And in our studio this morning, we have the Bishop of Southwark, with thought for the day. Good morning Tom. “Erm. Thank you, erm. We all have to face questions in life. Some questions fill us with existential horror: ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, bishop?’. Some questions just seem impossible to answer; ‘ Why is this man shouting at me? Why does he think it’s his car? Where did I get this black eye? How did I get home last night?’ Sometimes, you know … Sue … We give the wrong answers. ‘I am the Bishop of Southwark. That’s what I do.’ seems not to be the answer that Jesus would have given."
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Meta
I am, for some reason, reminded of the limerick:
A habit obscene and unsavoury
keeps the Bishop of Balham in slavery;
while wrapped in warm towels
he buggers young owls,
which he keeps in an underground aviary.
The Diocesan Bishop of Southwark
Had just the one glass. Then anothwark.
“Swot I do!” said his grace
as his journey of faith (*)
Led to Merc-ier deeds in the borouwark
The Southwark episcopal leader
Enjoyed German cars – Mercs and Beemers
Lama sabachthani?
Cried the sozzled old swami
As one owner made him ex cathedra
R
On a surely entirely unrelated note, a friend writes to me about a very distinguished journalist at the Tablet party in the Travellers’ Club last week: “I fell into the company of an extremely pissed XXXXXX instead, which was almost as bad. ‘Come on, let’s go and have something to eat,’ he said leading three of us to a (very bad) Italian restaurant, ordered his food, went to the loo and was never seen again. He rang me this morning somewhat abashed to say he suddenly felt so tired and emotional that he walked out onto the pavement to get some fresh air and got a taxi instead…” At least it was a taxi and not a gangster’s mercedes.