A fortnight ago (2)

... there was thick morning mist in the Dordogne valley. From the hilltop village of Domme it looked as if we were at sea ....



so it was quite appropriate there was "Isle Flottante" on the menu at lunch ....



Later there was a nice cooling "Orangina" in the sunshine at Villereal.

A fortnight ago (1)

... it was a misty morning in La Roque Gageac in France's Dordogne valley.

Damn, but I hate spending large sums of money

Well, I've finally bitten the proverbial bullet and spent almost £700 this evening ordering a new oven and hob. The present ones I inherited when I moved into this vicarage, the Diocese informing me at the last minute that it was my responsibility to provide cooking facilities in their house, and I just managed to prevent the cowboy kitchen fitters/builders from throwing them out. They were past their best then, (the cooker and hob, not the builders .... though I don't know ... ), but for the past 6 years they've cooked my meals, boiled the marmalade, and generally worked as they should. However, the door on the main over has never shut properly, and it remains a bad fit even after replacing both the hinges. I've had to prop it shut with a clothes peg rammed underneath! And then, about 6 months ago, one of the two elements in the fast electric ring went "phut", followed about 8 weeks ago by the fan oven refusing to heat and the thermostat on another of the rings not working, so that it's either "on" or "off" with no variable control. Which means I have just two rings and the small top oven working properly - though the top oven is a bit like a miniature "blast furnace"!.

As it's not my house I have dithered over replacing the units, but I really do have to do something now, otherwise it will be difficult to cook my Christmas confections, or keep hot the various dishes at the December Shared Supper which I host. (And as an aside - the photograph shows the total work space I have - just a small corner. Wonderfully designed for a vicarage kitchen don't you think?)

I await the courier's call to arrange a convenient delivery slot. I have already primed the local electrician in the village to disconnect the old units beforehand.

Oh well, the rainy day has arrived, and I can't take it with me .... though if and when I move, I just might take the cooker and hob!

More food

Tonight was a "Shared Supper" night - the monthly "pot-luck" supper held in various homes around the parishes of the Benefice. The invitation is open to all to come along - just bring a dish of food to share. The result is that you never know how many will turn up or what you're going to get. In the event there's usually between 10 and 18 people, and the dishes a good balance between savoury and sweet.

Tonight was a "protein-rich" night with 7 hot dishes of meat, one roast vegetable flan, and two bowls of mashed potato. There was also cold trout as an entree. Then there were five different desserts and a cheeseboard, so it was all rather good. There's always wine and beer and fruit juice available, and we finished with coffee.

These suppers are not a fund-raiser, they're purely social, and it's good to have a regular event that doesn't ask for money.

I can't claim responsibility for them - they were already established when I arrived, but I'm certainly going to see that they continue.

*burp* (again!)

A feast for the senses

Back from a 10-day sojourn in France to a land that is in the depths of autumn. This time last week I was wandering around in a short-sleeved polo shirt, sipping red wine and nibbling on bread, pate and cheese. Now I've a shirt and jersey on, and the heating is going. Next door has lit their wood-burner, and the delicious smell of wood smoke is drifting down my chimneys.

Last Thursday was also the day of the buffet lunch. In the Leclerc Hypermarche at Villeneuve-sur-Lot the restaurant had a massive lunchtime buffet where you paid a flat rate and ate as much as you wanted.




Four main courses, four desserts and some cheese later, and I was slumped in the chair sipping a small black coffee. It was wonderful.

*burp*

It speaks volumes

It's now a fortnight since the 3rd annual second-hand Book sale at St James South Elmham. Last year we eventually made just over £1,000 and we wondered if this year we would be as successful. It was a busy day, with lots of people in the morning, and a steady trickle through the afternoon. Money has been coming in ever since, from sales that took place afterwards, late payments, and a couple of specialist books placed with a local Book Dealer. At their Harvest festival this last Sunday I learnt that the total for this year now stands at over £1370. A magnificent result, and the event goes from strength to strength as it becomes more widely known. It's already planned to have another one next year! I thoroughly enjoy it, and always come away with several volumes earmarked for holiday reading.

Like leaves blowing in the wind

The story so far .....

I suppose that this Blog is not really an on-line Diary, more what used to be called "a Commonplace Book" containing occasional thoughts, reflections, celebrations, grumbles and disjointed ramblings.

A bit like life, really.

Away day

The AA (Automobile Association) web site kindly provided me with the route down to St. Alban’s, avoiding motorways, the itinery saying it was a distance of 112.3 miles which would take 2 hours and forty-five minutes. Somewhat optimistic!

The route down took me via a wonderful new A road, virtually clear of traffic after a slight hold-up at road works at Duxford and the Imperial War Museum, and then onto an horrendous B road that was single-track with Passing Places! And I met a bus!

Still, allowing for the rain and slow traffic through the centre of St. Alban’s, I made it to the West Herts Crematorium in just over 3 hours.

The return journey was worse.

