WAKING in Hyde Park on a scorching summer afternoon, I realise I am surrounded by not my customary empty rum bottles alone but also my discarded mitre and cassock. 

Thoroughly sunburnt, clad only in boots and a thong. I gather my raiments and return to Lambeth where I am made aware that pictures taken as I slept have been shared widely on social media, to much merriment.

Consequently Sunday’s service, normally a sparsely attended affair, is packed to the rafters with the young and curious. As I conduct the service I feel my newfound flock’s enthusiasm palling.

‘Oh, what the hell,’ I declare, remove my cassock and displaying my red-raw naked body, with only the line of my thong white, to the congregation. A mighty cheer goes up and the rest of the service goes off with a swing.

Returning to my chambers I have my clerk instruct vicarages across England to follow my example to boost attendance, before I read that Nadine Dorries is furious that a working-class Liverpool woman like herself has been denied a peerage.

Jumpstart my tits by wiring them to Megatron, I know the honours system is so fucked it’s a embarrassment to be in receipt of one nowadays but what in the holy name of Christ’s bollocks makes you think an ignorant, malignant, risible, vain, slurring, pathologically shameless, twat-infatuated, wrong-as-fuck spacewaster like you deserves a place in the fucking House of Lords? Working-class? To be working-class you actually have to do some work, and you’ve done fuck all of that! Yeah, the people of Liverpool are right behind you, that’s why they don’t vote Tory! That’s why they’ve stopped buying The Sun! Because they’re disgusted with the way ‘our Nadine’ has been treated! Stupid fucking twat!

A band’s tour programme reads: ‘Not many bands in music history have started their career with seven albums of such high quality. Doing all that while evolving and expanding the sound makes it even more impressive. We might even have to start talking in terms of The Beatles.’ The group in question is the Arctic Monkeys.

The advantage of being an Archbishop and working in an Abbey and shit is that when I read something like this I’ve got immediate access to a fucking aisle to roll in! Arctic Monkeys? The fucking Beatles? We’re not even talking The Monkees! Generic, tediously hairy, crashing guitar bores if ever I heard them! Running the full fucking gamut of rock shittiness from Shit’s End to Shit O’ Groats! The Arctic Monkeys? The Arctic Cunteys more like!

The Daily Mail, which described the privileges committee’s inquiry which found Boris Johnson had repeatedly misled parliament as ‘vindictive’ and ‘spiteful’, has reportedly hired Boris Johnson as a columnist.

Really? Good luck trying to get that lump of greedy, lazy, unkempt, psychopathic scum to write the fucking thing! Requires more physical effort than a staged ten-yard jog around a fucking hedge for TV cameras! And good luck trying to get anyone whose brain isn’t a boiling, misfiring cake of privileged fury to read it! Kids. If your grandparents are still reading the fucking Daily Mail – sitting in their fucking conservatories in their fucking pullovers reading the fucking Daily Mail – feel free to batter them with their own garden gnomes, then get power of attorney and have the bastards sectioned! That rag is a cancer on the fucking country!

Finally, it seems former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi has died at the age of 86.

Fifty fucking years too late – pity there’s no God, as the Pope said to me on a Zoom chat – but still, fucking brilliant! I shit on your grave, Berlusconi! I charter a helicopter and shit on your grave from a great fucking height! There’s a three-berth cradle in the hottest depths of Hell, surrounded by boiling rivers of fire, and Trump and Johnson’ll be joining you there soon enough. But you’re the first to rot in it, you festering pillar of world-worsening wank!