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!

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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.

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Oxymoron – God of Military Intelligence

March 28, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Oxymoron is the god of military intelligence, and watches over all spies, agents and analysts who play the espionage game. He is the perfect deity for anyone who was born yesterday, but thinks they were Bourne yesterday. The ethos of the faith is that, if we all know each other’s secrets but pretend that we don’t, an uneasy peace on earth can be maintained. Despite all their efforts, the devotees of Oxymoron have experienced many embarrassing failures in their missions over the years. Such as the time the Australian sect were resoundingly outwitted by a herd of emus, or all the time that the American branch watched too many Wile E Coyote cartoons and tried to assassinate Fidel Castro with an ACME exploding cigar. (However, Oxymoron’s followers cannot really be blamed for the “Bush Shoe Throwing Incident”. After all, the assailant was inclognito.)

Oxymorons believe that the first time they die they will be reincarnated. Just the one time though, as you only live twice (or so they say). Upon their second death they believe that their souls will go to Double O Heaven (which is just like normal heaven, but at a scale of 1:76.2). It is said that the faith was founded by Agent Ian Flemming, a theological operative who was so stealthy that, to this day, most people think he discovered penicillin. Oxymoron’s sacred animal is the mole.

Each country has its own sect or “Agency” of Oxymoron. These separate organisations rarely officially interact and are deeply suspicious of one another. In reality, some agents of Oxymoron work for more than one country’s sect. It is very hard to discourage people from becoming double agents. Mainly because anyone opting for this route ends up getting twice the pay for half the work.

The British agency of Oxymoron is known as MI6 (they decided not to number the agencies with roman numerals after it was pointed out that MI6 would then be easily confused with a popular strawberry ice cream lolly). It is led by a high priest who holds the title of “Premium Bond”. Their temple is located somewhere near the remote upland village of Dalton Moore. The main entrance to the temple is vigilantly guarded by a heavily armed punk agent with a plethora of body modifications. Anyone trying to invade of infiltrate the temple will have to get passed Pierced Brosnan. Therefore, you will not be surprised to hear that very little is known about the inside of the temple. The one thing I can tell you, is that in the centre of the temple stands a beautiful Aspydistra, which was a gift from a visiting ambassador. It is known by the members of the faith as “The Obvious Plant”. The temple upkeep is paid for with money raised by manufacturing and selling dried pasta quills, which they call “Money Penne”.

Potential new priests or “Agents” of Oxymoron are usually recruited over a quiet glass of sherry and must then undergo years of rigorous training. The first lesson they must attend is Camouflage and Disguise 101 (anyone marked as present on the register automatically fails). Then they must decode the sacred texts of Oxymoron, memorise the contents and then eat them. Teamwork is essential, so throughout their instruction, the novices get regular nights out together at casinos and cocktail bars (these Bonding moments are so important). Once they have passed the initial basic training, each agent will receive a plain white suit. The neophyte agent will be surprised by this, as the regulation garb of an agent of Oxymoron is a plain black suit. The confused trainee often asks, “Do you expect me to wear a white suit?” The response to which to which is always, “No. We expect you to dye.” The agent then usually asks if this needs to be done today, only to be told, “No. Dye another day.” Once they have graduated to full agents, it is common for priests of Oxymoron to travel around their target country in the guise of a company of actors, dancers or musicians on tour. This tactic popular tactic is known as “thespionage”.

Even less is known about the churches of Oxymoron in other countries. However, I can tell you that the Russian branch of the church is said to be headed by Cardi B’s sister Cagey. Also, I have heard chatter that the American priests of Oxymoron have spent the last eight years focusing their attention on an allotment in North Wales. I think they are hoping to track down source of the Snowden Leeks.

With thanks to @ladysixa for bringing it to my attention that IdolScribblings.blog has been blocked on US defense servers and to Kat Collier and Alex Smith for subsequently requesting a deity of military intelligence and generally egging me on.

