mrs proudie
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The Rev’d Dr Jasper Wright-Onn preaches his inaugural sermon at St Platitude-upon-Twaddle

Goodness! One is subjected to so much nonsense these days, don’t you agree dear friends? Crank up the electrical magic lantern on any given night and the anti-Christian bile pours forth. How about this insidious piece of snipery from a Channel 4 creature name Guru-Mirthless, to wit, that “Christianity is not fundamental to Europe”. Clearly his mission was to belittle the poor Magyar being interviewed, questioning Hungary’s reluctance to bow down before the crescent and asking if there was any difference between Christian and Muslim culture? Where does one begin with that? The ignorance is breath-taking, but then Mr. Mirthless is a PPE graduate of Oxford.

Mr. Slope has been devouring every word relating to the case of Mr. Kelvin Spacedout, an American thespian who once did a short stint at the Barchester Palace of Varieties in an avant-garde all-lesbian revival of ‘She Would if She could’ as ‘best boy’, a job title relating to the technical production side of things I believe, though Mr. Slope has an alternative slant on that. Poor Mr. Spacedout took a tumble, landing on top of a 14-year-old Ganymede who happened to be reclining on an adjacent chaise longue. Mr. Slope says it could happen to anyone. All this occurred years ago, but the hitherto Ganymede is now sprouting chin hair and is desperate to bolster a flagging career by playing the victim card, seeking the spotlight by other means. Anyway, it seems the newspapers have already decided to hang, draw and quarter the hapless trouper – another case of ‘guilty by headline’. The courts must decide, not the mob, nor, indeed, the Grub Street hacks who feed it.

At Signora Neroni’s Guy Fawkes Night Pickled Pumpkin and Parkin soirée on Sunday evening, I was introduced to that intrepid lady explorer Dame Freygrant Starkers, whose escapades along the Straits of Hormuz with only wet-wipes and a tin of Bath Olivers to ward off the Tuareg have kept us all agog for years. She told me the handsome Saudi Crown Prince has been clearing out his Augean Stables, arresting rival princes and businessmen on his pathway to the throne. She greatly admires his plans to modernise the country, taking it from the 7th to the 10th century at a stroke (or several hundred strokes, if one gets in his way), and was keen to acknowledge that already Saudi women have been allowed to drive… admittedly only herds of oxen, but it is a start.

I can honestly say I have never had the inclination to take a short walk in the Hindu Kush or engage with anything out of Africa, but now it seems if you wait long enough, these things will come to you.

Thank you Mr. Blair, our cup now overflows.

Comrade Corbyn, Peoples’ Friend and Popeye Impersonator, has been reading the Paradise Papers with a glint in his eye. I fear this has nothing to do with John Milton and rather more with Milton Friedman – or, rather, those people wealthy enough to invest their doubloons in offshore-accounts. Why, even the dear Queen has been squirrelling it away in the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha Handelsbank (International Branch Grand Cayman) and the Hohenzollern Investment Corporation. The Dear Comrade declares such activities to be deeply unpatriotic, which is a bit rich coming from a man with an aversion to poppies and a penchant for hammer-and-sickle engraved bicycle clips. Why, the man doesn’t even know the words of the National Anthem.

Apropos the above, did you know the German Imperial Anthem, ‘Heil dir im Siegerkranz’, was sung to the same tune as ours?

Moving on…

The other day I accompanied my Lord the Bishop and the Archdeacon to morning service at St. Platitude-upon-Twaddle (Gothic Revival but with Romanesque flourishes and 14th century squint – on reflection, a perfect description of the Archdeacon!) to hear the newly-installed incumbent, Dr. Jasper Wright-Onn, preach his inaugural sermon. We should have twigged what we were in for when the choir rose to sing ‘Onward Christian Social Workers’ to the tune of ‘Oadby’, but what followed turned the Archdeacon’s face a violent shade of purple, so much so that he stood up and interrupted. At this point I though he was going to do a Jenny Geddes – fortunately the pews were too heavy to hurl.

“You, sir! Yes, you! Stop this codswallop immediately!” he cried, “The 39 Articles are not part of some glossy throw-away-once-read Sunday supplement, they are the very essence of Anglicanism. What you are preaching is sheer heresy! I am here to tell you that our Lord was transfigured, NOT transgendered; St. Paul did NOT say, ‘If it feels good, do it’; nor does Matthew 5:9 read, ‘Blessed are the Greenpeacemakers…’ To your text, sir, to your text!”

We really must get out less.

I have sent a parcel of freshly-baked hobnobs and a tin of Earl Grey to poor Pretty Patel, who seems to have crossed the line in the sand with regard to ministerial guidelines. Her real crime, of course, was talking with those whom the Foreign Office Camel Corps don’t like. Government does seem to champion the wrong sorts on a regular basis, but then Mrs. May’s lot are hardly a government in any real sense, more like second-rate middle managers trying to reverse an overwhelming take-over bid and floundering. At least they are not fourth-rate, like the alternative.

Speaking of the fourth-rate and over-promoted, I see Miliband Minor, now thankfully out of short trousers and no longer carrying a banana in his pack-up (though where he put it is ripe for speculation – maybe he’s just pleased to see us?), is working for the Dark Lord Soros: it must be sheer Mordor (couldn’t resist that one – apologies!). Young Milibeast says Brexit was a ‘humiliation’ for Britain and the referendum result ‘an affront to democracy’, so he wants the whole thing doing again in true Euro-style. Where do these types come from, and why the Dickens do we put up with them? As for humiliating Britain, why, just send for the clowns, otherwise known as Corbynov’s front bench – Stalinists, Trotskyites, dusky love-maidens, white-van-man haters and New Labour trimmers – a veritable House of Horrors.

However, it is interesting, is it not, that the Hungarians have publicly named Guy Verhuffenpuff as another creature of Soros, actively promoting the open-borders agenda? No surprise there, perhaps.

With our borders poorly guarded, electronic surveillance almost universal, and politically correct, selective policing, we are in a sorry state. Reading through the Goncourt Journal I was struck by this, an entry describing a visit made by the author to Victor Hugo during the Siege of Paris: ‘“Yes,” said Hugo, “the Empire did nothing to provide a defence against foreigners; everything it did was designed to provide a defence against the population.”’ Some things never change, do they?

Well, my dears, I think I have prattled on long enough and I must post this flapdoodlery to His Grace in good time. So, as the whaling-fleet of determination harpoons the Moby Dick of negativity and the Sydney Carton of ‘Leave’ steals the bobbins of red tape from the Madame Defarge of Berlin, I bid you adieu until next week.

Wear your poppies with pride.