Wading in the Water

To the theatre to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Group. I have to confess that I have a bit of a mixed relationship with watching dance. Last time I went it was to see the critically acclaimed Swan Lake. 
When everyone ran on and did their dancy bit I was quite captivated at first. Then everyone ran off. Then everyone ran on and did what looked like the same dancy bit again. Then everyone ran off. Then they all ran on again. It seemed to go on for a very long time. Also the swan - who I assume was the one in the title, (it's never really made that obvious) seemed to take an awfully long time to die. I mean, he was looking a bit wan through most of it but when he kept swooning and then rallying I began to lose patience. I was on the verge of offering to go up and club it to death myself to put us all out of our misery but apparently that would have been unwelcome.
Alvin Ailey was much more like it as far as I was concerned. 
Point One 
Everyone in it was excessively beautiful. This is very surface of me but I like a lovely looking gang of jiggy people.
Point Two
It was very accessible, split into twenty minute segments. There were two intervals which might have invited excessive alcohol consumption at the bar if the price of a glass of wine were not the same as six bottles from Aldi.
Point Three
The music - atmospheric hip-hop through to old time gospel - was fantastic. The sight of twenty people dancing rather wonderfully to Wade in the Water makes all the tingles happen on the back of your neck. 
Highly Recommended.

Samaritan Muscles

Whenever we go to London, if we choose things to do that only one of us want to go to, the pact is that the other person goes and goes in a good humour even if it is something we are not that fussed about. HOH came with me to Westminster Abbey and remained patient as I wandered captivated among tombs of the great and the good and I went with him to the National Gallery to see some paintings. We went to see an exhibition of the painting collections of famous painters. So we looked at the private collections of people like Joshua Reynolds, Matisse, Freud and a few people I had never heard of but what do I know?

I thought it was fascinating actually. I am no expert but some of these paintings were breathtaking and I am always struck by seeing famous paintings in the flesh - probably because I am a bit shallow. I particularly liked this one by Jacopo Bassano (no idea). It is a painting of the Good Samaritan. If you squint, you can probably see the religious people who ignored the man who fell amongst thieves, sneaking away in the background. What struck me about this was how much the Samaritan is putting in to helping the victim. He is really having to put his back into it. It is not just an inconvenience - it's a strain. He has bound wounds, brought the donkey over and is heaving the man onto it. Everything taking effort. It's impressive I think; the way it shows kindness. Kindness is a very muscular sort of phenomenon. No wishy-washy thinking of nice thoughts and not doing anything about it here. Sometimes I find the most pathetic kindnesses difficult - I'm a bit shy of the Big Issue seller or phoning someone who is unwell is a big effort for me. Not because I don't care - just because I wonder if they will think I am interfering. Sometimes I suppose you just need to roll your sleeves up and get on with it - like this chap here. If you want to make a kindness impact you have to get over yourself a bit.

Rediscovery

When I did A Level English (It was a long time ago - I think Moses was in my class) we read Corridors of Power by C P Snow.

In those days we would work our way through a book by taking turns to read a bit of it out loud in class. (I'm not sure how they work through books in class these days - probably by entering some kind of virtual reality portal together) Reading round the classroom was guaranteed to kill any interest a book may have had stone dead as bored, droney voices are not conducive to falling in love with a story. One particular girl, who wasn't paying attention, informed the room that the hero of the book "felt as though he had been missilled" (as in from a torpedo tube rather than misled - which was how the protagonist really felt.) This immediately entered the vocabulary of the whole class and even now sometimes something can "missile" me.

The other legacy was an immediate falling in love with the characters in the Strangers and Brothers series. I didn't just read the curriculum book, I went to the library and worked my way through the whole series. (It would probably have been more helpful to my A Level prospects to pay more attention to the book we had been assigned but there you are) Anyway, the last couple of times I was mooching in charity shops, I came across old copies of two of the books. They are a bit battered and the print is a lot smaller than I remember but reading them feels like meeting old friends and it is actually a very nice thing. 

Worry

"The Bible says that the Lion will lay down with the lamb but it doesn't necessarily say that the lamb will get much sleep." Woody Allen

This is a much quoted (and probably mis-quoted) Woody Allen quotation. I struggled to find the original quote and this may well not be right. In fact it is loosely based on Isaiah 11:6 This is it in the Message.

The wolf will romp with the lamb,
    the leopard sleep with the kid.
Calf and lion will eat from the same trough,
    and a little child will tend them.
Cow and bear will graze the same pasture,
    their calves and cubs grow up together,
    and the lion eat straw like the ox.


This bit comes just after the promise of the coming of Jesus - a Green Shoot from Jesse's stump. It's a lovely bit of the Bible - full of hope and promise. The thing that the Woody Allen quote does to me (apart from making me snigger like a two year old behind my hand because I am not sure if I should be laughing at it) is it reminds me that sometimes - even in the mist of the miraculous - when I can see God working on my behalf or I know that he is more than able to sort things - I can still choose to chew things over. I still tend to continue to worry and to fret as if God can do nothing. I have known myself so fraught about something, that even if God does sort it, I am too exhausted by worry to enjoy it. It's my choice. I can do as I am told and leave worry behind for peace that comes with believing that God does miracles - or I can carry around my personal basket of woes and keep dipping into it. As a young person (and everyone is young these days I find) said at the front of church - "God is always up to something" And I think he is, it is up to me whether or not I join in.

Special

Plymouth Herald

*Walks in dragging soapbox behind.*

You may wish to go elsewhere but I am going to sound a bit miserable.

