This live-blogging thing is really quite exciting, my dearly beloved wicked sinners. Just after posting my last message all of the aircraft's electronics started playing up again, which was while Bishop Quinine was on the flight deck being shown there was nothing to be afraid of. Since he is at heart a compassionate man, and observing the pilots' concern at this latest development, he decided to help them in their time of stress by slipping a little something into their coffees to help them relax.
As they aren't men of the cloth their livers are naturally unaccustomed to whatever it was Bishop Quinine gave them (he's not too sure himself), and it was only a matter of minutes before the entire flight crew were rendered unconscious - and didn't that cause a bit of panic here! Dear me, I haven't laughed like that in years: nothing teaches unbelievers' a little respect like realizing their only hope is a Doctrinal Warrior who not only holds a pilot's licence (even if it is forged: if you can't hack a leading evangelical's frequent-flyer account pretending to be an airline pilot is the next most effective way of obtaining an upgrade to first class), but has also seen every film in the Airport franchise at least five times.
Indeed, what I can't teach a terror-struck flight attendant about flying a plane hasn't been filmed. With my soothing hands of guidance upon them, and their youthful fingers upon the joystick we'll have this thing down in no time. Just where is something of which I'm not so certain, but you can be sure it'll be somewhere I later claim God wanted us to be all along. After all, in these astonishing times does any GAFCON leader really have the slightest idea of where he's heading? You'd better believe little Bobby Duncan doesn't. And if he can get away with bluffing so can I.
I'm Father Christian: come fly me.