Impressed by Velemegna

There are few activities in which the church engages, which cause as much suspicion today as supporting "missionaries." The word itself is a problem - in that it conjours up all manner of unhelpful anachronisms, ranging from jungle-scything pith-helmet wearing adventurers; to the power-hungry Imperialist, riding the wave of empire to first commit, and then impose inappropriate cultural faux pas on unsuspecting peoples. Indeed some of the first wave of the missionary movement, alongside some outlandish acts of self-sacrifice, did sometimes appear to want to make the world rather more, er.. English. This is rather an odd thing to want to do in the name of the Jewish messiah, whose own mission was not one which involved demolition of his culture, but his spectacular complete incarnation within it. However......

This lesson of incarnation is one which western mission societies grasped long ago, and no mission today speaks in the arrogant terms of yesteryear, when every discussion progressed on the assumed superiority of the westerner. For a generation now, the missionary movement has continued to send westerners to serve in the church in various parts of the developing word - with a stated desire to be the servants of those they meet, not the masters. The stereotypical 'missionary' has long since faded into the archives.

Last night however, we were reminded that this 'second phase' (the post-Christendom western missionary) is now being eclipsed. While the popular image of a Christian is a white, old, rich, rural-dwelling English person - the truth of the matter is that the church today is massively and overwhelmingly poor, non-white, young, urban and in the developing world. So too, mission has changed in the light of these new realities.

Thoma and Sybil from the Velemegna Society Hospital in Bidar, South India, spoke at church last night. They are Indians, whose mission is to India, who live and work in the hospital that their father founded, which has won awards and accolades for its amazing work in eye surgery and in caring for families affected by Leprosy. They didn't come on a tour from a western mission agency with a big office in Milton Keynes, they came as friends, as a trustee and surgeon of the hospital, to share their prayer requests and practical needs with us. The hospital is a model of the kind of mission work which is both practical and spiritual. In India the Christian community is a minority (in some places a beleaguered minority), and this hospital is absolutely up-front about the Christian motivation for their work. In fact they speak openly to the patients and families about the love of Christ which motivates them to suffer abuse for medically treating Dalits and Lepers, who are not deemed worthy of medical care - according to some local customs. They are completely non-discriminatory in both their spiritual and practical care; they offer both the love of Christ and medical help to all without any discrimination, for race, background, caste or gender. They do so as locals, freed from any connotations of Imperialism, but as servants whose love and concern for their people is palpable, and the costs they have paid for their service to them in Christs name, considerable. They asked for our help and our prayer. It's a privilege to be able to do so.

One thing Thoma pointed out to me was that in the UK we have a unique advantage in being able to help at the moment. The UK Pound has been outrageously strong for a long time, especially in comparison with the Rupee. "You have no idea of the purchasing power of your loose-change, your copper-coins, when converted to the Rupee" Thoma told me. He added - that I also had no idea of the enormous good that they could accomplish with it either. They are now refurbishing homes for the families of Leprosy sufferers, who though they treat, are still ousted from their communities and have nowhere else to live - a project in conjunction with the Leprosy Mission. They are also purchasing equipment for eye-operations in conjunction with the Christian Blind Mission. They have pastors who care for the spiritual needs of the patients and their families. They have countless stories to tell us, of people and projects to pray for. All of these are ways in which they invite us to join them in their mission to their people!

Of course, the next wave of the missionary movement will be that countries in the two-thirds world, who were once the recipients of missionaries, will increasingly be sending them to us! Already, many denominations have pastors from the developing world in churches here in the west, and as the church here continues to limp along rather er ....limply, and the church in places like India can teach us so much about love, self-sacrifice, commitment, servanthood, faith, vision, prayer, passion and Christlikeness - then perhaps this is exactly what we need!

In the meantime I was inspired by the example of the eye surgeon Dr. Sybil Meshramker, who at huge personal cost is the hospital's eye-specialist. She performs as many eye-operations a year as Ninewells hospital in Dundee (2000!!), often working inhuman hours in order to manage the overwhelming demand for procedures such as cataract removal and insertion of artificial replacement lenses. Apparently she takes her holidays on board the Mercy Ships... so she can do more operating! In addition to this she is the hospital's director, a job she finds hugely draining as her authority to manage is constantly questioned because of the patriarchal assumptions of her society. However, she - along with others, presides over the legacy of spiritual and practical service of her people in Christ's name which her parents passed on to her.

