Constantly Furious

The Archbishop of Canterbury has got his big bearded face on telly yet again, and this time has taken the chance to condemn the wicked banks and their evil bonuses.

 Waffling away in the way these pious bloody people do, he says:

"People [are] saying "well actually, no, we got it wrong and the whole fundamental principle on which we worked was unreal, was empty" ..  I worry. I feel that's precisely what I call the 'lack of closure' coming home to roost. It's a failure to name what was wrong. To name that, what I called last year 'idolatry', that projecting [of] reality and substance onto things that don't have them."

One question leaps immediately to mind here: what the holy fuck has it got to do with you?

Given that you believe you work for a big angry man with a beard who lives in the sky, why the fuck would you think we want or need your opinion on the remuneration policies of global businesses?

Did your imaginary friend tell you this in a dream? Did an angel appear at the end of your bed? "sorrrrt ouuuuut the baaaaanks, my chiiiilllld"

Is it written somewhere in your special old book?  Joshua III, : "the moneylenders shall not be incentivised on a performance basis"

You seem to have misunderstood your role, Bishy; you're supposed to go to one of the big old buildings with a spire and give your sermon to the collection of spinsters, scarily-smiling young men and pensioners you'll find there, not trot along to the BBC and deliver pious fucking sermons to the whole uncaring nation.

Oh, and what's that smell? Is it the musty odour of old hymn books? No, its the rank stench of fucking hypocrisy

The Church of England, your church, your employer, is an incredibly wealthy organisation. One of the largest landowners in the UK. You and your mates live in buildings so fucking grand, they're called 'palaces'.

And they fucking are palaces, too. Way, way bigger than the mansions of most top bankers. Your mate the Bishop of Durham's Auckland Castle has 50 fucking rooms, along with a banqueting hall and 30 acres of parkland.

As you doubtless know, you hairy hypocrite, last year you and the other 113 Bishops spent £23.5 million on yourselves, and £5.7 million on your 'palaces' and cathedrals. Those evil bankers can only look on in envy.

And yet, in spite of all this vulgar wealth, the poor sods in CF's village have spent literally years selling old paperbacks and jam to each other, to raise a couple of grand to prevent the village church falling down.

And that after earlier years desperately saving up for some heating, so that the poor old dears who still totter along of a Sunday don't actually die of fucking hypothermia during the endless sermons.

Do you ever 'worry' about that, as you lie in your gigantic four poster bed, Rowan?

The Arch-hypocrite also had the fucking brass neck to add, in concluding his sermon, that the financial crisis was a lesson (there's always a fucking lesson) that "economics is too important to be left to economists".

What the fuck? So we should let the god-botherers have a go at economics, should we? Listen, beardie, economists don't come round your place and re-arrange the hassocks, or tell you to have 3 hymns instead of 4, do they? So why do you think the economy would benefit from your help?

Do you know the only thing we want you to do for our poor ruined, fucked-up economy, Archbishop?

Pray for it. In the name of God, pray for it.


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