With the M25 solid from accidents and road works, and not wanting to try and find my way back along the narrow B road, I took a route through Hitchin, Welwyn Garden City and Hertford, and then onto the A10 for Cambridge. The traffic was bad, and it took me an hour to reach Hertford. Eventually reaching the A10 I headed north and turned off for Duxford. I met the queue for the road works about half a mile along the road, and it was still some 10 miles to Duxford itself! I turned round and continued up the A10. This would lead me to the M11 and I could go up that and join the A14 to bring me eastwards round Cambridge, back to Bury St. Edmunds and thence to Bungay and home.

I joined the M11 to find it crawling, and so I came off at the next junction that led me into Cambridge itself. The Ring Road is badly signed, and after a circular tour of the centre and past the Fitzwilliam Museum, I finally found a sign for Newmarket. It took me over an hour to negotiate the city.

I finally got home after four and a half hours on the road.

As to the funeral service itself – it was Humanist, and although it was very well taken, it has left me with various questions. My cousin told me that as my aunt was not religious they thought this was the best service to have, and I quite agree. Any funeral has to keep integrity with the person being celebrated, but why then did we listen to a choral recording of the hymn “The King of love my shepherd is,” and say the Lord’s Prayer together? Also, the officiant kept emphasising that my aunt would live on in our lives through our memories that would be with us forever. Actually, they would be with us for the length of our lives, and then, in the Humanist view, on our death they would vanish. This then leaves the grieving relatives with a burden to carry, that it is their responsibility to keep the memories alive so that the person “lives on”. On their death there could be a sense of guilt that their relative will now be forgotten and be “out of mind”.

The Christian faith takes away this sense of responsibility. The person lives on through the gift of eternal life granted by God through Jesus. And it’s into that care and love that we commend them. As the curtains drew together today, we were told once again to keep my aunt alive through our memories of her, and our sharing of those memories.

Well taken, and no doubt absolutely right for many people, but for me it was lacking hope. But then hope is a gift of the Christian faith, and if you are not a believing Christian, then perhaps the hope is not missed.


Aunt Kathleen on her wedding day with her lovely smile

Taking a back seat

Tomorrow there's a drive down to St. Alban's for the funeral of an aunt, and for once I haven't been asked to take this "family" farewell. Which in some ways is a bit of a relief. I haven't attended a funeral as a "spectator" for some 20 or so years. It will be interesting to see if I can sit through the short Crem service and not keep thinking, "I wouldn't have said that", or "I wouldn't do it that way."

I think that it will be good for me.

This drive comes just two days after a trip down to the south coast and friends near Brighton. I called in at Lewes on the way back. I've always liked this view of the Harvey's Brewery from the river.

Right of Way

Driving across to a meeting tonight, road gives way to rail, every time!


Especially when there are no barriers!

Piratical exclamation

AVAAST BEHIND!

Too early

I had my first Christmas card in today's post! It came from a charity I support, along with their Christmas Catalogue. Sorry. Too early. It's all gone straight into the recycle bin!

Stap me vitals!

I've had a complaint that it's too long since my last post, so as the midnight hour draws nigh I'm rectifying the situation.

Tomorrow is TLAP Day! For the uninitiated, that's "Talk Like A Pirate Day".


So expect a lot of timber shivering, barnacle blistering, and other nautical terms as I voyage around me parishes, me hearties! I might even clip a wooden parrot to my shoulder.

So get into the piratical mood, ye bilge rates, pass round the grog, and hoist the Jolly Roger. Arrrr.

The Sparrow

Dietrich was marvellous, but I never saw the other great female singer of the time - one who was a close friend of hers - Edith Piaf. When in Paris in the summer of 1976 I made an attempt to see her grave, but never found it. Something still to do ....

A change of colour

Having put up the post about the "Blue Angel", today was the day for the Spice toilet! Tired of the badly-painted lemon-yellow upstairs convenience, months ago I bought a tin of "Spice" which I thought would look rather smart. So this Saturday was spent with paintbrush and roller in hand, and to the accompaniment of a CD of Noel Coward, firstly putting white on the ceiling, then cutting-in the orange-red around the edges, rolling the walls, and finally doing the gloss whilst the fabric blind was in the wash, A "turn-off brain" day before the spiritual exercise of tomorrow's services. By supper-time I was ready for my large Yorkshire pudding filled with the left-overs of the Thursday braised beef stew. Delicious! However, I forgot to have a glass of red wine with it. Perhaps I'll have one now .....

The Blue Angel

Between May 28th-June 2nd 1973 the great Marlene Dietrich performed at the Theatre Royal in Brighton. I managed to get tickets, and I sat spellbound throughout. She was fantastic, and her stage presence made you forget the rough edges to her voice. I count myself very lucky that I got the chance to see this legend. This clip is from her London show that year.

More reflections

It must be the time of year for remembering. Perhaps it has something to do with the end of Summer and the approach of Autumn. The warmth lessens, the leaves start to turn, there's a sense of change in the air.

Other Bloggers are also looking back. In the Hamptons on Long Island there's an appreciation of more gentle road signs when people knew how to behave on the road. Grandmere Mimi is looking back on the New Orleans she knew and lost to Hurricane Katrina.

And as I sliced the softened oranges, lemons and grapefruit for my Three Fruit Marmalade, and put it to boil in the stove, I was thinking of the ways in which my home town of Brighton has changed, and how much of what I grew up with is no longer there.

