PREACHERS have two favourite jokes, possibly only two in total, the more familiar about a boring old bishop who finds himself addressing an almost empty church.

"Did you tell them I was coming?" he demands of the embarrassed parish priest.

"Well, my lord," stammers the poor vicar, "I did my best not to, but word must have got out."

The other, what might be termed a general purpose joke, involves - in the context that the other night we heard it - the new Methodist district chairman.

A good Methodist emerges from a meeting, spots a chap eating his lunch on a park bench who looks remarkably like the chairman, and - against Methodism's founding instincts - bets his friend a fiver that it's the new chap and goes across to ask.

What happens next may not precisely be reported in a church column, suffice that the enquirer is roundly and colourfully abused, roughed up and impolitely and inelegantly advised to mind his own business.

"Well," asks his friend on his return, "was it him or wasn't it?" "Bet's off," replies the other. "He wouldn't say."

Both were purloined by the Rev Martin Turner, on the Methodist central staff, in a sermon to welcome the Rev Leo Osborn to the chair of the Newcastle District, a chapelry stretching from Tweed to Wear. It's the equivalent of a bishopric; the Methodists may themselves be episcopal ere long.

It was a stupendous service and a memorable sermon - so memorable we'd heard bits of it before - but first a word about Leo, previously the Methodist minister at Cullercoats.

We are friends. He is chaplain to the Albany Northern League, of which I am chairman, and so zealous about football and cricket that doubtless he has been dubbed the minister for sport.

He is a qualified referee, has seen games on every English and Scottish League ground - as well, several times, on every Northern League ground - and in summer may be seen perambulating the distant homes of cricket, the Methodist Recorder in his rucksack.

His principal passion, however, is Aston Villa FC, otherwise the Villains. The Osborn family lived midway between West Bromwich Albion and Villa grounds, his father ("thank goodness") was a Villa man.

Leo vividly remembers his first match, swinging his rattle and sending into orbit around Birmingham the bowler hat of the gentleman in front.

He has thousands of Aston Villa programmes, dating back to 1906. He has Villa books, scarves and records, Villa in 57 varieties and all of them claret and blue. "It is money down the tubes," his friend Martin Turner told the congregation.

The service - held, it should perhaps be said, before the awful events in America - was in Newcastle's Anglican cathedral, attended by Catholic and Church of England bishops, by civic leaders, hundreds of far flung Methodists and by all the panoply which accompanies such great occasions.

There'd been six rehearsals. They don't have that many for the Royal Variety Show.

The better to observe the swelling scene, if not to make a sharp exit, it is the column's custom to sit at the back. In the great cathedral, however, we were directed to the second row - immediately behind the Lord Mayor and next to Alan Beith MP and to Brother Pascal, a Franciscan monk from Alnmouth. We three had lessons to read, and probably to learn.

Accustomed as I am to public speaking, this was a bit daunting. Near the appointed moment, a gowned and wand bearing cathedral official emerged slow and solemn from the nether recesses, walking 50 yards to escort us the five paces to the lectern.

Remember the scene where the Ghost of Christmas Future, black shrouded and frightful, beckons poor Scrooge to follow him. It was all a bit like that.

Before the service there'd been jigging, joyous hymn singing - the fashion is simply to call them songs - during it more singing, dancers from Cullercoats Youth Fellowship, a manifest wave of support and good will to carry the new man into the unknown.

At various points we were all encouraged to stand - "so that you don't get thrombosis like they do on the planes". We stood unbidden; some of us have been down that rocky road already.

Martin Turner had been both best man and best friend at college, where they were taught by the late Donald English, a Consett born minister who became President of the Methodist Conference.

"I'm sure that Leo would rather have had Donald English to preach and I'm sure that the congregation would as well," said Martin, though in truth it was the sort of impassioned address that makes you want to stand up at the end and applaud. They applauded the dancers, anyway.

Formalities were undertaken. Leo promised among other things to undertake "the care of the presbyters, deacons and congregations of the district", to discharge his duties in accordance with the scriptures and "in harmony with the constitution, practice and discipline of the Methodist church".

We also prayed for the people of the world and for their leaders - "that they may live together in peace and justice".

At the end, the new chairman stood by the Cathedral door holding his preaching robes like the music hall pollisses used to hold their tunic pockets and beaming no less effusively. He is a very good bloke, and we wish him well. It's just a pity about Aston Villa.

l The Rev Leo Osborn joins Mike Amos today on a 16-mile sponsored walk from Middleton Tyas to Shildon football ground, sponsored for Marie Curie Cancer Care and for the HC Pilgrimage Trust. The route goes through Barton, Piercebridge and Royal Oak, aiming to be in Shildon by 2pm. Entrants representing 36 Northern League clubs take part in tomorrow's Great North Run for the same charities. Sponsorship - cheques made payable to the Northern Football League - would greatly be appreciated.

Published: Saturday, September 15, 2001