Irs – Goddess of Tax Returns

Drawn in the red-on-black style of Ancient Greek pottery. The goddess Irs is wearing a pleated robe and carries a tally stick. In the other hand she carries a sack of coins, which is leaking into the mouth of a fat cat. Irs has wings shaped like a portcullis and she bears a resemblance to Queen Elizabeth II.
Irs © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

Irs was not born from a union of between Gods, Elementals or even Mortals, but of political expediency. She originated during the Old Kingdom Period of Ancient Egypt. In order to fund the building of royal tombs, the Pharaoh established her sect and appointed priests to raise revenue from his subjects. They were under immense pressure to complete this task for their king, for without a generous income, H.M. got arsey. This was a massive undertaking. So, these priests recruited a team of collectors who would gather the payments on their behalf, each keeping a small percentage of the revenue raised as payment. These collectors were overwhelmed with the magnitude of the task of visiting every household in Egypt, and so themselves recruited teams of underlings who pocketed an even smaller percentage. Thus both taxation and the literal pyramid scheme were invented simultaneously.

The concept of taxation gradually spread around the world, and the worship of Irs alongside it. She was readily adopted by the nascent democracy of Athens to help them fund their military campaigns and elegant public buildings. Eventually, the world’s population grew to the point where it was not possible to individually judge what every person should pay. This led to a seismic theological shift in the faith of Irs. Their religious philosophy became one of self assessment and honest judgement of one’s own worth. This goddess doesn’t judge you. You judge yourself, and then she decides whether you did it right. This is why, when they die, her followers are buried with their accounts, receipts and bank statements from the last five years, and an anxiety attack. Hopefully, all will be in order, and their soul will be allowed to fly west to the Isle of Tax Haven. Some scholars of mythology believe that the legends of the Isle of Tax Haven grew out of early seafarer’s tales of Isle of Man.

When a young person is inducted into the sect of Irs they undergo a ritual similar to baptism. Only, instead of using a font, they use a VAT. Many years of study lie ahead for the neophyte. First they must become familiar with the Book of Acts and the Tax Codex. These are anthologies of the scriptures which outline the rules for calculating what each citizen should pay, but they are written in an arcane language, comprehensible only to the cognoscenti. The Book of Acts has chapters with mysterious titles like, “The Income Tax Act 2007”. These students must also master the skill of tax-calculus, a branch of mathematics so fiendishly difficult that it is reported to have reduced students of Kabbalah, theoretical physicists and Carol Vordeman to tears. Tax Calculus is used to derive the assets under the mattress. Finally, they must develop a perfect perpendicular posture by going around with a pile of ledgers precariously perched on top of their polls. Being able to balance the books is the most important skill of all. Eventually Irs’s worthy acolytes graduate to become Chartered Priests. A few of the more esoteric types will join “Outland” sub-sect, who mainly concern themselves with excising ancient customs and enjoy the privilege of being religious duty free when they travel abroad. The most gifted students go on to be appointed to the highest echelon of her cult, the Inspectors. Those who fail their final exams are considered to be a write-off.

The temples of Irs are known as “Treasuries”. They are recognisable by their portcullis entrances with the Crown of Irs carved into the stonework above (known as The Government Gateway). The floors inside were originally tiled with black and white flagstones in a chequer pattern, but this has now fallen out of fashion, so they are now ex-chequers. The temple cats of Irs are renowned for being phenomenally fat felines. Heckin’ chonks. Absolute units. They live by skimming off as much cream as they can from the temple’s milk supply before getting caught. Each temple is presided over by a high priest or “Chancellor”. Irs has two major and four minor “quarter” festivals each year. Their most important festival occurs on January 31st, the sacred day of Self Assessment. It is traditional for Irsians to send one another greetings cards with the message, “Many Happy Returns”. On April 5th they celebrate their New Years festival by closing their books.

Some folks mistakenly think that they can win the favour of the goddess by paying their taxes with a smile. They are incorrect. Taxes must be paid with cash. The adversary of Irs is a demon who gets people out of paying their full taxes in return for a piece of their soul. Lou Pole and his wealthy followers, “The Evaders” are to be feared and thwarted at every turn. They are the origin of the old Irsian saying, “It is easier to pass a camel through the eye of a needle, than it is to get a rich man to pay his taxes.” He is aways depicted in sacred art snatching school dinners from hungry children and medicine from the sick. Irsians believe that Lou Pole can be banished by loudly singing the, “Audit Domine”.

Whilst the existence of many deities is open for debate. Irs is one we can be certain of. For there are but two inevitable things in life. Death and Taxes. Unless you’re Queen Elizabeth II, who does not pay tax and, so far, appears to be immortal.

A huge thank you to @ladysixa for suggesting Irs, for being a loyal supporter of Idol Scribblings and for being one of the loveliest humans on Twitter. I am sorry it took so long, but I had to do your excellent concept justice.

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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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Inspirouette – Goddess of Budding Ballerinas

The goddess Inspirouette is wearing a classic long ballet tutu and a garland of flowers in her hair. She is posed en pointe in the center of the turntable of a 1960s Fidelity suitcase record player. She is waving a red ribbon above her head.
Inspirouette © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

If you want to enjoy the magic and artistry of Royal Ballet tomorrow, you’d better show your support for the children of Mrs Postlethwaite’s School of Dance today. One way to do this is to give praise and offerings to Inspirouette, the goddess of budding ballerinas and ballerinos. She is the goddess of the grace-roots of dance. If, during your tender years, you ever dreamed of twirling in a diaphanous costume before an enraptured audience as the divine music holds you all in it’s spell, then Inspirouette has touched your soul at some point. In some traditions she is considered to be one of the nine muses of childhood creativity, along with her sisters, Glitterpenelope, Colouringin, Recordercide, Dressup, Chromadachtyla, Mudpiemeni, Crayolamural and Diyhaircut.