My private primary school has become a girls-only part of Brighton College. Brighton, Hove & Sussex Grammar School became a VIth Form College many years ago. Brighton Technical College is now part of a University. And then as I flew further afield: Northumberland College of Education was swept away in reforms soon after the 1970-73 intake left. Moorlands Bible College has dropped the "Bible" part of its name, disposed of the phallic logo, and continues its mission. Salisbury & Wells Theological College has, as mentioned in the previous post, closed its doors to that form of Christian training and become Sarum College instead.

Of all those places, the Bible College is the only one that is still recognisable, and I don't particularly want to return there. I've moved on, and so have they.

And it's the same with my home town. All the shops I grew up with in the Kemp Town area of Brighton have long gone. Mr. Mockford the greengrocer, with his beetroot always on the boil behind a wooden partition. The "Home & Colonial Stores" with the tins of broken biscuits. "Webbs Stores" and its flavoured milk machine where we would buy a carton to slurp on the way down to the beach. "Barnard's", the little TV and electrical shop that had a model railway running around its window. "Fogel's Patisserie" that, being Jewish, was open on Sunday, and from where we would get cream cakes for tea. The Post Office in the old Georgian gymnasium building is now just offices. And the small corner off-licence, "Munnery's", where I worked on and off for 11 years has been closed for a decade or more, and the shop turned into town house accomodation.


The skyline of the new city is completely different from that which I used to see from the top window of our house. We had two open piers. The block of "Sussex Heights" was the tallest thing for miles. And of course, Black Rock has disappeared under the Brighton Marina construction. You can no longer walk from Brighton to Ovingdean Gap and round the corner to Rottingdean and back. That was a wonderful Sunday afternoon walk, and I had an unforgettable wander along part of it one Tuesday afternoon when I was about 13.


One image of Brighton comes back to my mind again and again. When I was about 12 I had a vivid dream of the sea rising up and flooding the town. I was standing in the bay windows of the top floor of the house looking out over the rooftops, and the waves were rushing towards me and breaking on the windows. This was long-before warnings about global warming and rising sea levels. It was long before stories of Meteor impacts and tidal waves. And this same image is as strong with me now as it ever was. At the time I even wrote some of the dream down, and I still have it packed away somewhere.

Premonition? Imagination? I certainly enjoyed the storms that would sweep in, and I would go down to the sea-front and dodge the waves. Time will tell.

The past is another country

At dusk, as I sat in our old Priory church for the Evening Daily Office, I had an intense experience of being in the Private Prayer chapel in the south transept of Salisbury Cathedral.

Twenty-five years ago I began the habit of going across from the Theological College at irregular intervals to sit in silence in that small enclosed chapel and think and pray and meditate before the glorious stained glass window. The bustle of the tourists making their way around the main body of the church was insignificant, and I was able at those times to engage in real heart-searching and an openness to where I might be led as my ministry began.

In the chancel of the rural Priory this evening I became aware of how that world has disappeared. I would not be getting up to walk down through the spacious Cathedral nave and out of the great West doors. I would not be walking across the Close back to the beautiful College building where the bar would be open prior to Supper.

And even if I could get back there, the College has also changed. No longer a place of clerical training, the Entrance Hall has been re-modelled and the wonderful stairwell truncated. The lecture rooms are changed, the Common Room no longer a place of talk and reading, and the new chapel taken over as an expansion of the library. Even the old chapel has become less atmospheric than it was.


You can never go back, and I know that. But just sometimes the loss of what was becomes tangible. Salisbury was the pinnacle of my exploration. It was if I had climbed Mount Everest, and ever since then it has been the journey down. Mountain tops are places for experiencing the holy. Sinai. Tabor. Revelation and Transfiguration. But each time the people had to come back down into the world.


The understanding of this doesn't stop the memories though.

Seasonal confusion

Here in East Anglia over the last few days it really hasn't known if it's Summer or Autumn. This was 5.45 p.m. today, 23rd August. It should be late afternoon summer sun. Instead we have thick drizzle and mist. And the leaves have started falling!

"The old home town ...

... looks the same
as I step down from the train ...."
etc.

And it does in this short film from the You Tube site.

Drizzly Monday

A damp old Monday today, so a little taste of Italian sunshine for this evening's meal - pasta and meatballs in a tomato and marscapone sauce. Okay, I know it's not haute cuisine, but it's cheap and easy, and I feel like it .... not cheap and easy, but pasta and meatballs. Though I ought to admit that the meatballs are not Italain but Swedish, coming from the Ikea store in Milton Keynes. Another fall at the final fence of the Culinary Cup.

Match of the Day (2)

Responding to the request for the football references I used in the recent wedding ....

I welcomed people into the stands, both the home team supporters (bride) and the away team supporters (groom) and hoped there would be no trouble between them. Then the first half "kicked off", through to the Signing of the Registers which was "half-time".

The Marriage Certificate was handed to the bride in an envelope marked "Final Score Certificate" and which was decorated with a picture of a footballer. I apologised to the supporters that there had been no trays of oranges to pass around during the half-time break, but that they would have made too much of a mess on the church floor.

