The Agreeable World of Wallace Arnold : Hell, it's strong stuff - but then it is Sunday

HEAVEN knows how you spend your Sunday, but I suggest in future that you spend it as I spend mine. After a hearty breaking of my fast - two fried eggs, six rashers of pig, three of Mr Walls's finest sausages (nothing beats the Great British Banger for sheer guts), a goodly slice of fried bread and a thick slice or two of Black Pudding - I insist on personally making the walk to the front door for the Sunday newspapers, so as to stay in trim.

I refuse, incidentally, to subscribe to the News of the World on any day other than Sunday, when I find it amuses the more childish of my weekend guests. Occasionally, I might permit myself a glance at it, particularly if one of my Conservative colleagues has been caught with his trousers down - purely so that I might offer him my most detailed sympathies, you understand.

And so to the main business of the day, which is, of course, Sunday worship. As a leading Lay member of the Entertainments Division of the General Synod of the Church of England, I attend services at my local church every sixth or seventh Sunday, weather permitting. From time to time, the vicar goes down on bended knee and asks me to apply my beautiful, privately-educated voice to the reading of the Lesson. Indeed, it seems only a few months ago that I found myself reading from Revelation, Chapter 21 verse 8, and doughty words they were too:

"But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable and murderers and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death."

Strong stuff, eh? Needless to say, one is more than used to the Snug Bar of the Garrick on a Friday night, but even that seems mild in comparison. I make no apology for turning to the serious business of Hell and Damnation in my column today. I trust it will be a welcome release from the unswerving frivolity of my surrounding columnists.

And topical, too: you may have noticed that both Hell and its po-faced cousin Damnation have been in the news this week, after a special report, "The Mystery of Salvation" from the Doctrine Commission of the Church of England concluded that, after all, Hell does indeed exist, though perhaps not in quite the thoroughly disagreeable form promised by Revelations, ie it is less entirely "flambee" than humid and a little stuffy.

I am myself the Chairman of the Doctrine Commission - it was I, you will remember who, in the controversial pamphlet "Silence in the Church!" revealed that Jesus made not a single mention of the word "tambourine" in the entire New Testament - so perhaps I might paint a pen-portrait of our proceedings.

"Gentlemen," I began, "we now come to the vexed question of Hell. Does it exist? I would ask for a speedy response, please, as we have an awful lot of work to get through vis a vis this year's Harry Secombe concert at High Wycombe Town Hall."

There followed an awful amount of shifting in seats. "Perhaps we could leave that in your capable hands, Mr Chairman," intoned my Deputy, wisely letting us push ahead with more important matters. But the proposed pamphlet still needed to be penned by someone, so Yours Truly took the bull by the horns, as it were. Thus began some exceptionally hard thinking.

Two minutes later, I found myself forced to conclude that, yes, there was indeed a Hell. If there were not, how could the rest of us settle down happily in Heaven knowing full well that the dread figure of Sir Edward Heath might pop his head round the door at any given moment? I jest, but, as always, my jest has its serious undercurrent. Those of us who have led good Christian lives (dressing smartly, singing up, taking a keen interest in sporting matters, placing our shiny new 50 pence pieces in the collection box and generally keeping up standards) would be deeply disappointed were we to find that, say, Miss Emma Nicholson and Mr Alan Howarth were to steam into Heaven any-old-how, their dirty slates automatically wiped clean.

I have therefore concluded on behalf of the Church that there is a Hell, but - and I quote - "it is not eternal torment". Rather, it is all mushy peas, smelly socks and noisy transistor radios. And something rather tells me that Mr Paddy Ashdown will be serving as Prime Minister there (dread destination!!). With this in mind, I suspect that "the lake which burneth with fire" may in many ways be preferable.