The table at which I am eating my breakfast of ground glass and minibus tyres attempts to escape from the futility of its tablehood by snowboarding down my face.
Pope Marmalade Oxbow Lake is so impressed with snowboarding breakfast table that he confers upon it the status of Cardinal Archbishop.
Cardinal Archbishop Breakfast Table is sworn in as head of the Roman Catholic Church in England and Wales but not Scotland by three MI5 agents. The ceremony is held at the last service station on the M25 (anti-clockwise) before it turns off onto the A21.
The Catholics of England and Wales but not Scotland are initially wary about having a breakfast table as their representative to the Pope, but their fears are allayed when miracles start to happen. A seven-year-old girl from Basildon has a vision of the Virgin Mary blessing Cardinal Archbishop Breakfast Table with the exhaust pipe from the Popemobile. The last remaining nun in England and Wales (and Scotland, strangely enough), sees the face of Jesus in a passing cloud. Every time Catholic pet spaniels walk past breakfast tables in hotels, they lie down on their backs and attempt the sign of the cross; Protestant pet spaniels refuse to walk past breakfast tables and whine.
Famously Bad-Tempered Atheist Man appears on television denouncing these miracles as frauds, and is immediately lynched by Baying Mob High on Love. Just as the last breath is leaving his twitching, angry, atheist body, God’s Small Plastic Duck of Forgiveness descends from heaven and raises Famously Bad-Tempered Atheist Man up On High, from where he still denounces everything religious as a ridiculous waste of time, despite evidence to the contrary.
I finish my breakfast and move on to writing poetry.