Up until a year or so ago Sludge was a committed Catholic. That was until he was banned from Cowbridge's St Cadoc's church for monopolising the confessional box so much that no-one else had a chance to nip in to disclose and be forgiven for their sins.

The priest, father Joseph, patience finally snapped on hearing strange noises. When he broke protocol by parting the curtain that lent anonymity to the mysterious but very familiar voice he'd listened to for so long each day he discovered his wayward parishioner tucking into a pile of sandwiches resting on his lap.

The rotter would be there first thing in the morning and in the afternoon too. The later sessions would entail him detailing all the impure thoughts he'd had since earlier. He'd only been gone for 90 fecking minutes but always enough new material to sustain another two-hour session.