Last Monday morning I was sitting at home on the floor of my room, absolutely smashing the evil Decepticons with a double-pronged attack of Autobots and Voltron, when Susan came in to tell me that I had been invited to go on the television! Apparently, a guest due to appear on some show called Q&A had cancelled and the ABC wanted me to go on instead! Tears welled in my eyes because it was the happiest day of my life.

I immediately sent a text to Nick Xzennophone, asking him if he’d ever been on the telly before. He answered yes, so I asked if he’d ever been on the ABC before. He answered yes, so I asked him if he’d ever been on the Q&A before. He answered no, so I told him that I was going on Q&A and he wasn’t. I signed off, “Regards Steve”, even though I don’t really have any regards for him. Xzennophone can be such a media whore sometimes so it’s nice to get one up on him now and again.

Within an hour I was packed and ready for my flight to Sydney. In the car on the way to the airport Susan explained to me again and again how the television gets sucked up into the camera and then goes flying along a cable to a big metal tower that throws the pictures through the air to television sets across the land, but no matter how hard I tried to visualise and understand this magic I simply couldn’t. I guess I’m a simple kind of guy who’s happy just accepting it as one of those mysteries of God that are all around us. Life’s easier that way.

The ABC woman said that a car would be waiting at Sydney Airport for me but I couldn’t for the life of me find the driver. After thirty minutes of standing there, twiddling my thumbs like an idiot, I called the ABC woman to find out what the heck was going on. She told me that she would call the driver and get back to me. A few minutes later a guy who’d been standing near me holding a sign the whole time answered his phone, looked around, and walked over to me. The silly idiot had written half of his sign wrong which is why I didn’t know he was looking for me. My first name isn’t “Sen.”.

Arriving at the studios I was taken to a dressing room which looked just like in the movies. There were light bulbs around the mirror and comfy chairs and everything. I changed into my TV outfit and headed over to the makeup department. The girls there were lovely although they said my Diamonte shirt would probably make the television cameras flare so it would be best if I changed into a plain business shirt. I immediately sent a text to Susan asking her to post my rhinestone shirt to Sydney by registered post.

Before I knew it I was lead into the studio and seated between Julie Bishop and some guy called Richard Dorkins. I’m not shy to admit that I’m absolutely terrified of Julie Bishop. She reminds me of that story that I think was in the Bible about the woman who turns you to stone if you make eye contact with her, and I make sure to keep my eyes cast safely downwards whenever I’m near her. Problem is, she kept brushing up against my leg because the chairs were so close together – lucky I had blanky on my lap.

The Dorkins fellow was a bit strange. A lot of people seemed almost in awe of him but his hair is very scruffy and his clothing looked like it came from Vinnies. He smelled nice, though, and at least his scruffy hair was obviously clean; I had to resist the urge to run my hand through it. When Tony Jones was talking to me before the show he said something about a possible clash between me and Dorkins about religion or something, but how can I have a religious clash with somebody who doesn’t believe in religion? Curious.

Before I knew it the opening credits were rolling and Tony was introducing the panellists. As I saw the camera panning along the desk towards me I started to freeze up and my veins ran cold. “Not now, Steve,” I told myself, “the whole world is watching.” So I grabbed blanky with one hand, Julie’s hand with my other hand, and flashed a beaming smile up the camera, along the cables, and out of the big metal tower. I knew then that this show was going to be a piece of cake.

But then I was asked if I was a creationist or an evolutionerist. I’ve spent the past five years rehearsing my answer to this one because it’s something that my detractors want to use to attempt to delegitimise and discredit me. I’d even rehearsed my answer in the car with Susan earlier that day; Susan repeatedly asked me the question and I practised saying “NO!” in my best confident and semi-shouty voice. But with the eyes of Australia watching, and with Julie Bishop staring a giant hole right through the side of my head, my mind went blank and I heard myself tell the world I was a creationist. “Think fast, Steve,” I told myself, and so in a stroke of genius I mentioned that Kevin Rudd was a creationist too. Crisis successfully avoided. Steve Fielding: 1, ABC: 0.

For the rest of the show I performed brilliantly, articulately answering everything that was thrown my way and managing even to tie the idiot Dorkins up in knots of perfect logic. Hours of practise in front of the mirror paid off brilliantly with my hand gestures adding to my appearance of calm and studied confidence, and successfully distracting people’s attention from what I was saying. Even Julie Bishop was mesmerised by my hands which saved a few audience members from being turned to stone.

And in what can only be described as a miracle, I was saved from answering the final curly question by the show’s producers who cut me off due to the show running extremely over time. In that studio there was an atheist and a Pentecostal, and it’s clear whose side God was on that night.

Shaking Tony Jones’ hand as I prepared to leave the studio I told him that I was available most Monday nights as long as he called Susan a few days in advance so she could buy one less pork chop, and I really looked forward to being a regular guest on the show. I gave him my business card but Tony said he was out of his own cards, but not to worry anyway because he’d call me.

On the way out to my car I was asked by a producer if I’d mind sharing a ride with Julie Bishop. I walked to my hotel at the airport.

Until next time.