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‘As the tin-pot Boudicca of Brexit dons the knee-pads of supplication, and the Von en-Trapp family of Salzburg renew their commitment to open borders for lonely goatherders…’

Goodness! Heresy breaks out in Middlesex, where the bishopess, the Rt. Revd. Gloria ‘Genderfreezone’ Ganderbody, declares she doesn’t “want young girls or young boys to hear us constantly refer to God as he”. She is worried that patriarchal language “might put off non-Christians”, as if gender-bending some-women-have-penises-too insanity is going to attract anybody (other than the already affected) to the pews. Will she raise the issue of a genderless Allah at the next inter-faith jamboree? I rather think not.

The Archdeacon, as usual, had much to say.

“One has to question the theology behind this,” he said in magisterial tones. “I have scoured the Bible for the genderless deity but could find no reference. There is God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, and whilst a case may be made for the latter, the Father and Son are clearly masculine.”

“One would think so, Archdeacon,” I said, helping myself to the third hobnob of the day.

“How do you get around ‘I am the Lord your God’?” continued the Archdeacon. “Is this woman suggesting God didn’t know His own mind or was in error, constrained by the social norms of… heaven, presumably? Is Jesus to be recast as Ganymede? I mean, following the feminista credo, we can’t call him ‘Lord’, can we? Nor ‘the Prince of Peace’, as both reinforce patriarchal oppression.”

“Logic would suggest such a thing,” I replied.

“Wherever next?” said the Archdeacon. “Will it be revealed that the Virgin Mary was in fact a transitioning crossover from Tel Aviv who started life as Kevin, for we certainly can’t refer to her as ‘she’, can we? How long before Mary Magdalene is recast as a Black Welsh Lesbian with various genderful proclivities assigned to the twelve Apostles?”

“Goodness!” I exclaimed, for no other word would do.

Perhaps instead of worrying about offending non-Christians, the bishopess might spare a thought for the offended people she is leaving behind? Pews are emptying, and imitating the Church of Sweden is surely a mistake as most people there think it immoral and a carnal smorgasbord was not served at the Last Supper.

O, the contortions, the contortions! Labour’s shadow minister for women and equalities, Ms. Nazti Shah (she who told the underage Rotherham rape-victims to shut up) is calling for a ban on parents-to-be being told the sex of their baby after early blood-tests, amidst fears it might lead to the abortion of girls. Ms Shah believes that some communities, like the South Asian community, have a cultural preference for boys. Goodness… who would have thought it?

Can you hear angry cries against the patriarchy? No, not a peep… wonder why?

But wait… those who defend abortion deny that a foetus is a human being… so… if it is not a human being, it can’t be a girl, can it? And if it is permissible to abort a foetus with a cleft-palate or Downs, why is it not permissible to abort a ‘girl’? If all are equal, what is so special about them?

But, of course, the Left do manage to believe six impossible things before breakfast, don’t they?

I always keep an eye on the latest fads and fashions, and why not? The new uniforms for Muslim policewomen being tried out in one of the colonised regions of England may indeed be modest, but oh, how ungainly and unfeminine they are! Why not re-adopt the crinoline and wide-brimmed poke bonnet? Both items conceal more than they reveal, and they have a certain charm about them, don’t you think? The crinoline has the advantage that no man can get close enough to make physical contact, though I suppose that might be a disadvantage when trying to arrest a miscreant – not that the proposed new uniforms are any different. Encouraging ethic groups to join the constabulary may be a good thing, but only if sub-continental police practices are totally rejected. We have enough trouble with our own Keystone Kops, so we can do without Karachi ones as well.

Three cheers for Mr. Orban! Despite Mrs. Dismay’s kick in the goulash last week when ordering CON-servative MEPs to ‘distance’ themselves from the Hungarian Hero, he is the only European leader speaking up for the United Kingdom at the Assassin’s Bureau Meeting in Salzburg, where the hills are increasingly alive with the sound of muezzin.

“I’m sure Mrs. Dismay will hold firm,” said the vacuous Signora Neroni, who hasn’t a clue.

“My jelly is firm,” I replied, “but it still wobbles, and I can see right through it.”

“But she is determined to get a deal in our time,” continued La Donna N.

“Smoke and mirrors, my dear,” I said wearily. “She acts like the battered wife who cries a bit then goes back to the bully for another beating.”

“A little harsh, Mrs. Proudie – but what do you think the outcome is likely to be?”

“I think the Chequers Plan will be trashed, though I daresay Downing Street will try to dress things up for a gullible public.”

“Same old whitewash?” said Bertie Stanhope, who has been silent up until now.

“Indeed,” I replied.

I have been following the Kavanagh business in Washington ever since The Jupiter first reported it. I now feel it incumbent to report I was once kissed on the hand by Mr. Gladstone at the Great Exhibition. To whom do I complain and demand compensation – and will it help Mr. Disraeli secure the premiership again?

I see the authorities are at a loss to combat illegal immigration, with the number of illegal immigrants said to grow by 70,000 a year. If laws are being ignored – and in most cases flouted – and nothing is done about it, we should all be asking the question ‘Why obey the law at all?’ I put this to Sir Abraham Haphazzard, the legal eagle.

“My dear Mrs. Proudie, you may indeed be a bishop’s wife, but in the grand scheme of things, you are but one of ‘the little people’, and laws are only made for the likes of you.”

“I see,” I replied, somewhat taken aback at being considered ‘little’. “You mean, when Tommy Robinson committed mortgage fraud it was right that he served time in prison, but when Lord Mandelson did something not too dissimilar, the judiciary properly turned a blind eye?”

“Exactly so. This is the way things are, and were, and will ever always be.”

I fear Sir Abraham may well be right.

Language is an interesting thing, don’t you think? Mr. Carroll’s Wonderland character, Humpty Dumpty, is famous for the following exchange with Alice:

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.”

“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”

“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master – that’s all.”

This is how the Left operate.  Equality means pulling everything worthwhile down to the lowest, rock bottom standard; diversity means the oppression of one group by other groups; tolerance means only those views the left approve of will be tolerated, and Brexit means a castle in Spain. The purpose of all this? Humpty Dumpty spells it out quite plainly in his last sentence.

On a lighter note, Mr. Slope is planning to go to this year’s Cheltenham Literary Festival to sell his new book, Service with a Clerical Bent, which promises to have a few racy chapters on the Eastward Position. We should never have bought him that correspondence course run by Mr. Frank Harris for his last birthday, but there you are.

Well, I suppose this post surprised some of you, having said last week I would be on holiday, but in actual fact the portmanteau is packed and ready to go on Saturday. Next week is a Proudie-free zone, so you may have to twiddle your thumbs until I return – or perhaps one of you dear things will take up the quill? It could be the start of your own literary career? So, as the tin-pot Boudicca of Brexit dons the knee-pads of supplication (to no avail it seems) and the Von en-Trapp family of Salzburg renew their commitment to open borders for lonely goatherders, I bid you arrivederci for this week!

++Stop Press++

Mrs. Dismay’s Pole Dancing has failed! Mr. Tusk sticks the knife in and the Boy Jupiter of France gives it an extra twist. Whatever next?