Jesus pops his head around a heavy oak door. “Hello?” He has a very cockney accent.
“Wha...This is a private room! Who gave you the authority to-“
“Authority!? Private!? Who do you think you are? The son of God?” Jesus winks at John, and smiles cheesily. His teeth glisten in the midday sun, a sparkle of realisation alights John’s eyes.
“Oh Christ!”
“Call me Jesus,” he vigorously shakes the Archbishop’s hand, “and I’ll call you... What’s your name?”
