Devilodge bans the Gideon Bible

The hotel chain Devilodge has announced that it will be removing the Gideon Bibles supplied to its guest rooms, "in order not to discriminate against any religion".

Too discriminatory for Devilodge.

It is thought that they originally planned to replace them with copies of the secularists' Guardian Bible, written by Laurie Penny, Owen Jones, Giles Fraser and Simon Jenkins, but, thanks to the good folk at Scarfolk Council, we have come across some other books that will replace the Gideon Bible.

Muslims can of course ask for the Koran, but here is an alternative that can be requested by ticking the appropriate box when you book online.

For the more militant traveller.

Satanists, too, are welcomed at Devilodge, and here is a book for them.

A good read.

Finally, with Calvary-Chapel types, such as my brother Bosco, in mind, here is something for the Evangelical Christian.

Getting ready for the big day.

Thanks again to Scarfolk Council for some brilliant ideas.

Graven images

We had two particularly interesting reactions to the piece on the (British) Ten Commandments: one, from Archdruid Eileen, wondered how many commandments there really were, and what they were exactly (Beaker Folk and Catholics having a different way of cutting up those stone tablets into handy soundbites). Bruvver Bosco made a similar point in the comments to the piece:

Ha ha, you used the catholic ten commandments brother Eccles. Notice how the 2nd commandment has been changed. They got rid of that pesky "do not make or worship or bow befor graven images." My hats off to the catholic church. That takes guts to get rid of commandments they don't like. So come on all you faithful cathols...its Ok to bow befor any and all graven images. Hold on to them tight...that trip to hell can get breezy.

The Calvary Chapel, with its graven image of a dove.

Regular readers of this blog will know that Bosco is a member of the Calumny Chapel, and he kisses a cement dove before he goes to bed each night. Apart from that, he is very tough on graven images - for example he threw out a photo of our Anti Moly just in case anyone in the house was tempted to bow down and worship it.

Not to be worshipped.

Still, as someone on a continuing spiritual journey, I do have a question to ask of the experts. "Graven" seems to mean "engraved" or "sculpted", like Bosco's cement dove. Are paintings and photographs evil? Or only if you worship them? Here's another test case, a 1938 painting of Catholic bloggers Fr Tim Finigan and Mrs Caroline Farrow as children (haven't they worn well?)

Does this break the 1st (or 2nd) commandment?

Our old friend Damian Thompson is known to worship cupcakes: indeed, he has written a book on addiction, and how he attended Cupcakes Anonymous meetings in a vain attempt to break himself of this habit. We did think he was now cured, but last time I went round to see him, I found him kneeling before the graven images below.

A clear breach of the commandments.

Well, the general consensus - Bosco and the Muslims aside - seems to be that making images is not the real problem, so much as worshipping false gods; and that is taken care of by the first commandment.

"He just worships that bicycle..."

Et in terra pax

This has been a very good Christmas season for me, as lots of people with whom I disagreed violently have contacted me to admit that I was right all along. To avoid embarrassment, or people checking my claims, I cannot name any names, but here are some heart-warming messages I have received.

Professor D, who wishes to remain anonymous.

A retired professor at a well-known Oxbridge University (which isn't Cambridge) has e-mailed me to say that after reading my blog he has come to the conclusion that I was right all along, and that atheism is bunk. It is embarrassing for him to come out in public and say this, as he runs a "Foundation for Reason and Science" of which the main purpose is (i) to say how wonderful he is, and (ii) to promote atheism. Still, he is hoping to change the name of his foundation when nobody is looking.

Spot the difference!

I then received a Christmas card from another professor, living somewhere near Roehampton, who also feels that it is egg-on-face time. "How could I have been so wrong when I wrote my book God's Mother, Eve's Advocate?" she asks. "Did I not realise that it was in direct contradiction to all mainstream Christian teaching since the first century?"

It's never too late to make amends.

Another distinguished person who contacted me over Christmas was someone who - to spare his blushes - we shall refer to simply as Paul Mirkwood. "You have opened my eyes to the possible richness of liturgy and music," he told me. "Apparently, there's more to worship than singing 'Alleluia-Moo-Moo'." I have put him in contact with the composer James MacMillan, who thinks that it may not be too late to retrain Paul as a musician.

