Inspirouette – Goddess of Budding Ballerinas

January 23, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

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!

Idol Scribblings Volume Two
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Idol Scribblings Volume One

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

January 9, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

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 19^th 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!”

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.

We Three Kingfishers

December 23, 2021December 23, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Three Kingfishers are sat on a snow dusted, holly tree branch. They are each wearing a small gold crown set with gems. One of the Kingfishers is pointing towards a bright star in the twilight sky with it's wing. The image text says, "Season's Greetings from Idol Scribblings" and "We Three Kingfishers". — We Three Kingfishers ©

Merry Christmas from Idol Scribblings!

In 2020 I was given the honor of drawing the artwork for Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust’s member’s Christmas Card (The Wraptor). You can imagine my delight at getting another opportunity to produce the Christmas Card artwork again in 2021. This year we chose one of the most recognisable and beloved of all UK birds, the Kingfisher. These three wise and noble Kingfishers are on their way to visit a stable somewhere east of here, with gifts of Frankincense, Myrrh and Goldfish.

Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust do amazing work in my local area making a space for wildlife to thrive in a picturesque, but heavily industrial part of the country. Their 15 reserves are open access and are located in a variety of habitats from the city centres to the moorlands. Throughout the repeated lockdowns, these beautiful spaces have remained open to all. Somewhere to enjoy exercise and fresh air and restore the soul with plenty of space to do so safely. Their education team do essential work supporting schools and teachers, and creating experiences which engage young people with nature and their environment. Not only this, but they work on a larger scale with other Wildlife Trusts to campaign protect our environment as a whole and fight environmental crime.

Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust’s reserves at Blacka Moor, Centenary Riverside and Greno Woods and many, many more.

If you have a few quid to spare this festive season, may I suggest joining or donating to Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust (or your own local area Wildlife Trust). You can also gift membership. It makes a wonderful present! Click one of the images below to find out how. You can also follow their work on twitter through @WildSheffield and @WildlifeTrusts respectively.

Support Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust
https://www.wildsheffield.com/support-us/

Find your local Wildlife Trust
https://www.wildlifetrusts.org/

Thank you for reading Idol Scribblings in 2021, and for all your support, social media likes, retweets, plugs and shares. You are the best supporters an artist could have. Merry Yuletide and a Happy New Year to you all.

**Idol Scribblings Volume One**

A collection of 52 deities, ancient and modern, for all occations from Idol Scribblings. Produced in 2019-2020.
Order your copy here
https://idolscribblings.blog/the-book/

**Idol Scribblings**
**Volume Two**

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**

Yarn Owl

November 28, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Yarn Owl is a creature of the knit.

You can purchase the Yarn Owl and all the other Second Bestiary animals on high quality garments and gifts through my Redbubble Shop.

For the Yarn Owl with black text for light garments and backgrounds go to https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/95425409

For the Yarn Owl with white text for dark garments and backgrounds go to https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/95425679

To suggest a single letter mutation creature for the Second Bestiary click here.

Why not check out my other project, Idol Scribblings. A pantheon of humorous fictional deities for modern problems.

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

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Soccerates – God of Football

July 4, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

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!

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

June 27, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

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.

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!

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.

Camprey

June 12, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Camprey is a proud EelGBTQ+ water dweller. It strives for Eelquality.

Look Fabulous at your Pride celebrations!
You can purchase the Campery and all the other Second Bestiary animals on high quality garments and gifts through my Redbubble Shop.

For the Camprey with black text for light garments and backgrounds go to https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/80149522

For the Camprey with white text for dark garments and backgrounds go to
https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/80149895

To suggest a single letter mutation creature for the Second Bestiary click here.

Why not check out my other project, Idol Scribblings. A pantheon of humorous fictional deities for modern problems.

Ginnow

May 30, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Ginnow is a fish out of tonic. This martini-tiny fish can be found living in the vermouths of rivers. People often confuse the Ginnow with the Cocktail Stickleback.

(Note: I am having a little trouble getting this image to work for the RedBubble merchandise. I can’t seem to get the transparency of the glass to look right when it is put on other colour backgrounds. I will keep working on it and will let you know when they become available.)

To suggest a single letter mutation creature for the Second Bestiary click here.

Whilst you are here, why not check out my other project Idol Scribblings. A pantheon of humorous, fictional Gods and Goddesses for modern problems.

Wogana La La La Olé – Deity of Song Contests

May 22, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

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.

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.

Darthworm

May 2, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

The Darthworm was formerly known as Annelid Skywriggler. They are thought to be responsible for the existence of those pesky hyperspace wormholes. This species hibernates through the winter, re-emerging every spring on May the Fourth.

Thanks to Bill Johnston for suggesting the Darthworm, and a happy “May the Fourth Be With You” to all my readers.

To suggest a single letter mutation creature for the Second Bestiary click here.

Whilst you are here, why not check out my other project Idol Scribblings. A pantheon of humorous, fictional Gods and Goddesses for modern problems.