Rhi,
And you know beyond doubt that this relationship isn't generated purely through the workings of your brain how, exactly?
Maybe his "soul" told him so?
There seems to be a correlation between AB's certainty and the intellectual impoverishment of his position. If I were "God" I think I'd call him into my study for a stiff word about bringing Him into such disrepute - why on earth (or off it) would He want an emissary possessed of such deep irrationalism?
God: "Alan, come on in. Take a seat. Cigar? Oh, ok - maybe not. Now then old son, please don't take this the wrong way but, well, you know...stop. Just stop.
Seriously. Just stop. See, I'm God in case you hadn't noticed and part of the job spec means I like encouraging people to realise that."
Alan (for it is he): "I know God, and I'm your little helper in that fine endeavour (Ooh, are they Mr Kipling French Fancies? Don't mind if I do - ta everso). That's why, you know, I keep pitching up on an mb to tell everyone all about my relationship with you!"
God: "Yes, well...about that. Look, thing is, if you want people to agree with you you'll need to smarten up your act a bit I'm afraid."
Alan: "Really God? (Ooh another one! Are you sure? Thank-you - I prefer the mini Cherry Bakewells to be honest – shouldn't you have known that by the way? Oh well...) So what should I be doing?"
God: "OFFS! Look, you can't just demand that people be open to the possibility that I exist but at the same time tell them that you're not open the possibility that I don't. It just makes you look, well, a bit dim to be frank and that's not doing me any favours over there.
Oh, and while you're at it, will you PLEASE look up "logical fallacy" and when you have stop trotting them out with such regularity? You're like one of those Crimean war soldiers dressed in a bright red jacket - why make yourself such an easy target for people smarter than you are?"
Alan (a bit crestfallen): "Oh I see. So all this time I've been alienating potential converts and not recruiting them at all?"
God (thumps table, upsetting the last few French Fancies): "Exactly!"
Alan - goes quiet for a bit, then: "Ooh, ooh, here's one - how about, "all that science and reason stuff that undoes me, I just can't imagine that it's right!" Will that do?"
God (groans): "OK, that's it. Just take up macramé or get yourself an allotment or something willya? Really, you're doing me no favours at all here. And no, you can't have a third French Fancy - GET OUT!"
Alan slopes off, mumbling "I would've preferred the mini Cherry Bakewells in any case" leaving God leaning on his desk with His head in His hands and moaning "Oh Me"...