The second half then began (I had thought of bringing a whistle and sounding it, but decided against it). At the end the couple walked out to the theme music from the BBC's "Match of the Day" played with some skill by the organist. Again, I had considered giving the couple a football to dribble down the aisle on their way out, but thought better of it.

Fairly mild really, but how does one compete with a bride who arrives at the church in a "Green Goddess" fire engine?

The greasy spoon

Didn't throw anything into the oven. On opening it I discovered that I hadn't scraped it out following a couple of rather nice pork chops that were grilled earlier in the week. It took me 15 minutes, lots of hot water, de-greasing spray, and an old dishcloth, to clean it! So after that I delved into the freezer, located a tub of left-over home-made chicken stroganoff, threw that into the microwave, and then prepared some cous-cous. It was quite tasty.

And I had two large glasses of shandy!

Match of the Day

7.40 p.m. and just home from the rehearsal for a wedding tomorrow in one of our village churches. This Saturday is the start of the UK Football season (yawn!), so the couple are going for a football motif at the close of their ceremony, having decided to walk out to the theme music of the BBC's "Match of the Day". The score took some finding, but I eventually tracked a copy down, at a price of £12.

There's a lot of talk in the press at the moment of how the average cost of a wedding these days is £20,000. All I can say is that we, the church, don't see much of that. Without the music score, the service tomorrow, use of building, organist, me as the officiant, and the piece of paper to say that they're married, is just under £300. What the heck to do couples spend the other £19,700 on? The reception can't cost that much. I suppose when you include all the dresses, gifts for the bridesmaids etc: it can swiftly mount up, but I don't know how couples afford it. Of course, the answer is that they can't, and it all goes on plastic, so they start their married life together in debt. The old idea of actually saving up for something has long gone.

So I don't feel guilty about asking for the church fees. They are a miniscule portion of the total that will be spent. But in small parishes like ours, struggling to pay our way, they are a valuable bonus.

I shall do my "commercials" tomorrow as usual - welcoming the guests into the parish church, asking them to turn off their mobile phones, and reminding them about the Gift Aid envelopes and that there will be a plate at the back of the church as they leave for their donations towards the ongoing work of that church.

But for now, I shall throw something into the oven for supper, jot down a few ideas for football puns in the service (1928 BCP), and pour myself a large shandy.

As if that wasn't frightening enough ...

Being consigned to the Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts is fairly unsettling. Even worse is to see myself as a character in "The Simpsons"!



And just what the hell am I doing shopping at the "Kwik-E-Mart"? And why have I removed my clerical collar?

The first person to suggest that I'm going browsing amongst the top-shelf magazines will be made the subject of my first "Cursing" class at Hogwarts!

Get Simpsonized here

I'm not sure if this is good or bad

I took the Hogwarts "Sorting Hat ceremony.




I'm a Hufflepuff!

55 years ago today

An ending ....


and a beginning ....

Aaaargh

Incey Wincey Spider
Climbed up the water spout
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out.
Out came the sun
and dried up all the rain
So Incey Wincey Spider
Climbed the spout again.



How did the damn thing get into the sink when the plug was in the hole?

Lammas Day

August 1st, "Hlaef-mass" and the start of the harvest. Signs of late summer with noise and dust as the wheat is cut. And another day without rain!

Close every door to me

No, not a song from "Joseph" and his amazing technicolour underpants, but an instruction for home this evening.




Someone, nearby, has been spreading something abominable on his fields. The smell is vile, and all the windows are closed despite it being warm. Even so, the occasional stench wafts through the living room.

Those who proclaim the perfection of vegetarianism conveniently forget that their cereal and root crops get their nutrients from animal crap. Highly organic, but hardly meat-free! (And that's to say nothing of those vegans who are now refusing to kiss meat-eaters, saying they couldn't possibly touch lips that have chewed meat!)

Ah, the joys of rural life.

A blessing?

There are some days when you just shouldn't get out of bed in the morning.

I was up today at 6.30 a.m. as for the first time I had put an 8.00 a.m. service down on the rota. Being a 5th Sunday of the month, it's our "Benefice Sunday" when we usually only have a single morning service and an evening service, but for a change I had put in an extra early morning event at one of the smaller villages. Even though I organise the rotas, up until 7.30 a.m. I was convinced it was an 8.00 a.m. Holy Communion from the BCP. Then I did a final check, and realised that in fact it was publicised as a Said Morning Prayer. A qick change of robes and off I went.

I arrived back home at 8.35 a.m. and knew I had a bit of time before going off to the main Eucharist, so I had a coffee and put some baking potatoes in a slow oven. Then I was out by 9.10 a.m. arriving at the village church at 9.27 a.m. where I was greeted by the churchwarden asking "Is it that time already?" I then remembered that instead of the service being at our usual time of 9.45 a.m., on a Benefice Sunday it's at 10.30 a.m. A cup of coffee in her kitchen followed.

As the service neared its close I knew that there was a baptism anniversary to mention for a little girl, so after the final hymn I invited her to come out and light a candle and take it back to her seat. Then I said the Dismissal sentence and walked down the back. As people gathered for the refreshments someone remarked to me that I had forgotten the Blessing. So all left the church un-blessed.

It can only get better.

