Dear God by Josephine Falla

brewery.”
    His last muttered pronouncement surprised even himself and he paused to try to work out what was wrong with it before continuing with another piece of chicken. However, his use of mixed metaphors continued to baffle him so he decided to get on with sorting out his new phone. He settled on the sofa along with Ginger and the book of instructions.
    An hour later, in perhaps one of the worst tempers he had ever had, he threw his new phone on the floor and growled his fury at Ginger, who took one look at William and made for the toilet window. Once again, William read the manual of instructions on how to make a call. He seized the apple pie woman’s booklet yet again and found the advertisement which had attracted his attention before. Patiently, he began to dial, this time remembering to include the local code, also pressing the icon which claimed to start up the call. This time it worked. Perfect Patios answered. “How may I help you?”
    Relieved and triumphant, William shouted, “I want the garden done!”
    “Yes Sir?” said the startled lady at the other end of the phone. “No need to shout Sir. What was the name?”
    Somehow William restrained himself, spoke in a reasonable tone and got through the ensuing conversation without becoming embroiled in one of his unfortunate misunderstandings. He gave his name and address and arranged for one Ed Smithers to come and inspect the property the next day at 10 o’clock. He even remembered to press the icon which finished the call. Exhausted after this technological struggle he realised he needed a drink like never before and made for the kitchen.
    When he returned he drank his lager as if his life depended on it. Mobile phones! He seemed to remember there was something about charging the thing up or it wouldn’t work. Surely it wouldn’t give up the ghost after just one call? He was about to set it up to charge when he suddenly thought, well nobody knows I’ve got one, so they can’t phone me anyway. And I’m not going through all that again in a hurry to make more calls. So he left it, for the time being, although he didn’t turn it off. He wasn’t sure how you did that. It was one of the many features he had not mastered.
    At this point, he thought about his computer. How simple it seemed after a mobile phone. He switched it on and opened up his emails. There was one from God again!
    Here we go, he thought. More daft directives I bet. Still, the old boy has been pretty helpful, really. Now what?
    The email said:
    Plan ahead. Keep calm. Be yourself. See clearly.
    He read and reread this brief missive several times. The Almighty didn’t seem too interested in his query regarding his ferreting out what had happened in the past. ‘Plan ahead’? Well, that could mean anything from working out what to do next Tuesday or booking a holiday in foreign parts, couldn’t it? He most definitely didn’t want to do that. The idea of not being able to make himself understood somewhere filled him with horror. He had enough trouble with English-speaking people as it was. He did not want to go abroad. He did not rate abroad. Perhaps he had been there, he thought, in the days when, and hadn’t enjoyed it. Planning ahead would have to reveal itself some other way, he thought.
    ‘Keep calm’. Yes, he knew in his heart of hearts what the Top Guy was getting at. His sudden bursts of temper. His awful rages. He should make an effort. Definitely. He would try. ‘Be yourself’. Well, who else could he be? That was a daft directive if ever there was one. ‘See clearly’. Well he wore glasses, now and then; mostly he lost them and spent a lot of time looking for them. Of course he wanted to see clearly. The glasses helped him to see clearly. What else could it mean? A small shoot of anger threatened to swell up inside. I haven’t got time for all this nonsense, he thought.
    He was also disappointed. Sometimes the messages had made him very angry, but it had all come clear