Todi

Pause!

I'm having a short blogging holiday, the pause button has been pressed. The reasons are many and varied, and include the busyness of the 'end of term' stuff, the kids being off school next week and needing more of my time, a huge list of books I want to read and the long overdue application of the maxim, "when you ain't got nothing worth saying, just shut up!"

Seeya!

Beinn Liath Mhor & Sgorr Ruadh

(photos c/o That Rogers Character and Dr K.)

The long, undulating, three-topped summit ridge of Beinn Liath Mhor.

Liathach across Torridon

Can you spot me?

The big-round of the hills of the Coulin forest, high up between Loch's Torridon and Carron is a stunning, exhilarating and overwhelming experience; the kind of hill-day that stretches the superlatives to breaking point. Beginning at the roadside below Achnashellach station, a forestry track crosses the rails and climbs through the woods before a walkers path takes a sharp left prior to some deer fencing - this excellent stalkers path leads high into the corrie and has side paths which lead up to all the major ridges.

High in the corrie the path splits, on track to the left heads for the ridge between Sgorr Ruadh and Fuar Tholl (this was to be our descent path), while the right hand path lead to a seemingly impossible climb through the rocks and terraces of Beinn Laith Mhor's southern ridge. In practice a path weaves its way (albeit steeply) in and out of all the hazards and along the stunning ridge. This is one of the best ridge walks I have done - and were it not situated in the shadow of Torridon's mighty Alligin-Liathach-Eighe threesome, would have a reputation for being an absolute classic high-level round.

The views from the summit of Beinn Liath Mhor are more than words or camera can capture, but they live on, indelibly inscribed upon my memory. Now back at home I have spent several days clearing up after a child with a particularly florid tummy-bug. Happily, by simply closing my eyes and calling on my memory, within seconds I can be once again gazing from on high down the length of Upper Loch Torridon with the blazing sun glinting off Beinn Eighe's quartzite sides......... And that was only the view in one direction, Glen Shiel, Affric, Slioch were in sight, Fisherfield and of course countless hills to the south and east were all there, while to the North the distinctive spines of An Teallach sat on the skyline. Glorious days.

The trickiest part of this walk is the traverse of the ridge at the head of the corrie, punctuated as it is by a steep sided rocky knoll. A 'false path' misleadingly guides walkers descending Beinn Liath Mhor towards it, whereas a better descent comes by keeping to the northern edge of the ridge and looking for an eroded descent path. Once on the knoll, don't climb to its summit but look for a traverse path on it southern side - which again leads to a steep descent route down to the lochan and the main path to the bealach from Achnashellach station. From here it is an energetic but straightforward pull up and round to Sgorr Ruadh's airy summit cairn. My little camera was full-up, so I am relying on pictures from the other guys for this walk! They haven't sent me any from Sgorr Ruadh, but that is a tremendous peak, perched high on the ridge with especially good view of Maol Chean Dearg. Time prevented us from scampering up Fuar Tholl the stunning corbett that dominates the view from the A-road, so we picked our way through the hummocky terrain to the descent path - a fast and easy descent and wonderful conclusion to one of the best days I have ever had in the hills, a wonderful conclusion to our hillwalking holiday.

Moruisg & Sgurr nan Ceannaichean

In Dr K's absence, That Rogers Character and myself found the right layby on the A890, crossed the river by the footbridge and found the cattle creep under the railway line and began the long gruelling ascent of Moruisg. This hill is hardly the grandest or most shapely of the high ground in this area - but it does throw a challenge into any walker who wishes to climb it. The walking books speak of the gullies running down the side of the hill, but fail to mention how steep the ground gets between them. Its one of those climbs where the car is visible for the first hour or so appearing smaller and smaller down at the roadside. The climb does reward the walker with a broad ridge to stride up to the summit cairn however - opening the way to an increasingly interesting, narrowing ridge around to Sgurr nan Ceannaichean.

The photo above (taken just after we had come down from the hill) shows the cloud crowning the summit ridge like a distinguished head of hair. The reality of climbing up into this cloud (picture below) is that when we sat down at the cairn to enjoy the view we could just about see each other and the three other foolish souls who had chosen such a day to satisfy the peculiar need to stand on top of mountains in the fog.
In poor visibility the twisting ridge tested our map reading abilities, and I was glad that That Rogers Character was there to confer with. Such times on my own always add an element of intense concentration that can detract from the sheer fun of hillwalking. When I'm on my own I am excessively cautious and don't have the courage of my convictions, obsessively reading the map, and checking with the compass and GPS all the time. Having two of us checking the route and independently coming to identical conclusions about our location and direction is somewhat reassuring!

The route off this one isn't too bad, the North ridge of the second hill providing plenty of steep grassy slopes with which to pick routes around its rocky bluffs - leading to a path down towards the river and rail crossing back to the day's starting point. Here, waiting for us was Dr K himself, who had spotted us on our descent and greeted us with good news, - and he had been to the supermarket and stocked us with good food and fine ale for our final evening at Gerry's Hostel.

The boys are back in......... Am Ploc

The Hillwalking Boys - enjoying the Plockton Sunshine!

That great writer on the British countryside, Alfred Wainwright wrote lovingly of "Dear Plockton", to which he "arrived in eager anticipation and left in reluctance". He adds, "By common consent, it is the prettiest of Scotland's west coast villages",..."It really deserves a more romantic name, Plockton meaning the town on the headland. But what's in a name? Plockton is a little paradise." We'd like to add that in addition to all these charms, it makes a great place to have a rest day from hill-walking and has a fabulous little fish and chip take away too. Wainwright describes the village as "unspoilt and unsophisticated" and his "priority holiday venue...throughout the 1970s". Plockton is full of happy memories for me too, having been here a couple of times with my family (and my sister), on both occasions in weather more suited to the villages famous palm trees than to its situation in the Northwest Highlands. I remember watching some of the Live8 gig here with Lord Provan of Mearns after a particularly memorable ascent of the Forcan Ridge - and now I have another sunny Plockton memory to add to the collection.

