Upon recently hearing that the Priest of Prostate, little Peter Ould, had left the lovely Hertfordshire Church which he made internationally famous as the world’s leading (and quite possibly only) Conservative Institute of Biblical Bum-fun, and moved to Canterbury, I quite naturally assumed it was because the Archbishop-of-Archbishops had finally realized it was high time he moved on and let someone who knows everything have a go at the job. Either that or one of His Grace’s aides-de-camp persuaded him to relax a little, and brought in a young Clergyman with the skill to really get those eyebrows twitching.
Consequently, My Beloved Sinners, you can all imagine my utter horror when it was explained to me that little Pete hasn’t been promoted to higher (or lower, depending on one’s perspective regarding such matters) service. No, the shocking truth is that the Rev. Peter Ould and his favorite gland have moved because he is unemployed.
Not of course, that there is anything inherently shameful about that. Not even for a young Conservative who has frequently spoken of his admiration for St. Baroness Margaret Thatcher. After all, if unemployed people were really as terrible as she made them out to be she wouldn’t have created so many of them. Even I have been unemployed on a number of occasions, generally just after being released from incarcertation. Although there was the time when I felt called to explore the Rastafarian side of my spirituality, but given the cut-throat jealousy of the world of Conservative Blogging it’s probably better we don’t mention that. Besides, there’s absolutely no proof I ever inhaled.
Mind you, if I recall what happened when one of My Dearly Beloved Sinners found himself unemployed, the appropriate thing to do on such occasions is to publish a piece at Viagraville making all manner of outlandish allegations concerning their circumstance. After all, given that many people are unaware of the true reason little Peter has left Christ Church, it would surely better to better to set the record straight before tongues really start wagging – if I may be excused for using a not entirely palatable metaphor given the number of prostate references already in this homily.
Thus my advice is that littlest Pete instructs his brother Dobby to post something outlandish and utterly untrue, in order to dissuade people from engaging in further speculation. Such as, for example, that the lad was caught in flagrante delicto with the quintessentially equine Lisa Nolland. Although on second thoughts, perhaps not. People would never believe such a thing: Dr. Nolland's standards are higher than that. Nor does she have a prostate.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.