Sermon on the Anniversary of the Great Storm of 1987

Oh yes, we can learn a lot of lessons from the Great Storm.

I went into London on the bus, same as I always did. I'd wondered why the telly wasn't picking up any channels, but that sometimes happened in those days. And as the bus meandered around the bags of blown-around rubbish and the washed-up dolphins on the Finchley Road, I remember thinking, "London's even tattier than normal."

It was as I was stepping over the trees down the Marylebone Road that I realised this had been a truly different gale. Old crisp packets, dustbin liners, dead foxes and Michael Fish's reputation were blown towards the still-shaking Telecom tower. This had been a horrendous night, and thank the Lord it had happened at night. If this had struck in the daytime there could have been carnage.

And yet there were lessons to learn. The trees that had fallen were mighty specimens, to be sure. But some had grown too old. Their productivity had declined while they still blotted out the younger growth. Across southern England, the light filtered onto woodland floors and coaxed up a million new trees - trees that are now noble specimens in their own right. Truly there is a message there.

Which is why I'm disbanding the Druidic Council. I'm going to run things myself while I let the saplings of new, organic life grow through. Hnaef, Charlii, Keith, Burton - you're all sacked.