Something to make a difference

It's been a while, but over the past couple of days stuff that I should put on here has piled high.

Rambo. The fourth film. How politically vibrant, alive and relevant. It makes a violent and grotesque action film have a purpose. I hadn't seen it until yesterday and it was incredible. It was gruesome and sickening and you wanted to turn away, but it was incredible. The depiction of the horrors of war (genocide really) made you shudder. So realistic were the heads being blown off, the bodies being blown apart that you realised this stuff is happening, for real, across Burma. The systematic yet arbitrary destruction of a people is horrifying and it makes you genuinely want to cry. Forget all that about me being depressed amd down because the world is not a nice place. There is no option to be depressed or down, there are only two options. The first, turn a blind eye. The second, do something about it. My brother came back from Israel and Palestine today. There he saw first hand oppression, segregation and hatred kept secret by the Israeli government. All we hear on the news is that Palestinians have fired rockets into Israeli territory. It does not tell you of the way the the Israelis treat the Palestinians. Disdain would be a mountain above the way the Palestinians are treated now. And for what?

For ages I have banged on about making the world a better place without going into specifics. Now I ask you to go discover for yourselves the atrocities the Israelis and Palestinians inflict upon each other and then to tell people about it that we may begin a revolution of tolerance and, hopefully, peace.

A trip inside my head

Each day is an opportunity.

At least, I think so.

By the way, this post kind of gives permission to the U2 lyric, "I want a trip inside your head," or something like that. I'm really just going to type some thoughts that have recently occurred to me and those that occur as I type. I doubt it will be a very good piece of writing, but it may be interesting to read.

I read something really cool yesterday. It was in reference to man as a race generally and the world in which we find ourselves,

"Can he hate it enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing?"

This is from Orthodoxy by GK Chesterton, who really wrote books as I write posts, too often on any subject he felt appropriate or someone challenged him on.

I think that love and hate could be swapped round and it would still possess some good sense. I mean, the world really is a rubbish place. And I know I seem to incessantly go on about it, and it is all too general and the likes, but I don't think I'm wrong. And I think we should change it and love it, as the love blog states.

I think that Obama will have good intentions but in all likeliness will make no difference. If there is a God out there, it will be in his will anyway, he might not want the world a better place just yet, if at all. And if there is no God then what does it matter? We should kill everyone else in the world and steal their resources (are you sure George Bush believes in God?),

But the world at the same time is a stunningly wonderful place. Today at work a child asked me where rubber comes from. Here's the conversation:

Child: Where does rubber come from?

Me: Where do you think it comes from?

Child (after thoughtful pause): Ducks.

Me: Ducks?

Child: Yes.

Rubber ducks.


Did you know another word for conversation is confabulation?

Not a very helpful fact, admittedly, but one that may some day be worth knowing.


My Uncle says you should always tell people how wonderful they are, because sometimes they never get told. How right he is. I was at a course the other week and the guy leading it said for one of his assignments once he had to observe a child. He deliberately chose quite a quiet child and went to each of her lessons. Not one adult spoke to her for the entire day. Not one! How valued did she feel?

Tomorrow is an opportunity to change the world by making someone feel worthwhile. Why not take it?

I doubt you could care less

I have realised something over the past few days; no one cares.

At least, it seems very few people do.

I am a person who boycotts Coca-cola and Nestle because of their unethical practice.

I am a person who is opposed to war because it kills people unnecessarily.

I am a person who tells people these things, I tell them how I try to live in a way that promotes lives of liberty across the world. I tell them why I think war is bad and why I think starving babies is not a good marketing strategy.

And do you know something? Not one of the people I've told could care less. Each and every one believes a boycott is useless, that war is a necessity and that I am making no difference and should give up.

I personally do not understand why war is necessary or why multinational companies get away with murder.

I don't think most people do, but then most people don't care.

Love

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." The Bible

Put your name in the place of love, and see which boxes you tick.

Earlier I was in Tesco and gave the lady in front of me a pound for her shopping as she was just short. She was so grateful, I couldn't get over it.

She said she'd pay me back next time she sees me.

What a wonderful lady.

You see, recently I have been down and out but this lady has replenished my faith. I don't really understand how, but I suppose it is like Albert Einstein said,

"Only a life lived for others is worth living."

There's a whole world out there waiting to be loved, and it'll be worth it.

Jesus is...

Who is Jesus?

What is Jesus?

Where is Jesus?

How is Jesus?

Why is Jesus?

Jesus is apparently the Messiah.

Jesus is loving.

Jesus is serving.

Jesus is compelling.

Jesus is contentious.

Jesus is mysterious.

Jesus is...?

My thoughts on some words

There is something beautiful in the words I discovered the other day.

"Theology is the Church on a mission reflecting on its message, its identity, its meaning."

That is to say theology is not the reason the Church does mission work, helping and serving people across the world, but rather mission is the reason people turn to theology; to wonder upon a God of love so powerful and yet so gentle. A God who cannot be understood, but who can be questioned and who sometimes answers.

I hope that is clear.

What do you make of these words?

A Freedom to be Me

I feel remarkably happy. Sometimes I do, so for once I thought I'd tell you.

I have just been listening to music in my room. And "Jesus Freak" began. If you are a Christian of any repute whatsoever you will know of this as that relatively cheesy dc talk song that is loud.

And it is exactly that. So you people who aren't Christians know now, and any of no repute too.

The reason I tell you this is because I listened to it and it filled me with joy. Joy of the kind that is complete elation and freedom, but not the kind of freedom that allows you to do anything. The kind of freedom that allows you to be the best you can, which is almost the opposite but a thousand times better. Because doing anything could include murder and rape and other nasty things, and other not so nasty things like lying and some even worse things (maybe) like prejudice and oppression (maybe worse because they involve more people).

But being the best you can be allows you to simply be you in your complete fullness.

It's hard to explain. But that is how it made me feel.

And that is how the book Velvet Elvis made me feel. And EVERYBODY should read that book. It is utterly awesome. Whatever anyone else says. It is liberating.

Liberating in the way I just explained.

Oh, most of you are going to think I am spouting rubbish, and I apologise, but may I suggest you try to find this elating freedom? It may be in appreciating the stars, or the trees, or music, or grass or something entirely magnificent, but please try to find it so you can know I don't spout just rubbish.

Those of you who don't think I am, thank you.

Lost

Today I was sent on a course. You see, as I'm sure you all know, I now work in an EBD school and have a permanent position there. This means they would like me to increase on my complete lack of knowledge by going to places to learn. These places are really one place, which is about forty five minutes away on the motorway.

Not too far really, is it?

"Just up the road" I hear you cry.

Well, I had to complicate matters, beginning with yesterday afternoon.

I left work late because a child's taxi was late picking him up and some stuff had to be sorted. I worked with the child to sort it.

Then I went home, completely forgetting to pick up my parking permit for today from the Head.

I got home having realised my usual and predicted absent mindedness and phoned school. No answer. So I drove back there and retrieved my parking permit and the course information sheet so I had the post code to look up on Google Maps.

Obviously I left it until much later that evening to bother bringing in the sheets from the car and look up directions.

Unsurprisingly the route took me up the motorway as known by your clever little brains.

Me being me and hopeless at driving in places where lane changes are frequent I thought I'd go the back way and clicked and dragged the route accordingly.

All set and perfect, I memorised it as best I could, printed it out with three maps of the difficult bits and set it on the kitchen table ready to take tomorrow.

