Gloop – Goddess of Questionable Beauty Products

February 2, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

In ancient time the Goddess Gloop would lurk beneath the still surface of woodland pools. She lay in wait for beautiful youths to pause and gaze at their image upon the water as they passed. Gloop would raise her own face to where their reflection should be and maliciously mouth the words, “I could look better”. This encounter would drive those who saw her to a frenzied pursuit of aesthetic perfection and everlasting juvenescence. Throughout history she has driven the normally sane to extreme actions, such as painting their faces with white lead, taking arsenic pills to make their hair lustrous or dabbing the deadly Belladonna into their eyes. The dark irony is that (like many envious deities) she makes foolish mortals desperately desire what they already have, and then destroy the object in their pursuit to attain it. It may be this is a celestial caution against vanity and hubris, or it may be that this particular goddess is just a jealous cow.

The sect of Gloop run her temple, where they offer a wide range of beauty treatments and formulate a plethora of potions and lotions. These are sold to the faithful at prices which reflect the devotion of the acolyte, rather than the cost of the ingredients. The priesthood of Gloop must have no formal therapeutic or medical training. In fact anyone who has studied science after the age of 16 is barred from joining the sect of Gloop. (Only technically, because they have never had to enforce the rule in reality due to a complete lack of applications.) In order to give themselves credibility, the priests and priestesses bore lots of holes into the soles of their shoes. This allows them to legitimately describe themselves as “Holy Heelers”. They also eschew underwire bras and sunblock, making the older members of the priesthood recognisable by their scorched complexions, saggy boobs and decorative melanomas. The high priestess of Gloop is Miss Fanny Chandler, who is assisted in her duties by her deputy Miss Jade Eigg.

Gloop has millions of minor temples around the world, all regulated and supplied by her principle temple, located in the heart of scenic Gwynedd. As you enter this temple you will walk between two gushing springs. The first, which you will pass on your right, is the Fountain of Youth. (The other is the Fountain of Musical Youth, which you will pass to the left hand side.) Only the High Priestess (who must maintain a glowing image at all times) is permitted to take the waters of the actual Fountain of Youth. The sect of Gloop never allow its waters to be used for the beautification of the masses. They are far too permanently effective. They would make one sale per person, and that would be it. Instead, they use the waters of the Fountain of Yoof, which are only mildly effective and require constant reapplication, ensuring a healthy sales forecast. The Fountain of Yoof is located at the bottom of the temple garden, about two meters below the latrines. The temple gardens also house numerous thriving hives. Visitors to the temple will often gently catch a passing bee and tenderly cup it in their hand for a moment. Doing this is thought to make one’s baby-blues more sparkly and alluring, because beauty is in the eye of the bee holder. (Though most outsiders think they are just trying to get deliberately stung for some reason). The gardens are also home to Gloop’s herd of sacred cows, known as the “Deet Oxen”. Their milk is used in several of the temple’s treatments for its purgative qualities.

The interior of the temple is lit by thousands of luxury candles which, for some reason, give the sanctuary a distinctly Piscean aroma. At the centre sits a large altar, formed to look like an ornate vanity unit, complete with a large guilt mirror above. The accoutrements and unguents of the beauty ritual are displayed upon it. (Also a phial of nails, which is thought to be there due to an ancient spelling error, but it has now become traditional.) There are no clocks in the temple, because time is a crap beautician. Leading from the main nave are multiple offshoot chapels where specialist rituals are performed. Such as the Tabernacle of Tweezers, the Sanctum of Seaweed Wraps, the Chancel of Colonic Irrigation and the Apse of Anal Bleaching. Lastly, there are the workshops, where the priesthood secretly blend their hallowed balms and elixirs. These famously include teas and foods made from a rare and only mildly toxic fungus. Most people who try them find these fungi to be foul tasting at first, but I am told if you give them time, they’ll grow on you.

