking for a new outlet for his trolling skills. If you can, please offer him a job on your blog.

Stockport bus station. Hang around here, and you'll soon find Phil.

The Da Mian Cod, and others

An excerpt from Dante Brown's new novel Infernal Cheek:

Renowned blood-crazed 50-something Telegraph blog supremo Damian Thompson was standing energetically in Berlin's famous Louvre Museum, at the heart of Piccadilly Square, admiring Michael Angelus's 1504 marble sculpture "David," which portrays the Arabian King David on the point of biting into a cupcake.

David. Note the cupcake in his left hand.

"Cupcakes," thought Damian pensively, meditating in a contemplative fashion on the highly addictive edible foodstuff, whereupon which he had written so movingly in his book on addiction, The Fix, which he himself had written. And this reminded him, it was the day on which the aforementioned memoir on addiction was to be published in paperback (his contacts at the heart of the publishing world had told him that this would be something like a hardback, only with softer covers).

The Fix, in new Hide-de-Vomit^(TM) yellow covers..

Damian had not blogged on addiction recently. His protège (a Latin word meaning "dogsbody"), slightly-renowned 30-something leftie atheist blogger Tom Chivers, had been promoted from his key job of assistant deputy strategic events supremo, a position in which he had been mainly responsible for making the tea, and was now allowed to write the occasional Telegraph column in the Saturday "moron" slot. This in turn freed up more chronological time for Damian, in which he could blog about religious matters from a Catholic - and sometimes papist - viewpoint.

Or - and here Damian crossed himself religiously, making a cross symbol familiar to all Christians since Pope Pius XII - there was another possibility. He could use his blog to plug his terrible book again!

---

Father Xylophone writes:

I had a great day today with a Texas military firing squad.

Father X joins the liturgical Firing Squad.

I was delighted when the Texas militia contacted me, saying that an army chaplain had been court-martialled and found guilty of three capital offences, namely, (i) being a liberal; (ii) reading the National Catholic Reporter (aka Fishwrap); and (iii) arguing with me on my blog. The penalty for these was execution by firing squad, and as a priest in good standing who understands the importance of a well-armed priesthood, I was delighted to assist. (Aim at the black cassock, and stain it red, as I always say.)

I had of course been practising my sharp-shooting beforehand, so as not to let the side down by missing the target: the colonel complimented us on the unerring way in which we exercised our liturgical duty, blasting the renegade priest to smithereens.

QUAERITUR: Should one aim for the head, or the heart? Generally, Cannon Law says that one should aim for the head from Advent to Easter, and otherwise aim for the heart.

Don't mess with Fr X, unless you want to end up like this.

---

Ordain a Lassie!

A new video has been released by the campaign for the ordination of dogs, called Ordain a Lassie. We do not have space to discuss this in detail, but the campaign is based on the observation that in some churches dogs are already being allowed to act as altar-servers.

"Bark!" the Herald angels sing.

Millions demonstrate against Giles Fraser

View from Eiffel's Tour de France of the Non à Gilles demo.

On Sunday a massive demonstration was held in Paris against the French government's proposal to recognise people such as Giles Fraser, Le curé comique, as real priests. The organizers estimated the attendance at over a million, the police said 800,000, and the government 100,000; the BBC reported that there were only about a dozen people taking part, preferring to concentrate on the Amamus Gilem Fraserum demonstration in Rome, where four girls took off their clothes in order to show to the Pope their well-developed arguments for supporting the wacky Englishman.

Two onion-sellers discussing Giles Fraser.

Said a typical French demonstrator, Armand Legue, "In France we have a tradition of Laïcité. The state is purely secular, and the priests are religious. We cannot accept a situation in which people whose actions are based on secular values are allowed to operate as priests."

Supporters of Giles Fraser have offered to take him into care.

Back in Britain, over 1000 Catholic bishops and priests have written a letter to the Daily Telegraph complaining of the Government's plans to redefine priesthood. "We don't think the definition of a 'priest' of the established church should be extended to include the likes of Giles Fraser," they explained. "He spends his time calling harmless people 'bigots,' and accusing them of 'persecuting gays', simply because they preach the same concept of marriage as Christ Himself did." The Government, however, is apparently set on a policy of extending the priesthood to include deviant minorities such as Guardian columnists and Thought for the Day ranters.

Blandings Castle, with controversial Giles Fraser lookalike (L).

Curiously, the BBC itself has also been criticised this week, for broadcasting an adaptation of P.G. Wodehouse's Blandings Castle, in which one of the characters was clearly identifiable as a parody of Giles Fraser. Said a Fraser supporter, "Admittedly, she did little but grunt 'Oink, oink,' but the scene in which she relieved herself over a copy of the Guardian struck some of us as a little too close to home."

1000 priests write to the Telegraph

Cuculus cameronus.

SIR,

As we were walking down Whitehall today, we distinctly heard the sound of the cuckoo. It was croaking its characteristic cry of Gayma-Ridge Gayma-Ridge. Was this the first cuckoo of spring?

Rt Rev Philip Egan
Bishop of Portsmouth

Rt Rev Malcolm McMahon
Bishop of Nottingham

Not Kieran Conry - couldn't find a pen.

Rt Rev Paul Priest
Bishop of Corby (Could I add a few paragraphs here about logical paradigms? No?)