Were sinister plots hatched in this shed?

Of course 2013 was a year in which I was stalked, harassed, calumniated, and generally insulted on Twitter. How I wish I could share with you the fulsome apology I received from a deacon who was to blame for much of this. At 4 a.m. he stood in the street outside my house, yelling, "Eccles, for months I accused you of running dozens of sockpuppets, including Damian Thompson, a lady journalist in Hove, a donkey-breeding teacher in Spain, a midwife, Spock of the Enterprise, Fr Ray Blake, and Fr John Zuhlsdorf. I now realise that I may have exaggerated slightly. Will you ever forgive me?"

"In Cappella Calvariæ nulla salus."

Of course I forgave the deacon, and no sooner had I done this than my dear brother, the first person ever mentioned on this blog - whose name I will anagrammatise to "Scoob" so that nobody can identify him - grabbed me by the hand and said, "Eccles, I have been considering the words of St Cyprian of Carthage, In Cappella Calvariæ nulla salus ('No Salvation in the Calvary Chapel'), and I now realise that I am not as saved as I thought I was."

"Scoob" is baptised, as a first step to Salvation.

More e-mails flooded into my inbox. A Telegraph journalist (the only clue I shall give this time is the word "custard") apologised for blocking me on Twitter - he said that reading my blog made him realise that his own efforts could never be as spiritually nourishing. Phantom Domains (anag.) you are forgiven.

Last, and definitely not least, and this one may even be true: I have been nominated for another award by the great Jessica Hof. I must blog on this separately.

Eccles in New York

I is makin a visit to New York, which is where my bruvver Bosco been hidin recently - de UK aint reely welcomin to poeple wiv his unique tallents. Since my camerra got broken I has had to steel some phottos off de Internet.

I saw dis in de Musuem of Modern Art. It's a man listenin to Paul Inwood's music.

I will try and concentrate on de more spiritaully nuorishin sights dat Bosco and me has seen. New York is of course de place where Cradinal Dollan hangs out, and here is a photto of dis well-nuorished man.

"Joe Biden says he's a pious Cathlic."

Actaully de St Patrick Cathedral is all covered in scaffoldin right now, as de masonry became unsafe when Cradinal Dollan conducted a funeral there and started laughin thunderuosly. But here is a pitcher of what it looks like normally.

St Patrick's Cathedral before de Cradinal luaghed.

I went to de Holy Innocents church, West 37th Street. Bosco aint very good at countin, so we took a hymn book wiv us to help us work out where 37 is rellative to de uvver nubmers. Anyway, at dis church dey had a Tridentin Mass. Lattin Masses is very useful in a city where de local vernacooler aint easy to understand. Dere was a parallel translatoin into New Yorkan, which was all about de Lord bein a cool dud wot kicks ass: dat must be de time when He rode into Jerussalem on Plam Sunday.

For de non-Cathlics dere is plenty of uvver churches. My bruvver Bosco's spiritaul needs is very simple so we went to Times Square and participated in a Calumny Chappel service.

Eccles and Bosco sings "We is saved pussons" in Times Square.

De one disappiontment so far is de Statue of Libberty, which aint as impressive as poeple finks. It's de same probblem wiv de little mermaid in Copenhaggen, dey needs to get a big mermaid.

Statue of Libberty. Dis iddle punched Bosco when he kissed it.

Well, dat's enuogh suovenirs of New York. Wot shall I blogg on next? De world aint been doin much dat's very eddifyin, just now, has it?

Annuvver luvvly paintin from de Musuem. Is dey saved pussons?

The World will end on Friday

A sermon from Pastor Noodle of the Calumny Chapel.

The big question today is: will the World be ending on Friday, 21st December 2012 when the Mayan Calendar comes to an end? At first I was sceptical about this theory, but, when I went into the newsagents and asked the assistant for a 2013 Mayan calendar, she said that they were unavailable, and then I knew that there might be trouble.

My current Mayan calendar (as you can see, we're running out of time).

