Dear Trevor – can I call you that? You have so many names within different faiths, and in all honesty, God seems a tad formal.
I'm writing to you because I asked my Written Wheelies what they wanted me to blog about, and one of them suggested, “the meaning of life”. I’m not too sure I can do the topic justice, so I thought I’d come to you. Maybe we could meet to chat over a spot of lunch. Do you like beans on toast and a cuppa? That’s very British, isn’t it? Are you British, or does your native cuisine consist of curry? If it does, well done on an amazing invention. My God (no offence), I’ve got a thousand questions…
This is pointless to ask, seeing as I’m sitting here, writing to you, but do you actually exist? I hope you do, Trev, else I’ll have wasted valuable time. And life is too short – although maybe not for you. I only wonder because I trawled the internet for hours in search of a mailing address and couldn’t find one. In the end, I decided you were a technophobe but thought I’d send this anyway. Would a carrier pigeon work?
Assuming you are real, my next question is, did you mean to create the world, or was it a mistake? Was it a test-run for better projects you had lined up? I often think that perhaps there was a malfunction on the big red button, so instead of blowing the whole thing up and starting again, it was all systems go. Maybe you fancied a comedy because let’s face it, none of us really have a clue what we’re doing in life, and that’s gotta be pretty funny to watch.
So, on the grounds that the world isn’t one huge balls-up, is there anything that should’ve made it to the blooper-reel? I’ll give you a hint…MY LEGS! Trev, mate, they’re bloody useless. You may as well have given me two blocks of jelly. Was I too busy chin-wagging with the snails? Did you get confused? And if this is pay-back for something I did in a past life, then I’m sorry, but that woman did have it coming – she was always getting me mixed up with Mo Farah’s great grandad. One thing’s for sure, I ain’t getting mistaken for a running black man now, am I? In all seriousness, I don’t mind. Whether you meant to file me in the cabinet labelled, ‘wonkiness’ or not, it’s part of who I am. At least you gave me the ability to write about it.
Before we go any further, I have a few quickfire questions from the Written Wheelies, If that’s okay?
- The Queen of Silver Linings wants to know; “What the hell are we here for?”
- Tweedledum asks; “Why do we spend our lives learning and then just die?”
- One of your biggest followers has a whole list of enquiries that have to do with you as the Creator, the concepts of purpose and truth, alongside whether you care for us.
- The RE teacher has a very philosophical query; “Why does chocolate taste so good and yet it’s bad for us?”
- And lastly, my mad aunt, at the age of 67, is still having trouble with her times tables and would like you to clarify the answer to “7 x 6”.
If you could get back to everyone in due course, that would be greatly appreciated.
You’re probably getting a bit bored of my ramblings and have a backlog of stuff to get through, so I think we may have to schedule beans on toast. I’m almost done, I promise.
It’s becoming more apparent that no-one really knows what the meaning of life is. Are you gonna tell them when they reach the Pearly Gates? Do you even have pearly gates or do people just ring the doorbell? When they get there, do they have to form an orderly queue? I feel as though you need to put something in place to stop potential riots outside your abode because nobody likes each other anymore. Poverty and minorities divide people. And Brexit, well, that’s just put another nail in the coffin.
I don’t want to come across bitter or ungrateful, so I’d like to end this by congratulating you on the mighty fine creature that is the giraffe. What a brilliant idea! Their blue tongues are just quirky.
So, Trev. It was nice talking to you. But try to make the meaning of life a little clearer than mud.
Your resident writer in a wheelchair.
P.S. Did you ever come up with a valid reason as to why you created fleas? I think Ellen is waiting for a proper answer.