Trains Trains Trains!

Boris, Noris and I went riding trains today - in order to see more of them (very sad, I know). We went to the SECC in Glasgow for the day to visit the Scottish Model Railways Exhibition which should have been "fun for all the family" except half the family disagreed about the definition of "fun" and didn't come!

Nevertheless we had a good trip down there - trains are the best way to travel anywhere - and found our way across Glasgow to the SECC successfully, and enjoyed the model trains. Boris and Noris have got an electric train set, which they love setting up on the dinning room table, especially on rainy winter days - so they loved seeing some really huge and complex layouts with things such as electric points and signalling and landscapes which are clearly labours of love.

We weren't exactly sure where we were going as we came out of the station. However - (and here is a stereotype that seems to work) we thought that following the crowds of odd-looking bobble-hats, and loud knitted jerseys, and sideburns might lead us in the right direction. Sadly it worked, and we enjoyed mingling with all the other social misfits.

Our fun was rudely interupted by the sudden return of Norris' little tummy problem, whereupon we discovered that the foulest toilet in Scotland is not at the back of that cafe in Trainspotting, but in Gallery 3 at the S.E.C.C.

No, he Do-Wah Didn't!

On Friday night our church played host to "An Evening with Paul Jones and Fiona Hendley" which I went to but the wife was stuck at home with sick children! Jones, the singer, actor, TV and Radio presenter has been in the public eye for four decades while his wife, Fiona is a very successful and accomplished stage actress and singer. They came to our church to share something of their life and also their Christian faith.

Jones recalled with wry amusement that he was so well known as a militant atheist that the BBC chose him to debate against Christianity versus Cliff Richard. Jones admitted that he went all out not merely to win the debate but to utterly humiliate his opponent! His atheism began to collapse because of spiritual experience he had visiting art galleries whilst touring from city to city with his Blues Band. For her part, Fiona was opposed to Christian faith but instead was interested in all kinds of mystic and occult activities.

They told the story how, just after Paul's experience in the art galleries, Fiona had visited a church (All Soul's Langham Place) simply for aesthetic reasons, as it adjacent to the BBC where she had been working. While admiring the place she discovered a Bible and began reading - and was arrested by the message of Jesus. This led them both together to start seriously investigating the Christian faith and searching for answers, with the help of the church. They actually became Christians at an event which (ironically) Cliff Richard invited them to.

They spoke about the changes that this has brought to their lives, and spoke with remarkable joy and enthusiasm about their experience of the presence and leading of God in their lives, and the sure and certain hope of eternal life that it brings. I've been to a few events at which well-known Christians have spoken, and have usually been rather bored with the obvious self-promotion going on. Not at this event! Paul Jones and Fiona Hendley are clearly captivated by the message of the Bible and eager to share it. It was strangely refreshing to hear a basic gospel message again - as so much of what I am involved in church-wise is complex and nuanced issues of hermeneutics, exegesis, ethics and mundane organisational stuff.

J
ones and Hendley sang a few songs together too (they met playing lead romantic roles opposite each other on the west-end stage). Fortunately however, he didn't do-wah-diddy at any point.

On this night my sole involvement was car-park duty, for which I was provided with a rather groovy day-glow yellow jacket. I have to say, I am amazed at how little control some well-known members of our church have over their vehicles!

The Incredible Mr Allan?

I was contemplating taking Boris and Norris to the Scottish Model Railway Exhibition at the SECC, until I read this! (click here)

This "Mr Allan" chap sounds a bit creepy!

Saved, by a Dyson

This evening my life was saved (or I was spared serious injury at least) by a brand-new Dyson, bagless, allergy protecting vacuum cleaner.

The wife asked me to go out to the road and clean out her car, and, failing to come up with a good enough excuse not to, readily agreed. The car was in desperate need of a clean-out, the internal carpets were especially thick with grit, dust, mud, leaves and general debris.

So, I got the dyson going and climbed into the back seat and was merrily 'hoovering' away. ('hoover': a noun which became a verb which became an irony). I had been working away for a few minutes, when I heard a strange jarring and scraping sound. Looking around to see what it was I realised that the car was moving - having been parked by its owner in neutral with no brakes. A quick look the other way showed that we were rolling towards the road and into the path of a truck! I lept through to the front seat and put the handbrake on, thankfully just in time, the car stopping just short of the main road.