Although Mayan worshippers are almost certainly not saved people, all the evidence is that the world is coming to an end. Here are some of the amazing signs I have noticed:

• The Pope appears on Twitter as @Pontifex and says Armageddon is next Friday, my dear friends. Don't miss it! LOL.
• David Cameron is definitively named as the Anti-Christ by a group of archbishops, especially trained to look out for Him when He arrives.
• Paul Inwood writes a new Apocalypso chant, It's the Beastie, it's the Beastie, it's the Beast, 6-6-6, for use in Portsmouth whenever Bishop Egan isn't looking.
• Catherine Pepinster converts to Catholicism, smashes her statue of Hans Küng, and swears loyalty to the Pope.

I have brought with me an object that contains much spiritual nourishment, and a certain amount of mystery. It's a pot of "Naise," an oil that some sects use in a ceremony of unction. The jar carries the apocalyptic message that Only the "Best" will be brought out. Make sure that includes you!

Mayan "Naise." Note the significance of "Hell, man!"

Another Mayan relic has been sighted that is worthy of mention. Let me introduce her with some lines from her Christmas poem, Amazing Peace:

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.

Yes, it's the great Maya Angelou, the woman with a tin ear for rhythm, a very vague idea of spirituality, but a gift for alliteration.

The Mayan Angelou - a sign that the world is ending.

These are exciting times, brothers, and you are advised to be ready for the End of the World. Remember that money and personal possessions will be of no use to you from Friday. So, in order to improve your chances of being saved, I suggest you leave them with me.

I shall be away next Sunday.

Near-death experiences

In view of a near-death experience claimed by Dr Eben Alexander, which is the basis of his new book Proof of Heaven, we asked some of the regular characters appearing on this blog to describe their own near-death experiences.

---

Bosco, worshipper at the Calvary Chapel, and saved person.

Hello, could I speak to Jesus, please?

Eccles, you poor sick monkey, I had a rotten experience when I tried to save a convent of nuns, and I was badly beaten up by them. As I lay in hospital, near to death, I found that I was standing outside the Gates of Heaven, explaining to St Peter that all Catholics were idolaters, and should be sent to the Lake of Fire. "I am saved, even more than you are," I told him. "I've come for my throne and my golden crown."

St Peter is shocked by Bosco's blog.

"Ah, Bosco," said St Peter. "I've been reading your blog, and we've got a totally different fate for you..."

---

Damian Thompson, formerly a religious journalist.

Damian is the one alone at the front, whom nobody else will talk to.

The first thing that struck me about St Peter, when I saw him, was that he was putting on weight. In fact, the whole tone of Heaven was very disappointing, and I was totally unimpressed with the angels, who were definitely smirking at me. The music was not Gladys Mills plays Beethoven, as I had been led to expect, nor even something by my friend James MacMillan, but a dirge that sounded like an eternal repetition of "Alleluia Ch-ch."

Angels - what dreadful hair styles they have.

---

Moly, aunt of Eccles and Bosco.

A recent photo of Moly.

Well I don't believe in God or Heaven, but I did have a very strange dream last night when I finally dropped off. I was in Paradise, wearing my new Moly Number 5 cigarette- and gin-scented perfume. But I was surrounded by possums, all jumping up and down, and there wasn't a bottle of gin to be had anywhere. "It's endless torment for you," said a loud voice to me, probably one of those bullying traddy Catholics. Woeful.

Vicious possums. They're out to get me. I know it.

---

Father Arthur, of the Church of St Daryl the Apostate.

I'm a priest in good standing, you know.

Well, I wasn't going to stand any calumny from the man waiting for me at the Gates of Heaven, so I got my attack in first. "May I remind you, 'Saint' Peter, that as recorded in the 26th chapter of the book of St Matthew, and elsewhere, you denied Christ on no less than three occasions? Does that give you the right to comment on the behaviour of other people? I am a priest in good standing, with no time for your traditionalist ways. Haven't you people heard of Vatican II? Now clear off, and let me do your job properly for you."

The Last Judgement. But Fr Arthur will willingly give you a preliminary verdict.

Pussy-footing round Wallsingham

The story so far: Eccles (saved) and Anti Moly (unsaved) has gone to Wallsingham, where my dere bruvver Bosco (very saved) is tryin to save de suols of de piglrims wot turns up.

