Hymn: Who Wants to Live Forever? (Queen)
Archdruid: Peace be with you.
All: But clearly not with your mind, after 5,000 posts of this drivel.
Archdruid: Why not turn to the person next to you, to share how you have been blessed by God this week?
All: Good point, well made. We meant - "well done on the 5,000 posts."
Archdruid: Don't pull a stunt like that again. I still need a "volunteer" for a visual aid later.
All: Righty-o. You're the boss.
Boris Johnson sails across the Moot House on a miniature cable car, getting stuck halfway.
Boris: I would like to stress that I am here solely in my role as outgoing Mayor of London. And absolutely not because I'm trying to be Prime Minister. Whoops. I mean - in favour of leaving European United. Or whatever the team is called.
Archdruid: And not because of that romantic evening summer, punting down the Cherwell with a bottle of Pimms, when we wished on space hardware? And I wished, I wished, I wished you'd care?
Boris: Don't remember that. Though in Husborne Veritas and all that.
Archdruid: Ah. Must have confused you with some other floppy-haired Old Etonian OUCA idiot. Easily done. OK Folk - poke him with the pointy sticks.
The totally non-careerist Mayor of Brexit is poked with pointy sticks for having an incoherent, morally flawed and dishonest policy on Europe.
Archdruid: Bring on the Penguins!
The Little Sisters of the Holy Herring process through the Moot House, accompanied by Clown Priests on Roller Skates, Squonks, Badgers etc.
Archdruid: Ah, to be in the Moot House at this time! What was it the Poet Herrick said, Jeeves?
Jeeves: Gather ye....
All: No! It's a trap!
"Rosebud" the dog tears Jeeves to pieces.
Boris: Aha! Jeeves would have been safe had he instead mentioned that the Latin equivalent is "Carpe Diem..."
"Carpe Diem" the sledge falls from the roof, trapping Boris with his bottom stuck in the Mystic River.
All: Well, I wouldn't vote for him.
Archdruid: Over to you, Charlii...
Charlii: Any advice?
Hnaef: We're still after a local government grant. So whatever you do, don't mention God.
Archdruid: I mentioned God once, but I think I got away with it.
Charlii: OK - bring on the Yokels.
First Yokel: I see that Thomas Hardy's dead and gone, as we all shall be.
Second Yokel: What? Again?
First Yokel: Aye. It were trending on Twitter.
Second Yokel: Must be true then.
Charlii: And now a short theological reflection.
Six Theological Reflecters in hi vis and Dr Martin boots clomp to the Worship Focus.
The Chief Theological Reflector stamps three times
Theological Reflectors: Jurgen Moltmann!
The Theological Reflectors stomp back out
Charlii: And now there will be an interpretive liturgical dance, by a group of mimes and Morris dancers who call themselves " Elijah's Babies". But the good news is, we've told them to dance in the Orchard so we don't have to see them.
Lighting of Tea Lights
Hnaef: Let your tea lights burn bright in a naughty world.
There is a smell of burning hair
Hnaef: Eileen, get away from Boris with that tea light.
Eileen: Can I at least throw pebbles at him?
Young Keith: Mum, hold the pebble, look at the tea light. And imagine the world is nicer than it is.
Charlii: As it is written inThe Big Beaker Worship Book, page 1.
Hymn: Sweet is the Night (ELO)
Archdruid: So after 5,000 posts what have learnt? Fear badgers, mind the gap, remember that 5,000 words of careful theology are worth less in the eyes of the Internet than a quick rant saying some member of the church is a bit of a bigot.
All: Is he? What a bigot!
Archdruid: And remember that, while other blogs rise and fall - while authors burn out or lose that first flame of inspiration - yet I blog on forever! BOW DOWN, O MORTALS AND KNOW YE ARE BUT DUST.
Vroomfondel: This is all getting needlessly messianic.
Archdruid: Let's face the music.
All: And dance.