SUNDAY BREAKFAST

Easter? I have never liked Easter. In my English primary school where Henry VIII and the godfearing headmistress had made damn sure that church and state never separated, I annually sat through the bloody (and I use the word advisedly) Easter story – in a class that was actually called Religious Instruction – with the growing feeling that the whole event was nothing more than a massive con and deception – with a definite back alley entrance for anti-semitism. The supposedly immortal Jesus appeared more of a nebulous ghost that a seriously reincarnated human. Even Dracula in one of his later, Hammer film resuscitations, was more substantial. And then there was the hideous Roman execution. It was so damned sanitised in the Good Friday kiddie-pictures, but I already knew how barbaric the whole business was long before Mel Gibson felt the need to show us in his viciously insane movie. And then, as time went by, it really became clear what a mash-up of pagan fertility rites, spring festivals, Mithraic Mysteries, Sun worship, the ritual sacrifice of the Boy King, all the way to bunnies, and cheap chocolate eggs. The duplicitous Christians had progressively stolen every theological  concept that wasn’t nailed down (so to speak) and used it to justify their holier-than-thou monotheism. But what can you do? Cadbury or the Pope won’t allow the likes of me to drive them out of business, so, for the time being, I have to endure it and all my complaining will do is piss off the faithful – but that’s why they forced the content warning on Doc40 in the first place.

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The secret word is Chicken