The goddess is said to reproduce by laying distinctive mottled green eggs. Her priests sell these for extortionate prices, with the promise that they will enhance one’s sexual wellbeing if inserted into your minkey-moo. However, this is a devilishly cunning ploy to turn the credulous into hapless hosts that incubate her spawn. The faith of Gloop does seem to be somewhat obsessed with the well-being of the hoo-hahs of their female congregation, and will go to great lengths to encourage everyone to have a buff muff. They often pressure devotees to take part in regular rituals which involve steam cleaning the pink frilly curtains. This is to ensure a ready supply of suitable surrogates.

Gloop’s sacred text is called, “The 10 Beauty Secrets Cosmetic Surgeons Don’t Want You To Know”. In order to read this scripture, one must first undergo a gruelling ritual of clicking on approximately one hundred online adverts whilst being force fed cookies. Though I have never been through the ritual myself, I have it on good authority that the prosaic enlightenment the text contained was really not worth the effort.

As they wish to preserve a graceful, unblemished, swan-like neck, followers of Gloop live in abject fear of vampires. To this end they usually wear a “Vampire Repellent Spray” which is somehow scented with gemstones. Maybe the vampires can smell rubies, onyx and tourmaline with superhuman undead olfactory perception. However, this is the only Gloop product for which there is significant evidence that it is effective. In the last 12 years there have been no confirmed vampire attacks on the followers of Gloop.

Gloop herself is especially comely, even for a deity. The secret of her beauty is said to be that she sleeps every night on a gargantuan pile of cash.

Please note: All deities are fictional, and any resemblance to actresses who are divorced from reality or members of Coldplay is purely co-incidental.

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
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Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

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Apostrophilia – Goddess of Grammar Pedants

January 26, 2020October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Whilst there may be fractionally older deities of language, Apostrophilia is the first deity of languages that made sense. Languages that one could use for more than negotiating the sale of your grain and goats. Language that one could use to express the kaleidoscope of human experience. In folklore Apostrophilia is credited with the invention of many useful devices. The most significant of these being the comma, which she is said to have forged from the mythical metal Grammarium in the fires of Mount Weasel. The comma instantly made the world a more civilised place. Way back in pre-history, before the inception of that tiny curvy dot, early humans loved hunting their children and family. Afterwards they loved hunting, their children and family. Which was much less icky.

Although her roots extend back into the ancient middle-east, Apostrophilia first rose to become a significant deity in Ancient Rome. (Sadly, only in a society in which slavery was endemic could and privileged few afford the time to really conjugate). The priesthood of Apostrophilia began to become organised, and to set the rules of language in stone. Literally. Helpful mnemonics are carved into the masonry all over her temples. Such as the slightly creepy, “Of things you’ve done the verbs will tell, like gaze and twitch and stroke and swell.”

When you visit Apostrophilia’s temple, there is a little ritual you must undergo in order to enter. One must knock twice, and a priest within will ask “Who’s there”. You must give the response “To”. This allows the priest the gratification of completely ruining the punchline by responding “To whom?” Thus satisfied, they will grant you admission. The owls that roost in the temple tower have overheard this ritual so many times that they all now hoot “Twit to whom”.

Once inside you can meet the temple panther known as “Claws” and the backup deputy panther called “Subordinate Claws”. When “Claws” passes away, “Subordinate Claws” will ascend to his post. Not, however, before a minute’s silence is held. There is always a pause at the end of a “Claws”.

Beneath the temple, extending in a hundred mile loop beneath the earth, is the Large Infinitive Collider or LIC. In one direction, a verb is accelerated to a pace approaching the speed of light. In the opposite direction the word “to” is impelled to a similar pace. The aim is to make them collide, splitting the infinitive, in hopes of discovering the Higgs-Adverb. It is hoped that the discovery of this “Goddess Particle” will explain why mankind keeps attempting to boldly go where no man has gone before.

Even deeper below the temple, beneath the LIC, lies the dreaded Gaol of Apostrophilia. Only the most dangerous life serving prisoners are incarcerated here. Such as those who cannot comprehend the affects or effects of their actions. They have been convicted following intense questioning during an orgy. A practice known as an “interabang”. The prison’s security is renowned. Prisoners never, ever get out. This is because you cannot end a sentence with a preposition.

