FIFA to Introduce "Tax-Dodging Technology"

Sepp Cameron has astounded the world of tax-dodging by announcing his plans to introduce new tax-dodging technology. He is introducing systems to detect when someone has gone over the arbitrary line between decent, law-abiding minimisation of tax payment and things that are "frankly morally wrong".

"It was quite simple," said a spokesman I've just made up, "in the days when tax avoidance going 'over the line' was benefiting large companies and Conservative Party donors, we believed there was no need to introduce this kind of system. But now we've realised that satirical comedians are able to dodge taxes in exactly the same way, it's more important to spot when it has gone over the line."

"In the past we depended on blokes who didn't have a clue to oversee this kind of arrangement. But now I've realised that we need to put in place ways of stopping it. Frankly, it's morally wrong."

Unnecessary Diagram of Policing an Arbitrary Line

A Very Strange Alternative Universe

There is a very strange alternative universe.

It's one where the people who join together, on Sunday or during the week, to break bread or read God's word mostly go away at the end of it thinking they've done something pretty worthwhile - both on an eternal and on a finite, local level. Where they try to live out Jesus' example without necessarily thinking that their way of doing it is uniquely right.

Where people visit the sick in their houses. Set up small groups to give company and hope to people in prison. Set up charities to assist the homeless. Give moral and sometimes financial support. Make sure the streets have somebody who cares hanging around on them, of a Friday or Saturday night.

It's a place where, in the great scheme of things, people aren't that fussed by other people's sexuality - as long as it's not lived out too graphically in public, and it's not illegal. Where the vast, vast majority of church leaders are in fact pretty comfortable with their own sexuality as well - and neither to be feared nor pitied. And where some people may think it's new or unusual to have women in leadership - but mostly they figure they'll live wirh it. Where children will be blessed or baptised regardless of their parents' marital status, and people welcomed into the fold in a likewise uncondemnatory manner.

It's a place where mostly nobody cares about your politics - whether you're right or left - as long as you're not wearing a pillar case over your head or planning to nationalise the font. Either way you'll still be expected to put your hand in your pocket, or go knocking on doors, whenever Christian Aid Week comes round.

Over all, it's a place of some great joy, a few niggles, and a lot of good work. It's a strange little place. But of course it must be an alternative universe. Because otherwise, surely we'd have heard about it?

Jubilee

An exciting couple of hours watching the Jubilee concert. I guess. I've been up the White Horse with Mrs Hnaef playing pool.

I've come back to discover that Young Keith has a far greater interest in the Royal Family than has been known before. Keeps telling me that, after 60 years on the throne, it must be time for the Queen to "bow quietly out". Pointing out that Charles has a great deal to offer - provided he gets "the right job at the right time".

I wonder what he's on about?

Bronze Age Religion

It's one of those weird jibes that some make against the Christian faith - that it's the religion of a bunch of Bronze Age shepherds.

It's a strange thing to say. First up because the New Testament was written in Roman times. Not the Bronze Age at all. In fact given that the majority of the Old Testament is reckoned to have been written from about the 9th Century BC on (albeit often based on earlier stories) - the vast majority was in fact written in the Iron Age. It's a shame to start such a jibe based on a historical inaccuracy.

It's also weird because it begs the question - so what? What's so great about the Plastic Age that means a philosophy that allegedly dates from the Bronze Age (which it doesn't) can be laughed at? How can the Age that has given us such countless horrors think previous Ages were so philosophically impoverished? Of course, we've got iPads and Britain's Got Talent and stuff - but why, as the bard asked, must we suffer each race to believe that no race has been grander? It makes no sense at all.

And another reason why it's weird - the people at whom it is aimed don't give a pair of foetid dingo's kidneys whether it's a Bronze Age religion or not. They wouldn't even bother to point out that it's not. Most real fundamentalists are too historically illiterate to believe such a time existed - as the acceptance of modern archaeological dating schema would put most of the Stone Age before the beginning of the world. Such a jibe is as the idle wind, which they regard not. My expectation is that the number of people who would think "ooh - Bronze Age religion" and promptly give up their faith is around about the same number of fingers on the average foot.

And then, of course, the Bronze Age had much to commend it. Mass slaughter on a 20th or 21st Century scale was pretty well unheard of - largely because  there weren't masses of people. But the Bronze Age saw no nuclear vaporisation of cities. If one bunch of Bronze Age people did have to kill another bunch, chances are at least they ate them - so much more environmentally friendly. There was no Tesco. The M25 did not exist - and neither did Manchester CIty. People lived in peace with their environment, except when burning down all the forests or wiping out the megafauna that had survived the Stone Age or eating their neighbours.

And it was the culmination of the Megalithic Age. Sure, the Beaker Folk of the Neolithic had got the basics of Stonehenge, for example, in place - but it was their Bronze Age successors who continued it. In medicine, they could carry out trepanning from which some people even survived - albeit I reckon there'd be a lot of screaming in Beaker Tongue going on. They had a good idea of astronomy - they had to have, as it told them when to sow and when to hunt. In fact, I reckon if you asked 100 Bronze Age folk and 100 moderns, the Bronze Age people would be the ones who knew which way the sun went round each day.

