We arrived back from a most relaxing week in Norfolk on Saturday. We had rented a wooden chalet on the river Yare in Brundall, on the Broads. The chalet was very comfortable, but the best bit about it was the garden which was beautifully kept, a large patio, and lawn down to the river. It was wonderful to eat breakfast watching the ducks in the garden and sundry wildlife on the river, including heron and swans.
I must admit though that that part of Norfolk is not my favourite, I much prefer the north of the county, where you have the coast and those large Norfolk skies.
We spoilt ourselves rising late, taking time over breakfast, and then planning the day. Many visits were made to old and new places, with lovely meals in the middle of the day.
Some of my favourite visits were to Blakeney, Ranworth Church , and a new one for us Pensthorpe, the Natural Centre of Norfolk which have both an excellent Cafe and shop.The centre have hosted the TV programme Springwatch.
Whilst there I was able to take advantage of some lovely shops to finish the Christmas present buying.
Home now and catching up with jobs, and friends. Sad news is that Edna has had another stroke and is not at all well, poor old Keith jogs along, doing a wonderful job of caring for her.
Well Christmas approaches fast, lots of planning to do, before our holiday in Borrowdale. Come on family we really must get down to making arrangements for meeting up. I will say again that we would love to have anyone or all to stay for New Year for however long people would like. Please talk about it and then talk to me.
Tuesday 6 December 2011
Friday 18 November 2011
Synod
There are three levels of Synod, General, Diocesan and Deanery.
Iam on the lowest, the Deanery. We had a meeting on Thursday evening. It was an important meeting to attend, because we had to vote on a new issue that is coming up at General Synod in April. Before it goes to Generral, it will need to go through Diocesan, who will take on board what we have voted in Deanery, although they may ignore our thoughts, we in fact have no voting rights as such on the decision that will eventually be made.
The whole issue is an idea of Rowan Williams the Archbishop of Canterbury. It is extremely complex, and takes one hell of a lot of understanding, even the summaries, and outline points of the main ideas are difficult, The aim is for the Anglican Communion, which is made up of 43 sections to have a more common approach as to how we interact with each other and become more of a cohesive unity.
The church in Australia, hass already made it known that it will noy sign up to it., and the church is Africa has been told by its bishops bot to agreer to it either.
It would appear to have very few points in its favour, and a lot againts it. For example it will diminish the individuality of the Anglican churches initrs breadth of Churchmanship.
Well anyway after a lot of discussion it came to a vote. One silly man pleaded with us all to abstain. I just had to oppose this idea as I felt that in abstaining, we would be sending a feeling that we were apathetic, indicisive or at worst not bothering to underrstand and grapple with the complex issues. When it actually was voted on I was pleased that both the house of Laity and the house of Clergy defeated the motion set before us that the Covenant be accepted.
I left the meeting with a stonking headache.
I would love to have a talk with Rowan Williams to try and get to the heart of what his ideas are for the Anglican Communion. I reeally respect the man and have a lot of time for him and his Churchmanship but I fear that he is often unable to get across his thoughts to us mere mortals who do not posses his academic ability. I remember going to hear a lecture he was givinbg in Saklisbury Cathedral some whiler ago now, he had just been announced as the new Archbishop but not yet been consecrated. Anyway I went along armed with notebook and penbcil, and as i listened it became clear to me that I would need to take notes as I could not understand a word he was on about. When I got home and reread my notes, I was still very much in the dark.
He I feel still struggles to get his point across, its a shame because he has a lot to contribute to the life and work of the Church
Iam on the lowest, the Deanery. We had a meeting on Thursday evening. It was an important meeting to attend, because we had to vote on a new issue that is coming up at General Synod in April. Before it goes to Generral, it will need to go through Diocesan, who will take on board what we have voted in Deanery, although they may ignore our thoughts, we in fact have no voting rights as such on the decision that will eventually be made.
The whole issue is an idea of Rowan Williams the Archbishop of Canterbury. It is extremely complex, and takes one hell of a lot of understanding, even the summaries, and outline points of the main ideas are difficult, The aim is for the Anglican Communion, which is made up of 43 sections to have a more common approach as to how we interact with each other and become more of a cohesive unity.