All religions have at least one old dogmatic rule, that doesn’t really work in the modern age, and is only sporadically adhered to. The faith of Apostrophilia has hundreds of these. Possibly the most famous is that old chestnut “I before E except after C.” Spelling rules like this never really work because humans are gregarious and feisty. Therefore, many languages adopt weird foreign words from the sovereign tongues of their neighbours. So it is impossible to apply any kind of scientific method to it. Nonetheless, extremist Apostrophiliacs (known as “Grammar Nazis”) loathe atheists, and have declared their souls forfeit*!

Priests of Apostrophilia always serve in pairs. This is why they are known as Co-Rectors. They tend to be academic types who go pale and faint if taken out of the library and placed in the great outdoors. They are well known for being wan with nature. Their duties include officiating at rituals and running a pastoral proofreading service for their parishioners. This is done to ensure high linguistic standards are maintained. The service is extremely popular, and long queues usually form. Fortunately, if you are known to already have a good standard of literacy (and therefore your copy will be quite quick to check), you will be allowed to use the “Ten errors or FEWER lane”. They also run a counselling service where they will console a troubled mind by gently murmuring “There, their, they’re”, or reward personal progress by exclaiming, “Well, done? Well-done. Well done!”

As aficionados of literature, followers of Apostrophilia often stage classic plays in the temple hall. They once produced Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” with hilarious consequences. The ghosts of Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmas Future got their cues confused and walked on stage at the same moment! It was the most tense situation ever.

Most faiths have standardised ceremonies for life’s rites of passage. Births, weddings, burials and so forth. Apostrophiliacs are considered extremely progressive as they have a metaphorical rebirth ritual to celebrate gender reassignment. The transgender person is considered to have commenced the new phase in their life when, at the height of the ceremony, the Co-Rectors declare, “I now pronouns you (They/He/She)”, and the congregation applaud in joyful celebration. In stark contrast, Apostrophiliac marriage rituals come under heavy derision from critics of the faith. Each prospective partner must apply to the other in writing, including a CV and covering letter. These will be thoroughly proof read by the opposite partner’s family and the officiating Co-Rectors. Permission to wed will only be granted if both applications are flawlessly composed. There are dark whispers that this is a subtle and pernicious attempt to practice eugenics. It certainly makes it more difficult for the illiterate to breed.

All are welcome to join the faith of Apostrophilia. Except greengrocer’s and their really possessive vegetable’s.

* Dammit

Thank you to Robin Lawrence for suggesting Apostrophilia.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Glor-or-or-oror-oor-or-or-or-or-oror-ooor-or-or-or-oror-oria – Goddess of Over Achieving Carol Singers

December 24, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Glor-or-or-oror-oor-or-or-or-or-oror-ooor-or-or-or-oror-oria (let’s just call her Gloria for short) is the Goddess of all those people out there who love the festive time of year and love to sing. Especially those who actually poses some genuine singing ability, and therefore stick out like a wise man on Jeremy Kyle’s sofa amongst their fellow carollers. Though, I should make it clear, ability is not necessarily required to follow Gloria. Enthusiasm, however, is essential.

Gloria herself presents an imposing figure with huge….erm…lungs. She has a magnificent operatic soprano voice which, like bagpipes, is best enjoyed at a safe distance. Her impressive vocal projection is capable of warning any three ships that may happen to come sailing in away from any treacherous rocks hidden by fog. She often gives the impression that this avatar is merely a seasonal gig, and that she might spend the rest of the year ferrying the souls of warriors from the battlefield to the afterlife*. Her followers believe that whenever they gather to sign yuletide songs, if they raise the roof high enough, Gloria herself will descend from the heavens and join in.

Followers of Gloria strictly confine their acts of worship to the month of December. Singing the songs of Gloria outside of this time is only permitted by the inner circle of the priesthood within specially defined rehearsal spaces. In fact the only way one can spot a follower of Gloria during the rest of the year is if they attend a birthday party. They will be the one adding a harmony on the last line of “Happy Birthday to You”.