So it was a great surprise to see Bosco drivin north out of Wallsingham wiv a great truck full of tommato ketchop.

Bosco heads for de seaside

He was headin for a place called Wells-next-de-sea, so we went and fuond our chuaffeur, Dan Hannan, and gave chase. I should mentoin dat Hannan is a great expert on Shakespeare, and he has got nicknames for all of us: he calls Bosco "Caliban," Anti Moly "Hecate," and me "Fool" (dem's cruel words, Dan). Some time I will reveel what nickname he has got for Damain Thopmson, his employer. Any geusses?

Well, we got to Wells, where Bosco was preachin to an audeince of holiday-makers, explainin dat de Rapture is at hand, and dat dey aint saved like him. By some strange miracle, which Bosco aint gonna explain, de sea had gone all red, and Bosco says dat it was turned to blood. Which is a sign, innit, Bosco dere?

De North Sea has turned to blood.

Bosco says we is gonna see more signs dat de last days is at hand. I is wonderin what he means.

Anti Moly didn't like Wells, and instead showed us some snaps of de seaside at luvvly Pottymouth in Austriala, her home town. She is feelin a little homesick.

De seaside at luvvly Pottymouth

We returned to Wallsingham, and Bosco got himself into truoble. Dis time it wasnt de Cathlics but de Orfodox Church dat was de recipeints of Bosco's missionary activities. Did you know dat de Greek Orfodox church used to be a railway station?

One of de stations of de cross

Bosco decided dat de Wallsingham Calumny Chappel was gonna organize a "Pusey Riot" in de Orfodox Church. I aint reely understood dis, but I looked up on Wikkipedia who Pusey was, and he was an Angliccan. Dey dont worship iddles as much as de Cathlics and Orfodox does, so maybe dey is a bit more saved.

De Calumny Chappel's Pusey Riot.

Well, dis is likely to lead to all sorts of truobles, as churches doesnt like you goin outside de bounds of de litturgy. I remember once Damain Thopmson took us to a Lattin Mass and we had to say "Lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor." I fuoght it meant somefink like "I is washed in de blood of de Labm," but no, it means "Frow holly water over me, Farver." Bosco weren't too pleased at bein soaked, and he struck back.

Lavabis te, Fr Prescott

Anyway, never mind de remminiscences, I fink dis Pusey Riot of Bosco's is goin to have severe reppercussions.

Gohst writers

As I has alreddy mentoined, we is lookin for someone to gohst-write my Anti Moly's memiors. We has now had offers from de gohsts of three poeple wot knew her when she was a little girl. Each one has sent me a specinem of dere work, but I dont fink any of dem is quite what we wanted.

The trouble with aunts, by P.G. Wodehouse

"What a lovely day it is today, Jeeves!" I exclaimed, as my man shimmered into the room bearing a glass of the old Calvados Chapel brandy. "I am feeling particularly saved today, don't you know?"

"I fear that your Aunt Moly is at the door, sir" responded my man Jeeves. "That is why I am taking the liberty of fortifying you for an encounter with her."

"ECCLES!" screamed the aged relative, slamming the door behind her, grabbing my brandy glass, and hurling it through the window. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY WRITING THIS VILE AND SLANDEROUS BLOG OF YOURS WHICH I NEVER READ?"

Recently, to oblige my older brother Bosco, I had written a little blog explaining how the only way to salvation lies in being a personal friend of Jesus, and how Catholics in particular are doomed to the Lake of Fire. I inadvertently mentioned that the chaps in the Drones club are also tipping my dear Aunt Moly for a prime spot in the aforementioned L.o.F., and this is what seems to have riled her.

"But the disciple John says..."

"TELL THE DISCIPLE JOHN FROM ME THAT HE'S A FOOL AND A WOEFUL SOCKPUPPET," replied my aunt, laying me out unconscious with a solidly-bound Calvary Chapel Bible. When I came to my senses, my Aunt had left, and Jeeves was struggling to revive me.

The importance of being harassed, by Oscar Wilde

"So, Mr Pell, it is time you declared your intentions towards my sweet daughter Judith, known in Australian Society as the Rose of Pottymouth. Judy, dear, there is no need to choke the life out of Mr Pell; pray allow him to answer."

