Clash of the Titans.

Yes, already they're calling it the Debate of the Century. Peter Hitchens and Damian Thompson, acknowledged experts on addiction, discuss the question: Whose book is better?

Peter Hitchens prepares to confront Damian Thompson.

For those who don't have time to listen to the Spectator podcast, we present a transcript of the debate between the two greatest intellectuals of our day.

DT: Well, I should point out straight away that I'm an expert on addiction, as I've written a best-selling book on the subject. I don't normally plug it, but it's called The Fix.

PH: I've written a best-selling book too. It's called The War We Never Fought: The British Establishment's Surrender to Drugs.

DT: Well, my book's better than your book. My friend Cristina says so.

PH: No, my book's better than your book. You see, I claim that addiction doesn't even exist.

DT: What? How dare you say that! I hate you!

Damian Thompson, modelling the new Michael Voris wig.

PH: Well, I'm sorry, but any addicts you see are purely a figment of your imagination.

DT: Look here, mate. Your brother Christopher may have been a lunatic left-wing atheist, but he was still much cleverer than you.

PH: Well, your sister Emma may be a lunatic left-wing atheist, but she's still much cleverer than you.

Emma Thompson expresses concerns over her brother Damian's latest meltdown.

DT: I'll get you for that. Wait until I write my Saturday column.

PH: Look, calm down, Damian. And please stop throwing cupcakes at me.

DT: I'll ruin you, as I did Johann Hari, David Cameron, and Keith O'Brien. Nobody will take you seriously again.

(Storms out, slams the door, and knocks over two secretaries, a security guard and a passing Monsignor. Returns to Telegraph Towers to launch a barrage of Twitter abuse and hostile blog posts. Phones Telegraph hit man and orders him to pour custard through Peter Hitchens's letter box.)

Preparing to fill Peter Hitchens's house full of custard.

PH: Sigh... it looks as though I'm not going to get that job on Telegraph blogs, after all.

Britain's bishops lose their AAA credibility rating

The Catholic Church in the UK was in crisis today, as it was revealed that the Vatican had decided to downgrade its bishops' AAA credibility rating to a lowly CCC.

Bishop Tom Burns: sometimes a card, but never a cardinal.

Several factors had contributed to this lack of confidence in the British bishops, starting with some rebellious comments from Cormac Murphy-O'Connor and Kieran Conry, and culminating in a deranged outburst from Bishop Burns.

Kiero fiddles while Tom Burns.

Indeed, Tommy Burns, of the People's Republic of Menevia - a socialist state that somehow escaped the collapse of communism in 1990 - courageously took the opportunity of the Pope's retirement to put forward his own views on Catholicism. Had he expressed such opinions in 2008, it would probably have prevented his promotion from Bishop of the Farces to Bishop of Menevia.

Bishop Burns told the Tablet, a well-known organ of Protestantism: "Conservatism has had its day. It doesn’t work. Despite all Benedict’s efforts, the Church is losing its place in society." Bishop Burns rightly considers that a "place in society" is very important, and he is definitely miffed because he misses out on so many social events.

A Royal Garden Party. Alas, no Tommy Burns!

In a moment of sudden self-awareness, Burns called for a "root and-branch review of the method of appointing bishops." It is thought that he was apprehensive that a lunatic with a totally absurd view of Catholicism might end up being appointed to a diocese such as Menevia.

Annoy the Pope and win an evening out with Tina Beattie.

As a side-effect of his meltdown, Tom Burns is now a hot favourite to win the Tablet's new prize competition, Annoy the Pope and win an evening out with Tina Beattie. However, expert opinion suggests that a whole evening with the biggest bore in modern British Catholicism may be more than even he can stomach.

Keith O'Brien dances with Flora McHaggis.

Meanwhile, in Scotland, another contestant for the Tablet's prize, Cardinal Keith O'Brien, has made it clear that he has "no plans to marry" Miss Flora McHaggis, a leading piper, even if a new Pope is elected who would permit him to do so. "But I'd like the option," he explained.

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Pope Who?

