Dear Bishop of London,

It’s time to go! No longer will it be possible for you to preside over the temple of your great architect erected on. We are no longer governed by the deification of Claudius in the Burnt Wood. You are the last of the purple clad flamens in whose custody the burghers of London resign their whole warehouse of spirituality, lock, stock and the smoking barrels of the British armed forces.

Take with you your minions and snivelling prelates who better serve the amassing of wealth through the multiple fictions of modern accountancy. Your inconstancy does you no credit – it is as if you think your ignorance can grasp our minds like a vice when it is your vices which attempt to keep us in ignorance.

Your latest imposture – the jubilee – is as you know a sham. You have no integrity, you have no honesty, you are a hollow man who can be blown away by a puff of wind. You know that the festival of the Jubilee requires all the registers in all the counting houses to be set to zero – all debt is swept away, all indenture is resolved. Yet you propose to officiate at an abominable ceremony on Ludgate Hill.

You have simultaneously gone too far and not far enough. In fact you have not moved from your seat. But we have scheduled your seat to be consigned to the flames on June 4^th in accordance with good health and safety practice. We therefore require you to vacate the premises by midnight 3^rd June, taking with you all staff and the trinkets of your faith.

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