Right, a word about the 'Ron Hill's'.....

Now I'm not saying that they look good. I'm not saying that they suit me. I'm not saying that it isn't a bit grim for the onlooker to have to observe a slightly tubby, heading-toward-middle-age hillwalker such as myself squeezing himself into them. All I am saying is that I can't find any other hill-gear which is a comfortable, functional and easy to wear- even underneath waterproofs.

It makes my wife squirm with embarrassment every time I put them on, I know the photos are damaging evidence against my credibility (oh, as if any further were needed) and I know that they are the hillwalking equivalent of dodgy miniscule Speedo's in the swimming pool. However the bottom line remains this, I wear them for me to feel comfortable in, not for you to look at.

I am in the hills, I am happy and feel fine; so verily I gesture rudely in the direction of the fashion-police, throw aesthetic sensibilities to the wind - and hey, if you don't like what it looks like then you can walk in front.

Even more Holiday Snaps

A couple of shots of Pitigiliano, where after a long search we found a great pizza restaurant, the sister-in-law was feeling really ill. On the way there we had ice-creams at Bolsena and on the way back a boat ride around the lake. Incidentally the local delicacy there is eels from the lake. They are truly grotesque!

The final shot is of the swimming pool in the sunshine. Any astute blog-readers who are also part of our church will recognise this image as a backdrop used on Sunday's notices!

Yet More Holiday Snaps: Orvieto

The holiday house we had near Orvieto was adequate, but the area was lovely. The sister-in-law, Simon and their kids were there, which was good - the only down side was that she brought her tonsils with her which duly became infected and she was ill, I mean really not well!

These pictures show the town centre, the caves under the town centre, and a view of the old town perching on top of its hill from where we were staying. These ones will enlarge if clicked on!

It was in Orvieto that I made a mistake which could have been costly and which might have ruined our holiday altogether. Doris and I didn't join the rest of the exploring the caves under town centre becuase she was asleep in her pushchair. It was while I was with her, in a cafe, that I lost my wife's purse which pretty much contained everything we needed! I re-traced my steps, looking everywhere and when I got the cafe, the owner was waving at me clutching the purse! Phew! I shook his hand and gave him my most effusive ever "grazi!". He just shrugged and said my favourite Italian word, "'prego"!

More Boring Holiday Snaps: Orvieto's Duomo

We enjoyed a stiffling hot week with Simon and family near Orvieto, a beautiful medieval hilltop town, famous for it's scenery, steep and narrow streets, piazza and Duomo (cathederal), and infamous for Orvieto Classico - an overly sweet white which might be Italy's answer to Leibfraumilch!

The photos are of the Duomo, it's magnificent facade, some of the strange carvings which protrude from it and a wonderful sculpture inside it which portrays Mary and (presumably Simon of Cyrene) grieving over the crucified body of Christ, just after it has been taken from the cross.

If you want a more witty account of our time in Orvieto, with better photos, see Simon's write-up, here!

Church: Pulling Ideas Together

One of the unexpected benefits of blogging is that it has turned into a place where I can dump information - which if left on bits of paper in the house would never be seen again! In my recent readings on the church I have saved a few gleanings from different sources which I am now seeking to pull together.

At our church conference in May, Stuart challenged us to think of the church in terms of four dichotomies. The church should seek to be (he argued):

"Faithful" - rather than- "Successful"

"Relevant " - rather than "Trendy"

"Careful - rather than - Professional"

"Authentic" - rather than - "Fraudulent"

As previously blogged here, I. Howard Marshall has demonstrated that the heart of the New Testaments references to church are as a community of faith which not so much gathers for worship services, as equips believers for worship, which is service in the world.

In his book "The Living Church", Stott argues from the pattern found immediately after the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2: 42-7 that the church should be performing four functions, (i) learning, (ii) caring, (iii) worshiping and (iv) outreaching.

If in addition to this we are to describe ourselves as being at heart, "the community of Christ" (as I would want to), then perhaps with all of this something useful is being to emerge.

If the community of Christ is who we are...

Stott's quadrilateral tell us what we should do...

Marshall's analysis shows us which direction that this effort should go in...

Blythe's dichotomies tells us about how we should go about this business....

It looks cluttered and a bit of a fuddle - but diagramming it helps me to clarify thoughts, so:

(click to enlarge - sometimes works!)

Savage, but hilarious!

"Quote Unquote"

On Friday my wife had worked a gruelling fifteen hour day, including a meeting at lunchtime. In case you are wondering, she is technically 'self-employed' so she doesn't even have to opt-out of the European Working Hours directive! This came at the end of a very tiring week and she was exhausted. In a fit of uncharacteristic consideration, before taking Boris off to his football training at 10:30 on Saturday morning, I took her breakfast in bed.

Spotting the tray heading up towards the bedroom, Boris exclaimed:

"Breakfast in bed?!! Why!? ...Dad - it's not Mother's-Day you know!"

Florence

There presumably must be a hidden clause deep within the smallprint of the 'Single European Act' that stipulates that every country in Europe is allowed to have fast, clean, reliable and efficient trains which are cheap to use; except Britain! Mussolini has lot to do with it in Italy apparently, his greatest achievements seem to have involved railway timetabling, but fascist dictators can't be the whole reason, after all France has railways but didn't embrace Fascism, and the Vichy regime were hardly going to build a new infrastructure in the middle of war!