Aren't the Paralympics amazing? It is so good to see that, after all the dire warnings about the whole thing collapsing in a heap of indifference and lack of finances, everything is going very well indeed.
Looking at the athletes, I am so impressed by them and everything that they have achieved and it is heartening how far we have come in our acceptance of the disabled into our society. The thing is, however, that these athletes are very easy to admire. The setbacks they have overcome, the dreams that have come true for them, they are marvellous. They are also very unusual - a tiny, tiny proportion of the disabled in this country. So what if you are disabled but without the charms of Ellie Simmonds or the hotness rating of Jonnie Peacock?
Last week a lady who works for us had a genius idea to increase our profile in the city. She organised a Sponsored Scoot - arranging for a group of mobility scooter users to "conga" through the city. The newspaper covered the event and all went well, except when we read the comments section below the picture above, when it appeared on the paper's website. Many of the comments were unedifying, with reference to scooters getting in the way and the obesity of the riders. You don't have to be Doctor Bob to know that there are many causes of obesity - not everyone who is overweight is eating for England. For example, one of our clients has severe Spina Bifida. Her movements are laboured and exercise is impossible. Another has a drug regime which leads to weight gain. Everything is not always as it seems at first glance.
So before we all pat ourselves on the back because of how far we have come with our acceptance of the disabled, the truth is that we still have a long way to go. Not all disabled people qualify under our definition of "Special" where we look at these fantastic athletes and are amazed by what they achieve. When we make equal amounts of room in society for those who deal with pain every morning and those for whom a trip to town takes gargantuan amounts of planning and guts - then, I think, we can talking a bit more about having sorted out this equality stuff.. 

Points To Note

Ed Balls is on Strictly - Hurrah! Love Ed Balls. Am trying to ignore that one of the finest minds in politics (whatever your political persuasion - this is a true thing) is spending Saturday nights putting his considerable brain to use in remembering steps to the Argentine Tango. I mean, I love a bit of dumbing down as much as the next person but really.

FOW2 returns to Exeter University tomorrow. Bit early but as she has a weekend job selling expensive face cream to Chinese students who seem to have money to burn - she is going back to make that easier. (Last week, I spent an idle thirty seconds waiting for zebra crossing lights to change, counting the designer labels on a young, beautiful Chinese student standing next to me. I got to seven before the little green man flashed.) 

For those of you feeling sorry for me because we are sprog free (or jealous, depending on how you feel about these things) do not worry for FOW1 is returning to the fold in a couple of weeks. Doing a Masters has taken it out of him and he feels some time in the bosom of his family - having his meals cooked and forgetting how to close drawers after himself, is just what the doctor ordered. 

I am possibly the only person in the United Kingdom who isn't that keen on Sunday Night Telly. Although Poldark certainly has its charms and I am sure Victoria is ably filling Downton sized holes, they just don't do it for me. I apologise - I am sure it is my fault. I am not sure why. Anyway HOH has claimed telly to watch Beck on catch up. I saw the first charred body and retired to the kitchen.

Am loving Bake Off. There is just something so lovely about it. All that smiling through gritted teeth and laughing when you want to cry as your gingerbread London skyline falls over. It is truly a great programme. Can I ask - would anyone ever really want a gingerbread structure commemorating a great event in your life? Not me I don't think. I'd just rather have that raspberry cake thing that Selasi made last week. I reckon I could get all that in my mouth in one go. 

Went to Woody Allen film Cafe Society as promised. I always expect to get heckled as I go in to Woody Allen films for obvious and perfectly understandable reasons. However, I liked the film as usual - even though, these days, you often feel you have seen him make this film twenty times before, it still makes me laugh. 

Anyway, Monday tomorrow. The leaves are falling, it's dark in the morning, HOH has his Autumn cold and Cardworld has Christmas cards in. I don't get my cards from Cardworld because I feel a bit guilty about sending cards that are so cheap that you can see through them. Also, I don't send cards. Not really. 

I leave you with Aged Parent's damming conclusion about her friend who as just had an upsetting diagnosis. It is both anatomically uncertain and upsetting in its finality but that's old people for you.

"He has three cancers - one in his prostrate, one in his lung and one in a very dodgy place indeed. So that's it if you ask me."

Childish

I am in the middle of a cinema fallow period. We go to the flicks a lot but there hasn't been a lot to see this summer - not the stuff I like anyway. HOH has been to see the Bourne movie and liked it very much. FOW1 has enjoyed seeing a bikini clad Blake Lively, on a rock in the sea being terrorised by a shark I have no idea if the main attraction was Blake Lively in a swimsuit or the actual film. Probably a bit of both. As FOW 2 is a film student she has not been too bothered about leaving alone for a while. I wanted to go to the pictures so I dragged various people to two children's films. There is a lot of creativity (and money) going in this direction.

First up was The BFG. Steven Spielberg's version of the beloved Roald Dahl book. And it really is beloved - in this house as well as loads of others, so the film-makers are up against that before they even start. We had a cassette tape that we used to play in the car that miraculously turned trips where children were in danger of being abandoned at motorway service stations to journeys where everyone was giggling hysterically. A real gift. Spielberg's version is very good, beautifully produced and written. Everyone is great in it and if you have no emotional attachment to the book - it is perfectly fine. For me - it wasn't my BFG so it wasn't quite the same. 

The next thing I went to see was Finding Dory - The Pixar cartoon. This was equally lovely. The tiny baby Dory is almost worth the ticket price alone. There is a very clever piece where Dory - who has short term memory loss - gets lost and her panic and bewilderment are supposedly based on the feelings of people with dementia. It was very moving. Also moving and I think a bit pinched from stories I have read about God's grace - is a bit where Dory fears her parents have forgotten her and finds out that they really REALLY haven't. It's lovely. 

There are certainly worse ways to spend a couple of hours. Me, I am on alert now for the new Woody Allen - due on Friday. I know, I know. I just love the films. What can I say?

T'Internet Thinking

If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.

1 Corinthians 13

I have, as you may have noticed been a bit taken aback by the Internet. Ah, the Internet. Where would we be without the Internet? There is a compelling argument that we would be doing very nicely thank you very much but we can’t deny that life is very different under the influence of the Internet. I love the Internet for lots of things – I love watching the telly at night and as I grope though my failing faculties and find I really can’t remember where I have seen that actress before, it really is great to be able to just slam her name into a search engine and get my sanity back. I love Social Media (mostly) I have friends and family all over the place and being able to see what they are up to is a great blessing for the vast majority of the time. (Sometimes I would rather not know to be honest but that is probably as a result of my own extensive capacity to worry and I need to get over it.)

