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29 October 2014
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The Pope of Lost Hope
by Morris Telford
Actually, Lake Hell seems to be permanently frozen
Morris gets an unwelcome dip... But they could have broken the ice first!

Morris has received more than his share of chilly welcomes. However, the population of Lost Hope really know how to mistreat a visitor.
Little does Morris know that a shadowy figure lies behind his treatment!

Enter the Pope of Lost Hope.

SEE ALSO

The Morris Telford archive. Read about Morris's previous exploits, and find out how the adventure has unfolded.

Follow Morris's journey
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six
Day Seven
PRINT THIS PAGE
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FACTS

Name: Morris Telford

Age: 33

DOB: 18/04/70

Occupation:Unemployed

Hobbies: Enlightenment, Philosophy, Bingo

Favourite book – Ordnance Survey Map of Shropshire 1999 edition

Favourite foods – Pickled Eggs

Favourite film – Late For Dinner

Favourite colour – The delicate cyan of the dinnertime sky in Moreton Say.

Favourite British County – Shropshire

Favourite Place – Moreton Say

Favourite Postal Code Area – TF9

Favourite radio
frequency - 96FM

Favourite sound – The gentle breeze rustling through the leafy glades of Moreton Say

Favourite Clive – Clive of India

Favourite Iron Bridge - Ironbridge

Favourite adhesive note size – 75 x 75mm

Favourite Vegetable – Anything grown in the fertile soils of Shropshire

Favourite band – *(shameless plug)

Biggest inspiration –

The ´óÏó´«Ã½ is not responsible for the content of external websites.
Communicate with Morris via the - or look back through the archive to find out what happened in previous weeks.
Do you have a question for Morris?
WEEK 34, DAY 1
I gave a brief but eventful presentation to a packed bar last night.

Setting up, it reminded me of the halcyon days in my old office job when I would give my weekly stationary report in the team meetings - Twenty five minutes on how many post it notes we had used since last Tuesday. I was often chastised for the length, depth and content of my presentations, but I like to think I added a flavour and colour to otherwise dull proceedings.

My presentation theme in the bar was, as always, why Shropshire is so completely marvelous in every single way and how it can solve all your problems with its aforementioned marvellousness.

I had barely set up a makeshift flipchart and begun describing the gentle beauty of Moreton Say before a group of men in white hoods burst in and put a bag over my head. I think it was a bag, but it all happened so suddenly it might have been just a piece of cloth wrapped around my face, like a large blindfold, or a small sack.

I was bundled into a vehicle of some sort and driven a small distance. Then the bag or possibly sack was removed and a light shone directly in my face in a fashion often seen in World War Two film interrogations... but seldom in real life.

I was sitting on a chair in the middle of a small wooden room. Men in white hoods were at the periphery of my vision, brandishing things menacingly in their hands, like bits of pipe and crowbars. However, I did notice a couple of them had spatulas and one of them had what looked very much like an egg whisk.

Anyway there was much shouting and pushing around, but nothing a hardened traveller such as myself couldn't handle.

The nature of the display seemed to be that I was not allowed to give talks in public places, or to promote any alternative lifestyles to the one currently on offer in Lost Hope, unless I had the express permission of the Pope.

After a bit of confusion I ascertained that this wasn't the Vatican-based Pope, but a locally based Pope, who seemed to be behind this reactionary little display.

I calmly explained that I'd like to meet the Pope. After a bit of forced laughing and bizarre Wizard of Oz type comments like "Nobody, but nobody sees the Pope", I managed to make an appointment for tomorrow and they re-bagged my head and led me out.

Despite all the pushing and lights and bags over heads, my abductors seemed like a decent enough bunch of people. I couldn't help but notice they stopped me banging my head as they put me back in the vehicle and put my seatbelt on for me before driving me back to the bar.

One of them even said "sorry" when I knocked my arm as he pushed me out of the car.
WEEK 34, DAY 2
I was taken to meet a man called "The Pope" today.

He lives in the largest house in Lost Hope - a mansion in the snow... All roman columns, Gone With The Wind staircases, stuffed animal heads, unspoken menace and high ceilings.

I was left to wait for a full half hour on a hard stone bench, with not so much as a cup of tea or digestive biscuit, before being summoned into his presence.

I was going to complain about the wait and lack of digestives, before then threatening to withhold vital information about Shropshire and the glories within...

