Today's devotions are dedicated to the realisation that we didn't like the glimpse this week of the sort of England we thought we wanted 33 years ago. It turns out, in the words of St Jarvis, that the future that we'd got mapped out was nothing much to shout about.
And so the hymns will be:
Anarchy in the UK (to the tune "Anathemata")
White Riot (I don't really want a riot)
I'd quite like to go to Chelsea (because it's quieter there)
Babylon's Calmed Down Now
God Save the Queen (the real version - please all stand)
And we shall pray for a land [switches on stirring music] where the young are respectful. Where maiden aunts can cycle safely through the Great Smog to church. Where coppers aren't afraid to give teenagers a clip round the ear. Without using a baton. Where you can leave your back door unlocked, because there's nothin worth stealing.
A land free from unlikely piercings. A land with fewer tattoos. Where instead of Carlsberg Special Brew and cheap pear cider, people will drink gin & tonic. A land where nobody can speak about their "rights" because they will be labelled a trouble maker. A place where the Daily Mail is recognised as the supreme arbiter of right and wrong, and Melanie Phillips is elected Queen.
Where everyone will have to do National Service. From the age of 11 to 35. Where, to simplify the legal processs, the number of prescribed sentences will be reduced to two: hanging or flogging.
Hang on. You see what happened there. I started off musing about the fact that fings ain't what they used to be, and ended up a raving demagogue. Scrub all that. Let's just pray things get better and leave it at that. It may or may not be effective, but at least it won't be my fault.
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