Knowing that we were out of food, and that in the still relatively Sabbattarian Highlands we would have trouble finding an early morning shop - hillwalking was out of the question. So, after much time-wasting at Gerry's Hostel, Dr K. became decisive - and announced that we were going to Plockton - a suggestion with which we were happy to concur! The day before had been a leg-aching, energy sapping long day in the hills. The air was cold, the walks long and the experience invigorating. Nothing could be more contrasting - within sight of the same mountains - than a Plockton day. While twenty miles inland, dark clouds menaced the high peaks of the Coulin Forest, the sun blazed on "Dear Plockton!". While the day before our rucksacks had been filled with ropey sandwiches and high energy snacks, Plockton has fresh succulent fish 'n' chips, and ice-cream. On Sgurr a Chaorachain we had clambered into Goretex, but at Plockton at least one of our number shed almost all his attire and lept into the sea (the vigour with which he did so almost causing him to shed the little he was still wearing). Sgurr Choinnich had treated us to an arduous but rewarding climb up a narrowing ridge, but Plockton invited us to enjoy the widening views of the bay - where I fell asleep in the sun.

The hillwalking boys have a lot in common with the Stooges, about whom I have previously posted. This is not least because two thirds of the personnel are identical, having lost one stooge to the delights of Oklahoma (the place - not the musical), and gained a hillwalker in Nairn. A day with nothing to do but to slow one's breathing down to a rate appropriate to the surroundings may sound dull to some - but dull moments are thankfully few and far between with the hillwalking boys. I like to think that when it comes to choosing friends I am quite discerning; and here I have them with wit, honesty, faith, wisdom, and who exemplify what it means to face adversity with integrity. They (we!) also have the worst, ham Australian accents in the world, Bruce! Exactly why conversation repeatedly lapsed in this direction was never entirely clear - but may have been related to the fact that a few days away from our wives was initially billed as the "no Sheila's!" event.

Plockton remains a place of overwhelming happy memories for me, a charming place around which I have wandered with my wife, my children, my sister and a handful of good friends. Ah! it would be great to be back in Plockton again.

Sgurr Choinnich & Sgurr a Chaorachain

The reason that we ended up striding out into the Coulin Forest, from the infamous Gerry's Hostel, this week was simple. Looking at a map of Scotland I noticed a vast swathe of countryside into which I had never ventured, despite the number of days I have spent traversing the paths, wading the bogs, scrambling the rocks and walking the hills of this fine country.

These hills are accessed from Craig, where a level crossing breaches the railway line and gives access to a forestry track which curves its way deep into the mountains. Several miles into the walk, and after a river crossing over Scotland's most precarious wire bridge (optional when the river is low - compulsory when it's in spate), a footpath forks off from the track and winds its way up to the Bealach Bhearnais. This bealach is the meeting-point of several fine glens, and a route to a whole cluster of mountains, and a place for ultra-keen Munro-baggers to pitch their tents as a staging post to legendarily remote peaks such as Lurg Mhor. Being only moderately keen baggers, we were not there with tents contemplating 'completing' the whole region in a weekend, but were happy instead to climb the long eastern ridge of Sgurr Choinnich to its lofty viewpoint, before crossing the delightful ridge linking it to Sgurr a Chaorachain. Sadly time prevented us from progressing out to the hills' fine south easterly top to enjoy its wide views - but forced us to turn Northwards and back to the path homeward. We turned westwards too early, and endured a grim descent towards the path, had we persisted northwards for longer we would have been spared some underfoot unpleasantness.

The walk back to Craig through the forest is long and gruelling after such a fine day spent on high tops and airy ridges, the little white house at the level crossing rises into view from several miles away... but never seems to get any closer, even as the feet get sorer! This would be a good track up which to push a mountain bike at the start of a day just to enjoy a long and speedy downhill freewheel at its conclusion.

Back at the hostel, having lost our heavy boots and gained a hot shower we reflected on this new range of hills we had tasted. We were all impressed with their size, graceful ridges, remoteness and huge views and began to make plans to return with bikes to try our hand at reaching some of the areas more remote peaks.

At Gerry's Hostel

The A835 winds it's way southwesterly from Achnasheen to Strathcarron, following the path of the Dingwall to Kyle of Lochalsh railway line. With the great peaks of Torridon to the North and a vast wilderness stretching all the way to Glen Affric on it's south side, it is a road ringed by great mountains, and very little else.

Very little else that is except Gerry's Hostel (Scotland's Oldest Independent Hostel) says the blurb, which is located at the hamlet of Craig at the start of one of the major footpaths penetrating the great upland ranges on the south side of the road (map here).

Gerry's is basic, comfortable and equipped with a reasonable kitchen, good beds, hot showers and a good drying room. It is also a little quaint, and rather eccentric - a characteristic it shares with its eponymous owner!

I spent four nights here with 2 great friends this week, during which time we managed to explore many of the surrounding hills and glens. We had Gerry's to ourselves for virtually the whole time which was an added bonus too. Gerry's own website is here. The unusual nature of this little hostel, (well actually of the owner) has led to a plethora of legends amongst hill-folk, most of which are undoubtedly untrue. Nevertheless, a Google search on "Gerry's Hostel" still produces a few tales today. My memories however are all good - of great hills, good friends, big meals in the common room, fine pints of ale and good books, wide-ranging conversation, maps and mountain guide-books being spread out across the table, and the infrequent trains rattling past on the adjacent Kyle line.

The Return of the Three Stooges

Although flung to all corners of the world, Scotland, Birmingham and Oklahoma - my two oldest friends and I have stayed in touch since we studied together at Strode's College, sometime in the last century. Last weekend we all managed to get together for the first time in a decade, which was great, although tinged with regret that such times are so rare.

We reminisced about weird and wonderful events, in places as diverse as South Mimms service station and Coleraine. We talked about the ludicrous speeches we'd made at each other's weddings, and of the time when the police searched my car for drugs and seemed genuinely disappointed only to find a packet of chocolate digestives. We re-kindled very old jokes, which have lain dormant for so long and caught up on many intervening years of life that have slipped by and wondered how long it would be before we were all in the same place again.

In one of our parents homes (who were on holiday) we all realised how strange it was that once there were three of us; then we all gt married over the course of four years, and have all subsequently been breeding - and that there were fourteen people around the table! Happily all three of us found excellent wives who are good friends too. So while all six of us were chatting around the dinning table, the kids all bundled outside and seemed to get on really well (despite being relative strangers), and played with bikes, balls, ice-creams, nintendo's and the like. Two of that great number of children had never been to the UK before, to see where their Dad grew up - and I was particularly moved that along with the sightseeing tour they took of places like the London Eye; they also saw many more personal landmarks such as houses he had lived in as a boy and the place where he became a Christian as a child (here), and the place where their Mum had, as an exchange student in London (here).