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Wigan – God of Pi and Pie

March 14, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wigan, the deity of Pie and Pi, is without pier amongst the gods. He, and his divine consort Ashet exist in a pattypantheon of their own. Beloved by mathematicians, bakers and gourmets alike, who see him as the sauce of all goodness (mint sauce to be precise). He is the only god who has managed to calculate the circumference, surface area and volume of the celestial spheres. His followers have no time for other religions, they believe that only their god is pukka. They believe that Wigan created the first man from pastry dough, and then crafted the first woman from one of the man’s kidneys. Later in the tale, the woman is tempted to eat the Apple Pie of Knowledge by a serpent. This is known as the Snake and Kidney theory of creation.

The cult of Wigan is divided into two sects. The high church for the upper crust, and the low church (affectionately known as Greggs) for everyone else. What all followers of Wigan agree on is their violent opposition to anyone calling some stew with a little puff pastry hat a “pie”. According to them, this dish should more correctly be called an “Anathema”. They also strive to reject and thwart the upstart false idol “Tau” at every turn. (Tau thinks he’s twice as good as the God of Pi).

The priesthood of Wigan are renowned for their great pie-ety. A neophyte must study baking and mathematics for many years before being accepted into this circle. Their final assessment hinges on writing a scholarly paper about pies with sweet fillings, known as a “dessertation”. Many lay folk think that someone must be irrational to want to train as a priest of Wigan. In truth, they are just really turned on by geometry or, as the Wiganites describe, it “pisexual”. The priesthood are led by a triumvirate, currently these leaders are Sir Cumference (also known as Number 3), Ms Di Ameter (Number 1) and Mr Ray Deus (Number 4). They are the three significant figures of the faith. Other important figures in the cult are Pontius Pielot (whose job it is to make sure worshippers wash their hands before breaking a crust together), Magnum Pi (who is their head of temple security or “crustodian”), the Pied Piper (head of music) and Crustifex Maximus (the chef de cuisine). In their quest to push the boundaries of human knowledge, the priesthood of Wigan divided the circumference of the moon by its diameter, and the circumference of the earth by its diameter. They were disappointed to discover that there was absolutely no difference between Earth Pi and Moon Pi.

Circus clowns are considered to be paladins of the faith, and a custard pie fight is a holy war. Many famous painters have been inspired to depict the devastation that ensues. So at least it puts t’art on t’walls.

The temple of Wigan is similar in shape to the Royal Albert Hall. Unlike the Albert Hall, an elegant ceramic chimney pot rises from the centre of its roof which is styled to look like a singing bird. When the priests are baking, the smoke of their ovens rises from its upstretched beak. The architecture is decorated throughout with little fleur de lys motifs. As you enter you will see a sign by the door that says, “No Pies Are Left in This Temple Overnight”. Once inside you will see that the interior is dominated by a large statue of Wigan which urinates hot, rich gravy. This holy work of art is known as the “Mannequin Pi”. In front of this fountain stands the altar. A two legged stone table, with one leg straight and the other elegantly curved. If you plan to visit the temple, be advised that all worshippers are required to leave an offering on the altar in a small disposable foil tray. You are also strongly advised to wear a wipe clean hat as the temple is also home to Wigan’s flock of four and twenty sacred blackbirds.

The great festival of Wigan is celebrated on the 14^th of March every year. This involves a rite where many pies are brought forth to be shared by the congregation. Before they are eaten, the officiating priest chops 1 and 1/3 of the pies into square chunks (in other words, 4/3 Pie are cubed). This is all done to the accompaniment of a choir singing the holy number (a performance which never ends). The ritual ends with the priest declaring, “Rejoice! Crust is risen! Go in mushy peas.”

Happy Pi Day everyone!

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Nobra

March 7, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Nobra is a snake that eschews lingerie. It is seen by some as their lockdown spirit animal, and by others as a femenissssssst icon.