Release valve

Since I took the decision two days ago not to submit my final essay for the short OU Course on "Writing Family History" I have felt less pressured. As I explained to the tutor, I'm not studying for a degree, so the loss of the miniscule 10 points by not completing the course is of no importance. What has been good is the course content itself. I have learnt quite a bit about interpreting the bare Census data, and about how to put it into context with what was going on in society in general at the time. I also thoroughly enjoyed the Block about looking at old photographs and reading the information they contain. So doing the course has been valuable in that it has increased my knowledge. What my daily work did not leave time for was the creation of a 5000 word essay. No big deal. I have all the course papers, I can always reprise the study.

Re-creating virtuality

I have had to spend the better part of the day re-creating the Benefice website since the Site Host failed to inform me that the domain name was due for renewal. The first I learnt of it was when the papers arrived from Nominet telling me I had 10 days to renew at a cost of over £90 or else lose the domain name. Looking on the Host site I was unable to renew the domain there as it kept telling me it was "unavailable". A quick check of the site showed it was down and replaced by a "holding" page.

So I signed us up for another domain, paid the two year fee, and paid the hosting fee, all for an initial cost of £24. A bit cheaper than £90!

So our churches can now be found on
www.suffolksaints.info/
which is a far better name than .org.uk

All things work together for the good ......

Clarity of vision

My goodness - films are wonderful on the new screen, and even TV programmes have an extra pzazz. Mind you, I'm not so sure about the BBC News ..... I could see every pimple on the presenter's neck and forehead. Quite put me off my tuna bap.

I hate spending money

I have just had to transfer several hundred pounds from my savings to my cheque account to cover the purchase of a new television. The old one had never been right from the beginning, and I should have done something about it when it was still under warranty, but I never got round to it. The screen had developed two large kidney-shaped colour distortions, one on either side, which made watching it something of a kaleidoscopic experience. People with purple faces on one side speaking to puce-green ones opposite. Landscapes with brown patches of grass, and skies that would not have looked out of place in the 1950's film "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea" when the Van Allen radiation belt around the earth caught fire.

Over the years these patches on the tube had gradually become worse, and then, in the last couple of weeks the set had developed the annoying habit of turning itself off. At first I thought that I had accidentally touched the remote control "Off" button, but then it started happening more frequently until, three nights ago, I attempted to watch a film, and managed only four and a half minutes of it with the set turning itself off every 40 seconds or so. I then had to wait about two minutes before the power would re-connect and the "stand-by" light come on.



So this morning it has gone to the waste centre, and in its place, courtesy of Mr Tesco, stands a flat-screen, HD ready, Freeview incorporated, black beauty. It took some time, with assistance, to set up, but the image is wonderfully clear, and it's quite exciting to see people with normal-coloured flesh tones.

I should have known better when I bought the previous set. I went to a well-known (in the UK) electronics chain whose name I won't mention - (but if I say Madras, Korma and Tandoori and ask for the word that describes these types of food - let the reader understand) - and bought their own brand as it was cheaper than the others. I've had this brand before and in my experience the quality has always been lacking. So, no-one to blame but myself. Hopefully, Mr. Tesco will prove to be more reliable.

Doh!

Now I like that ....



And all done with washable paint. The Cerne Abbas giant has never looked so good.

I pinched this image from "Mad Priest's" blog. There's great stuff there.

The back's fine, but ....

This is absolutely the last medical entry .....

There's nothing worse than someone bleating on about their ailments.

Lammas or Llamas?

With just one mis-matched letter, a search on the Internet for an appropriate picture to grace the cover of next month's Benefice magazine can throw up suprising results.

I put in a Google Image search for "Lammas" since the August issue covers this agricultural feastival marking the start of the harvest and the baking of a communion loaf from the new wheat.

The results show hundreds of pagan and celtic images of the Green man and the sun-god Lugh, but only a few Christian pictures, mostly of choral record covers. However, Google also showed lots of pictures of llamas, including this one:



Now I don't think I can put that on the cover of next month's magazine.

Then again .....

Wet

First there's the humidity ..... which has meant three changes of tops in one afternoon .....

Then I finally made it to the local swimming pool to start doing something about the "spare tyre". (I bought the book of Entry tickets in October 2005 and I've used 3 since then!)

And lastly, another thunderstorm has just passed over. Last year we had a total of 9 thunder days. Today's brought this year's total to 9 so far, and there's still the remainder of the summer to go! I think 2007 is going to be a noisy one!

Improving mobility

Well, at least I can now reach my feet to wash them, pull on my socks, and tie my own shoelaces! (Have you ever tried putting on a sock with one hand? It's not easy!)

Proper 9 - Year C

This is not a Sunday for congregants of a delicate nature.

They have to cope with Isaiah's "consoling breast" and "glorious bosom", and bodies flourishing like the grass.

And then Paul delights in talking about "corruption from the flesh" and "circumcision" and "uncircumcision" at some length.

It's enough to make a maiden aunt blush!

1000 words

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, so instead of writing another 985 words, here's the picture ....
... and it's been that way since last Thursday.

Which made an interment of ashes on Friday quite interesting. Since it was a "no funeral director" event, I had to ask one of mourners to put the casket into the hole. They didn't look happy at doing it, but it was that, or watch me throw it in from 6 foot above. They chose the more dignified option.