Since rush hour (or to be PC "busy period") is never a good time to drive Mum and Dad said I should begin what Google called a 54 minute journey at 7.15 to arrive for 9.00. They were sure I'd arrive before and recommended taking a book, which I was glad of because I was (just finished) reading "A Hat Full of Sky" by Terry Pratchett. This early set out time meant getting up at 6.30 which I VERY rarely do. I know loads of people do it all the time, but for me it is irritating.

I managed it though, and set off promptly at 7.10 (five minutes ahead of schedule because I needed to fill up on petrol). The journey was going swimmingly, and I was quite happy when I thought I'd quickly check the map again to make sure I had learnt it correctly. I looked to the passenger seat. It wasn't there. I looked to the back seat (it was more of a glance, I do try hard to be a safe driver and Dad would be most unhappy if I crashed; think of his reputation! (he used to be a driving instructor)), it wasn't there. I thought, "Oh poo, I have left it at home. Oh well, I'm pretty sure I'll remember it and I know which B road I need, I'll be fine." At that point I forgot about the parking permit sitting snugly on the bannister at home.

I continued, pleased with myself at my impressive memory, following the route well, even if I did miss a few signposts and have to turn round.

Then I got to the end of my B road. A T-junction with a small lane opposite! It was not supposed to end here! I was not happy. (Strictly speaking, the B road should have finished there, but there should have been a straight on that was not a dead end.) Generally speaking, not good.

I went straight on anyway, to find a turning point. And went back to where I had come from to see if that was the way. It wasn't. I found a little layby where they charge £50,000 for fly tipping. I thought, "How nice, I can be lost in a clean place!" I didn't really, but I did think it was a hefty amount, which proves they can't be bothered to monitor it so they make the punishment SO severe it isn't even worth leaving a sweet wrapper there.

At this little layby I tried to phone Mum. I was greeted with the welcome news that I have no credit.

Joy.

But I do have some free texts! So I used three to ask both sisters and Mum to phone me, to make sure it got through. In the end Dad phoned me, which I only just realised the beautiful irony of. It was on Mum's phone though. I informed him I was lost. We talked a short time. In the end it turned out after several texts and calls that I tried the straight on, found the signpost there to be more accurate than the screen at home and text Dad from the same place again.

This fiasco becan at ten to eight. At half eight I took a left (right from where I had been, but left from the dead end side) to find a village near the destination. Unsurprisingly this was unsuccessful.

I text again. I received a call and found a lane. I got to the end and text again. Confusion ensued. A flurry of texts and calls and texts and calls ended up with me back at the end of the lane texting and being called. By now Dad had grown impatient with me, and I with him, so Mum took over. Between us I got to the village, then the destination's Dunelm Mill! Then a text and a call. Then I am Oh so close. I can't find it. A text and a call. It is past 9.00.

I stumble upon (a good website I haven't used for AGES!) the library. Librarians either know what you want to, or have the resources to find out. Hence my inclination to go in. I asked and she knew! YES!

I followed her clear instruction and found the place.

I drove to the man at the gate (by now I had learnt about the lack of permit) and he said I was at the wrong car park and gave me more directions!

I found the car park, where the permit was not worried about (thank goodness), had a walk and arrived late. (40 minutes late, after a drive of over two hours!)

There I learnt very little but, as ever, talked too much.

Then the best bit of the day happened. I drove home without a single call or text!

The World is Askew

The world is askew.

First of all there are earthquakes and floods and hurricanes and storms everywhere.

Second, two supposedly fine examples of Christian men have been exposed as sinners.

Now, this may be a good thing, in that Christ came to save sinners and all that, but then these people are supposed to be living for him.

I don't understand.

Then on Sunday I was told I couldn't be contentious because Jesus isn't. I'm sorry. That is wrong.

A definition of contentious:

"involving or likely to cause controversy"

Anyone who knows anything at all about Jesus must notice that this is the very definition of the Messiah, the very reason he apparently came.

Some people think Jesus was lovey-dovey floodle woodle (a sissy). I don't think he was.

He argued with people and he knew what he was arguing about.

Sure, he was loving and compassionate but passionately so. So much so that he condemned those who chose to live differently despite knowing how they should live.

And now we have turned Jesus into an icon, a commodity, an asset. He was angry at some sellers in the temple, imagine his utter fury now! We have commercialised the one entity that shows commercialism to be a waste of our zealous energy.

Why not let us refind the Messiah who was passionate for love, for serving and for healing?

This blog sets out to search for truth, and I have not yet claimed to have found it, not all of it anyway, but I do think some can be found in a life that desires to love and serve, giving all that one can. Just look at those who have done it; Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Mandela. These are the people that are revered because they have given their all to make the world less askew. Today and onwards, I also intend to make the world less askew. Will you?

Oh dear

No one took part in my competition so I am deeply hurt and offended.

Obviously I need to buck my ideas up and make my blog much better.

I'll try.

A Small Competition

Knowledge is power. With great power comes great responsibility.

How much do you know?

I find myself not knowing very much when I ask myself this question. Some people who know me might claim that I know a lot of random rubbish, and therefore know a lot. This is untrue. You see, I only appear to know it because conversation reminds me of hearing it or reading it or watching it.

So, when I examine how much I know I find it amounts to very little. What makes it worse is that today I realised I have forgotten almost every Physics equation I learnt for my A-levels, so now I know even less!

To be honest, I don't really have a point today. I'm just wondering whether you're the kind of person who knows stuff and could recite it unprompted, or whether you're like me and need a cue ('tis called cue-dependent learning, I know that) before you spout off.

So, in our comments page we are going to have a competition for the most interesting thing you know. I hope to get more than two entries. The winner gets a mention in my blog and if I can work out how to do it a link down the side. But, there are rules! You are not allowed to research it, you have to know it already! (Not that I can check, but it is a test of your integrity and may you feel guilty if you don't comply.)

A Lament

This post is going to be a ramble. Probably a boring one, so I recommend that you stop reading now. You could read or re-read the first post instead if you fancy a laugh because I actually have no idea what I'm going to say.

Let me tell you first that I am listening to the Manchester United vs. Portsmouth match on Radio Five Live. I am a Manchester United fan and they are currently winning so I am happy.

However, earlier on today I wasn't happy. You see, I think a lot. And I thought about this terrible world, and how much worse I manage to make it despite trying hard to do the opposite. And I saw the river flowing in front of me and despaired at futility and depression. I wonder why this world is so poor. I wonder why we seem to make it so utterly dreadful and I wonder whether my belief in God is valid. I think about these things and I find no answers, or indeed even responses.

Earlier I was thinking about my old philosophy lessons and how I used not to argue back because often I couldn't think of an argument back. Our teacher used to say, "Would God have given us sexual urges if he didn't want us to use them?" in regards to promiscuity. And I used to think he had a point.

He doesn't. That is a bigger load of rubbish than a claim to be able to swim to the moon. You see, I realised that people have urges to murder and some people have the urge to do terrible things I don't even want to type but because we have the urge it doesn't make it right.

Not that I am utterly condemning all those who are promiscuous because that is not my place, I am only suggesting that to suggest God giving us the urge for it being right is baloney.

Then we come to the argument, "But God didn't give me the urge to murder."

Yes, good point. I hope that is the case. But did God give you the urge to risk catching and spreading STDs? Or did God give you the urge for a satisfying and juicy relationship with just one lucky person?

I don't know. Maybe God didn't give us any urges because of freewill. Maybe he did because of biology.