Hyperventilating, with a soaring pulse and a year's supply of adrenaline coarsing through my veins I climbed out of the car. It was then that I noticed the Dyson. It was wedged hard between the open car door and the kerb. It was this humble domestic appliance, wedged in, which was making the noise I had heard as it braked my progress towards the road.

Closer inspection demonstrated that the Dyson was wedged completely under the car door, and couldn't be moved either way; even moving the car a few inches forward failed to release it. A huge amount of the car's weight was pressing down on the thing too. There was no choice then but to jack the car up and release the appliance. Much to my surprise, the Dyson is still working!

Sponsored by Dettol?

In the unlikely event that this blog were to acquire corporate sponsorship, I'd have to give long and serious consideration to the kind of firm with which I would wish to be publically associated (so Tesco's and BAE-Systems please don't bother to get in touch as rejection only causes ill-feeling). The Bean Shop or Craigdon Mountain Sports however, would illicit a far more favourable response.

Today however, this hideous household should be sponsored by Dettol, as we are, quite literally in the throws of tummy bugs! It all started with little Doris, who developed a high temperature and was grizzly for a few days before spectacularly vomitting all over Lord and Lady Lucan's floor. Next was Norris who has dissappeared into bed with a soaring temperature, while we await the coming explosion. As for Boris, he exploded in the kitchen this evening. He did so suddenly, violently, profusely, without warning, and simultaneosly vented both ends of his alimentary canal. Nice!

The house stinks of Dettol. It's better than the alternative though!

Loch Muick

We took Boris, Norris and Doris up to Deeside at the weekend to show them one of our favourite places, Loch Muick. It's a delightful glacial trench, now filled with icy, clear waters and ringed by high mountains such as Broad Cairn in the Glen Shee hills to the west and the wonderful Lochnagar high on the East. It's a place which Queen Victoria fell in love with, buying the land around it and Balmoral Castle. The lovely country house at the side of the loch, Glas-alt-Shiel has a plaque commemorating her purchase of the estate. Its easy to imagine her in a carriage being pulled along the lochside track from Ballater station.

Lochnagar is a place which holds particularly fond memories for us, as it was a place we often visited before the "girlfriend" became promoted first to "fiancee" and then "wife". Our memories of long walks and conversations were, of course, not revisited courtesy of the presence of three noisy young children who neither wanted to walk far - nor let us converse.

Young Doris was the least happy of all of them. We only realised when we got back to the car, just how cold she had got. Despite being wrapped up in a vast bulkage of hats, gloves, coats (plural) jumpers etc etc - she had got far too cold. Although we could feel the chill in the air we weren't uncomfortable as we were walking, and at least of one us carrying her in the 'Macpac' too. However, sitting immobile in the pack, she had got far too cold. Once back in the car, with blankets and the heaters working flat-out she soon cheered up.

If you are really interested some nice German person has posted a 3min video of the scenery around the Loch on YouTube. You can see it here.

In Need of Help - or Mellowing with Age?

The wife persuaded me to accompany her to the (dreaded) cinema on Friday evening to the inevitable (and equally dreaded) rom-com. I have seen too many of these wretched sub-Austen shmaltzy re-makes for several lifetimes, so against my better judgement I went.

This one was the same recycled storyline, except that this time the setting of the same storyline was the music industry. The dizzy-girl (ie. the Meg Ryan character) was played by Drew Barrymore (my word she's changed since E.T.) and Hugh Grant played the ..er... Hugh Grant character.

T
hey meet, they connect, they separate misunderstanding one another, yet they improbably get back together at the finale. Heard it all before? You bet!!

But here's what's troubling me most. I didn't fall asleep, which is my usual recourse during Hollywood soporific spectaculars. I didn't check my watch (much). I didn't get ludicrously grumpy and I didn't start picking all the obvious faults in the film to moan about. On one occasion I am ashamed to say that I actually emitted an audible laugh.

