And lo, it occurred to God that he hadn't had a minute's respite since that Sunday
     and all this omniscience
was doing his head in (knowing everything about everything, all the time, totally,
     it's worse than blue cheese
or chocolate for migraine)

from God has a Day Off

The first act finds the melancholy poet-hero contemplating the mysterious workings of the divine by the seaside. He travels in an eventful rail journey, observing the absurdities and rituals of modern marital ritual, to a stand up gig and finally home to his down-at-heel flat to be lulled to sleep by the bass from passing hatchbacks and generous helpings of vodka.

In the second half the mood and setting changes as the stage is taken by the poet's alter ego, Warwick, a strutting, dandyish Edwardian song and dance man. He ups the ante, moving the tone of the poems from gentle observation on the quotidian to savage lampoons on politics, religion, sexual peccadilloes and human frailty. Seductive and conspiratorial he coaxes and cajoles before revealing, in a glorious climax of light and pounding rhythm, his own diabolic nature.

The forces of evil are coupling and breeding
  in Hampstead and every sink council estate.
"They mean to destroy us, to stop us from speeding,
  killing foxes or burglars," the pair remonstrate,
"In the gutter lies Liberty, battered and bleeding.
  God send us a Junta before it's too late!"

from Apocalypse Next Wednesday