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.

Anti Moly in a care home

Well, Damain Thopmson has alreddy hinted as much on his blogg, but we has had to have Anti Moly taken into care. As you may have heard, althuogh he keeps very quiet about it, Damain has got a new book out, called "De Fix," which is all abuot poeple gettin addicted to strange fings (like cupcakes, cannapeas and de paino playin of Mrs Mills). I helped him a lot wiv writin bits of it, but he didn't give me a complementary copy, so I ordered one from Amazzon.

De probblem started when de postman came to Castle Thopmson to delivver my copy of de book, and Anti Moly jumped out and bit him in de leg. She saw de uniform and mistook him for a Cathlic preist, she reely needs to stop drinkin dat hair-restorrer, it causes dellusoins. In fact we has had a lot of trubble wiv her lately, as Damain went to Mass and she insisted on comin along, just so dat she cuold sit in the front row goin "Woeful. ROFL. I aint a belleiver," and trying to interrupt poeple worshippin.

So for Anti Moly's own good we has had her put in a care home, where dey doesnt let you drink hair-restorrer, and tries to keep you calm. She is still allowed to use a lapptop, so dont worry, you wont miss out on her inimicable commentin on bloggs.

Now, as Damain was sayin on his blogg, we got George Cloony to come and visit as part of his charitabble work. Anti Moly was reely looking forward to this, as she says she watched one of his early flims, Return of the Killer Tomatoes! seven times. It's all about a tomato transsformation chamber by which dey can turn ordinary tomatoes into humans, and Anti Moly says dat dis was de theme of one Richard Dakwins's powerful books disprovin de existence of God. She also says dat me, Eccles, is de evidence dat such transformatoins can take place, dat's not nice, Anti.

Dat Cloony (wot is addicted to bad coffee, but dats annuver story) spent ten minutes talking to Anti Moly, and den got up and said, "On second fuoghts, I is gonna do somefink else for charrity. Give me a third-world pigsty to clean out instead. With my bare hands if necessary. Just get me out of here!"

Damain is incensed by dis, and has written a hard-hitting articcle about it, but I fink dat Mr Cloony may have a point, after all. We saved poeple is used to analysin deep moral questoins like dis one.

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.

Four out of ten old ladies drink hair-restorer

A geust blogg from Damain Thopmson
 

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Up to 40% of old ladies drink hair-restorer, according to recent research undertaken by the University of Adelaide. My own informal observations bear this out, as Patient M, a ridiculously old lady who is also currently my guest in Castle Thompson - as is her great-nephew, a charming man called Eccles - has turned out to be a consumer of many unusual products.

My butler, Will Heaven, reports that Anti Moly, as Eccles calls her, began by drinking my supplies of gin and whisky, but, when he started to lock these up, she turned to other substances.

Did I mention that I have written a book on addiction, called The Fix? Do buy a copy. I am hoping that Eccles will agree to serialize excerpts on his lovely blog. Anyway, in my book I treat all sorts of addictions and obsessions: for example, there is a biologist in South America who is addicted to stories of clerical child abuse, having a whole laboratory wall decorated with stories from the Puffington Post and the New Yawn Times. Another strange addiction I write about is cinnabons, a sticky cake much loved by Yorkshire bishops.

Returning to Patient M, once she had run out of conventional alcoholic drinks, she drank a bottle of my Geoffrey Lean hair-restorer; then she went to the garage and drank my supply of Delinpol anti-freeze (much to the annoyance of Hannan my chauffeur). Finally, getting desperate, she drank a bottle of her own Possumgon, a product she uses to protect the roof of her Australian home from enthusiastic marsupials.

Her drinking is irregular, but when she decides to have a "binge" or "meltdown," she is often seen on the internet, posting insults on blogs (including my own). For some reasons she particularly hates Catholics, especially serious ones.

Patient M seems to be immune to poison, according to her nephew Eccles. The old photograph below shows M and her friend informing a visitor that they had added some arsenic to his drink, "To give it some bite."

Well, it's difficult to know what to do in such cases, but if enough people buy my book The Fix, I will be able to do some more in-depth research (Tenerife looks like a promising place to start).

The Telegraphies

Who can resist the jolly antics of the Telegraphies - Molly, Micky, Marky and Pau? With their silly catch-phrases and their crazy games, they have become an instant hit on the Telegraph blogs.