Mussolini or otherwise - we took a day trip to Florence on the train. The ride was excellent, and train travel remains the best way to see a country I think. It would be good one year to explore Italy by train!

Florence itself was a mixed bag. Not only was it extremely hot, but it was also cripplingly crowded, with several hours of queues to get into the most noted attractions like Michelangelo's famous David sculpture or the Duomo. Only the tower next to the Duomo had a short wait to get in, so Boris, Norris and I endured the hundreds of narrow steps to the view-point at the top; this was fantastic!

Book Notes: The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder

This is the third of Jostein Gaarder's books which I have read, following the brilliant 'Sophie's World' and the very moving 'Orange Girl' - and it is the weakest of the three.

It still contains all the elements which make Gaarder's story telling so compelling - it is a story which with quirky style and a bizarre narrative, explores a religious or philosophical idea through narrative.

This one concerns a young boy called Joachim, who through the aid of a magic advent calendar discovers the story of a young Norwegian girl who went missing. It turns out that she joined a band of angels whose pilgrimage crosses Europe to Bethlehem - going back in time as they travel until they become observers of the birth of Christ.

As is always the case with Gaarder, it has some weird plot twists, some good characterisation, and a quirkiness which is endearing. The idea of re-tracing the progress of the Christmas story back through time and space is a nice device; and it was a fun read, it simply didn't grip like "The Orange Girl" or open up new possibilities like "Sophie's World".

Book Notes: The Islamist by Ed Husain

This is a worrying book. It claims to be the first expose of radical Islam in Britain, by an insider who subsequently became disillusioned with the movement and left it.

The book charts Husain's 'radicalisation', the various movements though which he moved and the way in which a huge number of his contemporaries followed a similar path. It makes a number of claims which would worry anyone committed to democracy and freedom of speech - as it charts not merely the extreme paths of terrorism taken by the fringes of the movement, but the intolerance, racism, anti-semitism, bullying and intimidation which he claims are considered as justifiable by large numbers of young British Muslims.

Husain argues not merely that further terrorist outrages are inevitable, but that Britain's refusal to confront dangerous groups amounts to negligence and naivety. He's not exactly Melanie Philips - but he does argue that democracy does need to stand up to religious fascism much more vigorously.

His concern in writing is to distance 'Islam' from 'Islamism' - that is to promote the religion of Islam, but to disavow the Islamist political movement, which sees as being a fundamentalism at odds with true faith, and refusing to adequately contextualise sacred texts in their interpretation. The book ends up as passionate call to Sufism and a bitter attack on the Wahhbism which he blames for the current ills.

Husain is also critical of the British Press. In a point he reiterated on Radio4 this week, he suggests that 'ordinary street Muslims of Leeds or Bradford' (sic) are denied a voice; and that the Media constantly look for Muslim opinion from bodies such as the M.C.B. - which he unequivocally accuses of being a front for Islamist extremism.

Husain also turns his fire on the British left-wing, for its love-affair with Islamism. He argues that Islamism rides the PC wave of minority rights, with full intention of abolishing human rights in favour of Sharia law.

The combination of these things Husain argues means that terrorism in the UK, is not a probablity but a certainty.

Book Notes: The Weeping Women Hotel by Alexei Sayle

The reviewer who described this book as "refreshingly bonkers" was spot on! It is a most odd book - although it has to be said rather entertaining, often funny, sometimes thought-provoking and uniformly wacky. In fact it is everything that you would expect if you remember anything of Alexei Sayle's bizarre TV shows of the 1980s.

The residents of 'Pointless Park' are engaged in what the cover describes the meaningless task of searching for meaning in a meaningless world. Some of the characters are likeable, some irritating, some frankly grotesque. All of them are pawns in Sayle's satirical parody of life, the scope of which mocks things which virtually every reader will hold dear.

One device which Sayle likes to use is to make a completely pointless character have one stand-out characteristic or saying without which they would be almost invisible. Then he shows how this single thing for which they are noticed is held in utter derision by the rest of the cast of empty people. The character for whom this is most obviously the case, Toby, Sayle has gone on record as saying is autobiographical.

This is a fun book, which is Milliganesque in the way that the line between the mundane and the surreal is arbitrarily imposed and withdrawn. What disappointed was the fact that the reviews were too glowing. What was promised was a masterpiece, what was delivered was a good laugh, with a few pointed moments.

La Treggaia

Ah La Traeggaia! We have discovered the most wonderful holiday house in Italy. This is where we drove to once we were over the Alps. Part of what made it different from the rest of the holiday was that it was one of the few weeks which we spent on our own as a family; the other thing was that it was so nice that we hardly went out anywhere - but spent happy days, swimming, reading, dozing, playing tennis and barbecuing. The owners of the property, Laora and Paolo lived on site, and all the facilities were shared with them, which turned out to be great. Laura appeared at our door carrying freshly cooked Italian delicacies, Paolo joined us for games of tennis and their grown-up-son shared ice-creams with Boris, Norris and Doris by the pool.

Once Doris is no longer a 'baby-in-a-cot' there will be too many of us to stay at La Traggaia sadly - unless anyone fancies looking after an extra child for a couple of weeks one summer?!

The view from the terrace, at La Traggaia.

