Cardinal Nichols, Cardiff City, Reds V the Blues

In a week when Mr Fox snacked on our chickens, we needed something to lift our spirits.

How nice then to see Cardinal Nichols with a Cardiff City shirt.

Such a shame that he chose the red version and not the Marian blue (with yellow and white Vatican trim), so beloved of many popes.

I know he got a red hat, but to empathise with Cardiff fans perhaps he should have chosen a blue hat?

A blue hat for blue times...

Still, as St Thomas More - friend of Cardinal St John Fisher - said, no one gets to heaven on a feather bed. That's a sentiment Cardiff fans can associate with!

Cardiff Promoted on Pope's Birthday

I have already proved, beyond reasonable doubt that Pope (Emeritus) Benedict XVI is Welsh: see post here.

Now it's settled for good after Cardiff City held back winning promotion to the Premier League until Pope Benedict's birthday, the 16th of April.

Rumours that Cardiff will change their shirt colours next year to those of the Swiss Guard have been, er, scotched by Cardiff manager a Mr Malky McMalkyson and Pope Francis whose sole response was: "Blooooooooooobirds."

Right: Cardiff City's new away strip for 2013-14 Season?

Pope Francis is Welsh. The Proof is Here.

In the Vatican they ask all Welshmen to raise a hand.

And so we have a new Pope: Pope Francis from Argentina.

Now we all (should) know a region of Argentina, in the south, is called Patagonia. And we all (should) know that many of the people there speak Welsh.

I have previously proved, beyond reasonable doubt m'lud, that Pope Benedict was Welsh (see here). Now we know, very early on in his pontificate (trans: PontyFicate) that Pope Francis is Welsh.

I often wondered why Argentinian flags, shirts etc. were/are popular amongst Welsh fans whenever England make it to the World Cup: I think we now know the answer to that.

So well done Pope Francis. We all know (or should) that Welsh comes from the Germanic for 'foreignor' and was used for many peoples at the edge of the Roman Empire (the Welsh, the Walloons, the Wallachians etc.) so here's to our Welsh Pope!

It all bodes well for Saturday doesn't it?

Oh, and his first public Mass is to be on St Joseph's Day as a special nod to my dad who I can reveal is indeed Welsh.

I rest my case. I think that's all the proof we need. All I'm saying is don't be shocked if Pope Francis is hoping the Bluebirds go up this year.

Now we need a special edition Francis pint from Brains Beers and a Pieus Pie from Clarks Pies. They can send me free samples to get this blog's official thumbs-up.

The Pope is Welsh: The Evidence is Irrefutable

Our Welsh Shepherd (wearing an old Cardiff City scarf).

Many people call the Pope "our German Shepherd," but I have unearthed a conspiracy that would make Dan Brown's hair turn (albino?) white!

As Cardiff City fans have long known, the Pope is a Cardiff fan (they have long sung a song about Swansea fans going to the Vatican and being told, in no uncertain terms by His Holiness, that "Cardiff we'll support you evermore"), of course the Pope says "we" as he speaks for all the Popes on such vital matters of Faith and Morals.

But -- and hold on to your hat/Biretta here -- there is now ample proof that, as many have suspected, the Pope is in fact Welsh.

I will skip the obvious evidence, such as Welsh and Latin being the languages of heaven, and get down to the nitty gritty (as St Thomas Aquinas was wont to do).

A hobbit-like friend and fellow Cardiff City fan who shall remain nameless (let's just say he's the sort of best man who'd forget a ring), has pointed out that the Pope's Twitter id is @Pontifex. Of course Welsh is well known for its mutations, and to Latinise a Welsh word results in this kind of thing, but the evidence is clear.

The Pope is Pontyfex just as Pontypridd is the place where Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau (I won't insult your intelligence by telling you that's the Welsh national anthem) was penned.

Furthermore Pontypridd sprung up around a bridge (the "Ponty" in question) built specifically to take pilgrims to the great pilgrimage site of Penrhys where today pilgrims still gather at the statue of Our Lady of Penrhys. So without the Catholic monks present there, and the place of pilgrimage, the bridge at Pontypridd would not have been built, the town of Pontypridd would not exist, and the Welsh national anthem may well not exist in its current form.

The Pope (Pontyfex) knows this and has chosen his Twitter name to reflect the importance of Catholicism to Welsh history, as well as to give a nod to his own Welsh heritage; also to acknowledge that the Papacy is the bridge which leads the Church militant to the promised land (a bit like Jacob's Ladder).