In fact, I've a suspicion that most modern people, on a day-to-day basis, couldn't start a fire, tell the time or kill an auroch if dropped into the middle of the Bronze Age. All our modern scientific sophistication is blotchy - just a few people know how to make the bits that make up a smartphone, while the rest of us struggle to programme a TV remote, and think milk comes from chickens. Give the average 21st Century person a lump of ironstone, some charcoal and some chunk of chalk and they'd just bang them together to see if they could make fire, I reckon.  And we think the Bronze Age people were so backward because they couldn't make iron.

So enough of the sneers about the Bronze Age. People lived and died, just as much then as now. They knew the joy and fear we do. They wondered about the world as we do. They fell in love and mated and brought up kids just like we do. Sure, they didn't have Facebook.

So I rest my case.

Pentecost

I've had my eyes opened this morning.

We were all gathered together in one place in the Moot House, for the holding-of-hands ceremony prior to the Pentecost Extravaganza. I'm not so keen on the holding-of-hands - ensure everyone uses antibacterial soap before and after - but it does amuse me the way it makes the more uneasy-with-their-feminine-side squirm.

Then there was the rushing of a mighty wind, and tongues of fire appeared. It was all thanks to Young Keith and his industrial wind-machine. Turns out it goes up to "11". Blew four panels out of the Moot House wall and shorted the circuits. At which point the electronic dove cage failed safe and all the doves flew out through the roof lights to safety.

Of course, we'd shut the sluice to make the brook rise, and the Beaker People were standing in half an inch of water when the electrics went on the fritz. Everyone's hair stood on end (except Burton's, who is follicularly challenged) and remained so until the whole circuit tripped.

I walked out of the wreckage of the Moot House and across to the Room of Viewing. I find when things go spectacularly wrong, a bit of telly can calm me down. But saw the news from Syria. And then considered that the celebration of Eurovisual harmony and humanity on telly yesterday - nearly everyone singing American English, like a latter-day Pentecost - was broadcast from a country with a dreadful record on democracy and treatment of its people. Figured the tame Holy Spirit we'd be hoping to encounter isn't the angry hurricane the world actually needs, who lifts up the weak and blows away the powerful.

Walked back outside and the doves have messed all over the 4x4s in the car park. I think maybe it's a sign.

Editors of King James Version Apologise for Inappropriate Language

Oh most mighty Prince, joyful were our most humble hearts when we saw Your Glorious Majesty enthroned throughout this most Bountiful Land. And knowing whereof our Blessings flow, most Noble King, we undertake unto thy Munificence our most grovellingest apologies.

For five or even six times in the Most Noble Work which thou hast set us did we use the expression "pisseth against a wall". This expression we know will now be in Print for evermore, and appointed to be read in the Churches of thy Glorious Realm.

We promise this won't happen again, guv. And we would draw your attention unto Mr Coverdale, and Mr Cranmer who "liked" Mr Coverdale's use of the phrase "a-whoring with their own inventions."

But we wouldst defend ourselves, O Great Panjandrum of Droitwich and Lord of the Western Seas. In Deut 23:2 we useth the word "bastard" in its strictly technical sense, and meant no Offence.

Running the Race

"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us" (Heb 12:1)

How often it is truly said that you cannot preach from a restricted view of the Gospel. And, brethren (and your womenfolk, to whom I expect you to explain the more complex parts of this sermon), I am therefore preaching from the whole verse this week. Last week's sermon, in which I preached from the word "quail" alone, may have been more suited to the theological specialist.

So we will see what we have in this verse from Paul's letter to the Hebrews. But first, if I may, a short diversion - the self-styled "Archdruid" next door claims that there is no evidence that Paul wrote the epistle. But she is clearly deluded. Because it says so in the Bible. Although not in hers, which is further proof of how far she has fallen.

But let us see what it says. We have a race set before us - and the end of that race is salvation. But there are hurdles - for truly it is an hurdle race. And Paul maketh it clear what some of the hurdles are. Being compassed about with a cloud of witnesses, saith the Apostle, let us lay aside every weight. Clearly the witnesses are that very weight of which he speaks.

And immediately we see what he means - imagine, if you will, the Olympic Stadium as it will be in just a few short weeks. Let us forget for one moment that the Olympics are part of the religion of idolization of the human body and spirit. And let us forget that the International Olympic Committee is part of that godless World Order that will put the Nameless Thing on the throne, as all bow down to the power of the sponsors, and none will trade without approval from the IOC that the product they are selling has indeed the symbol of the Olympics printed thereon.

