Shiva-Me-Timbers – God of Nautical Clichés

September 19, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The philosophy of the faith of Shiva Me Timbers is to fill the void of taste, interests or design skill in one’s life with generic sea themed crap. The theory is that this will imply to others that you are an adventurous, salty sea dog with the wealth and time to explore the world (between your shifts at the call centre). Parrots, West Country accents and casual sexual morals are all encouraged. For worshippers of Shiva Me Timbers, every day is “Talk Like a Pirate Day”. Acolytes with at least one prosthetic limb are considered blessed, as they will always have a gruesome, ripping yarn to tell.

If you commit a serious transgression of the faith of Shiva-Me-Timbers, you may be sentenced to “roll the plank”. Shiva-Me-Timbers is an equal opportunities faith, and all their planks are wheelchair accessible.

There are many majestic temples to Shiva Me Timbers. They sail the seven seas to spread the word of the God. If you visit any port town, you will see one schooner or later. The temples are always immaculately maintained, as they like to keep things ship shape. Each one has a Shivan Temple Cat for vermin control, a rare breed with 9 tails. Inside they are decorated with canvas upholstery, rope-work storage baskets, driftwood, lifebelts and badly taxidermied seagulls. You can create the nautical temple look in your own home. Everything you need is available from “AYE IKEA”.

The clergy of Shiva-Me-Timbers can be recognised by their tattoos, blue trousers and stripy shirts (known as “Bristol Fashion”). Membership of the priesthood is open to both buoys and girls equally. There are often heated theological arguments amongst them about the merits of steam ships versus sail. (This schism is known as the Great Mast Debate.) The current High Priest is a permanently jovial man called Roger. He has lived his whole life in religious service. He started out as the cabin boy. As a money maker, the church of Shiva Me Timbers run a very popular sperm bank. They are renowned for their able semen.

The rituals of Shiva-Me-Timbers always begin with the weighing of the anchor on the ceremonial scales. Sadly, due to the traditional consumption of rum, they usually end with everyone keeling over, utterly wrecked with all souls lost.

Thank you to Sarah Shepton for suggesting Shiva-Me-Timbers.

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.

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.

Anachronistes – God of Historical Inaccuracy

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

Whenever a creative team try to recreate the past through the conjury of cinema, Anachronistes will be there. He is dreaded and feared by directors and producers. If he is not appeased with the appropriate rites and offerings before filming starts, he will make random items like plastic water bottles, Starbucks coffee cups or a flock of llamas magically appear in shot. The makers of Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones and Troy have learned to respect Anachronistes the hard way. To perform the ritual to appease Anachronistes you must first drape everything around you in hessian, lay your Artistic Licence Card on the altar and light some dribbley candles around it. Next, rend a roast chicken limb from limb with your bare hands whilst singing “Greensleeves”. Finally, sacrifice some cold hard cash to your local University History Faculty.

The priestesses of Anachronistes are known as the “Polyester Princesses” and the priests as the “Knylon Knights of Kni”. In addition to the usual duties of leading worship and caring for the temple, the priests of Anachronistes hire themselves out as movie extras. Some film buffs like to play a game where they watch the crowd scenes in historical movies and try to spot a priest of Anachronistes. How do you recognise them? Well, they will be the plebeian watching the gladiatorial games whilst chatting on their mobile phone, the medieval peasant wench hefting a tomato at someone in the stocks or the Spartan soldier sporting sunglasses*. The temple scribes of Anachronistes were also responsible for drawing all the “travelling map” animations for the Indiana Jones film trilogy.

When not involved in the magical world of the movies, the priesthood of Anachronistes like to infiltrate historical re-enactments as a kind of hobby. They stride out onto a battlefield draped in a tartan car rug and a smear of woad with a colander on their head. After the battle they will bed down in the living history camp in their authentic plastic yurt, complete with electrical camping hook up (just like the ancient nomads of the Steppes used to have). They revel in the seething rage they invoke in everyone who put hours of research and hand sewing into their attire and tentage. There are dark rumours that there have been actual murders. Only rumours mind. After all who’s going to notice one more skeleton buried under a battlefield?

There is a militant counter-sect that seek to thwart the acolytes of Anachronistes at every turn. “The Authenticity Police” are a learned, if somewhat anally retentive bunch. If you know one of their number, NEVER go to see a historical film with them. They are the kind of people who enjoy heckling the costume department. They rarely engage in direct conflict with the followers of Anachronistes. Their actions are usually restricted to online pedantry and snarking.

The Temple of Anachronistes is a distinctive 13th Century Neo-Tudor-Classical half-timbered, breeze block castle with polystyrene Doric columns and a thatched roof. This temple is truly a magnificent architectural gem, dear reader, and it is worth pausing here, for a moment, to admire it in your mind’s eye. The corners of the roof are ornamented with exquisitely carved gargoyles. Everyone’s favourite gargoyle is the one on the east side that looks like Alien. This gargoyle has been affectionately nicknamed “Paisley”. Through the temple’s Georgian sash windows you may be able to spot the elegant electric chandeliers that illuminate the interior. (Although, they are not always working as their support ropes tend to be vulnerable to swashbuckling heroes.)

