I missed a very good friend’s 60th birthday party in the shires, but thus avoided the disgraceful anti-Pontiff showing off by the cheap, publicity-seeking and repellent poseurs that signed up to the orchestrated campaign against the wonderful Pope Benedict.
New York
I missed a very good friend’s 60th birthday party in the shires, but thus avoided the disgraceful anti-Pontiff showing off by the cheap, publicity-seeking and repellent poseurs that signed up to the orchestrated campaign against the wonderful Pope Benedict. Mind you, all these grotesque losers have a point — against God, that is. If I looked like Polly Toynbee or Claire Rayner, or Stephen Fry for that matter, I, too, might be writing letters of protest to the Guardian.
The fact that the Catholic Church’s key message is love thy neighbour and help the poor, that the Church’s moral code built our great societies, and that the Church is the last bulwark against secularism and destruction seems to have escaped these catamites. They need publicity à la Paris Hilton, and they’ll do anything to get it. But not against anyone who might retaliate. The far more anti-gay and misogynistic Islamic religion is off bounds to them because Islam does not take any crap. This is why I loathe them as much as I do. They are the worst cowards I know. Not a word about Zuma or Zardari coming to town to see the Queen, but only his Holiness.
The one I liked the best was the German Cardinal who told a magazine that when one lands at Heathrow one thinks one’s arrived in a Third World country. What is wrong with that remark, I’d like to know? One feels exactly the same landing in Paris or New York.
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