Let Anglofritz be your Talmudist. Let us lead you through the week’s news with interpretation not cut crudely from some lame dregs of wit, but hauled deep from a wretched man's stricken conscience. You’re on Anglofritz, and that means you get more than the kind of easy scatological quip you get in BBC TV panel games full of fat celebrities, satiated with their own success (how miserable has the comedian become if his invention is limited to sarcasm?) Here you get erotic passion. You get the wisdom imparted by indulging your worst vices. You get the horror that you only feel in your bowels.

Can you imagine if it were possible for a man to be canonised by nothing more than feeling? If only it were possible: a man suddenly ascends to heaven, lifted bodily by the pure, electric feeling of a crowd. It wouldn’t even have to be a crowd in the same place. It could be a crowd linked merely by communication. They’d have to be able to communicate, mind – it wouldn’t be like praying, for they would move each other so much with their words and noises that suddenly what they have in their minds tips into a divine event.

This is what might have happened to Jens Lehmann this week, except it's impossible, and he is still a horse.

Meanwhile, the deutsche Pope wants the conditions of sainthood to be more demanding. Exactly the opposite direction to my utopian vision. Where are we, my friends, and what are we coming to?