But let us imagine a pure and noble race. And as the athletes wait at the start of the 400m hurdles, one of them becomes aware of the crowd or audience - that "great crowd of witnesses" with which he is compassed. And instead of viewing only the finishing tape - and the hurdles which he must overcome - he becomes aware that there exists a crowd - ostensibly to "cheer him on" but actually to distract, to confuse and to overwhelm.

Surely he will forget his objective, take his eye from the goal, and trip over the first hurdle. And as he lays there - his face a bloody mess and his feet still lodged on the top of the hurdle - he will know that the race is already lost.

But suppose in the next lane, there is a godly and focussed man - one who does not take account of the crowd of witnesses around him - one who hears only the starter's pistol and sees only the tape ahead (taking due account of the hurdles). And suppose as he runs along, he noticeth the man in the adjacent lane  tripping over the hurdle and smashing to the ground. Then what will that man do?

Surely, brothers and sisters, the answer is clear. He will ignore that fallen man and run on. For to stop, to bind up the fallen - that will mean that he himself loses the race. His job is to get to the end first - to win the eternal prize. For surely this is a race, and not a woodland dawdle, wherein one mayst attend to those companions that trip over holes and divots, or become attached to barbed wire while escaping rampaging bullocks or geese.

Surely, brothers and sisters - ploughing on, leaving the one that is fallen to his fate - for he has fallen already. This is the way forward. For there is no room for losers in the Kingdom of God.

And now we sing our closing hymn - "Over the Mountains and the Water Jump".

Jubilee

Worrying noises from the camp.

The Beaker People are asking, if it's Jubilee this year, does this mean they don't have to work in the Doily Shed any more as the loans they took out to pay their (voluntary) joining fees are cancelled?

I've explained to them that the concept of Jubilee enshrines the rights of normal people to the land, states that, ultimately, one person cannot belong to another, and discourages a system of excessive lending as being against the best interests of society - as well as remembering that the land itself is precious, and cannot be exploited to the point of exhaustion.

Of course, Jubilee belongs to the Old Dispensation. These days we have been set free from all that.

Kieran Dogleash - A Statement

It is with regret that AFC Beaker Folk have immediately terminated the contract of our head coach, Kieran Dogleash. Kieran has of course been totally useless, but we look forward to building on the strong foundations and good work he's put in over the last 4 days since he took over.

You may remember that we hired Kieran after his predecessor, Rory Hedgeson, turned out to be completely useless and only fit to manage England. Rory Hedgeson, in turn, replaced Ralph A Bennet Esq, who was completely useless and probably only fit to replace Kieran.

Kieran Dogleash has many great properties. The support he gave to Louis Starbucks after that "piece of light-hearted banter in the Star of India" only showed how well he combined total loyalty with a complete lack of awareness. While winning the Mid Beds Nearly-Pagan Para-Church Knock-Out Consolation Cup at least meant our outlay of nearly £450 million on players was rewarded. Albeit we only beat a bunch of Brownies from Luton on penalties - but they can be pretty vicious, Lutonian Brownies.

And so having sacked the Director of Football, Communications Director, Managing Director, Chief Executive and head coach, the good new is that AFC Beaker Folk isn't such a top-heavy organisation any more. In fact, our sponsor, Mr Dwight D Linebacker from the Good Ol' US of A, is now personally responsible for picking the squad, team tactics and laundry. Sadly the new stadium on that strip of grass by Junction 13 is now even less likely to  materialise, but on the bright side we look forward to hiring a new manager, in whom we will have total confidence right up to that moment when we realise we have to sack him because he's totally useless.

End of Season Clear-out

Sometimes it strikes me that football managers have it easier than the leaders of small religious fellowships.

Apart from the risk of sacking of course. That can't be fun. The fear that if things don't go your way the fans will be on your back, and next thing you know the people in dark suits will be tapping on your shoulder. It must be like being a Baptist pastor, only without the wild lifestyle.

But no, I was thinking more about our inability to "rebuild".

Now for a football manager, "rebuilding" means getting rid of all the dead wood that the last manager brought in when (s)he was "rebuilding", and bringing in people whom you believe to be better. I've heard references to Liverpool "rebuiilding" this summer - in which case that's the 20th successive glorious summer of rebuilding.

But wouldn't it be great? Recognising that Gertie doesn't "link up" well in the tea-making circle, ship her out to the Unitarians and replace her with a cheap youngster from Poland.

Or if the Lay Preacher is causing trouble? Obviously you'd need to leave her on the "bench" kicking her heels till the transfer window is open.  But then you'd be looking for whether you could exchange her for an organist for the reserves (i.e. one who gets to play on Low Sunday and Christmas 1 - awaiting his chance when the regular organist breaks his wrist).

Personally I'd be looking to strengthen the "front four". Daphne's worth her weight in gold, of course. And Hnaef, like Didier Drogba, has been an absolute war-horse. But the constant going down on the slightest contact is annoying the fellowship. And when he's near the front of the procession it can be quite distracting. He only has to be nudged by a tea-light bearer or boutrosifer and he's rolling around clutching the allegedly affected part. Then the whole procession is inclined to trip over him.

