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‘Smiting too f***ing good for them’: God proclaims of Berwick Town Team

Donald Sutherland as GodNOT BAd were thrilled to be invited to spend time with the all-powerful deity and his family at his smart three-bedroomed home in Tweedmouth. Looking tanned and relaxed in an off-white linen ensemble from Boss, the King of Kings, 54, spoke to us about his interest in local politics and his excitement at the launch of his second book, In the Beginning, an autobiographical account of his early eons at the hands of an uncaring multiverse.

NB: First of all, thank you so much for inviting us into your beautiful home.

G: Don’t sweat it, my child. I’ve done all the heavy lifting of Christmas so I’m all yours.

NB: Yes, it must be a busy time of year for you; all those prayers from people seeking succour for a better year ahead.

G: Yes, but do I look like Father Christmas? White hair aside, his reckless BMI should be enough to set us apart and yet Mankind seems to think I’m the one to bestow divine gifts while they do precisely f**k-all to deserve them. Newsflash — saving your eternal soul needs a little more effort than buying a Big Issue and cooing over baby voles on Springwatch. Nick and I laugh about it, of course. We’re forever swapping requests for love and peace for a selection box and a George Foreman grill. Our little joke.

NB: So is it important to keep a sense of humour in your line of work?

G: Very. Practical jokes are a great way of releasing tension. Burning bushes, water into wine — if you have time later, I’ll show you how it’s done. But anyway, there’s a high level of stress endemic in the eternity industry; the constant pressure of targets and budget cuts. The current climate means there are fewer souls worth saving, which naturally has a knock-on effect on staffing levels. Only last week we had to let a host of cherubim go. 

NB: That’s terrible.

G: I know. They ended up retraining as art therapists.

NB: So with economic difficulties in mind, you’ve spoken out in the past year about the failure of Berwick to thrive. In fact, you’ve been scathing about the Berwick Town Team in an open letter appearing on a wall at the offices of Tweeddale Press, alleging that—

G: “Berwick is being ‘served’ by innumerate lice-infested monkeys with no concept of working towards the greater good, such is their intent on personal acquisition, cronyism and the rabid perpetuation of petty personal grudges.”

NB: Wow.

G: I know. I regret the inverted quotes around ‘served’ now. Sarcasm is never big or clever.

NB: Aren’t you worried that your words could be held as libellous?

G: In the beginning was the word, and the word was with me, and the word was bite me.

NB: That’s two words.

G: No shit. Two more, look.

NB: Where do you think the Berwick Town Team went wrong?

G: Well, in fairness it’s back on track now.

NB: But only because Northumberland Council confiscated the Portas money and put Arch in the driving seat.

G: Oh, is that what they did? I couldn’t possibly comment. Nothing to do with me. Nuh-uh. I’m just your common or garden Almighty Creator of the Universe. Although I would point out that Arch could be short for archangel. 

NB: Bit far-fetched.

G: You’re saying that to someone who got a woman pregnant just by looking at her. But, so you know, I did not have sexual relations with that woman. Yuk. The human sex act was one of my more puerile pranks coming off the back of a very long week.

NB: So is Arch an act of divine intervention?

G: In a manner of speaking. You see, my usual MO is a more… robust affair. Used correctly, plague, pestilence and smiting make very effective behaviour modifying tools. Seems that certain members of the Berwick Town Team would rather serve their own agenda than that of the town as a whole. If it had been down to me, I would have issued them with some pretty hefty scourging. Not on the face or anywhere that shows, of course. But Junior, well, he’s all love and peace like some disturbing manifestation of The One Show.

NB: You sound kind of… vengeful God-ish.

G: Old gods, new tricks — one for the dyslexics there. Look, you’re not in Kansas now, Dorothy. As I told my son, democracy only works if there’s one person in the committee. But he had his birthday coming up and put in for the gift of compassion, yadda-yadda. What can I say, I’m a soft touch. That said, flooding’s been a bit of a theme this year, eh?

NB: You don’t mean—

G: That’s the problem with me not having had any strong parental role models, as you will discover if you read my book, In the Beginning, available in hardback, paperback, Kindle edition, and 2857.142857 tweets.

NB: Ah, yes. Your autobiography.

G: More a misery memoir.

NB: It must have been hard growing up with absolutely nothing.

G: Yes, but I made my own entertainment. 

NB: And it’s affected your parenting style how, do you think?

G: Well, I’m no hugger.

NB: Children should be seen and not heard?

G: Yeah, I’d say I’m a disciplinarian. Having to make order out of chaos definitely left its mark. Now Junior’s a father himself, he’s realising that children need boundaries. I think he regrets being so liberal with Mankind because they take the piss, to be honest. I say to him, I say, “Junior, what those kids need is a shower of brimstone and fire.” But he won’t hear it. What do I know, right? But I tell you this, if the Berwick Town Team were my kids I would’ve smote them into next week.

NB: If there was one piece of advice you could give humanity before it’s too late, what would it be?

G: Easy. Buy my book, In the Beginning, available in hardback, paperback, Kindle edition, and 2857.142857 tweets.

NB: Oh. Erm… anything for the greater good?

G: Two copies, one for a friend? What’s been good for the Town Team after all…

NB: Allegedly been good.

G: Allegedly been good. Of course.

NB: You’re omnisicient, aren’t you?

G: Yep.

Winking Jesus with a thumbs up, NOT The Berwickshire Advertiser


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