Our week at La Treggaia will also be remembered for my "most scary moment" of the summer. On the first night there, I volunteered to go and get the shopping at the big Hypermarket Ipercoop at Montevarchi. A friend of the owners of the property kindly drew me a sketch of a road map and I set off. Once I was several miles (sorry kilometres) from the holiday house, and in a huge one-way system surrounded by motorway junctions, it became apparent that (i) I was completely lost and (ii) the map I was given had a fairly abstract relationship to reality! I then also discovered that (iii) I couldn't get anyone with a mobile phone to answer and (iv) the road atlas had been mistakenly unpacked with the suitcases and finally (v) it was getting dark.

Random driving about didn't help at all, so instead I had to systematically try every turning from each roundabout looking for landmarks I recognised. Needless to say, several hours later I appeared back at La Treggaia, rather flustered and bewildered, and having to explain to the family why there was no food!

Book Notes: Hard Work by Polly Toynbee

This is a fascinating and deeply disturbing book. The premise is that journalist and author, Polly Toynbee assumes a false identity and tries to live on the minimum wage in London. She seeks benefits, looks for work, and tries to see if she can pull together a meagre, but sustainable life for her and her son.

The end result is shocking but unsurprising. The minimum wage does not provide a sufficient safeguard against poverty and exploitation, the benefits system is chaotic, incomprehensible and illogical, low-wage employers use the benefits system to fund their exploitation, and despite a decade of promises to the contrary the system still shuts people out of work and fosters dependence. That is of course even when the minimum wage is actually paid. Of course on paper, the minimum wage is always paid, but Toynbee also exposes a cluster of clever tactics which unscrupulous employers use to escape from its demands. The very worst conditions that she comes across are in the former 'public-sector', which is now predominantly run as the great-sub-sub-contract sector.

The book is of course not without its critics. Many say that Toynbee's agenda with which she approached the exercise predetermined the result. Others have castigated the very idea that such an exercise in 'crossing the tracks' can ever be realistic, and that it is inevitably patronising. Several reviews have pointed out that the greatest tragedy of this book is that the plight of the working-poor is brought to our attention by an upper-middle class journalist who retreats to her Hampstead life at weekends; and not by a representative of their own. Poverty is powerlessness and voicelessness.

This however is a more telling criticism of our society than of this book. It's hardly fair to criticise Toynbee for accepting the minimum wage challenge posed to various well-known people by Church Action on Poverty -or for bringing her experiences to our attention. It's to her credit that she has done so and highlighted the very issues under consideration.

It is reported that on one occasion Malcolm X, the militant black separatist leader, was accosted by a white man at some traffic lights who said, "Malcolm - if I was black, I'd support you - so what should I do?". "Go back and explain it to your community" was allegedly his response. It is an interesting dialogue because it apparently helped Malcolm to overcome some of his racist ideas, and moderated his understanding that white people could only over oppose progress for African Americans. Toynbee could perhaps not be convincingly 'poor' anymore than the man at the traffic lights could be black, yet she has successfully come back and explained it to her community. It makes it an important book to read.

Les Alpes!

Of all the many wonderful things we saw over the summer, the place I would rush back to first, if given the opportunity, would be the wonderful, beautiful, breathtaking, Alps. We decided that the best way to get there would be to do the long journey in a day from London. It looked possible on paper, and would mean that the back of the long-haul was broken in a day, making it easier for the kids. The trip from London to the Channel Tunnel was fast, as even in SE England the roads are quiet at 5am! The chunnel was fast, efficient and dumped us onto the French autoroute, and by mid-morning the kilometres were flying past. The Autoroutes might cost a bit, but with speed limits of 80mph, and little traffic on them, travelling accross the country is a lot easier than the gruelling M6! After Besancon, the Autoroute ended and we wangled on slow roads into Switzerland, before once again picking up motorway past Lausanne, Montreaux and deep into the Alps. The sight of Lake Geneva glistening in the sunshine was made all the more compelling by a storm, which chased us all the way down the Lake, and which we just outrun to Montreaux. By the time we reached our accommodation (a very poky caravan in a Key Camp near Leuk) it was dark and raining torrentialy. We cooked all the food we had brought with us and crashed out, absolutely exhausted from the travelling.

It was all worth it though as the view which met us the next morning was wonderful!

A highlight of our time in Switzerland was a trip to Zermatt, and from there on the train up to Gornergratt. Four glaciers tumble down the mountains here, merging into one vast ice-flow, overlooked by the mighty Matterhorn. Next time I go here I will pack my walking boots, and won't bring young children!

Our time in Switzerland was all too short (they make you buy six months of car-tax which we barely managed to get much value from!), and we were sorry to leave. Boris, Norris and Doris were just making some friends with other kids from all over Europe on the caravan site, and we were finding our way around the area. The drive out, over the Alps over the Simplon Pass into Italy however was incredible! The scenery was (as expected) overwhelming, and the road an engineering feat of considerable proportions, snow tunnels, cuttings, flying bridges, hair-raising hair-pins all the way.

For the amount of sitting-in-the-car that we demanded of Boris, Norris and Doris they were wonderful. Helped in no small measure by a lot of stories on CD which we had packed. The one that especially grabbed their attention was Hugh Laurie's hilarious telling of "The Giraffe, The Pelly, and Me" by Roald Dahl - which was demanded repeatedly. Ask Norris and he'll do all the voices for you on request!