Do you know what I hate on the Internet? All the pontificating. Do you know what I hate even more on the Internet? Christian Pontificating. Nothing makes my heart sink faster than someone I have never heard of, asking to follow me or popping up in my Inbox, and then reading on their bio “Amy/ Adam is a modern day prophet who speaks wisdom into YOUR life” Oh Good. Looking forward to it. Why are they picking on me? The Internet is full of people who have at last found the platform they were waiting for. They have a place at last to tell everyone how they think it should be done and they are going to do it. Now there is a place for wisdom and sharing of that wisdom. There is a place for those who have studied and developed their thinking to share that what they have found with us. In the olden days that used to be called preaching. I also know that some of the great minds have sat together and reasoned and come away with deep insights into the Word of God that they have passed on and these have cooled our struggling souls. That used to be called writing a book.

I can get very intimidated by the opinion formers and the wise (these are not necessarily the same people). They shout loudly, they obviously know stuff, they certainly know more than me, although that’s a low bar to be honest. Some of these people though define themselves by the fact that they can teach us. They find their security in their superiority. They forget sometimes to remind us that it isn’t about that camp or this camp. You don’t always need to choose a banner to march under. There are people out there that need someone to love them and ask questions afterwards.

As my old mother would say ...

I am an old person now, I will not try to deny it. But have you ever looked at something and thought "What is that?" Katie Hopkins' Tweet about the young men who lost their lives on Camber Sands has probably had too much publicity already but I just can't make it compute in my head. What was it meant to achieve? Clicks? Notoriety? There are five families and many more friends grieving for sons who won't come home after a day trip to the beach. This is a real thing - not an Internet thing, not an opinion piece. I assume Katie Price loves her children. I would have thought she would have some empathy for these people. What on earth is behind it? Then I thought about it and a phrase my often bewildered Aged Parent uses "What is it all coming to? It's wicked isn't it?" Wicked - "evil or morally bad in principle or practice". It's not a word I use very often, but here it seems to fit well. "Wicked" - wicked to poke fun at the grieving and wicked to use their sorrow to advance your own faintly dubious career. It's a strong word but it fits I think.

A Day and a Life

You never know with a book do you? If anyone had told me how much I would mourn the passing of a series if books about a 15th century monastery and the people who live in and around it, I would have struggled to believe it. Yet here it is - the last in the Hawk and the Dove series by Pen Wilcock and I for one will certainly miss it. 
The monks are not there as an excuse to talk about ideas. They are presented as fully rounded human beings - with all the faults and lovely things that humans have, examined in equal measure. Father Peregrine - initially misunderstood but eventually adored is a personal favourite.  First and foremost, these are great stories where lots of things happen to people you really care about. Then you start to see how life has shaped these people and continues to do so. Their faith in God is often tested but God is also is their bedrock. 
In this final instalment, a novice goes missing. His absence affects everyone as they worry and pray for him. However, life goes on and the various members of the monastery continue to fulfil their very necessary responsibilities in the group.
In some ways this quite a courageous way to finish a series. An awful lot of stuff happens in the previous books. In this - not so much. You get to read about disciplines and individuals and their place in the community. If you are interested in these books, I would suggest that you don't start here. (Why would you? It's the last one in the series!) I would start with the first one (unsurprisingly) and I really do recommend the life affirming people of St Alcuin to you. 

It's not a voice I recognise

So "Christian Voice" tweeted this. I hesitated to give this any publicity but I think I need to let anyone with a passing interest know that how stupid I think this is.

Where to start?

• What part of that sentence can you ever, ever imagine Jesus Tweeting?
• "Turning Gay"? Seriously? Who writes your tweets? Queen Victoria?
• When did positioning yourself as a "Christian Lobby group" give anyone the right to become an Internet troll - because that is what this is.
• You ain't lobbying for me mate. Not in my name. I'd be grateful if you could find another word than Christian to put in your title. You have brought the name into disrepute.
• How is this Christian? To grubbily rejoice in someone's failure?
• It's not even logical - apart from there being lots of gay medal winners in Team GB - why, for instance would God punish Tom Daley but reward Nicola Adams or the Richardson-Walshes in the Women's Hockey Team? It's just embarrassing.
• Tom Daley had a bad day and the correct Christian response is that of the Samaritan who bears up and heals wounds. 

Your sir or madam are a buffoon and should be issuing a profuse apology.  *Blogger smacks Tweeter on each cheek with kid glove and turns on her heels in disgust*

Hoots Mon!

There's a moose loose aboot this hoose!

For readers of a younger disposition - no one needs to write to Nicola Sturgeon and complain about any anti-Scottish casual racism. It's an old song by Lord Rockingham's XI and if you are that bothered you can Google it. I am getting off the subject which is that there is - a moose - loose - in this house. We have a fireplace in our bedroom. We never use it but the chimney is open and we were in bed reading when we heard a noise in the chimney. I thought it might be soot but I looked right to see something small and brown scurrying from the fireplace under the wardrobe. Arrrgh!
It had obviously fallen down the chimney. It's not so much the mouse itself - it's the unexpected skittering that does your head in. HOH was dispatched to find it while I did an excellent impression of the maid from the Tom and Jerry cartoons - refusing to move from the bed.

HOH   "What do I do if I find it?"
Me      "No idea - your problem."

