Picture: From the Sir Charles Grandiose Archives

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June 13, 1997

Picture: Of the Popish Persuasion, No Doubt One becomes reflective, this week. One's readers (and one has it upon a firm authority that they are so numerous that if each were a mere ounce of semi-precious metal, the Royal Family could forge enough silver to serve a nine-course dinner to all the members of the entire Labour Party and still have enough left over to cast a lovely eight-armed epergne after those grotty souls made off with the forks and knives) know that one is a learned, spiritual man. One is admired both for one's intellectual prowess and academic kibblebilities. And no one can polish off the L-rd's Prayer in 7.5 seconds flat, like oneself.

Yet something has long bothered one. And it concerns The Good Book. (No, Hearthwarmer in Hampshire, one does not refer to The Sensuous Woman.) That is, the Holy Bible. Ordinarily, one does not criticise the Bible. It was, after all, written by King James. Yet there are some serious errors in the story of Creation within.

Oh yes, one knows about Adam and Eve. One has had that business thoroughly explained to one. And one has this to say about it: utter rot. If our L-rd had prepared a pleasure garden for mankind, the pair within would not have been a grubby pair of prehensile creatures who socialized with snakes and munched apples. Goodness gracious, no. The L-rd has style. The L-rd is fond of pomp and circumstance. The L-rd is fond of good wine served on a Sunday morning. He is not a granola-crunching, animal-loving, sandal-wearing 'hippie.' If there were a Sir Adam and a Lady Eve, he would have ensured they had adequate help and a cook capable of satisfying their appetites with healthy portions of boiled muttons and puddings.

One asked one's ward, young Penelope Windsor-Smythe, what she thought of the world's creation. After all, she is (and one mentions it only modestly, for one dislikes braggarts) eighty-fourth in line for the throne, and therefore much closer to Our L-rd than many of us. In fact, when the Good Book comes up for revisions, one would not at all be surprised if she were chosen to write it, this time. Her penmanship is excellent. Young Penelope opined that she was nightly endeavouring, with the assistance of her fiance, Colin Bates, to prove the Big Bang theory.

One of course was not familiar with this religious doctrine, but apparently it has something to do with a giant explosion of heat and fire, and the earth covered with hot ponds of deenay from which the first bacteria and micro-orgasms were formed.

One is not quite the theologian that young Penelope Windsor-Smythe is, though. One has always had one's own convictions on the order of creation.

On the first day, of course, God created England. And he saw that it was good. He saw that it was very good, indeed. Such a pinnacle of perfection, that the rest of the countries got the mere leftovers.

On the second day, God created the peerage, and established the bluest of bloodlines.

On the third day, God created servants, when the peers discovered they could not operate the cooker.

On the fourth day, God created the birds of the sky and the animals of the forest, and the hounds and the horses, and the fowling piece, when he realized that his peers needed a little sport.

On the fifth day, God created the House of Lords.

On the sixth day, God created commoners, so that the House of Lords might have someone from whom to collect taxes.

And finally, on the seventh day Our Lord rested. One thoroughly believes, of course, that after creating the commoners, He realized that He'd had all His good ideas in the beginning, and that the rest weren't working out so well. Because of course, the commoners immediately began demanding pork scracklings and music halls and other vulgar amusements. Then how swift a decline it was from Eden to Egypt to Rome to 'Taco Bell'.

Of course, one cannot order around Our Lord. But one does wish he'd taken a three-day holiday, that week.

Still representing the pinnacle of creation, one remains for yet another week,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Picture: A Comfortable Resting Place

Befuddled writes:

Dear Sir Charles

It is with regret that I write to inform you that John, Lord Beedaye, has passed away, and also to ask your advice on quite a conundrum which vexes the staff of Lord Beedaye's house.

Lady Beedaye has taken the notion that the late Lord should lie in state in the dining room, because (as the Lady puts it) 'What better place to lie, after dyin'?'

We fear our Mistress has never been strongly orthographical, and this latest whim of hers will make her the laughing stock of the Shire, as our last Master takes up a goodly portion of the dining room table, and she would insist we place the pudding in his hands, for decoration. What course of action shall we take with our newly widowed Lady?

Funereally Befuddled in Fotheringsgill

Sir Charles replies:

Dear Befuddled:

How one sympathizes for the household. When one's own Pater passed away after the unfortunate accident with the electrical toaster in his bath, we did not quite know what to do with the body. First we laid it out in the morning room, but it got in the way of Mater's whist game. Then we attempted to let it lie in state in the library, but one's brother objected, because the old man's expression of frozen horror had an adverse effect on his houses of cards.

Finally, one had the inspiration to have the servants move the corpse to the smokehouse until the funeral could be held after the family's annual holiday to Wales. Not only did the kippering save the Grandiose bank account the costly expense of formaldehyde and whatever else these modern mortuaries use, but the summer sausage was unusually tasty that year.

Nostalgically, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

No Retreat writes:

Dear Sir:

I would greatly appreciate any advice you have to offer me as to the relationship problem that I am now encountering. She has left me, and I need a way to get her back.

What do you feel would be the most romantic way that I could that would make her melt in my arms. I love her so much. She left due to stress of school and work and felt as though I gave nothing in the relationship

It has now been 4 weeks since I last kissed her. I miss her much.

No Retreat

Sir Charles replies:


One will recommend to you a time honoured method of testing your young lady friend's love for you.

First, visit a fish and chips shop. Purchase a vast quantity of fried fish, and rub them over your 'parts'. You know what I'm talking about, lad. The 'parts' you think with.

Next, take yourself to the seaside, or wherever a large number of seagulls might be found. Let them peck away!

If your lass throws herself into your arms to protect you from danger, then you have fairly won her. The chances of this denoument are extremely slim, of course. But at least the seagulls will ensure you never have an opportunity to spend a penny in the gene pool.

Paternally, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Worried Mother writes:

Picture: Dominique, a-nique-a-nique Dear Sir Charles,

My daughter has always been of a religious bent. If we were Popish, she might have been a nun, but thank goodness I talked her into going into secretarial college instead. Now she is talking of taking the Word of God to the poor savages in Burma or Indonesia or Soho. Should I worry?

Worried Mother

Sir Charles replies:


Fear not. Every mother should be happy to see her daughter assume the missionary position.

With a smile, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

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