Man, I miss the ex-pope. He was such good craic, wasn’t he? Always getting into scrapes, falling over, having a mare. Hell, he even had a POPEMOBILE, and wore designer shoes, which he’d trip over from time to time. His hat flew off. He wore a lot – and I mean a LOT – of red, which, if Of Mice and Men has taught me tuppence, can only mean one thing. Fnar fnar. Anyway, I digress. Another thing I miss is Bridget Jones. I miss Bridget in a BIG way. It’s gotten to that stage now where the books and films are so much a staple in my life that I’m not really taking them in any more. The last major Bridget mania for me was The Edge of Reason premiere, when my best friend and I told our mums we were going to the sewing machine shop (flimsy, very flimsy) then snuck off to Leicester Square. We whooped and chanted things about emotional fuckwittage, booze we weren’t yet drinking, fags we had yet to smoke, and how we’d never get a boyfriend if we looked like we’d just wandered out of ‘outfits’ (only at around 15 did we realize B’s mum was saying ‘Auschwitz’. Dark).
So I am missing Bridget and I am missing Ben. In tribute of both, in anticipation of the third book out next month, and slightly in manner of Homer Simpson – putting the cat and the dog in a sack together to see if they will mate – here’s a splicing of the two.
25th April, 2005. Vespers 0, litanies 0, horsehair tabards BIG ZERO, cigarettes 28 (but am Pope so y'know whevs), alcohol units 43 (but post-inauguration so doesn't count).
12.03am Huzzah! Am Pope! Is bloody brilliant. Am protector of the faith, leader of the people, moral compass of the realm. Am simple, humble labourer in the vineyard of the Lord. Haha. Vineyard. Hic.
1.56am Am loving new hat. And staff. And lovely Ring of the Fisherman. They made it specially. Has lovely silver engraving of man in boat, though some twat at the afterparty leaned in and slurred that JP II's was better. Bitch please, what a jellyfisher! Has obviously forgotten new status. He'll learn, though. Haha.
2.47am Off to find the Popemobile. One of the boys told me it has a secret 'eject' button. Teehee. Cannae wait.
13th July, 2006. 4.18pm Espressos 3; cigarettes 8 (am fumigating sorrow)
Is too shitting hot. Asked the Big Guy to let up a bit and has He fuck. Can't go outside without the umbrella-man to hold shade. Am Pope, cannot get burned as would look ridiculous.
6.33pm Have asked Daniel to serve as papal adviser. He looked quite chuffed. Has suggested session of prayer and contemplation after evensong. Must be the Lord at work within him. V. sensible idea.
14th July, 2006. 10.33am Gaagh. Was supposed to be in SPS (St Peter's Square, duh) an hour ago but head seems encased in strange, vice-like grip.
10.45am Decided best course of action to lie still and wait for molecules and banshees of brain to clear. Is surely Satan's work. Must call Daniel.
11am Daniel v smug. Says remembers nothing after the cheap room-service Kirov. Lying cheese. Managed to rouse self enough to pull along to the kitchen for crumpet; found 2 guards laughing over a phone. Naturally demanded to see what was so funny.
14.05 Nobody minded re missed service, though am mortified at events of last night. Made total arse of self. All Daniel's fault: he said we should bless the communion wine, which I did, but video on guard's phone shows me kicking off my shoes and singing 'Milkshake' by Kelis into the papal crown. Hope does not go ‘viral’.
29th October, 2007. 11.12am Feel am really taking control of things. Those women came in AGAIN today, whanging on about why-can't-they-be-priests-and-isn't-it-sad. Sigh. Said no, again. Well, what actually said was, 'You know what's worse than you lot not being priests?' and they shook their heads, and I said, 'Tsunamis.' Yeah. That shut 'em right up. Can't quibble with that, can you?
11.20am I mean, ffs, how many things would I have to sign for that shitstorm to go ahead? Said I'd take them for a ride in the Popemobile, if they fancied. Said it was all a big silly ponTIFF, but they didn't laugh. Huh.
12.23pm Is silly anyway because am self a woman, and look how that turned out (hint: WELL). No fault of mine if the others can't keep up.
25th December, 2008. 9.30am Alcohol units 24 (disgrace); cigarettes 0 (vg). Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Had Dalai Lama round for bevvies and things descended. Know something bad happened but can't remember what.
9.45am Turns out have gone and crashed the papal helicopter again.
10am Got up early to make amends to SPS. Tripped over cassock and dropped my shitting iPad in the fountain, didn't I. Am fuming. Happy fucking Christmas.
6th February, 2009. Hideous news. Global press have been lambasting the red cape. What the fuck's wrong with it? Have they forgotten I'm the fucking Pope and get my sartorial decisions from ON HIGH. One of them began quoting me to myself. "An adult faith does not follow the waves of fashion and the latest novelties". Give a shit, am dressed by Christ. Christ and Prada. These red shoes are slammin', proper Dorothy like. What do they want anyway, their spiritual leader shambling around in a horsehair sack looking like swampy? Jog on. Eegits.
12th December, 2012. Eucharists 1; tweets 2.
13.45 Cassock flew up in face again today mid bread-breaking. Better afternoon, though, as have joined digital revolution, @pontifex. Followers of Christ increasing ten-fold each second. Trying to work out best angle for selfies. Daniel acting low and sulky today: asked him to 'favourite' latest tweet and he said I needed to get the sand out of my vag re Twitter. Rude.
15th December, 2012. 17.50. Had to apologise for last tweet. Vatileaks has hit and someone hacked into account, posting pic of last year's Easter vigil afterparty twerking. Currently lying on throne staring at things crazily with only one eye open, eating cheese strings. Asked Big Guy to send plague of locusts on culprit. That's right sunbeam, let's see who's laughing now.
28th February, 2013. Cigarettes 0, then 19 in past hour.
20.16 Is joke. My mozetta hat's been stolen. Refuse to take up office again until its return.
29th February, 2013
19.30 Still waiting. Humph.