WAKING with a hangover so intense I am able to conduct full body X-rays when I look in the mirror, I gargle a restorative and reflect on a week of immense theological significance.

It concerned last week’s sermon titled ‘The Abolition Of Prayer (A Fucking Waste Of Time If You Ask Me)’. I put it to my congregation thus:

‘Do you think if God exists, and you know my thoughts on that one, he gives a fuck about any of you? Seriously, do you think he’s swishing his Divine Guiding Hand to see that Arsenal beat Brentford? And what about the fucking Brentford fans who asked for precisely the opposite? Then there’s Auschwitz of course.

‘Basically, with the man-hours lost to prayer over the years we could have built time machines, eliminated cancer and constructed a vast, planet-wide protective do

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