And the doctor's advice? .... "Lie flat on the bed and get your leg over."

I don't think the Bishop would approve somehow .... Or am I misunderstanding the directions?

Separating memories

I wonder why certain words, sights, sounds or smells trigger memories, especially when there seems no connection. There I was, officiating at the altar, and I caught the edge of the paten as I picked up the chalice. The paten tipped and brown bread flirted across the corporal. For some unknown reason, into my mind came an image of a bottle of Seager's Egg Flip. I lost concentration and started to administer the wine with the words, "The body of our Lord Jesus Christ ...."

I ought to explain the significance of the product.

In the 1970's I worked in a small independant Off-licence in Brighton. A staple of the shelves was "Egg Flip" - a poor man's advocaat. It looked fine, but unless the bottle was shaken every couple of weeks it started to separate into a yellow mass at the bottom and a thinnish grey liquid at the top. It stood next to a very slow seller - three bottles of Sloe Gin that never moved in the 11 years I worked there. We had just one regular customer for the Egg Flip who had a bottle every couple of weeks. Unfortunately, they became irregular, and we received a telephone call: "Could we cancel our order for the wife's Egg Flip? It's binding her up!"

Golden evening

The one thing about stormy weather is that it produces some glorious sunsets ...

We've had it easy

It's been a bit darn wet across the Midlands the last couple of days, and more rain is forecast, but here in NW Suffolk we've got off lightly. Heavy showers and quite a few of them thundery, but nothing like the torrential rain that's flooded Sheffield and other places.

Since the ditch next to the Old Post Office was filled in, the rain has nowhere to go, and consequently there's always a "pond" on the corner of the access to Church Farm in wet weather, (and I'm tempted to float a little yellow plastic duck in it), but the hefty rain we've had has made it expand a bit ....

Flaming June ?

It's also been a bit wet here the last couple of days. More is forecast.


(and I can't claim I took this picture, even though I wish I had ... )

Photo credit: Pat Wong

The "studying blues"

"I have learned more from my mistakes than from my successes."

So said the inventor of the Miner's Safety Lamp, Sir Humphry Davy (1778 - 1829). Right from childhood we're taught that success is good and failure is bad. At school, prizes went to those who gave the correct answers, or won the Sports Day events. For those who gave the wrong answers or came last in the race, there was sarcasm and dismissal.

I still recall being put into the "1 Mile Race" at the Grammar School Sports. Four laps of the circuit, and I came in last, huffing and puffing, to the jeers of the other members of Pelham House. I wasn't a runner then, and I've never been a runner. I'm not built for it. I can walk - long distances if I have to, and I can swim, over 120 lengths in one session about 6 years ago when I was fit, but I can't run.

Then there was French. At school I was useless at it. I even scored the legendary 1% in the end of year exam and was thrown out of the class. I then did German for a term until they threw me out of that as well. (It was the same teacher!) I ended up doing triple art periods, plus triple Private Sudy periods for my last year. You were only ever supposed to have double of one or the other. I was labelled an academic failure, though looking back on it I have now reversed that opinion and consider that the school failed me. I now get by in French reasonably well, and when I holiday in the Lot-et-Garonne I can make myself understood, and understand the replies. No lengthy conversations, but I have a basic competance.

And so here I am struggling with a short 12-week Open University course and considering that I might not actually complete it. There are various reasons.

Firstly, the workload of ministry leaves little time for private study, even though I have tried to keep various afternoons free of meetings. I haven't touched the course this last week, mainly because there has been the monthly Parish magazine to compile and get off to the printers. (It went in the post this morning!)

Secondly, I think that the amount of course work one is expected to get through in this short time is excessive. The Introductory Notes say that I can expect to spend 6 hours per week on the course. This is a laughable estimate. It's more like double. And there's a major 5,000 word essay at the end. All this for no qualification but 10 points on the OU scale that can be put towardas a degree (300 points).

Thirdly, I'm finding that I'm not really in step with the academic nature of the questions. I read the material and I look at the questions and I think, "What the hell are they asking?" I then look at the specimin answers and say, "Well, I know that, but how is that an answer to the question?"

So I am asking myself, "Why am I doing this?" I said in an earlier Blog that it was because I wanted to study something outside of ministry and church. That's still the case, but maybe, for me, this is not the right way of doing it.

I'm not giving up yet, but if I do, then I shall have to come to terms with my failure to complete it. It rankles a bit, especially since I know I'm not stupid. I passed the Mensa entrance test some years ago and became a member. Well, I was a member for two years until I worked out that I was being asked to pay a subscription of £25 a year for absolutely nothing. I wasn't that daft, and they'd proved it.

I know ...

... it's time I posted some more amazing deep thoughts. However, it's a Sunday night and the Chinese take-away is about to arrive, so my concerns at present are warming the plates and wondering why my desk light is starting to flicker ....

Maybe tomorrow ....

