Miles Kington: What the holy man said to the power-crazed leader

I was telling you yesterday how I had turned up for the preliminary auditions for the job of archbishop of Canterbury, and I have already had perturbed e-mails from readers who want to know how I can possibly get the job if I am not a bishop already and, for all they know, maybe not even a Christian.

Bless you, my little innocents!

How old-fashioned you are!

Did John Birt know anything about crime, to take one example at random?

Did John Birt know anything about railways, to take the same example again at random?

Come to that, did Birt know anything about the finer points of taking to pieces a great broadcasting organisation and forgetting how to put it together again?

Of course not! So let us hear no more about lack of qualifications. This is a country where people can rise on merit and even, such is the fairness of the system, completely without it.

"I am sorry there has been a small hold-up in proceedings," announced the Archbishop's spokesman at Lambeth Palace on Tuesday, "but the outgoing Archbishop is interviewing Anne Robinson, and she is asking him some rather searching questions."

There was laughter at this, but as the spokesman did not join in it, I imagine that he was not joking. I looked round the throng of presently unemployed VIPs who had come along to sound out the chances of the top see – John Cleese, Peter Mandelson, Paddy Ashdown, Kenneth Clarke, P-Y Gerbeau, John Birt himself, that class of person – and I found myself standing next to John Simpson.

"Rum do," I said.

"Rum do? " he echoed. "The taking of Kabul was organised better than this. They seem to have no idea at all what they are doing."

"Well, there are bound to be hiccoughs," I said. "They've never head-hunted an archbishop before."

"You're very naive," said Simpson. "The appointment of Canterbury has always been fixed. What they seem to have forgotten is that till quite recently the monarch fixed it. Sometimes it even went to a member of the monarch's family. After all, what do you think he's doing here?"

I looked round. I hadn't noticed Prince Edward before.

"Prince Edward?" I said. "Archbishop of Canterbury?"

"In the old days it was all very simple," said Simpson. "As soon as you had a small royal crisis or state dilemma, you simply sent for Norman St John Stevas to explain it to everyone, and the old fool would put on his holy smile and start explaining until we all went mad and put our hands over our ears and shouted 'Yes, yes, yes! Anything you like! But just go away, Norman!' And that was how problems got solved in the old days."

"Prince Edward?" I repeated, stupefied. "Archbishop of Canterbury?"

"Well, no, of course not," said Simpson. "But there's no reason why Prince Edward shouldn't become the new Norman St Jean Stevas. He's got the same presence and knows about as much about royalty..."

"May I have your attention for a minute?" said the spokesman. "I have a special announcement to make. The post of Archbishop of Canterbury has been filled. You can all go home."

There was a stunned silence for a moment. Then a huge roar of anger and disbelief swept the room, which died away as another figure stepped forward to the microphone in a puff of smoke and a flash. It was Tony Blair himself.

"My God," muttered Simpson. "He's not taking this job on as well, is he?"

"I'm sorry you have all been called here unnecessarily," said Blair radiantly, "but there has been a mistake. From now on the Archbishop will be a direct government appointment. So there will be no need for this time-wasting process to take place. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and work out world peace in another time zone."

"Just a moment!"

A commanding voice rang out. It was a man in a glowing white suit. I recognised him as Martin Bell.

"Do not forget my warning, Tony Blair. All prime ministers, when enough MPs are elected, think it is safe to ignore the voters. You are the first who thought it was safe to ignore the MPs as well. This way lies madness!"

For a moment they looked at each other, the power-crazed leader and the holy man. Then Blair was gone and we lesser mortals were left to reflect on these strange doings.