"Well, Lady Haddock, I scarcely know your daughter. We have exchanged but a few words since we met."

"There is no need for you to have an exchange of words, Mr Pell. There is only one thing more pointless than talking to Judy, and that is listening to Judy. Investing in a pair of earplugs is your surest route to marital bliss."

"But..."

"Mr Pell. Since I made Judith's father the happiest man in Pottymouth, he has confined himself to producing endless drafts of his magnum opus, his own suicide note. As yet, it is unfinished, despite my every attempt to bring it to a conclusion. Now, you will find that, like her mother, my daughter has enough conversation for two. Should you stay up until 5 a.m. one night, and think of retiring to bed, you will find that she is still chattering away, mingling her insults with her anecdotes in a tapestry of tedium which has brought her so many admirers."

"Mother, every time we meet he jumps into a billabong to get away from me. That's twice he's done it. Such is life, eh? Woeful."

"I fell in, Lady Haddock."

"Mr Pell, to fall into a billabong once may be regarded as a misfortune. To fall in twice looks like carelessness."

"But, Lady Haddock, I was hoping to train as a priest, with a view to becoming a bishop and eventually a cardinal."

"A PRIEST, Mr Pell? You would throw away the love of a gentle sweet maiden in order to follow the cult of a sky fairy? Are you no better than a Bronze Age goat herd, sir? I scarcely think that you are a fit person to wed my precious daughter Judith."

The case of the secular journalist, by Arthur Conan Doyle

"This case presents interesting features, Eccles!" said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as he perused the Telegraph website. "I have been consulted about the problem of a Catholic journalist, formerly known for his wittily acidic commentary on religious matters. This latter-day Swift has now given up all pretence at serious debate, and is dumbing down and writing banalities to please the masses."

"Could he be looking for a job on the Daily Mail?" I wondered. "All he needs to do is to start writing about celebrities and their baby bumps, and they will take him like a shot. That's what happened to Simon Heffer."

Holmes nodded gloomily to me, and injected himself with a 7% solution of Mother Odone's Elixir (guaranteed to help you escape from reality). Then he picked up his trusty Stradivarius didgeridoo, and boomed out a few bars of Elton John's haunting song "Candle in the wind."

"It's my own arrangement," said my friend, unnecessarily, as our neighbours started hammering desperately on the wall.

At that moment the door opened, and a wizened old lady entered, clutching a gin bottle and tunelessly singing "Roll me over in the clover, Roll me over, Lay me down, and do it again." She then cackled evilly and said "We've won! We've managed to kill Damian Thompson's interest in religion! Now the masses are forced to read Ruth Gledhill."

"These are deep waters, Eccles," said Sherlock Holmes. "This poor sad creature is not just the simple witch that she seems to be; rather, she is a professional blog-troll from Australia, although formerly employed as a cleaner in a molybdenite-processing factory. Look at her shoes, and you will see what I mean. Did I ever mention that I have written a small monograph classifying 2048 types of mineral dust?"

"Amazing, Holmes. Can this be the solution to the Thompson mystery which has baffled readers all round the world?" I asked.

"In part, Eccles," replied my friend. "But I would draw your attention to the curious incident of Vincent Nichols, when the Catholic church was under attack."

"But Vincent Nichols did nothing!" I said.

"That was the curious incident," explained Sherlock Holmes.

Bird watchin

My Anti Moly, who is a keen reader of dis blogg, said to me, "Eccles, dear, why doesnt you tell your faithfull public about me bein a keen birdwatcher, wot can tell a koot from a cookaburrer even when I has been drinkin? I fink it will stop dem from mockin me all de time. I is a twitcher, you know."

"I has notticed," I repplied. "Maybe you should lay off de gin a bit, Anti?"

She hit me wiv a fryin pan at dat point, I fink she been watchin too many Tom and Jerry cartons. So I went off to look at some old phottos dat Anti Moly has kept.

Dat's a photto of my dere Ant as a young girl in de 1930s (she's de one on de right), starin at a bird and sayin confiddently, "Um, dat's a rare speceis of albbatross, but dem traddy Cathlics likes to prettend dat it aint." Dat's in de days before Goggle and Wikkipedia, so she cuoldn't be omnicsient, like she is now. But even in dem days she had a wide knowlegde of our fevvered freinds.