If you are still in doubt watch this week's Weatherman Walking (still on BBC iplayer) to see him visit two sites - the first, the well known Holywell in north east Wales, a place of Catholic pilgrimage for well over 1000 years. The second was the scant remains of a Chapel dedicated to St Michael the Archangel atop Holy Mountain in South East Wales. The guide (accompanying the 'weatherman' Derek) said this Chapel was in use throughout Medieval times and even after Catholicism was outlawed (by the English) it was still frequented by brave recusant souls.

So the Pope is Welsh, a Cardiff City fan and our country is, in every part, scattered with Holy places just as it was Catholic when the English were still living in Germany and its environs.

Case closed. Do you think Tom Hanks will want to make a film about it?

Atheists murdered 50 Million in USSR

I love history and take a keen interest in politics. Thus I often debate both with my captive audience. By debate I mean rant and wag my finger, and by captive audience I mean family.

Just this week one of my children told me their history teacher made some salient points which had previously escaped my very own lips. He said you can never remove religion (as GK Chesterton said when people stop believing in God they will believe in anything). He told the class that when Stalin tried to do this, he murdered 50 million Christians. Yet despite this the Russians (Ukrainians, Balts etc) clung to their faith).

The teacher said that we often hear about the holocaust, yet this paled in comparison to the huge numbers murdered by Stalin.

I have argued this with atheists on Twitter. They respond that the Soviet Union murdered for politics - conveniently forgetting that the USSR was an officially atheist state, and those murdered or shipped to gulags were Christian.

Imagine an officially Christian state, as a matter of policy, murdered, tortured and imprisoned millions of atheists in just a few decades. The atheists would be screeching it from the rooftops. Hollywood would churn out blockbuster after blockbuster. Richard Dawkins would have written a book on it.

Yet here we had an atheist state murdering Christians and we barely ever hear about it. Why?

And while we're at it, why did we declare war on Germany after they invaded Poland in September 1939, but did not declare war on the USSR after they invaded Poland (and Finland - another British ally). What's more, we went to war in 1939 because Poland was invaded, yet in 1945 with Europe in ruins, Poland was occupied by one of the very powers that had invaded it in 1939!!! As were many other countries!

You couldn't make it up.

But how comforting to know at least one history teacher is telling his class that the atheist USSR murdered circa 50 million Christians. The truth is out there...

Never again?

Spain and El Cid: a Hero for Heroic Times

El Cid (OK, strictly Charlton Heston, but you know what I mean!)

What a hero for Spain, for Europe.

Just imagine if El Cid had not sacrificed so much no recapture Spain:

• The Hispanisation of the Americas would never have happened (leaving those peoples to human sacrifice and evil paganism).
• The Hapsburgs (via Don Juan of Austria) would not have led the Papal, and especially the feuding Genoese and Venetian forces at the Battle of Lepanto to save Europe from Turkish piracy and (literal) slavery.
• The Spaniards would not have led the Counter Reformation at the Council of Trent (which codified the Tridentine/Latin Mass of All Time) and through their example and zeal for the Truth, winning back whole nations such as Poland and Hungary.

Some people seem to think of the Spanish as a lazy people, with their siestas and warm climes. Yet without them Europe would be by far the poorer, and Catholicism especially would have very many fewer souls under its care and protection.

So Hurrah for El Cid!

And OK... hurrah for Charlton Heston too.

A Living Saint Passes Away

I was sad to hear that Fr Hugh Thwaites passed away recently. I met him at my Best Man's wedding (see here) quite some years ago (he's not getting any younger you see).

He was a Jesuit priest who bucked the 'trendy' trend which has beset the Jesuits of late. He was a traditionalist priest who celebrated the Tridentine (Latin) Mass.

As I told my best man (best man available), it was a wonderful occasion when I met Fr Thwaites having heard so much about him... and the wedding was OK too.

Please remember Fr Thwaites in your prayers.

Does God Believe in Atheists? Ed Miliband's Atheism

So Ed Miliband says he is an atheist. Hardly a revolutionary act in today's Britain where the governments "don't do God" (ref A. Campbell).

On a Radio 4 piece today he also said he turned to God (he's Jewish) before his dad died.