* We giggle as Molly, the senile one, thinks up more revolting insults than ever before. We chuckle as she tells us about her tolerance for all religions except orthodox Catholicism. We fall asleep as she tells us anecdotes about her "rels." Molly's the one who drinks all the hair-restorer.

* We smile as little Micky, the one who may be male or female (or something in between), pastes dozens of links to anti-Catholic articles on dodgy websites and says "ROFL" whenever challenged to debate an issue seriously. Weep with Micky when she (or perhaps he) tells you how dreadfully unfair life is. Micky's the one whose only friend is a llama.

* Then there's Marky, the intellectual of the group, who has read Dawkins and Einstein, and thinks they are theologians. However, Marky really prefers to curl up with a good story about child abuse.

* Finally there's creepy old Pau, the "gay icon," who trawls the internet, looking for information about his victims. Pau likes religion, but not the serious bits.

And now Damian Thompson says "Bye-bye."

Electoin night party

Our host Damain Thopmson held an electoin night party to which he invited all his best freinds like Joanne Hairy and Vanilla Redgrave, wot he writes about in his luvvly blogg. Of course, de staff at Castle Thopmson excelled demselves in makin de preparatoins.

Luckily, Will Heaven de butler fuond dat Damain had been hoardin hair-restorrer in his garrage in case of a shortage, so my Anti Moly's grate thirst was taken care of (in fact, as she has reportted on Damain's blogg for all her many admirin readers, she was stung by a bee in a most embarassin place, and was feelin a little woeful). Here is my Anti, unable to sit down, but revivin herself wiv a glass of Damain's hair-restorrer.
 

Muvver Odone de cook had prepared some exottic Itallian delickacies wot you cant git in Enggland, such as macaronni and pizza. Old Lean de gardener had got Damain's grounds nice and tidy; in fact he aint very good wiv growin plants: since he installed crabon doixide filters in the greenhuoses in order to save de plannet, all de plants is wiltin away. And I aint sure dat de plannet is saved, niether. We also had Hannan de chuaffeur on dutty to ferry de guests home when dey had drunk too much - dis man's gotta part time job in Brussels as well, but he says it is badly paid and he has to take on extra jobs to make ends meet.

De guests of honour was of course Borris and Ken, who is grate pals of Damain's. Here we see Ken wiv an uniddentified freind, weepin his eyes out cos I told him dat he aint saved.

De church was well-represented, and Vincent Nicholas and Rowan Willaims came along for a snifter. Vincent Nicholas was full of fun - here you see him sneekily doin de rabit ears trick where you puts your hands behind someone's head so dat dey looks like dey got rabit ears, and so aint saved. Unfortunately he aint very good at it yet.

I said to de costume holly man, don't try doin dat trick to de Pop, buster, or you aint never gonna git dat red hat. Remember de sad storry of Barrack Obamma, who was rude to de Queen and is now personna non gratta (dat's traddy langwidge for "in de dog huose").

Actaully de Queen was at Damain's party too, and she was anggry cos she had just read dat Obamma liked eatin dogs. Dis might explane why after his last visit Winston de corgi was nowhere to be fuond - so perhaps Obamma had been literally in de dog huose. Dis is what we calls a diplomattic incident.

Well dis blogg is gettin a bit long, but it was an all-night party and a lot happened. Dere was one more geust I should mentoin, a charmin preist called Farver Pau, wot is a libberal Cathlic. He said "You looks like a handsome young lad, has you ever been to Exxeter?" I fink dat my spiritaul juorney is gonna take me to some interrestin places.

A Lattin Mass

Anti Moly and me we is still stayin wiv Damain Thopmson, who is a really luvvly man. But on Satturday mornin I woke up in my bed in Castle Thopmson to find a pink horse's head in it, which I is fiarly sure wasn't dere de night before.

I summoned Will Heaven de butler, who shimmered in wiv a tray contianing a glass of milk for me and a hair-restorrer and gin cocktail for Anti Moly, what sleeps in de next room. "I sees dat Sir has been contacted by de Gay Maffia," explaned Mr Heaven. "Dey is very poppular in de Cathlic churhc nowaddays, especailly in de Plymouth diocese. No duobt dey is invitin you to go to de Church of de Assumption and St Gregory in Soho for a gay Mass. Dis may be an offer you can't refuse. Play your cards rihgt and Vincent Nichols will give you de kiss of peace."