I am then dispatched to kitchen to bring back something "Useful". I return with a brush, a torch and Morecambe - our Jack Russell. The torch proves to be by far the most useful. The brush only provokes "Brilliant - just what we need - something to do a little light sweeping" sarcasm. The dog is excited at being invited upstairs at night and promptly settles down on my pillow. He doesn't seem to be picking up any mouse vibes. HOH uses the torch to look at the back of the wardrobe and sees a tiny little mouse with his head down seemingly waiting for a hammer to fall. HOH is immediately in love with small creature, replaces wardrobe carefully and announces that he is going to bed. Dog is returned to his cage and is not happy about it. Only option that I am left with is to go to bed - especially as HOH has turned off the light and I am left standing on the bed in total darkness. 
So the tiny, tiny mouse is still wild and free somewhere. It looked like an outside mouse to us so I am hoping it has succumbed to the call of the wild and gone back outside. 
As for our resident humane mouse catcher. He, as you can see, remains unconcerned.

Here

I'm not entirely sure how I have the nerve to just turn up here and start talking again. If you have all gone away to pastures new, I really would understand. It's not as if I have a terrific excuse. No deaths or sinister diseases. No great life changes. I was just exhausted. Not from blogging - it's hardly the most exacting thing in the world - at least the way I do it, it isn't. Just life seemed to catch up with me in lots of different ways and I sincerely couldn't think of one single bright or even not completely dim thing to say to you. So I didn't. Didn't say anything. So sorry about that. Now, however, I am well into a much needed staycation and am feeling much better. Just not going anywhere has done me a power of good. (Well, we went to London and I will chat about that at a later date)

I have tidied the blog up a bit and updated some photos. I really couldn't expect everyone to keep staring at that photo from my brother's civil ceremony which is now very old indeed. However, when you only take a flattering photo once every ten years - you like to stick with what you have. I have been writing a bit away from the blog and am putting some more work into that. I have lots of things on my mental plate at the moment. I don't ever want to feel that tired again and am looking at how to slow down - physically, mentally, spiritually. I am also doing some of your actual musing on my spiritual life  - who I am as a Christian, where my church fits in - indeed where I fit in, in my church. We are neither of us encumbered by needing to attend a church with a good youth group anymore and I am not sure if I need somewhere else. We have made no decisions - we are praying. Nothing exciting may happen.

I have been particularly struck by a post by Pen Wilcock about a retreat she was leading. I couldn't attend it unfortunately - work made the weekend just un-doable but the subject matter had been buzzing round my head. She talked about women of a certain age. I suppose mid-fifties or so. we may have raised our kids, have an elderly parent to er...parent but are still working and don't feel as if it is done for us at all. Yet - what is there to do? What if you get to that age and still aren't sure you have found your place? Is it too late? I'm sure it can't be. Sometimes, I am excited by endless optimism about God's plans and my possibilities. At other times I feel he has moved on to a younger model - one who is a bit more obedient and doesn't ask stupid questions. So this is where I am - a bit. I cannot possibly take up any more of your time. I shall return - probably sooner than you would prefer - but until then I leave you with the photo of a ten year old me above. That is the smile of someone who was choosing to value hope over expectation and I will be working tirelessly to return to that way of thinking ASAP

A Week of Life

In the absence of any life changing insights or holidays/conferences/outings with adoring friends to impress you with, I am left with just a few events (if you could call them that) to share with you. I have just finished watching the Men's Wimbledon Final and am pleased to report that Andy Murray murdered it. Some people are not so keen on Andy Murray. I am very suspicious of people who don't like Andy Murray. I have been very keen on him since I watched that documentary where he informed us all through his tears that he really wanted to give the people of Dunblane something nice after everything they had been though. This marks him out to me as someone who has his priorities sorted. I also like his wife's hair very much. Last week, I had to listen while an old person informed us all at great length that she couldn't stand him because he is so arrogant. As far as I know her interactions with Andy Murray have been limited to say the least but she still feels that she can form an opinion. Old people are weird sometimes. I have showed great forbearance and am only responding by printing up a huge poster of him with the Wimbledon trophy and pinning it to the front of my computer - rather than to an old lady's face. 
I went to a garden party which was marked by light rain, possibly the best coffee cake I have ever eaten and a the presence of a smoothie bike. This astonishing piece of technology involves a glass jug,filled with various bits of fruit and ice, on the back of a push bike. Then a willing victim pedals like mad for what seemed quite a long time which made some blades work which, in turn, made a smoothie. It was all done so enthusiastically that it seemed churlish to point out that a Nutri-Bullet could have done it in five seconds but then, I never was very good at party games.
On Thursday, I took the minutes at a church meeting. It is only mildly concerning that, at the moment, I am unable to find the note book I wrote in because we are decorating in the back room and nothing is where it should be.This is very unusual for me. I am usually extremely organised when it comes to other people's things. It is only my own life that is a complete shambles. I expect it will turn up. Oh and did I mention that a lot of stuff has gone into a confidential waste bag for shredding? How do you think they will feel about holding the meeting again?
Took aged parent to Aldi on Friday. All went well. Quite quiet actually. This may or may not have anything to do with her announcing to the world in general that "her bowels were smashing now and she can really recommend that newest laxative." We are all very pleased for you, the people seemed to say. Old people are really weird sometimes. 

July Reads

This is the July reading plan. As usual, only a couple are bought new because I am not made of money. Some are charity shop finds and some are gifts etc. I have started already and some are already read.

Henry Winter. 50 Years of Hurt. I love a football book and Henry Winter is one of the finest football writers. He talks a lot of sense about the the England football set up and so the FA will take no notice of him at all.

Marian Keyes. The Mystery of Mercy Close. I bought this because I have seen Marian Keyes on lots of things and I follow her on Twitter and she seems really nice and funny. This is classic Lite Lit or whatever the politically correct term is which I suspect is a lot harder to produce than it seems. She is very good at page turning stories and the stuff about depression is very vivid - I suppose because she knows what she is talking about. I raced through it.

Jenny Colgan. Little Shop of Happy Ever After. I saw this recommended on the Women Alive Book Club. It is bona-fide wish fulfillment. Bookish Girl gets made redundant from Library. Bookish Girl buys big van in Scotland and makes new and entirely plausible career selling books out of back of van. Bookish girl is suddenly wildly attractive to local brooding laird type.  Come On! You know you love it.

