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Home > Culture and Society

Noel Edmonds: Too Shallow For God

8 April 2006

Everybody needs something to believe in. A religion of some kind, for a pillow. Whether it's astrology, palm reading or even something embarrassingly risible like Jesus, everybody needs something to cling to in the dark times, something to give them hope that the future is worth hanging on for. Even those people we assume are beyond such piffling smoke screens. Even the mighty, the self-sufficient, the totally in control. Even, we found out this week, Noel Edmonds.

Edmonds was on Parkinson at the weekend, gloating over his BAFTA nomination for what is actually one of the most bafflingly tedious programmes ever to be raved about by otherwise intelligent human beings. Then he let the cat out of the bag, explaining that the secret of his success was that he had 'ordered it' from 'the cosmos'. The cosmos is another word for the universe, or if you like, the Universe, a word derived from the Greek meaning 'everything'. What Noel did, specifically, was to write down his wishes - six of them - on a piece of paper, in much the same was as a child of four or five might scribble Christmas wishes on a list to Santa Claus. Then, instead of popping his list in a chimney chute, Noel simply destroyed it and did his best to put it out of his mind. However, he did draw tiny symbols on the underside of the palm of his hand as a reminder for the cosmos. After all, the cosmos has a lot on its mind.

Then, within a matter of a couple of months, four of Noel's six wishes had come true. He had a brand new house, a huge hit TV show... and he wouldn't say what the other wishes were. Neither would he say what the two that have yet to come to fruition are. But if you were Noel Edmonds - two foot tall, face like a boiled sweet on a barber's shop floor, wife who ran off with a cross-dressing Pilates instructor, no discernable talent or charisma, hated by everyone except Chris Moyles - what would you wish for?

Thankfully Noel didn't make all this guff up himself. Probably because he isn't bright enough. No, the idea of asking the cosmos to fix it for him came from a book Noel was given by his reflexologist. The book is called 'The Cosmic Ordering Service', written by Barbel Mohr, a simpleton-cum-charlatan from Germany. The book begins with an account of how Mohr was introduced to the concept by a friend. 'Just "place an order" with the universe,' her friend suggested. Naturally Mohr thought her friend was as mad as bucket of blobbies, but just to prove that it was all nonsense, she placed a test order for her dream man. 'At that time,' she writes, 'I had a nine-item wish list for the perfect man which included: he must be a vegetarian, be against alcohol, be a non-smoker, and know T'ai Chi.' Mmmm. Sounds almost as sexy as Noel Edmonds. But then an *amazing* thing happened. Mohr's fella only went and turned up - in the *exact* week that she'd ordered his delivery. From that moment on, Mohr has been peddling cosmic ordering for all she is worth. What a shit. Still, if it's good enough for a superstar like Noel Edmonds it should probably be good enough for us.

'The Cosmic Ordering Service' can be ordered from Amazon, or if you want to save yourself a little money, simply write the title on a piece of paper, throw the paper in the bin and draw a tiny arsehole on the soft underbelly of your hand.


More Mohr.
More Noel.



Comment on this article: letters@thefridaything.co.uk

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