Back to Front Church? II

In order to follow-up some of the things in the previous 'Back to front church' post, I wrote to the "Churchman" - publishers of the original article by Howard Marshall, asking where I could get a copy of it from.

In response to my e-mail they have dragged the archives, found the original and published it on their website here. I have no idea who they are, and haven't come across their journal before, awfully decent of them all the same though.

I think I'll wait until the kids are asleep and make a coffee first....

Cornwall

Cornwall is a place I love visiting, as every corner of it is packed full of memories of childhood holidays, which have assumed almost magical status in my mind. Rationally of course, I have no doubt that the lenses of my retrospectoscope grow ever more rose-tinted with the passage of time - but this does not dampen my enthusiasm for the place - or my delight in seeing my children's eyes light up at the same things which once had the same effect on me.

Names of places such as 'Harbour Cove', 'Strangles Beach', 'Lanhydrock House', 'Respryn Bridge', 'Boscastle' or 'Trevigue' bring a smile to my face and a deluge of nostalgia. The photo above is of Restormel Castle near Lostwithiel, a wonderful circular 'Motte and Bailey' castle dating from 1100AD. It has everything that a day out with kids should have, stuff to learn, things to imagine, room to run, and questions to ask, and photo-opportunities a plenty.

Boris, Norris and Doris had a great time, climbing on the battlements, looking into dungeons and trying to work out how they would successfully break a siege. The Grandparents (London branch) were there too, which added to the fun as was the kids "mad-aunt" who joined us all down there for a few days.

The highlight of the trip according to the boys though, was a ride on a speedboat called "Jaws" at Padstow!

Back to Front Church?

I am currently reading "Building a Better Body: The Good Church Guide" by Simon Jones, which was sent to me by Stuart as he knows that we are currently thinking long and hard about the nature, meaning and purpose of the church.

In the first couple of chapters Jones makes a startling claim. He says that we have traditionally viewed our Christian gatherings like this:

In contrast he draws on the work of I. Howard Marshall, the long time professor of New Testament at Aberdeen, who caused controversy in 1985 with an article entitled, "How Far Did the Early Christians Worship God?" in which he says that the overwhelming New Testament pattern for Christian meetings is not the traditional one (above) but this one instead.

If Marshall is right, then it has huge implications for the priorities we have for our churches, and how we go about our times together. I am not sure he is completely right, Stott for example would argue in "The Living Church" that the early Christians would have continued to conduct formal worship within the Temple system. At the very least however Marshall's exegesis suggests a distortion in our conception of church. If genuine worship is living for Christ in the world, not drawing away from the world in order to be "lost in wonder love and praise" (as the hymn writer would put it); then it sends the cat amongst the pigeons of much of our assumed ecclesiology.

I have more thinking to do here, and I am trying to get hold of Marshall's original article. Thanks again to Stuart for the book!

Recycled

Sophisticated/educated - it doesn't really matter. The biggest difference is the natty dressing and the deliberate irony. What do you think Lins?

Aptly Named

Neanderthals

What is wrong with these people?

Yesterday my wife took Boris, Norris and Doris the half-a-mile walk to the local school and came back feeling nervous and intimidated. In the course of the ten-minute return journey three van-loads of men had tooted their horns, jeered, wolf-whistled and generally harassed her.

It is a normal road, in a normal town, and she was dressed quite normally; it's not as though she was go-go dancing in the middle of the road in order to seek attention; she simply wanted to drop the kids to school.

Now don't get me wrong - I am not saying that in some other-worldly state I do not notice the aesthetic delights that cross my path; nor even that when the view is particularly stunning I haven't gazed in admiration for longer than was necessary, or right. Without such inclinations, the history of the human race would indeed have been a short one.

However, I am saying that, that although the first thing that happens when you see a person is that you receive a visual image of them, to which you instinctively react; the fact is that they are a person, who deserves to be treated with the dignity and respect that this entails. To physically and verbally respond to someone only the basis of the visual, and not engage with any other aspect of their humanity; is to demean oneself in the very act of seeking to demean the other.

As a student I did various dodgy jobs, including spending a summer labouring. One of the worst jobs was digging trenches for cable TV. I have sat in the inevitable white-van, alongside colleagues leering and shouting out of the windows as we have driven around the town. Curiously, my refusal to do the same, was not understood as a moral conviction - but that I was being, 'posh'. I also thought that some of the worst offenders were those least comfortable doing it, but most anxious to impress with this pathetic macho-bravado; as it gained the status of a right of passage.

So how should my wife react next week when the white-van driving Neanderthals shout and leer? Should she ignore them and hope that the kids don't ask? Should she pretend she hasn't heard? Should she give up walking, and drive to the school? Or should she do what she would like to do and stick two fingers up at them and shout, "depart ye henceforth!" or something with more obvious biological implications. Would this serve to preserve her dignity by making it clear that this behaviour is neither welcomed, nor acceptable? Or could it invoke the violent response that lurks threateningly beneath the harassment, from a culture that objectifies people as nothing more than sexual?

That Hideous Man & Family - European Tour, 2007

We've been a bit busy for blogging over the last few weeks. It's been quite a summer though and maybe if time allows, I'll post a few photos here! Not being the owner of a laptop meant that I have been computer-less all summer. This has been great as it has meant far less time footering about achieving little, and far more time reading - about which I could generate a vast deluge of postings! Maybe if time permits....

In the meantime, click on the picture above to get the full-size tour poster!