To read....

Elizabeth Goudge. The Scent of Water. Again recommended by Woman Alive Book Club. Bought it because I read a sample chapter and couldn't put it down. We shall see.

Eve Garnett. The Family from One End Street. This is a children's book. I love a children's book and this one is full of social conscience and love and family apparently.

Penelope Wilcock. A Day and a Life. I have loved every book in this series about a community of monks. And if you are weighing that up and thinking it will be boring - then kindly leave the blog - we have nothing to say to one another. The books are full of character and love and I have cried several times reading them. This is supposedly the last in the series but because I am a master at avoiding any kind of bad news. I am doing what I usually do and ignoring the facts. Play to your strengths - that's what I say.

Tony Collins. Taking My God for a Walk. This is written by Pen Wilcock's husband - himself a distinguished publisher and my slightly squished logic says that if he likes her writing, then I will like his writing. Also I am quite interested in the idea of a pilgrimage and even more interested in a pilgrimage by someone who appears to be a normal person rather than someone in bare feet wearing a shroud.

Mountain bumping

It's all very well being positive. Positive is good - no-one wants to be moaned at all the time. Counting your blessings. That's good too. I'm all for it. Most of us are a lot better off than we realise and it does no-one any harm to stop and take stock and be grateful. 

Last week, I was re-reading a book that had got on my nerves a bit the first time. But, my multiple insecurities disorder always tells me that, in all circumstances, I am incorrect and everyone else is right so I tried it again. There is this bit in it where this woman realises that she is very ill - she's not dying or anything but she's definitely ill and she grasps the table whispering - with her very shallow, ailing breath. "Gratitude to God - at all times." Well she is either amazing or mentally unwell. I would be whispering "999. Please dial. Quick as you can" but I suppose I'm just self centred. 
We have to be honest I think. It is not great faith to keep saying that everything is top-notch when it quite clearly isn't. It is weird. 
In Britain at the moment lots of things are rubbish. We have no Prime Minister (well there's David Cameron but he's just thinking about retirement in Cornwall now.) There is no effective opposition party. (Unless you include a Labour leader who seems to be spending all his time with his arms and legs wrapped around the nearest chair leg shouting "I won't go and you can't make me.") All the Shadow Cabinet have resigned leaving just three people to run from room to room putting different hats on quickly depending on which department they are in charge of today. There's Nigel Farage. Lets just leave that one as it is. I just can't, to be frank. And this is all before we get to your actual Exit negotiations, casual racism, Nicola Sturgeon's steely glint and the England Football Team. And people keep standing up and saying "Don't worry. Everything is fine." Well it isn't is it? If you are a praying person - our nation could do with some now. I'm not very good at praying for England. I'm better with people I know and love. (Or people I don't love which I only tend to do because God is pestering me to.) But I love Great Britain. I am grateful to be from here. And it's not good at the moment. 
There's a bit in Matthew in the Bible where Jesus tells his disciples that with God they can tell a mountain to move and it will move. We take God seriously - amazing things happen. However, first you have to agree that there is a mountain. It's no good keep trudging forward and pretending it's not there - you will bump into it and have a nasty scrape on your nose. If life is awful. If something is wrong, we need to say so. Pretending is not exercising your faith, it's acting. It doesn't give God any credit either. Because it doesn't matter how bad it is - God can do something about it. We don't need to pretend that things are better than they are. God is not afraid of my problem. So we can admit it. Admit that it is a mess and we don't know how we can solve it. It's not just about national and international things - it's about you and me and the day to day. It's no good whistling a happy tune and getting on with it. Be honest with God - if necessary until snot comes down your nose. We should be counting our blessings by all means but we also need to say when it's rubbish, then pray when it's rubbish. That way, we get to see the mountain and get the privilege of seeing it move as well.
 “Because you’re not yet taking God seriously,” said Jesus. “The simple truth is that if you had a mere kernel of faith, a poppy seed, say, you would tell this mountain, ‘Move!’ and it would move. There is nothing you wouldn’t be able to tackle.” Matt 17 v 20

But in the end...

So it was Exit. We didn't see that coming at all. Even Farage changed his mind about three times on the night - defining the word "slippery". 

Anyway, time will tell I suppose. I have seen the accusations of racism and it's not really something I have some across. I just think some evil genius somewhere is congratulating him/herself on the way that people felt that the economic misery of their lives was down to the EU and not successive British Governments who have largely ignored the poor and the working class unless they were searching out people to press the demands of the austerity budget upon. 

Everything that has happened since has left me vaguely uncomfortable. I'm not very good with bad feeling. I'm not happy with people using that bad word about Boris Johnson or booing him as he got into his car. I don't really feel that this thing should be done again until we get a different result - no matter what the petitions say. So what to do? The future that people like Boris or Nigel envisage for us is not a future I am interested in. 

So maybe it is time to put our money where our mouth is. If we don't want to see refugees treated badly or even students or foreign workers - then we need to work to make sure that doesn't happen. If we want a kinder, less exclusive society, the what are we prepared to do to achieve it? And if we understand why the poor and the disabled and those who shop at food banks were so angry - how does that stir us into action?

Because in the end, it is all about the love. I watched Samantha Cameron watch her husband, going through agonies because she loves him. I thought it might be the first real positive emotion I had seen all the way through this rubbish.

I am unhappy and a bit scared. We have no idea how this will land and the people who were so keen on it haven't got the faintest idea either. But I'm a Christian in I'm asked to have faith. Not in a dodgy system or ideology but in a God who loves me. That will be my starting point I think.