Trainspotting

This is dedicated to all those who were giving me grief for being a sad and sorry trainspotter last night. A little film I took in Perth last week. Poetry in motion... enjoy!

PS - yes I know I have been tagged multiple-times. Not sure when I will get a chance to respond though - maybe when I have my essay for college finished!

Every sunset sky

This morning, church began with the song that features the words, "Over all the earth, you reign on high, every moutain stream every sunset sky". No moutain stream photo, I'm afraid - but last night's sunset was particularly wonderful.

Boris and the T-shirt

Young Boris announced the other day that he had to draw a picture, "about the environment" for the school Eco-committee to put on a T-shirt. Mrs Hideous wasn't here, and Boris and I stared blankly at the paper confronted with the full horror of our mutual complete inability to draw. Our inept scratching at the paper with pens was pretty embarassing, and without the aid of anyone competent, we turned instead to scratching our heads!

Inspiration struck when it occured to me that some of his ideas were pretty good. So instead of trying to draw them, we looked for images online and then slotted them together on the computer. He needed a hand with some of the detailed cropping of images, and some tidying up at the end, but he worked hard, moving the trees, map and bird around the screen, trying different colours and so forth - until it was good enough. Even though he wasn't happy with what we had done, it was to late to do more, so he went to bed. Above is the corrected version that we sorted out - it's even better than the one he took to school.

Dunkeld Again..

Like Endlessly Restless and Lins, we are frequent visitors to Dunkeld. We had a lovely afternoon there with Boris, Norris, Doris and their Grandmother (London variety) this week, enjoying the spring sunshine and the ice cream.

Back to the Books

I've been hitting the books again this week, a major college essay to complete. Sometimes the book-list can feel like a mountain to climb. Still, it's an interesting subject - a historical study on how the church has understood its mission - especially in terms of the relationship between evangelism and social concern.

Things What We Saw in London (17)

A day out in Sussex, The Bluebell Railway

Things What We Saw in London (16)

Down to the Bluebell Line (not really London, I know)

Things What We Saw in London (15)

The Gardens at Kew Gardens (as requested!)

Things What We Saw in London (14)

Pardon?

Things What We Saw in London (13)

Kew Gardens

Things What We Saw in London (12)

Kew Gardens

Things What We Saw in London (11)

Kew Gardens

Things What We Saw in London (10)

A delightful photo, by the delightful Mrs Hideous. Kew Gardens, "Temperate House"

Things What We Saw in London (9)

Kew Gardens

Things What We Saw in London (8)

At Key Gardens - where Grandma used to take us

Things What We Saw in London (7)

Inside Tower Bridge - the original engines which raised the bridge for tall ships

Things What We Saw in London (6)

Tower Bridge

Things What We Saw in London (5)

The House of Liars, and Westminster Bridge

Things What We Saw in London (4)

A lovely photo, taken by the lovely Mrs Hideous

Things What We Saw in London (3)

Things What We Saw in London (2)

The London Eye

Things What We Saw in London (1)

That Hideous Man!

Food for thought, time to pray

Here it is!

It seems my convoluted English left at least one reader bemused. Hopefully a map will be clearer, a picture/thousand words etc.

Craig a Barns

It was eight years ago that sometime blog-commenter here 'Vlad', told me of a great local walk. He recommended taking the track up a hill called Craig a Barns, which begins near the large sawmill just behind Dunkeld. I know it was that long ago, because I carried a very tiny Boris up there along with a thermos of warmed baby-milk! Yesterday I spent much of the day regretting that I had left it eight years without paying the place a well-deserved return visit.

If you have ever sped up the A9 on your way from Perth, perhaps looking forward to a day amongst the shapely hills of the far North-West, or turning left at Dalwhinnie for the West Coast, or disregarding the speed limit in your haste to ascend the Cairngorm plateau, you may have missed Craig a Barns. Next time you are braving the main road, look across to the North - as the A9 bears right at Dunkeld and curves around to cross the Tay. There in the corner with a view Northwards towards Pitlochry and Eastward back across the village is the steep sided, tree-covered Craig a Barns. It's an ancient hill-fort site, and it's easy to see why an iron age general would want to sit on top of its domineering slopes, and utilise its commanding view of the strath below.

