The barcode of the beast

Thanks, yes. I'm feeling much better this morning. It's always the same every year after my darkness sermon - it kind of eats into the soul. And I have to go off and burn everything I can see - within legal reason, of course - and then when the morning comes, the sun is out and warms me up again. And in the new light I see what a funny world it is for me, and all I'll ever be.

At which point I wander into the Moot House and discover that Burton Dasset has declared himself King of Controls and has barcoded every piece of worship paraphernalia in the place. Altars, Beaker Common Prayers, Tea lights, pebbles - pebbles, for goodness sake. Who barcodes a pebble? Not to mention the Little Sisters of the Holy Herring, the penguins who Young Keith is still training to be nuns. And the Community Zebras.

I'll be honest, that "act of black and white worship" was radical and challenging. It was Burton's attempt to change our stereotypes of black being bad and white good. It was well thought-through, cutting-edge and culturally sensitive. Apart from the zebras. Even the penguins - cute, amiable characters that they are - fitted in well with the general theme. But running a herd of zebra unexpectedly through the Moot House caused utter panic.

That is mostly water under the bridge now. Nobody got seriously trampled, and the hoof wounds are healing. But it has left us with a legacy of the Zebras. And of all the creatures that don't need to be barcoded, I would have thought the Zebra is top of the list.

But Burton went beyond even that. Looking more closely I discovered that every Beaker person and every weekend pilgrim had a barcode. Their cars were barcoded. The individual components of their cars were barcoded. Every item in their bedrooms - table lamps, mugs, kettles, toothbrushes - have all been barcoded.  Nobody was allowed in the Beaker Bazaar without a barcode - one on their forehead, and one on their hand. Presumably in case they lost either their head or their hand in an accident, and would still have one left. Nobody could buy or sell without the Number of Burton  on their head and hand.

I tell you, the place was in severe danger of being organised. What has that to do with spirituality?

So it's been an energetic half hour. After the application of a steel toe-capped boot to his financial fundamentals, Burton has promised never, never to try and run the community again. All round the Community, the sounds of happy, laughing Beaker Folk mingles with those who are having their barcodes scraped off. The zebra haven't noticed the difference, and all the penguins have refunded, having been sold in the Beaker Bazaar for the same price as doilies. All's well with the world.