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Pythin

February 7, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The pythin is a really narrow snake.

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Chilly Sanders – God of the Nesh

January 31, 2021January 31, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Everyone knows at least one person who is always complaining that they feel cold. These folk are known as, “The Nesh*”. Chilly Sanders is the god who watches over these perpetually parky people. You don’t have to be cool to worship him, but it helps. If, whilst on the beach on a scorching summers day, you spy someone bundled up in a duffle coat and tartan travel rug, they are very likely to be a disciple of Chilly Sanders. If you were to say, “Winter is Coming” to his acolytes they would look at you askance. For them, winter is already here. Despite their sensitivity to the slightest chill, you will still find his followers out and about at all the big events. They like to feel the freeze and do it anyway.

Chilly Sanders’ mythology is said to originate all the way back in the last ice age, which his sacred texts refer to as “The Age of Shivery”. He is said to be the progeny of the Arthrites the God of Aches and Stiffness and Zephbrrrr the Goddess of Cold Drafts. Sadly, his parents’ relationship did not last long following Chilly’s conception. The deal breaker was that Zephbrrrr kept putting her cold feet on Arthrites whilst they were in bed. Statues of Chilly Sanders always show him to be (like Theseus) hypolispos, or “buttockless”. This is said to symbolically represent the fact that he is always freezing his arse off.

The temple of Chilly Sanders is in Burrrrrrrlington, Vermont. When a non-believer enters the temple of Chilly Sanders their face will instantly melt. This is not due to any Indiana Jones style ancient curse. It is simply because the temple is always maintained at a toasty 38^oC by the gargantuan five jet Robinson-Willey gas fire, in which burns their sacred eternal flame. On entering the temple, each worshipper is greeted by the priests with a rousing chorus of, “Put the wood in the hole! Were you born in a barn?” The worshipper will then hang their cap on one of the impressive temple hat pegs. The priesthood can be recognised by the sacred giant knitted mittens which they must wear at all times. The church undertakes lots of good works in the community. These include supplying hot meals daily to the vulnerable. They fund this endeavour by manufacturing much sought after t-shirts bearing the image of the god.

Whilst worshippers of Chilly Sanders may be of any age. However, the majority of the flock are either of the venerable persuasion or hail from warmer climes. The only people excluded from the faith are teenagers who whinge about being cold but won’t put a sweater on. People from Newcastle-upon-Tyne are technically welcome to join. It’s just that none of them ever have.

Members of the faith who are still of working age are afflicted by a terrible curse which follows them throughout their careers. In any office where they are employed, they will always somehow end up sat at the desk next to someone who is menopausal. The most common cause of premature death amongst Sanderians is touching the thermostat.

The faith of Chilly Sanders has many famous philosophical proverbs. Perhaps the best known is, “Cast ne’er a clout. Period.”

* Nesh = A norther dialect word meaning someone who is susceptible to feeling cold. There is no other synonym for this word in English! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nesh

Idol Scribblings Volume One

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

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Solobrate – Goddess of Lockdown Birthdays

January 17, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Solobrate is the celestial guardian of anyone celebrating their birthday under quarantine conditions. Her followers are sensible, ordinary folk who make small personal sacrifices for the protection of their loved ones and community. This may sound dour, but in fact the faith encourages it’s worshippers to enjoy their special day in any way they safely can. Solobratians have a saying, “Don’t go out. Go all out!” Naturally, this deity has no temples or shrines. Her faithful never gather together. The rite to praise her is always practiced alone (or with your bubble) and at home.

In order to carry out the Solobrate Birthday Ritual you will need a little forward planning. You are going to need to purchase some fizzy wine for the libation. Make sure you order this to be delivered well in advance as a frivolous last minute trip to the shops could get you proseccocuted. Be sure to select a good vintage, aged to perfection, like yourself. Many people decorate the sacred space for the rite with balloons, cards and flowers sent by long distance loved ones. (However, if you are lucky enough to be locked down with a significant other, you may want to suggest that instead of spending their breath blowing balloons, they blow you instead.)

