Indeed, I have tried everything. Once I fired my pistol and the silly bugger still droned on, so I tried a different ruse. Now, some of these prating parsons begin their sermons with a text or a sermon: my chaplain's no different. I thought I should indulge in a little audience participation. You know, the same sort of thing we do at the Globe, when Will Shakespeare's Macbeth appears, the lean-faced villain. I love going to see him and take all the rotten fruit I can, then, with the rest of the audience, throw it at the murderous rogue. Marvellous occasions! Last time I did it, Macbeth picked up the fruit and threw it back! Journeying home afterwards, I had a sweet thought: my chaplain's sermons are no shorter than any of Will Shakespeare's plays, so why shouldn't the audience be allowed to join in?

The next Sunday, up he gets, straight as a pole in the pulpit. Why?’ he began lugubriously, 'do people call me a Christian?'

'Because they know sweet bugger-all about you!' I shouted back.

It made little difference, so I sat in my pew, arms crossed, glaring at him. An hour must have passed. I slept for a while, drank a little of the wine I always take with me, and suddenly saw a fresh opportunity.

'Dear Brethren,' my chaplain intoned, ‘I ask you solemnly: reflect on the Gospels and ask yourselves, would you be in the light with five wise virgins, or in the dark with five foolish virgins?'

'Ask a daft question,' I bawled back, 'and you'll get a daft answer!'

The congregation collapsed in laughter. Oh, my lovely, lovely chaplain. I hope he knows what he is doing by getting married. I once asked for forgiveness from one of my wives as she lay dying. I murmured, ‘You must have thought many a time, of asking for a divorce?'

The sweet woman turned to me and smiled. She weakly grasped my hand and whispered something to herself. 'What's that?' I asked.

She turned her face towards me. 'Roger, in all the time I have been married to you, divorce has never crossed my mind. Murder has, but never divorce.'