Forced to turn to the Metro this morning to clear my head of the lingering smell of week old sprouts and suburban desperation on the Metropolitan line, my eye is caught by a snippet on page seven, just over the page from news of the National Trust's shrieking fury that someone has painted the Cerne Abbas giant's penis purple:

Would-be classmates said a prayer and lit a a candle for missing Madeleine McCann yesterday on what should have been her first day at school. .... But, instead, the place set aside for her in the 'Four Plus' reception class remained empty. Headteacher Gail Neill said: 'It will remain ready and waiting as we continue to pray, along with her parents, in the hope of her safe return.'

I am intrigued by the belief in the usefulness of continuing to pray for something that hasn't been granted. This girl and her family must be the subjects of hundreds of thousands of prayers for her return by now. Presumably those who having been doing the praying have a good case for being answered; the parents are openly religious, the child is blonde, middle class and extremely photogenic and as we all know God hates paedophiles almost as much as men with long hair, sodomy and shops opening for more than six hours on a Sunday. They're not even asking for a miracle; this could happen of it's own accord and God would still scoop up all the glory. It's a win-win situation for him. So why has he not taken up this golden opportunity to give Richard Dawkins a theological wedgy?

As an alternative to doing any real work today, I've been giving this some thought and I've come to the following conclusion. Maybe, with God being as vain as he is, he can't be bothered to get out of bed and perform even the most unobtrusive piece of divine intervention unless he can be sure of a certain amount of dedicated worship from people that fully appreciate him. A casual approach to asking for what you want won't work - he must be persuaded and flattered like an underage girl in a Miss Selfridge boob tube in a provincial disco at closing time. Perhaps, unknown to heretics like me, there is a long list pinned to the wall of God's celestial study, detailing the most common requests and the amount of prayer needed to obtain his holy benevolence on the matter.

The last dolphin friendly tuna salad sandwich from Pret
A Manger - 75
Seat on the tube every day for a week - 400
Seat on the tube every day for a week not next to a tramp who knows every word to 'The Mayor of Bayswater' - 800
Recovery from ingrowing toenail / bit of a cough / considerable peevishness - 1,800
Missing cat - 5,000
Your annoying colleague's car to be hit by a chunk of frozen blue aeroplane sewage - 13,000
Recovery from heart attack / cancer / necrotizing fasciitis - 95,000
Missing working class child - 250,000
Morrissey to announce an exclusive tour of your living room, your kitchen and your bedroom - 830,000
Missing child of doctors - 1,400,000

Jesus: Dad, that fucking kid is on the front page of all the papers again. The Guardian, The Times, The Mail...
God: I'm nothing to do with The Mail, you want to be talking to Him Downstairs about that.
Jesus: ...the Independent, all of them. Can't you do something? It's taking up Big Brother space and seeing as you've refused to pay the TV license since Aled Jones joined Songs of Praise...
God: *rustles paper* Look, the latest figures show there's nowhere near the numbers needed for her to even show up dead any time soon. Most of the faxes we've been getting about it are from p-r-o-t-e-s-t-a-n-t-s anyway and God knows I can't stand that bunch of half-assed, condom-wearing bastards.
Jesus: Jesus H Christ you really are a cunt.
God: Don't make me get that cross out again.

The thoughts then occurs; what if twins were missing? Does he offer some kind of discount scheme, a kind of pray for one get one half price deal? Or maybe if you're a habitual prayer, a loyalty card: pray for nine abducted children and get the tenth one free? He's a harsh master and all but he needs to keep his customers sweet; Allah next door is gaining popularity fast and he doesn't like smug looks he's been getting from him over the fence of late.

Or of course, he could always have just said no.