Seems he wants to have his cake and eat it. Whilst nothing is beyond God, even Catholics know that the Good Lord "giveth and taketh away" according to His own plan.

Besides which, as many priests have told me, God always insists we do all we humanly can. When doing His miracles Christ always insisted his helpers filled vessels, cast out nets, distribute food etc. He didn't have to have their help - but the lesson is there.

So if Comrade Ed wants to jettison the errors of his parents (they were Marxists too) and get to Confession he may have a better chance...

But we all of us, atheists or wise, should not try to second guess the Good Lord. But remember one thing: one day we shall answer for our actions and inactions. Even Richard Dawkins, no matter his protestations!

He may not recognise God; dread the day when God doesn't recognise him! Gnashing of teeth, etc.

Still he's got time left and everyone can get to Confession, even Prof H.

Anyway, it's raining again, the chickens are looking most bedraggled and it's time for tea! Yippee!

As Old Pa Hurley used to say (and still may for all I know): "I could eat a baby's dirty nappy with mustard on!"

Not that I'm a fan of mustard, but you get the idea.

Politics, religion and food: it really is an exciting day! I just need to mention Cardiff's change of strip (again) to shoehorn sports into the agenda - and hey presto! (reference for the atheists methinks) it's a perfect storm!


===


Postscript:

Tea was a homemade turkey, brie, bread and cranberry burger in a bun! With orange juice. It was remarkably tasty and satisfying. Yum.

How to Stop Nuisance Callers: Beware the Men in Black

I was walking Patch the Dog (PTD) this morning, as Mrs H who normally does the morning walking duties is away in Caernarfon accompanying our youngest at yet another Urdd National Eisteddfod! It's become almost an annual event that one of our offspring makes it through to the National Eisteddfod (and gets on TV!). And to think I couldn't even get a first prize in my school Eisteddfod!

Anyhoo, there I was walking back to Hurley Towers with PTD, gaily swinging my bag of dog pooh, when I spotted them! In their long dark coats, clutching their files and cases!

You are wondering who they are no doubt. Could it be a Bourne film - are they CIA or MI5 operatives looking to "take down" PTD and I?

No.

Who were the MiB?

Might they be the fabled Men in Black? Would they ask me weird questions (about UFOs and the strange man across the road who seems unkempt, shuffles in his baggy-arsed jeans and is too large for his small car) before wiping my memory?

No.

Might they be debt or rent-collectors, the Rackmans of the 21st Century out to  take my hard-earned money for some outstanding bill overlooked in the chaos of everyday life?

No.

Might they be spies for some enemy agency? Perhaps scouts for Rugby League teams out to bribe me to start supporting strange Northern teams and betray my beloved Wales? Or agents from London Pride or some Burton-on-Trent based brewery out to offer me free beer in return for turning my back on Brains glorious brews?

No.

Perhaps they were secret RSPCA agents out to confiscate my frogs from the pond or the chickens from our run?

No.

Perhaps they were Anglicans out to canvas my support for women priests, pooftahs in the clergy, and to shake my belief in Transubstantiation and the Real Presence?

No.

It was worse.

These were indeed enemy agents in our midst. They would send shivers of fear up the most hardened and resolute spines. As I passed them I saw the literature sticking out of pockets, fists and cases: these were Jehovah's Witnesses! On our Holy soil!

I was rehearsing my speech to them as I continued home and got PTD in. As Mrs H was away I could really let fly without fear of (another) clip around the ear for being just so outspoken.

I gave PTD his treat for (semi) behaving on our walk, and put the kettle on. I am nothing if not cultured. Oh, just in case I should say that I put the bag of dog pooh out the back in our special bin, then washed my hands. I don't want you thinking I act nonchalantly or in a lackadaisical manner when it comes to handling dog faeces! Perish the thought.

I made my tea. I even popped some bread in the toaster. I am nothing if not extravagant with my celebration of life: no dour Presbyterianism in Hurley Towers. No siree.

I waited. sipped tea. And waited. Munched toast. And waited. Gave PTD a crust. And waited... But knock there came none.

The lesson here is clear, for all men of goodwill and anyone who doesn't like CIA-Men in Black-Rackman lookalikes knocking on their door at all hours of the day. And I, in my status at Captain Charitable and Mr. Caring-Sharing 2012 am willing to divulge my secret to you all (fees are discretionary, if you wish to send me a fiver - no problem).