Parked

I believe it was Tory politician Norman Fowler who quit Thatcher's government in order to (as his statement of the time read) "spend more time with my family". When he appeared back in Major's government, satirists were not slow to ask if he had had quite enough of them and now wished to spend rather less time with them.

This is all a rather long-winded way of saying that I am having a break from blogging, a rest, a sabbatical, a fast, a cessation of banalities, call it what you will. This is actually in order to "spend more time with my family" especially over the summer when they will be off school and requiring a lot more hands-on, and not delegating my parenting responsibilities to CBBC so that I can blog!

So - the blog is parked for now, but may be resurrected in the new term.

Thankyou and goodnight!

Summer Hillwalks

The dates for hillwalks over the summer have been posted. All the walks leave from the car park of Perth Baptist Church, all are on Saturday's and most of them are full-day walks. The first one on June 23rd and will be a trip along the delightful ridge of Meall nan Tarmachan north of Loch Tay. Anyone and everyone is welcome to join the walkers, and details of the rest of the destinations wil be available soon.

23 June
21 July
11 August
15 September
20 October

Playing Blog-Tag!

Brodie has tagged me in a game of blog-tag entitled "tell us seven things about yourself" under the headings: (1) a baby (2) beer (3) girls (4) time (5) dislikes (6) hobbies (7) tomorrow. Not wanting to duck such a challenge here goes:

1) As a baby: I was greedy - incredibly greedy. In the hospital the staff were concerned that I wasn't feeding enough and was then being sick. Careful monitoring however revealed that I was guzzling twice what I needed in half the time and shedding the surplus.

2) Beer: I am a big fan of English Real Ales, such as Bishop's Finger, Spitfire, Adnam's Broadside and Fuller's London Pride. Like Brodie I have developed a taste in Scottish Single Malt Whisky, however this is an expensive habit to cultivate and gets saved for special occasions.

3) Girls: There are two in my life; my wife of nearly 11 years, and my two year old daughter. Prior to getting married I had had two serious girlfriends - thank goodness I married the right one!

4) Time: Time is a weird thing. I used to laugh when adults told me that time was not a fixed thing but that years, months and weeks get shorter as you grow older - but I have discovered that they are right. I can remember when a six-week summer holiday from school lasted years!

5) Dislikes: Rudeness, Nescafe, Reality TV and soaps, Dirty Nappies, Lager, oh the list goes on and on and on!

6) Hobbies: Hillwalking whenever possible - which with the demands of family life and commitments at church is far too rarely. Getting to the occasional gig is a rare pleasure, and my wife and I love good food

7) Tomorrow: We're going to spend tomorrow with some really good friends who we haven't seen for over a year because work took them abroad. Can't wait!

OK now then:

Lins

Simon

Doonhamergeordie

Andy

Your turn!

Quote of the Week: Tim Keller on Community

“If you come just as an individual to church to get information and inspiration, and not submit yourself to community, you’re frustrating the very purposes of God’s saving power and you can’t expect his renovating power to work in your life like that."

-Tim Keller

Hermitage

I seem to have spent a whole week in self-imposed isolation in my study, surrounded by books of one sort or another. First I have been trying to complete a distance learning module, the next step in my tortuous route towards getting a degree. Secondly I was involved with helping with the church services on Sunday morning, which again involved a lot of thinking, listening, reading and praying to try and get my mind wrapped around some fiendishly tricky texts

My Mum came up from London to help with Boris, Norris and Doris for the week - which they thoroughly enjoyed. Today they have got me to contend with once more; and their verdict on the matter? "We miss our Grandma!"

Knowing when I'm not wanted I'll just stay in the study then- my 'books to be read' pile has rarely looked so appetising!

Gary Moore - Live at the Glasgow Carling Academy

A tension exists within Irish blues guitarist Gary Moore, between his natural musicianship and his flamboyant showmanship. Last night at the Glasgow Carling Academy Lins and I were delighted to see that the musician won for at least 90% of the time.

When Gary Moore puts his mind to it he can be a brilliantly expressive, powerful and melodic player, constantly re-arranging his songs and solos with added twists and new interpretations. When he follows the late Albert King's advice to not play "too many notes" it frees him to play around with interesting chord progressions, long bends, deft touches and harmonic flourishes, enabling him build an extended guitar solo more convincingly than any guitarist I have heard. On slow songs such as Midnight Blues, Still got the Blues, All Your Love and I Had a Dream, and on quicker ones such as Walking by Myself, Since I Met You Baby, and Oh Pretty Woman - this was the Moore we heard - and it was stunning. It was interesting to see how much more free to improvise Moore is when not being recorded. Whereas on live albums his solos are highly studied, there was a sense that in Glasgow he was sometimes flying by the seat of his pants, with all its added excitement and spontaneous creativity.

On the other hand, sometimes Moore simply grimaces, put his head down and play lots of scales, very very fast. While I find this rather dull- it is the latter which seems to brings the crowd to their feet in rapturous wonder and he indulged in this egotistical display on 2 songs, Too Tired and Parisienne Walkways. These were however minor blemishes in what was other wise a brilliant, brilliant show.

Vocally Moore has sometimes struggled but he was on very good form tonight, and as usual he benefitted from being backed by very competent musicians of whom Brian Downey (yes - that Brian Downey) was especially good.