The Temple of Anachronistes houses a cinema, where the priesthood can sit back and admire their handy work. Such a huge variety of historical films from all over the world are screened, that they rarely show repeats. However, once a year on the anniversary of the Battle of Stirling Bridge, the priests and priestesses gather en mass to enjoy the film Braveheart, which they consider to be their finest hour. At the appropriate moment of the film, the lead priest will chant, “Hold. Hold. Hold. NOW!” and the assembled priesthood will respond by chorusing,

“Where’s the f***ing bridge Mel?”

Thank you to Alex Smith, Clare Starkie, Rebecca Stothard who have all chipped in on this one.

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.

*The priesthood of Anachronistes would like me to make it explicitly clear that they had absolutely nothing to do with the film Teen Wolf.

Dicenysis – God of Board Games

September 8, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Dicenysis is the God of Board Games and a psychopomp. You may think that the phrase “dicing with death” is just a saying.

It isn’t.

Until 1957 Dicenysis was just a standard skeletal psychopomp, helping shuffle hapless souls to the underworld. Everything changed with the release of the classic film “The Seventh Seal”. Suddenly everyone wanted to gamble on a game for another chance at life. In a very short time Dicenysis became familiar with, and supremely skilled at, all known table top games from around the world. The world of gaming became his Dominion. Well, we can’t have the mortals getting away with that kind of thing.

Worshippers believe that, upon death, Dicenysis appears to us all. If you are not a worshipper of Dicenysis, you have to challenge him to a board game for your life. Therefore, Dicenysis gets to choose the game. He is said to favour an unusual form of Kerplunk! where he will impale himself through the rib cage with a bundle of skewers and then drink several of gallons of marbles. When in a mischievous mood, he will challenge you to a round of Twister (being able to disassemble and rearticulate your own bones as required is a bit of an unfair advantage). If you lived a particularly amoral life, he will make you play an extremely gory version of Operation where you are the playing board (if your nose lights up, it’s all over). If you lose, no matter how often you say sorry, Dicenysis will give you a ticket to ride to the afterlife.

If you are a devout and devoted follower, Dicenysis will extend the honour of challenging you to a game. This gives you the advantage of choosing the board of battle. This doesn’t really help most people, but it’s nice to get to choose your last game. (It is a bit of a risk to go for a strategic game though.) There are a few of the holy mystics of Dicenysis who appear to be incredibly ancient. The way they achieve this longevity is a closely guarded secret, but I will reveal it to you now. When you are almost dead, and Dicenysis appears to you and offers you the challenge of a game, the game you should choose is Mousetrap. As this game is infuriatingly, engagingly impossible to complete, Dicenysis will get fed up, give up and allow you safe passage back to the corporeal realm. Actually. That is all lies. The game that Dicenysis is really playing is “The Game”, and you just lost it.

Despite accepting that they will ultimately be defeated, worshippers of Dicenysis will spend their entire lives honing their board gaming skills. They see life as a journey of spiritual preparation and practice for the “One Great Game” that they will play when their mortal thread is about to be severed. To this end, they will gather to perform the ritual of playing together, often late into the night.

A rite commences with the ritualistic laying out of the board upon the altar and “the gathering of the snacks”. The cards and pieces are ceremonially checked to be all present and correct. Each ritual is usually officiated by 2-6 Priests (Ages 8-80). At the climax of the rite, some sheep will be burned on a ritual pyre in sacrifice to Dicenysis. At the end of the rite the game board and the altar are ceremonially flipped over. The pieces are scattered everywhere, and the priests scrabble to pick them up. The temple’s sacrifice stores are always kept well stocked these days. No one wants a repeat of the incident when they ran out of fuel for the pyre. This left a massively embarrassed Priest running around, asking all the congregation whether they had wood for his sheep. Another time they couldn’t get any sheep and ended up trying to stick cotton wool on some porkers. This attempt to pass the pigs off did not succeed.

Dicenysis’ faith is a popular one. There are temples all over the world and the largest of them is located in Carcassonne. The roofs of Dicenysis’ temples are all tiled with letters. Sadly, like the lead flashing on the roofs of other religious buildings, these letter tiles are prone to theft. Z and Q are stolen the most often. Another notable feature of Dicenysis’ temples are their doorbells. They are comprised of a clear Perspex dome containing a pair of dice. When you press the doorbell, it makes a satisfying click, and the dice dance with. If you want do look inside or attend a rite, you must roll a six to enter. Inside, Temples of Dicenysis are pleasant and welcoming places, furnished with large tables and comfortable chairs. The walls will be lined with an impressive library of board games. The priesthood will be in attendance to counsel you and help you negotiate the rules of this game of life. The way of Dicenysis is said to be excellent for teaching conflict resolution and fair play. For example, when two Dicenysians bump into one another trying to get through the same doorway, they will throw a dice to see who gets to go first. However, sadly, they are not very tolerant of other religions. The priesthood of Dicenysis like to have the monopoly. The current leader of the faith is High Priestess Kathryn Anne (known as Kat). She was not the first choice when the previous incumbent left the post, but they settled for her.

The faith of Dicenysis contains small parts and is not suitable for children under 3.

Thank you to Clare Starkie and Rebecca Stothard for suggesting a deity of board games, and to Clare Starkie for coming up with the name Dicenysis.