The church in Australia, hass already made it known that it will noy sign up to it., and the church is Africa has been told by its bishops bot to agreer to it either.
It would appear to have very few points in its favour, and a lot againts it. For example it will diminish the individuality of the Anglican churches initrs breadth of Churchmanship.
Well anyway after a lot of discussion it came to a vote. One silly man pleaded with us all to abstain. I just had to oppose this idea as I felt that in abstaining, we would be sending a feeling that we were apathetic, indicisive or at worst not bothering to underrstand and grapple with the complex issues. When it actually was voted on I was pleased that both the house of Laity and the house of Clergy defeated the motion set before us that the Covenant be accepted.
I left the meeting with a stonking headache.
I would love to have a talk with Rowan Williams to try and get to the heart of what his ideas are for the Anglican Communion. I reeally respect the man and have a lot of time for him and his Churchmanship but I fear that he is often unable to get across his thoughts to us mere mortals who do not posses his academic ability. I remember going to hear a lecture he was givinbg in Saklisbury Cathedral some whiler ago now, he had just been announced as the new Archbishop but not yet been consecrated. Anyway I went along armed with notebook and penbcil, and as i listened it became clear to me that I would need to take notes as I could not understand a word he was on about. When I got home and reread my notes, I was still very much in the dark.
He I feel still struggles to get his point across, its a shame because he has a lot to contribute to the life and work of the Church
Monday 14 November 2011
SHIT!
Literally.
Why does the drainage system always grind to a halt on a Sunday, or a Bank Holiday?
Well yesterday was the day. 13th wasn't it?
I arrived back from church to be informed by a neighbourt that raw sewage was flowing out of the manhole cover in the pathway beside the houses, and down into the street.
Well after much consultation with both neighbours, plus poking and prodding by the men, followed by much water and sweeping, the drainage services were called, we are much known to them, and bloody good customers I might add. The answerphone informed us that they did not work on Sundays well whats new.
And so for the rest of the day we all put ourselves on water usage ration and got on with life, as best we could. They duly arrived this morning, rodded and whatever, said that tree roots from neighbouring gardens may well be hindering the old clay pipes ! causing blockages.
At least we can now all get on with life with the added bliss of no water restrictions.
Remind me will you when I next look at houses to steer clear of those not on main drainage.
Why does the drainage system always grind to a halt on a Sunday, or a Bank Holiday?
Well yesterday was the day. 13th wasn't it?
I arrived back from church to be informed by a neighbourt that raw sewage was flowing out of the manhole cover in the pathway beside the houses, and down into the street.
Well after much consultation with both neighbours, plus poking and prodding by the men, followed by much water and sweeping, the drainage services were called, we are much known to them, and bloody good customers I might add. The answerphone informed us that they did not work on Sundays well whats new.
And so for the rest of the day we all put ourselves on water usage ration and got on with life, as best we could. They duly arrived this morning, rodded and whatever, said that tree roots from neighbouring gardens may well be hindering the old clay pipes ! causing blockages.
At least we can now all get on with life with the added bliss of no water restrictions.
Remind me will you when I next look at houses to steer clear of those not on main drainage.
Sunday 13 November 2011
Remembrance
Well I do hope that this is the first of many blogs from my new laptop.
Today is for me one of the most difficult days of the year.
I find Remembrance Sunday quite harrowing. I prefer doing a Service in the open air at one of the village memorials, rather than one in church which requires a sermon - lazy me you might think. But speaking about remembrance to a church full of people, young, old, very old, and service men and women in uniform, is daunting, they will have all come with their own thoughts and expectations.
Well this year I had a full service to do.
Normally when preaching I prefer to speak from the chancel steps, but a formal occasion such as todays service requires nothing less than the pulpit.
Up I climbed - a sea of faces all upturned in my direction waiting with expectations which I just hope I can fulfil.
