Liturgy of Farewell - or is it - to Dominic Cummings

Hymn: "Durham Town" (to the tune "Cummings") 

Archdruid: Rarely Beloved, we are gathered here today to bury the career of Dominic Cummings. Or, as he is known to his friends...

she checks her notes

Archdruid: ...no, forget that.

All: He'll be back. Just like Arnie.

Archdruid: Let's take our wins where we can and enjoy it for now. 

Hymn: "Da doo-dom-dom" by the Dom-ettes

Psalm of Lament

All: Oh, how many are our woes.

And how great the fears before us.

For we pass through the valley of Covid

which runneth down to the cliff edge of Brexit

As those that are sitting in a shopping trolley 

pushed by a 15-year-old youth, out of his head on extra-strong mints.

And as our nation rages against other nations

and heads for the edge

yet our leaders, O England, are as jack-asses in the ruins

fighting amongst themselves for who is the true leader

and calling women silly names 

when the terror is on every side

and the people perish for lack of vision.

A cloud of pantomime smoke, and Dominic Cummings appears in the midst of the Moot House

Dominic Cummings: Behold it is I! Dominic Cummings. Seer of sights, viewer of visions, dreamer of dreams, scourge of the Civil Service and geekmeister incarnate. Working class hero, wielder of whackos, herder of weirdos and superforecaster of superforecasts.

The Archdruid turns a fire extinguisher on him.

All: You didn't superforecast that coming.

Dominic Cummings: Foolish Archdruid! Know ye not who I am? I am the one that channeleth the spirit of the Masses. The spokesperson for those too gormless to know what to think. The one whose every thought is channelled in pure quantanium through the peptic synapses of my mind.

Archdruid: MA in History, weren't it, Dom?

All: Bald bloke from Durham, you're just a bald bloke from Durham. Bald bloke from Durham... 

Dominic Cummings: Minions! Do not believe this deceiveron in her pointy hat! Fall down and worship me - your true Edgelord of Edgelords. 

Burton Dasset: I worship you, O Edgelord. King of the Nerds and purveyor of poorly-understood science.

Charlii inserts a scone into Burton's silly gob, before he loses his immortal soul.

Archdruid: Cummings, you are fallen. Your days are over. Return to the pit from which ye slithered.

Dominic Cummings: Nice little 4-bed in Islington, actually... Listen - look at this bald head - consider my prophetic powers. I shall summon bears to rend your youths.

Archdruid: We're a rural congregation in the 2020s. Where do you think we're going to get any youths?

Dominic Cummings: Curses. Foiled again.

All: Poundshop Phil Collins. You're just a poundshop Phil Collins.

Archdruid: And Cummings.... I've always wanted to say this....... You have no power over me.

Dominic Cummings: What mean ye, witch?

Archdruid: We Beaker Folk are an official bubble. All the grounds, amenities, rooms in the Great House, the Stables block and the Dower House - are officially one property. But you come here - in defiance of the Rules of Boris Which All Must Obey - and sully our bubble with your fancy London ways and potentially your virus. Let me introduce you to Young Keith's Uncle, the Police Sergeant.

Young Keith's Uncle: I'm afraid you're bang to rights, sir. Would you like to accompany me to the station?

Dominic Cummings: Fool! Don't you know who I am?

Young Keith's Uncle: Aren't you Lee Hurst? When did you swap your checked shirt for that silly T-Shirt? And you're wearing it inside out. 

Dominic Cummings: I am enacting a parable! I do not follow the rules. I make them.

Young Keith's Uncle: I think you'll find, Mr Meldrew, that round here I am the Law. Now get in the Fiat Panda. You're coming with me. 

Dominic Cummings: I have failed the test. I shall diminish, and return to North London. And remain Classic Dom.

Archdruid: And so the forces of evil were diminished. And the people said Amen.

Hymn: Be bald, be strong. 

 

---

Please support this blog