On the day of your birthday, don the fluffy ceremonial robe and seat yourself comfortably in your favourite spot with the “Sceptre of Ultimate Power” (a.k.a. The Remote Control) grasped firmly in your hand. Alternatively, one can wear one’s Birthday Suit (this is probably the only year since the age of three that you are going to be able to get away with it). Some of the most devout followers will paint their faces for the ritual using a special deep cleansing paint made of Dead Sea Mud and kumquat extract*. Next it is time to order your favourite take-away and feast like a really peckish Roman. Make sure your food order is over £20 to ensure you receive the free poppadoms or prawn crackers. You can use these unsolicited sundries as an offering to the goddess. The feast should conclude with a luscious cake consumed entirely to oneself. This cake is sanctified by lighting the sacred flame of Solobrate atop it for a few moments whilst singing “Happy Birthday to Me”. (Traditionalists will bake and eat a cake shaped like a clock for their birthday. I am told this is a fun and time consuming activity.) Now open the wine you ordered earlier and toast yourself until you could melt cheese on your forehead. At this stage of the proceedings, many worshippers get a little emotional. Missing absent friends and loved ones. Remember, it’s okay to not to be okay. This is your ritual and you can cry if you want to. The ritual concludes when you pass out in a satiated soggy heap.

This year, don’t worry about whether getting older makes you wiser. If you have the sense to stay at home for your pandemic birthday, you are already very, very wise.

*Rinse off with clean, fresh water after 15 minutes. Then apply moisturiser .

Solobrate is dedicated to everyone who has and will have a lockdown birthday. Especially my wonderful Mum, proof reader and all round saint, Teresa. Happy Birthday, love to you all and stay safe. Xxx

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Hog Man Nay – God of Safe New Year Celebrations

December 31, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Thinking of going out revelling this New Years Eve? Hog Man says, “NAY!” If you think a New Years at home is going to be a bit of a bore, Hog Man Nay helps make sure it’s a wild bore!

Whilst most deities are eternal immortals, for a few their existence is mayfly brief. Like Dicken’s Spirit of Christmas Present, Hog Man Nay the mystical essence of a single and unique day. He will exist on 31st December for precisely 24 hours, (except in Scotland, where he will last for an additional bonus day). He will be worshipped in almost every country around the world tonight, except in the USA (and international opinion is that they are really dropping the ball on that one.)

Hog Man Nay’s chief divine duty is to ensure that the year 2020 promptly departs at midnight. In his mythology, the old year and the new year do battle and twenty twenty one. Hog Man Nay then drags this defeated and accursed annum to the lowest level of the underworld, shreds it, kills it with fire then and shoots it six times with poison darts to make sure. (There are also some people also believe that at the same time he will also magically detach the UK from its continental mooring and cast it off into the middle of the Atlantic.) Despite his dark tasks, Hog Man Nay is a benevolent god towards most mortals, helping us celebrate at home or celebrate alone. He blesses all those who rejoice safely and with simple pleasures. To the righteous, he awards the power to consume a 24 piece samosa party selection pack and a prawn ring all by yourself. So there is no need to miss out on the festive food for fear of wasting it.

Those who risk spreading pestilence by revelling in the streets or attending gatherings incur the wrath of Hog Man Nay. He is said to raise a “dark hunt” to chase down these unclean heathens. As the tradition of “First Footing” will not be able to go ahead as normal this year, Hog Man Nay has commandeered all the lumps of coal and will be using them as carboniferous projectiles to smite roving sinners. If you witness an apparition of Hog Man Nay, do not be alarmed if he appears to be blurry. This is not due to your alcohol consumption, but because of a rather low new years resolution.

