I'm a saint. No, it's true! I just heard it on the News. Pope Francis has declared me a saint. Miracles are second nature to me. As I write, adoring hordes are beating their way to the door of my bungalow because I have experienced miracles. It's a miracle I'm still alive after that near miss with the articulated lorry at that road junction near Gerona in Spain with Dennis and Gordon in Dennis's Austin Riley 1.5 in 1979. It was a miracle.
My lack of material wealth clearly puts me ahead of those ex-popes who I was up against. They had all that gold and those huge chandeliers and stuff in the Vatican. I know this because I recently had a week in Rome, courtesy of a £67 return Easyjet flight. And I saw it.
I must be closer to God than all those other saints because as an agnostic I am closer to the Truth. The deluded masses may tug at the robes of the Church's hierarchy hoping that a crumb of holiness will rub off. They may chant and fawn but I am a saint compared with Mother Teresa who really was not a saint at all, was she? I am a saint compared with "celibate" men who have covered up sex-abuse. You may call me St Rob, the only agnostic saint in the world. And if you don't believe me, it's true. Honest! I sent Pope Francis an email and he emailed me back to say I had his blessing. Believable? Well it's just as believable as all this canonisation bollocks I've just been listening to.
(Waves hand, makes religious sign, floats off in a saintly way. Worshiping crowds gasp, follow and try to touch me)