Despite the long drive, the many hours on the road, the late nights and tired children, it was a great weekend. There's something joyful, encouraging, stimulating and right about enjoying real fellowship with old friends. We talked about families, children, work, politics, curry, music, America, faith, prayer, culture, worship, joys, struggles, hopes, pains, achievements, illnesses and Jesus himself; with a sense that all of these facets of life are lived before Him, and all the blessings in life come ultimately from Him.

The weekend was a rare treat, and I come away with a profound sense that life was intended to more like that was - and less like today is.

All Orange and Black

Just another Perth sunset, the breathtaking beauty of which the camera cannot do justice. This is taken looking North-westwards from the city-centre, in the foreground the Perth College area of the city at the top of Letham; in the background the Glen Almond hills.

A Poor Joke

Boris (aged9): "eeeerrrrRRR, don't pick your nose and chew it"

Norris (aged 6): "but Mum's always telling me to eat my greens"

MPs troughs, rules and perspective..

Amidst the political fun of the unfolding expenses scandal at Westminster, in which freedom of information has given us the right to peer into their publically-funded world of moats, duck islands and 'adult' movies; has a sense of perspective been lost somewhere? The latest reports are that a handful of MPs will be disciplined for outright breaking of parliamentary rules; while up to 50 will not be seeking re-election, because what they did was within the rules but somewhat embarrassing. Politics is in turmoil, democracy is held up to public ridicule, the first speaker for over three centuries has fallen on his political sword, and parties are maneuvering to rid themselves of candidates whose expenses claims are as bloated as their tax liabilities are minimised.

In one sense, I want to join in the clamour. The filthy swine, have after-all had their noses firmly in the public trough. They have not only advantageously set their own conditions of employment, but have sought (and failed) to have their actions hidden from the public, only being foiled by freedom of information releases pre-empted by The Daily Telegraph. In constructing a system that no citizen would get away with in their workplace, they have demonstrated indeed that some pigs are more equal than others. So, send them all back to their 'very very large' houses that 'look a bit like Balmoral' and lets start parliament all over again with a fresh co-hort.

On the other hand, surely two factors must be weighed against that:

Firstly, how many voters use the system in place to ensure that they pay as little tax as possible and claim the maximum expenses? We might live in another world from the Steen's and Hogg's in the opulence of their mansions and castles; but my guess is every self-employed person in the UK pays an accountant to work this out and signs it off with little eye for detail. I'm not justifying the excess and greed that has been paraded in the daily role call of shame, but I am asking if the fault has been wholly about greedy individuals, or also about a dodgy-system inevitably producing dodgy outcomes?

Secondly though, what troubles me here is that our political system is creaking towards a crisis over a comparatively minor matter - compared to things it has swallowed whole, without straining.

Here is a truly scandalous figure: 92,126 – 100,580 .

The question is, what prefix should these numbers have to contextualise them and so provoke a relevant and proportionate response. Is it a £-sign, referring perhaps to the amount of offensive expenses claims the cabinet have promised to repay? Nope! Is it a Euro-symbol, suggesting a similar fate about to befall our MEPs? Nope! Is it the amount of capital-gains tax avoided by shadow-cabinet ministers, 'flipping' their 'primary residence' to milk the system? Nope - wrong again!

The figure 92,126 - 100,580 rather, refers to civilian deaths which have resulted from the allied invasion of Iraq. It was something for which the majority of MPs still in parliament, and both major parties supported in the face of public opposition. The graph above plots these deaths by year (source). It was morally repugnant, internationally illegal, it used vast amounts of public money in ways the public found unacceptable. But of course, it actually broke no parliamentary rules and wasn't done in secret to be sensationally leaked .... phew! so that's alright then.

er, except that it's not.

One of the most valuable lessons to emerge from the current snouts-in-the-trough scandal is that being within the scope of the written law is an insufficient standard for public service. Acting immorally, or greedily within the code of conduct, is still wrong. Procedural justice is of course an absolute necessity, the process of decision making must be watertight, whether the context is a courtroom or a legislature or a business. But procedural justice cannot be the only criteria to satisfy. Just because correct procedures have been followed, this cannot and must not be a screen behind which to hide flawed decisions, or bad decision-makers. In part, the very procedures themselves can be critiqued in the light of the decisions they generate.

Almost fifty MPs are to go over this expenses scandal, some being disciplined, the whip being withdrawn from others - with many shame-facedly retiring at the next election. This uproar contrasts markedly with the Iraq war debacle, which only resulted in the resignation of Robin Cook, a handful of minor government resignations, and the pathetic on-off resignation will-she-won't-she of Claire Short; who at least seemed to be aware of the impending genocide even if she didn't quite see it as a resigning matter. Oh, and a by-election win for Respect. What a completely bizarre disaprity in outrage!

Yes - standards in public life must improve. Yes - morality must exceed the written code. No - 'I was within the rules' is as unacceptable as 'I was merely following orders'. And yes resignations should follow scandals. But for goodness sake let's get our moral-outrage gauges re-calibrated. If Anthony Steen has hd his mansion subsidised by the taxpayer, he should go. But if he voted for George Bush's illegal war, he should have been removed, long long ago along with all the others in similar positions.

Christians Against Poverty (video clip)

I've had a few converations with people recently about CAP: "Christians Against Poverty". Some asked where they could find more information. CAP have just released this new seven-minute video introducing their work, by telling the story of a family who were guided out of debt, welcomed by the church and eventually found faith themselves - through their work. Video is below, CAP's website address is: http://www.capuk.org/home/index.php

We saw nothing.... it was great!

Glas Tulaichean literally means, "grey-green hillocks", I am reliably informed. Two Saturday's ago, it should perhaps have been named, Great Lump of a Hill, Hidden in Fog and Lashed with Rain. When the suggestion of doing a Munro was made to all the guys on the church men's weekend over twenty of them responded. On the day however, only four foolhardy idiots still thought it was a good idea, given the weather conditions and deteriorating hill-forecast.

Nevertheless, we parked at the Dalmunzie House Hotel (wasting a fiver, but saving about three miles!) and followed the disused railway track up the glen, to a magnificent and completely ruined hunting lodge nestling at the foot of the hill, above a wonderfully powerful mountain river. The climb up to the summit of the hill is navigationally aided, but visually ruined, by the bulldozed track that ascends from the old hunting lodge right along the summit ridge to within a few hundred metres from the trig-point. Allegedly a terrific viewpoint, the only view I could see from here were three wet, cold, gnarled faces peering at me from under hats and waterproof hoods, grimly pondering what dinner might be waiting for us for, back at the Compass Christian Centre.