HOW TO STOP JEHOVAH'S WITNESSES KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR

When you open the door to Jehovah's Witnesses do not:

• Fling it shut
• Say "sorry I'm busy"
• Mumble something and close the door.
• Say "no thank you" politely.

These are fatal errors. They will see you as a "challenge" and mark their little notebooks as such, and try and get you again when they next swing their infernal machinery of proselytising into town. Any of these replies/responses or similar will guarantee you another visit from those promoting error and annoyance.

This is what you have to do. I know because I did it and they have never knocked since:

You ask: When was your church started? They answer (19th Century or some such).

You ask: Do you believe in Jesus Christ? They answer (yes).

You then say: We are Roman Catholics. Our Church was founded by Jesus Christ who made St Peter the first Pope. You are promoting heresy and a false church founded by a conman. Plead forgiveness from God, convert and get to Confession. You are in danger of losing your souls by promoting heresy.

You do all this with a firm, almost stern look on your face so they know you are deadly serious and far from joking.

They will mark you in their book as a 'lost cause' perhaps, or maybe they will view you as dangerous and a possible means to lose some of those they send on their missions to subvert the goodly people of these lands. Either way, it seems they will not send another heretic to your door.

And who knows - when castigating them, your charity may reap some reward by planting the seed of Truth in their minds. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day.

And: you need never fear getting that knock on the door the next time you're in the bath, up a set of ladders, changing a baby's nappy, putting the finishing touches to a great work of art - or otherwise indisposed.

Here endeth the lesson.

West Ham Win: Catholicism Is the X Factor (Lessons for Cardiff City)

Change it to a Bluebird and we have CCFC's New Logo!

What a thrilling game today - and West Ham were the deserving winners. Right from the start of the play-offs they had the right fight and spirit and wanted to win.

In reality, despite good starts in both matches, they wiped the floor with Cardiff who looked tired and played as if they knew they were going to lose.

So what was the key ingredient for West Ham? Well Vaz Te who scored against Cardiff and scored the winner against Blackpool is a Catholic.

I said before Cardiff's last match against West Ham that only if all the players said a public prayer, reciting the Nicene Creed on the pitch, chances are they would not overcome the London side. After scoring Vaz Te made the Sign of the Cross.

Even the (ex?) Protestant team Man City have a Catholic manager in Roberto Mancini, Chelsea have a Catholic goal-scorer in Didier Drogba, and Swansea's success in getting to and staying in the Premier League is down to their Catholic manager Brendan Rodgers.

So come on Cardiff! In honour of your famous (to me!) Catholic Churches: St Joseph's, St Alban's, St Brigid's, St Patrick's, St Teilo's, St Mary of the Angels and the jewel in the crown: St Peter's (of Holy Roath, the site of the Martyrdom of Sts Phillip Evans and John Lloyd).

We need a Catholic flavour to our football team. Never mind a change to a red team strip, let's trim down the blue just a little (stripe on the shirt, plus blue shorts and socks) and get the yellow and white colours of the Vatican prominent on the shirt!

Name the stands after famous Saints or prayers: St Ninian Stand, Pater Noster dugout. A quick prayer before each match. Fr McKnight from St Peter's could sprinkle the team with Holy Water, perhaps the fans might intone the odd Ave Maria.

It's what Cardiff need to hit the big time!

So come on Cardiff! If you need an adviser to help you get the right ideas, names, logos, prayers etc... I shall be waiting for that email! My rates are very reasonable (in footballing terms).

Cardiff Beat Derby with Papal Approval

...And God smiled on Cardiff, and Cardiff City beat derby 2-0. The Pope did a day-after-my-birthday jig. And Mark Hudson Cardiff's captain scored a goal from within his own half.

Even Theresa May thought it was a great day, apparently. I don't know about Abu Qatada - I don't think he likes football.

But here in Wales...

Life is good.

Pope Benedict, St Magnus, Folk Music and Real Ale

You knew today was special didn't you?

Yes - it's the Pope's birthday.

I don't know if we can get paper triple crowns (if not why not?) but anyway, a very Alles Gute zum Geburtstag to the Holy Father, our very own German Shepherd.


It's also St Magnus Day - the Patron Saint of the Orkney Islands and as most of the people in our house have an Orcadian ancestry it seemed fitting for a decent celebration.

So off we went to a folk evening in a local(ish) tavern. There was a great mix of music, English, Welsh and Irish (no Scots that I recognised, but you can't have everything), with all sorts of influences and real ale on tap. Mmmm.

