Jesus reached down into the murky tea-like liquid and fished out the tea bags. "Christ," he thought, "of all the places for a second coming I have to choose the Making Music office." An angel, who'd just popped into the kitchen holding a Royal Wedding mug, had evidently read Jesus' thoughts. "It could've been worse, me old hippie," he beamed, using his wing to wipe the mug dry. "I'm bored and I want to go home," moaned J, noting that the kettle seemed to pour more water on to the attractive rexine work surface than into the equally charming yellow enamel teapot. "And where might home be?" enquired the angel, who'd faded a bit by now. "As you ask, it's 16 Railway Cuttings, Tibet, China, often called the roof of the world," said Jesus, waiting patiently for the tea to mast. "But I suppose I shall have to get used to 20 Bowling Green Lane, London, often called the Frinton of EC1." Just then, God, who had naturally been watching all this, and quite a bit besides, got bored and consumed the lot in a very hot fire. Ah well, all's well that ends well. Much like 1987, really.