She's never been the same since the caretaker at the Knott End Working Men's Club made a pass at her. Probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to her really. "You don't sweat much for a fat lass."

Anyway, our religion doesn't need resurrecting, we'll have no resurrection bollocks getting in the way of the true path.

Just bingo, drinking horns and a wheel barrow for the co messiahs and co messiah emeritus with gnomish attributes to load the cash from the collecting plates / bingo takings.

Two fat ladies, Betty Swollox and a misogynist mirror.

Six and six, two thirds of you will burn in hell.

On its own, you are never alone with an imaginary friend.

Key of the door, the bible.

Four and two, the answer to life, the universe and everything.

Cameron's den, full of bigoted bishops.

One and three, you are unlucky, and here's some guilt to pile onto your woes.

Two little boys, you are getting the hang of this religion lark, aren't you?

LINE!