Happy Birthday Holy Father! We sang along in your honour.

And Wigan beat Arsenal 2-1 (hoorah for the underdog) and so all in all it was a great evening. Now if Cardiff can win tomorrow and keep their place in the play-offs... oh we hope so!

Good Friday and Our Chicken(s)

It's Good Friday.

I suppose it's sad to look around and see that today is regarded by most of our countrymen as 'just another day.'

If it weren't for the likes of Henry VIII and Oliver Cromwell, we too might have huge processions involving whole towns leading to the Church, carrying the Cross, statues and banners, full of colour, beauty and emotion, like our cousins on the Continent.

Oh well.

For those who have followed the news of our chickens (rumour has it is closely followed in the Kremlin), the third one has now died. We now have just one old bird (no jokes about a female member of the family) left in our run and she's no longer laying eggs... We really will have to get some new chooks very soon.

Somehow the death of one of our old chums and planning new chicks seems to fit in with Easter... death and resurrection.

Instant Happiness Guaranteed

Eat Pork Pies!


Drink Brains Beer!


Get to Confession and Mass for Easter!

© Hurley Happiness Campaign.

Another Hurley Hero

Can I just say this has nothing to do with me:

Mass Cancelled as Fr Hurley is Away

But Hoorah and Huzzah that another Hurley is on the side of the saints and general goodness.

Go go Fr Hurley! Sock it to the heretics.

And after your time away to recharge your batteries get back to the pulpit and let's have some sermons that resonate with fire and brimstone! Old Pa Hurley expects nothing less.

Mervyn Davies RIP, Rowan Williams Adios, Hello Grand Slam

Merv the Swerve. RIP

Sad news today.

No, not the resignation of Rowan Williams, the Welsh (Anglican) "Archbishop" of Canterbury.

Mervyn Davies - aka Merv the Swerve - the commanding force of the great Welsh rugby team of the 1970s has passed away.

Already folks are talking about wearing white headbands tomorrow as Wales take on France in a potentially Grand Slam winning match. What a fantastic sight that would be.

I was still in shorts when Merv the Swerve, JPR Williams, Gareth Edwards and all the 70s heroes brought glory to Wales. Yes I too wore a Grand Slam t-shirt in the late 70s (bought at Bessemer Road market if I remember right). Ah! 1970s Welsh rugby. Halcyon days. I wore it ragged, until the lettering and the three feathers peeled off and the red of the shirt faded. Happy, innocent times.

So if the Welsh team win tomorrow (if???) let it be in memory of Merv the Swerve, and we can all remember the days when side burns, flares and Welsh rugby reigned supreme.

As for the Archbishop (sic) of Canterbury, well as we share a mutual friend (honest!) I should make it clear at this stage that I'm not throwing my hat into the ring. I don't think I could put up with the queen's strops. Sorry I know that sounds disrespectful. But those queer bishops can't half scram ;-)

As for Rowan Williams the man, you have to feel a bit sorry for him really as the Anglicans are on a hiding to nothing. They still pretend they are somehow linked to the Apostles, when they are held over a barrel (if you'll excuse the awful visual imagery) by homosexual activists in their own church and amongst their own vicars. The fudge that Anglicanism always was (founded to permit a king to divorce his legally wed wife) has just got worse and worse and its religious boss cannot please all its many factions.

Just as well Welsh rugby is fighting fit with a triple Crown under its belt, and we Catholics have a leadership that (at least!) won't fudge when it comes to homosexuals' rights. We've had the statements against gay marriage from the Cardinal and Archbishops, now all we need is a  Grand Slam victory (topped up with a St Patrick's Day victory for the Irish) and it'll be as if everything in the garden is just tickedy boo.

Let's have this weekend to bask in the glory, then we can worry about picking apart the government's lies over "gay marriage" and its campaign to undo thousands of years of marriage, to the detriment of society, from next week onwards.

Pagan Prisoners to Pray in the Nude? It's No Oil Painting

I am not a number: and I'm keeping my kit on! 

It's in the news today that a pagan prisoner wants the "right" to pray in the nude. Presumably he's allowed his own altar, tree to hug (watch those splinters!) or cat to sacrifice? One assumes these would be his "rights" also.

Can I state here and now I wish to press my own right never to have to pray in the nude, or to witness others do so?