We were not there for military reasons, however (having said that, my sons' predilection for pine-cone bombardment does make gaining the higher ground a very sensible option). I was going to have all three kids for the day, my wife was working, and the weather was fantastic - and then I remembered Vlad's recommendation from so long ago. We managed a circular walk, up from the sawmill, under the caves and cliffs, round the the smaller summit and back past the beautiful lochan directly underneath it. This is a place with almost magical qualities, perfectly still, fish jumping, frogs leaping, and ducks following humans around the paths. We could have stopped here for hours, but time was pressing and we had to get back down the road as swimming lessons were awaiting!

A day with the kids, in lovely weather and gorgeous surroundings. Aren't school holidays great!?

Scotland U-19s

Young Boris was the happy recipient of a pair of free tickets to see the U-19 football international between Scotland and Denmark. It was a surprisingly good game, which we enjoyed. Lins and his Dad were there too and Lins has given the game the full punditry it deserves here!

As for the photo above - we wondered if the Danes has requested that their names be removed from the scoreboard, once it became embarrassing. Scotland scored again after I took this photo too!

Along the Fife Coast

Boris, Norris, Doris and I had a great day out along the Fife Coastal Path. Despite being buffeted by freezing cold, driving winds, we enjoyed the celebrated Anstruther Fish and Chip shop, and had a good walk on the section of the path North of Crail. More pix below!

Saying Goodbye to Little Grandma (1918 - 2008)

This is the short talk I gave at my Grandma's funeral on Friday. Well roughly anyway - this is what I intended to say, and managed most of!

______

Today, like many of you I am experiencing the perplexing collision of grief and gratitude. There is today a real sense of grief, in her passing, her no longer being here – her absence. Alongside that however there is also a huge sense of gratitude. Gratitude for having known her, her love, care, interest, encouragement and example! I am also aware that many people do not get to enjoy a grandparent for 37 years as I have (35 years for my sister!)

We are also very grateful to all of you who have come here today, for being here and sharing this important and significant occasion with us. If you had told my Grandma a year ago, how many people would come and remember her today – she just would not have believed you! If she had known how far some of you have come to be here she would have said, “you shouldn't have!”. And then she would have spent the rest of the day worrying about you getting home!


My sister and I have spent a lot of time on the phone this week, sharing memories of our Grandma. There are so many happy memories, stretching back so far. As we talked, memory after memory – too many to mention came back to us. The 1st draft of this was about an hour long!

The first thing we remembered was all the places that we explored with Grandma – and with our Grandpa when he was alive too. Penton Hook islands in the Thames, Windsor Great Park, The Copper Horse, Virginia Water, Saville Gardens, Winkworth Arboretum, Bushy Park, Woodland Gardens, St Anne’s Hill, Chertsey Lock, Laleham, Windsor Castle on the train, or on the boat from Staines! And these are just a few of the places she took us, and we explored together.

The next way we thought of Grandma was at home, initially in Parkland Grove with my Grandpa, subsequently in Chaucer Road with George. Grandma’s house in Parkland Grove was where we went for exciting sleepovers as young children, and where we went when we were off sick from school – and were looked after!

Grandma’s House was always a place of welcome. A place where we were always wanted. She was always pleased to see us – it never seemed to be an inconvenient time! And I know that this was not just something reserved for her grandchildren – because I met so many of you there too, and so many people have spoken about her always open welcoming door.

There was only one person I have ever come across who was unwelcome in her house. My sister was there with Grandma one Tuesday, George had gone out to do the shopping – when an aggressive drunken man staggered in through the front door and began shouting in the house. Facing him my sister froze, not knowing what to do. Grandma however – by this stage in her 80s, marched past her, grabbed the bloke and frogmarched him out of the door! Amazed, my sister said, “how did you do that?!” and was met with dismissive “we fought a war you know!” look from Grandma!

Significantly though – and this was Grandma, once outside and not threatening her she spoke to him, established that he was looking for directions and helped him and explained where to go!

As we talked more and more about memories of Grandma, we realised that in so many of our memories Grandma was laughing! Either smiling, chuckling or really laughing, and that fills so many of our memories – and we have seen her laugh until tears rolled down her face!

Now, every family has its different traditions! In our family, one of our most hallowed traditions was teasing Grandma – fairly remorselessly and unmercifully! Something, I hasten to say, she loved, played up to and positively encouraged. And I can still picture her face, laughing until it hurt, her face getting redder, and tears rolling down it!