Trudging back, along the broad summit ridge, it occured to me that despite the elements; safely encompassed within my goretex cocoon - out in the hills was still a wonderful place to be. The Glen See hills, may be blighted by all the unsightly ironmongery of the ski-ing industry, but tucked just behind the likes of the Cairnwell and Carn 'Asda', great expanses on unspoilt upland lie above majestically ice-carved glens. As we dropped back into the glen, we dipped below the cloud level and were rewarded with views down its length, the hills appearing and retreating mysteriously in the mist. Just a great place to be. Back at the Centre we were able to smugly ask how the 'low-level' walkers had fared in our absence, grab showers and destroy a vast acreage of lasagne and salad.

The church men's weekend had many other highlights too. There was some good Bible teaching, from 1Thess2, an interactive Bible study, a quiz-night, a prayer time; and an especially moving communion service in which we all served each other, prior to leaving the centre to go home. Not having the kids at a church thing was a good change for me - usually managing them, organising them, finding their coats, drawings, or just finding them; means that I am so preoccupied that getting to know new people is very hard. The weekend away threw many of us together, around meals, dorms, kettles, up hills and in quiz teams and meant that I had real conversations with some people I have previously shared only the obligatory 'good morning' with. It was well worth going for this itself.

Perth's New Image

The shore road incinerator plan seems to be progressing through the mysteries of the Perth & Kinross Council planning process. It threatens to give the town centre a makeover; giving the 'once fair city' the look and feel of a Soviet Industrial-5year plan.

As such, the city will no doubt require a re-branding and an accompanying logo. I have taken the liberty of assisting the council with this important task, by providing a proportionately appropriate revision of their badge. Above is the new PKC coat of arms, which I think captures the very essence of the town's future in the finest traditions of heraldry.

This Morning's Dilemma

This morning I was the unfortunate recipient of a European Election leaflet from the rather scary BNP. It contained some ludicrous statement about it "not being racist" to hate Johnny foreigner and want to kick him out of 'our' country. If only time-machine technology was further advanced - we could repatriate the BNP to their natural home in around 1870.. . .

Therefore I now have a dilemma and a decision to make about what to do with this A5 piece of noxious nonsense.... bin, shredder or fire? Or some combination of the above maybe?

Book Notes: What's Going On by Mark Steel

A foul-mouthed, revolutionary socialist with no sympathy for Christianity, might not be the most obvious candidate for a place on my bookshelves - but I have to confess to being a fan of Mark Steel. In his new book, "What's Going On?" he is back to the acerbic, witty and polemic humorous best, like he was in his first book, "Reasons to be Cheerful". One of the reasons I enjoy him is that as he views the world from within the Socialist Workers Party, he describes what it looks like to be part of a small misrepresented minority, treated as a laughable irrelevance by anyone who still knows what he actually believes in and wrestles (in a self-deprecating, amusing way) at the doctrinal wranglings of the left........ there are so many parallels with life as a Christian in 21C Britain. The Left, like the church, has a coherent critique of contemporary life, many beliefs which are very popular, a core of very committed believers - but struggles to recruit new adult members and is failing to influence public discourse. The following from page 168:

The young aren't attracted to the Left primarily because socialism appears to them as an archaic belief, but the problem is compounded by these [meetings] that can appear as cliquey as a giant dinner party. Everyone at these events seems despairingly familiar with the etiquette of the group. everyone knows who the speaker is talking about when they mention an obscure Guardian columnist, everyone knows when to clap (like an audience at a classical music concert), which minor government figures to jeer, and no one says '****'. If the Left was attracting a layer of people from outside this group, this etiquette would come under threat. But instead there's a cosiness that makes anyone from outside feel exactly what they are - an intruder.

As anyone who has heard Steel on his various radio and TV shows will be familiar with his talent for the hilarious rant; as he unleashes the wrath of his tongue on targets as deserving and diverse as Bush, Rumsfeld, Haliburton and Dido. His standard 'that would be like' gag in which he lampoons his enemies through the medium of preposterous comparison are in relatively short supply here, also he now seem to be able to mention a 'church' without virtually accusing all Christians of being closet Inquisitionists or Crusaders. (Mark Steel not ranting irrationally at Christians? "That would be like Margaret Thatcher saying that her one aim in retirement was to get re-opening Orgreave Pit under state ownership at the top of the Tory manifesto") - er, you get the idea.

Much of this book concerns Steel's reflections on being in his forties - reflecting on many of the disappointments which have come his way. He reflects on the fortunes of the far-left in politics, and the way in which they have tendencies for moments of great grandeur (like Galloway before the US Senate) but always seem to disintegrate into, comic farce, Celebrity Big Brother or Sheridan's Shenanigans. He charts his disillusionment with the SLP, and his final exit from the party he had immersed himself in since his youth, despairing at its wranglings, feuds and failures. He bemoans the way in which although globalisation and multinationals are now more unpopular than ever - there is no credible alternative movement.

Woven through this comic-tragic tale of mid-life crisis and disappointment, Steel rather movingly describes the end of his marriage. He describes his exile on the sofa, the petty rows, the pain, the growing acrimony, the reconciliations, the children pleading with him not to leave. Its a very, very sad tale indeed. At its worst, Steel rants about her instability, volatility and belligerence. However when the sorry tale nears its conclusion, Steel shows us that when he can stop all that effin effin all the effin time; he can write.

This is a good follow-up to Reasons to Be Cheerful, and much better than It's Not A Runner Bean. A good read for lovers of political satire, although Steel's style is certainly not to everyone's tatse.

Book Notes: Surprised by Hope by Tom Wright

N.T. (Tom) Wright, has written a book with the (ambitious) aim of correcting what he sees as an error in all streams of the 'western' church. In essence, Wright argues that due to the prevailing influence of the greek philosophical tradition (specifically Platonic dualism) the church has lost sight of the New Testament's central theological and historical concern: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The result of this, he says, is at best a distortion of the meaning of Christian hope and a failure to grasp our responsibilities to this world; and at worst an apologetic for social, ethical and environmental neglect.

Compared to many of Wrights works (such as the densely argued 'Origins' series) this book is a blast, a genuine page-turner which illuminates and surprises with every chapter. Stylistically its only fault is a tendency for repetition of the central theme a little more than was perhaps necessary.

