Testiculos Habet Et Bene Pendentes

My Dear Princess & Dear Fellows,

If I gave the impression that Cazza was hammered yesterday, then good, because that's what I was going for. 

In fact, when we got home, she started drunkenly texting JJ to thank her for a fun afternoon. I just heard - SPLOSH - THUNK - "Whoops".

Then, "Oh, it's gone in the cat water bowl. Um. That can't be good."

TECHNICAL NEWSFLASH: You can drop a Galaxy Note 8 in a cat water bowl and it works PERFECTLY afterward. Thank goodness.

But here's a tip for you. If you get drunk in the early evening, then sleep it off while your husband watches Nicolas Cage in "Face/Off". You'll feel FINE the next day. It's like Cazza just skipped her hangover.

Still and all, we are having a quiet day today. Cazza is not leaving her jarmies for anyone. I put a surfing documentary on the telly for her. She loves these. I think it's because her mum was a surfer, back in the day and although Cazza doesn't surf, she loves that whole surf-culture thing. I don't mind these films either. They are pretty spectacular. Although it does remind me of that poem by Griff Rhys-Jones*.

But none of this is what I really want to talk about today. What I really want to talk about is this: papal testicles. 

See, I was listening to history in bed as usual and woke up this morning to the legend of Pope Joan. And it is most likely just that - a legend. But still, it was undoubtedly a story that was told and retold and believed for centuries. The story goes that an intelligent Englishwoman came to Rome in the 9th century, but hid her gender. She impressed the Romans with her learning and piety, to the point where she eventually became Pope, her sex unbeknownst to the Cardinals who elected her, thinking she was a dude (Pope John VIII).

But. However. Problem. During her time as Pontifex Maximus, she didn't actually stop shagging and got pregnant. Now, I'm not sure if she knew she was pregnant or not. The story doesn't say. It does say she was sort of careless about where she gave birth though. Basically the newborn baby just sort of squished out of her cassock and plopped onto the street in front of a whole bunch of onlookers. 

And because medieval folks were such an understanding and tolerant sort, they set upon her and killed her right on the spot and chucked her into the Tiber. So that's the myth.

What I found particularly funny is supposedly what happened following these events. It is said that, well into the High Middle Ages, all newly-elected Popes had to sit on a marble commode-type chair with NAE KNICKERS ON. Then a bunch of Cardinals lined up and took turns to have a bit of a... well... you know... they sort of reached up... underneath... and there was ummm... "grasping" going on.

When all the Cardinals had finished having a bit of an old prod, a cry would go up - "Testiculos habet et bene pendentes!" (He has testicles and they dangle nicely!)

And the gathered throng would respond, "Deo gratius!" (Thanks be to God!)

I'm not sure what happened if he had testicles but they DIDN'T dangle nicely. I mean, if one was bigger than the other or they were on the wonk, was that a dealbreaker? Sadly, history does not tell us. But I just love the idea of the Pope sitting there while a bunch of cardinals took turns sticking their fingers up his Melbourne -

CARDINAL: Excuse me.
POPE: Whoop!
CARDINAL: Pardon me.
POPE: Yipe!
CARDINAL: My turn.
POPE: Yaroo! Could you people at least WARM YOUR HANDS?!
CARDINAL: Me next.
POPE: No pulling! No pulling! You're not picking GRAPES you know!

So that's my story for the day. Who said that Religious Education is dull? I bloody love this stuff.

S.

* I HATE WINDSURFERS by Griff Rhys-Jones

I hate windsurfers,
What a stupid lot they are,
With their stupid lumps of fibreglass,
Stuck on their stupid car.

I hate windsurfers,
They do it standing up,
They could do it in a ten-foot hole,
They'd still be stupid.

I hate windsurfers,
In a totally irrational way,
It's probably something to do with their wet-suits,
Or maybe not, I can't say.

I hate windsurfers,
They're the sort that get me down,
I hope they fall in their reservoirs,
And then swim a bit and then drown.

I hate windsurfers,
La la la la la,
I hate waterskiers as well,
Dah dee dah dah dah.