It's luurrve

The SMD is in love. We can't get past the Little Pub with the Big Brewer because SMD has fallen for the pub dog in a big way. And he's a big dog; nearly one year old, a very large black Labrador. The SMD likes black dogs. She plays very well with her brothers when she sees them. She likes lots of other black things too, such as her bed, her chewy toy dogs and cats, and my shoes. But the love she holds for the big Labrador is something else. We are dragged down the road to the pub, and then she's jumping up at the doors and windows in case she can get a glimpse of her beloved; dragging us through the door if it's open, and scratching if it's shut. Now, as regular readers will be aware, I am not entirely unknown to the staff and customers at the Little Pub. But I'm not in there all the time. And not at nine in the morning. I've had a few sideways glances on my way up the street, I can tell you.

What I learnt from my radio this week

That the humanoid voice that does the announcements on trains and the tube is called Sonia. Because she gets SONIA nerves! Geddit? A good little piece on Radio 4 Today programme, about the introduction of philosophy quotations by tube drivers making announcements about delays, etc. "There's more to life than increasing speed" said Gandhi. "The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected". Does this help? Or does it make you "want to cave her head in", as one passenger said?

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once," said Einstein.

"If things are not going well," said Arthur Smith, "Remember the words of Lothian Council; Mondays and Fridays are rubbish days"

What time is it?

And why does it appear that I'm writing this at four in the morning? For the past eighteen months I've been trying to figure out how the clock works on Blogger. It's actually lunchtime.

Malformed or illegal request

When I post from the office computer a big message from Google comes up saying "Malformed or Illegal Request". This doesn't happen on the laptop upstairs. The posts are posted normally either way. I don't know what it means but here's another one.

What I didn't learn from my emails today

We have a new bishop, announced with great fanfares and flummery to a small crowd in the market square. The email to "undisclosed recipients" seemed to suggest that we should all go along and have sandwiches and join the press conference. Goodness knows who or how many received this. The Church of England always seems to think that the world is hanging on its every word and waiting with baited breath for its announcements, but, sad to say, this has not been my experience. Apart from the two archbishops and, perhaps, Durham and London, nobody seems much bothered who the new bishops are, and the names won't mean much to most people, except present colleagues and their mates and families.

Then "undisclosed recipients" got another message saying that there would be "plenty of room" so do come along. Oh dear.

What I didn't learn from my emails was what I really wanted to know, which was the man's name. If he's going to be my bishop, it would be nice to be informed. Another email arrived, warning of the need to protect our silverware and our lead flashing, with a note at the bottom to the effect that if we wanted to know the name of the new bishop, it would be on the diocesan website shortly. Well thanks.

What I learnt from my emails today

We got our directives on swine flu today, telling us what to do if the pandemic really kicks off. Wash your hands after touching parishioners, if any members of the congregation start coughing and sneezing, take them out immediately and dispose of them properly, that sort of thing (no, not really, silly!) I had Hong Kong flu in 1968. I had just left school and started work. I was in bed for three weeks; never felt so rough. But I taught myself to play the guitar while I was sitting there. So that's good.

Happy Now

I'm reading Charlie Higson's novel, "Happy Now", which is a generally unpleasant read, but may ultimately, I hope, prove satisfying, exploring as it does the search for happiness and fulfilment (and the false hopes along the way). Despite all that has happened, I stopped the "happy pills" ten days ago (just when everything kicked off) and have stayed off them. So that's good. I'm feeling positive about my work in the town. So that's good. And I'm thinking about the things that I think are good. So that's good too.

1,000,000 United Against BNP

In the meantime, here's a link to 1,000,000 United Against BNP, a fast-growing Facebook group. There's over 550,000 members so far, and you might consider helping it to grow even faster.

For fear of something worse

The funeral over, people seem to expect what the Americans call "closure". Except that such a thing is very unlikely when the event is almost inexplicable in any reasonable terms. Also, it is clear that, bad though it was, many were afraid of something worse; but then even relief brings feelings of guilt. Mix in some anger, and you have a heady mixture. It wouldn't be so bad if things were uniformly awful, but mixed in are some really very happy events, that again bring on feelings of guilt, and the thought that we shouldn't be enjoying ourselves "at a time like this". Others have simply removed themselves from the local scene for a time, unable or unwilling to engage with the hopeless task of trying to make sense of things. On Wednesday, after the funeral, I did the same, and too off in the Bus for 24 hours. Staring across the hills from a Neolithic stone circle at least restores some sort of perpective on time, that so-called great healer.