Wright believes that both the liberalism to his left and the fundamentalism to his right have mis-interpreted the resurrection texts of the New Testament's Easter narrative. Fundamentalism he believes has taken a 'flat' reading of 1 Thessalonians to develop 'St' Paul's "we shall meet him in the air" comment into a 'rapture' theology that views salvation in terms of escape from this world. That is to say it sees Christian hope as 'going to heaven when we die'. This, argues Wright misinterprets Paul and does so to replace the genuine biblical hope of resurrection, replacing it with the medieval artists disembodied harp-playing notions of glory. Such views, he insists, are rooted in Platonism and Gnosticism, which make the 'soul' the good-bit that gets saved, and the body the 'bad bit' that is lost with death. In contrast, biblical hope lies in the bodily resurrection of Christ which is the pre-cursor to the physical resurrection of us all. Theological liberalism has made a mirror-image error by lapsing into the same unbiblical categories as this wonky scan from p230 demonstrates:

The end result of this is a crisis in which the hymns, liturgy and preaching of all sides have obscured the central claim of historic Christianity. Fundamentalism's 'soul-only' gospel detaches body from soul and seeks only to save souls and has little concern for bodies or this world which it regards as of no consequence - rather than being loaded with massive resurrection significance. Likewise liberalism, in its denial of the bodily resurrection of Christ, cannot offer the hope of a renewed, resurrected, perfected world-order of justice, hope, peace and the oft-invoked Kingdom of God; because these are the very promises of physical resurrection and renewal of the whole earth. The answer to both these extremes, says Wright - is the rediscovery of the Christian orthodoxy of hope! This he says is historically grounded, theologically coherent and demands holistic mission from the church; challenging those to his right to thoroughly engage in social concern - doing mission in a world that will ultimately renewed; and those on his left to proclaim Christ and the salvation he is bringing to the world and calling people be part of that.

On his central theme - Wright is excellent. Less convincing are some of his excursus into related matters, which are interesting cul-de-sacs which are often well-observed but do sometimes obscure. His view of 'justification by faith' as a temporary expedient until works are done, is perhaps especially unfortunate in this regard (especially as this so strongly militates against genuine hope in a book about hope!), but this is but a footnote in the overall project. Critics from the right will also want to know the basis on which Wright selects which eshcatalogical images to interpret literally, and which metaphorically; in more helpful terms than references to his other works.

Despite these reservations, this is a great read; fascinating, well-argued, thought-provoking and response demanding!

TMC completed again

Last night we got to the end of another Marriage Course in Perth. Once again we ran a 'micro-course' in our house (rather than a large-scale one in a church hall or hotel etc) and as ever used the DVDs for all the 'talky bits', leaving us free to worry about catering and trying to make everyone feel at ease.

I always reach the end of a course with mixed emotions. In some places, the couples who come have dinner together in private, which facilitates time to talk and relax. For logistical reasons that's not possible here, so although we share a meal we all eat together before watching the DVD and splitting up into couples for times of private discussion. That means that over the seven weeks of the course we get to know everyone quite well - and look forward to seeing them all each week and blethering over dinner. In comparison, next Thursday will seem rather dull! On the other hand, reaching the end of the course will mean that we get a rest from all the work of running it! Mrs Hideous has to start work very early on Friday mornings, so part of my contribution to the whole thing is to clear up after the event. While filling the dishwasher in the early hours this morning, while the house slept around me; I experienced this conflict of both looking forward to being asleep and also being really privileged to be able to be a part of this work.

Being involved in the Marriage Course is the end result of something that we experienced many years ago. Some friends of ours were having trouble in their marriage - which we observed from a fairly close distance. At almost exactly the same time, with one young son, and both of us working full-time and being involved with church too; we were aware that while we were not in a crisis, our marriage had elements within it that could have caused problems in the longer term- if not addressed. It was precisely at this time that we went to a Care for the Family day-long marriage seminar, held in our church centre. That day marked a turning point for us in two ways. Firstly a session entitled, "active listening" by a couple called Pete and Barbie Reynolds transformed our ability to communicate (er, actually to be more honest it confronted my almost total inability to listen without interrupting!). Secondly it marked the day on which we changed from the mindset of bumbling along assuming that all would be well because we were in love - to consciously trying to work on our marriage as a labour of love. Our friends subsequently endured a very painful separation and divorce.

Over the following few years we became aware that in 'the church' (broadly, not just our fellowship) we 'do' an awful lot of weddings. We also tend 'do' a huge amount of talking about the value and importance of marriage. Neither of these things is to be decried. What we felt we also needed to be doing was helping support actual marriages, rather than just talking about marriage in general and leaving people to get on with it. When HTB published their 'Marriage Course' we did a test-run to see if it would be worth running in our church. One of the first things we noticed was that the techniques for 'active listening' that we had found so helpful years ago, were included - along with many other helpful things we hadn't considered. We also found the structure of the course really helpful. For instance, we had for more than five years identified that the top need for our relationship was to spend more time together. When we kept this as a general principal we were completely indisciplined about it and we'd end up going weeks or months without ever having time for us. The Marriage Course emphasises weekly 'Marriage Time' as a priority - and booking this well in advance so that it takes precedence over many worthy (but less critical) activities. It was through the structure and discipline of doing the course that we finally seem to have got that right. Ironically, the greatest threat to our 'marriage time' these days seems to be the pressure of hosting the Marriage Course!

Last night we also said farewell to the old Marriage Course DVD set which we have used over the last few years. The authors of the course thought that the old format was looking a bit tired (and we were all fed up with the cheesy theme-music!) and so they have completely re-filmed all the talks - and the new marriage course material should be available soon. We've seen a sample of the material, a 5minute promo - and if the whole course is as good as that it should be even better to use.

The Marriage Course is being run in thousands of venues all over the world. To find a course near you click here: " Find a Course".

Doris at Four

In an almost 'narnian' feat of time-elapse, little Doris has turned four; the intervening years since the above photo was taken, slipping away with a bewildering rapidity. Had she held on another few hours she would have had an 05.05.05 date of birth -she didn't manage to make her birthday that easy to remember, her birthday instead is duly remembered with the lamentable tag, 'May the 4th be with you' (Anglicans may respond 'and also with you'). So while sports fans will remember 04.05.05 as the night on which Liverpool beat Chelsea in the semi-finals of the European Championship (which was showing in the delivery room, I might add), our family remember it as the day upon which our lives were changed forever by the presence of a daughter/sister!

Into our world of trains, footballs and mud a very girlie-girl has appeared. She surrounds herself with hairbrushes, pink shoes, glitter, hair-clips and all such accessories, changes her outfits at least four times a day, raids her Mum's make-up bag, and sings and dances her way around the house. This festival of girliness was never more evident than at her party yesterday in which several of her young friends appeared similarly bedecked in all things pink and shiny, grooved to "Dancing Queen", and decorated princess pictures with pink and red glitter!

