I once had ambitions to be the Pope.
Oh for the joyful innocence of a seven year old!
I had it all mapped out.
I was going to become an alter boy and then move on to the priesthood and then stab an claw my way through the ranks of bishops and cardinals until I finally gained my rightful place on the throne.
Unfortunately, God had other ideas and gave me a massive dose of the flu on the day they were press ganging alter boys, so I fell at the first fence and was presumably denied the joys of being buggered by our local priest.
Maybe God regretted his hasty actions because years later, in secondary school we had visits from a group of Storm Troopers trying to get us to sign up for the priesthood. They handed around application forms and some wanker in the class filled in my name and address. It certainly wasn’t me, as I had used my form to fill in the name and address of Brian Hanrahan who was the class bully. For weeks they kept calling around to the house and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told them I was a victim of a practical joke and they said that was fine; that people often had second thoughts and that they would pray with me to get me back on the path of righteousness. In the end I just told them to fuck off and took to slamming the door in their faces.
So but for that quirk of fate and a dose of the flu, I could be over there in Rome right now. I could be in there back-stabbing, blackmailing and bribing along with the rest of them.
I don’t regret it though.
I never looked good in a dress.