The true and proper words of the songs of Gloria are set down in her sacred text, The Uxbridge Book of Carols. Deviations from these verified scriptures is anathema to them. There is said to be a forbidden “Dark Text”, which contains heretical versions of Gloria’s hymns. These are rumoured include references to the transportation preferences of eastern monarchs, shepherds’ laundry night and Batman’s body odour affliction. This iconoclastic tome is known as “100 Carols for Pariahs”. If you are caught with a copy about your person, you will be ritually ostracised. This is done by the priesthood singing the “Being Sent to Coventry Carol” , before turning their parker clad backs on you.

Gloria’s temples are quaint Dickensian cottages surrounded by holly bushes and intertwined with ivy. The warm flicker of firelight glows through the mullioned windows, and the roof if always coated with a light dusting of snow.

Unusually, worship does not take place inside the temple building itself. The congregation will gather outside the temple door at twilight in their boots and bobble hats to sing the goddess’s praises with great gusto. Sometimes they will stand in a crowd around the porch, at others they will arrange themselves in single file (this is known as the sweet carol line). The flock carry the community spirit with them (in a hip flask). Only once a rousing rendition has been recited will the priesthood throw open the temple doors and invite the worshippers inside for a shared celebrative feast of wassail, mulled wine, mince pies, figgy pudding and special psychoactive substance laced Ding-Dongs which will get you merrily high. The doors are only opened once the priesthood judge that the congregation’s performance has been satisfactory. Sometimes wayward congregations have been known to get cold and impatient and begin belting out “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” with its passive aggressive demands that the clergy bring the refreshments out to them instead (and they won’t go until they get some).

Noviciates for the priesthood of Gloria are chosen and initiated into the noviciate at a very tender age. The senior priests attend every possible school nativity play and carol service, searching for any child who, when it comes to singing, gives zero fucks and belts out Silent Night like a Prima Donna. Despite the fact that the rest of their classmates are murmuring into their hymn books as they quietly die of embarrassment. (Incidentally, followers of Gloria have a special name for those heathen dissidents who whisper or merely lip-sync along to carols. The call them the “NÖel Cowards” dear boy.)

Christian based religions may be more familiar with this goddess as the pre-congregation Saint Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Whatever form you venerate her in, ultimately Gloria’s is a religion of joyful celebration, overcoming your inhibitions, joining in and bringing diverse people together in four part harmony. In that spirit, Gods rest you merry one and all!

With lots of love from Idol Scribblings. Xxx

*Well I suppose everyone needs a hobby.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Pyromess and Frisbee – Gods of Property Boundaries

December 15, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Some say that these two may be amongst the first of the gods. For as soon as there was more than one deity, then there must be a boundary between their dominions. It is said that where they drew the line, a mighty supernatural hedge of 100 meter high leylandeii sprang up. It remains there to this day throwing shade between the divine neighbours. They are also the gods of horizons and long running Australian soap operas. Maybe they could be the best of friends or even lovers in other circumstances, but they just can’t find any common ground.

Frisbee is a Goddess of Nature, and likes nothing better than to dry her washing and cavort au natural amongst the flowers in her garden. Just beyond the border Pyromess likes to use his garden to raise his sacred fire and choking smokes. His garden also houses a pet lion, kept purely to discourage Frisbee from popping over to get her celestial sphere back. In revenge, Frisbee purchased a large cock to wake him up in the mornings. In retaliation Pyromess kept racing pigeons (but gave it up when the pigeons kept winning). Then Frisbee started to refuse to trim her garden and developed a wildly overgrown bush which straggles onto Pyromess’s side. The climax of hostilities came when Frisbee stormed around complain about her underwear going missing from the washing line. She was so terrible in her ire that Pyromess almost pooped her pants. To be fair, Frisbee usually tries to discus things reasonably, Pyromess always tries to inflame the situation. They are both musical deities. Pyromess plays drums and Frisbee is a virtuoso on the bagpipes.

Temples of Pyromess and Frisbee are always built abutting one another, yet separated by a thin noise-transmitting wall. Inter-sects relationships between the clergies are permitted, but must be conducted through a single small hole in the party wall, made for this purpose. This ancient tradition is deeply revered, and before embarking on a conversation, one must first kiss the hole out of respect. As the divide between the temples is a Party Wall, it is furnished with a full PA, lights, a cocktail bar and a smoke machine. Sacred sounds are very important to both religions, and they often listen to each other’s music all night.