Lots of priests called Finigan, Finnegan etc
Representing the "Finnegans Wake" blogging consortium

Rev Ray Blake-Seven (with "Zuhlsdorf" liturgical handgun), a rival blogger

Rev Sir Charles Dilke Bt Cong Orat
Mission to the aristocracy

Mitred Archpriest Alexander Nadson
Man with the fanciest headgear

What the well-dressed mitred archpriest is wearing this season.

Mgr Andrew Summersgill
Magic Circle

Rt Rev Mgr Keith Newton
Ordinary, Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham, mission to Soho

Rev G.K. Ale, Abbot of Bury St Edmund's

Mgr Uncle Tom Cobleigh and All
Widecombe

... and more.

---

SIR,

David Cameron

Guest blogger, Snowball the pig

Snowball the pig, star of Animal Farm.

Today we are pleased to be able to print an abridged version of the Telegraph blog by Snowball the pig, winner of the prestigious Orwell prize for his role in Animal Farm and his pioneering slogan about marriage: One man bad, two men better!

---

What cheek! Vincent Nichols invoked the spectre of an Orwellian, totalitarian state in his Christmas Day sermon, when he referred to the Government's attempts to bring in same-sex marriage. Christmas is a time for preaching a message of love and sex, for getting drunk and watching The Wizard of Oz on the television, and for wearing red hats with white trimmings. It is NOT a time for talking about morals, for trying to explain good and evil, or for mentioning controversial figures like Christ.

If Vincent Nichols had merely done what most priests do on Christmas Day: talked in vague terms about Father Christmas, and elves, and perhaps told us what Christmas presents he'd received, then nobody would have taken any notice. But he deliberately outraged non-Christians by taking a moral stand.

My partner, Napoleon, agrees with me.

What makes it more outrageous is that the Pope is an ex-Nazi - yes, he is, he is, he was a personal friend of Hitler, I tell you. That alone should stop him from condemning totalitarianism, fascism, dictators, or anything else. Bog off back to your bunker, Ratzinger, what makes you think you have any authority? Did you get an Orwell prize like me, or Polly Toynbee, or even Johann Hari?

The Pope, in the uniform of the Hitler youth, does a Nazi salute.

Well, that's put the Catholic church in its place - as the paramilitary wing of the National Socialists - so let me drone on a bit about Clause 28, that infamous piece of legislation which said that every day schools had to conduct a compulsory Two Minutes Hate for homosexuals. My own school didn't do this - in fact, they didn't mention homosexuality at all, except in geometry lessons, where some of the diagrams taught me how to find a loving life with another man.

Clause 28 banned diagrams like this, which taught me about sex.

Gosh, we had enough trouble reducing the age of consent to 16. You may say that boys of 16 aren't ready for sex, but of course the person they have sex with is often a fat man 20 years older, and he's not only ready, he's dying for it! Anyway, we won that battle, and now we're ready for the final battle - the complete take-over of marriage.

The Archbishop's relentless campaign - which lasted all of ten minutes - makes me more determined that the change must come. As I'm typing this I can hear the howling winds, still, loudly outside my window; the waves crash onto the shore, and the rocks on the beach are slowly worn down. Which is very odd, as I'm in a padded cell in London. I think I need more medication. Nurse!

Beasts of England, Beasts of Ireland...

New blogger

William Thompson (age 11).

In recognition of the fact that James Delingpole's little brother has followed him into the glamorous world of Telegraph blogging, we are pleased to announce that Damian Thompson's nephew William will be writing today's guest post for us.

---

Hello, I'm William Thompson (age 11), and my uncle Damian is jolly pleased that you're letting me write on this blog. At first I was a bit jealous when I heard that my great friend Ginger Delingpole was going to be blogging on the Telegraph. I know I am better than him at Latin and RE, but he knows a lot about wind farms, and especially how to blow them up with things from the school science labs!

My chum Ginger Delingpole (age 11) with some of the girls in our school.

Like my friend Ginger, I am very keen on war games. At weekend my gang and I dress up in medieval costume, and we re-enact the historic religious controversies of the past. At first it was a bit dull, as we were recreating the Synod of Whitby, when St Hilda was forced to accept the Roman date for Easter rather than the Ionan date. What a yawn!

The critical moment when St Wilfrid convinces St Hilda.

Later on, we got onto the religious disputes of the middle ages, and I had a super time making torture implements out of the garden tools in Uncle Damian's shed. However, Mummy told me off when I set fire to little Violet Elizabeth Odone, as part of our "Joan of Arc" re-enactment.

"I'll scweam and scweam and scweam until I'm thick!" says Miss Odone.

Like Uncle Damian I am very interested in what the Catholic church is doing. I tried to go with him to Westminster Cathedral to see the Pope, but Uncle Damian confiscated the catapult I was going to use to fire pebbles at Cardinal Cormac. I don't know whether he used it himself!

Another cup of tea, Cardinal?

In my next blog I will go into the differences between Novus Ordo Masses and Extraordinary Form. This is something that I know a lot about, because we spent last weekend re-enacting Vatican II. In fact, I was sent to bed early for putting a worm down the back of Hubert Lane (who was playing the part of Basil Loftus).

I'm sorry, Father, but my Uncle Damian says that Ad orientem is best.