How To… Worship Me

There’s definitely a clause somewhere or other about absolutely definitely not worshipping false idols. Therefore, we need to get this completely and utterly right in order for everyone involved to see just how correct you have been in selecting your preferred deity (we all know that this is how faith works, there’s a lot of choice in it and it’s best to go with whatever strikes your fancy at a particular moment). It would be foolish to have a hearty crack at worshipping absolutely anyone else but you’re in a safe pair of hands with me.

As I take my rightful place in the pantheon of deities (most of the time I’m at least fifty per cent sarcastic but somehow this is coming out rather a lot more serious than I originally intended. We may well have to look back on this moment as the spark of my origin story. It’ll make for an excellent first chapter in the holy book you’ll no doubt feel compelled to begin writing post haste), I have to take a moment to consider what I’ll be happiest to accept as tribute.

A devoted carnivore, I can’t imagine I’d have a big problem with animal sacrifice (provided they’re seasoned properly and anointed with a tastily appropriate sauce). Shiny and potentially precious objects will no doubt speak to my assorted feminine sensibilities. However, I can’t help but feel that the best way to serve me (apart from generous foot massages and peeling my grapes for me – at least until I assert that unpeeled grapes are crunchier and therefore far more appealing) is to treat each other as if God were in fact watching.

A bit less mud slinging and a little more decency extended to your fellow man and, especially, woman. A gal can dream for something just a shade or two more egalitarian. I know it’s a stretch for where we started but that’s what digging ourselves out of this increasingly gloomy cul-de-sac is all about. Probably.

Worship me – Laura Marling

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