The crowd took a while to warm up because of a lamentable support act and an over-long interval. However by the end of the night the atmosphere was overwhelming. Moore himself clearly hadn't realised how well he was going down until at the very end the house-lights went up and he saw the crowd, clapping, stamping and waving. Surprised, he stopped introducing the band and invited the crowd to singalong to "The Blues is Alright" an invitation the near-capacity crowd accepted with glee.

Moore may look as if he has been mauled by a Tiger prior to coming on stage. But what a show he delivers once there!

"Hey, hey - the blues is alright!"

Wester Pickston Open Day

The Scottish Model Engineering Trust threw their new club railway open to the public yesterday. Lord Lucan & I took Boris and Norris up there to see the engines, the new track and speak to one of the builder-drivers we know who has put several years work into the new railway, and built and engine for it too (pictured). Needless to say, Boris and Norris thoroughly enjoyed it - and met several characters from their school and nursery classes. We'll be back for their nexr open day.

They Don't Make Them LIke They Used To

Boris is Sick as a Parrot!

Young Boris and I joined the crowd up at the church tonight to watch the Champions League Final. After being hugely dissapointed at Man Utd's loss on Saturday, my football mad seven-year-old was allowed to stay up late in the hope that Liverpool might once again overcome the odds, the pundits and a better team, in this their 2007 quest for European glory.

I still remember the final two years ago, and the scenes of ludicrous over-excitement from some Scouse friends in the church, (you know who you are!) as the so-called 'miracle of Istanbul' was played out. I won't forget the near-pandemonium that happened when Liverpool first equalised and then clinched victory in a nail-biting penalty shoot-out.

Tonight alas, it was not to be. Boris and I left the terraces (well pews anyway) and headed for home imagining what might have been. As for Boris, he was caught between the dismay of two finals going the wrong way for him in a week, and the joy of having been able to stay up far too late to watch footie on the big screen.

'The Mad One'

Boris, Norris and Doris are blessed with two aunties who they seem to adore. The thought of seeing either of them always results in quite inexplicable levels of infant jubilation. One of these aunts must be more sensible than the other because according to Boris and Norris we have just enjoyed three days with 'the mad one'.

Needless to say I have done what I can to encourage the tarring of my sister's good name with such epithets..

The Half-Time Whistle

In 2000 world leaders, including the UK, committed to the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) to eradicate extreme poverty and hunger by 2015. 2007 marks the half-way point to the fulfilment of the MDGs, the "Blow the Whistle" campaign is seeking to ensure our Government and others the world over honour their promises.

Click on the picture above to visit the 'Blow the Whistle" website, which is part of the "Micah Challenge" coalition of Christian aid and development agencies and churches. The movement's name and slogan come from the Biblical prophet Micah who wrote, “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Some of the Old Testament prophets wrote as the first large cities were built in Israel, and a greater division of labour meant that a proto-class system was forming. There had been many very rich individuals in the nation's history whose wealth was not wrong, but the evolving phenominon to which the later prophets announced God's displeasure was this: injustice.

The Micah Challenge organisation is pressuring individuals, churches and governments to respond to key areas of injustice today, such as trade, health-care, climate-change, education and sanitation. read more.... A Blow-the-Whistle postcard to send to the Prime Minister can be downloaded here, which reminds him of the commitments made in 2000 and calls on him to honour them.

(Thanks to LS for waking us up to this at church on Sunday with her very loud whistle)

Tim Keller on Suffering and the Cross

I have just listened to, and really appreciated, Tim Keller's sermon on 'suffering and the cross' which can be played using Quicktime by clicking here. The bloke who introduces him embarrassingly gushes on and on - fast forward past him. But wait for the exposition of Paul's famous 'thorn in the flesh' which comes later on.

When is 'the public interest', personal intrusion?

One of our friends, who is a member of our church and a former child-minder of our children was very badly hurt in a cycling accident yesterday morning. Since we heard about the accident yesterday evening - our thoughts and prayers have been full of her and what her and family are enduring. It will be like that for a long time as the recovery will not be quick.

Amazingly quickly after the accident, a local newspaper had dispatched a photographer to the scene, who took some dramatic photos of her mangled bike under the front of the lorry which had hit her. I don't know if the images were printed in that paper or not - but they remain up on their website today - for all to see.

When I heard about this I was initially really annoyed. How dare they intrude in upon my friends' pain, her family's pain, my community's pain - I thought. The need for shocking pictures in order to sell newspapers seemed grubby, callous and cynical.

But then I began to wonder if there was not also a legitimate public interest in this story. If trucks are even occasionally mowing down cyclists in our streets - then we do need to know that as a society in order to respond appropriately. Perhaps shocking images do more than sell tawdry evening newspapers, perhaps they help to alert cyclists, legislators and truck-drivers alike to the horrible reality of the dangers on the road. Perhaps the hackneyed 'thousand words' of a picture is exactly what we need to see in order to bring home the reality of the tragedy.

So, I am left wondering - when does 'public interest' become 'personal intrusion', when should journalists stand back and allow the suffering the dignity of doing so quietly; and when should newspapers use as powerful prose and photos as they can find - to highlight matters of legitimate wider concern? How can we facilitate justice for victims without encouraging ambulance chasing? - would be a legal equivalent.

I'd appreciate the thoughts of the small, but erudite, readership of this blog on this.

Book Notes: Various....