In other news, speculation is growing as to which name the next Pope will take. According to a recent poll, the current front-runners are:

1. Cormac;
2. Kieran;
3. Tom;

"Doubting" Tom calls for a root and-branch review of the method of appointing apostles.

4. Hans;
5. John-Paul, John, Paul, or Paul-John;
6. George-Ringo;
7. Damian;

St Damian cured this dog of a cupcake addiction.

8. Z;
9. Eccles (saved);
10. Ye.

Pope Ye: he (also) hath shown strength with his arm.

Saint of the Week

St Damian the Obscure.

A member of the order of St Custard, St Damian is another medieval saint about whom many astounding legends have grown up.

Damian is believed to have come from humble stock, his ancestors having been ferret-farmers near Reading. Damian himself was a learned man, and was sent to Oxenford to study for a degree in HHT (History, Hairdressing and Theology), the most prestigious degree offered at that time.

Father Sidney James, Damian's tutor in theology and hairdressing.

In those days Damian was something of a lady's man, breaking the hearts of many virtuous maidens who came his way. However, he resolved to devote himself to God, and in particular the maintenance of traditional Catholic values.

Cristina Odone - after meeting Damian she devoted her life to good works.

At that time the Council of Trent was meeting, and Damian - a traditionalist who adhered to the Sarum Rite - was anxious to fight its modernist tendencies with all the powers at his disposal. Indeed, his polemics brought him to the attention of Cardinal Murphy, who attempted unsuccessfully to procure his excommunication.

Cardinal Murphy admits defeat.

In his later years, Damian took a less active part in church politics, although he maintained a pious and virtuous life; his contemporaries noted that he was a master of the German art of Schadenfreude, and that his enemies were invariably cast down. For example, the miraculous downfall of Christopher the Hun is generally attributed to the intervention of St Damian.

Conclusive proof that Christopher the Hun was not driving his chariot.

Damian's final years were spent in madness. Each week he sent out a deranged letter to his disciples, written in green ink, in which he discussed random topics such as cummerbunds, hairdressers and custard, but nobody could bear to read them. He eventually succumbed to a surfeit of cupcakes.

Prayer to St Damian:O blessed St Damian, who saved the Church in its hour of peril, intercede for us, that we may be blessed with a good head of hair, that we may avoid unseemly fatness, and that we may avoid all forms of addiction. Help us to write, as thou didst write, even when we have nothing to say. Amen.

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!

Do-it-yourself Thompson blog

Instructions: pick one item from each section, and combine them. Then Voilà! you have your Saturday column. Never mind if it doesn't make sense - it isn't supposed to!

The Mormons are addicted to cupcakes, which is why Archbishop Mennini required a specially reinforced piano stool.

The Scientologists
The Mormons
The chattering classes
The luvvies of Silicon Roundabout
Societies that believe in Hell
Left-wing, T-shirt-wearing nuns
Countless millions of computer addicts
American schoolchildren
The middle classes in Hyderabad
The overeducated American elite
Teenagers at a school in Xiaogong, central China
Several gay Hollywood stars
Members of Alcoholics Anonymous
Orange-skinned celebrities
Opus Dei

wield immense influence in Hollywood,
are extremely interested in money,
could never be part of the Church of England,
are keen on assisted suicide,
value their subsidised office spaces in east London,
would never be invited on Thought for the Day,
could enter an Andrea Dworkin lookalike contest,
self-medicate with sugary snacks,
are following the IV Drip Diet,
are snorting their ADHD medication,
have discovered party drugs,
are taken out of the local gene pool,
are anxious to join the Ordinariate,
would never visit old people in care homes,
might consider submitting to Pope Michael of Delia, Kansas,
are addicted to cupcakes,

Opus Dei could could enter an Andrea Dworkin lookalike contest, although Noele Gordon wandered naked into the showers at my health club.