So what is happening to me? Is this any better than the usual drivel? Hardly! Was I taken aback by the cinema experience rather than the usual small-screen? Are my critical faculties loosing the long/slow war of attrition? Or am I just mellowing in my old age? Any of the possible answers are troubling.

This I Like

Gabbro-a-go-go!

I am this morning both very old and very pleased. Very old because this morning I attained my 36th year; very pleased because of a rather splendid present bought for me by the wife. In May I will be heading North-west for a week of walking and scrambling on Skye, joining up with a group and a guide to play about amongst the Cuillin for four or five days. The mountain weeks up there are organised by the SYHA and look (on paper at least) excellent.

So between now and May there is just the little matter of my level of fitness to address. ...

The photo of the Cuillin, above, was taken from near Applecross.

Never to be seen again

I am sorry to have to report that one of our little pet goldfish has quietly passed away and has, with all due ceremony, descended the U-Bend of destiny.

and bottle washer too, presumably

My delightful sons, "Boris" (7) and "Norris" (4) have just had a discussion about me, within my earshot. The latter thinks that I should be referred to as "cook", whereas the former has decided that I am "the butler".

I was about to launch into a rant about spoilt ungrateful children and being taken for granted when a rather sarcastic "quote of the day" arrived on my desktop!

The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene

of older people, and greatly assists in the circulation of their blood.
Logan Pearsall Smith.

Then I'm just glad that my children have such a well profused butler!

So Tight It Hurts!

There is a fine line between being 'sensible' with money and just being an old miser. I like to think that I have well and truly crossed that line.

When it comes to buying music I reckon there is nowhere cheaper than ebay these days. I always think it is hilarious to see the prices places such as HMV charge for CD's. Last time I was in one of their stores most of the discs were marked at around £15!

I reckon that £5 is the most you should ever have to pay for a CD, and that would be for a CD that you REALLY want, and anything else you should be able to find far, far cheaper, if you are willing to

bide your time, get onto ebay, bid low and bid often! None the various CD's pictured here have broken the £5 rule and (lest there be any confusion, that figure does include postage and packing!). Most of them weighed in at a hefty £3 in total, while the winner was K.D. Lang's "Invincible Summer" which although costing £1.99 in postage, was claimed with a winning bid of exactly £0.01. Now that's the kind of money I am prepared to pay for good music! 1p is almost a comedy offer to make someone for their goods, but if they list their wares as being "incredible bargain - no starting price" and no-one else bids, what can they expect?!

I reckon that buying CDs this way results in better quality than most of the download sites, and better value than even the cheapest of the regular retailers.

The K.D. Lang CD is very good, much better than her forays into Country music, but on this album she is far too happy for my liking - I think she excels at melancholy! The Cat Stevens retrospective is very good too, all his old hits are there and I love his eccentric songwriting and idiosyncratic vocals. The Robert Cray blues album is very good, but I need to listen to it a few more times. John Martyn's "solid air" is a classic, and sounds wonderful - although 'chemically enhanced' to say the least. As for Madeleine Peyroux, I'm still waiting for the postman to deliver her 'careless love' album to the house. I love her voice and have high expectations of the album.

At least I know that if any of these purchases turn out to be complete mince - I haven't paid HMV £15- for the privilege of saying so.

Loch Ordie & Deuchary Hill

Boris and I have enjoyed an excellent half-day in the hills today, wandering up to the lovely Loch Ordie and then walking up Deuchary Hill - a pleasant 11km with 475m of ascent.

We have explored little of the area between the Dunkeld and Ballinluig turnings off the A9 - but were pleasantly surprised by what we found today; old woodlands, good tracks, huge views, lovely rivers, wildlife aplenty and far steeper hills than we had expected.

Schiehallion looked spectacular from the end-on view afforded from Deuchary Hill, but was surprisingly free of snow of which there plenty to be seen high on other hills such as Beinn a Ghlo. It was extremely windy and cold on the summit, but there was a good rock to shelter behind for some lunch, right next to the trig point.

We are at an awkward stage again this year where Boris is keen to walk, Norris can be persuaded to walk, but little Doris is not able to walk far, but is now too heavy to carry far. This all means that family hill walks (of any decent length anyway) won't be happening for a while and we'll have to split up and do separate things for each of them. So, this morning, Norris and Doris helped their Mum bake bread, while Boris and I worked up an appetite in order to come home and demolish it!