I spoke about my memories of past Remembrance times. going back to my childhood, listening to my Grandfather telling me stories of his service in the Boer war when in Africa he was in charge of the horses, and then him tellingh me stories of the first World War. My Grandmother ast his side telling him off, "Bill do'nt tell her such things", I would have been about six or seven. I adored my grandfather and I remember watching the service of Remembrance with him on his little black and white telly coming from the Royal Albert Hall, pointing out to him Peter processing with the choir into the arena, and watching the poppies descending, and landing on Pete's shoulder, "thats the man I hope to marry Granddad " I remember telling him. He died very soon after that, he and Peter never met, but it was Peter who comforted me in my loss.
And of course my father fought and was horrifically injured in the last war the only man of his anti aircraft gun to survive after is took a direct hit. This was in Gibralter, he was badly burnt and blinded for some while, after being airlifted back to England, to continue with his treatment of many skin grafts, which included new eye lids, he was sent by the War Office to work in the local Borstal young offenders institution until the war ended. My father was in fact more severely disabled mentally than physically he was never the same man again I understand. He was in my childhood memories of him a hard, often brutal man who could often be very unkind to those closest to him. All |I| am sure due to his experiences endured in the war.
The dean of Westminster I once heard say, that Remember is the opposite of Dismember. War dismembers so many in so many ways, and that in Remembering we are making them whole again, in our minds and our thoughts.
Jesus on the cross being crucified along with two criminals, was exhorted by one of them, "When you come into your kingdom remember me". He may not have realised what he was asking Jesus to do, but what he was actually asking was for Jesus to make him whole again.
In summary (if anyone is still reading), some of my thoughts that went into my sermon today, but in I might add a more cohesive manner. Its late!
Today is for me one of the most difficult days of the year.
I find Remembrance Sunday quite harrowing. I prefer doing a Service in the open air at one of the village memorials, rather than one in church which requires a sermon - lazy me you might think. But speaking about remembrance to a church full of people, young, old, very old, and service men and women in uniform, is daunting, they will have all come with their own thoughts and expectations.
Well this year I had a full service to do.
Normally when preaching I prefer to speak from the chancel steps, but a formal occasion such as todays service requires nothing less than the pulpit.
Up I climbed - a sea of faces all upturned in my direction waiting with expectations which I just hope I can fulfil.
I spoke about my memories of past Remembrance times. going back to my childhood, listening to my Grandfather telling me stories of his service in the Boer war when in Africa he was in charge of the horses, and then him tellingh me stories of the first World War. My Grandmother ast his side telling him off, "Bill do'nt tell her such things", I would have been about six or seven. I adored my grandfather and I remember watching the service of Remembrance with him on his little black and white telly coming from the Royal Albert Hall, pointing out to him Peter processing with the choir into the arena, and watching the poppies descending, and landing on Pete's shoulder, "thats the man I hope to marry Granddad " I remember telling him. He died very soon after that, he and Peter never met, but it was Peter who comforted me in my loss.
And of course my father fought and was horrifically injured in the last war the only man of his anti aircraft gun to survive after is took a direct hit. This was in Gibralter, he was badly burnt and blinded for some while, after being airlifted back to England, to continue with his treatment of many skin grafts, which included new eye lids, he was sent by the War Office to work in the local Borstal young offenders institution until the war ended. My father was in fact more severely disabled mentally than physically he was never the same man again I understand. He was in my childhood memories of him a hard, often brutal man who could often be very unkind to those closest to him. All |I| am sure due to his experiences endured in the war.
The dean of Westminster I once heard say, that Remember is the opposite of Dismember. War dismembers so many in so many ways, and that in Remembering we are making them whole again, in our minds and our thoughts.
Jesus on the cross being crucified along with two criminals, was exhorted by one of them, "When you come into your kingdom remember me". He may not have realised what he was asking Jesus to do, but what he was actually asking was for Jesus to make him whole again.
In summary (if anyone is still reading), some of my thoughts that went into my sermon today, but in I might add a more cohesive manner. Its late!
Saturday 21 May 2011
Holiday!!!!!!
