Come with me back in time, loyal readers! Come all you adoring millions and fly. Fly with me o’er hill and glen and Perth services and some other hills, yea, e’en unto the sea that was known in the time of Our Lord as the Minch. There will be a toilet break in Skye.
Back in time we go…back…back…
*Noo nee noo nee noo nee noo nee swirly twirly noo. STOP!*
The year is 2007 and a startling discovery is about to be made in a cave by the shores of Loch Erisort on the island of Lewis in Scotland. A peasant of the land is out walking with his ipod and a quantity of fungi when some unAtlee-an weather sets in. Taking shelter in the cave ‘neath Mac Hammadi’s cleft, known to the locals as Big Bum Boulder, our young mycology enthusiast unwraps his fungi, gobbles a few and settles in for the duration of the storm.
Very soon – can you see? No pushing at the back- he begins to experience feelings of bliss and relaxation, all too quickly followed by feelings of clammy fear and moist anxiety. As paranoia creeps in through his head-holes, you might want to look away as he punches a giant spider to death. He does this because he has observed it nobly trying and trying again each time it fails and refails to spin a proper web on the wet rocks. This giant spider is mocking the boy, he knows it, and who are we to interfere? It scoffs at him to the insufferable tune of “I’m A Little Teapot (Nashville remix)” for giving up too easily in life; for not finishing his exams; and forgetting again to post his CV to the fish farm people; for always throwing in the towel at the first hurdle; for mixing hs metaphors, and perhaps worst of all, for proving his pa right.
But don’t be too angry with him, fellow lookers. He does not see that the spider is smaller than his thumbnail, nor that he looks like a doofus. He is in thrall to much higher forces than himself. He feels only The Old Rage Of The Rubbish ‘Shroom.
Now watch, time-pilgrims, watch carefully as, cradling his minced fist, the boy stumbles further back into the cave where it’s dry. See him lie down with every intention of being sad until the long, bad journey is over…
…But now… unexpectedly (“!”), the wonder sets in. See him rise and look around him as if he were a full-bladdered puppy in a fire-hydrant factory. Everything appears to him to be way cool, coolest ever. Wow! At about the same time the wonder hits his brain, his saucer-pupilled eyes alight on a series of primitive earthen jars. Oh, man! These are the best primitive earthen jars EVER! He goes to the awesomest one and pees in it. And then the next one. Drained, he tips a third jar upside down because he’s in the mood for that. From it falls a scroll, an ancient codex of some sort. Like, whoa! What ancient codexy shit is this?
The light is dim back in here but please refrain from flash photography, ladies and gentlemen. Even when I tell you that you are witnessing history – the uncovering of a secret 2000 years old. For what this glaikit-fizzogged youth has found is none other than the Lost Gospels of Mac Hammadi, soon to become known as The Big Bum Gospels then hastily renamed the Gospels O’ The Cleft then The Crevice Gospels and finally, after an emergency naming meeting, they were dubbed the Cnocstic Gospels on account of being found under a Gaelic hill.
These texts include The Apocryphon of Iain, The First Apocalypse of Seamus, The Second Apocalypse of Seamus, The Gospel of Mairi-Agnus and the Coptic Cnoctic Gospel of Donnie-Alec. Unfortunately, as we’ve seen, some of the precious documents, having being brought back by the heretofore unknown Lewis disciples; then guarded for centuries by those fearsome warrior ministers, the Knights Teuchter; and having survived, seemingly impossibly, the dumb, insolent snufflings of sheep and otter for these 2000 years – after all that – succumbed to the acid in the pee of our young fungus-eater.
Now lets all fly back to our homes and computers and I’ll tell you how the story ends.
*Noo nee noo nee and what have you*
Shroom-boy gets flown to London and interviewed by the BBC where he meets a wealthy “cougar” named Bridget who falls in love with his broad shoulders and his disinclination to converse much between vigourous coitus. He, with time, accepts her shameful second navel and they marry, move to the country and he never, ever invites his father to his posh house to watch the football on the massive High-Definition telly.
The mysteries of the Cnocstic Gospels are still being unraveled. There’s a lot of new stuff on Jesus, his likes and dislikes – couldn’t stand the sight of loaves or fishes, apparently, so that whole parable was personally very trying for him as they just kept multiplying all around him like that. Nightmare. And, although this is just hearsay, there are some quite juicy bits about the shepherds watching their flocks by night – all very shoosh-shoosh but known in scholarly circles as The Brokeback Fragments.
Luckily for us, one hot summer in the 90s, I had a torridish affair with the man who is now the chief curator of the Gospels, in the History Of Butterflies back-room of the British Library. Back then he was just in charge of the Insect Illustration (17th-19th century) section but he got promoted and we’ve remained close. I am therefore deliciously privy to some exclusive information on the Cnocstic Gosels, and have a report coming to you, gorgeous readers, on the most complete of the surviving codices, The Gospel of Peadair and The Twelve.