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.

Termes – God of Back to School

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

Termes is a children’s deity. He watches over all youngsters during their years in full time education. Termes came into being in 387 BCE, the year of the founding of Plato’s Academy.

Temples of Termes are either leaking old complexes of buildings, haphazardly expanded over the years, or befuddling shiny new monoliths of baffling progressive architecture. Which also leak. Uniformly displayed in every temple are dozen pictures known as “The 12 Stages of the Education”. If you tour the temple and view them in order, in each one, Termes is depicted as a year older than in the previous. The first scene always depicts Termes in short trousers. At stage 7 there is a sudden, complete change of costume, and in the final scene he is show waving two fingers at his shite-hole home town as he heads off to university. The innermost sanctuary of the temple is forbidden to all but the priesthood. This mysterious realm is known as “The Staff Room”. No one knows what happens in here, but those who have passed the door have reported hearing quiet sobbing from inside. When choosing a new High Priest or Priestess they will select the one with their faculty still intact.

In the religion of Termes, it is the congregation which have to wear ceremonial vestments, not their parents or the priesthood. The uniform of each temple is slightly different, and only available from a few select retailers at conveniently extortionate prices. All clothing comes in one size, known as size “you’ll grow into it”. Any member of the congregation found to not be wearing their uniform correctly at the temple will be immediately sent home with a note.

Termes’ sacred day occurs on the 1^st of September. It is known as the “First Day of Termes”. This festival is loathed by all Termian children and priests, but loved and longed for by Termian parents. Let me describe a Termian child’s typical “First Day of Termes” for you.

The preparation for this special day usually begins in July when supplies for the celebration start to be stocked in the shops. A fraught and hectic family shopping trip will take place to purchase all the necessary accoutrements and vestments. Traditionally, mothers will take their children on this annual venture. However, from time to time, brave fathers have stepped into the breech. According to the folklore of Termes this yields mixed results. There is a famous myth told of a male guardian who took his young charge back to school shopping. Sure, he got the books and the clothes okay, but he also forgot to get their broken glasses fixed and brought the child an owl. (In modern times this attitude is considered by many Termians to be old fashioned and sexist and parents will undertake the duties equally). Children will also usually receive their annual shearing at this time in readiness for the festival.

The night before (known by Termians as “The Longest Night”) is a flurry of activity to try and ensure excellent organisation, followed by eight dark hours of restlessness. By strict tradition, parents will yell at their children exactly one hundred times to “Pack their bag”. Also by strict tradition, their children don’t. At dawn on the big day the children are roused early, scrubbed to within an inch of their life, forced into their new vestments and lined up in front of the fire place to be ritually shot for Instagram. Thus their tender dignity is sacrificed to Termes. Once the moment has been captured, the children are allowed to break their fast. They weren’t allowed to eat before “in case they got something on it”.

Next the children will leave the house to go to the temple in a ceremonial rush. In ancient times they made this journey on foot. Nowadays these processional routes* are jammed solid with honking Land Rovers and Audis. This change has come about because over time all schools have been re located up mountains. It is a modern tradition for the children to fling the doors of these vehicles open without looking, for the parents to leave the engine running and for the vehicle to be left parked diagonally on the yellow zig-zags whilst someone has a chat. As the children enter the compound, the temple bells will ring shrilly to mark the start of the new year.

At the temple, the children will gather in the hall to hear a short address of welcome from the Head Priest. This will also contain messages of inspiration and dire warning for the year ahead. Following this, worshippers engage in the traditional activities of colouring in time tables, catching up with friends, covering books in wrapping paper and getting lost. Then they will write an essay of meditative reflection known as the “What I Did On My Holidays”. Sometimes the priesthood may hold a little pop quiz, which really bursts everyone’s bubble. Older children will be introduced to a variety of new subjects to study. Every style conscious Termian child hopes to have Geography on the First Day of Termes, because Geography is where it’s at.

The day ends at around 3pm, when the weary youngsters will wend their way home. When their parents enquire how their day went, the answer will always be “Ugh, alright”. When asked what they did, the answer is always, “Nuffin”.

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.

*Note for Classicists: The route to a Temple of Termes is marked by distinctive statues known as Terma (or Terms). Terma consist of a vertical stone cuboid plinth topped with a sculpted head of the god. The front of the plinth is decorated with a carving of an Oxford Maths Set 15cm perspex ruler and a couple of protractors. It is considered pious and good luck to touch the carving of the ruler as you pass. They say if you have pleased the god it will turn into a 30cm ruler.

Sue Doku – Goddess of Boring Journeys

August 11, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Some say it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. That the journey is the reward. Followers of Sue Doku see the journey as a trial to be ameliorated with amusements and snacks. She is said to have originated during the long sea voyages of ancient history, but her appearance has changed and developed as much as our transportation habits have over the millennia. Sue Doku’s divine consort is Traffique D’Lay – God of Roadworks and Adverse Weather. Her best friend is the water nymph Sheewee. Her sacred animal is a spaniel who likes to ride along with its head out of the window and its tongue and ears flapping in the slipstream.