Cross country travel

A drive across several counties tomorrow as I travel over to Milton Keynes to visit my mother a few days after her 94th birthday. Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, Bedfordshire and Buckinghamshire. People say that you either love M.K. or loathe it. I'm one of those who love it, concrete cows and all. I like the grid pattern of main roads that allow you to get around or across the city quickly. I like the way that all footpaths and cycle paths are separated from the roads so that there are no pedestrians running under your wheels or cyclists blithely riding two abreast in front of you. (Whatever happened to the Highway Code instruction that they should ride in single file? Try telling that to the lycra-clad sweating red-faced cyclists that speed around our narrow lanes training for the next event down the main A-road). I like the way each suburb is clustered around a village centre with small shops and sometimes a pub. I like the main shopping Mall with its long parallel corridors of bargain and temptation. And then there's the new IKEA store right near where my mother is in Bletchley. Always good for an hour or so of browsing, wondering how you've ever managed without a rubber spatula or green plastic mincing machine. I'm still looking for two matching single bed-heads, and know exactly what I want, but can't recall where I saw them. I also just laugh at the prices! There's no way I'm spending £150 or so just to replace the mis-matched ones I have in the spare room at present.

So, it will be "tea" with Mother, after she comes back from one of her outings to the Red Cross Day centre. No doubt the TV will be on as she won't want to miss her daily shows, even if I'm there. God save me from becoming that dependant on the illuminated box when I age that I prefer it to real people. Even now I toy with the idea of getting rid of the TV altogether. I could manage with a DVD player and screen without a tuner, and then I could sit back and watch film after film. With radio for the news and weather and selected plays and programmes, I think I could adjust quite quickly. One of these days ....

The calm after the storm

Early morning, with a clear blue sky and sunshine stroking the tops of the trees that line the hill at the back of my friends' house. A big change from yesterday when the wind was gusting and the rain falling. It was a typical "wet Whitsun" Bank Holiday Monday.

The local Sainsbury's in Newhaven was heaving yesterday morning when I went in for essential supplies - Tarte au Citron, roast vegetable crisps, and a bottle of Raspberry and Wild Lavender presse - queues at the Checkouts 6 deep, and very narrow spaces in the car park outside. But I had to go, since even though I had been told that I didn't need to take anything to the lunch we were going to, one can't arrive empty-handed.

Needless to say, we didn't sit out in the garden and eat under the gazebo that was threatening to take to the skies and fly away over the South Downs. Instead we sat in the conservatory and nattered and ate and drank, though not neccessarily in that order. I probably had about three glasses of red wine too many, but they did complement the rather fine and ancient Brie and fragrant Dolcelatte.

So later on this morning I shall leave the salt air and rolling Downs and head back to the flat farmland of the Waveney river. I shall not drive down to Newhaven docks and jump on a Transmanche Ferry for France. (I didn't bring my passport with me!) I shan't even go into Brighton and ferret through the local postcards in the main Collector's shop. (The last time I looked my collection was better than theirs!) Instead I shall drive through the Cuilfail Tunnel into Lewes, head up to Royal Tunbridge Wells, and then onto the dreaded M25 for the Dartford Crossing. Once north of the Thames it's the long slog north-east through Essex and into Suffolk, and I usually take a break at Ipswich at the large Tesco's at Copdock. (Average coffee but the opportunity to buy supplies for supper.) Another hour after that and I should be back in "The Saints".

It's a busy mobile world. There are still a few people in the 11 Saintly parishes who have never travelled out of the area in which they were born. Perhaps it would do us who travel without much thought good to stop and look with new eyes where we actually are once in a while. We might hear that "still small voice" that speaks in the silence.

Listen to the pouring rain

One of my favourite songs from the great Jose Feliciano, and it always comes to mind when I sit, as I am tonight, listening to heavy rain thundering on the roof. I'm not at home tonight, but staying a couple of days with friends down on the south coast, and it's pouring, monsoon-like.

Growing up in Brighton I loved the south-westerly gales that would sweep in, the howling wind funneling up the sea-front streets making it difficult to stay upright, and the driving salt-tainted rain running down the windows of my flat, situated on the top floor of a three-storey terraced house overlooking the playing fields of Brighton College.

I just like extremes of weather, which is why I'm a Thunderstorm Observer for TORRO, and why climate change interests me. I will sit outside under the shelter of a porch and watch lightning. I will gaze out of the window watching the growing flood over the gravelled area in front of the village church that we've nicknamed "Brighton Beach". I will watch the clouds for evidence of tornado formation, and have seen the embryonic swirling that has about 20 minutes later produced a waterspout off Lowestoft.

So the rain continues to hammer on the roof tonight and gurgle loudly in the overflowing gutters ... just the sort of lullaby I like.

Study

Back in the early 1970’s, when I was at Teacher Training College in Northumberland, I had a poster on my wall that was very popular at the time.

The more I learn the more I know
The more I know the more I forget
The more I forget the less I know
So why learn??

It seemed then, and to an extent still seems now, to capture something of the dilemma of learning. Why do we continually push ourselves to learn more, be it about a specific subject in a formal setting, or just in the realms of life experience, such as travelling and seeing new sights? Clearly something in our nature is inquisitive. Something in our make-up wants to know the answer to, as Douglas Adams put it, “Life, the universe, and everything.”