I only know is that if God is there I wish I could know. But I can't and I feel sad as a result. Especially since this 18 month old has been accidentally shot with an air gun.

Oh this world is a horrible place.

How can Heaven be forever?

I find the notion of being in Heaven forever almost as scary as an eternal oblivion.

Won't I get bored? Do I have to worship the whole time? Will I get to lie in? Will I get to play games? Will I be able to talk to God or will he be a dictator?

Will God want me there? I mean really? What if I'm wrong and Islam is correct and I was born in the wrong country? Why is Jesus so utterly incredible? Why did he get angry once because of sellers yet we knock down Churches and use them for bring and buys the whole time?

Can my "non-believing" (I despise that terminology and labelling) Gran go to Heaven? Why not? I love her so much. I want her to be there if I am to spend forever there.

Does God mind me listening to football? Does he want me to go help the poor? Probably. I'm not good enough.


Now, if you read all that and begin to feel my simple, despairing reality then you begin to know me.

But usually I am happier because I ignore these questions and I think, "Jesus loves me. He'll sort it out." Maybe I'm right to think that, but what if I'm wrong?

I think this ramble has been too long and I hope it has made you think. I also hope that it has not made you sad.

I did tell you not to read it.

Can you do?

"Them as can do, has to do for them as can't. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices."

If you would care to read that again to make sure you got it all I'd be much obliged:

"Them as can do, has to do for them as can't. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices."

So says Granny Aching in Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men. These two sentences seem to sum up how the world should be. You see, I can do some things, for example I can teach a child to add whereas some people cannot stand any children but theirs (in some cases). So I do the teaching for those that can't. It is probably those very same people who can't stand children that are able to make computers work. I can't do that. This blogging is the limit of my skills and once people start talking of gigabytes and hertz I struggle even to get the gist. So these people do computers for those (me) who can't. And so the world continues. It is when we get an imbalance that conflict begins.

An imbalance in gratefulness, an imbalance in wealth and an imbalance in power.

I am so pleased that the cleaners clean the street just as I am so pleased that the builders build houses. Likewise I am pleased that Gordon Brown, apparent buffoon that he is, is not a dictator and is not inherently evil (congratulations to those who noticed the use of the word 'inherently', I despise the idea of ID cards).

I am not so pleased that the cleaners who clean the street often live in shoddy housing, whereas the builders live in slightly better accommodation and the Prime Minister is allocated several mansions.

I am not so pleased that in South Africa people live in shedly squalor and sleep under polythene sheets.

But what do they do for us? What do they do for us?

Not a lot. Not very much at all. But that is because we have not yet spoken out for "them as has no voices" and we have not yet done for those that can't. It is when we begin to do this that we shall see what they can do for us. I would like to see, the question is, would you?

A Long Summer

Well, it has been a long summer through which I have endured and learnt much.

It began with my trip to South Africa, which you already know something about. Upon my return I had my photos developed in an hour and early the next morning I set off for Scotland to attend my brother's wedding. There I was best man and gave a small speech which made a few people cry. I didn't think it was that bad.

Then I came back home for a few days before I set off for Soul Survivor which is a Christian festival.

(Just to clarify, in this blog I have set out to discover truth, but some may condemn me for not already claiming I have found it since I am a Christian.)

At Soul Survivor it was my job to ensure a swift and calm response to any emegencies at night. Hence I stayed up every night. It was shattering. Still, I suppose I learnt patience and perseverance and how to use a radio.

Straight from Soul Survivor I got a lift to Wales to spend some time with some people. It was great and I discovered that I can talk to people without them always hating me. Obviously, sometimes people still find it best to despise my boldish and tangential statements, but some find it helpful, though no one seems to find it endearing.

Now I am back at home feeling like I will be a complete failure at work because I have done too much in the summer and have forgotten how to do my job.

But my travels have probably not yet finished as my family remain on holiday down South and I may yet go and visit. I wonder what I shall learn there.

I have not written any poems recently. I do apologise if you like them and will set about doing so soon.

A People who love, fear and starve

I am returned from South Africa alive and well. My time there was enjoyable, and I shall tell the stories through several posts.

Let me first tell you an overall account of the affect my trip had on me.

When I decided to go to South Africa it was with a joyful heart. The Church I attend has done some mission work out there and I was interested to see what has been achieved and to meet people.

Whilst I was there I began to understand the needs of the people there and I started to realise the reality of injustice and inequality. But I also found the people to be compelling. Compelling because of their attitude, compelling because of their smiles, compelling because of how they live. People there say "Hello!" because you're there. They do not complain and they show respect.

This whole experience has helped me learn to slow down, to take time to talk, to take time to walk and to take time to tell. To tell of the plight of millions of people, to tell of the power of AIDs and ways in which it can begin to be contained and prevented.

I now have a passion not spurred by a "Better than you" attitude, or even an "I'll help the poor because I feel sorry for them" attitude. I now have a passion for serving spurred by an "I'll help the poor because they're people" attitude. I wish to help them because they showed me who they are, and that they know what it is to love and to fear and to starve. And I only know what it is to love and to fear, not to starve, and loving and fearing is quite enough for me.

A Birthday to Remember

There are some things that are meant to be.

For example, a few posts ago I apologised that nothing ever happens to me anymore. As usual, I spoke too soon.

Last Friday it was both my birthday and my last day of work before I leave for South Africa tomorrow.

The morning began well with a bike sitting in my front room waiting for me. It is my first very own bike since I was 5, and it is very nice. It has an aluminium frame and a removable wheel!

Obviously this cost a lot of money, but there were still a number of presents scattered across the sofa. I began to open them.

A summary of these presents:

Immodium
Anti-bacterial handwash
Mars Bars
Paracetamols
Anti-bacterial handwash
Wet Wipes
Facial Wipes
Ten packets of ten tissues
More Anti-bacterial handwash

As you can tell my Mum is worried about me going to South Africa.

Anyway, I went to work and had a decent day. I got a card from the class I have worked most in and a card from the class I worked often in, it was very lovely.

I headed home for the evening. I got home. I'd forgotten my card, and my Mum said I needed to sort out my currency for my trip. So me and my brother went back to my school to retrieve my card and then headed for the Post Office.

Well, the bank first. Then my brother went to look for shoes and I went looking for the Post Office. I walked along the street and thought to myself,

"I'm sure it used to be somewhere here."

And after pacing past where it used to be a number of times I realised it was the one with the whitewashed windows and the notice saying,

POST OFFICE MOVED TO WH SMITHS

Oh.

I walked along to Smiths and met my brother on the way. There I exchanged my money and we set off home, where we decided to walk the dogs.

The walk was uneventful, and when we got back some guests had arrived.

The evening proceeded peacefully and with some mild humour. Then everyone bar one friend went home, and I spoke to my Uncle for half an hour on the phone.

It was then that I began to feel sick. Soon after I gave my friend a lift home, and went to bed.

And so the night began.

Vomiting violently throughout the night and having continuous diarrhoea for an hour in one sitting is quite annoying, and once again the title of this blog comes up trumps (very loud and wet ones). The stench was unbearable and my brother moved from our room to the lounge. That doesn't mean to say I had diarrhoea in our room, but I had been sick in a bowl in there.

At least it wasn't so bad as Shakespeare's birthday.

The next day I did, of course, starve myself, and slowly but surely I recovered. Today I feel fine, if slightly annoyed at Federer's loss the other day.

Now there is only South Africa to worry about. I saved my Immodium last Friday night but hopefully it won't be necessary in South Africa over the next three weeks.