Her temples are housed in motorway rest stops (which is why they are called Motorway Services) and airports. (Attempts to also move into bus and rail stations were abandoned after they were vigorously resisted by the church of Cancelle, the Goddess of Public Transport). If you have travelled, you will almost certainly have unwittingly visited one. The outer compounds of the temples house exciting and convenient dining and shopping opportunities. The restaurants are exclusively staffed by chefs of short stature. The proceeds of these businesses fund the church. This is why their prices tend to be somewhere between “HOW MUCH!?” and “Quick! Get the defibrillator!” The “public service” work of this faith seems to be limited to providing free public conveniences.

Amongst the unique products you can purchase at a Temple of Sue Doku are the Consecrated Chewable Toothbrushes, perfect if you have the triple curse of halitosis, hunger and heresy. They are available in vending machines in the toilets, so you can hide your shame as you make your discrete purchase. Some temples sell Black Toblerones (considered to be the food of the Gods). They are doubly rare, as the Airport Temples are the only places where one can buy these delicious plane chocolates. One can also purchase CDs of Sue Doku’s sacred music, such as the famous compilation “Now That’s What I Call Songs That Will Get On Your Nerves”. This includes the ever popular “As I Wonder Through the Valley of the Shadows of Death, I Wonder Whether We Are Nearly There Yet?”, the uplifting sing-along track “Halt This Conveyance. I Need a Wee Wee”, the haunting “Ego Sentio Vomitum Satiata”, and the breakaway hit “Don’t Let Jesus Take the Wheel, He Lived in the 1^st Century CE, Never Passed His Test and I’m Not Sure Whether the Fluid in His Sports Bottle is Still Water”.

The last notable products I will mention, which can be purchased from Sue Doku’s temples, are her sacred texts. If you wish to search for the word, this is where you would do well to look. These texts are always in paperback form, and come with a free pencil and the chance to win an Italian family holiday in Depressa. They contain collections of philosophical conundrums to stimulate a person’s spiritual side, and help maintain cognitive function during times when one fears one’s brain might atrophy from sheer ennui.

In the inner sanctum where “Services” are held, the seating provided for the congregation is in the form of 81 box pews in a 9×9 formation, subdivided into 9 squares of 9 boxes with narrow aisles running between them. Exactly 405 worshippers must attend each service. Before the service can start, they must seat themselves so that in each sub square of 9 box pews, one box contains one worshipper, another contains two, another contains three, and so on up to the last box which seats 9. Not only that, but they believe that if, in the full grid of the seating, any line contains more than one box with the same number of people in it, the world will end. In the early days of the faith, it would take hours of shuffling and seat switching before a service could commence. Nowadays, a few of the priesthood will already be seated when the congregation start to arrive, to give them some clues. This reduces the time taken to seat the congregation to roughly the duration of the average coffee break. Once they are seated, the officiating priest will don holy orange lifejacket and oxygen mask, point out the emergency exits here, here and here, and demonstrate how to use the ceremonial emergency whistle. During the service, each congregation member will be given a complimentary boiled sweet. Although in more health conscious modern times, these Barley Sugars are being replaced with Barely Sugars. Each service traditionally ends with dancing, when the priest finally belts up, and the worshippers take their partners by the hand for the “Inertia Reel”.

It is not all work for the Priesthood. They also practice an unusual and unique martial art for discipline, entertainment and sport. This is a form of wrestling where the winner is the one who makes their opponent hit themselves the most times. The wrestling ring is modelled on the back seat of a family car. The most infamous bouts in the history have always been fought between siblings. Perhaps the most notoriously bloody of these was the 1987 “Pagga in the Peugeot”, which was fought between 9 year old twins just outside Newport Pagnell. It began with the singing of the national anthem, and ended with a trip to A&E and suspension of pocket money.

If you wish to be initiated into the priesthood of Sue Doku, you will first be thoroughly interviewed to ensure your suitability. First they will demand to know whether you identify as an animal, vegetable or mineral. Then you will be asked a series of 20 probing questions, to which you can only answer yes or no. If the interviewing priest can correctly divine your true nature from this process, then you are accepted into the clergy. You may find the church leadership to be quite argumentative and confrontational, they are always having cross words. The current head of Sue Doku’s church is The Very Tedious Ian Spye. He is chauffer driven around the country to perform his duties in a yellow car. Have fun looking out for his distinctive vehicle when you are on the roads yourself. If you see him, be sure to shout out “Yellow Car!”

You will never hear a priest of Sue Doku on BBC Radio’s “Thought for the Day”. This is because they get their own slot for a couple of minutes, twice an hour. This broadcast does its best to warn Sue Dokuites of potential perils in the day’s journey ahead of them. The church also evangelises through inspirational religious slogans, like “Melior quam foris interius”, printed on those complimentary aeroplane sick bags you find in your seat pocket.

I will leave you with a few lines from one of Sue Doku’s well known prayers for air travellers.

“May the runway fall away beneath you,
May the wind always be at your back,
May the person in the seat next to you be pleasant,
And may you be upgraded to first class,
May your pilot be sober,
And may your baggage arrive at your destination,
May the volcanic ash clouds not ground your flight,
And may security not pull you aside for a full cavity search,
And until we meet again,
May the Goddess hold you in the palm of her hand,
And not squeeze too tight during air turbulence.”

