Here in Ireland we were asked to vote last Friday (by the Lower House of our Parliament) on whether to abolish the Seanad, our Upper House…

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Bolts of lightning flashed across the sky, like the aftermath of an explosion in a lightsaber factory.

The Lower Gods had been dreading this moment, and weren’t disappointed. Jupiter was seriously angry.

“Get rid of us?” he stormed. “Why?”

“Because you’re an elite,” said Reforma, who had been chosen as spokesperson by the others. She was Goddess of Making Things Better, and had thus created the sticking-plaster and the phrase “there, there”.

“Of course we’re an elite,” said Janus. “We’re Gods, for Gods’ sake.”

“Yes, but Gods of what?” said Reforma. “The moon, the sea, the sky? Do you think stuff like that would just vanish if you were gone?”

“Well, no,” admitted Neptune.

“See? You’re just old hat,” said Fedora, Goddess of Old Hats. “you’ve become settled, and complacent, and fat.”

Venus’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” she said. Fedora took a step backwards.

“Don’t be afraid of her,” said Exbocs, God of Male Virginity. “She’s not even armed.”

Venus smiled sweetly and turned her gaze upon him, a look full of haunting beauty and smouldering sensuality. Exbocs gave a great groan and hurled himself into the Tiber, which turned to steam.

“Well, I’m not old hat,” said Bacchus. “I’ll always be popular.”

“Actually you’re on the way out too,” said Gasius, God of Lager. “I’m more popular with the people now.”

“The people?” asked Minerva. “Who asked them?”

“Actually we did,” said Retorica, God of Unimportant Questions.

“But they’re gobshites,” said Mars. “They let you get off with them even if you turn up as a swan.”

“We wanted to deflect attention away from the crap jobs we’re doing ourselves,” said Ryneer, God of Approximate Geography. “Like why Lesstaxus has to keep raising taxes, Heltservus keeps closing hospital wards and Alucanete can’t give them decent broadband.”

Jupiter was about to reply when someone passed by. He was like them, yet somehow gave off a sense of far greater majesty.

“Good morning,” he said, and continued on his way, towards Earth.

All the Gods, Upper and Lower, turned towards Oshit, God of Having  A Bad Feeling About This.

“Who was that?” asked Saturn.

“He’s new,” said Oshit. “He calls himself God.”

“Well, that’s a bit unimaginative,” said Jupiter. “It’d be like having a teddy bear called Teddy Bear.” Minerva blushed at this, but no-one noticed. “What’s he God of?”

“Everything, he says,” said Oshit.

All of the Gods relaxed visibly.

“Jack-of-all-trades, master of none,” said Mars dismissively. “He’ll get nowhere.”