The high priest or priestess of Inspirouette is elected by a ballotté, and the winning candidate is celebrated with a rousing cheer of, “Hip-hip- bourreé!” The incumbent high priest(ess) gets the privilege of driving around in the official sacred car, which is a rather snazzy coupé. Leading the faith is a role that demands great stamina and aplomb. Therefor the post is not held for life. At some point the incumbent will retire and join the council of senior advisors, known as the “Grand Pas”, who are all in the golden age of life.

The vast majority of Inspirouette’s temples pop up once a week in village halls, community centres and all-purpose sports halls. The barre is the back of a chair, you have to be careful not to crash into the folded ping-pong table, and the changing room is a toilet. This may all be far cry from the glamour of Covent Garden, but they still have a fantastic turnout. Her neophytes dress in a strict uniform of leotards, tights, ribboned slippers and a wrap-around cardigan in cold weather (you don’t want to catch the dreaded dancer’s malady, the Baryshni cough). Legwarmers are strictly forbidden as there is no scientific evidence that they work (and, “you’re not one of the cast of Fame”).

A kindly priestess presides over each pop-up temple and teaches her young charges how to move in the faith and the steps to heaven. They are the only known teachers who demand that their pupils give them an Attitude. These priestesses are all members of the regulatory, “International Dance Temple Association”. Once a year, the association will send out a member of the Ballet Police (a Cop Pelia) to oversee the neophyte dancers taking their grades and delibes-erate over their marks. A ceremonial brass bell is rung before each exam to appeal to the goddess to guide the steps of the young dancer. It must work to some extent as, in the end, almost everyone graduates with a 2:2. Whilst most attend their temple purely for the love of dance, occasionally one of the neophytes may show exceptional skill, ambition and dedication and wish to pursue the religious life. Then their priestess must counsel them about the difficult road ahead. That there may be more bar work than barre work, and they may often cry, “Oh debt!” before they get to dance Odette (and even after).

Inspirouette has a handful of dedicated temples around the world, located in the major cultural centres. They usually have grand facades and slightly crumbling interiors. Each temple has a sacred spring in the temple garden known as the Margot Fountain. (The water of the fountain is never imbibed, they get their drinking water from the Saddler’s Wells). The fountain feeds into the temple lake where the sacred swans glide. These swans are kept as a symbolic reminder of the fact that, though they may look gentle and graceful, a Ballet dancer has the requisite strength to break your arm. Easily. Due to the presence of the swans, cats are not allowed in Inspirouette’s temples. It’s strictly ne pas de chats. Inside the temple you will find a series of spacious studios, each with a sprung polished-wood floor, walls of gilt framed mirrors, a piano and a faint whiff of rosin and feet.

One unusual tradition that the worshippers of Inspirouette observe is “Giselle Day”. It is a kind of cross between a Day of the Dead and Rag Week. Great dancers of the past are remembered and honoured, and the students will enjoy a rare feast of Pavlovas and Isodora Duncan Donuts. Once darkness falls, they dress as balletic ghosts and go around the town raising money for charity. It turns out that giving people the Willies can be quite an effective fundraising technique (and no one was better at this hustle than Darcy Bustle). The night usually ends with the dancers craving chips and stopping by a greasy fish dive on their way home.

Inspirouette has inspired many ground-breaking experimental ballets. You may remember the all-male production of Swan Lake. Less well remembered were the cockney ballet-buffa, “Chassé et Dave” (with the infamous Dance of the Rabbits), or the Christmas Ballet, danced entirely by builders, plumbers and electricians, “The Buttcracker”.

Inspirouette is dedicated to my wonderful Mum who celebrated a milestone Birthday this week. She is a passionate lover of Ballet, and spent many years helping young dancers (including me) take their first steps in a local village hall, accompanied by music from her trusty Fidelity HF31 portable record player. A very Happy Birthday to you Mum!

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A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


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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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Comedia Dell’Farté

Comedia Dell'arte, the Goddess of Pantomime is like a centaur, only the front end is Dame Edna Everage and the back end is a pantomime cow with impressive udders. She holds a bucket of, "Family Friendly Mild Smutt" and a hand-shaped "Slap Stick". The goddess wears a pair of bean-shaped comedy bosoms. A giant beanstalk curls around in the background.
Comedia Dell’Farté © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

A long time ago, in an allegory far, far away, Travesty the God of Misrule would amorously pursue minor goddesses and nymphs. On one such excursion, his wondering eye fell on Achnestasia and Frizzella, the Goddesses of Ill-Favoured Siblings. In order to conceal them from his jealous wife, he killed a passing cow and took it’s hide for the sisters to hide inside. To further the subterfuge, Travesty then took the form of a goose before engaging in a highly unconventional menagerie a trois. All his efforts were to no avail though. For his suspicious spouse found out and cursed the unfaithful God. Once cursed, Travesty found himself unable to change back out of his goose form! And so he remained until, with much honking, he laid a painfully large golden egg. Now, restored to his original form, Travesty incubated the egg in the warm cinders at the side of his hearth. At the stroke of midnight, on the bleakest day of midwinter, the egg cracked and Comedia Dell’Farté burst dramatically forth in an explosion of song, laughter and glitter. Within a wave of a wand, she had taken her place amongst the pantheon as the deity of jollity during dark days. The Goddess of Pantomime.

The temples of Comedia Dell’Farté resemble great palaces from the front, and tumbledown 19th century tenements from the rear. Whilst the congregation enter through imposing doors at the top of sweeping marble staircases, the priesthood must enter through the stage door, under a leaking gutter, off a urine-scented alley around the back, (I think it is something to do with maintaining spiritual humility). Inside the temple you will find a great auditorium, lavishly decorated, with intricate gold leaf coated plasterwork and wine-dark upholstery. Catholics may be big in guilt, but the followers of Comedia prefer gilt. The temples all have their own clowder of temple cats, who are always shod up to the knee. In fact, these cats are known to be very particular about their footwear. They look fabulous strutting around the stalls in their knee-high Mioawnolo Blahniks and Jimmy Mews. Unlike other places of worship, Comedia’s temples do not have any bells. For, if the bells ring, all the Dicks turn around, and that can be a very distressing experience.