The Temple of Pyromess houses large, continually burning holy pyres on which green brambles, polystyrene packing and damp leaves are constantly piled. The Temple of Pyromess is always situated upwind of the Temple of Frisbee. Every Saturday morning his priests rehearse their chainsaw ensemble at 7am, which is worth seeing (if not hearing). In the Temple of Frisbee, the clergy all practice naturism at all times. Some Priests of Pyromess are angered by this, some are on the fence.

When visiting either temple it is customary to make an offering of a cup of sugar. If you attend their annual dual festival of “Hedgecutting”, you should bring an offering of Nescafe Gold Blend. This beverage is traditionally scarified to the deities on this day every year in the hopes that one day they will stop arguing and get it on. For the last two hours of the festival, the temples are subject to a ritual power cut with the same aim in mind. Perhaps it is best that they never procreate. They would probably spawn a hundred gobby offspring, with foul mouths and loud toys.

The ethos of both the faiths is to “Love thy enemy as much as thy neighbour, for they art probably the same person.”

Thank you to Dave Redford for suggesting Pyromess and Frisbee.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Hernia – Goddess of Over Exertion

December 1, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wherever life cruelly tries to make one bear more than one is capable of, Hernia is there. Often she will pop up in your life when you least expect it. However, it is said that if one wants to actively find Hernia, one should look under a lot of heavy rocks. In this way one can “find the Rapture”… …sorry that should be “find the Rupture”.

Her cult is a highly evangelical one. Her followers mesh together into a well run operation to plug Hernia almost constantly. They are somewhat monotheistic, believing that other deities aren’t a patch on Hernia. Sadly, her followers are sometimes known for being a bit xenophobic. In fact adverse reactions to foreign bodies are common.

The upper echelons of Hernia’s priesthood can be recognised by the way they always move with restraint. This is why every light bulb in her temple hangs blown but un-replaced. A common saying amongst them is “It is better to curse the darkness than curse in pain.” They are a very law abiding religion. It’s members live in fear of having to do a stretch.

The temple is generally in a worrying structural condition overall. There are many unsightly bulges in the walls. A visitor can receive hospitality there though, as round the back there is a hostelry known as the Lum Bar.

If you attend a rite at the Temple of Hernia, be warned. You won’t be receiving a sacrament or making a libation. Instead, at the key point of the ritual, the congregation queue up with their trousers round their ankles to stand before the High Priest, turn their head and cough. The current High Priest of Hernia is Father Buster Gutt. Being the High Priest of Hernia is considered to be a high risk job, as so many previous incumbents have been strangulated. Father Gutt is certainly often obstructed by the political schisms amongst his church.

If you ever turn up to find the temple closed, this is because the priesthood are celebrating the festival of Hiatus Hernia. During this time they take a break from all other priestly duties to play on their slip-and-slide and quaff flagons of Gaviscon.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Purdah – Goddess of Not Being Able To Speak Your Mind

November 17, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Purdah* is the Goddess of not being able to speak your mind. She is the daughter of Deliquesce the Goddess of Dissolution and Poll the God of Democracy. This Goddesses’ demure and modest appearance hides a razor sharp intelligence and some strong opinions, but we will never get to know what they are. She is outwardly apolitical in all things. Ideologically she stands as a paragon of fairness. Her sect is particularly popular amongst public servants and people who have a professional image to maintain. When two worshippers of Purdah meet, they will greet one another with a unique gesture where they each extend their tongue and bite down upon it.

The great festival of Purdah does not occur with any predictable regularity. However, it must not happen less than once in five years. It can take place at any time of year, but most often occurs in May. Unusually, this year the festival of Purdah is taking place in mid-December. This is, however, proving popular with worshippers, as most people were planning to choose their turkey around then anyway (and it’s given parents everywhere a “get out of Nativity Play free” card).

When a festival of Purdah is announced, all followers will receive a stern letter from the central church to remind them of the correct conduct during this holy time. From the time of the announcement until the end of the day of the festival itself, followers of Purdah maintain a strict vow of silence. That is, they are not allowed to talk. They still make a noise though. If you stand next to one and listen carefully, you will hear a low grinding noise from their dentures. (Their original teeth were worn down long ago.). During the run up to the festival they are also forbidden from doing the ironing. They have to avoid the press at all costs.