Then there's Charlii. Obviously we brought her in for her potential. And, like Jamie Carragher in his youth, she's been happy to fill whatever role is needed - dressing up as a squirrel, sweeping out the doily shed, being (as Trainee Druid) by definition an instant expert in children's work. But her off-the-field activities have been distracting her. I don't mean she's been setting fire to her bathroom or driving around Woburn handing out tenners. But I've pointed out to Young Keith that if footballers' Wives and Girlfriends are WAGS, a Druid's Other Half is a D'OH.

And it's the same throughout the squad - sorry, fellowship. All the way through I can see weak links that could be strengthened if I bought wisely and shipped out before the all-importan Lammas Deadline.

And it's not like God's not given us a precedent on this. Remember how, when Saul was only maintaining mid-table obscurity, he was shipped out and replaced by David - the "Chosen One" with a good track record in Philistia, who went on to great things. But then, David and Saul were both gaffers, so maybe I don't want to go too far with that reasoning.

And then I remember Our Chairman, when he was a head coach. Even though the squad was a bit thin - back in the days of only one substitute - he knew his people's hearts. He knew who was the Mario Balotelli, who the reliable Gareth Barry or Stevie Gerrard. James and John, those hard-working wingers, were always arguing about who was going to play on the right and who on the left. And he knew that one of his team was going to be making a big-money transfer after being "touched up" by another club. But he backed them - weak and strong as they might be - to get into Europe.

So as I look around the Beaker People, with their foolishness, their irrationality and their stubbornness - I figure that maybe if Our Chairman would have stuck with them, perhaps I should as well. I'll give them one more season.

Though if I could swap Burton for a treasurer with a personality, I would.  But it might break my payscales. That is, I might have to pay for one.

The Last Post

It's a nice old pub, the Last Post.

Of course, nobody's had a drink there in years. It wasn't that people made positive decisions to give up drinking. They just found they couldn't raise the energy to get down the pub in the evening. Some of them said it wasn't that they had gone teetotal - rather that they felt they could have a drink perfectly well at home. Drink, they said, was a personal thing.

For a while, the dwindling numbers of regulars struggled to keep the old place open. Not least because the people who stayed at home made it clear that they wouldn't let it close. It made them feel good to think there was a pub in the village - even as they opened a can of Stones in their own homes. The tenants tried to keep it open, of course. They were always coming up with new ideas for attracting the punters in - quizzes, barbecues, darts tournaments, egg-throwing. But the writing was on the wall - and I don't just mean in the Ladies'.

Unable to afford any help, the landlady and landlord worked absurdly long hours - up with the lark when the dray was due, off down the Cash & Carry, doing their own cleaning and running the kitchen - their day would start before 7 and often end after midnight, seven days a week. But they had to put the price of the beer up every time the Chancellor raised duty, or the brewery had to jack up the costs. And they were steadily undercut by the supermarket. Some of the villagers even got into exotic tastes like Rioja, or Chardonnay.

Eventually, of course, it had to close - a victim of changing drinking patterns. But the council wouldn't let anyone do anything with it. After all, the history of all that little village was associated with that pub. It was the heart of the community. And what is a village without an inn? The villagers suggested that maybe it would be possible just to open it up a few times a year - Christmas and bank holidays - but it was clearly never going to work. But who did the brewery think the pub was for, they asked, if not for the villagers?

The brewery wanted shot of the place. But the council won't let them knock it down, or build houses in the garden or convert it to flats. After all, the village is in a conservation area. And the villagers won't let the inn go. So the brewery has to keep the place intact, pay for its maintenance - but they can't do anything with it.

But the villagers are happy, because they've still got their inn. It's a nice old pub, the Last Post.

On the Spiritual Benefits of Mid-Table Obscurity

Warning - turn away now if you are not interested in football (or are trying not to hear the progress of the game).

There seems to be much excitement among those who support football teams such as Man Utd and Man City, Tottenham, Arsenal and others today. A Manchester team will win the Premiership - and at the moment I'm not quite sure which yet. Although it would appear that by getting sent off for attacking the entire city of Manchester just now, Joey Barton has unexpectedly strengthened his own team as QPR are now leading Man City. Maybe Joey should get sent off more often, for the benefit of his team - if he ever gets the opportunity again.

The majority of the Beaker Folk leadership are watching all this (or, in some cases, not) with a sense of total equanimity. The Official Team of the Beaker People, Liverpool, are not going anywhere as a result of today's games. We can't win the League. We can't go down (and you'd never have believed, in the last 45+ years, that that would ever be a concern). We can't get in the Championship. We're safely in mid-table obscurity, clutching our League Cup, going into the Europa League, where next season we get to play teams of Belorussian boiler-welders and part-time Slovakian eel-farmers. Though what a part-time Slovakian is when he's not being Slovakian, I'm not quite sure. Czech, maybe, or perhaps one of the people of "O" - the little, landlocked state that was also involved in the breakup of Czechoslovakia.