The rituals of Comedia Dell’Farté take the form of humorous apologue plays performed by the priesthood. Officially, there is a cycle of 12 sacred pantomime plays (there are some who argue that Robin Hood is not an official pantomime, but they’re just splitting arrows). One of the few hard rules of this religion is that you must never, ever mash-up pantomime plots. No one wants a repeat of those dystopian nightmare productions, “Jack Boots” and “Sleeping in the Woods”. Audience participation is essential in these rites. An experienced acolyte knows when to boo and hiss, when to cheer, and when to warn the protagonists about a stealthily approaching ghost. These acolytes may be of any age, but the many are little children (who come unto Comedia, no suffering required). The service always concludes with a community sing along for the whole flock, and a wedding.  

The Dame Role in all the plays is reserved for the High Priest. Therefore, the High Priest must be a well-respected Thespian. So, every year, the church must send a mission to Thespia to drag one over. For the continued popularity of the faith, it is essential that they find a High Priest that has-beans, not a has-been. Whilst playing the role, the high priest will don outrageously flamboyant vestments and a pair of specially sanctified outsize prosthetic mammary glands known as “Biggins”. A great High Priest can directly channel the spirit of the deity, a phenomenon known as, “Dameonic Possession”, which causes them to speak in puns. The high priest is ably assisted by their second in command, Deacon Billy Buttons (who, before joining the priesthood, was a naval seaman).

In addition to carrying out the rites of Comedia Dell’Farté, the priesthood produces a faith discussion podcast called, “Jack and the Beans Talk”. They also run an ecclesiastical court whose judges all wear wigs as white as snow and robes as black as ebony, and are celebrated for being the fairest of them all. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so for recreation the cult of Comedia field a National League football team. “The Giant Killers” are renowned for regularly knocking Premier League teams out of the FA Cup in the early rounds. However, they always get defeated in the quarter finals because Cinderella keeps running away from the ball, their coach is a pumpkin and Mother Goose gets sent off for fowls.

If you love pantomime, Comedia Dell’Farté will always be behind you in everything you do. Some heathens say, “Oh no she isn’t”. However, Boys and Girls, we all know, “OH YES SHE IS!”

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A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


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IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS

What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Hooteninny – God of “Business Meetings”

A man with a slight resemblance to Steven Doyle is wearing a Santa jacket and a paper party crown on his head. He is carrying a tray of cheese and a bottle of wine called "Chateau Lie-Feat". On his back there is a sack of trophies and medals. Someone has pinned a donkey's tail on his behind.
Hooteninny © H.Hudson-Lee 2021

Hooteninny is the God of “Business Meetings”, and never have a pair of quotation marks been so heavily weighted. In fact, his followers make the “air quotes” hand sign when they say his name, in much the same way as a Catholic would genuflect.

Hooteninny is the son of Hujanus the “Do As I Say Not As I Do” demon and Incontigate the Goddess of Embarrassing Leaks. He started out, sometime in the 1980s, as a minor deity of liquid “business lunches” and even more fluid “executive team-building weekends”. In the 1990s he branched out into watching over “fact-finding trips” and “corporate gifts”. If the activity in question breaks a few rules, then that just makes it a greater expression of devotion to the god, and more fun. It was during the 2020 pandemic that he finally came into his own as a major deity when the ranks of his cult were swelled by a flock of political aides who just wanna have fun. Hooteninny’s is an easy religion to follow, as you don’t need to overly concern yourself with following the rules and, usually, it is others who make the sacrifices.  

The sacred winter festival of Hooteninny is also known as, “The No-Masque of the Blue Death”. It is held clandestinely somewhere in a central government building. The threshold must be guarded by a phalanx of the Metropolitan Police’s finest, who have absolutely no idea what is taking place inside, or who is in there. Despite being in charge of door security. How these brave officers manage to discharge their duties despite being deaf, blind and greener than a Brussel sprout, I don’t know.

To set the right mood for the ritual, the priesthood will festoon themselves with tinsel and put on a playlist of their sacred “Hip-hopcracy” music. You may know some of the more famous tracks, such as, “Simply Having a Meeting with Cheese and Wine”, “Fairy-Tale of New Pork Pies” and “Christmas Time (Let’s be a Bell End)”. They put out a good buffet spread, with the savoury dainties artfully displayed on paper Steven Doylies. The ambiance is further helped along by draping festive decorations elegantly over the CCTV cameras. If a few grieving covid-bereaved relatives and traumatised NHS workers can be seen sobbing in the snow outside the window, so much the better. It really adds to that Dickensian theme.

To warm up the congregation and break the ice, the senior priesthood will lead them in a series of games. Sorry. “Essential training exercises”. These exercises include old favourites such as Musical Cabinet Reshuffle, Pin the Blame on the Immigrant and Sajid Says. All this generates an atmosphere of, “Whilst the cat’s away, the mice play.” Which somehow persists even after the cat shows up to lead the quiz. The quiz questions are pitched at quite a low level. Such as, “What is three hundred thousand, and thirty-four, nine hundred and seventy-four thousand plus one?” (You must remember that the majority of Hooteninny’s followers have the unfortunate educational disadvantage of having attended Public School). If the “cat” had a bit more wit, he might have slipped in a question like, “For 20 bonus points – Name five MPs planning a leadership challenge in the New Year.” Which would have made planning the “quick-fire” round much simpler.

