Every time I think the wacky world of religion couldn’t get any more wacky, it gets even wackier. Today, I learn that the elevation to Popedom of Robert Prevost has meant a surge in holiday bookings to Vatican City. Better still, local entrepreneurs are working on Pope-themed beers and ice creams for the millions of expected tourists, mostly American of course, just like Bob himself. It’s what God would have wanted.
Actually, Bob has now got a stage name. Gordon Sumner became Sting, Bernard Jewry became Alvin Stardust and Paul Gadd became Gary Glitter. Bob will in future be known as Leo and not just any Leo. Leo XIV, no less. These popes aren’t very original, are they?
I had never really thought about the tourism possibilities for Popes, but clearly it is a thing. The last one, whose name escapes me (was it Diego or maybe Lionel?) was from Argentina, which in itself was sufficient encouragement for thousands of Argentinians to take their holidays in and around Rome. I am assuming that the locals ensured there were pop-up steak restaurants and additional supplies of Malbec available for those arriving from Buenos Aires?
All joking aside (what jokes? – ed), I would imagine that Catholics get the same kind of kick out of a visit to see the latest reincarnation of the Pope as, say, Muslims get out of doing the Haj in Saudi Arabia. While sinners like me find the whole idea of Gods and religions totally absurd, I guess if practicing some kind of ancient superstitious worship gets you through the night, and day, then for as long as it doesn’t affect my life, then I can probably live with it. If a pint or two of Leo’s finest best bitter washed down by a Popetto, or whatever they call Leo’s special ice cream, is what people need in their lives, then who am I to spoil their fun?
I honestly do not care whether Pope Bob/Leo says or does. It has zero bearing on my life and, frankly, his views mean no more, and probably a bit less, than those of the bloke in my local as he pontificates on the important whys and wherefores of today’s world. Just let him carry on worshipping a God for whom there is no evidence ever existed, wasting his own life, I would suggest, as well as those of his followers, but definitely not mine.
Now excuse me while I navigate my way through Leo’s merchandise store. A few pints of his ale might help me forget all this nonsense.