Some hedonists or pagans or even atheists may worship the human body (though in my humble opinion the non air-brushed variety or those not touched-up in paintings are no... erm... oil paintings, on average) yet it always strikes me as weird in the extreme that these Heinz 57 varieties of weirdies would prefer to worship the human body, rather than the God who created it. It's also a wonder that the most hedonistic and narcissistic of all are the ones who seek out the surgeon's knife to alter their body the most. Whilst denying God they would seek to play at being God, seeking to defy time, age and gravity, which God in His wisdom made laws of nature.

I'm happier to leave my ageing, sagging body as it is - as long as I don't have to see it too often! Even wearing shorts in the Summer is enough to make cats screech and passers-by run for cover. I am reminded of Old Pa Hurley in his football playing days. Many said he was sponsored by Unigate, given the resemblance between his legs and two pints of milk!

As for the pagan prisoners, I would say they can have their "rights" to pray in the nude, alone in a cold cell, surrounded by mirrors. This may at first appeal to their narcissistic nature, but would soon make them realise that whilst scientifically the human body is a wonder in its intricacy thanks to its Creator, its reality in the cold light of day is all too often a sobering sight that'd frighten the horses.

The Biscuit, The Prop We Need in this Vale of Tears

biscuit (n.)

respelled early 19c. from bisket (16c.), ultimately (besquite, early 14c.) from O.Fr. bescuit (12c.), lit. "twice cooked;"

The word biscuit is from an Old French term derived from Latin. So the biscuit is itself very Catholic in its heritage.

If you are cultured, like what I am, you'll enjoy nothing more than a biscuit with your cup of (Glengettie) tea. I know it's Lent so I won't tempt you too much with flowery language and voluptuous descriptions of biccies, but let it be said that I enjoy a biscuit or two (OK, or three) with my tea, preferably in one of my GK Chesterton, Hilaire Belloc, Pope Benedict or Bonnie Prince Charlie mugs. You can ask Mrs. H., if a cuppa is served up in some other receptacle I will frown so that the person delivering the tea knows of my displeasure. Never let it be said I don't know how to convey my feelings.

So yes, a biscuit is a fine thing to enjoy. If the good Lord had not meant us to enjoy biscuits he would not have made a goodly number of people into bakers -- surely a matter of Providence, whereas estate agents show how badly free will can rebound on us all. Besides which, I am sure many monasteries must have made biscuits. I have no proof of this, but the idea pleases me, so let's just agree on that, OK?

So, now we come to the important part. What is the ideal biscuit for a Welsh Catholic dude (OK, I made that last bit up) like what I am. Let me lay my cards on the table. I tend to go for the double-bubble biscuits, where you have two biscuits conjoined by a yummy centre. The most traditional of these is of course the Custard Cream or the Bourbon. The beauty of both of these is that cheaper varieties usually taste exactly the same as the slightly more expensive.

But should you get a curve-ball, in the shape of the BOGOF (buy one get one free) you can't get much better than the Fox's biscuits with the creamy centres. They taste very good both pre-dunk and post-dunk; and that is never to be sneezed at! Of course one can always overstep the mark and find yourself dunking a Jammy Dodger, and that is a step too far (it's how Michael Barrymore started!)

On the other hand I am not a fan of the Rich Tea biscuit. For me they are far too protestant, being a bit too plain and very limp and floppy (post dunk). They may not have openly(!) gay "bishops" in England but you can bet the Rich Tea is very well used in protestant circles. In fact I'd wager a McVities van makes a bulk delivery on account once a month to Lambeth Palace, wherein the staff are careful to ensure no cases of Jaffa Cakes (let's not discuss the cake v. biscuit debate here, enough blood has been shed and I think the Council of Trent dealt with that succinctly enough, drawing on the clear delineations of St Thomas Aquinas) are smuggled in to upset the upper echelons of Anglicanism.

So let me throw the floor open to you dear reader. Perhaps you are Welsh. Perhaps you are Catholic. If you're really lucky you're both. If Providence has dictated that you must battle against the odds you may be neither, but nil desperandum my friend. You should start off slowly. Attend Mass, sit at the back quietly and take it in. Start supporting Wales, you can begin quietly just enjoy the sensation. Salvation is available to all! Ask and you shall receive...

