Let us pray,

We pray for those who are going to Reading and Leeds this weekend, and hope they are delivered from the trials that await. Blessed are those who avoid the Libertines, because they sound like a hamster in a gearbox. We ask, Lord, that Goldie Looking Chain continue to spread their word, for surely it has never been more true, that guns do not kill people, but wappers do.

Most of all, we give thanks and praise for those that truly rock, because we do salute you. Your presence on the bill acts as a guiding light across the veil of dark and horseshit and 50 Cent. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but more specifically, Ash to dust, would do nicely.

We pray for my parents, flying to St. Lucia this weekend, and hope for a safe journey. We pray for their son, 20 years old and still not dead, left alone at home with the perils of a house around him. We hope that because he has spent two years at university, the prospect of a washing machine no longer terrifies, and that the fifteen minute explanation of its function, purpose, operation and current role in this unstable socio-political environment of ours were unneccesary. Help him, O lord, should he forget the exact amount of time towels spend in the tumbledryer, that they may come out not so soggy, in your image.

Let him not fall into temptation, or a hole, or the dustbin, for those that Collect do not come until Tuesday (because it's a Bank Holiday), and those that are stuck with the Rubbish, will not be saved.

Hear our prayer, Lord, Jesus, your Pope, his cardinals, the bishops (C4 to F6 x Qq), the angels (to a certain degree), British Sky Broadcasting, false gods, false idols, false teeth, Real Madrid, Jeremy Clarkson (RIP), the entire cast of Taxi, Mario and Luigi.

Amen. Amen? A man, three men.