Once upon a time, when I was a full-blown Catholic chorister at Westminster Cathedral, aged about half my current collar size, I suggested aloud that as God was all-powerful and all-merciful, the concept of the fiery pits of hell was possibly exaggerated - mainly on the grounds of overkill. What I suggested might be the case was that God said, “Hi, sorry you’re dead, help yourself to everything - jellies, cakes, crumpets, pop, whatever” “Sorry God”, says Hitler, “but I have been really very bad.” “Oh, don’t worry about that,” says God, “Fill your boots with whatever you want - and by the by, we’re playing footy later if you’d like to join in.” (You might have noticed that Boyd Minimus’ horizons at the time lacked a certain depth.) Hitler is so full of remorse at the generosity of the all-powerful, all-merciful etc, etc, that he slinks off and spends an eternity sobbing in the corner, feeling terribly guilty. His days are made infinitely worse by some 7m people walking by asking him to come and join a game of Monopoly or Cricket, or would he like them to fetch him some Ice Cream?
This Hellish reconstruction by a ten-year-old was too much for the Jesuits, Ursulines and various others, and the parents were called to hold a conference on how to drive the devil out!
Many years later, it turns out - according to the Economist - that I was essentially
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