Wed Sales In The Sunset

There has been some controversy rolling around the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria concerning the multicultural agenda being foisted upon the realm. This is nothing new: multitudes have come to these shores from other exotic lands for centuries, bringing their strange customs, odd languages, bizarre cookery and exotic religions with them. Indeed, the Roman occupants of these islands who preceded the Anglo-Saxons weren't for the most part Latins: they were a mixum-gatherum of Syrians, Greeks, North Africans and Persians, conscripted into the occupying armies. No country is an island unto itself - not even these beautiful islands upon which we live. Only fools and fantasists imagine that only Franks live on the other side of the Channel in Gaul, only Vikings live in Denmark and Norway - and only Anglo-Saxons and their Jutish and Danish cousins live here. 'Twas never thus.

But the rub comes when the powers that be decide - without reference to those they purport to represent - to allow unlimited access to these shores from the Great Unwashed Horde From Abroad. And when the aspiring immigrants employ ingenious methods to justify their permanent residence in this green and pleasant realm, things start to get interesting.

Romance is a significant reason for the melding of cultures here. There are various Vikings who have settled here, fallen in love with a Saxon girl and have merged into the culture. As long as they don't lecture the Saxons about the alleged superiority of their Norse gods and Eddas, don't eat too many magic mushrooms and go berserk, they make no waves. Even people with more distinctive features from Cathay, Araby or Mauritania have established themselves here and mixed with the locals. But some people are so desperate to get the welcoming nod from the Northumbrian State that they're prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to secure permission to stay here. So there have been some surprising marriages between people of disparate national, cultural, religious and linguistic traditions where either the wife or husband-to-be has been a Northumbrian citizen - and rats have been smelt.

The soothsayers recently highlighted the arrest, subsequent Moot appearance and imprisonment of a naughty priest who made it his business to perform marriage ceremonies (at a price, of course) exclusively for those wishing to gain a foothold onto Northumbrian soil. No questions asked. Pay up the groats, wear fancy coats, just say the oath, one name for both, sign on the line, everything's fine, say nothing more, walk out the door.

Business has therefore been booming - and the fact that the happy couples have quickly dispersed into their previous unmarried habits immediately following the official transaction has finally reached the attention of some zealous, sharp-witted investigators. The conclusion has been drawn that a lucrative scam has been going on to make immigration easier and quicker.

In view of this, the Holy Church has drawn up guidelines for priests in order to avoid this sort of thing becoming fashionable - and to prevent further damage to the reputation of the Church - and the institution of marriage. The priests are to check the following things:

Do the bride and the groom actually recognise each other when they come into the church?
If the bride comes in fashionably late, does she stop to ask anyone to point out who the groom is?
Do the happy couple know each other's names? Can they even pronounce them?
Do either or both of the couple look furtively and nervously from side to side?
Do either of them know where each other comes from?
Do they actually speak the same language and understand each other?

Good grief...