In any case, none of this matters. The pomp, the glamour, the shiny shields and baubles - none of it matters. We have a place safely reserved in the European equivalent of the Autowindscreens Shield, and that will have to do. There are no heart-stopping moments for us today.

(2-2, by the way. Surely Man city can't come back and win this?)

Obviously, it's better for the mental health. And the blood pressure. No heart palpitations, and no sudden urges to elbow Man City players. This is much better for us. A kind of Zen thing. Our prize - such as it is - is safe. Why get over-excited? That is what we tell ourselves.

I'd like to draw the analogy with knowing we have a reward safe in heaven - that, secure and safe, we can watch the excitements of  those who chase worldly rewards, promotions and the chance to chair exciting meetings. But if you can find any way of making the Europa League sound like Heaven, you're a better man or woman than I am.

Man City just won, by the way. Poor old Fergie.

Not losing my ticket

It has been, Dear Readers, a wonderful concert, although not without stress in getting there and being there.

I had left my ticket, attached by a fridge magnet (an amusing sheep, if you are interested), on the fridge since it arrived. But today, in case I was detained outside all day, and then had to rush off to the Stables, I thought it better to transfer it to my wallet.

But you know how it is with wallets and concert tickets. The tickets kind of stick out a bit at the top. And I was becoming worried that I might pay for something with a £5 note, dislodge the ticket, drop it and not notice.

So I kept taking the ticket out of the wallet every few minutes to check it was still there. But then I worried that I might only have the address slip part, and not the actual ticket. So I pulled the ticket off the address slip part, and put the address slip in the bin.

But I was concerned that I might have put the wrong part in the bin. So I checked the ticket in my wallet. It was definitely still there, and definitely still the ticket part. So I relaxed.

Until I wondered whether I had the right day. Sure, the ticket said Friday 11 May. I knew it was Friday. And the PC sad it was 11 May. But was I sure the PC was right? Maybe I had a ticket for the wrong year. And so I asked Eileen what day it was, what month, what date and what year. They all checked out. I had the right ticket.

But had I mis-remembered the date, I wondered? So I took the ticket out of the wallet and checked the date again. It was the right date. I put it back. Then put the wallet in my pocket. But I worried that it might have fallen out as I put the wallet back in my pocket. So I took the wallet out and checked. Put it back, and worried again.

I set off for Wavendon three hours early, in case I had a fake ticket. They assured me it was fine, but I wasn't coming in just yet no matter how safe it made me feel. So I put the ticket in my wallet, put my wallet in my pocket, and drove back to Husborne Crawley. They don't have real ale at the Stables, so I was not worried about drinking later on - driving was fine.

I found Eileen, told her that how worried I was about losing my ticket. She suggested putting it in my wallet, and then putting the wallet in my pocket. I explained that was what I had done. She said that was all right then - but I explained that was my point - how could I be sure it was still there and hadn't dropped out? She suggested that was unlikely, but in all honesty I couldn't be sure without opening my wallet and thereby collapsing the wave-function of ticket location. I checked it out. It was there. I put it back in the wallet, the wallet back in the pocket. Eileen watched me do it - promised me it was definitely there.

I walked round the corner, and it occurred to me that she could have been lying.

So I put the ticket in a glove, and put the glove on my hand. Realised that I could easily lose the glove, so put a wicket-keeping glove on over the ordinary glove. Taped the keepers' glove round the wrist, so nothing could possibly fall out.

Then I realised I wasn't sure I had rightly remembered putting the ticket in the glove.

In the end, I got to the concert. It was brilliant. But I did not take any notes of the lengths of the songs, or consult my notes as to precisely when a Mellotron noise was required for perfect accuracy, to check that G2 were a valid and accurate Genesis tribute band. Instead I was worrying too much that an any minute the Wavendon Ticket Police would realise that I was there with a false ticket, that I was the only person at a sold-out gig sitting in a seat that was fortunately vacant (and even more fortunately had the same number as the fake ticket I had accidentally purchased) and they would drag me off and I would miss the rest of the concert.

So as I say, it was a marvellous concert. G2 are a wonderful band.

I just wish I had enjoyed the day more.

Priests and Parishes™

Congratulations on buying your Priests and Parishes™ Role-Playing Game!

In the 1980s, before we discovered there were more serious things to worry about, there were many claims that Role-Playing Games were satanic, and that playing them led straight to the fiery maw of the Dark One.

While most Christian leaders were content merely to condemn Gary Gygax and all his works, one group decided to produce a rival, radical and exciting faith-community based game. Unfortunately they were in the Church of England, so it's taken 30 years to get it through the Committee stage. But here it is - a new and exciting chance to enter into adventure in the world of Pee-Cee-Cee, where monsters stalk every corridor.

Don't forget there's a range of add-on accessories you can buy - the "Church Warden's Manual" will give you the full instructions on how to play Advanced Priests and Parishes™, which is just like the basic version but costs more.

