Who’s Papa’s little Nietzschean?

I was a pre­co­cious brat. I’m sure that does­n’t need stat­ing for most of you, but just in case some of you haven’t met me in person and there­fore could­n’t deduce it, I thought I’d make it clear.

Today Mum told me that, aged four, Jehovah’s wit­nesses came to the door and my father answered it. I appar­ently tagged along. I then appar­ently sol­emnly informed the Jehovah’s wit­nesses that God was dead. My father was thrilled. My mother was mor­ti­fied. And there began a long career of tor­ment­ing God-botherers…