(Author’s note: If you zoom in on the picture, both the Sudoku puzzle and the word search are proper puzzles. Have fun.)

Thank you to Adam Broadhurst for suggesting Sue Doku. He has just come back from a holiday in the Scottish Isles, so I can’t think where he got the idea from.

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.

Sithee – God of South Yorkshire

August 4, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ 3 Comments

Nah then.

Sithee is the God of the desolate industrial wasteland* that stretches from Chesterfield to Wakefield. He represents this benighted county with a Thorne in its side. He is the county’s own God. Sithee is a deity of many avatars. He has died and been re-incarnated at least 25 times. With each death more dramatic and poignant than the last. He is one of the few deities to be a martyr to his own faith. Between each incarnation, his priesthood will form a circle and chant the word “Bastard” over and over until he is born again.

Sithee has two sacred animals. The first is a duck which is constantly on the wing. It is said to never, ever land. In short, this duck is always up. The second is a mighty water serpent, which likes to coil in t’bath. Sithee consorts with a celestial harem of promiscuous concubines, known (somewhat unkindly) as “The Slag Heap”. He is sometimes depicted with his ceremonial weapon, used for stabbing his enemies in the guts, called the “Tripedent”.

Sithee’s priesthood maintain his temples and conduct the “Reyts” of worship. The music for these rituals is supplied by a live former-colliery brass band playing traditional South Yorkshire classical tunes, such as “Don’t You Want Me Baby”. For occasions of great gravitas, they will play the hoviest of hymns, Largo from Dvorak’s New World Symphony. At the climax of the Reyt a cup of tea is shared amongst the congregation as a kind of communion. A proper Yorkshire brew is made in the ceremonial tea pot. Which is never washed. The oldest of these ceremonial tea pots has such thick tannin deposits inside that it barely holds a thimbleful of tea.

There are four temples of Sithee, located in Sheffield, Rotherham, Barnsley and Doncaster. Each temple is the centre of a different sub-sect of the church of Sithee. The sects can be distinguished by what they call a narrow passage between two houses, and by what they will serve you when you ask for a fishcake. One does not simply walk into a Temple of Sithee. It used to be that the best way to get there was by the much missed Eagle Cars. Nowadays, pilgrims are dashed to the temple at a terrifying speed, through countless red lights by Chitty Taxis. Don’t try to get there on the 120 bus. It will only get you to Halfway (and you’ll be robbed if you try to get there on the 52 as it has Crookes on it). You can’t use your own car to get there as, strangely, there is no parkin nearby.

Every year Sithee demands a tribute. One night each summer, unwary Offcumdens are herded into t’Wicker Ski Village, and the whole thing is set ablaze. It is then rebuilt ready for next year’s ritual burning. One year, Diana Rigg was nearly accidentally ignited. The priesthood were momentarily confused by her theatrical R.P. English and put her into the rattan chalet. As the flames started to take hold around her, one of the priests sarcastically asked the sacrifices “How are you getting on in there?”. When Diana answered “Ah. Not so bad.” She was immediately rescued.

The church is renowned for being inclusive of the LGBTQ+ community. This actually started accidentally. One day the message board outside the temple read “We love shirt-lifters”, and from that point onwards his gay following grew. The church leaders decided to keep very quiet about the fact that they originally put up the message to try and get a corporate sponsorship from Farrow’s Mushy Peas.

The church of Sithee runs a dating advice service, where young men can learn the art of elegant chat up lines. Amongst the tried and tested Yorkshire chat up lines you can learn are, the passionate “Brace thi’ssen Lass” and the more casual “Wake up”. The church also run a charitable emergency ambulance service. You can recognise their ambulances by their distinctive sirens which go, “Dee-da, dee-da, dee-da, dee-da”.

Should you decide to be initiated into the church of Sithee, be prepared to undergo a strange and dark Reyt. First one will be anointed with a special blend of Henderson’s Relish and River Don Water. Then one has to hold a ferret in one’s trousers whilst pouring molten steel from a crucible and forging it to make a Sheffield Steel knife. Only the most dedicated, steady handed and pain oblivious neophytes make it to full membership. If you make it however, you earn the privilege of calling all the other priests “Love”.

*No. You can’t see any rolling purple moors, dramatic views, secluded wooded valleys, elegant stately homes or picturesque parks. It’s all an optical illusion in your mind. Now keep quiet about it. If you tell anyone, they’ll just think you’re mad.

Thank you to Nick Ward for naming Sithee, and to Adam Broadhurst, Rebecca Stothard, Wesley Perriman, Cis Heaviside, Ju Haynes, Carrie-May Mealor, Pascal Harper, Will Bayley, Alex Smith, Carey Anne Boyce, Jozafeen Knights and Janet Hudson for piling in with loads of excellent suggestions. (So many in fact, that over the coming “Yorkshire Days” for the next three years there will be a deity for each area of the God’s own county.)

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.

Betty Swoobs – Goddess of Heatwaves

July 28, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Betty Swoobs is the Goddess of Heatwaves in latitudes where extreme temperatures are only occasionally experienced. Sometimes known as the English Summer Goddess. She watches over all those who briefly bake in high summer temperatures approximately once a year. Wherever an air conditioner cannot be considered a reasonable long-term investment, wherever people sleep with but one foot under the duvet and whenever Linus puts down his blue blanket voluntarily, she is there.