But enough of the sales spiel - let's get on and play!

Rolling your Character

You must throw two dice 10 times. Write down each number against the attributes on your Player Card™.  These attributes decide what player type you can choose:


Bell-Ringers must score at least six or more in Strength, Stamina and Ale-drinking.


Organists need to score six or more in Sitting in Draughts, Perseverance and Unsettling the Vicar.


Ministers should ideally have high scores in all categories. At least that's what it says in the Parish Profile. However these types of characters are only actually available in the special module, Imaginary Priests and Parishes. Note that advancement to greater levels depends upon your character's race, denomination and gender - British Methodists and British Women.are not allowed to be raised to "Bishop".


Evangelists should have high scores in Listening to People and Caring. Failing that, a score of 12 in Shouting will probably do.


Sunday School Teachers need higher scores than Ministers. But don't think anyone will notice.


Barrack-Room Lawyers have high levels of Sincerity, Cunning and Intelligence, but normally low scores for Loyalty and Empathy. Their special powers include Total Confusion, All-Out War and Writing to the Bishop.


Worship Group Leaders need high scores in Charisma and Tunefulness. Their special powers include Segue and Train-Wreck. 


Flower-Arrangers These characters are the most feared of all in Priests and Parishes™.  Lethal with a bowl of petunias, and possessors of the Dangerous Lily Pollen of Allergy.


Stewards Again, this player type's powers advance differently with different denominations. In the Methodists they can get as far as "Circuit Steward", which is like a sheriff but without the badge.


Treasurers have the job of accumulating Gold Pieces and uncovering secret stashes of treasure. They normally fail.

Special Powers

These are powers that all players can use during the course of the game, although their effectiveness will vary according to the player-character's attributes.


Throwing a Wobbly - Wobblies can be particularly effective in Church Meetings. However if a player attempts to throw one during Worship Time, then the Church Warden or Chief Steward has powers of Removal from the Premises. The effects of a Wobbly can also be cancelled by the Minister employing the powers of Caving-in, or alternatively Bluster.


Swimming the Tiber - This can be used by Priests or People, although Priests get +5 for publicity. Swimming the Tiber is reversible, although we suspect it can only be used once.


Titheing - This power is defunct in Advanced Priests and Parishes™ since very few were using it.


Back-Stabbing Shouldn't really be a skill needed in this game.


Mentioning Jesus - this is not allowed in Church meetings as it may dissolve the State of Unknowing which causes all members of committees to forget why they are there. The "God told me..." power is allowed, as nobody really believes it.

New Scenarios

So now you've a character rolled up, very few gold pieces and a hole in your roof, it's time to get down to the Beaker Bazaar or your local World of Worshipcraft, and buy one of these great modules:


J1 - The Jumble Sale: this starter module will introduce you to back-biting, gossip and claiming things are "Mission", as well as the raising of very small numbers of gold pieces.


S1 - Deanery synod of Doom
S2 - Diocesan Synod of Doom
S3 - General Synod of Doom
- the "Synod of Doom" series is strictly for students, retired people and similar people with lots of spare time.


A1 - The Anthem - you are on a race against time to stop the Methodist Choir from singing the "Anthem". Can you remove the powers from the Organist before the deadly power of Vibrato removes the Will to Live from the congregation?


C1 - Revenge of the Deanery Chapter - will you ever discover what the secretive and elusive "Chapter" does? (Ans - probably not)


H1 - In search of Socinus - a member of the Local Preacher's Meeting is suspected of thinking Jesus is "just a bloke". By charging round the Circuit, you must detect and eliminate the "rogue preacher". Your ability to withstand Bad Coffee and your Standing in Draughts powers will be stretched as never before.

B1 - The Bald and the Beautiful - why are radiant heaters being placed on the ceilings of chapels? Is it just an attempt to irradiate bald people?

Henchard and Saul, Farfrae and David

You know how it is. You're reading one of your favourite passages for the thousandth time, and the truth leaps out at you.

I refer, of course, to that passage in The Mayor of Casterbridge where Henchard forces the choir, with the threat of a poker, to sing Pps 109 to the tune, "Wiltshire". And it struck me.

Henchard is Saul - Farfrae is David.

Googling around the Web, I find that I am by quite a long way not the first to notice this. In fact, you're probably all sat there reading thhis, thinking "Well, Duh.".

But you see the way it is. Henchard is the older man, already ruler of his domain. Farfrae is the young man - taken under Henchard's wing because of his energy and his ability to calm the older man's black moods.

Saul disobeys a divine command and spoils a city rather than destroying it. Henchard cocks up over his dealiing - ignores the wisdom of the conjurer (think of Saul and Samuel) and is ruined financially.

David becomes close to Saul's son: Farfrae becomes close to Henchard's former mistress. Both younger men marry the older one's daughter. The crowds run after the younger - Farfrae's triumph at the fair echoing the songs about the numbers David has slain.

