My phone call with God

Got slightly wrecked over the bank holiday weekend and had hoped to kind of glide through the early part of the week without too much requirement for that bane of the columnist, research – looking stuff up, talking to people, etc. But I crawled downstairs on Tuesday, switched on the laptop and there was a message bearing the address s.fidelis@almighty.com: ‘Hey Rod, I might have something for you. Give me a call x.’

I hadn’t heard from Semp for three or four years, when he was a canny and ambitious junior press officer, helpful, disinclined to panic, never obsequious. Slightly grating Cardiff accent but other than that, a good sort. Now it seemed he was actually ‘Director of Communications’. For God. Now, if you’re going to be in PR, that’s the job to have, no? I rang the number and after the usual how-you-keeping stuff he got to the point.

‘Wondered if you’d like an exclusive interview with someone on a somewhat higher cloud than me. If you’ve got the time, obvs.’ A higher cloud? Who did he mean? Peter? Mike? Gabriel? ‘Higher still, higher still…’ Really? This could mean only one thing.

‘God Almighty!’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, indeed. He will call you at 3.15 this afternoon. All attributable, on the record… I’d gargle some Listerine if I were you, you’re sounding rough.’

‘Christ…’ (I couldn’t help myself. Interviews with God are rarer than hen’s teeth.) ‘Sorry… yes, thank you, of course, thank you, Semp. Why me?’

‘Ah,’ he replied. ‘Ambiguity. While the message itself will be very unambiguous, the mode of its communication will leave plenty of room for mystery and doubt, which is rather our sort of thing. Half the people who read it will think you made it up, pissed. One more thing… he’s very irked.’

‘Angry?’

‘Absolutely tamping, mate. Be prepared.’