The photos are of Deuchary Hill from the Lochan na Beinn, immediately below the summit, and the poor quality is because they were taken with my phone. The final climb to the trig point is quite steep, going directly up between the two summits visible in the pictures.

Authentic Imitation

Over the last few weeks there has been one passage in the Bible which has been dominating my thoughts. I have been reading it frequently, and speaking about it in church several times too. I feel almost tracked down by it, as I grapple with it's meaning and wrestle with its implications.

The letter to the Philippians was written to an excellent church, marred (so it seems) by a tendency amongst a few members to squabble. The advice given to them is not merely to stop and grow up, neither is it to condemn them or induce guilt - but to given them an example to follow. The imitation of Christ is commended to them as the authentic Christian life.

Scholars of ancient Greek say the following scans as a hymn:

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God,

did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,

but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant,

being made in human likeness.

And being found in appearance as a man,

he humbled himself and became obedient to death—

even death on a cross!

This then is not merely the way the Philippians were to sort out their disagreements, but also the way that I am to live within the community of faith today, and live in my home and wider community as well.

True joy comes to us like resurrection, not by accumulation, - authenticity by imitation.

Jabba the Hut

I am now officially "overweight" as confirmed by the medical profession, with a bmi (blubbery midrift index) several notches higher than what it should be! The fact that science has confirmed what the wife has long been telling me is (apparently) the required motivation for eating less enjoyable food from now on.

I have to admit that I knew that there was more of me than was perhaps ideal, but was surprised at how far off the 'green' section of the graph I proved to be.

I remember seeing a piece of research done by some psychologists who had got a flexible mirror and asked people to press a button to indicate when the mirror was flat - ie. when it was reflecting a true image of themselves. The results made interesting reading, because "most" men perceived themselves to be a few degrees thinner than reality while "most" women perceived themselves to be several degrees larger than they actually are! I think if subjcted to such a test, the wife and I would conform to type on this score at least!

However, all such denials on my part have fallen by the wayside now, as the wife is patrolling the menu and the bmi scores; while Boris wants to know when I will be taking up Sumo.

Once More

Ticket Bought!

Now this should be fun. I saw Gary Moore and his band several times when I was a teenager in London - but haven't been to one of his gigs for probably fifteen years. I've just noticed that he's coming up to Glasgow in May, so have grabbed myself a ticket.

Moore has covered so many musical styles in his career (rock, pop, metal, celtic, jazz-fusion, dance, and blues) and with a new album out soon, I have no idea what sort of format his gig will take. I remember one gig at which a lot of dissilusioned head-bangers came expecting to hear his hard-rock catalogue but instead were treated to an evening of blues. Personally I'm hoping that it's the blues which dominates, because I think that is what he does best.

Usually Worth A Look

Oxford University Press have regular sales with many of their books flogged at 75% off. Since being pointed in their direction a few years ago by Dr Stumpy Greenisland I've found them a regular source of cheap, worthwhile reading.

Their latest offerings can be found at: http://www.oup.co.uk/sale/2007/

When your children think you are foreign

What do you do when, despite the fact that you have lived in Scotland all your adult life and have produced children who are self-consciously Scottish, you cannot adequately meet their demand for a Burns Supper?!

Our efforts went something like:

(a) A splendid Simon Howie haggis was duly purchased and cooked

(b) A few clicks found this site not only told us what to do, but enabled us to download the Slekirk Grace as well as the required "To A Haggis".

(c) A few more clicks downloaded some suitable bagpipe music onto the iPod, which when plugged into the stereo enabled us to clap the Haggis in, in some style!

And we were away!

My attempts to read the Burns made the poor old fella turn in his grave (and any living Scotsman within earshot descend into fits of giggles) so it was deemed more appropriate that the wife should bring her Celtic tones to bear on the work (albeit Ulster ones) . She aquitted herself admirably too!

The downside was that little Doris was absolutely petrified by the squirl of the pipes and she howled and howled and howled. It all blended together most melodiously I thought.

As for the Haggis - it was absolutely fantastic!