On one occasion, not that long after my Grandpa had died, Grandma decided to experiment with what was intended to be a subtle, delicate, purple rinse in her hair! In fact it turned out to be rather more….., well OK – it was shocking purple! My sister and I lost sight of her somewhere at Virginia Water and went around asking people if they had seen an old lady with purple hair! When this proved to be a successful way to locate her, we never let her forget her flirtation with punk fashion!

We also loved to wind Grandma up! When my (now) wife started to visit during the University holidays, Grandma (desperate to know all the details!) would come up and say, “is she a special friend?”. I would reply, “Grandma, all my friends are special!” Simply to frustrate her insatiable curiosity!

Over so many years, we had so much fun with our little Grandma! We were so well look after! She cared for us. She worried about us. She prayed for us
She encouraged us.

But I do not want this afternoon just to think about incidents that happened and what she did. I would also like to remember some of her qualities. I would like to mention three things that her life and example have taught me:

The first is this: People matter more than things!
A cynical critic of modern life said: “We used to use things and love people, but today we love things and use people” Not my Grandma! She loved people! Valued people! She loved you – and you knew it when you visited her! Maybe because she knew what it was like to be genuinely poor as we heard in her biography which was read earlier. But what drove her life – what informed the daily choices she made - was not the accumulation of goods, but caring for and serving other people.

The second thing is this: The nature of True Beauty
We live in an age in which are bombarded with messages from the world- most obviously in advertising. The message that is thrust upon us is this, that beauty, attractiveness and value are outward things which come though opulent living, conspicuous consumption, outward adornment, and an obsession with appearance. My Grandma didn’t epitomise any of those outward things – or strive after them. Yet countless people were drawn to her. She had a warmth, a radiance, a genuine beauty that drew people to her!

Her life demonstrates what the Bible indicates – that true beauty isn’t external and communicated through outward things. True beauty comes from communing with God and is communicated through character!

For her, the desire to be more Christlike was not merely an ‘article of faith’ - but a reason for living!! And you will simply never understand my Grandma unless you have grasped that!

The third thing is this: What it means to be truly Great
When the history books are written of the last century I doubt my Grandma’s name will be mentioned! Instead it will be full of the names and deeds of Kings, Prime Ministers, Generals and Millionaires. But I believe that at the end of all things when GOD weighs the world in the balances of His values. True Greatness – will be seen not to have been held by those who wielded great earthly power. But by those, like my Grandma, who were faithful, humble, ordinary servants of Christ! People whose lives were shaped by Him - whose characters were moulded by Him! People like my Grandma – who never sought attention, never pushed herself forward, never issued clever put-downs or diminished others for her own gain. People whose greatest joy was quietly serving Christ – and others. This will be revealed as the meaning of true greatness. I think its what Jesus meant when he said, “The first will be last and the last will be first”!

Finally, she was a wonderful Grandma, and a wonderful example! We could not have asked for a better Grandma! Hence the collision of grief and gratitude we feel today - because of the love we have received, the fun we have had, and the example we have been set!

The hurting were drawn to her and she always offered genuine love and concern. The doubting and the lost came to her and she pointed them to Christ (and several found Him). She offered genuine love without patronising. She shared Christ humbly and openly but never forcefully.

In so doing she exemplified everything to which I aspire.

_______

Goodbye Little Grandma

Rest in Peace

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror;

then we shall see face to face.

Now I know in part; then I shall know fully,

even as I am fully known.

Pouring Money Down the Drain?

Traditionally, charities have been exempt from paying water/sewerage charges. Providing water for everything from homeless shelters to churches was seen as the very least the state could do, without burdening them with a tax to pay for it. In Scotland, at least, all that could soon change with the government's plans to axe this charitable exemption in their current review of water charging.

The government's handling of the charitable sector over the last decade has been a mixed bag. On one hand the gift-aid scheme has continued to channel a large amount of cash out of government coffers and into charitable works; on the other hand the gradual shift in emphasis from direct to 'stealth' taxes has meant that an ever reducing proportion of the overall tax burden is eligible for such benefits.

