I’m afraid, My Beloved Sinners, that my next few homilies are going to be brief, since I’m currently winging my way to London, on account of having been invited by a charming young lady I met on Chat Roulette to attend her grandson’s wedding. Naturally I’d request you all keep this confidential, since you how jealous my Conservative internet protégés can get. Also there’s a small matter of international security, as well as potential complications arising from the fact that my friend’s husband will also be in attendance.
Not, of course, that there is anything untoward about my relationship with Betty, whom I’ve actually known for a great many years prior to our chance reconnection. There we both were, happily clicking through the passing parade of interesting individuals one meets on Chat Roulette (my goodness, it’s not just time that so many of the gentlemen at that site have on their hands), when suddenly each of us immediately recognized the other, and it was uncannily as if tiny packets of data were passing between us through the internet. Naturally one thing led to next, as it so often does when two people have have so much in common as we do, and before you know she had arranged for me to be be enjoying what regular passengers on board British Airways refer to as the "Tom Wright" end of the plane.
Besides, “the Duke” as she calls her husband (clearly John Wayne enjoyed a bigger British following than most people realize), will have started knocking back the Chivas Regal Royal Salute (at just under $22,000 a bottle it’s the least British tax-payers can do) long before any of the guests arrive, and his minders will be far too busy trying to prevent him making small talk within earshot of the media to worry about a handsome old flame like me tomcatting around the royal pews.
But first we’ll have to get there, although so far the journey has proceeded smoothly. In order to avoid the paparazzi I’ve brought along an entourage (isn’t that what all celebrities do to remain incognito?), and while wishing us bon voyage Brother Richthofen mentioned to Bishop Quinine that if he misbehaved during the flight he’d be manhandled into his seat and handcuffed. Hence I was understandably fearful he’d find the temptation to act up more than he could resist. However by the grace of god he got away with shoplifting an iPad from the airport duty-free store, and thanks to the in-flight wi-fi has spent the whole trip happily downloading pictures of Donald Trump. At least it’s kept him quiet, but I think that perhaps Steve Jobs should have put the gizmo’s much vaunted oleophobic coating inside the screen.
Meanwhile I trust my other travelling companion, Evangelical Eric, is fairing equally well. Consuella was adamant that the temperature inside an aircraft’s cargo bay drops well below freezing at cruising altitude, so Brother Richthofen and his Friends from Seminary tossed in a blanket whilst stuffing him in his suitcase. Unfortunately just after takeoff I remembered reading something about there also not being any air in the hold, so I do hope the foolish Curate doesn't selfishly spoil this wonderful occasion by dying en route as a result of oxygen deprivation. Still, he is an evangelical, so provided any neurological deficits resulting from sustained hypoxia are restricted to his cognitive processes, there’s no real risk to his prospect of long-term ecclesiastical advancement.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.