Young Doris is convinced that four is very grown-up, and takes this very seriously. If her older brothers attempt to tell her what to do, or to suggest that being older gives them any kind of authority over her, she will resist their control with the resilience of a freedom fighter! Doris and I had a discussion at the weekend about 'who is in charge' in the house. She was not enthusiastic about the plan I had arranged for the day and told me to change it..hence the discussion which concluded with me explaining that she was a little girl and I was her Dad and that meant that I was in charge and organising the day. She sat and thought for a while, put her head to one side and came to a decision which she clearly thought was fair, resonable and well-considered. "OK Daddy", she said, "you can be in charge today...... but only a bit!"

She is also very aware of her own growing-up-ness. A couple of weeks ago she was sitting fiddling with her toes when she noticed one small, solitary, blond leg-hair! Examining it carefully she said, "Look! I'm going to be a Mummy soon!" - although why she so closely associates motherhood with hirsute limbs... I couldn't possibly imagine, or indeed comment if I could.

Happy Birthday little Doris!

Swine Cartoon

This one seems to be doing the rounds on e-mail.... no idea where it comes from!

Almost Making Use of My Life Insurance on Buachaille Etive Beag

Buachaille Etive Beag - South Ridge

It's been almost a decade since Mrs Hideous & I have been out hillwalking together, on our own. Many happy days in the hills with assorted friends and children have been enjoyed in the meantime - but we have missed getting out by ourselves like we used to. This weekend we put this right with a great walk over the Munros and tops of Glen Coe's Buachaille Etive Beag; while my parents entertained Boris, Norris and Doris for a couple of days.

Buachaille Etive Beag, is a mountain which is usually overlooked because of its proximity to its glamorous and oft photographed big brother, Buachaille Etive Mor. Derided as the 'little Buachaille', this mountain always suffers from the obvious comparison, and spoken of in terms of what it lacks. I am convinced however that were it not for its glamorous sibling, (and the pairing of their names) mountain books would rave about this large, bold striking mountain; its graceful lines, stunning views, and elegant peaks set between deep dramatic glens sweeping around its sides. Several years ago I admired this mountain from the top of Buachaille Etive Mor (after a scramble up The Curved Ridge and Crowberry Tower!), and described its beauty to my wife on my return to Perth. She requested that I save 'doing' this hill until she was able to come with me.

After an amazing breakfast at our favourite hotel where we love to go whenever the grandparents want to spoil our kids, we went to Dalness to climb the hill by its steep Southern ridge. A signpost at the roadside points the way up a track which soon forks, with a leftward path heading (via two large gates in the deer-fencing), straight up the centre of the ridge. On paper it is a straightforward ascent. In practice there are two obstacles to overcome. The second is some very steeply-angled and loose scree-fields near the first summit; these took some considerable effort and determination to get across. The first was a fairly innocuous looking stream above a waterfall....... I jumped over the stream and waited for Mrs Hideous to follow suit. She looked at it and hesitated. Then she looked again, and hesitated some more; before deciding that she wasn't going to risk it. She rightly pointed out that while stream itself didn't look too bad, one small slip would send you over a good sized waterfall onto the rocks below. Brimming with the over-confidence of foolishness and the pride awaiting its inevitable fall, I climbed back down the river bank to quickly put an end to such silliness and help the distressed damsel over the stream. As I reached out to help her I was immediately swept over the waterfall, landing a few metres below on the rocks (unscathed) only to be swept down a second set landing with a bump in the river bed below. Thankfully my skeleton, my glasses, my rucksack, my trousers and my hands were all unbroken and all I was required to do was to collect the various shattered pieces of my dignity and climb back up the rocks to my very shocked looking wife. Sopping wet, and with the prospect of some rather moist sandwiches for lunch - I was glad that I didn't have my camera with me which would have been ruined. More importantly we were both amazed, and extremely thankful that I wasn't seriously hurt, given how far I had fallen.

The rest of the day was incident free- and we enjoyed the great weather, grandiose mountain architecture and a great walk out along the path through the Lairig Gartain between the two Buachaille's. The fine drive through Glen Coe, and past Ballachulish was made even sweeter with the prospect of a hot bath and fine meal to come. On 'The Marriage Course' they talk about the importance of couples making time for each other so that they don't lose each other amidst the busyness of life. Small amounts of such weekly 'marriage time' are great; but a weekend away together at least once a year is almost like a refresher course in being 'us'. I am still a bit shocked at how close my greatest contribution to our marriage this weekend could have come in the form of a cheque paying out on my life-insurance though.

Christianity and the Media

Two articles have caught my eye recently, relating to Christian faith. What has surprised me about both of them has been the unlikely combination of author and subject.

In the first one, Matthew Parris writes about the positive and observable effect of Christian faith and Christian mission. His piece in the Times is intriguingly entitled, "As an atheist, I truly believe Africa needs God" read it here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article5400568.ece

More recently the one-time somewhat sour critic of Christianity, A.N. Wilson (author of the book "Jesus" which attempted to 'de-bunk' the gospels as myth), has described how he has changed his mind, now believes that Christ rose from dead - and what he has observed that has persuaded him. That article is here:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1169145/Religion-hatred-Why-longer-cowed-secular-zealots.html

Hazy Arran

From the Larne - Troon Ferry

The Lowry Bridge, Salford Quays

On the road with Boris (3) John Lees' Barclay James Harvest Live at The Lowry

The grand finale of the weekend away that Boris and I had was a gig at Salford's futuristic looking Lowry Centre. Boris and I are both fans of John Lees Barclay James Harvest, whose thoughtful majestic take on British 70s rock encompasses classical, folk, hard-rock and prog elements.

Arriving early we met many other fans of the band, some of whom I have chatted to online, under their various entertaining on-line pseudonyms such as "the umpire's finger", "the poet", "madwoolyfan", and "sparkly flames". Boris surprised a few people who have been BJH fans for three-times the length of his life, with his

astute comments about the relative merits of the bands output; and his hopes for what might be in the evening's set. It was most enjoyable meeting up with all these various characters, and sharing a common enthusiasm. Boris was predictably as high as a kite, not only was this his first gig, but we had second row tickets in a sell-out performance by our favourite band!

On Sunday night, John Lees' Barclay James Harvest delivered a brilliant set of material drawn almost entirely from the bands' classic era. They kicked off with John Lees' passionate anti-war anthem, "For No-One" from 1974 - a song which showcases all the bands trademarks; thoughtful lyrics passionately delivered, layered vocal harmonies, soaring melodic guitar lines all built upon a base of 'Woolly' Wolstenholme's atmospheric Mellotron sounds.

