The UK (and by UK I mean Twitter) is in uproar (that’s when lions roar vertically skywards) by the Pope’s visit to these here shores. I’m not particularly happy by his visit, or in fact, his child abuse condoning, racist, homophobic existence, but at the same time, I also can’t really care less. At the moment him and his cardinals seem to be doing nothing to promote themselves in anyway and I feel that the Prince Phillip effect is already taking place and it can only be a few more days before he’s dug himself so far into the ground he can discover for himself that hell clearly doesn’t exist and he’s chock full of archaic bullshit. Yes its wrong that our money (and I say ‘our’ loosely. Edinburgh costs tend to mean tax is something I’ve only ever heard about in fairy tales. Sorry all) is being used to get him here, but frankly if my taxes (again take that with a large fistful of salt. Quality sea salt) mean that someone else in his group says that Britain is a third world country or makes more ludicrous claims about AIDS, then I feel I have paid my bit into his eventual downfall. I mean really, how much time has the Pope got left? Not until he dies. I know that’s impossible. Everytime a Pope dies he just regenerates into another host body, until at some point in the future he becomes Emperor Palpatine and starts trying to destroy the Alliance. FACT. No I mean, how much time has he got left for people to actually listen to anything he says? We are currently living in a country gripped by a ‘new and aggressive atheism’, which hopefully means we are only a few years off denying the Pope exists at all and relaying stories to our grandchildren about a batty old bigot that dressed all in white and drove around in his special white van slagging off impoverished nations.

I wish I had more of a point to make. I don’t really. I just don’t give a shit he’s here and I think by making a big deal of it we are possibly giving him more credit than he’s worth. If it all does really go tits up, then I say we declare war on Vatican City. I’ve been there. Its only small. Most of the security look elderly too, I reckon we could take them out with a few punches and declare it as our own. Who’s with me? No one? Oh. You go back to scowling at the BBC coverage then. I’ll go back to my world of knowing I understand nothing about these sorts of things and will let more intelligent people carry on.


Yesterday I got paid to hug a lady, eat a pie and talk for 2 minutes to camera. These sorts of things don’t occur very often but when they do, its hard not to be pleased by such prospects. I enjoy all of those things and I’d say I’m definitely a professional at hugging ladies and eating pies so there were no nerves involved whatsoever. Well, not until I watched the program it was due to be on. I won’t say what it is but lets just say it rhymes with ‘whodoyou jive’ and it really is a terrible terrible program. As the show began with one of the hosts screaming while pirouetting about the idea of Kylie saying something irrefutably dull my finger hovered immediately over the off button as I felt not only my own brain cells dying, but the brain cells of all of those people on Twitter and Facebook I’d told to watch this. The guilt was unbearable. I’d asked people out of the kindness of their hearts to watch me hugging a lady and eating a pie and instead they had to sit through 25 minutes of the most vacuous excuse for news I’ve ever seen. Some twat from Shameless getting a gastric band is not news. FACT. The presenters giggled along as though they couldn’t get over the fact they were on the telly, even though, it being that specific channel, the irony was, they weren’t really. Much like the tree/forest example, does it count as telly if no one is there to see it?

Luckily my bit was well good. I made one funny, hugged one lady and eat a pie and drank a pint. I sometimes wonder if they might just ask me to take the whole show over and fix it a bit. I’d say no because I have class, but that’s not the point. More likely they are scowling at the fact I didn’t mention whatever Rooney’s girlfriend’s name is and then discuss nails and will probably never ask me to do anything for them again.


Yesterday my friend Katy said she liked my beardiness. She is both a) female and b) knows about clothes and fashions and things so in trusting her opinion, I am staying like this for a little while. Unfortunately I probably won’t have a choice even if I didn’t want to as I have scratched the itcyness so hard I’m not sure I have any skin underneath anyway and shaving would merely expose a fleshy chin akin to that bit in Face Off. You know the bit before anyone shot anything? (This is not true, people get shot at the very start).

I have to go to meeting now, so this blog endeth here. Hopefully by the time the meetings over, the Pope will have declared that he agrees with all of Hitler’s views and we’ll have bundled him into a cell in Wormwood Scrubs to watch his robes get dirtied by angry inmates.