I LIKE visiting America, but not for the Empire State Building, Sunset Boulevard, Disneyland or Mount Rushmore.

All of the above are great but whenever I pop over, as I did last week to Salt Lake City in Utah, I find myself longing for the evenings so I can relax in front of my hotel’s TV and watch God.

Yes, the Big Guy himself, because as we all know, in the States, God (not Grease) is The Word.

Not that during my seven-day stay I was swamped by zealots keen to convert me – the vast majority of Americans are too normal for that.

But on TV, where anyone with money can buy God time, it’s a free-for-all. And for reasons my friends can’t fathom, I have a deep-seated – and very healthy – fascination for these prophets of programming.

I can spend hours immersed in the worlds of judgement and retribution, as happy as any footie fan with Sky Sports. And I’ll bet I get just as much pleasure from watching Kenneth Copeland and Benny Hinn.

But on this trip I stumbled across a new favourite – Pastor Woody Martin. His show is unmissable and every bit as addictive as Downton Abbey.

Pastor Martin of Tennessee is a great believer in the Devil and all his trickery, and consequently offers salvation from the horrors of damnation via his Blood of Jesus Anointing Oil ($4.99).

Indeed, just a phial of it is probably all anyone needs in order to guarantee their place in the forthcoming Rapture (or Second Coming as we know it).

But that’s not where his blessings end – on his website, the following headlines clearly define the source of his disciples’ devotion: l God’s dental program! Hear Eleanor Fish’s tremendous testimony of how God filled four of her teeth.

l 14-year-old Sara King and Martha Glass on receiving two cross-shaped silver fillings and a gold crown!

l Testimony from local educator of how God delivered her from debt and performed a family miracle after a tragic divorce.

l Couple tells of how God brought husband back to life after his heart stopped beating.

Trust me, for someone stuck in a drab hotel room with zero access to alcohol, this kind of television makes you want to whoop ‘Hallelujah’. So much so that over the course of my visit, I myself was almost tempted to put up and shut up for a shot of Jesus Oil.

Sadly, in this country, we’re far more sensible.

True, Psychic TV comes close, but nothing quite comforts and horrifies in equal measure as poorly-lit, statically-photographed American satellite evangelism.

At least, nothing gives me quite the same sense of joy.

Which is why this week could be tough for me: with no miracles to order over a toll-free hotline; no Scripture to guide me when buying used cars; and no choir to celebrate the grace of a money-back guarantee, I’m afraid I may require a little Heavenly intervention.

So brothers, sisters, pray for me please.

And God bless (at nought per cent finance).