Voting

So the Polling Day comes to an end and I think we are all glad to see the back of it. I have found the last few days quite wearying what with one thing and another. For what it's worth I came down as a remainer. I have not that enthused by the European set up but I don't like the idea of pulling up the drawbridge when it's all such a mess. Also, I just couldn't find myself voting on the same side as Nigel Farage and some of the people he attracts in the street are even more troubling. Lastly, for purely selfish reasons, I work in a charity, supported by some government money. I'm not convinced that if European money is withdrawn, national government will have little charities at the top of their lists for handouts. So there you are. I don't expect everyone to agree but let's keep it civil please. I did read on a Twitter feed that I usually like that I may well have voted in Armageddon. Well listen to me sweetheart. Stories this week have included

• A disgusting group of people breeding fox cubs to throw to hounds to train them to kill. On top of there being no words to describe how disgusting and savage this is - fox hunting is against the law here!!! What part of that sentence do you people think doesn't apply to you. Foxes are nuisances so shoot em. Don't chase them in some perverse game to make you feel excited. Get over yourself and be a bit normal.
• I have read of a secret meeting that Donald Trump has had with Evangelical Pastors. It was supposed to be a secret but half the people there seem to have had secret recorders on them which they have almost immediately handed over to the Internet. These are TOP Christian names. They have written books and preached and things. Donald Trump is a man who thinks racial profiling may be a viable option.
• Er Just this bloke......

Pastor prays for Orlando Survivors to Die (Link through for full story if you feel you can take it)

• And then this man got to take his children to their murdered mother's funeral.

Listen - never mind in or out of Europe - don't tell me you can't hear the clippy-cloppy of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse as well - a bit.

Ashamed

I have been avoiding the Internet a bit. I've also been avoiding debates around the referendum. I shouldn't do really. I have been a classic undecided and wanted as much information as possible. Immigration is an issue obviously as is the economy. The democratic process or otherwise in the EU is a concern for anyone. Yet I have been unable to engage as I should. Who was it do you think? Who was it that sat around a table and decided that it was going to be all bets off. That debate was going to be a nasty, untruthful thing that only the strong would survive? Who thought that we could then call this the cut and thrust of politics? I just haven't been able to bear it. People with expertise on economics or democracy have simply been shouted down by the other side. People have said whatever they wanted and no-one has been able to call them out on it. A lady in the hospital where HOH works said she was going to vote out because all the Syrian refugees are flooding the Health Service and making the queues long. She had seen it on the telly. Normal political thinking has been killed stone dead in this campaign. Partly because we really have no idea what will happen if we leave. This gap in our knowledge has been filled with nasty words and threats on both sides. It is, however, my personal belief, that any team with Nigel Farage on it must deal with the thing they let loose. I wonder how the people on the Exit Team - many of whom are thoughtful people with challenging things to say have made their personal peace with this poster?

I don't know why but whenever I look into these poor people's faces, I keep seeing Jesus there, because that is assuredly where he would be with the terrorised and the dispossessed. It was his natural home.

It has been horrible and there are people I will never, ever want to see on TV again. My personal belief is that, for some politicians, it has nothing to do with Europe but it is opportunism of the worst sort. A chance to clear out people standing in their way in their party, with no actual thought for the country and how things will affect it. 
And now an MP is dead. One of the brightest and the best. Killed at the hands of someone with longstanding mental illness who maybe, just maybe, picked up some of the underlying tone of what was going on. I don't know of course. I saw the BBC Political Head Person,  Laura Kuenssberg saying that this was the most vicious campaign that she had ever covered and that this death may well give people pause and make them think before they speak. I admire her optimism. I don't share it. 

Voluntary

Out and about on a school night which is very unusual. I was invited - along with a team of volunteers where I work, to the Plymouth Guild Volunteers Award night. (Actually that isn't precisely what it was called but there were so many words in the title that I have forgotten them but you get the gist.) I need to point out that I do not volunteer where I work but I did get an actual separate invitation  to the event as I am Head Honcho and all round Life and Soul of the Party.
We didn't win and I am not surprised as we were playing out of our league. I mean, our volunteers are awesome but we were up against people who had built entire national charities in their spare time just because it was their passion. One gentleman was just entering his fiftieth year of volunteering. I did a lot of clapping and a bit of snivelling and felt really humble and really pleased to be in the same room as these people.
It is probably my age but sometimes, when I see people pouting into phones all flippin day long or being apparently willing to do ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING to get on some poxy reality show, after which the vast majority of contestants will sink without trace after walking the red carpet at the Toenail Clipping of the Year Awards, I have been known to get a little downhearted. However, this week, I have listened to a ninety year old lady who started volunteering when she retired because "Well you can't just sit around doing nothing when people need you, can you?" I also watched a son accept his father's award - given posthumously - for tutoring a young man to two silver medals at the Special Olympics, even when unwell with the disease that killed him, and I am comforted, that mankind is not full of shallow, annoying, self centred twonks but there are amazing people doing amazing things, quietly, all the time. And it maketh me glad.

Big C Little C

For the newly diagnosed..

Nothing will ever be the same again. That much is certainly true. You will mourn and mourn long and hard for the life that you have lost and that is ok. But there are some things that I would like to tell you - some things that I discovered during my own journey. I have found these things to be true - for me anyway and I would hope that they may help you.

You have joined a club that you never wanted to be a member of. It has probably surprised you just how much is going on in cancer land - much of it positive and hopeful. But really you would rather not have known - not ever - not really. I remember a newly diagnosed friend whispering to me about how annoyed she was about some friends running marathons for her. Because although she knew they were being kind, she didn't want to be that person that they were being kind to. She didn't want to be there. She has since run several marathons herself, but at the beginning she couldn't, not then. She had to accept, as all the diagnosed and those who love them must, that life has changed forever. Yet this change, though so terrible (in the full sense of the word) has so much in it that will be good. You will see things with new eyes. Gratitude will surprise you when you least expect it. Nothing will ever be measured in the same way that it was before. Some of it, and this is difficult to believe now, will be better. It will be richer, stronger and more clear sighted. You will wonder why you ever worried about the things you worried about. You will be taken aback by the amount of love you feel for those you love. 