If the charitable exemption from water charging is axed as proposed, it will amount to an extra tax being imposed upon some of the most valuable work being done in our communities. In Scotland it is a de facto tax, because Scottish Water remains state owned. It is certainly the case that as we enter a probable recession, the government's revenues from business profits will tumble, their borrowing increase and they will need to claw-back expenditure from every conceivable source. The fact remains however that we still pursue foreign policy initiatives which in their scale have failed to notice our decline from being a major world player with an Empire, to being a minor European state. The UK bill in Iraq has now topped £7bn, but apparently we cannot pipe water to the CATH centre for the homeless in Perth, without taxing them.

If the general principles of this proposal seem all wrong, the details look worse. Whichever well-meaning bureaucrat was charged with the task of establishing principles for charging water rates has decided that the most equitable way of banding the properties is by 'roof area'. This bizarre and entirely arbitrary idea no doubt looks terrific when viewed from the perspective of ...... well anywhere except the real world. In practice it could mean that a large church building could be put into a very high billing-band, not because hundreds of church-members go there to bath, wash their clothes, run their dishwashers or run micro-breweries or other such water-guzzling activities, but simply because their beautiful old church has a lot of roof tiles.

If, like me, you think that the government should be recognising the value of the charitable sector and not imposing such burdens upon it, read on! There is a petition being presented to the Scottish Government, requesting that the charitable exemption from water charges be maintained. If you agree with me and wish to sign it, you can do so here. If you disagree, tell me why!

Book Notes: Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Maconie

Having extolled the virtues of a good bog-book, here's one that has amused me of late! Contrary to the expected stereotype, Maconie is a DJ who is literate, and these are his musings as he revisits his homeland "The North of England". Maconie is a proud Northerner, who despises the South and all it stands for, but one who parodies himself and admits that he lives in London and enjoys much of the southern-ness he so deprecates! The North though, is his home, and his anecdotes, observations (both present and historical) are often funny, sometimes alarming, occasionally a little crude - but all told in his trademark laconic style, and often with compelling use of language.

His travels take him through Lancashire towns (Mills and Bhuna!); to seedy Blackpool, "that great lurid behemoth of tat"; to Bury where they can't screen for colon cancer because the locals eat so much blood-laden black pudding that they show up thousands of false positives; to Liverpool whose "Beatles heritage industry.. is as sentimental and savvy as only Liverpool can be". What's lovely is that Maconie writes not like a Boris Johnson who comes from outside to mock, but writes as a local who both adores his home and finds it funny. And his book takes him on through the North-East, through cities, across mountains and moors. Hugely enjoyable light reading - this is a bog book!



Then on Sunday, I was approached by a grinning Everton fan, and so was immediately suspicious. His opening words were, "I've been reading your blog". Many an inauspicious conversation has commenced thus! So my heart sank, and I begun to mentally recall everything posted over the last few months - trying to work out who I might have offended this time! However - as I wound down the car window to speak to him, he handed me this:


Apparently short-snippets of light reading designed for those few quiet moments a day, come ready packaged. Cheers!

More Pod Fuel!

I posted recently on a number of good things available as podcasts these days and how much I was enjoying several of them, here. Recent weeks has led to the addition of a number of useful subscriptions (all free I might add!). In what is listed I have added direct links to the provider - but all of these listed as podcasts can be found directly through iTunes too.

The BBC has the usually excellent, "From Our Own Correspondent" now available, this week featuring more from Iraq - on the quality of daily life being experienced by ordinary Baghdadi's.

Great Speeches in History, is an excellent little podcast which raids the sound archives every fortnight to add a, sometimes crackly recording, of a momentous speech. Recently they have made available the iconic "I have a dream" from Martin Luther King Jr, Churchill's first public broadcast as Prime Minister, vowing to resist Nazi oppression as German tanks roll across an as yet still resisting France, and the speech at the UN inaugurating the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. All fascinating stuff.

Endlessly Restless drew my attention to one of the Sunday sermons given at HTB in London (the place my wife and I attended The Marriage Course training) - and there's been some things of interest there.

The BBC is now podcasting not only news bulletins,but also local and regional news bulletins too. Tayside and Central has its own regular five minute news summary, and BBC Radio Scotland has its outdoors programme Scotland Outdoors up there too.

Not on the podcast front, but free audio downloads, Tim Keller in New York has a new series of talks outlining his approach to Christian Apologetics, which are the basis of his new book, "Reason for God". These are a thoughtful and considered discussion of Christian orthodoxy, and why he finds it coherent - in the light of the cultural questions posed by post modernity. The download page is here.

