No one talks about how much fun it is to be a fundamentalist. The word has changed, of course: for any rational person, 'fundamentalist' now means 'manifestation of raw evil', but being a charismatic Christian was a hoot. It was like being at a wild party with no drink, no sex, no hangover, no regrets. I believe! I believe! I am in a suburban sitting-room, and I believe! It was a constant state of expectation and yearning; a suspension so high and long, it was almost like release. Speaking in tongues -- I could do it now, if I dared -- was pure flow; you had to wince at the sweetness of it. Miracles were two a penny. Everything made sense. People prayed for their lost glasses and found their dentures instead and we all laughed at God's little joke. You can’t live up there for ever, of course, and the downs, like a junkie’s, were terrible and complicated...