Address to a Haggis. (only part of!)

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy of a grace

As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o need,

While thro your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,

An cut you up wi ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch; And then,

O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!

Rock 'ard!

Some idiot (ie. me) decided that it would be splendid idea to have an externally vented extractor fan in the kitchen.

The cooker is on an external wall and so we bought a new hood for it complete with a ducting kit.

Lord Lucan, supplier of all trades to the aristocracy and peasantry alike, said he had the required core-er and appeared ready to do the job.

All went well as first plasterboard then polystyrene and then brick dissapeared easily and were emptied out from the drill-end. Then we approached the outer wall of our sandstone house. Well - we anticpated that the rear wall would be sandstone, like the rest of the building and were a little surprised to find that we were trying to drill through solid granite, which seemed to object to being cored and put up a stiff fight. The main problem was that when the corer had cut it's full depth and could go no further, the central piece of rock was too strong to break off.

Many happy hours of drilling and chiseling later we got through!

Book Notes: 12 Books That Changed The World by Melvyn Bragg

It's about time I got into some of my Christmas presents. This one, for example, has been sitting waiting to be opened for far too long. Anyone who has enjoyed Bragg's "In Our Time" on the radio will appreciate this book, which is an accessible foray into the history of ideas. Bragg was prevented by the BBC for continuing to present 'Start the week' when he became a Labour peer, so the BBC created the series for him. This has proved to be very successful because Andrew Marr rejuvenated start the week, and Bragg has been freed in this series to explore many weird and wonderful historical tributaries to our stream of knowledge, culture and understanding.

The book has 12 short chapters each with brief notes on the composition and effects of 12 British books which have had a huge, long-lasting impact. The range of subjects looks compelling too, ranging from Shakespeare and and the Bible (hold on a minute, that's a different radio programme) to Newton and Farady, then Wollstonecraft, Stopes and Darwin.

Bragg is careful not to say these are "the" 12 books which changed the world and to claim more for his opinions than is appropriate - which is good. I like reading books like this, which can be picked up and put down easily, and read in the odd moments that family life permits. Plus, without much difficulty it broadens my knowledge, making me appear well-read for a fraction of the usual effort required.

Infra Red!

I am frankly appalled at the things which amuse me.

Thanks to Potts for the clip and doonhamergeordie for instructions on embedding it!

No snowballs yet

So near yet so far. The snow is still hanging beautifully on the surrounding hills, but its attempts to 'paint the town white' as it were, have all melted within seconds of landing. Boris and Norris look longingly at their little plastic sledges and ask when the snow is coming.

Book Notes: 'Toronto' in Perpective, David Holborn (ed)

I've just finished reading this collection of essays and short history of the so-called "Toronto" phenomena, the wave of extreme religious experience that swept through UK churches in the mid-1990s. The movement was controversial at the time, and it remains deeply so today. This book contains essays from a variety of perspectives, from those who unashamedly contest that this was a great blessing from God, to those who believe that it was a purely human experience, to those who would suggest that a more malign spiritual power underlay the events.

I remember the events of this era well. I was a student, and many of my Christian friends were reporting strange phenomena occurring at their church meetings, most noticeably waves of laughter and people descending into 'altered states of consciousness' during which profound spiritual impressions are made upon them. It didn't happen at my church. The book is more significant than this though because it emerges as case-study for theological method, assessing the principles by which the church must weigh and critique everything she does.

One of the most interesting aspects of the book, (published under the auspices of the theological study department of the evangelical alliance) was the way that church history was used by both proponents and detractors of the movement to bolster their case (because it was clear that there was no clear biblical precedent to justify some of the more extreme practices). Jonathan Edwards' works were especially rummaged through for fragments of evidence in this regard.

Physical and psychological manifestations of spiritual occurrences are nothing new. Church history is full of countless instances where people being profoundly changed (either converted or renewed) have exhibited unusual behaviour. Historically though these have always thought to have been extraneous to the genuine work of the Holy Spirit in the soul, and even classic revivalists like Wesley and Whitefield sought to stop them in meetings as mere distractions from the message. The Toronto movement however seemed to make such unusual manifestations the centre of the experience, not seeking to control but to facilitate them. This is disturbing.

