Good heavens! Eyebrows were most definitely raised this week as The Jupiter reported on the murky doings of Westmonster. It seems no young person’s seat is safe from the wandering digits of lustful MPs and the unsolicited proddings and pokings from Black Rod. No doubt emboldened by their big majorities, these parliamentary predators lurk in corridors and lobbies, waiting for a well-turned ankle to come within range before they pounce. Now the cat has been let out of the bag, some have decided to quit while the going is good.
The Secretary of State for War (you can say ‘Defence’ if you like, but I prefer honesty to euphemism), Sir Michael Fallenonhissword, has admitted to being an unashamed kneetrembler, though one suspects he has darker secrets in his closet. We shall see. The Eagle sisters have lodged a formal complaint with Mr. Speaker that in all their years in The Commons, not once have they been approached by gabardine-clad under-secretaries for broom-cupboard Ugandan relations, arguing that under Miss Harman’s Equalities Act they are entitled to their fair share. At least their diversity will keep them warm.
Of course the Spanish know how to deal with troublesome politicians, as recent events in Catalonia have shown. Poor Señor Pugdogmonte should have known better than to flee to Brussels, where opinion is against him and nothing exciting has happened since the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball. Meanwhile, the streets of Barcelona throng with supporters of this side then that, all waving the same flags. The Archdeacon is of the opinion that Latinos are an excitable lot, infatuated with movement and colour. I put it down to jalapeños.
Since Mr. Carnage came from Canada to take over the Bank of England, we cautious folk here in Barchester have been keeping a close eye on matters financial, including stocks and shares. The news that it now costs the taxpayer £1 million a day to feed, clothe and house refugees spread like wildfire: folk got it into their heads that their bank accounts would be raided to pay this ever-spiralling bill (something they call a ‘haircut’ and which we call theft), and so long queues formed outside the Barchester and Middlemarch Providential Bank and Loan yesterday. I spotted Mr. Bunce amongst the anxious throng.
“What are you doing, Bunce?” I enquired.
“I put it in Mrs. Proudie, but now I’m pulling it out.”
“Explain yourself, my good man!”
“I’m taking out all my savings to hide under my mattress before the government takes it all,” he said.
“I’m sure there are no plans to do that,” I replied, trying to calm his agitation.
“Well I’m taking no chances! That colonial fellow is not getting his sweaty palms on my groats,” he mumbled.
As if he’d want to – at least not without gloves.
Inspired by Comrade Corbynov’s latest wheeze, the Archdeacon has instigated a Low-Churchophobia Week, to combat anti-Anglican opinion which, I fear, has been growing of late. Most of the abuse has come from an unholy alliance between militant High-Churchers and the Strict and Peculiar Baptists (Kamikaze Branch), who have taken to demonstrating wearing black outfits and masks to elude identification. Banners read: ‘We’re incensed!’ and ‘Hands off our Calvins!’. Very tribal. A group of these blackguards turned up at a musical evening in the Barset New Connexion Chapel on Wildebeest Street, where the talented folk singer Elvis Wesley was about to perform – an event jointly sponsored by the Cathedral and our Methodistical friends.
“It was mayhem, dear lady,” said the Archdeacon as we walked back after the Pleasant Sunday Afternoon gathering we attended. “Windows were smashed, chairs thrown and fists flying! As for the language, the air was blue! It was the sort of thing you’d expect from Mustafa Fatwah’s lot, not our fellow Christians. Ours is the religion of peace, or at least it should be.”
Goodness! Coming from the Archdeacon, hitherto a man very much in favour of ‘Christian Soldiers’ (unlike the St. Marxian cleric in Oadby), this seemed remarkably mild.
“Had it been Mr. Fatwah’s Band of Brothers, I fear things would have gone with a much bigger bang than that,” I replied.
“Too true,” replied the Archdeacon.
It struck me then how much time and effort we Christians waste on disputes within the faith, focusing on trivia and ignoring the bigger picture. We have been plagued by contentious issues – women priests and bishops, same-sex marriage, refugees, abortion and assisted-suicide – leaving a moral and spiritual vacuum currently being filled by another, more aggressive faith, one that I believe will change everything and consign us to Dante’s ‘Third Ring’. We no longer do enough to win hearts and minds, but self-identify with the virtue-signallers, the Cooper-Balls of this world. We need reformation, root and branch.
But then, of course, we’ve had one, thanks to Martin Luther and his ilk. I understand the Reichskanzler, Frau Merkin and her entourage of Turkish Delighters attended a commemorative service in the church at Wittenberg, where Luther’s movement began. Having done her utmost to destroy Christianity in Europe, she has the brass neck to goose-step along with the Evangelical establishment performing happy-clappy for the cameras and telling Germans, “We can do it!” Well she’s done it, and in less than a decade there won’t be any Germans.
Oh well, no point in moping. I have things to do, as I daresay you have too. So, as the snowy white whiskers of Jeremiah Corbynov beguile the nation’s youth into believing Santa will deliver, and the candle-snuffer of thought-crime smothers the flickering flame of freedom, I bid you adieu, until we meet again.