The proceedings end with a presentation of awards to the worthiest worshippers. Each follower hopes to be recognised as this year’s, “Spin King” or “Best Pressed” or perhaps win the “Best Dead Cat Distraction” prize. Some of the awards are more tongue-in-cheek, such as “PM’s Pet”, “Cabinet Clown” or “Most Likely to Mysteriously Avoid Jail”. If you see someone stratton’ around Westminster wearing a small bronze lapel pin in the shape of the door to Number 10, you’ll know they were a winner.

Now, the first rule of Hooteninny’s Cult is that you don’t make jokes about Hooteninny Cult, on film, at a mock press conference. Should the general public find out about one of these rituals having taken place it looks very, very bad. The attendees have to decide whether to admit to being at a prohibited gathering, or to boozing on the job. Either way, not a good look. In this instance, the two priests who officiated the rite must sacrifice themselves by falling on their own swords. One must do this immediately when the story first breaks, and other has to wait until the official inquiry report is released.

If you are considering following the way of Hooteninny as a good example of how to live your life… …please, please choose a better example.

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A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


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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.

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.

Broomhilda – Goddess of Witchcraft

Broomhilda – Goddess of Witchcraft © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Broomhilda is the answer to the question, “Quis custodiet ipsos maleficis” or, “Who watches the witches?” Witches may make appeals to a wide range of deities whilst practicing their craft, but Broomhilda is the overseeing goddess of the craft itself. The sect of Broomhilda is known as the Office for Standards in Charms, Rites, Occultism, Necromancy and Enchantment or “OFCRONE”. In order to become a certified witch, one must become a member and adhere to the high standards they set. Any witches who fail to adhere to the Codex of Practice are exspelled from the faith or as they call it, “Hexcommunicated”. They also police the prohibition of certain potion ingredients considered unethical in more enlightened modern times. For example, the use of eye of newt has been banned since 1727 when the notorious witch Nic Peepyrs was caught in Westminster Abbey going at Sir Isaac’s newly sealed tomb with a cronebar.

OFCRONE also provides a degree of protection from harassment for its members. Thanks to them, most of the witch burnings that happen these days are when two wiccans have a roast battle. OFCRONE organise security patrols around all rituals where members may choose to worship sky-clad to prevent the local perverts from hiding in the bushes and getting an eyeful. Due to the high chance of being turned into an amphibian if caught, these degenerates are known as “Froggers”. (The witches are not completely merciless. They run a support group for anyone doing “pond penance” called “Amphibians Anonymous”.) OFCRONE also work to promote occultural diversity. Alongside this, they educate the general public about witchcraft. One of the ways they do this is via a live streaming platform where anyone can watch real Yorkshire witches practice the dark arts, called T’Witch. The sect also has a scientific research arm which funds a project searching for signs of Dark Magic in the universe, the Mildred Hubble Space Telescope.

In order to raise sufficient money to fund these activities, the sect of Broomhilda runs a number of commercial ventures. The longest established of these concerns manufactures high quality sacred candles and delivers them direct to your door. Next time you have a power cut, consider placing an express order with, “Something Wicked This Way Comes”. They also own a company, based in the North Riding of Yorkshire, which blends and sells fine teas. The best seller in the range is their, “Great Heck *A* Tea”. Their latest, and perhaps most entertaining, venture is a service where you can hire a troupe of five elderly witches to dance erotically at your birthday party or pre-nuptial night out. If you are a best man with a stag night to organise, you may want to consider ordering a Pent-a-Gran.

When a neophyte joins the cult of Broomhilda, they must spend years training at a school of witchcraft or “Unicurseity” (and if you have been to a real school of witchcraft, you will know the subject taught in the greenhouses is not called “Herbology”, it’s “Occultivation”). During their time at Unicurseity the students will keep a scrapbook of newspaper clippings and memorabilia of Hank Marvin, Bruce Welch and Brian Bennett known as a “Book of Shadows”. Once they graduate and have been inducted into the highest echelons of Broomhilda’s priesthood they become privy to the deepest secrets of the craft. In order to prevent these secrets from being betrayed to the uninitiated, the cleric is now locked into the sect for life. The only way to leave, other than by reaching the end of one’s mortal thread, is to be declared insane, but this is notoriously difficult to prove. One witch who wished to leave the cult tried keeping more than twenty pet felines in an attempt to appear deranged. However, the faith leaders decreed that they’d be mad not to love kittens, and so the unfortunate witch remained in the sect forever. This incident became known as the Cats-22 situation.

Whilst there are many spurious tales about witches, they do in fact favour broomstick transportation. However, the technology has advanced beyond recognition in the last 20 years. The most popular current model is a self-driving e-besom known as the “Broomba”. As e-besoms are virtually silent, when they first came out there were multiple collisions with hapless owls and other aerial wildlife. Now e-besoms must be fitted with a small speaker to put back the “broom-broom” sound, and a seat belt to prevent the pilot from flying off the handle.

Throughout most of their lives worshippers of Broomhilda will use their skills to maintain a glamorous and beguiling appearance. They have a very broad and body positive definition of beauty (and have, on occasion, been known to poke random blonde, slim women with a sharp finger in the hope that all the Barbie doll toys around the world will feel a twinge of pain). Towards the end of their mortal existence, some witches choose to embrace the aging process and “go full crone”. Not all witches who choose this path are able to get their complexions to become suitably haggard. One option they have is to undergo a cosmetic aging procedure. The international centre for this form of surgery is based in the Balearic Islands. An unnaturally youthful looking witch in her 70s or 80s may make a visit to the Warter in Majorca so she can look like what she ought-ta.

If you happen to meet a worshipper of Broomhilda, whatever you do, do not touch her bubbling cauldron of green liquid. That’s HER absinthe. Get your own.

Happy Hallowe’en and Samhain to Idollers everywhere! I am much better and it’s good to be back. The cartoons may not be every week at first, but I am getting there. I hope you all have a fun and spooky time tonight.

