Thought for the Day, with Justin Webly, more or less Arch. of Cant.

Hullo,

Justin here, amid the sadness and joys of Easter. Sadness because Our Lord was crucified on Good Friday, and joys because of his resurrection mere days later.

As you know, I am always open to religious debate, but I am afraid my patience has been tried recently by an ever more vociferous local group called Sensible People Against God [SPAG]. To mark the occasion of Easter, SPAG organized a local radio programme wherein Christian belief was challenged.

It was chaired – rather ineffectively I have to say - by one Stella Hipkiss – a person who plays records, apparently.

Mr Hussein insisted on accompanying myself and my Christian brethren to the studio because, in his words, “You can’t trust these Godless bastards.”

Things began badly when SPAG representative Mr Norris Trope-Fettler said that Our Lord “Got done in for shooting his mouth off”. At this point, Mr Hussein had to be held back by studio security staff.

I tried to remain calm – wondering what Jesus would have done. At this point, Ms Hipkiss played “I Could Have Danced All Night” However, I did reply to Mr Trope-Fettler by saying that Our Lord is the son of God and that He was bringing the word of God to mankind. Another SPAG person, Julius Himmler, shouted “Bollocks!”

Suddenly, Mr Hussein broke free from the security operatives and grasped Mr Himmler by the throat whilst Ms Hipkiss played Dooh Wah Diddy Diddy at increased volume.

Police presence did not last long. Mr Himmler spent some time in A&E whilst Mr Hussein was cautioned. But only slightly. For myself, I was advised to go home and wrap up some Easter eggs – which I did, only to find that my lady wife had eaten most of them whilst watching Big Brother. And I still don’t know what Jesus would have done.

Pip, pip,

Justin

Thought for the Day, with Justin Webly, more or less Arch of Cant

Hullo,
      
Justin here. I take up my pen quite fatigued after a prolonged discussion with my lady wife and Mrs Grimly, our relatively new Head Cook. It was all about the Palace's traditional Christmas Dinner for the homeless of our Parish. My lady wife seems to be of the opinion that what our homeless flock would most appreciate is as much alcohol as we can afford, whilst Mrs Grimly - a staunch teetotaller as it turns out - recommended bowls of nourishing gruel. 

The only thing they agreed on is that the distribution of the homeless Christmas meal - whatever form it might take - should take place out of doors, possibly under canvas. This is because after last year's event - held below stairs in the Nether Kitchen - the Palace was missing four candelabra, part of a pew and two mitres.
      
One Christmas event close to my heart is the distribution of presents to local children. Last year, Mr Hussein spent most of November hand crafting little wooden figures of the Baby Jesus, which I thought were most appropriate. However, many of the children seemed nonplussed and I overheard one mite saying, "What's this then? Where do you plug it in?"
       
Our tireless Christmas choir is presently practising in Our Lady's Chapel. I think "gusto" is the operative word here. The choir's version of Hark the Herald Angels Sing actually cracked my bifocals. What would Jesus have done?

Pip, pip,

Justin

Thought for the Day, with Justin Webly, more or less Arch of Cant

Hullo, Justin here,

Well, I return to you thoroughly refreshed after an exciting week brass rubbing in the wilds of Norfolk – or parts of it might have been Lincolnshire, or even East Anglia – its hard to tell over there, sometimes.
 
But I was accompanied as ever by the young man with the wire in his ear who, whilst unimpressed by the burial places of our unsung forefathers and indeed, local wildlife, did do all the driving – in his apparently armoured 4x4 – and arranged all our overnight lodgings, these last all possessed of “a good field of fire” from bedroom windows. The young man with the wire in his ear assured me that he was “carrying”.
 
We were on our way to St Botolph’s-in-the-Mire, effectively guided by the vehicle’s satnav system, when I spotted something remarkable . I’ve never really understood satnav but the young man with the wire in his ear tells me that its is based on near-space triangulation achieved by satellites, whatever that means. Personally, I trust in God above for my geographic direction.
 
However, what did I spot? Only a male Sturrock’s Reed Wobbler! Whilst I’m not a fully-fledged Twitcher, I am very keen on identifying our feathered friends. Reed Wobblers of either sex are rare and difficult to see, and this little chap was actually busy wobbling a reed so I was delighted to be able to tick him off in my copy of Mr Oddie’s excellent book, “Unremarkable Little Brown Birds with Daft Names”.
 
Quite frankly, St Botolph’s was rather disappointing. I had hoped to take rubbings of the gravestones of Sir Denzil and Lady Maude Peover [died 1454 and 1460 respectively] but sadly the whole area, just south of St Botolph’s transept, is now covered by St Botolph’s Ye Olde Teashoppe, an initiative taken by the very young present incumbent. I don’t think he recognized me, but I did take him to task about the situation. He told me that the past is past and that for him, God is a Now thing and latte is cool. What would Jesus have done?

On my return home I found my lady wife in a very depressed state because of Andy Murray’s injury and Johanna Konta’s defeats at somewhere abroad. She had resorted to a bottle of Gribley’s Whizzbang Tonic Wine and seemed unimpressed by my Reed Wobbler. Such is life.
 
And now, dear friends, I must turn my attention to next year’s State visit by the President of the United States. There is much planning to do.
 
From what I know of him, Mr Trump seems to be – and I must choose my words very carefully here – a bit of a chump. The young man with the wire in his ear called him a “ definite knobhead”, whatever one of those is.

Nonetheless, the young man with the wire in his ear is very excited by the prospect of co operating with the President’s security arrangements. As he said to me as I was crossing St Botolph’s off my rubbing list, “Some of those guys carry TWO Ruger .375s !” He is also beginning a review of yours truly’s personal protection. I am not looking forward to wearing a lead-lined cope. But we must do what we must do.

Pip, pip,

Yours truly

Justin.