A Boy by the Window

A poem written off the cuff inspired by something seen today.


A boy stands by the window,
watching the other children playing.
Why is he standing there so still and straight?
What has he done, or is he thinking to make him stand so still and straight?

Perhaps he is thinking of times gone by,
of his home or of that awful lie,
perhaps he is thinking of a cunning plan,
but working out just how he can,

perhaps he has hurt someone or something,
perhaps he's been told not to sing,
perhaps he is sad and moody,
perhaps his mother is feeling broody (and thus he's jealous),

perhaps he has lost a friend,
perhaps he's gone round the bend,
perhaps he wants to cry out loud,
or stand there quiet, quite unproud,

perhaps he needs something to do,
perhaps he's left out of the crew,
perhaps he is munching a sweet,
perhaps that's where him and her meet,


perhaps he is just wondering,
what that boy in the corner is doing,
why is he sitting all curled up
Crying like a little whipped pup?

A Host of Information, unfortunately mainly about me

A new month. At last, a new post.

It has been hectic for the past week or so, and thus I have been either too busy or too shattered to write anything.

Last Friday my Dad picked me up from work and straight away we headed for Manchester. My brother lives in Manchester and because he is far cleverer than me he has finished a degree and has now decided to stay living in Manchester. Because he is far better looking than me and an all round better person than me as well he is also getting married in the summer.

But not before I have returned from South Africa (unless my flight is delayed).

I fly to South Africa next Wednesday evening, and it is quite a petrifying wait. Hopefully it will be worth the suspense.

You see, my Dad was on the phone to a family friend who's often over there the other week. He told my Dad that I shouldn't carry a rucksack in town, but a carrier bag instead because last year in South Africa there were 9000 murders. 9000! Hopefully I will not be part of this year's statistics.

Recently I have taken it upon myself to read the Narnia series.

Many years ago I began The Magician's Nephew but soon got bored and left it.

This time I finished it within 24 hours of starting it. A good read I thought. Perhaps you will disagree with me. I found truths (or believed-to-be truths) on so many different levels that it made GCSE English seem almost worthwhile.

This week is my last at work, unless they offer me a place for next year, which is possible though unlikely.

So, my life enters a whirlwind of uncertainty and the front of a wind of change.

Let us see where it carries us.

Now for some other information because otherwise you will believe me to be like the seagulls in Finding Nemo:

To provide you with this lovely information I went to a site to find out about Dolphins. It was useless. I could have told you each of those facts, and in a better way. So I will.

The most interesting is that Dolphins sleep and swim at the same time. I seem to remember this is called unilateral sleep. Essentially, one half of the dolphins brain shuts down whilst the other continues to operate. This means they don't forget to come up for air, which is quite important when you're a mammal.

The other one of slight interest is that there are dolphins in the world who are blind. They use sonar to find their way round their river. I seem to recall that these are either extinct or very nearly there from the news a few weeks ago.

There, some useless information from my brain, not the internet.

Please share your interesting though brilliantly useless information in the comments. That way we can all learn something new today (and not go to Sainsbury's to try it instad).

A Walk and an Apology

A story from the winter just gone:

Mum and I decided to take the dogs for a walk together. So we headed out optimistically, and enjoying each other's company. Thankfully the story involves no change in this happy state.

We headed along the Canal and hopped (not on one leg, we really climbed, but if I say hopped we sound more agile; please don't sue for false advertising) over one of the stiles back into a field to start heading back. We walked easily for a time and continued our lovely chat. Then it happened. That horrible feeling very rarely felt, and all the more terrifying for its rarety.

We suddenly sank. I mean suddenly. It wasn't as if we stood there going,

"Oh, I'm sinking!"

We stood there going, "Oh, I've sunk!"

This is a perfect advertisement for wellies.

Anyway, we felt the mud wouldn't last long and we trudged (no use of hyperbole there) through, so deep was the mud that it didn't even squelch. Mum seemed to be quite successful in her attempts to use the turf above the surface of the leg gripping stuff. I tried the same, except when I did it the turf simply sank into the mud and my foot swiftly followed. Hence Mum got across relatively quickly and I was stood, a mixture of laughter and fear combining to cause my cries of "Help me Mum!" Mum being the brilliant (look in a thesaurus at brilliant, you'll see all the words she is, I told her so the other day and she made me find a thesaurus and read them to her, funnily enough modest wasn't included (she is modest really, she'll be annoyed I told you that)) lady she is braved almost certain sinking in order to save her entirely stuck and almost completely horizontal son. Together we worked our way out, incredulous at the dogs, who appeared to be on solid ground.

I think you had to be there.

Hopefully this post is better than yesterday's. Since I started my blog these things no longer seem to happen. I do apologise.

A Futile Post, I wouldn't bother reading it

On Monday I walked into a wall, realised once again I can't catch, and got given a free ice cream.

Since then I have been stressed. And depressed. And wondering.

Wondering about those questions, wondering about me, and wishing.

Wishing.

Wishing is not the best thing in the world. In films and stories wishes become reality.

In life they don't, and it just depresses you. It is so frustrating.

There is little else to say, since I haven't been able to write well for months.

A Glimmer of Truth and Questions of Doubt

I was in Church today. And it was in a hall where the chairs needed to be put away afterwards.

Most people stood around chatting while three people worked hard putting them away.

One was an able-bodied woman.

One was a man with Parkinsons.

One was 96 years old.

I find this compellingly complex.

Here we have a room of at least 60 people, 50 of which would have no trouble putting chairs away. Only one of those fifty helps.

Two people who find it tougher pitch in.

I think here we have found something amazing. We have found three people who have truly decided to live out their faith. They will claim to have found the truth I am looking for, and those three people I would be inclined to believe.

But here are some problems I have with religion:

1. Would I be a Muslim if I was bought up in a Muslim country? Does that not make my belief or unbelief in a supposedly Christian country determined and therefore a kind of fake?

2. Religion causes war. Why?

3. God must be very arrogant and in love with himself to think we should worship him when he has given us a bit of a rubbish world, with Earthquakes and stuff, mustn't he?

If you believe you have a response to any of these problems please relay it in the comments. Thanks.

Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless?

I have been thinking about the world, and all that is in it.

I cannot comprehend it.

I cannot make sense of it.

Consider today's post on thwtd.blogspot.com

That guy believes in God whilst all those people are suffering. Why?

But then, why do those who don't believe in God give a dam? They have nothing to worry about but their short little and pretty irrelevant lives on Earth. I mean, if an eternity of non-existence is just around the corner then why worry that someone else is going to get there quicker than you and in a much harsher way?

I suppose that is a nihilistic view, and as such is too pessimistic. Then again, it was the view of Nietzsche who was quite a famous philosopher and possibly correct.

Now I shall continue to wonder, and allow you to do so too. With the following pictures as a possible aid.

A child sharing. Does it mean anything in the face of the following?

Part of the Universe

Something Horribly Ironic

I was walking my dogs earlier today, and on the way I saw a man smoking. Admittedly, it is not my place to judge anyone; especially not those who wish to shorten their lives by blackening their lungs (I know some people find it a necessity).

But this man I saw smoking was cycling at the same time.

It was as if he wanted to make the fact that he is helping the environment by not driving redundant.

I mean, you cycle to get fit, surely? Why then smoke and cycle?

Sometimes the world's paradoxes amaze me.

Responsible Freedom or Wreckless Freedom?