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
OUT NOW!

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS

What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Beeverley – Goddess of the East Riding

Beeverley © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Beeverley is, despite her venerable visage, one of the youngest deities in this pantheon. In 2017, when Kingston-Upon-Hull became the City of Culture, the citizens decided that they really should have a patron deity. From amongst their number, they chose the beloved philanthropist and Hull paragon of virtue, “The Bee Lady” for deification. (Beeverley may have be the first person in history to promoted from Bishop to Goddess). Her cult became hugely popular almost overnight. Probably because the people of the East Riding are always keen to grasp any opportunity to do things a little bit differently to everyone else, and religion is no exception. A documentary film was made based on her amazing story but, sadly, few people have seen it in cinemas because it was not a feature presentation.

Since becoming a Goddess, Beeverley has borne a daughter. It was clear that this babe was also divine because, when she was born, three wise men came from the East Riding on camels. This golden child was named Patty Butty and she became the Goddess of Regional Delicacies. You can find Patty’s temple down Battery Road.

The way of Beeverley is a contemplative and reflective path. It’s followers practice the art of Venn Meditation, where they cogitate upon the question of whether they are in the East Riding, East Yorkshire or Humberside, and what the overlap between these might be. Despite years of deliberation, they are yet to reach a consensus on the answer to this great question. Some of her followers who have more shamanic leanings expand their minds by consuming the potent powder known as “Chip Spice”. This is said to help them achieve a fluid mental sub-state known as “The Deep”. All meditation is usually practiced in the elegant gardens which surround Beeverley’s temple. These “Venn Gardens” are known for the aesthetic patterns of intersecting circles which are raked into its gravel paths. Worshippers of Beeverley can be recognised by their intricately patterned Gansey Jumpers, which they wear to keep themselves warm against the North Sea breezes, or to use as ID.

The Temple of Beeverley is located in the Land of Green Ginger and is designed to look like a giant version of a KCOM cream phone box. It houses their sacred chalice, a 1960’s Hornsea Pottery Heirloom Pattern “Autumn Brown” soup bowl. The custodians of the temple are Beeverley’s High Priest and Priestess, a couple called Bert and Agnes Hall. Their main job is to enforce the smoking ban inside the temple. The rules are very clear. Worshippers must go outside if they want to give someone a smug, superior, side-eye. Anyone who creates a disturbance in the temple by Larkin’ around, will be ejected by the temple guards. These guards all have the first name “Wilber” and are collectively known as the “Wilber Force”.

Devout worshippers of Beeverley avoid the demonic lair that is Spiders Nightclub, where even the purest hearted beeliever can become enmeshed in a web of sin, or permanently stuck to the floor. The legend is that if you spend too long in there you’ll turn into a Goole. However, if you’re not overly concerned with the state of your mortal soul, it’s actually a fun night out. Possibly a little bit too much fun. If you’re offered a blowie by an attractive stranger in the club toilets, go for it. In the East Riding, it’s impolite to spurn head.

Sadly, the religion of Beeverley is not entirely peaceful. For decades they have been at war with the North Riding over the disputed territory of Filey. In recent years an uneasy ceasefire has held. Both parties having decided to just wait until it is inevitable consumed by sea, rendering the issue moot.  

One of Beeverley’s key deity duties is to watch over the thousands of travellers who cross the majestic span of the Humber Bridge every day. If there’s snerr blerking the rerd, she makes a fern curl t’let everyone nerr. When it comes to protecting those who cross the Humber, nothing is too much Hessel for Beeverley. The members of cult of Beeverley are also active for the benefit of the community. Every year they organise a festival to commemorate the anniversary of the Siege of Hull and the start of English Civil War. Next year in 2022, to celebrate the 380th jubilee, they are proposing that Kingston-Upon-Hull be temporarily renamed Not-Any-More-It’s-Not-Upon-Hull.

Worshippers of Beeverley believe that, when they die, their souls go to Bridlington. So, to facilitate the process, they usually move there a few years before the event. It is said to be a mostly tranquil afterlife, blighted only by flocks of voracious zombie gulls known as the “Undead Bods”. They occupy a space in the folklore which, in other cultures, is normally reserved for The Furies. Fortunately, these demonic birds mostly focus their attention on the wretched shade of t’Antalus. Who, for his heinous crimes in life*, is hereafter cursed to hold a burning hot cone of chips in his hands, but never gets to eat one.

* He moved to Lincolnshire and quite liked it.

Happy Yorkshire Day Everyone! I hope you are all enjoying your puddings and parkin. Jean Bishop, the OG Bee Lady fundraises for Age UK Hull. If you are thinking of making a charitable donation today, why not put it their way? They especially need funds right now to help older people affected by C-19. Details of how to donate are on their website at https://www.ageuk.org.uk/hull/

Once you’ve done that, why not round off your Yorkshire Day with Sithee – God of South Yorkshire and Wayhey-Up – God of the West Riding (next year… the North Riding!)

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
OUT NOW!

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS

What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Soccerates – God of Football

Soccerates © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Soccerates, the god of football, has origins deep in the mists of time. Originally his rites of worship were violent melees between two rival villages as a kind of pseudo battle which resulted in a marginally lower body count than all out warfare. Over the years these savage, barbaric rituals gradually evolved into the beautiful game that is loved all over the world today. For example, not many people know that in medieval times, prior to pig’s bladders being used, early footballs were made from inflated cockerel scrotums. This practice was quickly abandoned because it resulted in a lot of fowl balls.

The core followers of Soccerates are devout fans who turn out every week, rain or shine, hell or high water, defeat or glory to praise the god and loyally cheer on third division Forest Wonderers United. Each wearing a coloured shirt to display their affiliation to their chosen sub-sect or “team”. Every Saturday afternoon from August to May, they stalwartly perch on precarious stands made from old scaffolding poles and milk crates with only a dubious pie for sustenance and comfort. They endure by raising their voices together in song. The cult of Soccerates is famous for its beautiful hymns such as the haunting barcarolle, “Stercora Estis et Noscitis” by Offenside*.