Of course, if you’re a reader of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” you’ll know that the answer is 42. I always found it rather interesting that in the 1980 Alternative Service Book, paragraph 42 was The Lord’s Prayer. The answer to everything? The New Testament would have us believe so.

Yet away from the more esoteric questioning, some of us are periodically driven to study for learning’s sake. Two years ago I did a home-study course on Interior Design, and gained the equivalent of another “A Level”. Now I’ve embarked on a 12-week OU course on “Writing Family History”. The time required is more intense than that asked for by the Design course, but it’s just as rewarding. Currently I’m working through how to interpret the bare bones of Census Records and Birth, Marriage and Death certificates. To a certain extent I know what the certificates contain since I complete Marriage documentation several times each year, and I’ve seen enough of the other two types to know what to look for. When it comes to the Census records though I’ve learnt about the different methods that were used to record the information since the first one was taken at the start of the 19th century, and what you can deduce from entries and omissions. It’s really quite interesting, and a bit challenging. And although this isn’t going to get me a qualification at the end, apart from 10 points towards a Degree, the reason I signed up for it, and paid the fee, was that I felt I needed a bit of a challenge that was outside of my sphere of work. I suppose it’s the equivalent of getting in the car and going out for a long drive to pastures new. And with three holiday days this week, I’ve been able to get down to it in a systematic fashion.

Whether I still feel like this when my first Assignment is due in a couple of weeks, we’ll see.

Must go - the sausage casserole is ready.

A time for meetings and a time for life

Some weeks since I posted to this Blog, and no excuse except that I’ve been busy. Post-Easter should be a time when things get easier, but with all the Annual Meetings to be held before the close of April, I was rarely at home in the evenings for the last fortnight of the month. Now these are all over for another 12 months, the pressure is off slightly, which is just as well as I have just begun a 12-week Open University course on “Writing Family History”. This is the first time I have studied with the OU, and I thought that a short course such as this would be a good introduction to their way of doing things and the commitment involved. I’ve managed to install the software required, have “logged on” to the OU course site, and made sure that I am able to successfully send my Assignments electronically. I’ve also looked in on the “Forum” as there are 5 “on-line” Tutorials that I should interact with, one every fortnight. I’m working my way through Block 1 of the material and am finding it quite interesting. If I complete it successfully I don’t get anything other than 10 points towards a Degree and the personal satisfaction of having kick-started my brain into studying mode again.

On the Benefice front, one of our churches is currently the target for thieves who are systematically stripping the lead from the nave roof. They have already paid us two visits and I suspect they will return again to this “soft target” which is somewhat isolated and with no over-looking neighbours. Not a lot we can do about this except leave it in the hands of the Lord and the local constabulary. Even if they are not brought to justice in the here and now, they will have to account for their actions at a later and final date. For us, it’s just a reminder that our buildings are but the outward visible sign of the invisible true church.

For a short time in the late 1970’s I attended a gathering known as “The Invisible Church” that met in Earl’s Court, London. At first sight it seemed a standard evangelical “free” church, and I enjoyed the worship times I managed to get to, but that little warning bells began to ring as the longer-term members started to talk about their pastor, Nelson. In conversation it was “Nelson says this”, and “Nelson says that we should…” Rarely were the phrases “The Gospel says …” or “Jesus told us that …” used. It became clear that Nelson was the final arbiter of what was said and thought for the members of this church, and so I left.

At the time I was working in Kilburn and commuting up and down from my flat in Brighton every day. I usually caught the 5.50 p.m. train from Victoria, but on the Tuesday evenings when I went across to the Invisible Church in Earl’s Court, I got the later train at around, as far as my memory serves, 10.15 p.m. This particular night in mid-December I was caught in conversation at the close of the church meeting, and consequently I was late arriving at Victoria. I ran onto the concourse to see my train just pulling out of the station, and I had to wait for the next one at just after 11.00 p.m. I got onto it and we set off down to the coast. About half-way through the hour-long journey the train stopped, and we sat there for about half-an-hour wondering what was causing the delay. Then the guard came through the compartments telling us that there had been an “incident” on the line ahead of us and that we would have to take an alternative route into Brighton. This extended journey took us to Lewes where we arrived at half-past midnight, to find a platform full of stranded travellers. They boarded our train and we got into Brighton station at about 1.10 a.m.

The next morning I woke to the news that a train from London had crashed at the Clayton tunnel, and there had been several fatalities in the front coaches. I realised that this was the train I had run for at Victoria, and missed. I usually sat in the front section of the train so that the walk down Brighton platform was shorter, and if I had caught that train I would have been involved in the accident.
Everything has its reason, and I look back on my fleeting involvement with the Invisible church with mixed feelings. If I hadn’t been going there in the first place, I would not have been catching the later train. But having gone, I could see there was a reason why I was delayed that particular evening. What this has done is not only give me a sense of the leading and provision of God’s care for us, but also it has taught me not to accept without question the underlying practices of any church, peripheral or mainstream.

Currently I am suspicious of the recent consecrations of hundreds of bishops in Nigeria, and the intention of that church to send 120 bishops to the next Lambeth conference. This will mean that their particular take on scriptural interpretation and human sexuality will be out of proportion to the voices of those who accept human difference as part and parcel of what it means to be human.

We’ll wait and see.