Dismissing The Masses

Ite - missa est
(The concluding words of the Latin mass)

In the beautiful settlement of Yorvik, the encampment of youthfully naive protesters - complete with their pacifiers, bongos, dog breath and magic mushrooms - has grown considerably. Word has got around the disaffected yoof of the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria about the Protest against Hard Work, Moneylenders, the Holy Groats, the Accursed Public Expenditure Cuts, soap, Brussels sprouts and castor oil, resulting in an an enormous newly-sprouted community of tents and assorted temporary shelters outside the Minster, which sadly just happens to be situated in the Yorvik commercial and financial district.

The odour emanating from this new municipal development has been deeply offensive and distressing to the tender noses of the local populace, who have had to struggle to make their way through myriads of stools fresh from the alimentary systems of the protesters' stray dogs, and gingerly pick their way through sprawling youngsters with pimples and dirty feet, who've been idly playing with apples and blackberries. Children always seem to love to play with their food...

At first, the monks at the Minster were quite happy to see the young ne'er-do-wells, since their malodorous presence added a certain frisson to the otherwise tedious ecclesiastic activities. Some of the more pious-minded of the monks even thought it was a golden opportunity to carry out the teachings of the New Testament - ministering to the needy, the poor and the sick. Some of the monks found common cause with the humming masses, and identified with whatever it was they were protesting about. The picture still isn't too clear as to what the purpose of their protest really is..

Tragically, the dead hand of officialdom came to rest upon the proceedings, and the doors of the Minster were obliged to be closed for the first time since they were last shut. Thus the illicit and foetid encampment of vagabonds and dharma bums put a temporary end to the public worship of the God-fearing gentlefolk of Yorvik. Shame.

Since then, the Minster collections have diminished, and the monks are finding the already spartan facilities of the Minster even more difficult than ever, since they're unable to afford any firewood or food from the Shambles. So the Abbot has ordered the protesters to leave the surrounds of the Minster and to depart from the sacred precincts of the Holy Church. When he announced this to the stinking congregation before him, he had a whip in his hand. He was certainly prepared to put part of the New Testament into practice..

But never mind. No doubt Parly Toywasp and her Guardy-Ann cult followers will be more than happy to have them camp out in their own splendid front gardens. They can have a lovely time, feeding and entertaining them and celebrating the Redistributionist mass - if Good Lady Toywasp and her toffee-nose pals can put up with the smell..