7 August 2000

Ricky used to sing this a lot. (Ricky Rockstar)

If you believe...
They put a man on the moon
(Man on the moon)

And if you believe...

And some such shite. I'm sure there's royalties due.

But on to tonight. It was very startling. "Do you believe in God?" Tony suddenly said to me, over his fourth pint of Guinness. This was unexpected. There were three of us chatting, in the Port o Leith Bar. Me, Tony, and Woolly Dave. Things were going quite well - it was Stevie Sticks' 36th birthday, and there was the usual blowup cake for him, and cheap birthday bubbly. All was well in the universe. The correct drink and drugs were down the correct throats, and in the correct quantities. No trace of The Grumps - those sadfucks who can and do destroy every known conversation.

"Well?" Tony pressed. "Do you believe in God, yes or no?"
"Tony," I said to him. "Tony - how can you possibly expect an answer to such a question in a place like this?" You see, the Port is not renowned for conversation. It was once - decades ago, it often seems. It was once, but not now. Not now that the forces of hyperscheminess have inviegled and pervaded this once-so-gentle space.

But hey - I'm tne one who's always complaining about trivialisation and dumbing down, so maybe this most un-trivial of questions deserved consideration. "Depends what you mean by God, dear chap," I rallied. "If you mean some old guy in the sky..."
"Like me," Woolly Dave interrupted. (Woolly Dave is very hairy. Head and beard. Curly. If you saw him stoned - you that is, not him - and in a back light, with celestial music somewhere about the place, you might just be forgiven for thinking Jehovah himself had dropped down to slum it a bit.
"Yes - like Dave," I agreed. "If you mean like Dave in the sky, then no - not at all. Nor do I buy into virgin births and stuff like that."

We noticed our glasses all were empty. And not one of us had a bean. "Who's gonna ask for credit?" I challenged, making it bloody obvious it wasn't gonna be me.
"OK I will," said Dave, majestically. "I'll get the drinks in on tick." Then, glasses primed for at least another ten minutes, we got back on our high horses.

"But the alternative - which is that humans are the lords of creation, the supreme beings - well I don't believe that either," I pushed forward. "I mean - look at us." The two of them looked at the three of us, and I could sense agreement. "So the conclusion, the only valid conclusion, is that if our own species is not supreme, (and God help creation if it is) then there must be a more advanced Being. This Being can legitimately be called God, IMHO."

I rose somewhat on my stool then, straightening my back and riding tall on their silence. They for their part, slumped slightly, deferring to this Wisdom. And a stranger in a striped shirt was earwigging behind Dave, desperate to get in on the act, but I gave no ground. He looked like Stephen King. "You see boys," I concluded, "the promise of something Supernatural is all around. Just look at a tree in Spring. Or the stars in the uncity sky. Or listen to some of the greatest music. Some of it's called Magnificat, you know." And at that they fell quite quiet, and bought me lots more drinks, and it was good, and God was in his garden once again.