The Boat of Fools visits Soho

The Boat of Fools.

In this, the first of a new series, our "Mystery Worshipper" makes an incognito visit to a church service and reports back.

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This week I visited the church of Our Lady of Soho, for one of its final masses under the Very Extraordinary Form.

What was the name of the service? Massykins.

Did anyone welcome you personally? Yes, in fact a little too personally, really. "Ooh, here's a handsome lad, we haven't seen you before. Ooh, I just love that mask, sweetie! Versace, is it?"

The mystery worshipper attempted to blend in discreetly.

Was your pew comfortable? Not really. The pews were covered with soft furnishings, and I was told, "Leave the coverings on, gorgeous, we don't want to scratch those super pews, do we?"

How would you describe the pre-service atmosphere?Very gay.

What were the exact opening words of the service?Hello, super to see you! [And super to see you, too!]

What books did the congregation use during the service?There was a specially printed pink sheet with all the words of the hymns and liturgy, together with advertisements for unusual objects and services, and details of the church's other activities.

Did anything distract you?Yes, the man in the pew behind, who kept nudging me and saying "Everything all right, duckie?"

In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?There was a man named Vincent who cruelly betrayed the gay community simply in order to "gain Rome approval," as St Catherine the Popehater so eloquently expressed it. The woe and suffering of Soho was likened unto the torments of the damned in Hell. Vincent Nichols was a combination of Belshazzar, Judas Iscariot and St Paul - definitely "not one of us."

Vincent Nichols drives the gay community out of Soho.

What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?Three men offered to take me out for some "pastoral care."

How would you describe the after-service coffee? No coffee, just crème de menthe, and some lovely fairy cakes.

From the service itself.

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Next week, the mystery worshipper reports from Blogfen, the church to which only bloggers are admitted.

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!"