Why is it that by the time it comes to going on holiday I'm almost too tired to go. Why is it that I have an almost primeval need to put my house in order, both metaphorically and actually?
I've been writing a list for the last five days, containing all the things I need, or feel I need to do before I go, the laugh is that I'm only going for five nights, mind you the luggage tells another story. I must admit to a sense of achievement every time I cross off an entry on my list, if only I didn't add another three things each time.
Today I've done the last wash, I now have an empty laundry basket - that will not last - The ironing is up straight. Oh yes and I've done the gardening even down to pruning the shrubs. Elsie has been taken to the kennels. Petrol has been purchased, packing has been done. I have nothing left on my list. I have binned it.
Apart from clothes, wash bags etc. I have packed two novels, paints and paper, and two embroidery projects. I'm not sure wether I'm hoping for good weather or not. I really am looking forward to this break, the last few months have been busy and stressful one way and another. We are lucky in knowing the hotel and surroundings will not disappoint. So folks it's off I go.
But I will just write one more short list before bed to remind me of the last minute things I need to pack.
.
I've been writing a list for the last five days, containing all the things I need, or feel I need to do before I go, the laugh is that I'm only going for five nights, mind you the luggage tells another story. I must admit to a sense of achievement every time I cross off an entry on my list, if only I didn't add another three things each time.
Today I've done the last wash, I now have an empty laundry basket - that will not last - The ironing is up straight. Oh yes and I've done the gardening even down to pruning the shrubs. Elsie has been taken to the kennels. Petrol has been purchased, packing has been done. I have nothing left on my list. I have binned it.
Apart from clothes, wash bags etc. I have packed two novels, paints and paper, and two embroidery projects. I'm not sure wether I'm hoping for good weather or not. I really am looking forward to this break, the last few months have been busy and stressful one way and another. We are lucky in knowing the hotel and surroundings will not disappoint. So folks it's off I go.
But I will just write one more short list before bed to remind me of the last minute things I need to pack.
.
Wednesday 11 May 2011
Grumpy Old Women
You may have heard of the programme Grumpy Old Men on the Tele and Radio. Well I currently feel like a grumpy old women following one programme I was watching on the television on Monday evening and Radio 4 on Tuesday lunchtime.
Monday evening there was a moving account of the market town of Wootton Bassett's residents tribute to the young men and women who have given their lives whilst on active service, and are being repatriated from the Military Airfield to Oxford via Wootton Bassett.
The film talked to various residents, old servicemen and women, shopkeepers school children and those who regularly stand as the roadside as the hearse and its escort vehicles pass through. The family of the deceased wait outside the local hotel, having arrived from the airfield before the hearse reaches the town. As the procession enters the town, the local church ring a sombre peel and the town becomes silent. Those flag bearers standing at the roadside lower their flags in tribute as the hearse passes. It then halts beside the mourning family for a minute and a half giving them time to lay flowers on the hearse, and it then slowly moves off. The whole thing is done with great dignity. Many other tributes and wreaths are laid by family and local residents at the war memorial which is in the high street.
So you may ask what is in this most moving and well made documentary to get me so cross. Well they talked to a veteran of the last world war who regularly attends these repatriations. He showed the large album he was keeping of the cards and written tributes that had been left with floral tributes at the war memorial.
He explained that he collected them "so that they are not ruined by the rain, or blown about in the wind". We saw him in this film arriving back at home at what appeared to be immediately after the repatriation with a clutch of these cards, place them in the album, close it up and place it back in its place in his home.
I was upset and amazed that it had been filmed, surely the producer could see that this was in fact a dreadful thing for someone to do. Those cards written by mourners bearing very personal and heart felt messages do not belong in this gentlemens cupboard. I can understand his desire to care for them. But surely there is also dignity and beauty in decay. Just as everything of beauty must come to an end, so these tributes must be left to their demise. I also worried at what the families would feel that their tributes were being taken away. Well that was Monday.