On the day of the festival of Purdah itself, all the children are given a day off from studying and temporary temples are set up in their schools. Outside each temple stands a phalanx of cute dogs waiting patiently to be photographed for the local newspaper. Spread on the floor in the centre of each temple there is a bulging and unsightly rug which appears to have a lot of things swept under it. My local temple’s rug has a strange lump in it shaped just like the Russia Report.

Each worshipper will visit their local temple at some point during the festival. On arrival, they will check in with the Servants of Purdah (priesthood) who sit behind a desk drinking tea and eating Hobnobs to keep their strength up throughout the long day. You are only allowed one visit to the temple per festival. The Servants ensure no one tries to visit twice, and generally maintain order and decorum. They do so with great gentility. They are very civil servants. Although they do not have “official robes” as such, they dress in bland and neutral clothing. Slogans on clothing and the colours red, blue, yellow and green are forbidden. The leader of the Servants of Purdah is always a re-incarnation of the same soul, this is why they are known as the “Returning Officer”.

The Servants of Purdah will give each registered worshipper a slip of paper when they arrive and tick them off the list. The votary will then retire to the privacy of a curtained booth where they will meditate and then write their prayer on the slip of paper. On leaving the booth, the prayer slips are ceremonially posted into an armoured black metal box. Once the temples close at the end of the long festival day, the priesthood will all go outside and shout, scream and generally swear their tits off with relief that it is all over.

One of the arch enemies of Purdah is the demon Kalamos Kleptomania, also known as the “Pilferer of Pencils”. Don’t worry. Kalamos can be easily defeated with a piece of string (or a bobble chain if you’re from a posh constituency).

*Purdah would like me to make one thing clear from the outset. She does not actually like her name. It was stolen and didn’t mean something very nice in the first place. She toyed for a while with being known as “Pre-Election Period”, but this didn’t work out as people kept mistaking her for a goddess of menstruation. Purdah would really prefer a melifluous moniker , so do let her know if you have a good idea for a new name.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Verruca – Goddess of Disinfectant Foot Baths

November 10, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Verruca is a deity from ancient history. She popped up shortly after the invention of the Roman Bath and has hung around for 3000 years. Once the sacred pools of Verruca were a common sight in public baths across the world. Nowadays her popularity is diminished and they are a rarer sight. Modern practices have frozen Verruca out. Worship of Verruca is now considered to be somewhat old fashioned and corny, but she still has the ability to make a splash.

Verruca has three avatars. First is the stunningly beautiful Mermaid (she just washed up like this), the bountiful Mermother and the wise and ancient Mercrone. Her consort is Speedo – God of Illegal Budgie Trafficking. Her arch enemy is the demon “Mankini”.

The Priests and Priestesses of Verruca also known as “The Life Guards” can be recognised by their skin tight Lycra vestments, the neat rubber caps that completely conceal their hair, the whistles hung around their necks and their pink eyes. All devotees, not just the priesthood, wear the sacred rubber sock of protection. The daily routine of a devout Verruca worshipper begins with a race at dawn to place their towel on the best sun lounger.

Verruca has a dark and strange mythology. Ancient historians recorded grizzly rites where human body parts were sacrificed to her. She was said to particularly favour offerings of athlete’s feet. Verrucan parents used to frighten their children into obedience with tales of a tribe of uncivilised and unhygienic barbarians known as “The Wild Swimmers”, who eschewed Verruca’s sacred pools and leaped fearlessly into any stretch of open water.

Modern worship is much less macabre and more enjoyable. One can float in her sacred waters and use your noodle to meditate on spiritual matters. In the back ground, the temple musicians (known as “The Arm Band”) will serenade you. It is customary to take a pound coin to Verruca’s temple as an offering when you visit. Please place your contribution in the slot on your locker.

