Fathering Sunday

 I'd like to wish a happy and profound Fathering Sunday to all those that celebrate it. Fathering Sunday is the day on which all Beaker Folk try desperately not to offend anyone, which coincidentally managing to offend absolutely everyone as we thrash around trying to celebrate good fathers while remembering those with bad fathers, absent fathers, the Godfather, Father Christmas, and on this most Trinity of all Sundays, the Father, Mother and/or Genderfluid Parent of us all. Obviously we give it its traditional English name, not the modern commercial American ripoff name.

Burton Dasset didn't really help, to be honest. He's got caught up in some of kind of "muscular Christianity" thing - a relapse to his days at Public School, I think, though I did catch him watching American wrestling on the telly the other day. Or maybe he's got too inspired by Elon Mush. Or he's having a reaction to a career in stock accounting computer systems.  But I found the following a slightly odd liturgy: 

Burton: Who's the Daddy?

All: God!

Burton: Burton can't hear you!  Who's the Daddy?

All: God! 

They continue for hours

At least that was the planned liturgy. What actually happened was that, underwhelmed by a 7-stone weaking trying to prove his virility, the congregation went off to the Beaker Barista's for a freeform Cafe Church instead.

Next year, Fathering Sunday coincides with Summer Solstice. So we will make another futile attempt to ignore it. Burton's been told if he keeps up this weird macho business any longer, we're going to be looking into exorcism. He's too old for a midlife crisis, and too young to be going senile. So it's gonna be the strappy table and the Slazenger to beat the demons out.