However, when I saw that the Pope was wearing what appeared to be a garment of human skin, with an ermine trim and had a large snake coiled at his feet, I thought better of it.

He was clearly a man intent on giving the appearance of menace.

After a short chat with the Pope, in which I tried to explain to him the importance of Shropshire and he tried to explain to me that if I talk out of turn once again he would have me killed, I feel we came to a mutual understanding.

I want to tell the people of Lost Hope that the welcoming vistas of my beloved Shropshire are waiting for them just across the ocean... While the Pope wants me to understand that as patriarch of Lost Hope, I must obey his every whim and spend the rest of my natural life living in fear of displeasing him.
WEEK 34, DAY 3
I hid in my room above the bar all day today.

Outside on the telegraph pole someone has stuck a billposter saying "Don't talk to strangers, it's better for your health". It's actually quite good advice given the predatory nature of some individuals in today's society and something I would encourage all parents to tell their children.

In this context however, I think it's directed at me specifically.

I'm not leaping to conclusions here.

The poster was put up after the xenophobic past few days... It's been displayed just outside the window of my room... It's in red writing - a clear indication of threatful intent rather than friendly advice... and there's an artists impression of me on it.

It's not a bad likeness actually.

It's really quite upset me that elements of the Lost Hope community feel this way toward me.

I'm a stranger to no man; I'm Morris Telford, friend to the world.
WEEK 34, DAY 4
I left my room briefly today to see what all the noise outside was about.

There was a parade in the street outside and they seemed to be burning an effigy. I'm not leaping to conclusions here, but I think it was supposed to be me.

It was wearing the same clothes, had the same hair, the same build, again it's not a bad likeness actually... obviously someone in Lost Hope has real artistic talent.

However, the real giveaway was the sign around the neck saying "Morris Telford".


They certainly know how to give a bloke a welcome here.
WEEK 34, DAY 5
It's some sort of local tradition that on this day each year they take the newest member of the community and dip him headfirst into the freezing waters of Lake Hell, which in contradiction of the
popular phrase, is nearly always frozen over.

They call it the "Day Of Death", I'm sure it's all in good fun.

I now know why Roland was so glad to see me the first day I arrived. He had been here six months and was due for a dipping himself as newest entrant to Lost Hope.

They are banging at my door now; they certainly are enthusiastic about local customs in Lost Hope. I hope I can channel some of this zeal into an appreciation of Shropshire.

I'd better go and answer it, before they break it down.
WEEK 34, DAY 6
I'm a bit down today.

Partly because I was nearly killed yesterday when I was dropped into a frozen lake and left for dead; partly because the people here seem to have it in for me; but mostly because I've had some bad news on the phone.

I rang home and when I finally managed to get a signal, Aunt Felicity answered and told me the terrible, terrible news.

My Mother has died.

She was on the roof trying to fix the guttering. They have had a lot of snow in Moreton Say this week and as it was melting on the roof it was running down into the corner of my old bedroom.

Since Toby moved out Mother had arranged everything exactly as it had been when I had left - My mounted collection of rare Bingo markers from around the world, my magazine clippings of Richard Whiteley, my Star Wars duvet and the drawing of Clive Of India I did in HB Pencil.

She didn't want the rain to spoil my room for when I came home, so she was outside in high winds trying to sellotape the guttering back into place.

I've told her a thousand times that sellotape (while a revolutionary repair tool in the case of most paper or cardboard based situations), is not an industrial strength bonding tape and should not be used for electrical insulation, plumbing or muzzling dogs.

She always had misplaced enthusiasm for sellotape's ability to mend anything and it was, quite literally, her downfall.

She fell, plucked from the roof by gale force winds and landed on the greenhouse. Her fall was broken by a rusty Mini engine and lots of glass.

She didn't stand a chance and I feel at least partly responsible.
WEEK 34, DAY 7
I went to see the Pope again, explained the situation and asked if I could please leave Lost Hope and go home for my Mother's funeral.

He said No.

He said lots of other things, but the theme of the thing was definitely "No".

I don't like the Pope.

On the way back to my single room I cried like I haven't cried since I left my beloved Moreton Say, 34 weeks ago.

My tears froze on my reddened cheeks, little, salty jewels of pure sorrow preserved beyond their time.

I want my Mum.

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