"How can we dare to predict the behaviour of man? We may predict the movements of a machine, of an automaton; more than this, we may even try to predict the mechanisms or "dynamisms" of the human psyche as well. But man is more than psyche.

Freedom, however, is not the last word. Freedom is only part of the story and half of the truth. Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibleness. In fact, freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness. That is why I recommend the Statue of Liberty on the East Coast be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast."

I had never really considered this before, which is rare when reading something on philosophy or psychology because as you know I think a lot.

This is what I think the quote is trying to get across:

Freedom needs responsibility in order for it to be worth something. That sounds immensely crazy, and in some ways it is. Some may argue that the beauty of freedom is in the choosing between responsibleness and wrecklessness. That is exactly Frankl's (the guy who wrote it) point. That is why he calls freedom the negative side of the phenomenon and responsibleness the positive side. For we all know that freedom could cause wrecklessness which results in negativity and often (as I previously called it) worthlessness. But Freedom taken with Responsibility could well cause a tide of generosity, love, patience, kindness, gentleness and all kinds of other wonderful things. These result in positivity and always worth. Immeasurable worth.

May we all learn to have a Statue of Liberty in our heart and a Statue of Responsibility in our heads, that we may become truly worthwhile people.

Sponsor a Child

The Wednesday after school discussion group that I go to decided that we should sponsor a child as a group just the other week, partially because of one of my previous blogs, "A Rant". It was decided that I would find out about the best way we could do this.

So I visited the Compassion UK website where I found a number of children in need of sponsorship. I printed off some information about the charity and we met in a cafe where we could access the internet to see which child we would like to sponsor as a group.

Initially everyone seemed to think sponsoring Pedro was a good idea simply because of his very cool name. Then someone decided to take it seriously, and eventually there was a group split between two children. After much pondering and discussion we decided that it would not be fair to settle it with the flip of a coin. So we chose one of the children. As it happened it was not the child I had chosen.

I was the one given the task of sorting out the sponsorship so later that evening I went online to sponsor the child we had chosen. I spent a while filling out the form, and then a screen came up:

PLEASE WAIT... LOADING...

Needless to say I waited. And waited. And pressed back. Then I tried to do it again.

PLEASE WAIT... LOADING...

And I waited. And the screen loaded.

We are very sorry but the child you are trying to sponsor was sponsored whilst you were filling out the form. Please feel free to sponsor another of our children.

Thus I emailed the group leader and asked whether I should sponsor our second choice (my first choice) instead. He laughed about it (over email) and said we should do that, although we'd be accused of not really trying because we both wanted the second choice child. (We were simply outnumbered eventually.)

So I sponsored the other child.

Thank you for choosing to sponsor Emeetai.

Today I was in bed when I heard the post clatter through the door. An envelope sat there (several did really, but this way it sounds more dramatic) inviting me to open it.

I did. The first sentence I read?

Dear Mr. Montoya,

Thank you for sponsoring Rodel and Emeetai (the names of the two brilliant children). Your sponsorship will make a huge difference to their lives.

I was gleeful. I had thought about sponsoring the one we hadn't decided on but wasn't sure. My decision was made by a blip in the computer.

The Flowers Grew

The flowers grew,
as poppies bare,
the grudges,
shouts, and victories past.

The pain,
ripping, tearing, shredding,
jacket, skin and heart,
and Death settles.


Silence in the wind,
silence that no one hears,
no one left to appreciate
that the pain has stopped,

Even if it did mean Death settled down,
it was worth it,
for this peace,
this silence,

It is democracy's victory,
that ripping pain,
now silence,
now peace.

Why Inigo?

Some of you may be wondering why I have called myself Inigo Montoya. Please permit me to explain.

The Princess Bride is a book written by S. Morgenstern abridged by William Goldman. It was later turned into a rather decent film.

It is a fairy tale of true love, rhyming and revenge. It is the revenge that is relevant here. Inigo Montoya's involvement with the story revolves around his talent for fencing. He fences excellently because he has practised for hours every day for years that he may avenge his father's death, which was at the hands of the six-fingered man. When he finds that man he plans to say,

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Inigo's quest for revenge is unfaulted and unyielding. I have decided to liken this search to my own search for truth.

As you know, I am not sure that I will ever find 'the truth'. What I am sure of is that it is worth looking and we may just see a flicker or a glimmer in one of the windows we look through which affirms our initial reasoning for looking through that window.

I recommend you read Goldman's abridged version of the story; it is excellent and he misses out all the boring bits.

A Thoughtful Quote

"This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labour to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
- Walt Whitman

This quote is one which challenges me because I struggle to complete all of the tasks set. I also disagree with some of it. To dismiss whatever insults your own soul may be to dismiss constructive criticism. This would be stupid and crazy and although this might get people to stand up to you it would not help in the long run. However, most of the rest I believe to be sound advice.

Rambling Thoughts

There is a verse in the Bible that says,

"When I determined to load up on wisdom and examine everything taking place on earth, I realized that if you keep your eyes open day and night without even blinking, you'll still never figure out the meaning of what God is doing on this earth. Search as hard as you like, you're not going to make sense of it. No matter how smart you are, you won't get to the bottom of it."

This may be a problem for me who is searching for truth. There may of course be no problem because maybe God is doing nothing on this earth because there is no God to do something.

However, when searching for truth one should not dismiss religion for its apparent paradoxical nature. Plenty of people claim to be proponents of love and then start wars, I'm sure. Admittedly not so many people claim that God spoke to them directly or chose them explicitly and then kill millions of people (Mr. Bush), but that might not be uncommon in places of power.

All I know is that Muslims, Jews and Christians all believe in one God who stems from Abraham. To me this seems remarkable. And yet some seem to hate each of the other religions. I don't know. (How strange to start a paragraph with "All I know" and finish it with "I don't know.")

There is one other thing, which in some ways I have jumped, that bothers me. Which religion is correct? Is it possible that one is exclusively right? What if I had been brought up a Muslim? What if I had been brought up a Nazi? Would then I be so scathing of war and tyranny?

There are many more questions that sometimes bother to trouble me, but we shall leave them be for I have rambled enough.

Interview

One interview done. One more to go. (11:24am)

The other was done by 3 pm that day.

I have been offered the job.

A Little Something

I am tired. But I feel obliged to write something and so I shall.

The day has been an interesting one. After two days back at work I cannot wait for the weekend, although I have a job interview on Friday.

I returned from work with a list to complete. One of the things was to attend a place of discussion: Marks and Spencer. There the topic of my blog was brought up. How flattering. And then we discussed someone else's too. It was good.

Then the end arrived and I was asked to give one of the guys a lift home (3 miles away and a bit of a trek, especially during rush hour (or the "busy period" as it is now called)). I felt like being kind and thus was inclined to aquiesce to his request. On the way a biker passed in front of us. With a T-shirt that was too high. And underwear that was too low.

Needless to say we had a chuckle.

This evening I walked the dogs with my dear sister and I have done some preparation for the dreaded interview. Then I watched The Apprentice.

I don't want Alex to win. That is my only condition, and exactly because of that he will.

Lastly, before I go to bed and to the land of sleep, I will tell you that Hammy Bear is charging around the room in his ball whilst my dog whines relentlessly at the door. For this my father will probably moan at me for causing him to wake up. We shall see.

A Rant

What I wrote about money on that train follows. After I tell you that it rambles slightly, as I am prone to do. I wrote it after hearing the man opposite talk about his emergency board meeting the next day, and one of the two girls talk about something I'd rather not disclose explicitly.

"The world revolves around one thing: money.