The set included heavier numbers such as Medicine Man, once again played with in the arrangement that made it so popular amongst the bands original fans three decades ago, alongside new arrangements of numbers such as Mockingbird, and classic songs like Child of the Universe. On the more delicate side of the repertoire John's sublime Galadriel was featured as was Woolly's The Poet - as ever the prelude to the show-stopping After the Day. For an encore the band played the epic "She Said", and closed the Easter Sunday show with one of their most Christian influenced songs, the anthemic Hymn; a brilliant singalong to end a brilliant evening.

But there was more... as the crowd was filing out of the auditorium into the bar area, the band came up to say goodnight to everyone leaving. Young Boris was chuffed to be able to sit down and have a blether to the ever affable Woolly Wolstenholme. He told John Lees he'd just got his first guitar and asked him how often he practiced when he was learning. John advised him to play for at least an hour; and had a chat with him about the pain, scabs and trials of the aspiring musician. Young Boris left the place with a huge grin, and an autographed programme.

We had a brilliant evening together - a wonderful conclusion to our weekend away.

Full set-list, photos and fans reviews are on the band's website here: http://www.barclayjamesharvest.com/lowry3.htm

On the road with Boris (2) The Imperial War Museum North

The Imperial War Museum North is housed within an amazing building in Salford Quays, Manchester. Boris and I spent a fascinating hour or so there on Sunday afternoon - but it was not quite what I had expected. As we walked to the entrance we saw an old battered Russian tank, and Boris was immediately attracted to it and asking questions about the range, power, armaments of the vehicle. This was what I had expected to find, and was prepared to follow the visit with a lecture of my own to counteract any jingoism and glorification of war. Part of this was because I had visited the Imperial War Museum in London as a teenager and had thought that the place reeked of "Hurrah for the Army, Hurrah for War, and Thrice Hurrah for dead foreigners".

Thankfully times have changed since that visit. This museum does contain a lot of military hardware, planes, bombs, uniforms, vehicles, technology and the like. These are all labelled and detailed as one would expect in a decent museum. What this museum also has is a series of powerful film presentations which depict all aspects of war. Yes, like museums of old it does contain references to the heroism and comradeship of war - recognising many acts of courage, bravery and sacrifice. However, it absolutely does not do so at the expense of considering the cost, horror, chaos and victims of war. The film clip about nuclear warfare is particularly disturbing in this regard. While it begins with the mechanics of the bomb, its development and delivery, what sticks in my mind are the remarks of the official observers of the Hiroshima blast and their description of the burning bodies of children in the boiling city.

My prepared discussion about the seriousness of the subject and the awfulness of war was scrapped - instead we had a chat about whether young Boris was OK, or if he had found it too disturbing. He was certainly affected by it, which I think is good- but not to the point where he didn't really enjoy going up to the amazing view-point at the top of the museum's tower.

Manchester Ship Canal

On the road with Boris (1)

Young 'Boris' and I are just back from our long-looked-forward-to weekend away together. We packed our stuff, he packed lots of CDs for the long journey and we went South. I drove and navigated while he fed me with his choice of music and a never-ending supply of chocolate that he seemed to have accumulated for the journey. The music choice was excellent, chosen as it was, exclusively from my collection... it might therefore be considered minority interest, but we liked it.

Travelling with Boris (who is 9) is great fun. Having two younger siblings is a wonderful thing, but also limits what he is able to do, it means listening to nursery rhyme CDs in the car sometimes, it means climbing smaller mountains on one hand but also having rivals for time, toys, attention and dominance. We've noticed that both our boys are far better behaved and much more fun, if given a break from each other. So being on the road with Boris is great.

We went down to Poynton in Cheshire and stayed with our old friends The Leese' family. It was good to catch up with them, exploit their hospitality, go to church with them on Easter Sunday morning to celebrate the resurrection of Christ, and go out with them for a good curry - another of young Boris' great loves.

Little Norris has also, of course, been promised a weekend away. His choice of activity I think will involve camping, probably in the Spring.

The Lowry

The Lowry Centre, Salford Quays (of which more another time)

The world's best T-shirt

I am the happy recipient of this present- maybe the best T-shirt, in the world!

Film Notes: Goodbye Lenin!

I haven't enjoyed a film as much as Wolfgang Becker's "Goodbye Lenin!" for a very long time. The story itself hangs around the unlikely premise that an East German communist falls into a coma and misses the fall of the Berlin Wall, the fall of Honecker and the GDR and wakes up in a unifying capitalist Germany. The doctors warn her family that any major shock could kill her - so they set about recreating the old East Germany in her apartment, unleashing an escalating and ludicrous sequence of events in a bid to maintain the pretence, which encompasses friends, neighbours, and colleagues!

The film is brilliant because it works in two ways. The plot is pure farce, and there are many laughs not least when the son Alex sets about producing fake old-style programmes to allow his mother to watch TV. On the other hand, the human emotions, family and relationship dynamics, and serious emotional pull of the acting, is convincing and moving in a way that is wonderfully un-farcical!

In one brilliant scene, the mother rises from her sick bed and staggers out into the streets to be confronted with a helicopter taking away a huge Lenin statue, which flies low past her - his outstretched arm beckoning her from the past, even as he is airlifted away! As the story unfolds, it transpires that several of the characters have also told lies with the best of intentions which have lead to whole swathes of untruths being told to substantiate them. This is all layered on the conflicting emotions the East Germans felt, as liberation was gained on one hand, but humiliation accepted on the other.

This film cleverly welds together personal emotions and big political events so that the 'lying to preserve the system' theme is practised by states and individuals alike; nostalgia for a semi-mythical lost golden age works both in the home and in the post-unification East Berlin as it lost so much employment, industry and its currency. Funny, heart-warming, witty, thoughtful and most unusual - this was two hours of excellent entertainment.

(German with English subtitles, cert 15 - presumably because of some of the language)

Smash!

Boris and Norris are in a little bit of trouble this evening!

Book Notes: Total Church by Tim Chester

I have read many books about ‘the church’, from weighty academic tomes to popular critiques; from apologetics for conservative theology and practice, to emergent and liquid ‘radical’ critiques of both. Several of the most helpful ones have been biblically based and realistically helpful in terms of honing the Christian faith-community’s self-understanding and the practices which flow from it. Of all the books on this subject I have read, ‘Total Church’ is the one that has made me think most. This is not because it is a massively complex or academically dense read; but because it does not satisfy itself with the mere tweaking of the church’s performance; but to systematically challenging many of the assumptions upon which church life has been organised for over a millennia!