Outright dismissal of the whole movement seems to create other problems though. Things are never that simple. For instance there were many proponents of the 'blessing' who were also troubled by the way in which it was being handled, people who were seeking to be both spiritually open and critically aware, against the minority for whom 'don't question, just receive' seemed to be the modus operandi. There were many who sought constant refinement of some of the practices involved in a conscious effort to hold onto the benefits of the spiritual experiences people were having, without some of the distortions which had come with it. It was this tension that caused a rift between the different streams within the movement itself.

As in response to enlightenment rationalism Christians sometimes tried to develop an overly 'systematic' faith in a way which took the faith into the thought forms of its time; so the term "messy spirituality" has come to fore in these post-modern times. The question is the degree to which the message of Christ can be 'incarnated' within a culture or should stand in contrast to it.

Ten years later, it the legacy of the movement is mixed. Many people report that it was a time in which their lives were immeasurably enriched, many people came to faith, and look back with thanks to this movement. Others remain implacably opposed to what they see as the excesses of the movement and it's failure to reflect theologically and curb its extremes. Still others look back with disappointment at something which they thought would profoundly change the church and the country but which has done neither.

This mish-mash of genuine spirituality, psychology, some manipulation and possibly even the demonic, certainly qualifies as "messy spirituality". The problem is that it's ultimately just too messy. The problem for the non-Charismatic/Pentecostal churches remains that the presence of God traditionally encountered in word and sacrament seems invisible to our contemporaries. The problem for our Charismatic/Pentecostal friends is that the demonstrations of His presence which they profess are sometimes so divorced from the Bible and theological reflection that they can be content-less and vacuous, like the experience the Daily Telegraph reporter had at Toronto during which he felt the presence of an irresistible force and had a profound experience - but didn't connect this experience with the message of Jesus. The fissure between this and the likes of Jonathan Edwards could not be more apparent.

One Day, Two Hospitals

Young Norris (aged 4) has enjoyed visits to two hospitals today, one planned, one unplanned! First of this morning we took him to Ninewells hospital in Dundee for a check-up on his ears which was fine - even though he has lost one of the two grommets inserted last year.

The second hospital visit was less routine! I was at the counter in the Wesley-Owen shop in George Street in Edinburgh trying to find some decent materials for small group studies in the Pentateuch while Norris was bumbling around investigating things. He seemed especially taken with the sale items which were mostly garish Yuletide tat, being flogged off in January to people who aren't going to risk leaving their Merry Kitchmas preparations to the last minute.

Thinking that he was safe, I searched through the various offerings from the Christian press and was bemoaning the quality of the available studies, when Norris decided to sprint across the store. I'm not sure at what point in the ageing process the body ceases to be overwhelmed with the sudden and spontaneous need to run; however at 35 I don't have it, and at 4 Norris does. His spontaneous dashes around his immediate environment are usually fairly trouble free, however today he was wearing his big brothers shoes, which were (somewhat unsurprisingly) bigger than his feet. At full speed, his feet tangled together, he tripped and fell, spectacularly splitting open his head on the corner of a bookcase.

First there was the noise. The sound of leather-on-willow is frequently attested to have mysterious joy imparting properties. The sound of skull-on-bookshelf is equally distinctive, but lacks something of the romantic allure.

Then there was a silence. Norris crashed to the floor and lay still for a second or two. The shop also went quiet as everyone turned to look, unsure how to react.

Then there was a commotion. At the same point as the adults in the room all rushed towards Norris, he sat up. And screamed! Then he stood up and screamed. And then he screamed some more, all the while clutching his head.

Then the blood started to run out between his fingers on his forehead and to run all down his face. So not unnaturally I asked the staff if they had a first-aider on the staff who would come and assist. The staff, on balance felt that rather than getting a first aider with suitable equipment it would be more productive to panic a bit. It was good to have someone to do that particular task for me, freeing me up to look after the now frightened Norris.

Then a lady (a fellow-customer) reached into her bag and brought out a few clean cloths which we put on Norris' head to stem the bleeding. It's lovely to think that if Norris achieves even minor celebrity status in years to come, these bloodied cloths will end up on ebay.