The priests of Soccerates are known as “Pundits”. The key requirements for becoming a pundit are; a reasonably successful football playing career, a general lack of optimism and the ability to wear a bad suit and keep your knees at least six feet apart at all times whilst manspreading the good word. They play almost no role in the actual running of the religion; their job is to discuss everything that has gone wrong with football since they stopped playing. The cult is also renowned for its miraculous faith healers, known as the “Physios”. A player can flop like a sack of wet cement, and the Physios are seemingly able to raise them from the dead with the Sacred Wet Sponge.

The great high temple of Soccerates is located in Wembley. This is where the faithful gather on the most holy occasions to raise their voices as they watch their team Kane the opposition into submission. Visitors always enter the temple by the south gate. Here you can see the sacred beasts of Soccerates, three lions that are called leopards that are actually lions. At the centre of the temple lies the “hallowed turf”, which is diligently re-hallowed every week without fail by a fully qualified turf hallower. High above this veldt, the Pundits sit in their suspended glass box, which creates the illusion that they are on the Sky.

Once every two years the ranks of Soccerates faithful swell exponentially in number when an international football tournament takes place. Most of these occasional worshippers are simply enjoying the fun, the sense of occasion and the festive atmosphere (a bit like folks who go to church once a year at Christmas). However, there are a few of these part-time worshippers who seem to feel that, at these times, they need to compensate for their intermittent dedication with excessive public displays of devotion. They form a heretical cult known as “Ingerlaanders”.

Ingerlaanders are typically people who aren’t bothered about being involved in European affairs when it comes to the serious work of cooperating as an international community, but don’t want to be left out at playtime. They often seem to be confused about whether this is all about sport or international tensions. It is the Ingerlaanders who sometimes rudely confuse unfortunate Germany fans by singing “Two World Wars and One World Cup” at them. If a full-time true devotee of Soccerates witnesses this kind of appalling abuse, they will be enraged and give the Ingerlaander a red card (which is no small matter, there will be penalties). If ever they are not there to step in, fortunately, every German knows that the correct response to this is, “Actually, Germany has won four World Cups”.

An Ingerlaander is easily recognised by their red and white face paint, £45 football shirt and general state of inebriation. The leader of the Ingerlaanders, Mr George Crosse, has festooned his home with so many England flags that, from a distance, it looks like the whole house has been draped in a gingham tablecloth. When the wind and rain get up, the snapping of wet pennants sounds like a free-for-all towel fight in a locker room. You may spot George as he drives to the pub to watch the match in his official car, which is ornamented ambassador-style with even more little flags. During the match and ritual imbibing of many pints of ale, the landlord will quietly hide his car keys, so that George has to put his Best foot forward as he wends his merry way home.

*A genius who was, sadly, never really understood.

With thanks to Kate Durrant for, once again, getting me out of the “stercus” with my Latin translations.

Announcement

In about a week’s time I will be going into hospital for an operation. It shouldn’t be anything to worry about, but I am going to be laid up for a bit afterwards. Unfortunately, I am unlikely to be laid in a position that is comfortable for drawing. Therefore, after today, I will be taking the rest of July off from cartooning. My plan, all being well, is to be back for the traditional Idol Scribblings Yorkshire Day special on August 1st. I look forward to seeing you all again then. Wish me luck!

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
OUT NOW!

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS

What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Hatt Mancock – God of Ministerial Affairs

Hatt Mancock © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Of all the mysteries of the cosmos, perhaps the most baffling is: When power is almost exclusively held by minging middle-aged white guys, how the hell does it still manage to be an aphrodisiac‽

Membership of the cult of Hatt Mancock is restricted those who hold the highest positions in government. The philosophy of this sect is, “If we make the rules, we don’t have to follow them.” They are renowned for their rampant hypocrisy. Its members are fond of imposing strict moral judgements on everyone else*. Whist other religions may appeal to their deity on a variety of subjects, every prayer to Hatt Mancock is, in essence, the same. “Please don’t let me get caught.” Who can forget their moving psalm, “Yay though I snog my aide in the shadow of a hat stand, shall I fear not Paparazzi, for though art with me, and with my rod in my staff I’m going to get busy.”

The temple of Hatt Mancock is housed in a collection of hidden rooms in Whitehall, known as the Profumo Suite. If you wish to enter, you must first gain permission from Cecil Parkinson, the keeper of the Keyes. Inside you will find the altar, an majestic, mahogany ministerial desk. If you look closely, you will see the faint imprint of buttocks on its highly polished surface. If, during your visit, you hear that the “Party Whip” is being brought out, don’t panic. It’s just a novelty one with fluffy tassels and a glittery handle.

The priests of Hatt Mancock are known as “Ministers”, and they are divided into ranks such as Junior Ministers and Under Secretaries. Ministers can be recognised by their ill-fitting suits, rosettes, and spread-legged power-pose stances. The Ministers work closely (much closer than two meters) with “Aides” who assist them. Apparently, an important aspect of the role of an Aide is sleeping with your Secretary (this is why they are always lay-members of the church). This has led to the creation of posts with titles like, “Secretary Under the Under Secretary”. Ministers can recruit new Aides, either from amongst their old university pals, or by using the discrete “MPHarmony” dating website and app. The Ministers are led by the “Minister Primus”, who holds the privilege of committing sexual impropriety without consequences. In fact, whenever the Minister Primus finds they are a little strapped for cash due to all their child support payments, they will get divorced and marry yet another wealthy mistress, a practice known as, “Cash & Carrie”.

