Opsimaths struggling one member short (no, I'm not referring to my own brain) got hammered at home to Ethel Rodin

St. Caths lost at home to the all-conquering Fifth Finger

Albert Park just succumbed to their close league table rivals X-Pats

Sometimes people stop Fr. Megson in the chemist's and say:

"Bless me father, is it yourself?  Boy, but I was awful drunk at 9 o'clock mass last Sunday and half the time I hadn't a notion what you were chunnering on about.  Would you ever be so good as to run that bit about temperance by me again and also the arrangements for the St. Patrick's Day march?  And would you like me to buy that wee packet for you, Father, 'cause there's only a young slip of a girl serving?"

And you know, in a very real sense, Madge, my housekeeper is right.  It is all too easy to get caught up in life's little debaucheries and to lose sight of the really important issues that pertain to our spiritual realm.  And what could be more important than organising the craic for St. Paddy's Day - it'll be feckin' brill.  So let me run through the timetable again for all of you who were feeling less than sentient last Sunday morning:

10.00 - Mass (please note that this may have to be cancelled if Fr. Megson can't find a new battery for his alarm clock - we simply can't afford to fall behind schedule on such a holy day)

10.14 - Traditional blessing of the Sassenach graves

10.15 - The even more traditional cursing of the Sassenach living

11.15 - Fr. Megson to nip home for well earned bacon butty with all the trimmings and a scalding hot mug of Irish coffee.  Feel free to mill around the chapel gates chewing baccy like demented cows, hawking, spitting and slagging off your feckless neighbours like you do every Sunday

11.30 - Annual St. Patrick's Day traditional parade to commence from the gates of our beloved Church Of The Hidden Ovarie, Ladybarn

11.32 - Annual St. Patrick's Day traditional parade to terminate at the front door of " Vespers", our church social club and exclusive nightclub for discerning gentlemen priests and turf accountants.

The men should make their immediate way to the bar.  Could the ladies please assemble in the cleaner's storeroom?  Please mind the broken statues, most of which have sharp edges.  In the storeroom they will be treated to a gratis and complimentary porringer of Bailey's Irish Cream (75p for pensioners and other unwaged parochial parasites).  The ladies should then bid a fond adieu to Fr. Megson and make their way home in an orderly fashion to pluck the chicken and boil the spuds.

You may remember that last year some auld hoity-toity busybody from the Town Hall tried to take us to task about this arrangement. Well now, Fr. Megson is as Politically Correct as the next priest and I would thank that auld lesbian-bollox to remember that this year. If she cares to look up the relevant Health and Safety ruling (section 6; subsection 24(b) of the 1849 - "Proper Placement of Women" act) she will see that this instruction is mandatory and is quite clearly in place to protect our good womenfolk from being subjected to unwarranted attention and compliments in a public place.  There comes a time however when even priests have to be flexible in a heathen country so I would be willing to make the following concession:

If any of you women out there are under 25, have in their possession a leather mini-skirt and matching boots (green would be nice and apposite but don't worry if they happen to be dark red - both would look lovely with a wee black skimpy top) and have had experience dancing on fairly high mahogany tables, then report to Fr. Megson in the DJ booth behind the bar.  Those lucky enough to pass his audition will of course need to to text their kids to remind them to get their own tea that evening.

12.00 - (midnight on the 24 hour clock system) - official ending of St. Patrick's Day. Time to stand in a desultory fashion for the National Anthem and then get a final 6 or 7 rounds in at the bar before wending your circuitous way to Fr. Megson's top table for the official inquest.  Traditionally, this can be a very trying time for the maudlin.  So this year I have roped in Sister Conceptua Euphoria to act as a confidante and counsellor.  She's from the order of The Poor Bridgets who run a successful chain of Bail Hostels on Cheetham Hill Road so she'll be well used to listening to sobbers and gobbers like you lot.  But don't spin the "I could've been a contender" yarns out too long because she can't abide bathos and she can get fierce ratty when she's had a few.