Some people think it revolves around sex, some people think it revolves around drink, but to do the first safely and the second at all you need money.

People crave money; it allows them to be comfortable. Comfortable!? How ridiculous. Comfort, in the face of death, is all that we want. The people dying of AIDs around the world are to most of us irrelevant; insignificant. And you care when you read this, when you think about it. But set your alarm for in one hour and forty three minutes time. See if you have done anything about it, or even thought about it since now. If you do it is probably because you've wanted to prove me wrong. For once I will be pleased to be proved wrong if you do do something, and someone else in the world probably will be too."

Let's do something about it.

Another thing that annoyed me was heard on the radio the other day. Mugabe is attending some conference in Europe and this was before it had started. The question was put "Will Mugabe's presence distract from the main talks?" (ie. to do with economic stuff) The answer?

"Yes, and it will be a shame because that is only one African country's problems."

Excuse me! I don't care whose problem it is, or how many countries it is affecting, people are dying unnecessarily. I was cross.

Trains

Last Thursday I was depressed. Utterly so.

Mum and Dad were going away camping and persuaded me to go with them. I did. I travelled with Dad and I cheered up a bit, only to find it was raining when we got there. Let it be known that I hate camping when it is dry, let alone when it is wet. OK, so 'hate' is a bit of a strong word, but I find it very annoying. To top it all off the toilets were ages away.

I was cross. Plans were made. The next day I caught a train to go and see my brother who lives not too far away from where we were. The train station where I was to catch the train had no ticket booth and I only had a fiver on me. I asked Mum for some extra cash, but after Dad asked a workman if the conductor accepted cards it was decided that I needed none. How wrong that was.

The train arrived, only slightly late, which is good for England. I made myself as invisible as possible and waited for the conductor. And presently he came. Slowly. Very slowly, so I read calmly as he made his way down the carriage (there were only two carriages on the train) a book called "Man's Search for Meaning". As 9 million copies have been sold it is quite possible that you have read it. If you haven't, do. I have finished the first and largest part called "Experiences in a Concentration Camp". It is incredible and the author quotes Nietzsche, a quote I hadn't read before.

"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

"Why to live?" is the next question you ask of yourself when you read that. Now, having been very depressed the day before you will be aware that this quote was important to me, and it was essential I discovered a "Why?" to my existence. Here you are expecting some immensely fascinating story of me realising my why. I didn't realise my why, and I still don't know it. Perhaps my why is to search for that most important why, which has, as yet, eluded me. Perhaps my why is to care for the poor and the oppressed, or perhaps it is to become a billionaire. I do not know my why, and read on, surprisingly unperturbed.

The conductor almost walked past me. I disturbed his walk with a nervous,

"Single to Manchester please."

"Five pounds sixty please."

Relief on my side that I knew he accepted cards. I ask anyway,

"Do you accept cards?"

"Yes."

I hand my card over, he inserts it.

"It doesn't accept that card, it is an electron."

Not the best news in the world to hear.

"Oh. I only have a fiver."

" Wait here." (Like I was going to jump off the train.)

I waited. He returned with a £4.60 ticket from a closer station. As you can imagine I was quite relieved.

It's not the wires that are dangerous, it's the lack of ticket booths.

I spent the day with my brother, and decided to return home in the evening.

I caught a train. I paid at the station, cash.

Everyone else caught that train too. Whether they paid in cash I neither know nor care about. What I care about was the fact that there were so many of them. We waited as the train arrived and for the arrivals to get off.

Then we stormed on. Too soon though, for we had to squeeze to the side to let some more people off. I waited next to a man who was sitting at a table with four seats around it. Whilst I stood there everyone pushed past me, and stole the seats I had had my eye on. I apologised to the guy who had coped with my bag in his face and sat opposite him.

Then two girls joined us. It became much less quiet. There were two guys on the opposite table who were quite deaf and so couldn't speak properly. I tell you this so that you can understand the poem I wrote. It isn't an exciting one. It doesn't rhyme, but it is how I felt.

A Train

A train,
packed,
all seats full,

the men who can't talk properly
ask an unknown question,
and the pretty girls laugh,
about their night out.

A train,
edging out of Manchester,
and one of those men wave,
"Bye there,"
Legible despite their deafness.

the girls talk incessantly,
the announcer announces
and I have to cope,
for two hours.


I also wrote about the world revolving around money, but we have already had too much for one day.

Pictures

My brother and I have been taking some pictures. Here is a sample. Can you spot Hammy Bear?

Here he is.

And again. Because he is cute. And worth it.

This is simply cool. Grass turns to buildings in one easy reflection.

Awesomest picture ever.

Tiny blue flowers.

A poignant question, asked in a not very helpful way which demonstrates that the subjects mentioned were not doing their job.

Clowning about with Animals

I have not posted for the past few days and I am annoyed because so much that is interesting has happened. On Sunday I went with my brother and sister-in-law, niece and younger sister to our local county show. It was mildly interesting until we met the clown on stilts. Then it became quite interesting. We had a chat and he asked us what car we had (my sister-in-law's Dad and Sister were there too, we were by their car at the time) and so after he had guessed 'Ford Focus' and 'Skoda' and the like he was told it was a Mercedes.

"I didn't realise I was talking to posh people," he said.

We laughed, and decided that he is single (like me, so I shouldn't really scoff).

The day became more than interesting - intriguing and exciting - when we watched the jousting. That was impressive, and those horses magnificent. It was also quite comical.

Also on Sunday my eldest brother returned home from Uni and it was good to see him again.

Sunday duly finished, and, as is its wont, Monday came next. This was a complex day that will take some explaining. Let me begin by telling you that two hamsters were the outcome of the day; one for my sister and one now mine.

The day began with my sister (the one desperate for a pet) running into my room screaming "Inigo, Dad says I can get a hamster!" (I had been told this the night before and so did the necessary feigning surprise before saying that this news was brilliant. It was soon after this that my eldest brother and I went to help our other brother sort out his house. Upon our return we were told that a free hamster and cage had been found on Freecycle (an internet trading thing) but that the person had not got back to Mum. So the pet shop was considered, and it was closing at one (Bank Holiday) so we headed there. It was there that my sister fell in love with a cream hamster with a white band across its back. It was also there that the person who was giving a hamster and cage away phoned Mum. We left embarrassed and my sister slightly disappointed.

We went straight to where the free hamster was, and we accpeted it gladly. When we got home my sister decided she didn't like it, and cried. I said I'd have it (being an animal lover). Dad said this was OK and said that she could get one later. The large supermarket pet shop was still open. We went. We saw. We bought a hamster. It looked the same as the first one my sister saw, only it was female.

The dogs had not yet been walked, so we had taken them to the superpetshop so that Mum and I could walk with them back again. It was pouring with rain.

We headed across the road, and across one field where we came across another road. It was a large one. We crossed halfway unscathed. We waited. We waited. We crossed the second half unscathed. It was then that the excitement really began. We walked to the gate of the next field, which has a large mound across it. We went to the far side of the mound to come face to face with a cow. Cows and dogs don't like each other. We turned and walked swiftly to the other end of the mound. We climbed over and a little further down the path was another cow. We waited again. And still waited.

Eventually it moved off and we walked on only to see another cow. The difference being this one was staring at us intently, its gaze not faltering and its head looking very threatening despite a lack of horns. We were quite scared. We hopped over the fence to the pavement with one of the dogs. The other dog was too large and wet to lift over. This was a problem. Solved by the other dogs lightness. We tied the two leads together.