How Advertising Actually Works

Raining Cats and Hats

So all we could do was to
Sit!

...............Sit!

............................Sit!

........................................Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.

Bog Book

Everyone should have a bog-book.

In common with all other humans, there are a few quiet moments every day which I spend hidden away, allowing my body to dispose of its waste (an entirely natural process, neither a passing fad, nor injurious to health). I have discovered that these need not be wasted minutes, but in fact can become time well spent, if one has been careful in selecting a suitable bog book, and left it within reach.

There are certain requirements that a good bog book must possess however. It must be the sort of easy reading that is easy to pick up and put down, to be appreciated in small amounts, and not requiring much continuity of thought. It cannot be too intellectually demanding, or concentration sapping, but works better if it is lighthearted, and well written. Maps work well, as do humorous poems, books with very short chapters, and some travel writing; novels and academic books on the other hand are disastrous bog books and should be left in the study.

So my advice for the day, my top-tip is this. Get yourself a bog book, a toilet-tome, a cludgie-companion. The smallest room in the house, need be the dullest, no more!

Planners

"You'll never squeeze another house in there!"

-"Just watch us!"

You couldn't make it up..

The headline of the day is that there is industrial action looming, and a walkout planned at...... ACAS!

(incidentally, why is there only one Competition Commission?)

Anyone fancy a hillwalk or two?

A cold, grimy day on 'The Buachaille'

The walking and outdoor programme has just been announced for the year - and it looks good, with a mixture of Munro's and high-level walks for the sad-Munro-baggers amongst us, some easier low level walks, and a couple of days suitable for families too.

19 April Ben Vrackie
10 May Glen Coe (part of West Highland Way)
31 May Isle of May
21 June Bynack More, Cairngorms
26 July Sgor Gaoith and Mullach Clach a’Bhlair, Glen Feshie
23 August Beinn a’Chlachair, Geal Charn and Creag Pitridh, (nr Laggan)
30 August Millport, Cumbrae (cycle trip during C/W festival)
13 September Drymen to Balhaha, over Connick Hill (West Highland Way)
25 October Fife coastal (Part IV)

Walks usually leave from the car-park at Perth Baptist Church, and we share cars as much as possible. Times vary according to the distance to travel and the severity of the walk. These are not instructor-lead walks, and everyone going assumes responsibility for their own equipment, safety and navigation. However it is more fun to climb the hills together than all going off and doing different hills on the same day! Anyone is welcome to tag along with the eclectic characters who usually amass for such occasions!

Home

Where the longing to be, collides with the work to be done.

Where the joy and the mess, mingle shamelessly together.

Where wounds are both most sorely made, and most deeply healed.

Home.

Slap the architect

I spotted this yesterday, and thought I had come accross a scandalous cutting-of-corners by a builder who couldn't be bothered putting ends on the rhones and running two down-pipes; but instead thought that no-one would notice if he just ran it right accross in front of a window!

Until I noticed the following, and saw lots of windows in the same condition.

It's not a mess, or shoddy workmanship, it's a feature, oooooh! I had what might be called a "slap that architect" moment.

An image for today: Forgiveness

That which is divided can yet grow as one

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Hoaking through the kitsch

The In-laws are having a clear out, which means we have been the happy recipients of several boxes of suspect material from the bedroom my wife occuppied before she left home. Some of what emerged from the foostie smelling banana boxes was delightful. For instance we found loads of my wife's school work from when she was quite young, through to A-level physics and the like. Some of what we found was quite twee, happy debris left over from the array of trinketry that marked the course of one little girl's childhood. Hugely enjoyable to rake through all this, and try and imagine what my wife must have been like at various stages of her life - so many years before we met.

Other things which emerged from the innards of the boxes however, was far more sinister - like the giant Charles and Di wedding album pictured. Before I get all smug and superior and say that when the 'dreadful duo' got married I was somewhat disinterested and went outside and played in a huge sandpit on the farm in Cornwall where we were on holiday at the time - it would be fair to point out that when it happened my future-wife was a very young girl, and that the princess fantasy seemes to be peculiarly de rigeour for small females! Also, she had the privilege of growing up in the loyalist half of Northern Ireland - which has the reputation for being the last bastion of Royalist paraphenalia left in the UK (although this too is fading fast and is technically known as the peace-dividend). On the other hand, I was young enough to think that the Royal wedding was tedious in the extreme - and that was before it got worse and he kissed her - YUK!