although
but
which is why
and

Polly Toynbee
Tom Cruise
Eric Sykes
L. Ron Hubbard
Mitt Romney
Umair Haque
Dr Rowan Williams
Jeremy Paxman
Mark Easton
Edward Elgar
Archbishop Mennini
Lord Foulkes
Sir Paul McCartney
Beethoven
Richard Chartres
Mrs Gladys Mills
The Prince of Wales
Noele Gordon
Canon Brian Brindley
Edward Heath
Queen Victoria
Johann Hari
Jenny Jones
George Clooney

was known for being seriously overweight.
dabbled in the occult.
comes across as a ranting lefty.
acquired a reputation as a self-regarding young windbag.
secretly supported gay marriage.
wandered naked into the showers at my health club.
is the sort of person who would say "an hotel."
should not work for the BBC.
captures the English spirit with unmatched subtlety.
could promote clever, holy traditionalists.
drank too much whisky and attempted to dance with a 70-year-old lady.
bought aubergine hair-dye from a lesbian collective farm in Northern California.
wrote a set of piano variations on God Save the King.
never obtained a doctorate from the LSE.
should never be introduced as "Your highness."
had an indestructible perm.
required a specially reinforced piano stool.
took claret fortified with Scotch whisky.
wrote a Te Deum to celebrate Louis XIV’s victory against the English and Dutch.
supported the vandalism of GM crops.
poured Bird's Custard over a plateful of chips.

The luvvies of Silicon Roundabout are snorting their ADHD medication, but Edward Elgar bought aubergine hair-dye from a lesbian collective farm in Northern California.

Damain is taken into care

I has not been bloggin much recently, and I entrusted de spiritaul nuorishment of my readers to some geust bloggers. Dis is cos after my Anti Moly was put into a care home, I was free, so I decidded to take a holliday. In fact I went to Sevile in Spain, cos my hair was gettin long and I had heard dat dey has good barbers in Sevile.

De hairdresser of Sevile

In de end de haircut wasn't great, but I buoght a new wig as a present for Damain Thopmson, and a jumbo-sized bottle of hair-restorrer for my dear Anti Moly, who is always so thirsty.

I also got appraoched by a woman called Carman wot works in a cigarete factory, but bein a saved pusson I resisted her charms and came back to London.

When I got back to Castle Thopmson de butler, Will Heaven, had shockin news for me. "Dr Thopmson is not at home," he said. "He has been taken into care."

Heaven explained to me dat Damain had been taken to St Cristina's Home for de Dangerously Addicted. After his luvvly book was published, he decided to devote all his time to pluggin it, and was unabble to stop goin on abuot it.

Suovenirs of DE FIX

All Damain's recent activities have been tailored towards making people aware of DE FIX, and he has filled his home wiv suovenirs rellated to DE FIX.

More suovenirs of DE FIX

Luckily Hannan de chuaffeur was avialable (sometimes he is away wiv his part-time job in Brusells, which involves makin speeches to empty rooms), and he drove me to St Cristina's.

Poor sick Damain

"Eccles," said Damain to me, "you is a loyal follower of my blogg. I was finkin dis weekend of writin a Saturday colunm about De Fix, Joanne Hairy, addictoin to medicine, De Fix, De Ordinariate, recent books by Tellegrahp bloggers, De Fix, and addictoin to cupcakes. Do you fink dat's a good idea? Maybe I could add somefink about addictoin to computters too. Dat way I cuold secretly plugg De Fix and noboddy wuold notice."

Well, dat seemed OK to me, but I was very worried by Damain's terrible addictoins. Some schoolgirls had bruoght him a get well soon present, you see.

Cupcakes for Damain

We will have to see what we can do to "fix" our dear Damain.

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I must remember to blogg about my Anti Moly some time. She got into bad truoble for nude sunbathin, so she is still in custardy.

Anti Moly sunbathin

I has blotted out de rude bits, cos we saved pussons doesnt put pronography on our bloggs. But it reely is a woeful situatoin.

It's Fix Weekend

From the Sunday Telegraph

Britain continues its four-day celebration of Damian Thompson's "The Fix," a work widely regarded as God's "Third Testament," and already a runaway best-seller.

God save the Dame

Yesterday, we heard Katherine Jenkins singing "God Save the Dame," and today a mighty flotilla of boats has been assembled, including several state-of-the-art ships from the British Navy. It will process down the Thames while loyal readers of Damian Thompson's blog wave flags.