Betty Swoobs is said to be comely in the form of her features, but strikingly unusual in her colouring. Beneath a tumbling mass of titian hair, is a face the hue of a boiled lobster dusted with golden freckles. As she is not at the coast where she would like to be, her visage constantly wears a miserable expression, known as her resting beach face. She is renowned for having a hot arse. This is because she drives a black celestial chariot with vinyl seats. Her thighs are quite badly burned too. She is a virgin goddess, though not by choice. It’s just that her thighs have been stuck together with sweat since 5763 BCE.

Her divine consort is Bheti Swallocks, the God of PVC trousers. However, her married status has never deterred the lusts of the Thunder God. This lustful rambling rumbler seems to follow her everywhere, stalking just a few hours behind her and trying to flash her, as she flees ahead of his massing clouds.

The faithful of Betty Swoobs meet for worship in the refrigerator aisles of supermarkets and freezer centres. Here they chill the atmosphere even more with a little prayer conditioning. A rite will last until a security guard asks them to move on or buy something. At which point they will blindly grab a random purchase from the “Seasonal Goods” aisle. The item they blindly select is said to be prophetically significant. As most rites of Betty Swoobs are held between June and August, this item is usually a pack of Christmas Cards.

Followers will also sometimes attempt to gather outdoors for a ritual alfresco meal. When they do, a sacrificial dish of jam is always placed a short distance from the party. Betty Swoobs is said to be constantly accompanied by a swarm of supernatural wasps known as the Narsti-Buggerz. This offering is an attempt to placate these wing-ed psychopaths and ensure a peaceful picnic.

Once a year, on once of these outings, they will hold a series of games to honour the goddess. The first event is a race in which you have to run back from an ice cream van with a 99 and eat it before it melts. This race is called “The Game of Cones”. If you win, you get to sit on the Iron Cone. This is not as must fun as it sounds. They also hold a competition to formulate the most effective sun block called “The SPF-X Factor”.

All music for ritual worship of Betty Swoobs is supplied from the stereos of passing cars, blasting out at the loudest possible volume to be sure of reaching the ears of the goddess. Thumping bass beats are said to please her most. She also enjoys the sound of lawn movers, strimmers and chain saws at 8.30am on a Sunday morning.

The head of the clergy is known by the title “Mrs Droughtfire”, and they assume feminine attire regardless of gender. The main task of Mrs Droughtfire is to walk the ancient paths across the moorlands and to practice human sacrifice on any blithering fool they see attempting to light a barbecue on the peaty soil. She will then pile stones over the remains to make a little cairn as a warning to others. Mrs Droughtfire always keeps a ceremonial pet bear of the sub-species Ursus fumus.

Betty Swoobs has no temples in Australia. The Australians find her whole faith hilarious. Instead they worship Troppo – God of Proper Scorchers.

Thank you to all the Hive Mind for chipping in and helping with Betty Swoobs, especially Janet Hudson and Adam Broadhurst.

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.

Banksia – Goddess of Modern Art

July 20, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Goddess Banksia was created when the Green Fairy of the Bohemian Revolution was splattered against the windscreen of Jackson Pollock’s speeding car. Banksia watches over all Modern, Contemporary and Conceptual Art and Artists. If you have to ask whether or not it is art, then it falls under the province of Banksia.

No one, in fact, really knows what Banksia looks like. Artists that have glimpsed her running through the corners of their drug induced nightmares have tried to record their impressions, but the results are very varied. Banksia is only the name we know her by. Her true name is a sacred secret held only by the High Priest. Unlike other gods (which you may be encouraged to “find”), NO ONE WANTS YOU TO FIND BANKSIA. The mystery will always be more enigmatic than the answer.

The first time you see a temple of Banksia the radical, conceptual,
brutalist architecture of the exterior may make you wonder whether the building is a ground-breaking work of art or just still under construction. Above the main entrance the letters W.T.F. are carved into the stonework. The rooms inside the temple are mostly either light, airy galleries or studios. The galleries are the only areas where the general public are allowed. (The Avant Security Guards control access.) They are painted in 38 different shades of white and are almost bare but for the sacred works displayed and the occasional pew. By contrast the studios are cluttered rats nests that “are exactly the way we like it so don’t you dare touch a thing”.

Each temple of Banksia also has a room where devotees can go for comfort when they are drowning in depressive thoughts that their art is contrived, unoriginal and valueless. This is called the Negative Space. There is also a tea room. By day this may seem a pleasant and innocent place, somewhere to sit and cogitate on creativity, but dark rumours circulate about Banksia’s tea rooms. By night they are said to be used to carry out a horrendous torture on transgressors of the faith. The victim is said to be cruelly force fed scones. They are made to munch until they scream.

The final room you might visit in the temple is the smallest one. A post-modernist bathroom installation known as the Po-Mo (by R. Mutt). Whatever you do, do not actually use it. It’s not plumbed in and it has a price tag which means it will be the most expensive penny you ever spend. If you are a neophyte artist, as you leave the temple, feel free to help yourself from the box of goodwill donated art materials. These were originally given to the higher echelons priesthood as gifts by well-meaning friends who didn’t realise that they would have been happier with a donation of half a pint of menstrual blood and a cup of population paste to paint with.