On Tuesday lunchtime whilst listening to the news programme "The World at One", I was struck by the interview being conducted by Martha Carney. She had invited Ken Clarke, the current Justice Secretary to answer questions on prison sentencing. I have a lot of time for Ken, not necessarily his politics but for his general good sense and well thought through reasoning on such an important issue. He is also a jazz fan which I like. Martha asked her questions and then proceeded to talk and heckle him all the way through his answer, meaning we were unable to understand either her questions or his response. How rude. She had invited him on the programme, she might have shown him the courtesy of listening. Who does she think she is, Jeremy Paxman?
I do find the older I get the more intolerant I'm becoming, or is it opinionated?
Monday evening there was a moving account of the market town of Wootton Bassett's residents tribute to the young men and women who have given their lives whilst on active service, and are being repatriated from the Military Airfield to Oxford via Wootton Bassett.
The film talked to various residents, old servicemen and women, shopkeepers school children and those who regularly stand as the roadside as the hearse and its escort vehicles pass through. The family of the deceased wait outside the local hotel, having arrived from the airfield before the hearse reaches the town. As the procession enters the town, the local church ring a sombre peel and the town becomes silent. Those flag bearers standing at the roadside lower their flags in tribute as the hearse passes. It then halts beside the mourning family for a minute and a half giving them time to lay flowers on the hearse, and it then slowly moves off. The whole thing is done with great dignity. Many other tributes and wreaths are laid by family and local residents at the war memorial which is in the high street.
So you may ask what is in this most moving and well made documentary to get me so cross. Well they talked to a veteran of the last world war who regularly attends these repatriations. He showed the large album he was keeping of the cards and written tributes that had been left with floral tributes at the war memorial.
He explained that he collected them "so that they are not ruined by the rain, or blown about in the wind". We saw him in this film arriving back at home at what appeared to be immediately after the repatriation with a clutch of these cards, place them in the album, close it up and place it back in its place in his home.
I was upset and amazed that it had been filmed, surely the producer could see that this was in fact a dreadful thing for someone to do. Those cards written by mourners bearing very personal and heart felt messages do not belong in this gentlemens cupboard. I can understand his desire to care for them. But surely there is also dignity and beauty in decay. Just as everything of beauty must come to an end, so these tributes must be left to their demise. I also worried at what the families would feel that their tributes were being taken away. Well that was Monday.
On Tuesday lunchtime whilst listening to the news programme "The World at One", I was struck by the interview being conducted by Martha Carney. She had invited Ken Clarke, the current Justice Secretary to answer questions on prison sentencing. I have a lot of time for Ken, not necessarily his politics but for his general good sense and well thought through reasoning on such an important issue. He is also a jazz fan which I like. Martha asked her questions and then proceeded to talk and heckle him all the way through his answer, meaning we were unable to understand either her questions or his response. How rude. She had invited him on the programme, she might have shown him the courtesy of listening. Who does she think she is, Jeremy Paxman?
I do find the older I get the more intolerant I'm becoming, or is it opinionated?
Saturday 7 May 2011
Homesickness
Having chatted to Miff the other day he encouraged me to open a blog well here we go. Whilst talking about books we were reading I mentioned that I was trying a new author Suzannah Dunn. I'm really enjoying it,it's a historical novel set during the reign of Mary Tudor, just after her disasterous marriage to Phillip of Spain. By the way this took place in Winchester Cathedral. Many Spaniards joined Phillip when he came to England amongst them a sundial maker? He was not very happy and obviously missing home his wife and three year old son.
I have not been so moved by a piece of writting for a very long time, it brought back to my mind a situation that I had experienced myself - I'll explain later anyway here is the piece of writing.
`These past thirteen days, he'd been shaken to the core by how homesick he felt: the savagery of it, its relentlessness. Dizzied by it, was how he felt. About to buckle. Hollowed, as if something had been ripped from him. His chest sang with the pain and he was confused and ashamed because he saw no sign that other men felt like this. Antonio certainly didn't. But,then, other men too would hide it, wouldn't they, so there'd be no knowing. He hadn't anticipated feeling like this. He'd often been away from home - sometimes for a couple of weeks - and had never enjoyed it, but nothing had prepared him for this. And because he hadn't anticipated it, he felt tripped up, tricked by it, taken unawares and thereby enslaved by it. He couldn't see how he'd get from under it, or how he was going to cope, to continue, from day to day. Common sense told him that he would, that it would lessen, but he didn't believe it. This homesickness was going to hunt him down.
