Prayer Flay

As the Northumbrian Kingdom reels drunkenly from the body-blow of Flavius Capellus' departure, yet more desolation comes rolling in from the soothsayers to pollute the air of public cheerfulness.

It's usually the custom in the Witangemot meetings - nationally and locally - to start their proceedings with a prayer, usually administered by any monk or priest who happens to be in the vicinity. The ensuing business after this moment of humble spiritual reflection is usually turbulent and unedifying - often coming to godless blows between rival politicos; it's even been known for Redistributionists to engage in brawls with those of the Tree and Liberationist factions, but their best energies are reserved for their internecine squabbles. For all this brouhaha, the act of prayer before these sweetly reasonable and objective debates has been an accepted part of life for the political elite for thousands of years.

However, one village Witangemot has been assailed by the formidable fighting farce of the Northumbrian Secular Club, following a complaint by some Mortally Offended former councillor, who objected to this form of theistic tyranny, and referred to it with the damning indictment of Inappropriate. (Following his demise, the funeral is to be attended by hundreds and thousands. Sprinkle liberally, and serve with a flourish and a stick of celery. Serves 4.)

Consequently, the Grand Moot has been called to deliberate over the principle of prayer before political business. Is is appropriate for Modern Day Dark-Age Northumbria to continue these barbaric and outdated traditions? These solemn deliberations have taken place between the Legally Learned Few, costing millions of Holy Groats (at taxpayers' expense, of course), and after a three thousand year wait, they've finally decreed that the practice of an opening prayer to the Almighty isn't a legally binding obligation or categorical imperative.

For a more quick-and-dirty way of resolving this issue, I'd have immediately referred the entire matter to the High Priests from the Sanhedrin of the Northumbrian Football Council. Their decision on the bone of contention would have taken a matter of seconds, there would have been no further disputation, and the policy - whatever it was - would be ruthlessly executed with immediate effect. End of story. What's for tea?

I've heard it said that there's a custom that the football players meet for prayer in the dressing room before each game, so that they can sanctify their genteel sporting endeavours. And then they proceed to knock seven bells out of each others shins thereafter..