But whatever you are, wherever you are, I'd be happy to hear your suggestions for the perfect biscuit. An explanation of your decision would be appreciated (the whys and wherefores matter almost as much as the final decision). Only atheists and militant secularists/homosexuals need not apply. Hey - you had our adoption agencies shut down, so you can zip it! The boot is on the other foot now and your choice of biscuit means nothing to me! Besides which, homosexualists must surely be drawn to the ginger biscuit?

Perhaps a priest might like to make a suggestion too? After all, the imbibing of tea served by parishioners, coupled with the offering of biscuits must surely make them highly qualified to make a suggestion. Will a shepherd come forward to lead his flock?

I like to think writing a blog is not about navel gazing. No! This is where the matters of great importance are discussed, before the truth is laid bare for people to take comfort from. In a world of tumult and worry, what better guidance can we give than to state what the best biscuits are? When false religions, atheists and nutters are assaulting us on all fronts, we surely need a 'nice cup of tea' to calm ruffled feathers. With the correct biscuit we can start to take the fight back at our adversaries and win hearts,minds and souls for Catholicism and Wales.

Oh yes. Now I'm feeling all heroic, with a crusading zeal. I may even go off and rewrite Faith of Our Fathers with a few subtle references to biscuits.

Faith of our fathers, living still
In spite of dungeon, fire and rich tea biscuits...

P.S. Writing this blog has helped to expunge today's news that Cardiff City lost 0-2 to West Ham. Oh woe! The good news is that Ireland held France to a draw in rugby and so Wales are the only team who can now win the Grand Slam.

Ash Wednesday, Lent, Rugby & Brains Beer

Not much going on lately. Lent has started and so choccies, sweeties, beer, ice cream etc. are out the window. I even got through Ash Wednesday's fast relatively unscathed. Funny thing was we went to the chippy after Mass last night to get some chips to share, and as with last year, forgot we had bold black crosses on our foreheads. But I think the chip shop staff are used to us being senile and nutty in equal measure.

I never know the "done thing" with the ash crosses. Are you supposed to wipe them off swiftly? I think doing that it's almost like you're ashamed of them - but then to stroll about with them for too long might look like you're trying to be a bit 'holier than thou.'

In the end I forgot again (no surprise there!) when I got home and washed it off just before bedtime when I was brushing my toothypegs.

I must admit that I usually embark on Lent a quite cautiously as a bit of a chore, but this year I'm looking on it as an opportunity - if only to fight the dreaded middle age spread. And not digging in for choccies and crisps today did make me feel a bit better.

I may have to contact the WRU though, as their habit of holding the Six Nations during Lent isn't conducive full enjoyment. As Wales travel to London to (hopefully!) beat England in the home of English rugby I will just have to cheer them on from my favourite armchair with a nice cup of Glengettie Tea.

I'm just hoping that come Sunday when Cardiff play Liverpool I'm not going to be in a situation where I miss my pint of Brains to cry into...

Hobnail Boots in Religious Orders

Yesterday I wrote about Pam Ferris's character in Call the Midwife, a Sister Evangelina. It got me to thinking of another great member of a religious order who was known for walking the streets of London in his hobnail boots and of being "a 13th Century monk in 20th Century London" - Fr Vincent McNabb the Irish Dominican Priest (1868 - 1943).

Not in any way happy clappy, steeped in scriptural knowledge and with a burning desire to speak out against poverty, he lived an absolutely Catholic life.

Some of the best known Catholics of his day had nothing but nice things to write about him:

"The greatness of his character, of his learning, his experience, and, above all, his judgement, was altogether separate from the world about him... the most remarkable aspect of all was the character of holiness... I can write here from intimate personal experience ... I have known, seen and felt holiness in person... I have seen holiness at its full in the very domestic paths of my life, and the memory of that experience, which is also a vision, fills me now as I write — so fills me that there is nothing now to say."
Hilaire Belloc

Father Vincent is the only person I have ever known about whom I have felt, and said more than once, 'He gives you some idea of what a saint must be like.' There was a kind of light about his presence which didn't seem to be quite of this world.
Monsignor Ronald Knox 


... he is one of the few great men I have met in my life; that he is great in many ways, mentally and morally and mystically and practically... nobody who ever met or saw or heard Father McNabb has ever forgotten him.
GK Chesterton


I like to think, as Fr McNabb worked for the reunion of Anglicans with the Holy See, that Sister Evangelina (or the person she was based on) would have known of Fr Vincent McNabb in pre-war London.