Chester and Timmis are advocates and practicioners of ‘household church’; in direct contrast to the institutionalised church, which they see as being an unhealthy diversion – part of the unhappy legacy of Constantine’s domestication of the church as a department of state. So far that sounds like the usual ‘emergent’ critique; but ‘Total Church’ is not so easily categorised. True there is a strong respect for narrative theology running through the book; ‘biblical theology’ is after all a story; but far from an assault on propositional truth – the authors are members of a community which is decidedly ‘word’ centred, and outwardly focussed in intentional mission, especially towards the marginalised. On page 169, they interact with post-modernity like this:

Truth is corrupted by power. The postmodern case is valid. The problem however, is that the postmodern solution does not work. The rejection of truth does not work. Truth is rejected as a tool of power. But disregarding truth simply leaves the field open to power. There is nothing left with which to resist power. There is nothing worth fighting for. The pen may or may not be mightier than the sword. But if you take the pen away, you are simply left with the sword. Postmodern people fear that truth-claims are coercive. But if you take truth away you are left with pure coercion.

The key difference about what they are advocating and the ecclestiastical norm; is that they have no programmes, no buildings, and virtually no budget – but instead everything they do is relational. They do not strive for effective delivery of slick programmes; but for open homes and community living; seeking to show the effect of the gospel of Christ upon their lives, rather than investing in persuasive advertising of well-constructed events. The heart of the vision for which they argue persuasively, is not for the growth of large churches, but the proliferation of tiny ones.

Such a vision is nicely summarised in their looking at Deuteronomy 6:6-7, which says: “These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them upon your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” They comment:

We should be teaching one another the Bible as we are out walking, driving the car or washing the dishes. People should learn the truth of justification not only in an exposition of Romans 5, but as they see us resting on Christ’s finished work instead of anxiously trying to justify ourselves. They should understand the nature of Christian hope not only as they listen to a talk on Romans 8, but as they see us groaning in response to suffering as we wait for glory. They should understand the sovereignty of God not only from a sermon series in Isaiah, but as they see us respond to trials with ‘pure joy’. We have found in our context that most learning and training takes place not through programmed teaching or training courses, but unplanned conversations: talking about life, talking about ministry, talking about problems. Let us make a bold statement: truth cannot be taught effectively outside of close relationships…… (p115)

A final quote will help to give a flavour of the vision of the church they have the challenge it is to those of us who inhabit more traditional structures. They argue that too many Christians are burnt out by seeking to run both their lives and deliver programmes - whereas it is more biblical to live the Christian life openly in front of others... and that's the whole programme!

Church without programmes, structures or buildings can make you feel very vulnerable. Leadership in which your life is open can feel scary. But we should embrace this fragility because it forces us to trust God’s sovereign grace. (p193)

This book was a Christmas present. I was expecting to enjoy a pleasantly stimulating read. Instead it has caused a lot of heart-searching, and thinking. Time and time again I found that Chester and Timmis articulated things I instinctively felt. I wish I had read this book years ago when at college, the line which was consistently pushed was that the Reformed doctrine of the word reduced church to being a ‘preaching event’ and so inherently militated against the grander biblical theme of community. This book would have at least exposed that as a false dichotomy. There are so many more sections of this book I could quote; instead I’ll just recommend that you read it, if you care about the life of the church today.

Total Church, by Tim Chester and Steve Timmis, (Leicester: IVP), 2007

Alien?

The evils that lurk in the darkest recesses of the vegetable cupboard...

maybe it's time for a clear-out!

Walk the Line

Walk the Line, is the highly acclaimed Johnny Cash biopic, starring Joaquin Pheonix and Reese Witherspoon, based directly on Cash's autobiography. It's a compelling story, which is very well told, containing an explosive mixture of fame, music, betrayal, breakdown, marriage, unfaithfulness, divorce, passion, and loaded with as many hopeful redemptive themes as it is with moral ambiguities.

Joaquin Pheonix' performance is excellent - enough of a growl for authenticity without allowing it to degenerate into a mere impersonation of this often troubled man. The relationship with his father (Robert Patrick) is well explored, as is the effect of the childhood death of his brother, in the first of many close parallels with that other recent celebrated musical bio, Ray.

Reese Witherspoon is fantastic as June Carter Cash, attractive, charming and with an uncanny ability to deliver the songs in a convincing way too. It's a shame that the script-writers didn't give Witherspoon more to work with in terms of exploring the darker side if her character, the turmoil, remorse and divorces only hinted at, where there was much more to say.

The best part of the story is the tale of how June Carter - with the help of her parents, rescued Cash from a drug-addiction fuelled breakdown which was destroying him and his career. The scene in which they drive drug-dealers away from the house at gun-point while Cash is going through cold-turkey is a great story of the protective nature of love. When Cash emerges 'clean' from the ordeal, Carter tells him, "God's given you another chance" - and takes him to church. The faith element of Cash's life and songs was strangely absent from this however, and there is little mention of the Cash who would go on to record the apocyliptic When The Man Comes Around.

The tragedy of the story is the jettisoning of Cash's first wife, Vivienne, in times of constant touring and his growing obsession with Carter. She is evicted from his life and from the film, but whose tragic desertion lingers in the background muddying the redemptive narrative with awkward complexity. We are asked to see the Cash-Carter relationship as one of true redemptive love, but asked to forget that there was a victim in the narrative too. Was there any hope or joy for Vivienne? We are not simply not told anything more.

The message the film tries to convey is of the redemptive power of true love. Cash, it seems, could only be free from his demons when the object of his infatuation, became committed to him. Pursue the infatuation at all costs, it argues, and become committed to it. Autobiographies are always self-justifying to a degree, and this no doubt colours the message. However, the film still ends up perpetuating the great Hollywood love myth; that feelings lead commitments. The truth so often is that mere states of emotional intensity are no basis upon which to shatter commitments made and forge new ones. The art of furnishing the existing commitments with passionate emotions is a more wise and tested path - and the absolute opposite of the 'Hollywood Love Myth', writ large in Walk The Line.

So this is a really good film, well made, well acted, a fascinating story well-told. It has a strong underlying current of the redemptive power of true love (Cash and Carter were married for 35 years until her death); but told through the tangled relationships and moral ambiguities of a complex man. Well worth watching.