Everyone agreed that he should be taken to A&E, but I didn't know the way. So the lady with the cloths offered to drive us there. Instead of that (I didn't want a parking ticket!) we ran towards our respective cars so that I could follow her.

The shop staff stopped me to ask me to remove my hands from the cloth stopping the blood flow in order to fill out an accident report. I advised them otherwise with some emphasis.

Then we drove fast through Edinburgh, me trying to keep with her car (a non-descript Ford emblazoned with stickers advertising the Alpha course) all the way to the Sick Kids hospital. Half-way there she stopped her car, lept out, ran around the the boot and brought out from a thermos box, an ice-pack. She ran to our car with it and gave to me. Norris duly held it to his head which meant that by the time we got to the hospital most of the bleeding had stopped. Here, our new friend, showed us the way to the A&E before driving off in to the grimy Edinburgh drizzle.

In A&E a nurse cleaned out the wound. This was tricky because a lot of his hair had congealed into it, and picking this out threatened to restart bleeding. Nevertheless this was done successfully before a charming German doctor came along to glue the cut back together. Once she was done, we were left to go. A mighty relieved Dad, and a very pale looking and rather shaky little boy, headed home with a story to tell Mum!

And whoever you are shopping in Wesley-Owen in Edinburgh today with the supply of clean cloths, who showed us the way to the kids A&E in your "Alpha" stickered car. Thank you!

More Water Problems

Today has been... "eventful". We had a plumber doing a really small job in the kitchen, simply dropping some pipe runs a few inches so that they will tuck neatly behind the appliances. Straightforward enough you might think, and so it appeared for a good while after he had gone.

However, upon my return with Norris and Doris, from dropping Boris off at a birthday party, I noticed a strange trickle of water flowing out from underneath ourfront wall. Closer inspection revealed that the water was seeping from a crack in the rock upon which the wall is built. I assumed that we had gained a small spring, as two other houses along this stretch of road have. This explanation looked to be less likely as within five minutes several more had appeared, and after half and hour a small river issued from every crack in our front wall, clearly at mains pressure. This diagnosis was confirmed when it was discovered that there was no water supply connected to the house.

Well, Lord Lucan appeared quickly on the scene and shut all our water off, which after an hour or so, stemmed the flow through the garden. The plumbing firm then reappeared and reckon that the pressure being switched on and off was enough to completely sever a very old joint in the main water pipe to our house.

So tonight we are without water, and tomorrow the big dig-up of our garden begins - in what promises to be horrific weather.

Once Again

Norris Strikes Back

Four-year-old Norris had the bright idea of constructing an indoor waterfall yesterday. A delightful (and truly realistsic) interior water feature can be easily achieved, by simply blocking the plug-hole of the sink with a flannel and turning the taps on just before the family head out for an hour or so...

The picture shows our feeble attempts to speed-dry the carpet with hair-dryers and fan heaters. Happily our bathroom is on the ground floor so much of the water dissappeared under the floor, unlike my parents house and the time when my sister fell asleep in the bath and flooded the living room underneath.

Mountain Lust!

It happens every year, in the middle of dark winter days, unable to get to the hills, someone buys me a mountain book for Christmas. It's not that I am ungrateful (far from it), it's just that with no immediate prospect of an escape to the Highlands, the books make me drool. And so it happens that at the beginning of January every year I pore over OS maps and mountain guides, planning hundreds of routes all over Scotland, of which I will actually manage but a handful. It has been known for me to complete mental ascents of all the Munro's within the first month of the year from my armchair.

This year is no exception. In recent days I have completed imaginary assaults on Sgurr Na Ciche, Ben Avon, Derry Cairngorm, Sgurr Thuilm, Ben More (Mull) and An Teallach (twice).

First sight of snow.

The New Year has brought with it the first sight of snow we've had since last Easter. The hills above the town are now suitably white, and if the pattern follows previous years, the snow-line will descend all the way down to us over the next two months.

The Dust Settles...

Calm has returned to the house after a somewhat frenetic few weeks. In the last month, both sets of parents/in-laws have stayed, friends from Australia have been here, and then for a grand finale for this hospitable season we had a houseful of people for New Year.