A brilliant idea, until the dog dragged my Mum so she slammed into the fence. Not so good. We waited for the dreaded cow to move, and while we watched the reason for its gaze emerged. A calf, clearly very young stood by her and together they moved off. We sighed in a rather relieved way and climbed back into the field where we managed to get home without further disruption.

I hope to post a picture of Hammy Bear (as my Hamster is called) on this very blog sometime soon.

A Risky Sale to Freedom

A car boot sale was visited today. By many people, including myself. My two sisters came too with my Gran and Dad. We saw my brother, sister-in-law and niece there.

I bought three books, totalling 90p. Dad bought some plumbing thing for £2. My eldest younger sister bought two books, totalling 50p. My youngest sister bought 11 china dolls for £1.50 and Gran bought her a doll's highchair for £10! And Gran bought my brother a Scalextric set for £25.

I felt a little left out, although there was nothing there I was that desperate for.

Tonight I am going to play Risk ("the high risk strategy game" (the makers of the game don't know the meaning of the word 'risk' if they think a board game is high risk, they should go find a very thin rope to do a bungee jump with so they can call their game "Safe as houses")). I have won for the past two times, third time unlucky most likely.

Erm...

I think I shall write here one of my previously unpublicised poems:

Freedom

Freedom,
That ever elusive thing.
Some believe they have it,
Others realise they don’t.

Freedom,
Seeked but never found.
A concept,
Glanced at, not stared.

Freedom,
Offered to others,
Who already have it,
An opinion,
Impossible fact.

I did write some more on this poem, but that is saved on my other computer.

A Better Day

I have had a much better day today, though it didn't feel like it would be at the start. In July I am going to South Africa so I needed to have injections. Some friends of the family have been previously and Mum told me this morning that they suggested I have the rabies jab.

Now, even the possibility of rabies is petrifying, but then being told you have to pay over £100 for the privilege of living a bit longer after the bite is just not fair.

I went to the clinic where I waited for a considerable time at the reception whilst the lady there fiddled with the new system of confirming bookings. She took ages. And ages. And ages.

Then she decided to revert to the old method, which was much quicker and I was glad that I at last would be dealt with. I was promptly told I was at the wrong reception and that I should go to the one in the other room. I turned and was relieved at the distinct lack of queue, though mildly annoyed at the length of time I had had to wait to find that there was no queue.

I booked in and waited for the nurse. She soon came to find me, and as with most nurses she was very kind and chatty. Unlike with most nurses this wasn't a simple attempt to get you to think there is no needle about to enter your arm, wiggle around a bit and then exit making you feel slightly woozy with a sore arm for the rest of the day. This nurse was genuinely kind.

But I cannot have sex or help bleeding people there, because as well as not having the rabies jab (I mustn't stroke any mammals (suchas lions or elephants or hippos or other such creatures that roam Africa) to avoid the risk) I didn't have the Hepatitis B jab. I can cope with the first, but the second could be more tricky.

After visiting the lovely nurse I walked the dogs and spent part of the morning with my Grandparents. Then I decided which fish I wanted to buy.

Then I lazed a bit. Then I went and bought some new fish (after I had given my lovely swings away, in place of which the summer house now stands)! 15 in total, which equates to 18 in my tank (none died this week). I am very happy today as a result. My sister has named two of them Sooty and Sweep. And worse, now she is desperate for a pet of her own.

This hasn't been a particularly funny or endearing story, but it is one which has made me happy, and helped me to understand that when you're as depressed as I was yesterday it is worth continuing. Perhaps there is some truth in there.

A Depressing Day

There is a child in my school who thinks that 'ridiculous' is a rude word. Well, I have had that kind of day.

In fairness, it only deteriorated after work. At work it was a pretty good day, and I enjoyed nearly all of it. Then I heard the bad news.

My work can only afford to pay me for two days a week from here on in, hence a poor person just dived into the rather hard concrete known as poverty. At least, it feels like it.

What makes it worse is that I phoned up Student Loans Company Limited about repaying my loan.

(I quit Uni after one term, partly because I'm rubbish, and partly because I felt the course was. All in all, not a good combination.)

On my loan statement I have interest added to my already extortionate fee for one term. But I earn less than 15k a year (especially now) so I have not begun repayments. I phoned to enquire about this. It is the correct policy.

I think that charging a poor person interest on a loan from the Government at 4.8% is actually unethical, and I am very annoyed.


I have had one piece of good news today. I have been invited for an interview to work at a school starting in September. Maybe I'll just be poor in the meantime.

Lastly, there was no post yesterday because I had a busy day after work, and then had to watch football, the result of which I was, shall we say, ecstatic about.

I feel like writing another of my poems on here:

Why?

I asked myself "Why?" the other day,
few answers came,
I wonder why?
perhaps there are none,
perhaps only few,
but "Why?" I still ask myself,
that's what I do.

Cars

Here is something that happened to me in February:

Last week I decided that the car I had was not the one I wished to keep. So I looked on the Auto trader website to find one I did want. A Suzuki Vitara. There were a number of great ones on there and I persuaded Dad to make some phone calls. Each and every one that was at all decent was sold. How utterly irritating. My parents being older and as a result probably wiser than me told me to simply wait and look each day after work. This was sound advice and sure enough another arrived. This time I persuaded Dad to come with me to see it.

There are some rules to think about when buying a car:

It should not be raining.
It should be daylight.
You should buy it from the person's personal property.

So we went in the dark.
To the guy's supposed place of work.
But it was not raining.
33% isn't too bad a mark.

The car looked shiny. And it was a good colour.

Otherwise it was about as helpful and worthwhile as sandpaper round a toilet roll.

This was because Dad thought the Head Gasket was going, it had clearly done well over the claimed 25,000 miles, and the guy had fiddled round with numberplates. Furthermore, he had disabled the immobiliser and said that the glass in the "door pockets" (as I have fondly named them) was due to someone throwing a stone through the now repaired window.

We didn't accuse him of stealing it there and then, we waited until we were safely out of ear and gunshot.

Upon reflection the glass in the door pockets is the strongest evidence that he didn't steal it because any criminal worth their freedom would hoover it out, unless of course he realised we would realise this.

Anyway, as is clear from this small tale we didn't purchase the car. We, instead, continued to look and decided to phone about one we had seen previously but hadn't liked the colour of. It hadn't sold and we went to look at it the next day in the daylight, when it was dry, outside the man's house. And there was no glass in the door pockets.

We did some hard negotiating and got a car with an unattached CD player. This was instead of coming away with it with no CD player at all, I might add. It was also a different colour to that in the picture.

It has driven beautifully and reminds me of my first car in that the number of noises it comes out with could only be copied by a strangulated mule who has eaten only baked beans for the past three days. It also often feels as if it might just fall apart. It's brilliant.

Anyway, my love for my car was so large that I took it to visit my dear married brother on Saturday. He coveted my oxen and should be ashamed of himself. But I'll let him off because he gave me jam sandwiches. And let me play with my niece's toys. With her.

And I distinctly remembered on Sunday morning that I had certainly not brought any of those toys home, or anything remotely stripy. Hence my confusion when peering out of my window having just awoken to see something colourful and stripy in my passenger seat. I thought hard about what it was I could forget so easily, as the realisation dawned that this was nothing I had brought home, but it was in fact a man. A man, head bent invisibly towards the handbrake and sleeping soundly. Whilst I watched, astonished, he stirred and I thought it was the silhouette of my neighbour. Whilst he stirred, still apparently asleep I phoned my parents who were having one of their "Let's leave Inigo alone because he smells" trips on holiday. They were as astonished as I, and whilst I was phoning them the man left the car and headed away from the house from which I believed he should be heading. Later on I saw him in the front garden of that same house, contriving a way to enter. I made no comment, despite not having been arrested.

