The Pope of Birmingham

The Pope of Birmingham! Now there's a colourful figure from my past! (Yes folks, we're about to go off on another trip down Sleazy Lane!) The Pope of Birmingham, or Pope Adrian XII to give him his official title (God alone knows who the previous eleven Adrians were, or what happened to them), was the head of the West Midlands Catholic Church, a breakaway from the official Roman Catholic Church founded in 1984 by myself and a group of fellow students. At its peak it could muster all of five ordained officials, including my good self! For several years the whole thing was run from the Birmingham Vatican, a terraced house in Stourbridge.

The Pope himself was a good friend of mine who, in order to subsidise his religious activities, has worked variously as a pharmaceuticals salesman, car salesman, bookie and bar man. In those heady days when we were first setting up our ministry, he was living with (and later married) the Mother Superior (illustrating one of our clear divisions with the official church - we not only believed in priests having sex, but actively encouraged them to have it before, during and after marriage. Whether the marriage be theirs or someone elses). Pope Adrian was also the West of England 'cunt' shouting champion. This sporting activity involved us standing under a motorway flyover in Bristol and all shouting the offending word - whoever could shout it longest and loudest won. Whilst the rest of us were inevitably left with raw throats after only a few minutes, His Holiness could apparently shout obscenities at the top of his voice all day (and frequently did).

As for the rest of us, well, there was the aforementioned Mother Superior, of course. Then there was me, a Cardinal and Papal Legate. There were alsoBishops of Worcester and Colwyn Bay - both of whom did sterling spiritual and alcoholic work in those towns. But what was the point of the West Midlands Catholic Church? At this distance in time, it is hard to recall the details, but I think we had ambitions of following in the footsteps (and bank balance) of L Ron Hubbard and the Church of Scientology (but without the Thetans and alleged brain washing). In retrospect, we were hamstrung by the fact that we never had anyhigh profile celebrity members of the calibre of Tom Cruise or John Travolta. The best we could muster was that we were mates with the bloke who played guitar in a very obscure band called 'Bradford' (I've still got one of their posters - apparently Morrisey liked them). Our main money-making idea was the sale of sainthoods to politicians (mention of which in the previous post reminded me of the Pope of Birmingham). But in the end, we just couldn't be arsed to get out of the pub and preach this idea to the masses.

But whatever became of the Pope of Birmingham and his ministry?, I hear you cry. Sadly, I've lost touch with the Pontiff himself - I know that he had an acrimonious divorce from the Mother Superior (another schism from the established church there), in which she got the Birmingham Vatican, the Popemobile, the full set of Bibles, a signed photograph of Cardinal Hume and all the little Popelets. I suspect that one day I'll find him behind a cabin somewhere, chopping wood for his breakfast... The last I heard of the Bishop of Colwyn Bay, he'd shacked up with a mail order bride from the Phillipines, whilst the Bishop of Worcester eventually went into academia and can sometimes be found performing with infamous 'Unpop' group 'Gay Division' (formerly 'The Last Drag'). He occaisionally pops up in The Sleaze in the guise of Professor Jerry Mire. As for me, well, as you know, after many adventures, I eventuallybecame Britain's foremost purveyor of low grade smut. Amen.