666

We've driven our two-landrover convoy for twenty-four hours, only stopping for a few short pee breaks and to refuel. My apprentice is starting to look slightly weathered. At first he tried to insist on being allowed to listen to his Christian rock music on his iPod, but I have insisted that we sing all my favourite hymns instead. We may have sung Onward Christian Soldiers upwards of 234 times, but even I've lost count.

We've finally stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere (well, I know exactly where we are, but I'm not going to disclose my exact location for obvious reasons). We could soldier on, but seen as the date today is 06.06.06, I thought a special demon-destroying prayer meeting would be appropriate. I have no doubt that countless demon-worshiping satanic covens, heavy metal bands and the Pope will be praying against the work of the Lord today. I don't need a blow-out and unfortunate accident all because we allowed some diabolical spirit to attack one of my landrover's tires. And I certainly don't need Liberty to go off his rocker back home and attack my unsuspecting wife with a garden fork.

So I've commanded several angels to stand guard around my property and one to restrain the nutty Sudanese gardener. A few more are accompanying our convoy -- one is on duty sweeping the road clear of all potential satanic devices, and another is protecting my precious cargo.

My apprentice was about to foolishly challenge this aspect of my theology, but a lack of sleep and excessive hymn-singing has sapped his energy. His extreme makeover is imminent.

Fight the good fight.