He missed his little Francisco - God, how he missed him - and in six weeks there'd be so much more to miss, because he was growing so fast. A head taller at a time, he seemed. Rafael felt that his son's head came up to his chest now, even though he knew it couldn't be so - but that's where he felt the lack of him, that's where the hollowness was. That little head. Rafael longed to cup the back of it as he had when Francisco was a baby; take the weight of it, enjoy the fit and solidness of it in one hand. His little boy's hair, too; his silly blond hair, as Rafael thought affectionately of it. He longed to touch it, to relish its abundance. Not much of it was there when he was newborn, most of it had grown since - which Rafael found almost comical, and touching; all that busy, vigorous but gloriously oblivious growing that Francisco had done for himself.................`
That is the particular passage that I understood so well, but would not be able to write so eloquently. It reminded me of the time that Matthew went away to a Chorister training course in Haileybury. I never to this day know how Matthew felt about going away from home, he appeared to be totally relaxed about it, it was me that wasn't coping. He must have been about eight, he had gone with friends all should have been well, but I felt bereft. That hollowness described in that passage sums up how I felt. I could not sleep for worry, I'm sure that I must have driven Pete mad. I remember driving back to see him and watching him unobserved skipping about the place once had had prossesed angelically from the chapel after a service. Oh the joys of parenthood they never leave you not matter how old you or your children are.
I have not been so moved by a piece of writting for a very long time, it brought back to my mind a situation that I had experienced myself - I'll explain later anyway here is the piece of writing.
`These past thirteen days, he'd been shaken to the core by how homesick he felt: the savagery of it, its relentlessness. Dizzied by it, was how he felt. About to buckle. Hollowed, as if something had been ripped from him. His chest sang with the pain and he was confused and ashamed because he saw no sign that other men felt like this. Antonio certainly didn't. But,then, other men too would hide it, wouldn't they, so there'd be no knowing. He hadn't anticipated feeling like this. He'd often been away from home - sometimes for a couple of weeks - and had never enjoyed it, but nothing had prepared him for this. And because he hadn't anticipated it, he felt tripped up, tricked by it, taken unawares and thereby enslaved by it. He couldn't see how he'd get from under it, or how he was going to cope, to continue, from day to day. Common sense told him that he would, that it would lessen, but he didn't believe it. This homesickness was going to hunt him down.
He missed his little Francisco - God, how he missed him - and in six weeks there'd be so much more to miss, because he was growing so fast. A head taller at a time, he seemed. Rafael felt that his son's head came up to his chest now, even though he knew it couldn't be so - but that's where he felt the lack of him, that's where the hollowness was. That little head. Rafael longed to cup the back of it as he had when Francisco was a baby; take the weight of it, enjoy the fit and solidness of it in one hand. His little boy's hair, too; his silly blond hair, as Rafael thought affectionately of it. He longed to touch it, to relish its abundance. Not much of it was there when he was newborn, most of it had grown since - which Rafael found almost comical, and touching; all that busy, vigorous but gloriously oblivious growing that Francisco had done for himself.................`
That is the particular passage that I understood so well, but would not be able to write so eloquently. It reminded me of the time that Matthew went away to a Chorister training course in Haileybury. I never to this day know how Matthew felt about going away from home, he appeared to be totally relaxed about it, it was me that wasn't coping. He must have been about eight, he had gone with friends all should have been well, but I felt bereft. That hollowness described in that passage sums up how I felt. I could not sleep for worry, I'm sure that I must have driven Pete mad. I remember driving back to see him and watching him unobserved skipping about the place once had had prossesed angelically from the chapel after a service. Oh the joys of parenthood they never leave you not matter how old you or your children are.
Friday 6 May 2011
New blog started
This is the first issue of my new weblog. I have created it at about 22:30 on 6 May 2011.
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