I am obliged to a dear friend and occasional reader of this nonsense, a Mr Trellis of North Epsom, who has encouraged me to share a little of the details of the birthday shindig in the Vatican. I have just arrived home, and would perhaps be better advised to collect my thoughts before attempting to chronicle the events, but I think that someone spiked my food, and I appear to have let my abstemious and well-behaved self slip into the background. I cannot really feel guilty about this (there is so much in Catholicism to feel guilty about, after all), as Keith Moon in his heyday would be hard pressed to outdo some of the scenes witnessed this weekend. As a consequence of the tampering, I have to confess that I am unclear about which of the following scenes could be hallucinations and which actually occurred. I must confess that I tend towards the latter.
I am not, as you all well know, a judgemental person on the whole, and believe that the Pontiff is allowed to let his tiara down every 80 years or so. I therefore ask you to treat these insights as confidential, and not to be spread around to satisfy the curiosity of the masses.
- David Beckham is not aware that the pope is catholic. He is aware of where his wife shat. It was not, unfortunately, in the woods.
- Variety acts can be very entertaining, I allude to the display put on by around 24 cardinals, in full crimson attire, singing “Satisfaction” while dancing in the style of the Tiller girls. (If you are under 50, look it up. I am too jaded to be bothered with explanations).
- The archbishop of
was not invited, and did not attend. Just as well. I saw at least thirty people dressed up as him, and none of them contributed much to the spirit of reunification of the Christian church. Canterbury
- Some Swiss guards are very camp given the opportunity. I would rather not have found this out.
- Even though I have know Ratty for years, I have never seen his impersonation of Deirdre from
Coronation Streetbefore. I nearly vomited up my pelvic bone.
- Sadly, the clearest recollection I have, and I pray to the deities of all the major religions that I imagined this, was me and Ratty urinating off the balcony into
in the early hours of this morning. I have no idea who won the contest for distance, but I was too inebriated to spell my own name. I can only hope that there were no pilgrims below, and that if there were, they did not believe that they were experiencing some sort of bizarre blessing. St Peters