An average day, a better poem (I hope)

This morning I felt tired and mildly depressed. I think I enjoyed my weekend too much, and going back to work is irritating.

The day wasn't too bad though. I'm a teaching assistant and the class had a test to do in a rather boring morning. This afternoon was more relaxed though.


Then I went out to see some people. It was quite interesting really.

I also read up a bit about fish today (see yesterday's post) so I'm hoping that not so many die.

I haven't really said much, so I shall present a poem to you:

The Worm

A worm crawled along the ground,
to human ears it made no sound,
but eagle eyes saw it there,
and now the ground, it is bare.

by Inigo Montoya (me)

A Fishy Tail

Before Christmas my sister was desperate for a fish tank.

"Pleeeeeaase can I get fish? Pleeeeeaase."

Hence her sheer delight when she opened her largest gift and it was a fish tank. We waited a while before we got fish, because you have to do that to get the water just right. Then we went out and bought five fish. Within two weeks one was dead. Then she got five small ones. Another week and another was dead. Then another. So she set her heart on Neon Tetras (the shiny ones) and purchased ten. Death decided to visit often, and now there are three fish left, and the tank is mine because my sister couldn't cope with so many dead fish. Of the three that are left two are Neon Tetras and the other is another small kind, with a kinked tail. Today we went to the shop where we got them to test that the water is OK and to ask for advice.

I ended up spending £22.64 on the fish. And apparently the water is OK.

The fish tank does now look much healthier, and something else cool happened today.

We put up our summer house. This is so ridiculously cool. It means that I can put a desk, an old chair and an old typewriter in there and be like Terry Pratchett or Roald Dahl, completely ignoring the typewriter and trying to get my writing as illegible as possible. It should be fun.

Questions

I am a person who asks many questions, generally about God or physics and occasionally both. This has led me on a very long quest which appears never ending. Today was part of the journey.

Someone has lent me a book called My Questions, God's Questions and in it there are 61 questions that were asked of a Christian monk. Today I read only a few questions, but it was fascinating.

The first question in the book asks whether Christianity is the only way. Surprisingly the monk says this:

"Christianity is not the only way, but Christ is!"

He then goes on to explain saying that Christ is also the Logos referred to in John 1 as the Word. It is through this Logos that people may come to the Father, through creation or redemption. Quite a brilliant idea, and one of which I had not thought.

Something else struck me as brilliant from this book, and entirely relevant to the introduction to this blog:

"Christ likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If one turns aside from him to go towards the truth, one will not go far before falling into his arms." - Simone Weil

Let us see if my search takes me to the arms of Christ.

A Falling Front Door

It was an interesting weekend last weekend for a number of reasons, a few of which I'll share with you. The rest I have forgotten.

On Saturday it was Mum's birthday. She was 21 again. She always seems to be 21. It has had me perplexed since I was small.

Anyway, despite it being her 21st birthday she had to go on a course for her work so she left us in the capable hands of Dad and, later, Gran too.

The day began by me getting up and giving Mum a lovely present. Soon after she had opened many presents and left us. So Dad started to be as annoying as he could. This, on the whole, is exceptionally annoying and he seemed to think it would help persuade me to go swimming with him and my sisters later. His thinking was wrong. I soon got fed up and told him so.

After breakfast I decided that walking the dogs would be a good idea. No one wanted to come with me so I stepped out the front door alone (apart from the dogs, but here I am speaking of human company) and, I suppose, slammed it. It was not a slam of disgust but a slam of necessity as our door is very difficult to shut. Only I didn't hear the crash of the slam. So I turned to see the reason. The reason was immediately clear, though only half concluded. The front door was falling irretrievably toward the car (parked on the drive). There was a grind as the door hit the car and a crunchy thud (our drive is gravel) as it continued the fall to the ground. At this point I called Dad.

"Dad! Dad! Dad, the front door has fallen off!"

I think he was quite surprised to hear such words and even more surprised when he found them to be true. Anyway, I laughed a bit because it was a laugh or cry moment, and, admittedly, partly because he had been quite annoying. I left him to get the tools out and walked the dogs. When I returned the door was still on the ground but Dad had readied most of the door for rehanging. It was at this point that Gran arrived.

"Gran, the front door has fallen off," I said as she walked along the path. She looked at where the door should be, at where it was and burst out laughing. Then we told her that the car was scratched.

"Oh, well that's not so funny then," said Gran.
Dad has a bad arm so I helped him to sort the rest of the door and to hang it.

It closes much easier now, so whoever the carpenter was who hung (I believe that word is now correct English, but please feel free to complain if you know better) it previously needs a new vocation.

After the door was up and closing well we sat down for lunch. So the battery in the charger decided to explode. (At this point I should explain to younger readers that "explode" does not necessarily mean balls of fire and loud bangs, I'm pretty sure it basically means things coming apart, usually fairly suddenly. In this case it was just a hole forming in the battery and battery acid shooting halfway across the kitchen.) I was quite sensible and turned the power off immediately.

It was not, so far, a good day.

In the evening we went out for a meal. That was lovely, bar the discovery that my mother is almost completely bonkers. She had spent her course hugging trees and making a giant mallet, which she thought appropriate to bring into the restaurant and show us all. Her mallet is basically a log, half of which has been filed (well, axed) down to make a handle. To Mum it is a triumph in carpentry, to a caveman it is something a three year old should be ashamed of. Isn't it amazing what civilisation does to the mind?

Stuck on the Loo

Let us begin with a small occurrence in my life earlier today. It is a typical happening in my rather trivial life ('typical' does not imply daily, it merely suggests that it is the kind of event that is frequent in my life). I decided, quite sensibly, that I needed the toilet. This is, of course, a natural happening, and I headed for the loo. Once there I discovered a distinct shortage of toilet roll. This is one of the most irritating things that can happen to you, second only to pianos falling from the sky as in TV adverts. The shortage caused an in mind debate as to whether or not to attend the toilet, or to hold and wait.

I was desperate. I went. I, as expected, ran out of toilet roll, so I called to my dear younger sister to fetch me some kitchen roll. Initially she ignored me. So I called her selfish (this always provokes a response in people who are vain in character) and she immediately asked why, her tone expressing her outrage at such a suggestion. I explained to her my delicate and needy situation. She informed me that it was disgusting, and headed downstairs to get kitchen roll. At least, that's what I thought. I waited. I waited some more. And a little more. I then grew impatient (one of the few things that can grow all the quicker without food and water). I called quietly. I did not want to disturb my Grandma who was babysitting, and whom I would be embarrassed to tell of my predicament. No reply. I waited.

It was like making camp in the bathroom. I always planned to do that when I was young. I thought, "When I get in a bad mood I AM going to live in the bathroom for a few days, and creep downstairs at night for food." Needless to say it never happened. It looked like my plan of long ago was going to be resurrected, just without the glory Jesus did it with. And much less dignity.

Then I had an idea. That proverbial light bulb had had its dusty switch flicked. I bent to my pocket desperately hoping to find my phone there. Oh, the sigh of relief. I phoned my Dad who was out for dinner along the road. He laughed at me, but returned home and solved my rather brown problem. Indirectly, I might add.