Sunday, 18 September 2011

The Church of Jonesy

My radio alarm wakes me up to the soft tones of Aled Jones, conducting his weekly sermon on Radio 2. Gaw'd bless his delusions, Aled exists to trickle treacle over troubled souls at the ungodly hour of six on a Sunday morning. My own fault, I suppose, for leaving the alarm set.

Still, I'm up now and it got me thinking. While I have absolutely no respect for your, or anybody else's religion, which after all is a deluded and lazy attempt to pass the buck. I have noted-bene the power of various churches to exert undue influence on the gullible. To pretend all will be well in some vague, far-off Nirvana (but in the meantime if you wouldn't mind topping some infidels we'll hold your place in the queue) is brain-washing par-excellence. And mind how you go, sonny, else you're bound for oblivion. Carrots and sticks; religion, I like your style.

Karl Marx had a point. An opiate for the people is exactly what I had in mind and - forget soma* -what better drug than a stealth opiate in the form of mild-mannered Jonesy. So, that's settled, I'm all for religion. A religion. State-approved, with proper rules, hellfire, fury and a bit of smiting. Lots of woe-betides and plenty of thees and thous in the text (which I'm working on; I might call it The Wholly Bibble). Treacle on the outside, torture on the inside. Just the ticket.

Attendance will be compulsory on a Sunday morning from 0800 until 1100, after which everybody goes home for a proper roast and a doze in front of the telly. That's law and order and civil obedience taken care of for the best part of a day. Any absentees better have a good, reasoned excuse; those who do may well get jobs in authority, those who can't think of one will be up for a public punishment of some kind. I'm sure the old religions will provide plenty of suggestions.

See? I'm nothing if not reasonable. Plenty of reasons for all to do the right things and plenty of incentives to stay on the straight and narrow. One religion, one god (I'll get him a better name, obviously) and one set of rigidly enforced rules. And because your reward is post-mortem, pretty cost-effective too.

So, that's my Sunday morning labours over and I see that it is good. Now, where's that light switch?

(*cf: Aldous Huxley)


  1. Sir, assuming I am permitted to address you in such a familiar manner ( if not, my most humble apologies Your Majesty), but I was wondering if the crisps & vino would still be available at your Sunday morning bash & whether you would grant leave of absence on a good RASP forecast or decent Westerly ?