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Church of England reopens investigation into long-dead Bishop Chimes of Littlehampton, who allegedly caught sight of Mistress X’s ankle while she was strangling a chicken in 1515

Goodness! I was horrified to read that some radicalised whippersnappers at Stakhanovite University, Liverpuddle, wanted to celebrate the anniversary of the execution of Charles I by announcing, ‘Comrades, we can do it again!’ If this is not incitement to murder Her Majesty I do not know what is. Of course, in the face of mounting criticism, the would-be Levellers have removed their offensive posting, offering a mealy-mouthed statement that it was ‘tongue-in-cheek’. One hopes that does not allow them to escape treason and regicide charges, but I will not hold my breath. I will make one further observation – these juvenile latter-day Jacobinettes clearly have a fixation with decapitation… Now, where have we come across that bit of street theatre before? Woolwich, perchance? Strange bedfellows indeed…

Visitors to Barchester will know our city boasts a fine art gallery, named after Joseph William Mallard Turncoat, a near contemporary of the more famous Turner and a native of Stoke Pingum in our county, famous for his portrait of the Bottomless Pitt and the panorama of Lord Clive’s victory at Shittihoole during the Carnatic Wars. It has a fine collection of medieval masterpieces – one thinks of Montefiasco’s ‘Madonna with the Wet Wipe’, Bellendi’s ‘Second Coming’, and Federico Dildo’s, ‘Nativity with Flash Mob’. We also boast some fine Pre-Raphaelite works, such as Rossetti’s ‘Trumpeter in the Storm’ and Lord Leighton’s ‘Nymph with Baps’. Unfortunately, the newly appointed curator, Miss Constance Ball-Clencher, has removed all paintings showing the slightest bit of flesh below the neck ‘in case they give offence’. She declared:

“The very act of removing art is a piece of art in itself. It makes us contemplate the absence of emotion, the emptiness of the universe and the depravity of hairy men.”

I fear it is the lack of a hairy man that has warped the poor woman’s mind.

She has also been chiselling at the putti.

Nasty.

According to The Jupiter, the long-drawn-out investigation into the long-dead Bishop Chimes of Littlehampton is still being probed and prodded by legal-eagles, despite his exoneration in the Haphazzard Report recently published (he was known as ‘Ding-dong’ Chimes to contemporaries – most unfortunate). The gist of the story is that Mistress X (whose name is kept secret) mentioned in her diary that on the Feast of St. Viagra in 1515, the said bishop caught site of her ankle as she was outside strangling a chicken. So shocked was she that she complained directly to Cardinal Wolsey, who told her to ‘Go forth, multiply, and stop wasting my time as I have a cloth of gold to knit.’ Only recently was the diary rediscovered by the Snitchfinder-General, and so the destruction of a reputation commenced. I shall make no comment on the role Lambeth has played in all this, but my Lord the Bishop confided that the Primate has the look, competence and reasoning of a startled goldfish faced with an imminent introduction to the Armitage Shanks.

Mr. Slope asked me to look over his sermon for next Sunday’s Feast of St. Tiresius, taken from Neutergendery 12 v 3-9: ‘For he that once walked this way, is now she that walks in another; and she that was without is now he that is fully grafted. Yea, the sword of the Almighty is gracious and removeth that which man desireth not, for what He has given, He can surely take away.’

As indeed can the NHS.

I hear Sir Joseph Bazalgette is off to Washington to help President Trumpelstiltskin drain the swamp. The man who brought cleanliness to London should be an asset to a President who often seems beleaguered and thwarted, even by his own side. I’m not sure what this memo business is all about, or what bombshells will be dropped if it is published, but one hopes and prays it means curtains for the Arkansas Two and the Kenyan Communist. It was nice hearing about the President’s ‘State of the Onions’, but horticulture aside, he really should have gone for the jugular, blasting all those who conspired against his candidacy and presidency, starting with that Pelosi creature and working upwards.

This is, of course, somewhat hypocritical of me, for as the Duke of Omnium said in confidence the other day, the knives are out for Mrs. Tereason Dismay and rebellion is in the air. Whether or not her removal from office would usher in swivel-eyed loons and mouth-foaming Marxists is moot – we know they are waiting in the wings ready to pounce. But is keeping her in place really in the national interest? Is she really fighting our corner? Are any of them?

Does Mr. Hammond change with a full moon?

Where will fortune take Mr. Rees-Mogg?

The Archdeacon is a fanatical Moggster.

“That man is just what the nation needs! A man committed to family values, doing his bit to keep the population afloat, loyal to Her Majesty and with a healthy fixed-bayonets attitude to Johnny Foreigner! He finds himself within a party that has been hollowed out from within by two-faced Eurocommunistical Quislings, foul creatures of the Globalist nightmare with their leaky briefs, uncivil servants and double-standard mind sets. He wears the Macassar oil of integrity and the horned-rimmed spectacles of the incorruptible.”

I point out that Mr. Rees-Mogg is also a Roman Catholic.

I also point out that Robespierre was also dubbed ‘the Incorruptible’.

“Nobody is perfect, Mrs. Proudie,” said the Archdeacon.

Indeed.

Do spare a charitable thought for thwarted feminazi, Kathy Newman, who came terribly unstuck during her interview with Canadian Professor Jordan Peterson. It was a perfect example of mindless ideology brought crashing down by superior logic and intellect, not something we see often on the electric magic lantern, thanks to Auntie Beeb’s policy of keeping right-wing bogeyman locked out of the national nursery. It was like watching Einstein being interviewed by Julius Streicher in a wig.

Well, my dears, there are dozens of things I could comment on, but I do not have the time. The Bishop and I are catching the train to Scotland in a short while, so my next missive will be from the Trossachs. We are staying at Inverbladderleekie Castle as guests of the Earl of Dunfondling, so it should be splendid. Mr. Slope, who will of course accompany us, has been tossing his caber all week in preparation. I will report in due course. So, as the whoopee cushion of democracy is smothered  by the haunches of the Abbotopotamus and the soiled underwear of Momentum is made sparkling clean by the bleaching of mainstream media, I bit you a fond farewell for this week.