The Priesthood of Banksia are seen by outsiders as somewhat… …well let’s use the kind term “eccentric”. They have either come to the faith at a young age and been driven mad by the relentless pursuit of artistic perfection, or they were a bit nutty to begin with and were advised to join the faith as a form of therapy. They proudly wear their official robes of office, which look like paint streaked old shirts. They always have unruly manes of hair, for of the hundred or so brushes that each priest owns, not one of them is a hairbrush. (Or a sweeping brush.) When one stands within about 50 meters of a priest of Banksia, one can detect their distinctive perfume, a blend of linseed oil and turpentine. The current High Priest in residence is Mr Art Majors.

Because an artist’s work tends to increase in value after the artists death. The thing a Banksian dreads most is seeing their doctor coming into the temple gallery and buying all of their paintings. When the mortal coil finally ends, the church of Banskia offers unconventional funerary services, open to all who wish to achieve a kind of aesthetic immortality. Their firm of funeral directors Van Hagens & Hirst are amazingly popular. You can be your own beautiful memento mori! If you attend a Banksian funeral, it is important to show the proper respect for the deceased by speaking in dead pantones.

The church of Banksia is not typically a wealthy one. The principal revenue raiser is the sale of Modern and Conceptual Artworks produced by the clergy. A very few of the higher clergy can demand exorbitantly high prices for their work. It is just as well, as they are needed to subsidise the rest of the clergy. Who, when they do sell a piece, usually make less profit than the person who framed it. The Monochromist sect are the only acolytes to actually generate a reliable, regular income for the faith. As a side-line they make those paint colour cards you can pick up at the DIY warehouse. They also sometimes name new colour shades using the rejected working titles for their own artwork. This is why there is a shade of bluish green non drip gloss called Poseidon’s Vomit. If any surplus income remains after the maintenance of the temple and the clergy, then it is invested in public arts. Their next planned project is the building of a giant steel protractor at the side of the A1 near Gateshead (working title “The Angle of the North”). Following this there is a plan to build an enormous statue of the Hamburglar overlooking the M1 near Sheffield (working title “The Man of Steal”).

Should you decide to visit a temple of Banksia for a little enlightenment one rainy Sunday afternoon, be very careful what you say whilst inside. If anyone is heard to utter the blasphemous words “Huh! I could have done that.” in her temple, one of the priests will thwack them around the head with a large, heavy marble tablet inscribed with the words “Yeah. But you didn’t!”

A note:
There are references to 15 Modern and Contemporary artists / art works in this picture. Have fun finding
them all. If you get stuck, I will do a little post with the answers next weekend.

Thank you to James R Turner (@JRTwrites) for suggesting Banksia.

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.

Eureka – Goddess of Inspiration

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

Just because she spends all her time in an overflowing bath and has a bubbly personality, do not make the mistake of assuming that she’s a flake!

Where are our minds most open to ideas and original thoughts? Where do we most often find the answers to life’s problems? Where are our ears opened to their widest to the background whispering of the universe? Why! In the bath of course. Eureka is the patron of artists, writers and philosophers as well as those who need a good scrub up.

“Heureka” was originally a human female who lived deep in the mists of pre-history. She had a penchant for bathing in natural hot springs to ease the aches of her body. However, the nearest natural hot springs were a full day’s travel from her settlement. During one visit, whilst sat in the soothing sulphurous waters, she thought “I wonder if I could build something like this at home?” This was the first ablution based inspiration to occur to any of humankind. On her return she set to work, and a hut, a hypocaust and a hydrotherapy pool later she had created the first bath. The popularity was immediate, and her tribe began to worship her after her death in gratitude.

Although, in later antiquity, she was not considered a major deity, we can still find historical examples of famous historical figures praising her name when they have a great idea. The most famous example of this is perhaps Archimedes. Whom, without her divine inspiration, would have been screwed. In fact, she was so synonymous with serendipity that her name actually came to mean “I found it!” in Ancient Greek. Sadly, Archimedes had a habit of dropping his aitches, and so she was constantly mispronounced thereafter. Gradually “Eureka” became the accepted modern form of her name.

Eureka’s sacred animal is the Rubber Duck. On being confirmed into the faith, each neophyte will receive their own Rubber Duck. This duck will be their cherished lifetime meditation companion. Whilst they contemplate the cosmos from their steaming bath, they will discuss the ideas that come to them with their Rubber Duck. The arch enemies of Eureka, Clogg (a shapeless, hairy demon who lurks in the plug hole and is summoned by the washing of long hair and the spring shaving of legs) and Scum (son of Sodium and Lauryl Sulphate), try to give bathers bad ideas. Talking things through with the Rubber Duck acts as a kind of “bad ideas filter” and is known as Rubber Ducking.

