Doomed, we are. All doomed. Read on to find out why.

This week I have been able to get an interview with God.

–         God, it’s very good of you to spare the time

–         Time, I’ve got nothing but.

–         How are things at the moment ?

–         Terrible. I’ve put in for a transfer.

–         What do you mean, a transfer ? Where to ?

–         Where to ? Another world, that’s where to. Did you really think this is the only one ? You’re so human!

–         What have we done this time ?

–         Where so I start ?

–         Always best to start at the beginning.

–         Right you are. In the beginning, I gave you everything you could ever want. All I asked whatisface to do…

–         Adam.

–         That’s the bastard. All he had to do was remember not to do one simple thing.

–         You had to drag this up again.

–         But he couldn’t could he ?

–         Tell me about it.

–         And ever since I’ve been giving you everything again and again and again, and all you have to do is think more than three hours ahead.

–         ‘But we can’t, because we’re silly ungrateful little children…’

–         Don’t you dare throw this back on me!

–         So what have we fucked up this time ?

–         About a hundred years ago I gave you a technological insight, plus knowledge of how to fuel it, plus the urge to go faster than your me-given body could carry you. And of course, you still had the intelligence I gave you, the ability to imagine the possible future.

–         You’re talking about cars.

–         I am. Well spotted.

–         Thank you.

–         So, you’ve managed to cover the world, the lovely spotless world I gave you, with filth, concrete, danger, stress and rusty metal. And I haven’t even mentioned the wars….

–         I’ve always meant to ask you: what was the real cause of the First World War ?

–         Buggered if I know. Probably about the use of a word. Where a comma should go. Something really important.

–         Noted.

–         Anyway, the days of worrying about words are nearly over. My successor is bound to take a harder line with you.

–         Oh yes ?

–         Yes. For one thing, the oil will run out next week.

–         I think we’ve heard this before.

–         You idiot! It’s already run out five or six times. I kept replacing it. That’s the kind of God I am: considerate. Well, you’re on your own now.