I'm coming round

Oooff!! What a week, but I'm coming round. You'd think that after years of experience I'd be ready for this sort of stuff, but no. But, as they say, where bad things happen, good things are not far \away. Met some really great people and able to forge some good new relationships with people in the community. But people are very shaken, and it will take time to heal wounds.

Falling into a TV drama

Shortly after the incident described in my last post, something so unpleasant, so disturbing happened, that I foundf I just couldn't write about it. This is partly because I don't want to give details away that identify me and this place, but also because for a time I was unable to gather any thoughts that made sense of what had just happened. Sometimes people's reaction to extreme events is to say that it was like finding yourself in an episode of Jonathan Creek or Midsomer Murders. Well, it was just like that. In fact, if someone had come up with this as a plot line, I'd have probably said it was implausible. But it happened. And it shook me. And I'm just coming round again.

Table Manners

We have a eucharist in church on Friday mornings. it's market day, and people are arou nd , and seven or eight of us usually gather in the prayer chapel. This Firday there were two visitors in church. he introduced himself as a retired minister. He asked if there was a service and I said yes, do please join us. I didn't say that it wasn't me taking the service.

When we began, as soon as they saw that a woman was presiding, their demeanour changed, and when it came to communion, they stayed seated with arms resolutely folded and refuksed to receive. As the celebrant left, the woman said, audibly, "Well that was disappointing!"

What sort of people are these, to be so rude, to be offered the fellowship of our table, and then refuse it? Do they go to people's homes and refuse to eat what is put in front of them? Do they want to know in advance who has prepared it? Shame on you both.

My Lord, what a morning! 2

A million people vote for fascism, and what is the Church doing? Arguing about the furniture. Well, it is here, at least. The nave altar again. Where to put it, when to move it, what occasions to use, when not to use it. The big change - eastward facing altar of sacrifice to westward facing table of fellowship - has already been achieved, without too much bloodshed, thirty years ago. Same table, you see, and only a few feet either way. But a different table, some thirty feet away... it's a step too far. Most of you haven't a clue what I'm on about, have you? And I do wonder myself.

Some years ago the BNP threatened to march through the city where I worked. i was the Chair of the local Racial Equality Council. We organised to oppose the march. Some, not all, of the churches joined us. The march was called off.

One morning I got a phone call from a bored-sounding policeman.

- Don't want to alarm you, sir, he said.
-I'm already alarmed, I replied.
-Might be a good idea to check under your car in the morning. And don't open suspicious packages. Just as a precaution, you understand.
- Sure, I said.

I had got myself onto a white supremacist death list, apparently. Nothing came of it, of course. I'm still here.

I used to work in a sector ministry, which the Church of England, in its genteel way, called "social responsibility" The Catholics, more direct, called their guys "justice and peace workers". Anyway, one time I was booked to speak to a deanery group in a town in the north west of England. There had been riots, racially motivated, for several days; cars burned, barricades, that sort of thing. The day of the meeting the rural dean rang me and told me that I was not required to attend, that the meeting had been cancelled. Nothing on the agenda.

My Lord, what a morning!

Yesterday it was bucketing down all day. The choir chose to sing the Negro spiritual "My Lord, what a morning!" as we shivered and rung out our coats and stashed our umbrellas at the back of church.

Today; another morning. i seem to live in a country where nearly a million voters are prepared to vote for a party defined only by what it is against, what it would destroy, what it wants to stop. No positive agenda at all. The British Nasty Party might make you feel better in the short term, but it won't do you any good in the long term.

They came for the Jews, and I said nothing, because I am not a Jew. They came for the blacks, and again, I said nothing, because I am not black. They came for the communists, and again i said nothing, because I am not a communist. then one night, they came for me. And there was no-one left to speak up for me.