Of barmy Bishops and predatory poofs

HAILSTONES the size of golf balls are bouncing off the car, the dog was herded outside for a wee and promptly blew over and the bloke next door is in tears at the thought of having to leave for his Lake District camping holiday tomorrow.

Yes, folks, it’s global warming.

Except it isn’t, really. According to the Bishop of Carlisle – who should know after his own flock floated away a couple of years ago – we’re suffering all this biblically bad weather as God’s judgment on society’s moral degradation.

“This is a strong and definite judgment,” said the Right Rev Graham Dow. And it’s the poofters and their silly gay weddings that are to blame. “The sexual orientation regulations are part of a general scene of permissiveness. We are in a situation where we are liable for God’s judgment which is intended to call us to repentance.”

(I don’t know what possessed him to say it. Perhaps he’d been out on the lash with the Bishop of Southwark.)

But there you have it. According to the clergy, if George Michael could please just stop hanging around public toilets until the floodwaters have gone down a bit, there are some people up north who’d be very grateful.

Or perhaps it’s God’s judgment on South Yorkshire. Imagine a giant Monty Python-style megaphone parting the clouds and a voice booming: “Spend less money on pies and bingo and more on household insurance, you tight buggers! And that flock wallpaper at 33, Whippet Crescent, Doncaster, really didn’t go with the DFS leatherette suite anyway.”

Stand by for the plague of frogs.

IT HAS never been hard to tell the difference between Mr Gordon Broon and a ray of sunshine. He can pretend to smile all he wants, but that dark, brooding, dour presence – prudence and Presbyterianism – sucks all the fun out of a room like one of Harry Potter’s Dementors.

So we turn to his list of Big Ideas revealed this week. OK, he might have decided that he doesn’t want the Prime Minister to have the sole right to declare war, or choose bishops (although we could obviously do with some new ones), and he wants us all to stick a bloody great flagpole in the middle of our gardens and display the Union flag (you don’t fool us, mate; you’ll always be a Porridge Wog to us).

But what about the secret agenda, the things he doesn’t want you to know about? I can exclusively reveal that these include the Maypole (Demolition) Act 2007, the Birthday Cake Candle Banning Act 2008, the Abolition of Kite-Flying Act 2009 and the Sherry Trifle (Licensing and Portion Control) Act 2010. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

OF COURSE, if our Bishops are allowed to cite the vengeance of God when it comes to pillorying poofs, it’s only fair to allow Muslims to call down the wrath of their God when it suits them as well. And if that means driving a burning Jeep into the terminal at Glasgow Airport, then we can’t really argue about it - although it brings a whole new meaning to the phrase: “Let me through, I’m a doctor.”

(I thought that joke might be a bit over the top until Radio Five Live actually used it as the introduction to their news programme one evening. No, really. There’s also a line here about there being no chance of finding the martyr’s traditional 72 virgins in Glasgow, but we’ll leave that one to John Humphrys and the Today programme. The Daily Telegraph has already done the one about there being a six-month wait to see a terrorist.)

While most people seem a bit baffled as to why half a dozen doctors should suddenly decide to try to kill thousands of innocent citizens of all faiths and races, I’m more concerned about the behaviour of some of them before they went postal. One was described as a “mystery man who seemed to lack interest in being a doctor … he would disappear for long periods during the day to pray or log on to Arabic websites.”

Well excuse me. Who was managing this man? Most of us wouldn’t get away with swinging the lead in such fashion. If we spent all day at work on Facebook (or the female Arabic version, NoFacebook) we’d soon get the sack. Yet this bloke just seemed to doss around and no-one said boo to him.

Secondly, you worry about the intelligence of these so-called well-trained medical professionals. We’re in the middle of the wettest summer since records began, yet they go and buy 137 barbeque gas cylinders from B&Q and expect not to be noticed. No wonder hospital patients (usually smokers) often come home with the wrong leg cut off.

Finally, we must also consider the impact that the removal of this number of staff from the NHS will have on waiting lists. With every foreign doctor at risk of being locked up at any second, and with the McCanns still on bloody holiday, you’ll be fortunate indeed to have that in-growing toenail sorted out before Christmas.

BREAKING NEWS: Liverpool’s John Lennon airport was closed for six hours today after police found a suspicious car parked outside. It was taxed, insured and still had its radio.

JUST ABOUT every snap of Alan Johnston being released from captivity had him pictured with a mobile phone clamped to his ear. But what was the call, apart from “You have 2,976 new messages”?

I suspect it went like this: “Listen, Big Brother. I’ll come in for £100,000 a week, but I want a guaranteed go on the dim twins. Oh, and for another £25k you can chain me to a radiator.” Such is modern celebrity.