Eureka’s temples are steam filled stews containing a complex of pools of warm, scented water. The baths are lined with the rare metallic alloy Umahia. This is made by mixing Umium (Um), the element of contemplation with Ahthatsitium (Ah) the element of inspiration. This is said to sanctify the waters they contain and give them the power to stimulate the mind. The temple constantly rings with voices of varying quality raised in songs of praise. Singing in the bath is actively encouraged. As is consuming wine, chocolate, and eating fibrous foods in order to create one’s own hot tub effect. One can tell the seniority and holiness of her followers by how wrinkly they are. Each temple keeps a large flock of fluffy owls from Yorkshire which waft their wings to dispel drops of water from the faithful when they arise from their bath. When you are wet t’owls will get you dry.

If you attend a service of prayer at the temple, be ready to join in with the traditional congregational chorus of “Yes it does, doesn’t it.” When the High Priestess says “Where’s the soap”. At the conclusion of the rite the High Priestess will bless each member of the congregation in turn with a little tap on the head.

The sacred texts of Eureka are a bibliophile’s nightmare. They are all wrinkly and have broken spines because they always being perused in the bath.

Once monotheistic religions began to take over, there were efforts by the Christian church to discredit Eureka by branding her the Floozy in the Jacuzzi, the Slag in the Spa, the Bint in the Bath and the Tart in the Tub. This had the effect of eventually sending the whole religion down the drain, and for centauries mankind went unwashed and uninspired. Many temples were looted, with the thieves making a clean get away. Fortunately Eureka has gained a resurgence in more enlightened and sanitary modern times.

The largest and principle surviving Temple of Eureka is (perhaps unsurprisingly) in Bath in the United Kingdom. This temple houses a shop where one can purchase a plethora of sanctified bath products, heavily scented with aromas said to open the mind. Even if you have never visited the temple, you have probably smelt it. The waft of patchouli is said to be detectable from the Chippenham Services on the M4. The name of this emporium is “Gert Lush”. Here, one can even purchase water from High Priestess Delphine’s private bath. This is considered so holy that devotees will actually pay thirty quid a pop for a small bottle of the stuff.

Thank you to Kieron Philips for suggesting Eureka.

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.

Eric – God of Pub Games

July 7, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Eric, the God of Pub Games is an extremely Ancient Deity. He is known to predate the founding of the Olympic Games in 776 BCE. He was the patron deity of the earlier and now forgotten Olympub Games. The date that the Olympub games were founded is now lost to antiquity, but they may have begun the first time the Mesopotamians gathered and competed to throw a loop of string over a stick whilst consuming dangerous quantities of proto-ale. The religion spread rapidly, and the first temple to Eric was built as a simple circle of tall, dark, rectangular standing stones, each bearing a pattern of white dots, stood on their ends. This design was soon copied many times across the ancient world in what seems to have been a kind of domino effect.

The worship of Eric centres around developing the mind, body and character through the playing of social games of skill and chance. These are also believed to bond communities, families and friends together through communal worship. Some detractors say that the religion of Eric is a load of Bulls Hit, but his faithful will tell you he’s okey.

Eric’s modern places of worship are less like Temples and more like Saloons. The interior décor of the temple trends heavily towards dark green leather, baize and wood panelling. It is divided into 9 different chapels, each dedicated to one of the 9 Sacred Sports; darts, pool, billiards, poker, cribbage, skittles, dice, ring toss and shove ha’penny. His temples often have quirky colloquial names such as “The Ham and Cheese”, “The Shuffle and Board” and “The Curly Cue”. Outside the main structure is an over spill marquee for special festivals. It is in the shape of two large adjoined circus tents. This structure is known as the “double top”. Every temple also has a small crowd of bored children sat outside on some broken swings. Each one forlornly clutches a bottle of Vimto with a straw and a bag of crisps.

The Chapel of Darts is great, smashing and super. However, it can be a risky place to enter. Some people see the flying projectiles inside and immediately do a 180 and leave. Competitions are held here and even if you are not successful in these, they will still give you a chance to look at what you could have won. If you do succeed… …well bully for you! Those worshippers who are “Knowers” rather than “Throwers” come to try and overcome their “Projectile Dysfunction” through therapy and prayer. Treatments at the temple can be expensive, so most only resort to it when they are in the throws of despair. The Chapel of Darts also contains a confessional where one can gain spiritual solace and atonement by divulging ones darty secrets. If you are travelling to visit the Chapel of Darts, it is best to avoid cheap flights. Don’t worry about your return journey, as you will always, at least, leave with your bus fare home… …or a speed boat. Which will be handy for making your way back to Wolverhapton.

The Chapel of Pool is perhaps the tensest place in the temple. Here worshippers stare one another out to see who will break first. The corridor to the chapel has a lengthy line of 50p’s laid along it’s length. Anyone arriving and arbitrarily deciding that “winner stays on” will be forced to eat a hundred cubes of blue chalk. The Chapel of Pool is particularly popular with younger members of the faith. They often study there in hopes of being professional pool players when they grow up. Until they realise they can’t have it both ways. Worshippers are welcome to stay all day, but are asked to pop outside if they need to pot a brown or get the urge to sink the pink.

The Priests and Priestesses of Eric organise and arbitrate all the games within the temple. They each have 4 suits of vestments, two red and two black, which each have their own symbolism. The High Priestess is renowned for her stern and unemotional visage. However much you are tempted, you are advised not to poke her face to see if it’s real.

Thank you to Adam Broadhurst for suggesting Eric.

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.