The United Kingdom is not a laic country. It has a religion and it is called F’dom. Its worshipers observe the commands of their faith at least every Sunday, if not more frequently. Approximately ninety percent of the population professes faith in F’dom, and the minority of non-practicing infidels are either subversives or intellectuals. The upper classes cynically pretend to be adepts, though in fact they disdain F’dom, or else are simply indifferent. They are happy for the poor to be distracted while not in their employment. 
F’dom has much in common with previous forms of worship known to Northern Europe, both Christian and pagan. It has left its mark with audacious structures of architecture the length and breadth of the country. It has its own symbols, traditions and idols, although its most distinctive emblem – a white flag with a red cross upon it – once purportedly adorned the Christian martyr, dragon-slayer and holy Saint George. Its sacred rites can only be performed by a small elite endowed with powers far surpassing those of common mortals. Many believe these elite to be gods, and as such their every need (libations, licentiousness of every kind) is accommodated by the mortals. Worshipers occasionally try to emulate their gods’ prowess, and while they may experience fleeting sensations of omniscience and invincibility, they are quickly reminded of their mortal limitations and return to their lives of serfdom, happy to have experienced something beyond the mundane. Only the gods themselves know the true extent of their powers and their weaknesses, and they mischievously exploit each others’ shortcomings to the amusement and consternation of the mortals. The gods communicate with sounds and gestures and hence station themselves above common language. The gods’ manifestations, however, often inspire lofty words and rhetoric from amongst the mortals, and rumour has it that the Bard himself was an early adept of F’dom. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ... The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge ... F’dom is indeed a beautiful religion that venerates aesthetic male beauty more spectacularly and sublimely than any of its ancestral forms. The adult male is thus idealized and idolized by young boys, who learn to crave the power of the gods, and by young girls, who are initiated to the corporal and visual pleasures of mankind.
Every fiftieth passing of the moon, a party of eleven high practitioners and some worthy followers set off upon a pilgrimage (which is in fact a crusade) with the intention of spreading the F’dom doctrines to Moor or pagan lands ignorant of the true ways of F’dom. At such times, almighty passions are spent and great victories are won. It has been known, however, for crusades to end in calamity resulting in much pain and anguish for the mortals, who believe the gods have forsaken them. This can lead to ugly scenes whereby the mortals turn on the gods, only to recant and repent upon realising that their lives are entirely meaningless and absurd in their absence. These episodes lead to a prolonged period of melancholy and introspection. 
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