Saturday 15 March:
My first meeting with the Almighty. Out
of common courtesy, I treat him as an equal.
My first
impression is of a decent enough chap, on the face of it perfectly friendly,
but still hopelessly out of his depth on matters of public policy.
A media figure,
really, when all is said and done.
But perfectly
pleasant, and clearly delighted to see me.
He told me that
I was welcome to join the heavenly choir.
I said I wasn’t
by any means prepared to rule anything out at this stage, but asked Him, quite
candidly, what the purpose of this choir might be.
“Primarily to
praise Me,” he replied. Very candid, and
I respect him for it. He then passed me
some sort of 4-point plan, or policy statement, which can be summarised thus:
a) Sing choirs of angels, sing in exultation.
b) Sing all you citizens of heaven above.
c) Glory to God in the highest.
d) O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.
Well, you could
have knocked me down with a feather! To
be perfectly frank, I’ve never read anything like it. But I didn’t want to do anything too
hasty. I told Him I’d go away and have
my report on His desk in the next day or two.
Sunday 16 March:
I bumped into St Peter lurking in a corridor.
He was tickled pink to see me. I
was perfectly candid. I told him that
with the greatest respect, he couldn’t expect to go on issuing lofty commands
from on high, willy-nilly. I said I’d
already had a word with one or two others in the heavenly community and they
all agreed with me that it was absolutely vital for the future unity of Heaven
that we form a pressure group to ensure that the voice of the great majority of
ordinary working men and women be heard.
There’s no two ways about it, I said.
Monday 17 March:
I was desperately hoping to have bumped into Mao Tse-tung by now, he was a nice
old boy and one of the greatest men of the 20th century, well up
there with Lenin, and I think an exchange of ideas between the three of us will
be extremely helpful. But no one I spoke
to had ever seen either of them around.
“Well, there’s nowhere else they could possibly be!” I chuckled, amiably.
Tuesday 18 March:
“May I offer you my first impression?” I
said.
“By all means,”
replied the Almighty.
I told him there
were four immediate points are crying out to be made about His so-called Gloria
document.
“First,” I said,
“there’s nothing in it about the rights of ordinary decent working
choristers. It’s all gimmick, gimmick,
gimmick.
“Second, you mention
‘citizens of heaven’. Now, that’s all
very well, but what about the ballot-box?
Frankly, you can’t expect any degree of happiness among the citizens if
you don’t have a ballot-box.
“Third, where’s
the inward investment in these heavenly choirs?
It’s all very well saying they’ll sing in exultation, but not without
the inward investment, they won’t.
“Furthermore, as
I see it, there are broadly two courses of action open to us.
“The first is a
straightforward capitalist course, recommended by the bankers and the
multinationals. This involves extracting
the maximum amount of praise for the minimum amount of outlay, so that before
long every last man and woman will be utterly ground down.
“The second is
what ye might call the decent course of inward investment, which would deliver
hope, justice and equality, and carry the support of the vast majority of the
heavenly citizens.
“The fourth
thing I’m concerned about is –“
“My dear fellow,
interjected the Almighty, his mouth wide open, no doubt from the intellectual
excitement of our stimulating discussion, “I do apologise but we’re going to
have to leave it there. I seem to have
an urgent appointment elsewhere. Perhaps
you could let me have something on paper?”
Wednesday 19 March:
I deliver a memo of 150 pages to the Almighty – a bit sketchy, perhaps, but it
should give Him something to think about.
Meanwhile, I
have been given a harp to play. “Who
makes these harps?” I asked the Angel
Gabriel. “How much are they paid? What are their working conditions? And who represent their interests?” He claimed not to know – to my mind, a wholly
deliberate policy of obfuscation to stop any of us getting at the truth of the
matter.
It’s all
becoming clear. The Angel Gabriel is
doing the dirty work for St Peter, and St Peter is doing the dirty work for the
Almighty who is, in turn, doing the dirty work for the Angel Gabriel. They claim that everyone in Heaven is
blissfully happy. Well, they would say
that, wouldn’t they? It’s nonsense, of
course. How could they be happy, without
adequate representation? And of course,
it’s perfectly obvious that the powers-that-be have decided to convince them
they are happy, because that way they won’t be tempted to ask any awkward
questions. Absolutely sickening.
Thursday 20 March:
Let’s make no bones about it. This isn’t
heaven – this is absolute cloud-cuckoo-land!
Frankly, there
is no power-sharing where the Almighty is concerned. Not a bit of it. He simply sits on his heavenly throne dishing
out his patronage as and when he wants to, and it’s an absolute stitch-up in
order to prop up a dictatorship.
I’ve been busy
speaking at fringe-meetings on all the various heavenly clouds. It’s come as no surprise to find widespread
support for my proposals for bringing Heaven into public ownership.
It’s simple
common sense. Citizens of Heaven are
sick to the back teeth at being told to sit back and enjoy themselves, play the
harp, sing in the heavenly choir, and so forth, when they’d all much rather be
out there, engaging with the serious issues.
This society is crying out for a thorough shake-up! I’ve clearly got my work cut out for the rest
of eternity! I’ve always relished a
challenge, but I could do with some help.
Where is Mao when you want him?
As told to
CRAIG BROWN
