Derek the Cleric
A very British sense of humour…
Some have said that this affable clergyman is my alter ego but that is a suggestion which I’ll strenuously deny. That said, I will confess to the charge of him being a shameless vehicle for my very British sense of humour.
Derek the Cleric began life in the 1990s as the back page cartoon for the Christian Herald newspaper. After the publication’s demise there remained a very large archive of material that seemed too good to waste.
So, in March 2010 I launched Derek the Cleric’s very own blog in which I brought to life not only Derek’s world but that of his church, St Cliff’s. In case you’ve not come across the blog I’ve included it as a feature on this website.
Followship
In time I also added Facebook, Twitter and Instagram to Derek’s media outlets and so his ‘followship’ grew.
Derek has his own merchandise range (apparently there’s still stock available), appeared as a guest columnist at Christian.co.uk answering conundrums under the guise of his ‘Ask Derek’ column and has also appeared in a book entitled ‘Does God Lol?’ sitting alongside pieces by such comedy greats as Ken Dodd, Frank Carson, Milton Jones and Tim Vine.
He’s to be found in church magazines and newsletters up and down the land and even in The Church of Ireland Gazette.
What next? In Derek’s immortal words… “Onward and upward!”
What You’ve Said About Derek the Cleric
Now read "Derek the Cleric and the Bishop’s Ultimatum"
And so it begins…
A warm welcome to my world and that of my charge, St Cliff’s. I fear that I would not be introducing myself to you had it nor been for my recent annual performance review with the bishop. Having spent the first ten minutes in silence whilst he painstakingly perused St Cliff’s less-than-satisfactory attendance figures, the bishop then proceeded to question my ability to fulfil my vicarious (or should I say, precarious) duties.
The Firmly fixed faithful
Not before time am I preparing to bid a none-too-fond farewell to the last vestiges of winter. Spring is most definitely in the air at St Cliff’s which, to tell the truth, is not the only thing. It would certainly not even have required the services of a nasally-enhanced bloodhound to have detected the disturbing aroma that has recently graced this hallowed building. I was reliably informed that Mrs Bidmarsh and her cleaning ladies had given our pews the ‘once over’ with Mr Sheen or some such branded wood-reviving agent in their usually quick-off-the-mark spring clean (it still being only early March) but, as I suspected, what they intended to use and what they actually ended up coating our ecclesiastical leg rests with were not one and the same thing.
O Mother!
Dear friends Mother’s Day fast approaches and I find that my sermon preparation for this annual fixture on the ecclesiastical calendar is laced with more than a little anxiety and much floor pacing. That this day-long celebration of all things maternal should cast such a long shadow over my normally sanguine demeanour will no doubt surprise you. Should not a man
Football is biblical!
Dear friends Oh what joy it is to read the Bible with the eyes of revelation and, more so, to discover something that has, I believe, lain hidden from others for two thousand years. I am presently employing a more relaxed method of daily Bible study which boils down to closing my eyes, opening the good book at random, running my
Pet Prayers
Dear friends A pastoral emergency has occurred. It being Wednesday, the local tradesmen (for some reason that no doubt harks back to I know not when) deem it acceptable to withdraw their labour for the duration of the afternoon of this particular day each week and thus all businesses within the parish (with the exception of Fags and Mags which
A Tad Uneasy!
Dear friends You may not be aware but I have a penchant for the pastime of rambling. The ‘great outdoors’ is medicine indeed after the sometimes claustrophobic confines of St Cliff’s and I find this leisure pursuit a most therapeutic exercise. To therefore be invited to be chaplain of the local rambling society was a most harmonious proposition – a perfect
'CHRISTMAS CHAOS'
Dear friends
With Christmas all but upon us this joyous season is rather overshadowed by the looming spectre of an unfortunate incident which occurred at last year’s ever-popular Carols at St.Cliff’s.
It is no secret that I am rather partial to a seasonal mince pie (or two) but this festive indulgence has the embarrassing downside of rogue currants lodging themselves surreptitiously in my teeth.
Had I but known that one of our number (young Albert Hall – no relation) suffered from a debilitating fear of dentists (having had more than his fair share of dental extractions in his short life) I would have shown a little more more restraint with regard to my cheery demeanour as I welcomed folk to the service.
Greeting him (and his parents) on their arrival at this festive fixture with a toothy grin, my currant-encrusted molars unfortunately gave my visage the appearance of numerous missing teeth and thus triggered one of his ‘episodes’.
If it had not been for the speedy intervention of a member of our prayer ministry team (and the inventive use of an offering bag in the services of quelling his hyperventilation) who knows what would have happened.
Having resolved that this year I would lay off the mince pies to avoid a repeat of this calamity, on taking a short cut through St. Cliff’s kitchen (and in a moment of forgetfulness) I secreted into my mouth an abandoned broken morsel of mince pie that lay invitingly on the worktop and then I entered the sanctuary ready for this year’s carol fest.
I will confess to not being particularly one for ‘bells and smells’ when it comes to my churchmanship but when visiting a certain Christian resources exhibition earlier in the year I simply could not resist the purchase of some seasonal ‘Figgy Pudding and Brandy Butter Incense – minimum five services guaranteed!’
My plan was to waft this festive fragrance around at the outset of the carol service thus creating a suitably Christmassy ambience.
Perhaps it would have been wise to have done a dry run beforehand, but I did not.
I had not quite realised that there is somewhat of an art to swinging an incense burner but once the smoking receptacle had built up some momentum it was trickier than I thought to dictate both its velocity or for that matter its trajectory.
I fear that had it not been for the late entrance of Mr and Mrs Hall (and their aforementioned son) the smoking burner might have taken off in the manner of an Olympic hammer thrower going for gold.
That this did not occur was due in its entirety to these latecomers attempting to slink unnoticed into a vacant front row pew at precisely the moment the maverick incense burner chose to swing back in their direction.
Those of you who have attended one of St.Cliff’s occasional Bowling ‘n’ Burger excursions will be well aware that I rarely achieve the acme of a ‘strike’ and on this occasion, too, I proved true to my reputation.
Having floored but two of the three Hall family (like pins in a bowling alley) I was at a loss as to what to do next and thus resorted to smiling pastorally at their almost orphaned son.
You will not need to blessed with the gift of prophecy to see where this is going.
Faced once more with my currant-cursed grin the poor lad keeled over and joined his poleaxed parents on our stony floor.
Such a good ‘hit rate’ for falling to the floor would have been most impressive had it been the fruit of our prayer ministry team, but sadly it was not.
Whilst my mind worked overtime with unhelpful thoughts of litigation, Mrs Higginbottom (St.Cliff’s erratic and cacophonous organist) took it upon herself to strike up a festive tune to divert attention away from the ‘incident’.
That her choice of festive melody was Deck the Halls did little to help matters.
Let us hope that next year begins better than this year is ending.
Onward and upward
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