Hog Man Nay’s cult is very hierarchical. There are four tiers of priesthood. Each rank taking a more strict vow of isolation than the one below. (The Scottish branch of the cult has an additional fifth tier). As this is a religion which prizes solitude, they do not have any churches, temples or meeting places. Instead, the church have invested in hiring advertising bill boards to spread the word of Hog Man Nay. (Graphic design and printing by Auld Lang Signs.) This campaign is co-ordinated by the High Priestess Eve Saint-Sylvestre.

One ritual that will be practiced by his followers tonight is “Sainitisation”. This is quite similar to the Gaelic tradition of Saining. The devotee’s house is fumigated with aerosol disinfectant spray in place of the wood smoke and the customary juniper branches are substituted for lashings and lashings of gin. So it’s pretty much the same really. Sadly, not all annual traditions can take place. This the year when the Uppies will stay up and the Doonies stay doon.

Hog Man Nay also showers his blessings on couples who will propose to one another and get engaged on New Years Eve. As non essential shops are shut, and many lovers will have to pop the question via video chat, “Ring in the New Year” will take on extra meaning.

A very Happy New Year from Idol Scribblings. May the pantheon bless you all in 2021!

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Jolly Saint Prick – God of Vaccination

December 13, 2020December 13, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The great midwinter festival is a time when ancient beliefs take on a modern incarnation, and Jolly Saint Prick is a prime example of this phenomenon. He is a genial spirit who protects mankind from the ravages of disease, especially during those dark pestilent months. Jolly Saint Prick is said to reside the South Pole where he has a celestial pharmaceutical lab staffed by a dedicated team of research elves. This location provides the perfect conditions to keep the phials of sacred vaccines that they produce below the required -70^oC. (Also, it’s actually on a solid continental land mass, so he got a much better real estate deal than Santa). He files across the world in his magical medical sleigh to deliver vaccines to all the good and bad children alike (Jolly Saint Prick does not judge). The reindeer who pull his sleigh are all kept fully up to date on their shots to ensure herd immunity. Unfortunately, Jolly Saint Prick does not have the power to deliver his gift to everyone in the world in just one night. This is partly because two doses are required a few weeks apart.

Jolly Saint Prick has a dedicated team of medically trained priests who administer his blessings and protection to the masses. Whenever this blessing is bestowed the priest will recite a short prayer. The modern version of this prayer is, “You’ll feel a sharp scratch.” Traditionalists are still campaigning for a return to the original version, “You’re going to feel a little prick.” Their chief argument is that the polite, modern version deprives a nervous patient of the little dose of double entendre that can help get them through the experience.

They say you should never look a gift reindeer in the mouth, but despite all the evidence to the contrary, some people are sceptical of, and even violently hostile towards, the good works of Jolly Saint Prick (usually worshippers of Teflonata). One concern voiced, is that modern vaccines may be being used to insert microchips into people. All I can say, is that it is a big improvement on vaccines in the 1980’s when there was a whole 5¹/₄inch floppy disc in every tetanus shot. I jest, of course. Jolly Saint Prick’s rigorous safety procedures ensure that the only chips inside us this winter are the ones we’re filling our faces with over the holiday. Fortunately, Mr William Shakespeare of Warwick bravely set an example by becoming the first person in England to receive the new vaccine. He knows that uneasy likes the head that wears the corona. In Northern Ireland, when they were selecting the first person to receive the vaccine, they chose a keen ‘un.

I will leave you with a short extract from the famous sacred psalm “A Visit from Saint Prick”.

Now Astra! Now Zeneca! Now Oxford and Pfizer!
On Moderna! On BioNTech! On Janssen and Sputnik!
So hopefully we won’t get the bloody bug after all,
Vaccinate! Vaccinate! Vaccinate all!

I would like to thank Larry Brennan for kindly agreeing to be my model for Jolly Saint Prick. Thank you for lending your awesome Santa energy to this deity!

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.