Reading is both a joy and a discipline, something immensly rewarding, yet something which jostle's for a position within the busyness of life. I remember one writer describing the dangerous 'tyranny of the urgent', which so characterises contemporary life. Over at "View from the Basement", Brodie wrote an interesting piece about reading strategies, which provoked good discussion. Partly in response to that blog and partly to having a week off - my short reading drought has come to an end. It's great!

In which N.T. Wright outworks the contraversial 'new perspective on Paul' in pithy daily devotional chunks. This is thought-provoking, stirring, well-written and witty stuff, very readable and beneficial (even for those unconvinced by all of the 'new perspective' school).

In which Charles Mckean looks at the railway politics of the Victorian era. There are many books which analyse the immediate causes of the fall of the Tay bridge, (design, supervision, ironworks, workmanship) but Mckean does better by looking at the economic system which forced the rival railway companies to attempt huge civil engineering projects on shoe-string budgets - arguing that the British parliament's obsession with 'compeittion' blinded it for the need for a coherently planned rail network. He compares the French attitude in the same era and argues that their planning both prevented such catastrophe's then, and beqeathed a far more useful infrastructure to the 20th century.

In which the celebrated Croatian theologian, Miroslav Volf discusses grace and forgiveness in a world marred by evil. He reflects powerfully on his homeland, and on his own family life to illustrate what it means to say that our sins are forgiven, and atoned for, by God; and how in turn we should forgive others. I'm only a little way into this one - so far it is compelling!

Rood Pix!

Rood Awakenings is series of events as a fringe contribution to the Perth Festival of the Arts this weekend. The uniting theme in all their events is the spiritual conception that creativity is a God-given (and I would want to add God-reflecting) capacity. One of the events is a photography competition looking at everyday images of the cross (hence 'rood'). Unfortunately my Skye trip meant I missed the entry date so can't add my pictures to their gallery, so I've posted them here as my own fringe contribution to the fringe, sort of 'beyond the fringe' I suppose.

"Crown Him with Many Thorns"

This photo is of part of a fence near my house. The barbed wire that makes up the cross-piece is supposed be a challenge to the traditional golden, gilted cross seen on church buildings and altars. These domesticate the cross and rob it of it's rightful brutality. The popular hymn 'Crown Him with Many Crowns" asks the congregation to imagine the risen, exalted Christ - Philippians 2 reminds us first to look at the crown of thorns.

"Like a tender shoot"

This photo I took because of the way that the shoots of the plant growing around the frame resembled a twisted, crucified form. I hoped it would capture Isaiah's prophecy of the coming Messiah:

2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. 3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. 5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.

"Receive Me"

This one is based on the sorry pun about reception. The TV Aeriel on a local hotel is distinctly cruciform and makes me recall Jesus words in instituting the bread and wine as remembrances of his crucifixion, "this is my body, broken for you, ....take" He invites us to receive him.

"Dereliction"

Jesus' last recorded words from the cross, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" have long been known as the "cry of dereliction". I went out looking for a suitably derelict cross and found this forlorn attic window on an abandoned hospital site, awaiting demolition. The sanitised crosses of cathedrals need to be balanced by cross images of abandonment, dismay, confusion and destruction to remain meaningful. I once heard a worship leader quoting the words of Jesus that 'people would be drawn to him' when he was 'lifted up' - and from this talked about the importance of worship. The irony of course is that when Jesus was 'lifted up' it was not in adoration, but on a Roman executioners gibbet.

A familiar gilded cross might speak of the deity of the Christ who saves us, but these images hopefully also speak of the human Christ who suffers with us and for us.

Scrambled Legs - Days in the Black Cuillin of Skye

I'm back from the wonderful Isle of Skye, recovering from an intensive week of walking, scrambling and climbing. Wife had bought me a week in a group with a mountain guide, for my birthday, so last Saturday I bade my farewells to the family and pointed my old car North-Westwards, with a nervous excitement.

The excitement was then rapidly dampened, firstly by the week's weather forecast which made pretty grim reading, and by the news that our guide had been caught up helping in an all-night mountain rescue and that we wouldn't be going out on the first day.

Things however soon picked up. On day two we managed a rain-soaked scramble around Sgurr a' Mhadaidh and Sgurr a' Greadhaidh, high above beautiful Glen Brittle. I was delighted to discover that the rest of the group were not superhuman fitness-machines, who would want to run up and down the steep hillsides, but were more than content with my kind of leisurely pace. It was also clear from the start that they were going to be a friendly, good-natured bunch of walking companions for the week.

The following day we went southwards to the Glen Brittle campsite, and did the long walk-in to pay our respects to the summit cairns of Sgurr nan Eag, Sgurr Dubh Morr, and Sgurr Alasdair. Our guide, George Yeomans proved to be a most excellent fellow! He showed us the different types of rock the Cuillin are made from, such as Gabbro (rough, coarse and easy to climb) and Basalt, (hard, shiny and slippery). The tiny summit of Sgurr Alasdair proved to be Basalt, and we stood on the tiny summit being bombarded with millions of tiny hail-stones, cursing our luck that the previous week's groups has enjoyed it in hot sunshine!

A monstrous headache put me out of action for much of the following day, while the rest of the party climbed Sgurr na Banadich from Glen Brittle again. Nevertheless the following day more than made up for the loss of the Wednesday as we headed for the North end of the mighty Cuillin ridge.