You will learn to be patient but you will be less accepting of religious rubbish. "All things work together for good" is not a trite throw-away line to be delivered by someone who is trying to say the right thing. It is a strong wall to hide behind in times of deep, deep trouble but it is not an easy wall to get to. To learn to say this and mean it comes out of experience, an experience of seeing amazing things happen in deep and dark circumstances. Take the kindness that people offer because you will gain strength from it. Kindness is a fruit of the Spirit and therefore a supernatural thing. Let people love you, bake pies, do your ironing, take your kids out. This will help practically and somehow, in some deep way, you will actually gain strength from it. 

Speaking of the supernatural, I would say, take all the treatment that is offered to you but do not forget the power of God. He does not play odds or percentages. My own survival percentages were very low - I would not get past five years. That was eighteen years ago. Learn to look for him in all your dark circumstances. Now is one of the toughest times. So much time being spent being called into doctors rooms to hear results or sitting on plastic chairs in hospital corridors or waiting in rooms for the curtain to be pulled back as the consultant sweeps in. You think that you will never laugh again - laugh properly - not for the benefit of calming someone who you love. You will though. It will take you by surprise probably. But you will feel joy again. A different kind of joy but joy nonetheless. 

The truth is that despite the worst possible diagnosis, there is still a lot of living to be done. It is a different life and everything in it will be measured differently, but it is still there to be lived and you must make sure that you continue to live it. 

Stratford

Last week we took ourselves off to Stratford Upon Avon for a few days. We had a lovely time. Really lovely. We went to Shakespeare's Birthplace which was excellent even though I can normally live without guides in period costume invading my personal space. I think this goes back to a very scary experience at Wigan Pier Museum which had a Victorian Schoolroom with a terrifying school teacher. It's a miracle anyone ever leant anything in Victorian England. Anyway, I digress. We also saw a play - as you do. We didn't do a Shakespeare. There were only tickets for Cymbeline, which I know less than nothing about, except that there are not a lot of laughs. So we decided against that and I was quite glad, Especially, when queueing in Lakeland, (Thanks for asking - I got a really nice stir-fry pan - with a lid. I love Lakeland) I heard a lady telling the cashier that she had been to see Cymbeline and that she came to see all the Shakespeares but that this one was bum numbing. (Don't blame me - her description) We went to see Cervantes' Don Quixote with David Threlfall and Rufus Hound. 

To my shame, I probably know less about this than I do about Cymbaline apart from some vague childhood memory of Peter O'Toole bellowing "To Dream The Impossible Dream" at a windmill. (This may not be an accurate memory) I'll be honest. It was a stellar night. One of the best nights at the theatre - ever. Funny, sad, inventive and not too long, which was important because our seats were sort of stools that we had to perch on like Andy Williams in those 60's TV specials. We had a lovely meal in the RSC as well to complete an excellent night.
On a tiny tiny low note. When you have done what we did in Stratford, I'm not sure what else there is to do. We spent a pleasant enough hour sitting by the river watching Spanish children trying to torture the swans and then crying when they got a nasty nip back. Entertaining enough but I'm not sure we would have been able to keep our kids happy if they had been there - especially as HOH and I seemed to bring the average age down to about eighty. I'm not expecting Vegas or the Grand Canyon in a balloon or anything but I think we more or less felt that we had covered anything when we left. Besides, we had to go. We had a date in Bristol on the way back. At IKEA - oh yes, oh yes. Told you it was an excellent break. 

Silver

Last week was our Silver Wedding Anniversary. I know I know, you can't believe it. Too young you cry and I can understand that. But twenty five years it is. We celebrated by clearing off to Stratford for a few days, leaving our dog and his separation issues with FOW2. I would just like to thank her here for coming home from Uni to do this for us and also to apologize for her having to be in the garden at 3am while said dog insisted on crying and seeing if he could see us coming back. Anyway, more of Stratford later in the week but I just thought I would leave you with a couple of photos of us all those years ago so you could see how mighty fine we were. And for all those chums on Facebook who said that we don't look any different - well we all know that's not true but don't think that it's not appreciated.

Dark

So Sally Brampton came to the end and walked into the sea to die. I found her writing on depression the most instructive and enlightening I had ever read. Many years ago a friend at work suffered the suicide of her brother. On the day she came back to work, because everyone felt so awkward, the manager put me and my friend in a corner of the bank to check a long list of regular payments. A job that would supposedly take a week. As we halfheartedly ticked away at boxes on forms that we weren't reading properly, we began to talk about her brother. She was upset at his selfishness and I completely understood that. She was dealing with the fallout; her  mother's anguish, her own terrible loss, the annoyance at how stigmatised she felt. I could do nothing but agree. How could he treat those he loved like this?
Years later I read a column by Sally Brampton on suicide and suddenly, I at least partly understood. 

Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive

People with this level of depression don't make an effort to kill themselves. They make an effort not to take their own lives. Every day that they are this depressed, they make a gargantuan effort to stay with those they love. For some, eventually, the effort gets too much. 

It is very dark out there sometimes for some people. I can get a bit frustrated at Christians who talk about God being light (which he is) and because God is everything therefore there is no room for dark - so let's all just cheer up a bit eh? 
But John talks about God being the light that breaks through the darkness which surely acknowledges that God knows that some people are having really hard times. 

If I am told to bring salt and light to people's lives, I have to first acknowledge that some people are in the dark. I'm supposed to bring light, not make them feel worse for being in the dark in the first place. Life bites people on the bum sometimes. Do I believe that God has the power to break through all this darkness and bring clarity and light? Yup I do. Does that diminish the reality of the suffering for the sick, the lost, the lonely? What do you think? 

