Hullo,
Justin here.
Oh my goodness – where to start? Just as I was coming to terms with my need to deliver sermons with rather more vim and vigour than hitherto, I am confronted with depressing world issues which demand responses.
Let me begin with Mr Donald Trump, the American would-be president so apparently beloved by an alarming number of his fellow countrypersons. I have listened attentively to his policy speeches and sadly, can only assume that he is conducting a rather long-winded practical joke, or indeed, that he is a narrow-minded super-rich bigot. My Mr Hassan and the young man with the wire in his ear have both offered their opinions but I simply cannot publish them here.
And I do feel for the poor Port Talbot steel workers and their families. It is indeed ironic that the owner’s name, Tata, is a diminutive of “goodbye”. I do hope not.
But as my lady wife will attest, I have been plunged into the slough of despond by England’s cricketing loss to the West Indies. Frankly, I am not a fan of the limited 20 over version of the game with its rather brutal hit and hope philosophy. For me at least, a game between two teams of professional cricketers should last three days. It should be interrupted at least twice by rain and/or bad light. Batsmen should score thoughtfully, glancing the ball delicately, unencumbered by body armour and high-impact helmets, whilst the crowd should be large enough to be heard occasionally , never indulge in coarse shouting and never rejoice in names like “The Barmy Army”. But those days are dear, dead and beyond recall. Nevertheless, I do feel for honest toilers like Ben Stokes – so reminiscent of the fast-bowling village blacksmith of days gone by and who was clouted for six four times in his final over.
What would Jesus have done? Well he would probably have stoically accepted the result and moved on. Which is exactly what I shall do. There is much to arrange here at the Palace especially with regard to the imminent Palace Spring Fayre. I shall need all my diplomatic skills to avoid the inclusion of events like The Archdiocese Wet Tee-shirt Contest and a performance by a local pop-group called, apparently, “God is Dead”
Pray for me.
Pip, pip,
Justin
