The current internet appeals for those taking part in the forthcoming census to reply to the enquiry anachronistically demanding to know what religion they follow by replying 'Jedi' is the only cheerful religious news we've had lately. The concept is quite wonderful. Apparently, if more than 10,000 people claim to be of the Jedi persuasion, at the next census it will have official status and be offered automatically as one of the options alongside the more traditional faiths.
Should such a jolly event happen, perhaps Blair, and his repugnant campaign to impel the taxpayer to stump up for sectarian education, will mean that a state-funded Jedi school may appear in your area. The thought of middle-class dads dressing in brown robes like Liam Neeson trying to persuade their local Jedi headmaster that they are, and have always been followers of the Force, just to get little Jeremy a place in a school where they still teach reading and writing, is a sobering one. At least the 3.30pm double-parked four by fours at the gate won't be a problem as mum, or Yoda as she will like to be known, will simply threaten to lift the offending vehicles out of the way with the power of her mind.
Sadly, not all religious matters lately have had such amusement value. In fact, for a secular country, pesky old religion and its wicked and wanton ways, is pretty hard to avoid. The Nolan report is sadly not the title of an RTE daytime chat show hosted by the lovely Irish singing sisters, but a toothless 35-page document that flaps about like the robes of a priest running from the vice squad.
The report is in answer to the seemingly endless revelations and allegations of child abuse by Catholic clergy that have been slowly and horribly unravelling since the last set of useless guidelines were suggested back in 1994. But no need to get too excited. Unsurprisingly, all Nolan's recommendations are just that. Recommendations. His stating the bleeding obvious, that this corrupt, hypocritical and decadent institution needs grown-ups from the secular world to try and prevent any more children suffering at its hands, is merely there to be taken up on a voluntary basis by the church.
To précis for those of you too busy to plough through it, what it says is, "Aaaargh! Stop shagging children you bunch of perverts. Or else ... well nothing, actually." Some highlights include the fabulously original idea, just a recommendation remember, that if an abusing priest has had more than a 12-month sentence passed on him, he should be laicised. (That's fired to you and me.) So are we to assume then, that if some charming chap gets off with a mere six-month sentence for fiddling with the altar boys, he'll still have the future possibility of gainful employment administering wise words and advice to his eager flock?
Such a creature, who will have ruined the life of a young person forever, will theoretically be able to sit and lecture young couples about their marriage and sex lives, visit families and advise them on how to bring up their children, impose upon old people, sick people, desperate people and lonely people, his views on the meaning of life. It's quite bad enough that such a job is already done by perfectly innocent well-meaning men who, due to the quite wicked requirement of celibacy, have absolutely no idea at all what they're talking about. But the idea of a child-abusing, lying criminal doing it is chilling.
The most unpleasant aspect of the report is the respectful tone it adopts in dealing with the whole mess. There's little point in making polite suggestions to an institution whose arrogant behaviour both domestically and globally is so tainted with hypocrisy and duplicity. The only way to protect children is to introduce water-tight, compulsory legislation that is not up for any kind of debate among a bunch of bishops and cardinals, but must be enforced whether they like it or not. Since this is clearly not going to happen, it's worth keeping it in mind while mulling over the church versus state schools nonsense.
At least, if we all do the decent thing on our census forms, future Jedi schools will be safe for our children. Even though the knights are also tortured celibate men who wear daft robes, there has been no recorded incident of Obi Wan Kenobi ever trying to get under Luke Skywalker's tunic.
How to talk to celebs
Andy Green, the man who bafflingly became tongue-tied when forced to shake hands with Tony Blair, is now appealing to people for ideas about what to say when meeting a celebrity. This is surely round the wrong way. If properly and formally introduced, the onus is most certainly on the celebrity to make the effort, instead of standing there like a twerp.
Why should Green have made the opening gambit when Blair could have started a perfectly decent conversation, perhaps about decking in gardens or germ warfare? It only becomes an issue if a stranger approaches a celebrity unasked and is forced to speak first.
Here's an example. Say the celebrity is D-list, someone you can't quite place, like celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay, recently heard shooting his mouth off about coming up to educate us Scots about how to run restaurants. Simply approach and say: "Are you who I think you are?" He will doubtless snap: "Yeah". You are then at liberty to say: "Ah yes, I thought you were a complete prick."
