Special Guest Blogger: Saint Anthony Of Padua

The problem with having a disease named after you is that you have to suffer that disease first and i am one of those unlucky ones, coming down with a raging case of Saint Anthony's Fire with all the seizures, diarrhea, itching, headaches, nausea and vomiting which comes with it.
I was an ordained Priest but some Franciscan friars arrived in the town and they were such great guys that i joined their gang instead and was asked to go to Morocco and spout off about God because it was noted that i had a great way in the fire and brimstone talk but i fell ill on the ship and they pushed me off in Sicily to join up with another bunch of Friars who said they would love to have me as long as i stay far away from them as possible because i looked like death so they gave me a patch far, far away in the armpit of Italy called Forlì.
To everyone's amazement, i didn't die and became famed for my speeches and was asked to give an  ordination for some high falutin Friars so i got together all the best bits from my speeches and wrote them down but on the day i couldn't find the writings so i prayed for help finding it and moments later a young friar entered the building with my book which he had accidentally picked up.
The speech was a rousing success and people would come just to hear me bang on about God and it is said that even the animals would listen to me, there is one story of fish coming to the shore to listen to me and a donkey but the pocketful of carrots may have helped on that occasion.
My fiery telling of the bible didn't always go down well with everyone, i usually got the awkward questions from the heretics such as 'If we are all God's children, what's so special about Jesus then'? but i would usually sit with them over a meal and win them over with tales of how when the Almighty rips the sky open, they will only have seconds to figure out which of the many religion's doing the rounds are right.
A wrong decision could really cost them but if they chose right now then they can be smug when the rest are being consumed by whatever nastiness God is doing to them.
One group put poisoned food before me and challenged me to eat it and let God protect me so i blessed the food and ate it which turned out to be a bloody stupid thing to do because i later went down with Ergotism or food poisoning which in the 13th Century was not good so i went home and lived out my final, agonising days in a room built for me under the branches of a walnut tree where i died.
It has been said that thirty years after my death, people decided to pry open my vault to see how i had been getting along and where most of me had turned to dust, my tongue and jawbone was unchanged from when i had been alive.
I was named the patron saint of lost things after the thing with the book and not because half my face is missing, that's just a happy coincidence because i know exactly where my tongue and jaw went, the Church placed them both in a fancy urn to be shown off to future generations because when it comes toparading around dead body parts, nobody beats the Church.