Following the way of Verruca is said to be good for the sole. It is also said to be good for the body as her temple is a place of heeling. The 9 commandments that acolytes strive to adhere to are;

1. Thou shalt not run.
2. Thou shalt not push.
3. Thou shalt not perform gymnastics or acrobatics.
4. Thou shalt not shout.
5. Thou shalt not duck.
6. Thou shalt not engage in heavy petting.
7. Thou shalt not bomb.
8. Thou shalt not swim in the diving area.
9. Thou shalt not smoke.

Now that her popularity has waned, her priesthood run a breakdown service on the side called “Toe Trucks” to raise money to repair the temple’s fallen arches.

Thank you to Sarah Shepton (@afishoutofwtf) for suggesting Verruca.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Afrodite – Goddess of Fabulous Hair

October 13, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Afrodite is a goddess who knows how to work what her mother gave her. Legend has it that she stepped naked from a sea shell (Although when I tried this I was asked not to come back to the Sealife Centre. Double bloody standards if you ask me).

Afrodite has several different sects that worship her. The Pantenes, The Tresemmes, The Wellas, The Herbalessences and the oldest sect, The Vosenes (who consider themselves head and shoulders above the rest). Regardless of their affiliation, the priests and priestesses wear distinctive long black nylon robes, tied at the neck, which completely cover their other garments. This is topped off with a towel draped around the neck and secured with a plastic hair clip.

You may know her most popular hymn:

She is D divine
She is I incredible
She is S straightening
She is C curling
She is O oh, oh, oh

Key to the observances of all the different sects are the hours spent in meticulous ritual grooming. It is believed that a meditative state of a higher altered consciousness is achieved in the hairdresser’s chair. At her temples one can purchase meditation CDs of hairstylist conversation. Such as the classic “Have you had your holiday yet this year?” or “What did you think of last week’s Strictly?” to help you achieve this state of nirvana.

At the initiation ceremony into the faith Afrodite, the postulate will be anointed with warm sacred oil, and wrapped in a heated towel for fifteen minutes before being leaned backwards and ritually lathered and rinsed in the font (the last two steps will be repeated as needed). Then a priest or priestess will hold a mirror up behind them to scare away any demons they may be facing. At this juncture the neophyte will speak the words, “Great, cheers, thanks. What do I owe you?”.

Followers of Afrodite believe that when they curl up and dye they will climb the hair-way to heaven, provided they have been pious. The unkempt and unvirtuous will be condemned to Hairdes where they will be forced to forever style their Barnet with hair styx.

Afrodite’s sacred text is called “The Little Book of Clam”.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Semolina – Goddess of School Dinners

September 29, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Semolina watches over all forms of institutional food whether in schools, workplaces, hospitals or prisons. Basically, anywhere that barely non-toxic dull grey slop is doled out onto plastic trays. Semolina ensures a place in paradise for those who clear their own table. Fryday is her holy day, when eating chips is permitted. Usually depicted as a lady of middle years, with a slightly frazzled demeanour. Pink custard flows through her veins.

Her temple is furnished with long tables, dented metal water jugs and stackable plastic chairs. The high altar resembles a long counter. It may well be the only altar to feature a sneeze guard. Her priestesses stand behind the altar to deliver the service. Above the altar the acronym S.U.A.E.I.* is inscribed in chalk on a blackboard, along with the two choices for that day’s fare; Take-It or Leave-It. A typical rite lasts around half an hour and involves 25 minutes of queuing and 5 minutes to scoff down a sacrament.

Behind the scenes the signature “barely non-toxic dull grey slop” is created by processing vast quantities of fungus. This takes place in the mush room. This mess is supposedly specifically formulated to build healthy bodies whilst dulling excitable urges. In a modern bid for healthier eating, salads are now also served (the only other vegetable on offer is ketchup). It is considered very auspicious to find a caterpillar in your salad (as it shows that it’s real). It is considered a very bad omen to find half a caterpillar in your salad.

Though the entree may be a penance, the dessert is always divine. The closely guarded sacred texts of Semolina house the secret recipes for childhood delights such as Chocolate Concrete and Gypsy Tart (these dishes were named to downplay their deliciousness to those not initiated into the religion). The recipes are, in fact, all very similar. They mostly involve using evaporated milk to glue sugar together.