Both older men have their black moods, and both their fatal weaknesses. Both dabble in the black arts. Both die prematurely (as do the beloveds of the younger men) - and in both cases the younger men inherit, thus achieving all the older men tried to prevent.

As I say, apologies if I've bored you. Sometimes you just have to share.

Now I'd better get down to the Moot House for Pouring out of Beakers and Wringing out of Bell-bottoms. Charlii's singing a solo version of Caribbean Blue. She may be after my job, but she's got a lovely voice.

Situations Vacant

Alternative worhip and health Sales Executive, Husborne Crawley

Are you able to swear blind that crystals will improve the spectrum of your aura? Do you think feverfew really heals fevers? Do you find yourself lighting tea lights to get in a spiritual mood? Can you administer an enema?

The Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley are looking for a keen salesperson to retail and occasionally deliver alternative therapies and worship aids. You will possess a warm, friendly nature, a winning smile, be a good team player and will almost certainly have no soul behind those so-caring eyes. On a commission-only basis you will not flinch from lying or cheating to make those sales that will keep the pay-day loan shark from the door. An ability to agree that icons are "pretty" will help.

The Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley is an equal-opportunities employer. You can be any gender, race, creed or sexual orientation you like as long as you never give a sucker an even break. During the hosepipe ban you'll be expected to supply your own watering can.

Sales Assistant, Christian Bookshop

If you want to spread the Word in a declining market, while you're undercut by the Internet, God bless you. We suggest you sell rosaries "under the counter" - that way you won't upset the Baptists.

Methodist Circuit Rota Organiser, Much Amending in the Marsh

Are you an expert with spreadsheets? Do you have a head for figures? Do you like to meet and work with new people? Can you solve the three-body problem in Physics? Was it you who proved Fermat's last theorem? If so, you are just the person that Much Amending Circuit is looking for.

Your job will be to ensure that the 19 Local Preachers, 2 Ministers, 3 Retired Ministers, 187 visiting Local Preachers from other circuits, Vicars in Ecumenical Parishes and people who just want to have people listen to them are distributed evenly across the services of the 21 chapels in this Circuit. Some chapels have a different time each week for their services, some have Communion monthly, others once a quarter, some unexpectedly take the summer off services because they've a chalet in Clacton.

You'll receive no pay, but you can expect to receive a string of conflicting special requirements, and keep the secret "black list" of which chapels won't have which Preachers, and vice versa.

The Methodist Church is an Equal Opportunities Employer. Although its recruitment processes are on the complex side. Oh, and we made up the bit about "meeting people" - you'll never get away from the computer.

Christian Builder

You'll be building with living stones. So treat them carefully.

Bible Translator

If you've ever woken up in the morning and thought "there really aren't enough versions of the English Bible" this could be the job for you.

An adaptable thinker, it's up to you to think of new ways to express God's timeless Word, so that people who already own 19 versions of the Bible want to own another one. Wrestlers, Rock n Roll fans, Goths, Weightliflters, Refuse Collectors, People who like Kittens - these are all people who've already got a version of the Bible specially for them.

We want to make sure every niche is covered - no stone unturned in our search for a demographic we've not produced a version of the Good News for. A way with words and a track record in Marketing will be invaluable.

Hebrew, Aramaic and New Testament Greek not really required.

Diocesan Peacekeeper, Diocese of West Loathing

Are you a practising Christian with a black-belt in karate? West Loathing diocese is terribly split on women priests, homosexuality, the Anglican Covenant and the use of the Prayer Book, and just about anything else we can think of. 

Your reconciliation skills will be just as useful as your ability to withstand long, fraught meetings. You will of course be expected to attend all Diocesan Synod meetings, but must be flexible for location within the diocese as you may have to be "parachuted in" to PCC meetings or, in extremis, particularly fractious outbreaks of Morning Prayer.
Experience in bomb disposal and hypnotism a must.

The Church of England is an equal opportunities employer. Except we will often discriminate on the grounds of gender, faith or sexual orientation. Although we can be fairly liberal on the "faith" bit.

Environmental, Natural or a Lifestyle Choice?

I'm afraid (although I'm using the word "afraid" very loosely here) that I missed the BBC3 programme "I woke up Gay" yesterday.

There did seem to be many mean comments on Twitter, however. I've no idea if they were anything to do with Chris (or "Kris", as he now is, having apparently woken up "K") - there were just mean comments on Twitter. There often are. But it strikes me that it's a bit rough having such a rotten attack on someone who survived a life-threatening event like that. In brief, the 19-stone rugby player suffered a stroke after "high jinks" went wrong, and came out of it gay.

But I'm regretting missing the programme now, as the Telegraph review doesn't tell me the key fact I believe we all need to know. I mean, I know it's wrong and immoral, and involves men putting their bodies together in unnatural ways. And we also know it's rife at Public Schools - or, at least, so popular imagination has it. But is Kris now ex-Rugby? Or is he post-Rugby?