Over the long weekend, our house bulged at the seams with six adults, seven children, 130 meals served, several pints of London pride consumed, 14 pints of milk used, a whole large sack of loo-rolls used up, several tons of logs burnt in the fire and precious few hours slept.

Altogether it was a fine way to see in the New Year, as the company, food, conversation, wit, humour and general repartee was of a low enough standard to make the whole experience thoroughly enjoyable. We count ourselves fortunate to be blessed with such an abundance of genuine eccentricity distributed so generously amongst our friends.

Happy Christmas, Monday 25th

on a cold and frosty morning...........

Book Notes: The War on Truth by Neil Mackay

College holidays are a great time for getting into reading all the books, not on the reading list, which I have been wanting to get into all term. The latest is Neil Mackay's "The War on Truth" which is an examination of the spin and deceit that paved the way for the disastrous invasion of Iraq.

This book is infuriating reading, for two reasons. Firstly the subject matter: we knew we were being lied to, we protested and campaigned against the invasion - but were led into an bloody, illegal, immoral and globally divisive conflict by New Labour lobby-fodder. To have the process of the progress to war, and the long-term neo-con planning of the event, (an about turn after their arming Saddam against Iran) explicated in detail is as painful as it is shameful. The cost in human life in an ill-fated attempt to maintain US hegemony, in order to stave off the impending energy crisis, is not merely regrettable, it is sinful.

The book has also annoyed me though, in the way that it has been written, The author (of the Sunday Herald) has read far too much Michael Moore and is desperately trying to mimic is cocky, swaggering style. He would have done far better to let the facts speak for their ghastly selves without inserting his invasive style between the argument and the reader.

However, this is a small matter indeed, in the light of the fact that the UK has thrown away its virtuous military heritage gained from the defeat of Nazi Germany which has guided us for six decades and reverted to a Palmerstonian use of our armed forces. Worse still is the fact that whereas the 'just-war' theory (based on Christian principles stretching back as least as far as Augustine) has been jettisoned in favour of the doctrine of the 'pre-emptive strike'. Under this dark guise our governments' can lead us to war against anyone that they tell us is a threat to our security. Such a war would be questionable as it would deny the potential aggressor the option of pulling back from the brink at the last minute. However more dangerous than that is that we rely on governments to tell us when our security is threatened and to order us to war. And governments lie.

While Saddam's regime is hardly a great loss to the world, a greater tragedy is that the people of places such as Darfur are left to rot, because their evil oppressors don't happen to own the world's second largest oil reserves.

A Photo for Monday

New Toy

I have a new toy to play with, a nice little web cam! It matches one we have given to my mum for her birthday so that she can chat to all her grandchildren live on line (the ultimate silver-surfing gizmo's, surely?).

The web cam has worked pretty well so far, although as the following demonstrate, it goes all berserk in a kind of Narcissus-like way too!

A Proud Dad!

Well it's been a good day or two being the father of number two son, aka "Norris". Although, as previously blogged, his last effort at appearing in a nativity play began well but descended into high farce, yesterday's public performance went really well. Not only did he sit still (!) and sing well, but there were no squabbles onstage and he wasn't overwhelmed with the irresistible urge to publicly shed his attire as previously.

What was fun was to watch him enjoying the applause and sitting down after his solo, with a grin - and then a huge sigh of relief. "Are you 'Norris' Dad?", a few people said to me at the end. A year ago when he was having hearing and behavioural problems those words would have made my heart sink with a heavy, 'what has he done now?'. It was nice that this time it was to say how well he had done.

There is a short QuickTime movie clip of him singing, available for download from another site. If friends and family want to see it, drop me an e-mail and I'll send you the URL.

Flood Gallery 4

Re: 1st picture. On balance it may not be worth risking drowning in order to clear up after your dog....

It's still raining heavily and the river is rising.

Flood Gallery 3

Bridges and flood defences getting put through their paces

Flood Gallery 2

We often go for walks on the island, on the grass through the trees! The last blurred picture is of a large round bale of straw rushing down the river. Fields up stream up the city must be really flooded if loads this size are getting washed away.

Flood Gallery 1

Not the best day they've had at the allotments!