Bruach na Frith is a beautiful mountain - and this was our first Munro of day 4, closely followed by the brutal shape of Am Basteir adn then Sgurr nan Gillean, attained by it's savage west-ridge (pictured: top-left). I haven't rock climbed and abseiled for years, and this was a highly exposed and welcomed return to it. For a few minutes we even managed a view from this hill, a pleasure which would prove to be almost completely elusive, all week.

Our final day was less successful. Although it started well with a good walk in and then heady scramble to the summit of Sgurr Mich Coinnich our trip to the famous Inaccessible Pinnacle was a disappointment...

We arrived at the Pinn to find a huge queue waiting to get onto it! Realising that it would be several hours before we cold get climbing, we huddled into the shelter tent, in bivvy bags and tried to keep warm waiting for a turn on the infamous rocky blade. However, the large group of climbers from Totnes were not going to be hurried, and as we waited the weather deteriorated. Hail became sleet, became snow - which began to settle on the Pinn, making it dangerously slippery. Soon the climbing club gave up their ascent attempt, belayed off the Pinn declaring it too slippery in wet snow; while our guide led us safely off the mountain.

The Cuillin are the most impressive, dramatic and exposed hills I have climbed. Bleak, crumbling, frost-shattered, their array of ridges, summits and pinnacles tower above the surrounding glens in breath-taking style.

Hopefully next year I will be able to get back and climb the Inn Pinn and the other hill I missed, Sgurr nan Banachdich. Can't wait!

On Youth Hosteling..

Of all the misnomers in the English tongue, there are possibly few which stretch credulity as far as that of the "youth hostel". That the place in which I stayed, Glenbrittle Youth Hostel (pictured) is a hostel and not a hotel, is not the contentious bone! Rather it is the persistent use of the word 'youth' in their title, despite the fact that the vast majority of their clientele made their exit from this category shortly after completing their national service, that looks a little odd.

Now, you might rightly point out that I am hardly within my rights to labour such a point, given that I have just spent a week in a 'youth hostel' - despite my advanced age. Indeed I did so without shame, embarrassment, or pretension of still being a 'yoof'. In fact I did so without even the need for any sense of irony that I should be making use of facilities provided "especially for the young". How so? Well, simply because for some of the time there, I was the youngest guest in attendance, and certainly lowered the average visitor age by some decades for most of it.

Dog-eared, faded, foostie copies of "The Scottish Peaks" by Poucher, held together by brown paper and string; are still in use today by dog-eared, faded, foostie men held together by similar means. They still stalk Highland Hostels in their unruly facial hair and enormous propensity for snoring - much as they did half a century ago. The one change it seems, is that their dusty hill-worn frames now come wrapped in expensive Gore-tex.

So here's to the "youth hostel", possibly the one place to which I can retreat that makes me feel like a youth.

Stumpy Greenisland at 40

I see that the hon Dr Stumpy Greenisland (sic) - for it is he, has clocked up four decades. It occurs to me that that is an awful lot of misery that has accrued both to himself, his family and friends and to the wider world, in fact that is roughly 14610 days of gloom and I really can't be bothered working out the hours. It is amazing to think, when one contemplates the man himself, that he really has only got four decades under his belt. When one considers such things as his infamous tobacco-less pipe, his minute and crumbling frame, his inhabitation of a cultural world which ceased to meaningfully exist in 1958, and his chess-game which progresses at the astonishing rate of one-move-per day, one would assume the individual concerned to be 70 at least, and have almost no chance of completing the current chess match within the confines of normal life-expectancy. So it is with a sense of quiet disbelief that we mark this point in the road, this milestone, this defining moment, this er.. descent down the concave curve of life, this expiration of the best-before date. We salute the achievement of this birthday just loudly enough to drown out the gentle music of the inevitable demise to which every day successfully navigated, brings us only ever closer.

And when we stop to consider forty years of this (thankfully) unique individual, we first note that the vagaries of providence are indeed beyond our finding out. This is indeed a cruel world. When we think of this man, what first comes to mind is the smell. For as we all know the imminent arrival of his bodily presence is usually preceded by the competing odours of foostie bookshops and snake-oil. Then we think of his arrival when we are, despite having known him for over a quarter of his many years, shocked by his diminitude which grows greater (or lesser, I suppose) with the years. Then we engage in conversation with the good Dr, a heady, even psychotic, melee of studiousness, lunacy and misery. We stand truly in awe of the breadth of the man's learning and his impressive record of academic publications, but equally rejoice in his determination not to restrict his remarks to subjects about which he knows anything at all.

We picture Dr Stumpy Greenisland in any manner of undignified poses; rolling with laughter on the floor like an inebriated chimp; staring blankly at the bottom of a whisky glass contemplating parenthood; hiding his face in the sofa contemplating the misery and futility of it all, or dancing with his children.

Ladies and Gentlemen - I give you the Hon Dr Stumpy Greenisland at 40.

Here's to another 40 wasted years.

Happy Birthday Doris

Happy Birthday little 'Doris'.

I can't believe you are two already.

Into our family you have brought love, smiles, giggles, quirkiness, bright eyes, the second strongest-will I have ever encountered, noise, tiredness, joy, thankfulness and complete, total and utter chaos. We thought that your two brothers had provided all there could ever be of these things, but you have added you own unique take on them all!

We wouldn't be without you. Happy Birthday!