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I almost fell off my limited edition Top Gear beanbag (the one in the shape of the Stig's helmet) earlier this week when I learned that my old nemesis - His Holy Fountain Pen Head - was planning a visit to our native soil.

Catherine was clearly trying to keep news of his Eminence's imminence from me, I assume from fear of a king-sized tantrum. In fact, she almost got away with it until I caught her burying newspapers in the back garden and she 'fessed up.

Don't get me wrong, if the Pope wants to take himself off on a European mini-break, then that's his business. But there are certain protocols to be adhered to when one head of state visits another. A polite email requesting safe passage or at the very least a quick heads-up on Facebook chat would have done the job but no, I didn't hear a single Papal peep.

So as I sat in front of the television watching his plane touch down yesterday, I was filled with a mixture of anger and, well, more anger. And when the cabin door opened and he appeared - looking like a last-minute extra from a rubbish nativity play - it was all I could do to stop myself throwing my entire tub of chocolate-covered flapjack squares at the screen.

What on earth does he think he's playing at? We settled the battle of the churches years ago and mine won, simple as. But if he wants a second dose of the same medicine then I'm very happy to open up another can of CofE-shaped whoop-arse.

So I've challenged him to a "prayer off" this evening at Westminster Abbey to decide matters once and for all. I'm sending my top ecumenical hard man - the Archbishop of Canterbury - a man whose beard rivals even mine in terms of untamed bushiness. I don't expect the whole business to take very long - "Rowdy" Rowan is unbeaten in the pulpit.

But despite our many differences (the main one being that I'm brilliant and he's completely rubbish) the one thing old Popeface and I do have in common is that we both like to surround ourselves with exquisite things. And I'm not talking about motoring-themed arse furniture here, I'm talking about art.

I first became properly interested in art after agreeing to marry one of my wives (I forget which) on the basis of a portrait, only to later discover that in the flesh she was a right old minger. But if a humble painter's brush could transform a bruiser into a babe, I could only imagine its power in the hands of a true Renaissance man such as myself.

So I worked hard until I had mastered all the major forms - oil, watercolour, charcoal, felt-tip, crayon, etc. But it wasn't until I discovered Photoshop that I felt I was able to fully express myself artistically.

And so here is an example of my work. Like most great art it has a religious theme. The original is hanging in our downstairs toilet. I hope it moves you in the same way that it regularly moves me.

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Henry 8.0 will be following the rest of the Pope's visit on and , in search of further artistic inspiration...

Pope and Glory