Here is anuvver photto of my Anti as a young girl, watchin a bird. She says it may be a very big duck.

De bird watchin habit she got explanes de followin photto, which she has by de side of her bed for senttimental reasons.

She tells me dat it is Cradinal Pell, as a yuong man, trying to win Moly's affectoin by gettin her a Norwegain Blue parrott as a birfday present. I fink de parrott must have died.

I asked my Anti Moly wot was her favuorite bird, and she said, "Dey all tastes nice if you cooks em properly. When I was yuong my Mom used to give us stewed doddos, but den dey became extinct so we had to stop eatin em." She did confess a waekness for vulltures, cos dey picks over de remanes of corpses. Dat's a bit like what Anti Moly does when she comes to Damain Thopmson's blog and she replies to debates when everryone else went home six months ago.

Of course when I asked Bosco wot his favuorite bird was, he explaned dat to be saved you has to worhsip cemment doves like we does at de Calumny Chappell.

Dat's my dere bruvver Bosco wiv what he says is a real dove. But Anti Moly, de expert orthinologist, is sure dat it's a barn owl, so I dunno what to fink. Has Bosco and me been kissin cemment owls by mistake? If so, can we still be saved?

Rehearsin a play

Well we is all gettin very excitted about the Calumny Chappel Nattivity Play. But my big bruvver Bosco, who is cast as de back half of Mary's donkkey, is in a grate panick.
"Woss my lines?" he asked me. "I is a grate artiste, and I is saved, so I gotta give my message to de world." We explanes dat de rear ends of donkkeys aint normaly grate conversatoinalists, but Bosco has read de Bibble, and has heard about Balham's Ass in de Book of Nubmers, wot used to shout "Sockpoppet!" at him.

So Bosco feels dat as a grate acter he has got de right to express himself. "You aint saved, Mary you stuppid dame," he wants to say in a donkkey voice. "You is a grate sinner. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!" We is still workin on dis role. We doesnt want Mary to fall off de donkkey when Bosco starts brayin at her.

Meanwhile, we has fuond a missin fraggment of de Gopsel of St Luke, where he brings in a comick charactter for lihgt releif. Strangley, we fuond dis text on de printer in Anti Moly's bedroom.

1. And dere was abiddin in Nazzareth an old lady called Haddach wot said she was de Anti of de Verger Mary.
2. And lo! Haddach spent de nihgt in a vigill, wherein she screamed and shouted insullts at de passers-by.
3. Yeah, and she spake sayin "Traddy Sockpoppets! Verilly de sittuatoin is woeful! Such is life!"

Dere is uvver bits in de Bibble wot mentoins Haddach, for exammple when Jessus turns de water into wine at Canna, she is dere complanin dat He didnt make gin.

Dis could be Anti Moly's chance for starrdom. Now dat we has insertted dis fraggment into de Calumny Chappel Bibble (which is loose-leaff, so dat we can allso remove bits we doesnt like), we is ready to includ her in de Nattivity Play.

Farver Arfur (also known as Napolleon) is de third herro of dis blogg, even thuogh he is a Cathlic and not saved. He has assked to take part in our holly cosstume dramma, and we fink de part of King Horrid is taylor-made for him. When de wise men comes in and says "Ullo! We is wise men! We has got a B.A. in camel-ridin," he tells dem dat dey is evill rotten sinners for prettendin to be wiser than him.

Arfur is lookin forward to his big sceene, where King Horrid gets to massaccre de innocennts, especailly as he explanes dat dey wasnt innocennt at all, but was guilty of committin lotsa sins listed in de Catacoms of de Churhc, such as bein Traddie Babbies and committin de sin of Subbtraction.

Dis is one of dem evil babbies, dat Farver Horrid is gonna be massacring, and I am sure he desserves it.

Dey has found a part for me too, I is gonna be an angle of de Lord. Not de one wot says "Ullo, Mary, does you want to guess why I has bruoght you a pile of babby clothes?" but annuver one wot sings about Gloria in Exchelseas, dats Lattin, cos dem angles wos foriegners and cuoldnt speak propper English like us. It's all very excittin bein a grate acter.