Saintliness and scribes

Sabine says St Brigid is the patron saint of children born out of wedlock, blacksmiths, boatmen, brewers, fugitives, and travellers. And much more. I'd say she was overworked.

On the ladder of social acceptability journalists (I'm retired now but one never sheds the taint) are just below estate agents – US: realtors - and just above whorehouse managers. Surely journalists don't merit a patron saint. But they've got one. He's called St Francis de Sales.

The French surname's good but from then on it's downhill. His book, Introduction to the Devout Life, includes chapters on “All evil inclinations must be purged away”, “Dryness and spiritual barrenness”, etc. You get the idea. Preparation for a devout life has a promising theme (Picture to yourself a dark city, reeking with the flames of sulphur and brimstone, inhabited by citizens who cannot get forth) but it sort of peters out.

My substitute saint would also have a French surname, St Malheureux (Go on, you could guess it). He'd also patronise The Way to Hell which, as you know, is paved with good intentions. Preaching good grammatical practice but to obsessive lengths. Insisting on the unsplit infinitive even when it debauches a sentence. Being fussy about the circumflex. Still fighting the lost cause of medium/media. A bloody nuisance in fact.

His favourite novel would be Henry James’  The Awkward Age. His favourite movie L’Année Dernière à Marienbad (never mentioned in translation). His favourite holiday destination Canberra. His favourite politician (Fill it in yourself). His book of instruction, Hack in Excelsis, would have more footnotes than text.

Drink with him and you’d pick up the tab. Discuss the Six Nations and he’d switch to archery. His children would all go to English public (ie, private) schools. Worst of all he’d wear a foulard