A mighty flotilla

There will also be street parties, where cupcakes will be served in honour of Dr Thompson's message: why don't heroin addicts try cupcakes instead?

An alternative to heroin

As "The Fix" sells its 50-millionth copy, Damian Thompson himself is thinking of ways of spending his newly-acquired wealth. We learn that he has his eyes on a small palace in London, currently occupied by an elderly couple who may be happier in a care home.

A house fit for a blogger

However, not everyone appreciates Dr Thompson's book. A spokesman for the Guardian newspaper said "This is a typically fascist book from a right-wing nutjob who wants to repress the workers by claiming that addiction isn't a disease. Obviously he wrote the book in order to pursue his hidden agenda of closing down Alcoholics Anonymous. Almost certainly the book is sexist and homophobic as well. Did Che Guevara die in vain?"

Daddy, are you sober enough to read me a story from "The Fix"?

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Bruvver Eccles writes: in fact moving Damain to a bigger huose aint gonna be dat easy. As a Cathlic he naturally has a large collectoin of iddles dat he kisses regularly, and he will want to take dem wiv him.

De iddle room

Pentecost readings

Burning copies of "The Fix"

As the hype over The Fix reaches a climax, and the team of relay runners escorting it round the UK says with one voice "We've had enough of that flaming book," the CBCEW has agreed to adopt new readings for this Pentecost Sunday, from the book of St Damian.

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Vincent Nichols confesses to an addiction

As St Luke records in The Fix of the Apostles, when the time for Pentecost was fulfilled, the disciples were all in one place together. And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house. Then there appeared tongues as of fire, which came to rest on them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues.

Now we see here several examples of addiction, and I have observed many such incidents in my researches for this book. Some people are addicted to strong winds; for example St Peter is recorded as once having taken his boat out onto the Sea of Galilee in a storm, evidently to feed his addiction to wind, which the other Apostles vainly tried to cover up. If he had not had this problem, he would probably have stayed indoors, become a journalist, and maybe written a blog. Some say that Prince Charles, who recently moonlighted as a weatherman on television, is also addicted to extreme meteorological phenomena.

Tongues of fire are another addiction I have seen on my travels. Sometimes this is merely a variation on cigarette-smoking, where the addict lights the wrong end of the cigarette in his confusion (my friend Cristina Odone often makes this mistake). Another way of setting one's tongue on fire is by fire-eating, which nobody would do unless they were seriously disturbed.

Unholy smoke from Cristina Odone

Could it have been the case that St Peter was addicted to fire-eating, as well as heavy winds? St Luke is strangely silent on the question.

Then again we come to another addiction mentioned in this passage, the speaking in different tongues. In modern society people with this problem can find useful employment as interpreters and translators, but sometimes we find charismatic sects whose members simply sound off with random garbage like "Molybdenite Holy Smoke ROFL Damian Fix Judy Bogan Pottymouth LOL," as a way of obtaining relief. No doubt St Peter was a sufferer from this condition as well.

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A  fairy cake cupcake, as seen at Our Lady of the Assumption & St. Gregory, Soho

As St Paul, notorious for plugging his own Epistles, once pointed out, the fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, a good haircut, a clean shirt, and a real Ph.D. degree, whereas the works of the flesh are obvious: trolling on blogs, addiction to cupcakes, drinking my supplies of gin and hair-restorer, reading the Guardian and the Huffington post, and trying to ordain women as priests.

Alas, on my own blog, where many of the contributors are intelligent traditional Catholics with good haircuts and clean shirts, I have seen several more sordid people, with various addictions. Often they come from primitive places such as Australia and South America, pretending to have a scientific background, but really just invading my blog in order to feed their sordid compulsions (which are too disgusting to name in a sacred document such as this one).

In spite of the weaknesses of St Peter that I mentioned earlier, the reason that Christ gave him the keys of Heaven must surely be that he didn't eat cupcakes, only drank hair-restorer on special occasions, and would never have turned up smelling of llama.