Beating Posh People with Sticks to Get the Demons Out

You know, often people will come to see me and say, "Archdruid, I'm very posh and I think God hates me. What are you going to do about it?"

And it's a very complex question. After all, some might say, if somebody is very posh, clearly God is going to hate them. What else, being a loving and forgiving God, could God possibly do?

But I don't go along with this. Love the posh person, beat out the poshness. That's what I say.

And I do believe that posh people can change. Obviously, they can give the Beaker People all their money. That makes them - at least, in a measurable kind of way - less posh. Although it doesn't affect their posh voices. Well, it does. Some of the richer ones can almost have a sob in their voices as they tell me how I've lightened the load on them. By the way, don't forget that thanks to George Osborne's stupid charitable giving changes, it's better for you to give me money this year, rather than next. And it's better for me as well. So give early!

But just giving your money away doesn't make you less posh inside. No, for that, real, deep, spiritual changes need to be made. In the old days, Beaker People used to deal with posh people by throwing stones at them. After a short period of this kind of treatment, they could barely be described as posh at all.

But the Nanny State had to step in, didn't it. So now we're not allowed to throw stones at posh people as a form of healing at all. And so we've needed to resort to the other traditional Beaker way of dealing with all basically evil ailments.

Beating people with sticks to drive out demons.

As long as we describe it as a "traditional faith-based therapy", the Government don't touch us. Obviously, we don't just go round beating any old posh people we meet with sticks to drive out the demons. Oh no - that would be wrong. And, more importantly, illegal. For us to beat a posh person with sticks, they've got to want to stop being posh. They've got to need to change. They've got to believe that we can change them. They've got to sign the contract that says it's not our fault if we beat them too hard with sticks. Because let's face it, it's not as if we like posh people - that's why they need changing. It's easy to get carried away with the beating.

And there's always the dangers of regression. After an hour or two of beating people with sticks, some start to imagine they're back at Eton or Winchester. And then they can become posher than ever.

But we do find that beating people with sticks gives results. After a few hours' treatment, they can start using words that are barely posh at all. And when they remember how much we're charging for the treatment, they can go positively Anglo-Saxon. At this point we stick a label on them saying "Formerly Posh".

That's why we're putting a banner on the Beaker Minibus. It says "Are you posh? We can beat you with sticks to get the demons out." We reckon it's gonna draw them in. And not be taken, in the Woburn area, as deliberate anti-posh sloganising at all.

The Android of Heavenly Love

I used to think, based on going on retreats, that to live in a community - such as the Beaker one, here, must be constantly wonderful.

All that structure used to enfold me - the set ours of prayer - morning, lunchtime, evening, night (but not so late at night as to prevent one heading for the pub afterwards). The sense of one-ness: of growing together. The profoundness of discussion: the open-ness of people's hearts.

But turns out it doesn't work like that in a real community. Because after a couple of years you know everybody's hopes and fears. You realise you can't live life at the heightened spiritual level of a retreat - you have to live, just as you always used to, in the hum-drum.

And the regular hours of prayer become a prison routine - dragging you out of bed when you really need sleep. And instead of people's best, holiest behaviour, you keep running into their normal, or even worst - when they're tired or frustrated or confused or bad-tempered or just stupid. In short, living in a Community, it turns out, is just like real life.

And that's why I've had Young Keith build me the X-45b Archdruidbot. It's not the first time we've built a robot simulacrum - after all, this Community has been in place for almost ten years - but it is the first time we've built one with Enhanced Christian Characteristics (ECC).

An android with ECC behaves just like.a real Christian ought, as opposed to how they actually do. It mostly has a very slight, beatific, albeit slightly blank smile. At times of boring worship, it can adopt an expression of intense piety.  It has the great advantage, at times of early-morning or late-night worship Occasions such as Solstices or Equinoxes, that it can do without sleep, without getting shirty or forgetting where it lives.

The Robot Archdruid is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast, nor is  it proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It  delights not in evil but rejoices in truth.  It always protects and trusts the Beaker People -  always hopes and perseveres for them. It never fails.

It will go to early morning services for me, without complaint, and manage neither to offend nor be offended. And it won't get confused and do the liturgy in the wrong order, or forget everyone's names. I'm just a bit worried, though. If it's so totally perfect, isn't there just a slight chance they'll know it's not me?

Sowing Seeds

I'm starting to be very disappointed in the seeds.

We thought we'd expand the Kitchen Garden this year. It's all about the Food Miles, innit? After all, a lot of our food comes from a long way away - Kingston Tesco, over in Milton Keynes. So we thought it would be good if we planted seeds for all the necessities - squashes, chervil, mange-tout, stuff like that.

So on Sunday we put all the seeds in their seed trays, said a special prayer of blessing on them, and put them in the warm greenhouse.

Not a thing. I was expecting to be eating delicious seasonal pumpkin soup by now.

I wonder if they've all died?