Gardenia – Goddess of Lady Gardeners

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Justha Wan – God of Impromptu Drinking Sessions

August 25, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ 1 Comment

At five o’clock all across the world (and it’s always five o’clock somewhere), Justha Wan’s call to prayer begins. “Got time for a pint?” This god watches over all those who give the doomed response, “Okay, but just the one. It’s a school night”.

Justha Wan is closely associated with beer and brewing. He is the God of all those occasions when a swift jar turns into a legendary all-night bender. All people have “that one friend” who is a devout follower of this faith (and if you can’t think who it is, it’s YOU). They will frequently try to lead their friends astray to the righteous path of Justha Wan. If you know such a person, you have probably learned to accept invitations to join their religious devotions with trepidation. Especially as last time you worshipped with them you achieved divine communion with 6 pints, three doubles, a kebab and the floor.

Justha Wan’s has three notable divine powers. First is his ability to make time jump from 5.30pm to last orders seemingly instantaneously. Secondly he has the ability to turn a swift half into a swift half dozen. Thirdly, he can defend his faithful from spousal ire in the early hours by making a bunch of petrol station flowers appear in their hand as if by magic. Be warned though, Justha Wan’s protection will abruptly desert you when the alarm sounds the following morning and you have to rise for work.

Justha Wan’s sacred animals are the infamous “Beer Monkeys”. They are said to see the tired and emotional worshipper safely to their doorstep after each service. However, in payment they will take all your cash, your keys, your phone and possibly your trousers. You will know whether it is the Beer Monkeys who have guided you home, as you will be left with a distinctly unpleasant aftertaste in your mouth that you can’t seem to get rid of.

Temples of Justha Wan are conveniently situated on the route between worshippers’ places of work and their homes. Enabling them to worship daily, should they desire to be so devout. The older established temples are often majestic buildings, belonging to one of the recognised sects (such as the Whitbreads or the Spoons). Nowadays there is a big boom in the popularity of non-conformist artisan micro temples. These micro temples are instantly recognisable by the sandwich boards stood outside baring their pun-based name and some nugget of wit and wisdom (such as “Welcome to the Blame & Claim – No Gin, No Fee”). Each temple has a tiny fragment of neutron star buried in its foundations. This artificially increases the gravity field in the vicinity. Once you enter a temple, it requires a feat of superhuman strength to leave. At closing time this artificial enhanced gravity field is turned off, and worshippers will find themselves forcibly, but quietly*, ejected.

Services typically commence at five (or whenever the working day ends in that region) and last until just after eleven. Throughout the priests will stand behind the bar and deliver homilies, liquor and dubious advice. The priesthood are highly trained to deliver the service. They will pump away enthusiastically for you, and guarantee that you will get perfect head. They will also distribute bags of sanctified potato wafers, pious mini ploughman’s in plastic pouches and (if you are really lucky) the priest may let you have a handful of his hot nuts. All this is to suitably prepare you for the extended conversation you will have with the deity via the porcelain telephone later that night.

Worshippers are requested to maintain a merry demeanour whilst in the temple. Those who are in a maudlin mood are gently removed to a special chapel, known as the Whine Bar. Here they can consume consecrated chasers and have a good moan to a specially trained Counsellor / Bartender / Priest. Consuming these consecrated chasers won’t necessarily solve your problems, but it’s worth a shot.

The current high priest of Jutha Wan is Oliver Notherwan. He is a well-qualified cleric. He studied brewing at university and got a thirst. He alone prepares the secret beer that allows the oracles of the faith to glimpse the future. This strange elixir is know as the Dejá Brew. The future they see almost always involves a blinding headache and a longing for death.

*For the sake of our neighbours.

Thank you to Adam Broadhurst, master of the impromptu sesh for suggesting Justha Wan. Please enjoy worshipping Justha Wan responsibly.

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.

Thaw – God of Broken Freezers

July 3, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wherever the constant background hum falls silent, Thaw is there. A visitation from Thaw can end up costing you a lot of lolly.

Thaw’s association with broken appliances probably derives from his tendency to try and mend things with his “mighty hammer”. In mythology, Scampi (the God of Seafood and Mischief) grew fed up with Thaw’s percussion engineering and not having any ice for his mead. Also, he “Had a whole box of Magnums in there man!”. Enraged, Scampi forced a Crown of Prawns onto Thaw’s head.

Thaw’s temples are usually simple white box-like buildings which have a distressing smell and a large puddle of water outside the front door. Many are upright structures with a single, large front door. Some are low, long and squat and accessed via an opening roof. In the USA the temples have a distinct “double front door” style.

His priests are known for being a bit “snowflake”, in that they will frequently break down and lose their cool. Despite this, they usually maintain themselves in good physical condition. The Elder Priest is said to have the body of an 18 year old, or at least he did until his freezer broke. Nonetheless, they are a close knit college, and should you join them, you will make lots of cool friends.

The great annual festival of Thaw is called “Deliquesce” and it takes place on the day after the first eight hour long power cut of the year. Thawians will cook and eat every scrap of food in their stores in a frenzy “before it goes off”, (including that tub of mystery brown liquid and chunks that was probably a homemade soup once upon a time) and a great feast is shared. At Deliquesce Thawian parents will traditionally give their children gifts of brand new fridges. Many parents will sentimentally enjoy watching the little ones’ faces light up as they open them.

Many people have found enlightenment through the way of Thaw. The words “I was blind, but now icy.” are often repeated in his sacred texts and anthems. It is forbidden by Thaw to take a slice of lemon in your drink. When offered ice and lemon at a pub, a Thawian will cry for just ice.

When a Thawian passes away they will be given a traditional funeral by their family. For these events, professional mourners are always hired, known as the “Cry O’re Genics”. Then the deceased is frozen and interred in a sub-zero crypt. A Thawian crypt can be identified as the words “Icy Dead People” are always carved over the entrance.

People also pray to Thaw when the icebox is taking too frigging long to defrost.

Thank you to Janet Hudson for suggesting Thaw.

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.