Nevertheless, whilst at the time such an album would have disinterested me - in retrospect to hold such a priceless example of kitsch is a remarkable thing! To read all the puke-rendering text about marriages made in heaven and the like, is very black comedy indeed. Who would have thought that only a few years later the re-run of the Trial of Queen Caroline would have been conducted in the courts of the tabloids! What is equally remarkable is that it is ten years since Diana's death, well as Mohammaed Al Fayed would presumably say, Tempus Fuggit!

We're only a little way into the boxes - I can't wait to see what horrors or delights this family time-capsule will reveal next!

Book Note: On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, The Summer Book by Tove Jansson and The Penguin Book of first World War Poetry

I was somewhat surprised to find myself reading this one, as it is distinctly not the sort of thing I usually read! The circumstances themselves were unusual, we were away from home for a couple of days, and I didn't take enough reading material with me, finished what I had brought and my wife handed me this, which she had bought and suggested that it might fill the gap.

The story is set in the 1960s and concerns a young couple of newlyweds, Edward and Florence, as they embark on their honeymoon.

Simply and straightforwardly written, McEwan tells the story of one night at a hotel on Chesil beach, their wedding night, in which all the naive pair's sexual hopes, fears, scars and expectations, all collide in the absence of communication - with consequences which shape their lives. The book ranges accross their past histories and what has brought each of them to this scene, and pans forward through time to explore its consequences.

Tragic, painful, erotic, troubling and revealing, the story is gently explored with facts emerging, and hidden secrets being alluded to - so that the whole picture only slowly appears. The tragic and the hopeful are nicely intertwined throughout the book, as it provides the reader both with the narrative and the thoughts of both participants - as they fail to understand each other. Far from leaving the reader in despair at the fate of the imaginaries however, I thought that it provoked a longing for communication and knowing - with a compelling relevance in the real world. An oddly hopeful gloom!

Now here's a strange one! Tove Jansson's "Summer Book" is the recipient of rave reviews, which proclaim it as a short story, which is a great work of insight and philosophy, humour and brilliant characterisation.

Well - it was enjoyable, atmospheric in spades, quirky in almost every way and an overdose of whimsy in creating the mood and sense of place on the remote Finnish island communities in which it is set (all of which are comendable).

Why is it that every Scandanavian book I have every read is concerned with death? Very long dark winters may have somthing to do with it!

Beyond these amusing atributes the book didn't do a huge amount for me. I found it hard to connect with in many ways, and although it kept my attention to the end, and has left a mark in my mind with some of the memorable scenes described, by the end I was a little dissapointed. Perhaps though this wasn't the fault of the book. If I had stumbled accross it in an ordinary jacket and opened it, I might have been intrugued and drawn in. The fact that the reviews I had read were so adulatory perhaps raised my expectations to an unrealistic level which could only lead to dissapointment!

And so back here again to a book which has been read and re-read over the years. The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry is something which never fails to engage my mind, move me deeply and make me profoundly depressed all day! I found last week when my wife and I were selcting our favourite poems from various sources, I was quite unable to read some of these out loud.

The horror of the trenches was not captured best in early films, photos or by war correspondants, but by the diaries and poems of the volunteers whose lives were the ammunition that the rival European empires threw at each other between 1914-18. This little compemdium captures a good cross section from a whole range of authors including famous works by writers such as Wilfred Owen. For some reason, I think it is Seigfried Sasoon's poems which I find most revealing, and which bring their experiences home to me with the most peculiar force. I think it is the combination of his heartfelt and expressive turn-of-phrase, and the way in which he picks out specific details of the individual dead, capturing the sense of loss more acutely than some of the grander poems which seek to capture the senselessness of the whole. He picks out odd details of their lives, or clothes, pictures wives and mothers waiting and home, or the strange rituals written out in final letters from the front. Sassoons' diaries and post-war reflections are also well worth a read.

Reading selections from this book actually makes me look at the country differently. Young men from farms, villages, and from this town all crowded into trains which left Perth for army training camps and the front. Every town and village has its war memorials, like the charming one overlooking the river at Tayport. The railway station has a sombre brass plaque, which lists the men of Perth General Station who were killed in France and never came back to this town, while old pictures of Perth often feature the "Patriotic Barrow"; a mobile recruiting station, which drummed up support for the war effort and persuaded men to sign up. I read these poems and am drawn into their world, then look at my house built in 1910 and wonder who lived here; if they went to France, if they returned, or if they still lie in Flanders, Ypres, Paschendale or The Somme.