In order to become a Minister of Hatt Mancock, one must first be a member of their youth organisation, the Bullshittingdon Club. In their distinctive uniform of navy tailcoats, these noble young bast… …ions of the faith, led by their “Flout Master”, will earn badges in skills such as Awkward Groping, Dirty Research Trip Planning, and “Badger Watching”. Just in case they are ever caught in flagrante delicto during their future Ministerial careers, the neophytes are also taught to weave elaborate excuses such as, “My Aide and I were near the coat stand when we heard a strange noise. She went to investigate when a host of biting ants flooded out of the coats, (attracted by a forgotten complimentary hotel biscuit in one of the pockets). They swarmed all over her, particularly the in area of the buttocks and some of them even entering her mouth. Naturally, I attempted to brush them off. As she had been repeatedly bitten around the lips, in an attempt to administer first aid, I tried to suck out the poison.” Or the simpler, “I was eating out to help out.”

It is a hard life being a Minister of Hatt Mancock. Excellent time management skills are essential so that you can simultaneously bugger up the response to a national crisis, award your mates juicy contracts, have a family and still have a bit on the side. Maintaining a work / double-life balance is so important.

From time to time, not even the protection of the god is enough to defend one of his Ministers from the public outcry over their transgressions. Many of those who are exposed are the mortal victims of the long running feud between Hatt Mancock and Paparazzi the God of Sleaze (whose followers like to hang around in the bushes outside Hatt Mancock’s temples with telephoto lenses or make friends with the security team who watch the CCTV). However, sometimes they are simply betrayed by the old-fashioned lipstick on the collar and lingering scent of her hand sanitiser. Once such a story hits the headlines, the Minister affected will initially attempt to maintain his position, but inevitably finds that his hip is giving out, so he can’t do it without a truss (and Liz has said she’s not touching that).

Next follows one of the most famous rituals of Hatt Mancock, “The Sack Race”. This is a rather different version from the old school sports day favourite. In this rite the disgraced Minister must rush Number 10 Downing Street to tender their resignation (for £37 billion, to a company run by their sibling’s spouse) before public pressure forces the Minister Primus to dismiss them (despite having previously declared the matter closed). So, ironically, betraying their family usually leads to a Minister spending a lot more time with them. It’s not forever though, the prize for winning the Sack Race is that you get to have another go at being a Minister again once the dust has settled.

* Who can forget their “Back to Basics” campaign in the 1990s? No one was quite sure at the time what these “basics” were, but we have since found out they probably included pegging.

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
OUT NOW!

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

NEW!
IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS


What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Helen Harlotry – Goddess of Regency Romance

Helen Harlotry – Goddess of Regency Romance © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a modern woman, in possession of her own fortune, must be in want of a bit of good old-fashioned passion. Helen Harlotry is the goddess of all those who have an irrational longing to experience the lifestyle and passion of the Regency Era. A condition known to psychologists as “Austalgia”. She is a famed divine beauty, known for her pert opinions and fine eyes. She is a virginal goddess, as yet unwed. One prospective celestial consort declared that she was, “tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” Helen Halrotry is the eldest of the sixty-nine sister goddesses of romantic fiction. (You may have heard of her slightly more mainstream sister, the erotic and racy Melisande Boon – The Goddess of the Ripped Bodice.)

Most people expect the temple of Helen Harlotry to be located in one of the renowned Regency towns, such as Bath, Buxton or Brighton. In fact, it is happily situated in a park in Mansfield. This hallowed hall has a graceful neoclassical white stone façade adorned with a cornucopia of columns, built in the style of the architect John Nash. Atop the roof sits a small cupola which houses the temple bell. When rung, this bell goes, “Bingley-bingley-bingley.” The temple has two doors. Above one it says, “Entrance”, above the other it says, “Other way Mr Collins.” Once you are inside, you will find over a hundred elegantly furnished sitting rooms where worshippers can partake of the holy afternoon-tea ritual or receive gentleman callers whilst suitably chaperoned. Past these salons, at the heart of the temple, is a capacious, chandeliered ball room. Helen Harlotrians like to hold big balls. If you also tour the arbours and bowers of the grounds, you may be lucky enough to spot their 224-year-old pet tortoise, Mary Shelley. No one is sure whether this sacred ancient beast really is that old, or if they just keep reanimating her.

Whilst within the temple, followers of Helen Harlotry must adhere to strict rules of dress and etiquette to ensure an authentic early 19th century ambiance is preserved. Ladies must wear elegant empire line robes and carry a parasol, dance card and fan at all times. Gentlemen must adhere to a minimum side-burn length and meet a mandatory breech-tightness requirement. There is a secret, heretical sub-sect known as the Bridgertonians who like to bend or even outright defy these laws. For example, by sneaking classical arrangements of modern pop songs into the Temple String Quartet’s repertoire. They are lead by the mischievous Lady Danbury, who considers this to be riotously funny. Devotees of Helen Harlotry take great pride in their authenticity and many nurse a violent prejudice against the Bridgertonians. In return the Bridgertonians consider the orthodox members of the faith to be rather “High in the instep.” To avoid persecution from these less light-hearted folks*, Bridgertonians identify one another by secret signs and symbols. Such as the covert wearing of synthetic fabrics or hiding bee motifs in their costume designs. You may wonder why these iconoclasts run the risk of being scorned and ostracised. Apparently, it is all worth it just to watch Regé-Jean Page slowly lick a spoon.

Should you wish to join the cult of Helen Harlotry, you must either be a single man in possession of a good fortune and in want of a wife, or an impoverished yet accomplished maiden with little but her charms to recommend her. Gentlemen who are prepared to give consequence to ladies who are slighted by other men are particularly welcome. The initiation ritual for gentlemen involves stripping off down to their shirtsleeves and going for a dip in the lake, whilst the female members of the sect stroll along the lake shore and loudly exclaim, “Mr Darcy!” when he emerges. The initiation rite is different for female neophytes. They must go for a walk, get thoroughly soaked in an unexpected thunderstorm, and almost die of the apparently inevitable fever.