Priestesses of Semolina can be recognised by the wearing of the Holy Hair-Net of Cantina. They undergo rigorous training before their ordination, including learning to make ice cream in little plastic pots at sundae school and how to inject jam into a donut. One should always treat the priests and priestesses of Semolina with great deference and respect as they will be touching your food and deciding your portion. They are renowned for strictly enforcing proper behaviour inside their temple. They are a fearsome foe to the rowdy. People who transgress from correct behaviour will be sent to the back of the line. A food fight is considered to be a holy war. The current High Priestess is Marie Bain.

Many high profile professional chefs have attempted to reform the faith of Semolina by improving their culinary skills of the priesthood. Though some seemed to make initial headway, all ultimately failed. They are however, warmly respected for at least trying. The faith was perilously threatened some business investors who attempted to take over and run Semolina’s temples for monetary gain. These people were eventually cast out and are now derided as false profits.

The ethos of the faith of Semolina is that all within an institution will be united in solidarity by the hatred of the food. From the pupils, through the IT department who drop in for a quick byte, to the Maths teachers who come for
a meal². They are all bonded in a universal loathing and so community spirit is fostered. Some say that following the way of Semolina is a piece of cake…
…but only if you’ve finished your vegetables.

Thank you to Xander Kennard for suggesting Semolina.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

* Shut up and eat it.

Gardenia – Goddess of Lady Gardeners

September 1, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Gardenia is a goddess for the dawning of the age of Asparagus. She’s a deity you can really dig. Her delicate, shapely avatar disguises a Titanium alloy spine with a hinge in it. Her a-maize-ing beauty is renowned. It is said that she walks naked through gardens in the quiet beauty of the night. In the morning you will know you have been blessed with a visitation as you apples will have blushed red and your courgettes will have transformed into marrows. She flies through the skies on her steed “The Snap Dragon”.

Gardenia’s enemies are the Gnome of Loam (who went insane in the Plantain) who rides the Dandy Lion (who’s roots run deep into prehistory). They are said to be trying to bring the winds and frosts that burn the blossoms, and flowers that never bloom are believed to be a very bud omen.

The Temple of Gardenia is home to many wonders. The temple itself is an 8×12 summer-house and is surrounded by a picturesque and well tended lady garden with an immaculately topiaried bush. The garden is always lush, well watered by the perspiration of the acolytes. If you visit be sure to marvel at the lawn which yields exactly one grass box of cuttings at each mowing and the shed which always has the tool you need at the front. The visit is traditionally concluded by visiting their “Museum of Hoes” and casting ones seed upon the ground in offering. The Sisters often invite visitors to assist in the care of the gardens. So don’t be surprised if you get invited to do a little forking. Do not be tempted to steal from or desecrate the temple, all the flowers have pistols.

In one corner of the temple grounds, a plot is reserved where they are intending to inter the remains of Boris Johnson when the time comes. The Sisterhood are hoping that if they plant him, they can grow their own dope.

The Temple is populated and run by the Sisters of Gardenia. They are distinguishable by their wearing of the traditional green tights or “Garden Hose”. There is a scholarly element to membership of the Sisters of Gardenia. The priestesses will typically study STEM subjects.

The Sisters work to try and ensure every visitor to the temple finds a little inner peas. If you are pensive, one of the Sisters of Gardenia will offer you a peony for your thoughts. They believe gardening to be a panacea for all kinds of mental distress. For example, an often recommended remedy for self-pity is to grow a pear. Many a lost soul has blossomed in their care. The Sisters also employ music in their healing rituals are often known to turnip the beet. The most popular hymn is “Don’t Stop Be-Leafing”. A small libation of wine is offered to the Goddess at each healing ritual, this is always a fine rosé.

The High Preistess of Gardenia takes a managerial role. This, essentially, means the kind of gardening that involves sitting in a deckchair, wearing a big straw hat, drinking Pims and telling someone else where to dig. The current incumbent is a lady from the West Midlands called “Orchid”. The correct way to formally address her is “Yo Orchid!”. She is known for being a reckless driver and has often been known to put the petal to the metal on her way to the garden centre and floret home again.

Thank you to Teresa Lee for suggesting Gardenia. Hello Mum!

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.