Anonymous blogging

Some readers have questioned whether my name is really Eccles, and whether my brother is really called Bosco, or my great-aunt called Moly. Of course all this is perfectly true - why would I want to deceive you? However, I have been accused of cowardice for (allegedly) blogging and tweeting anonymously, especially as some of my posts have been misinterpreted as attacks on the vain, the proud, the self-important and the stupid - which are protected but scarcely endangered species.

Two anonymous bloggers discuss hermeneutics.

Still there is a long tradition of strivers for justice, honesty, truth, beauty, world peace, a sound digestion, good weather, ... where was I? Oh yes, a long tradition of doing such things anonymously. Sometimes it is enough to put on a pair of glasses and call yourself Clark Kent to become impenetrably disguised as a journalist. At the Catholic Herald they once tried something similar...

Mild-mannered Dr William Oddie, Damian Thompson and Ed West under cover.

What happens if you're not anonymous? Well, if you're a pro-life GP, be very afraid. Farewell to the Hippocratic oath, hello to Abortion. Your first words to a pregnant mother should be "Oh dear, I am so sorry. Shall I arrange a termination?" and not "Congratulations, you must be very please!" Be warned - we're coming for you, and your family, and your dog, and your cat, and your hamster, and... anyway, don't you dare fight abortion!

The Scarlet Pimpernel - another blogger with a secret identity.

Or you might be a professor in a politically-correct university (aren't they all?), who dares to oppose the Equality and Diversity party line - perhaps you think that, hey, homosexual sex is a bad thing...? Or that marriage is something to do with a man and a woman? Or that Islam is actually a false religion? Well, if you want to keep your job, or at least to avoid being mobbed by students with too much time on their hands, you'd better not say so!

The Lone Ranger, with patent Zuhlsdorf^TM heretic-smiter.

It was always thus. Saul of Tarsus, originally a big shot in the looking-after-coats-during-stonings business (and general smiting of Christians) was forced to blog under the pseudonym of Paul, especially when putting forward controversial notions about faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of them being love (or charity, if you prefer). He was still harassed by people who thought that the three virtues were diversity, political correctness and being green -- and the greatest of these is being green.

St Paul, arrested for not being green.

So be nice to our anonymous bloggers, and remember that some of the greatest people in history traded under a variety of aliases (or sockpuppets). One thinks of Our Lord, who managed to have numerous Oxbridge colleges named after Him, simply by using the aliases Christ, Corpus Christi, Emmanuel, Jesus, Trinity, ... and, if you believe Dan Brown, His wife's name Magdalen(e), too.

Brasenose (formerly Brazen Nose), not believed to be one of the names of God.

Yoof at the Catholic Herald

Meanwhile, the younger generation are firmly in command at the Catholic Heraldwith the appointment of 23-year-old Ed West as Deputy Editor.

Ed West.

Ed is author of The Diversity Illusion - why don't they all go home? which takes a critical look at immigration.

With his departure, the Telegraph blogs are looking somewhat diminished, but at least the staff were out in force to wave goodbye to the man they call "Mr Misery."

Thompson, Chivers, Hannan et al. say farewell.

An even younger recruit to the Catholic Herald is wunderkind Megan Hodder, aged 13 and only 4'6" tall. With her brilliant article, How those idiot atheists made me a Catholic, she has burst onto the scene as the only person in Year 8 to have read Aristotle, Aquinas, Dawkins and Little Women.

Madeleine Teahan, Mary O'Regan, Megan Hodder and 2 other Catholic Herald writers whose names begin with M.

Said veteran Catholic Heraldjournalist "Wild Bill" Oddie (age 83), "How can we old-timers hope to compete with such brilliant young people?"

A day in the life of Damain Thopmson

A blood-crazed ferret

I shudder into wakefulness as my alarm clock rings (today it plays my friend James MacMillan's cantata "The Lord smote Glasgow Rangers"). Giving my teddy-bear, Benedict, a quick hug, I leap out of bed and get dressed. Breakfast is a simple affair of cupcakes and coffee.

Telegraph cupcakes. Can you spot Cristina Odone, Tim Stanley and Ed West?

Of course on Sundays I omit breakfast and go straight to the Oratory to look for liberal and modernist tendencies in the Latin Mass, but on weekdays I go to Telegraph Towers where I hold the highly important job of Editor of Telegraph Blogs. This means that all the bloggers kow-tow to me, bring me cupcakes, and laugh at my jokes. The only person I have to fear is the Telegraph's Editor, Tony Gallagher, who is a West Ham United fan, and regularly says things like "I don't like your face, Thompson, you little squirt. Beat it!" But now I've stopped blogging on religious topics, he doesn't kick me so often.

One big happy family of bloggers

Like most journalists, I spend most of the morning reading the papers, insulting people on Twitter, and swapping silly jokes. But Friday is my big day, as I have to write a Saturday column for the Telegraph's distinguished readership of London lawyers and retired colonels. So I look for pictures of fat people with silly hair or strange clothes, and weave a hilarious (or as my brainy friend Tom Chivers says "an hilarious") narrative about them.

Arthur Roche, always good for a laugh

The lost sheep?

My Telegraph column also provides the material for a very witty blog. It attracts comments from the intellectual elite, who post under names like GI Joe, Mahatmacoatmabag, An Aussie Carrot, Chap With Wings, Molybdenite, Cutley in Florence, Ernest Chaussette, and The Great Stalin. Most of these names are real, but I suspect that one or two may be made up!

Well, the day draws on, and in the evening there are many options open to me. Sometimes I stand outside Victoria station selling copies of my new book The Fix to commuters. "Big issue!" I shout, as I think that addiction is indeed a big issue for all of us. Many commuters agree, and some are so impressed that they give me 50p, saying "Get yourself some tea, young man," without even taking a copy of my book.

Did I mention that I have written a book?

This is the book of which the great Clive James, writing in the prestigious Wallamaloo Possum-Breeder's Gazette said "Some wonderful books have been written on the subject of addiction. If you want something totally different, try this book instead." Praise indeed, I'm sure you'll agree!

Another thing I may do in the evening is go home to Notting Hill, and play one of my 50,000 CDs. I am a very cultured chap, and I have 94 recordings of James MacMillan's Orchestral Variations on Donald, where's yer troosers? Often I lie in my bath, playing games with my plastic duck, Donata, and singing along to James's immortal music.

Before I know it, it's 9 p.m. and time for bed. A quick anonymous phone call to one of my enemies (e.g. Austin Ivereigh or Johann Hari), with a burst of demonic laughter, and we've reached the end of a perfect day. Off to bed with my teddy-bear!

Good night, Damian!