See, the trouble is, when you go to the pub of an afternoon to watch football, and drink several Guinness’s, you naturally need to sleep it off when you get home, so you have a too-long siesta, and then you’re up late and surfing and oh my god!
So I thought I’d engage with the wider world for a bit and got to wondering about Who Will Be The New Pope. That got me remembering about St Malachy, and so I went in search of him. By jingo, there’s a lot of craziness in cyberspace when you touch on this subject, eh? To summarise, though, Malachy was a 12th century mystic who allegedly gave a list of popes from his time to the End of the World, awarding each of them a two or three word tag.
These tags tie up with each pope’s background or attributes; this is where it gets decidedly dodgy because you can see all kind of meaning in a couple of words in Latin. For example, John Paul II was “worker in the sun”, and that’s because, they say, he came from the east, was born during a solar eclipse, and once worked as a labourer on a farm that produced sun dried tomatoes… (I made the last bit up). The prophecy definitely came to light in the 16th century, and might have been forged at that time. Fuck knows.
Anyhow, if you’re prepared to swallow it (as the duchess said to the sailor), the pope they are about to elect will be “gloria olivae”, that’s easily translatable as “the glory of olives”. He’ll be the penultimate pope, and that’s where the craziness come in: nowt like the End of All Things to stir the barking mad out of their cupboards under the stairs. Eh? Try googling “Gloria olivae”. Go on!
After the glorious olive (I love olive oil, dislike olives, but now I’m going off-message), we get “Peter the Roman”, and then it’s the End of The World. But maybe Malachy, bless him, was just fucked up on drugs? This lad is after using him as a means to have a bet, and why not? I’d risk a fiver, anyhow.