The worshippers of Helen Harlotry are keen on ball games. That is, games played at balls. The most popular of these is known as “Lady Catherine’s Condescension”. The game is played to music. Players must take a turn around the room and use persuasion to dash the wood into the nether field. It is improper for ladies to partner the same gentleman for more than two turns (unless they have “an understanding”). If, during the game, virtue is lost by a female player, it is irretrievable. By contrast, gentleman players are allowed one opportunity to restore their reputation and continue play. Players who commit multiple fouls (known as indiscretions) are exposed as the worst of libertines and sent off (usually to fight Napoleon). The game ends when everyone is married.

No one is precisely sure why this period of history evokes such passion and nostalgia. Maybe it is because it is one of the few eras when high fashion looks not only stylish, but also wearable and vaguely comfortable. However, not even the most devout followers of Helen Harlotry want to live full-time in Regency mode. The general consensus is that, whilst era is nice to visit in spirit, you wouldn’t want to live there. Even if you were minted. After all, no matter how much money you have, you can’t buy penicillin if it hasn’t been discovered yet. Once their religious devotions are complete, they are happy to be able to return to their 21st century rights and freedoms, but with a refreshed appreciation of their modern privilege and a prayer for their sisters around the world who are yet to achieve emancipation.

*Helen Harlotrians are not totally humourless. They have a version of the Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman joke which begins, “Jane Austen, Maria Edgeworth and Susan Edmonstone Ferrier walked into the Pump Room at Bath…”

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
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Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

NEW!
IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS


What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.

Wogana La La La Olé – Deity of Song Contests

Wogana La La La Olé © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Wogana La la la Olé is the only deity who knows what hellish future lies ahead. They’ve seen the rehearsals.

Wogana is the latest addition to the Irish pantheon of gods. They rode into the Otherworld during the second half of the twentieth century on their celestial steed, a lovely horse. The primary aim of the faith of Wogana is to bring peace to the world by making music, not war. It is to the constant amazement of the sceptics out there that Woganaism has been considerably more successful in this aim than the League of Nations ever was*. However, this may all unravel if Cyprus ever award Turkey douze points.

The international nature of this sect may be the reason why Wogananians are, on average, better at geography than US citizens. On hearing that their flight has a lay-over in Moldova, many Americans will wonder, “Where’s that?”. Whereas a follower of Wogana will think, “Hey Mamma!”. Due to the huge range of languages spoken by the acolytes of Wogana, it has become necessary to devise a universal sacred language to enable the community to understand one another. For example, Eurovispiranto for, “Good morning! How are you today?” is, “Boom-bang-a-bang! Hippety-pump-pump ay-ay-ay?”

The great festival of Wogana takes place annually in mid-May and lasts for a week. It is held in a different country each year and is televised to enable followers across the globe to participate. Small groups (up to six) of the faithful will often gather in private homes to celebrate together. However, only the most devout will watch the entire week’s coverage of the festival. Most will only tune in for the climactic final rite on the Saturday night. As with many faiths, alcoholic libation pays a key role in the proceedings. At the start of the final night ritual the High Priest will ceremonially crack open a bottle of Baileys and consume the whole lot over the course of the evening. Except for the first glass, which is placed before the statue of Wogana so that the deity can be there in spirit. The high priest will then lead the congregation in the first prayer of the evening, which begins, “Oh Lordi…”.

Following the opening prayers, a representative from each Wogananian country will take turns to make an offering of a song to Wogana. An uninitiated person watching the proceedings might conclude that there is considerable confusion over what will please this deity. Some offer catchy hooks and pyrotechnics, some bring hoards of metal shredding Vikings or teams of moshing babushkas, whilst others present a wailing lady with a man wearing a horse’s head, sat on a stepladder. The correct answer, of course, is that what pleases Wogana above all things is diversity, spectacle and a lot of glitter. The more utterly bonkers the better. These representatives give their all performing to please Wogana and their followers (or at the very least elicit a sardonic witticism from the High Priest). They also compete for the honour of hosting the following year’s festival. Whilst winning isn’t everything, and it truly is the taking part that counts, every performer at the rite lives in dread of displeasing Wogana and having their souls fed to the demon “Nulpoints”. Singers who suspect this fate may be in store for them often turn Blue and quickly Scooch out of there. Wogana being counted amongst the gods of Eire may be the reason why Ireland has seen such success in the contest over the years. They have hosted the great festival so many times that they Michael Flatley refuse to host it again any time soon.

The current high priest of Wogana is one Mr Norton (affectionately known as “Pray ’em Norton”). Whilst he is renowned as a preacher of great wit and wisdom in his own right, he will also very occasionally act as an oracle of Wogana, channeling the wry Bon Mot of the deity themselves.

It may also interest you to know that Wogananians measure their historical periods a little differently to the rest of us. For example the years from 2010 to 2015, remembered for their iridescent foil fashions and youthful exuberance, are known as “The Jedwardian Era” (it was the best of times, it was the Wurst of times). This era takes its name from the mythical twin sons of Wogana. Edstor and Jollox.

May all the followers of Wogana La La La Olé have a wonderful time celebrating tonight. Let Wogana’s love shine a light in every corner of your dreams.

*Sadly nothing is perfect. Israel seems to have missed that mission statement memo.

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
OUT NOW!

Even more deities for every eventuality with a foreword by Gary Brannan of the Technical Difficulties ( TechDiff.co.uk )


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book

Idol Scribblings Volume One


A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occasions from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.


Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

NEW!
IDOL SCRIBBLINGS COMMISSIONS


What do you get the person who has everything? Turn them into a God!

I can turn your friend, relative or even you pet into a humorous Idol Scribblings cartoon. They make a perfect gift!

Click this link to contact me for more information about how to deify your loved ones like a Roman Emperor of old!

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.

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.