Damain, howevver, had uvver plans, and on Sunday we trailed into de London Horrortree. I had planned to wear a togga, as dey say dat when in Rome you gotta do what de Romans do, but Damain said it wasnt usaully done. He hisself wasnt wearing a togga, just his superman costume. In de week he is mild-mannered Damain Thopmson, but at weekends he is like a blood-crazed ferret.

Anti Moly disgraced herself almost immediately. "Why has dat woeful priest got his back to us?" she screeched. "Aint dat typical traddy Cathlic rudeness?" Damain explaned in hushed tones dat traddy preists doesnt like to look at de congreggatoin, especailly when Anti Moly is among dem, as it makes dem feel ill.

De preist was wearing a beretta, which he took off to make annuoncements, e.g. "Will you keep dat old bat quiet please, Mr Thopmson?"

After a while, I got fed up, cos I didn't understand wot was goin on, so when de preist puased for breath, I stood up and sang "I am de Lord of de Dance, said He," which is a famuous hynm about Jessus dancin wot we sings in de Calumny Chappel. Anti Moly had been drinkin Damain's hair-restorrer since 8 a.m. and she jioned in de Dance wiv me.

But apparently in de Lattin litturgy, dis is not what dey does, so I got one or two funny looks from de traddies. Sometimes deys sings de Gregorrian chant, "Ego Dominus saltationis sum, dixit," but dat's all.

After de Mass we went back to Castle Thopmson, where Muvver Odone, de cook, was doin us raviolli for lunch. She alternates between passta and piza, she aint got much imaginatoin. After all dat dancin, Anti Moly said she was so hungry she could eat a horse, and so I left her chewin her way frew de pink one I was givven.

De Napoloen of Notting Hell

Dat rarver clever tittle is a tribbute to our dear freind Damain Thopmson, who is puttin us up in his humble aboad now dat we has arrived in London.



Dis is a pitcher of Castle Thopmson, which is a large huose in Notting Hell, where Damain lives wiv just a few servants to look after him.

Our flight from Austriala was a bit probblematical. Half way, de pilate said dat dere was a horrible noise commin from de engines of de Beoing 747, and so he told us, "Don't panic folks, we is gonna make an emurgency landin in Dubbai. But if you knows any good prayers, den let's be havvin dem if you wants to be saved." Well of course, I is saved alreddy, but I did sing a few Calumny Chappel songs, like "Come, Thou holy Parachute." But when we landed it turned out dat Anti Moly had fallen asleep in de tiolet, and it was her snorrin dat was causin de niose and vibbratoin.



We got to Heathroar eventaully, and made our way to Notting Hell, which is a posh part of London. We was admitted into Castle Thopmson by de butler, who is called Will Heaven, it seems dat his parents was very infleunced by de poster above.

Anti Moly was a bit jet-logged wiv gin, so Heaven showed us to our rooms. I has got de Paddy Pio suite, and my dear anti has de Nanny Ogg suite, I aint heard of dat saint before, but she does seem to resemble my dere Anti a little. Dem Cathlics like kissin saints, but I fink even Damain would draw de line at dat one. 



Talking of Damain, we heard some loud crashes at aruond 4 a.m. and a male-vice chior singin "Four and twenty vergers came down from Inverness." I later fuond out dat it's called a Rugby song, I spose dat Damain goes to Mass in Rugby sometimes, it's a place in de Midlands dat we may visit.

Now, Damain was very pleased to see me,  but he said he had got a blogg to write just now. Anti Moly was still in de Nanny Ogg room snorrin away her jet-logg, but Damain who is a true professoinal managed to keep typin away, even wiv de cielin vibratin above his head.

Eventaully Anti came down lookin for booze. Damain had to go to de bathroom, and when he came back he said "What's happened to my bottle of Geoffrey Lean Patent Hair-Restorrer?" Apparently, Anti Moly had drunk it, finkin it was gin. So now Damain dont seem to be very pleased wiv us, but perhaps he will soon be charmed by our kind and gentle natures.



Damain is havvin a party soon, and I is lookin forward to meetin all his freinds like Joanne Hairy and Giles Frazor. Anti Moly is lookin forward to meetin Damain's stock of drink.