Basra? Helmand? How many more poems are there to be written now?

Ultimately it's an act of worship...

We are once again in the middle of hosting "The Marriage Course", this time with a completely different group of people - and once again its been really enjoyable, meeting them, feeding them, and organising the course.

In this context I was asked to read "Married for God" by Christopher Ash because it is written partly as a crticism of The Marriage Course from a very theologically conservative position. Essentially the criticism is that 'The Marriage Course' is far too geared towards empowering couples to successfully steer their lives together; rather than being prescriptive about how they should live. As such Ash charges The Marriage Course with being less-than-Christian in its failure to critique consumerism, but using the Christian tradition as a facilitator for making happy marriages another lifestyle asset to consume.

Ash is both right and wrong in what he writes. Aside from the fact that he writes in a sometimes awkward and grating style, and with more than a hint of patronising his reader, and some decidedly minority interpretations of some key Biblical texts, Ash does make one especially telling point. The Marriage Course, with its practical treatment of matters such as 'communication', or 'conflict resolution' assumes that these are good things to achieve without exploring the motivation for doing so. This is in part because The Marriage Course is also designed to be accessible to people who are not committed Christians, but want to explore the practical benefits of the course and are willing to listen to this being done from a broadly Christian persective. Ash's insight then is that for the Christian, working at the practicalites of successful marriage are ultimately a matter of worship.

If Ash had thought that by reading his book I would have become less enthusiastic about The Marriage Course - he would be quite wrong however. If one shares his underlying perspective about life's motivation being worship; and that this is something not contained within church services, but which saturates all of life; then persuing the practicalities of "forgiveness" etc as seen on The Marriage Course, become not disposable lifestyle options - but urgent matters of discipleship! Some of what Ash writes may be questionable, but this key insight, makes me all the more eager to host The Marriage Course this evening, and not merely as a pleasant, enjoyable or even worthwhile thing to do. Ultimately, it's an act of worship.

Gentle Spirit

Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me..... and to celebrate it I have just been presented with this, a bottle of Jura malt whisky, by the Hon Mr and Mrs Percy Cowpat (no less). This 'gift of the spirit' is not one I've tried before, and it's always a pleasure to open a new bottle, pour just a smidgeon into a quaich and then inhale deeply through the nose over it, to get a delicious foretaste into what lies ahead.

In this case I was surprised by what I smelt. The other island whiskies I have tasted contain a hefty snort of peat and smoke to the nose, whether it's the clean, flavoursome Bowmore, the perfectly balanced caramel complexity of Bruichladdich, full-on assault of Lagavulin or the spices of Talisker that is evapourating towards the nostrils! Jura, though smelled light, delicate, more like honey than caramel, and almost entirely devoid of the dragon-qualities of some of its nearby Islay neighbours. I was intrigued.

On the palate Jura turned out to be exactly as its odour had indicated, light, delicate, almost heathery more than peaty, and tasting quite similar I thought to Dalwhinnie, that other gentle Highland spirit. The other notable absence from the taste was the sea. Other west-coasters, like the Islays or Oban are given an edge to their taste-profile with a whiff of sea salt which has been absorbed by the barrels. In its place in the Jura I tasted a softness from the (presumably sherry?) casks akin to the standard-finish Glenmorangies.

What do I make of it? Well to my very amateur taste buds, this is a rather pleasant whisky which makes a delightfully quaffable pre-dinner drink, as it sparkles and delights the drinker with its clean, delicate, sweetness; rather than beguiling the taste-buds with challenges and complexities. A mouthfull of Bruichladdich I can play with for ages, feeling and finding different ranges of tastes and textures within it the longer I do so, Jura by contrast I am tempted to drink too fast, as it slips down all too easily.

The other thing to note is that despite the overall look being damaged by a ghastly customs and exise sticker, the thick bottle (shaped like a Victorian ceramic hot-water-bottle) is gorgeous! In recent months I have been the happy recpient of a bottle of Talisker (Skye), Aberlour (Speyside) and now this Jura. These three brilliantly contrasting malts will happily perptuate my Sunday-night-dram tradition for most of 2008 I think!