May Books of the Month

Didn't know if you would be interested but these are on the reading plan for May. Bit late really, have already read a couple. I know there's a lot and I haven't won the pools or anything not that I'm a gambling woman you understand. A couple are car boot finds etc. Some are new though. I like a book.
The Jazz Files - been seeing this around on the ACW site for a while now. Sometimes Christian writers trying "a bit-Christian" fiction can be tricky I find but am liking the look of the subject matter and first couple of chapters are rollocking along nicely. 
Wonderful Weekend Book - I have already scooted through this. Lots of impractical ideas really about your weekends, but it is written in such an engaging way and the overriding principle about doing all your work in the week so you have a day for rest is excellent. Reminds me of another principle er...er oh yes Sabbath I think it's called.
You Are A Badass. Probably terrible self help book but find this kind of thing totally irresistible. Probably proof of some deep-seated personality defect (Also probably not that deep-seated.)
Diary of an Ordinary Woman. Have never read any Margaret Forster. Read her obituary and wanted to. So I bought this. It's not rocket science.
H is for Hawk. Everyone raves about it. 50p at the boot sale. What do you want? Jam on it?
Still Foolin' em. I love Billy Crystal ergo I will love a book full of his anecdotes with sleeve notes by Steve Martin and Robin Williams. Theirs was a gang I always wanted to join.

Just normal

There's been a lot of fuss about the weather. Suddenly, the sun has come out and everyone has gone a bit bonkers. Everyone in Plymouth is dressing like it's as hot as the Durrells. (I can live without seeing those bits of you young sir to be honest)  But, whisper it, round here it's not that warm. The sun has been out but there is still quite a stiff breeze up your whatsits if you stand still long enough. Street coffee culture can prove quite difficult when you have to put stones on everything to stop it flying away. Round here having lunch al fresco is even more difficult because you have to fend off stonking great seagulls all the time. It's not very Italian really. 
Now they tell us that the sun is finished and torrential rain will follow. I could have told you this was going to happen as HOH was out in the garden with his watering can over the weekend. Always a sure sign of inclement weather to follow. If you need to check the time when it will actually be tipping down in England - because of washing on lines or other considerations - I suggest about 10.15 am on Tuesday. That is the time I will be outside trying to take some publicity photos of recalcitrant old people getting on and off a shopping bus.You would think it would be a simple task. Experience tells me it will not. Old people tend to spend a lot of these shoots shouting "Oooh don't you include me in that, I look terrible" and then writing to their MP because they are not in the newspaper. 
For the Brits amongst us, I do hope you are doing ok with the referendum. I can't say I am. It's the way that every single sentence has to be followed by a single opposing sentence. So you hear someone say "Coming out of the EU will compromise our security" but this has to be followed - I think it is actually The Law now - by "The Out campaigners say it will definitely not compromise our security." so you are back where you started. Yesterday, we had a speech where our Dear Prime Minister warned us that Churchill would have wanted us to stay in to avoid World War and Pestilence. This was countered by Boris Johnson singing Ode To Joy in German for some reason - making us all very uncomfortable. I am trying to make an informed choice here!
I didn't watch the BAFTAs but was pleased to learn that Peter Kay (Probably the only living comedy genius now Victoria Wood has gone) and Wolf Hall (The best thing on the telly... er just ever) won big. I did watch the BBC Shakespeare Hollow Crown thing and enjoyed it very much. Then all the Shakespeare experts said it wasn't very good and the iambic pentameter was all wrong. No idea. I enjoyed it. (Struggled a bit with Sophie Okonado as a 15 year old schemer, because she is so luscious and because her husband actually DID look about fifteen.)
It's just very normal and a bit boring week here but best get back to it. I think I should be quite grateful for normal. At least I am not trying to visit a hospital in Allepo this week. God Bless Them.

Friend

I'm a bit worried about Facebook. Not the actual multi zillion dollar machine itself obviously just what happens on there sometimes. It's not just Facebook - it's a lot of Social Media generally. I think there is a fine line sometimes between sharing and bragging. Now I like a nosey and I love it when people put photos up of themselves and the things that they are doing. It's nice to leave a comment - especially when you live a long way from the person. I love wedding and birthday photos and pictures of new chubby babies. I love photos of days out to interesting places. It's generally a pleasing thing. I just think it's a bit weird sometimes when people put posts up like "Had a great time with my friends last night". Why wouldn't you say that to their face - as you left their house? Why wouldn't you turn round and say "Oooh thanks, I had a lovely time" and kiss them on both cheeks or give a cheery wave? Why do people go on and on about how great such and such a person is and say how close they are etc. Wouldn't you just say so? To them? When they are in the room? Why are you telling us? I sometimes wonder if people see posts like that about themselves and are surprised about how awesome they apparently are or just how epic the walk round the reservoir was when they just thought it was a nice hour out. 
The answer must be partly, I suppose, that the post is really for others to see - to show how popular we are are and what an amazing life we have. But then how is that received by those who don't have an amazing life? What about the lonely or the struggling or those who weren't included? How do they feel I wonder? Is it like being back at school and finding out that everyone had been out playing without you? What about preferring the weaker brother?
Then you get these little things that say things like "Share if your daughter is awesome" What difference does that make to anything? If I don't share does that mean that my daughter isn't awesome?  The weirdest one is "Share if you hate cancer." Seriously? Do they get many people who don't hate cancer? It's all very puzzling.  

Maybe it might be a bit more honest to post something like "Had..... round for a meal. Not a sparkling evening really. Was quite relieved when they left and I could catch up on Pointless." 

Age Related Musing

These are my favourite flowers - peonies. They seem to have a short season so I buy them much more often than I usually buy flowers because I luf them. They are blousy and bright and in your face. A bit like Bet Lynch behind the bar in Coronation Street. Then, after a couple of days they open really wide and the colour starts to change - fading down to a very pleasing creamy colour. 

Now they are not as barmaid-busty and the petals become much more delicate and sometimes bits fall off. They are still lovely though and perhaps even a bit more interesting than they were in the first flush of youth.
So I was thinking - do you think they remind you of people? We may not be as bright and bushy tailed as we were but maybe still interesting, still pretty in a sort of droopy kind of way and still pleasing to an experienced eye.I expect it's just me then.