Radio 4. 8.00 a.m. news headlines:
Lloyds TSB HBOS has seen its profits drop by three quarters
Mustard Seed Shavings 8.02 a.m. news headlines:
Amazingly, Lloyds TSB HBOS reports a massive profit
They've had my money for 36 years now (although for some of that time it was more that I had theirs). We've never really been what you'd call friends.
Just so you know.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Lent Thought
Where I grew up in Birmingham we lived in a huge, detached house. It was one of the last on its side of the street that hadn't been turned into old folks' homes, dentists or offices. We lived between an old people's home and a telephone exchange. The house was built in 1865.
On the opposite side of the street were pleasant, but more modest, three and four bedroom detached and semi-detached houses from the 1930s or so. My parents identified them as the homes of labour-voting university lecturers. 'They are not one of us,' was the message I received.
All the tradesmen (largely men in those days but called men whatever their gender) who visited our house were known to my parents by their occupations - milkman, coalman, postie, window cleaner.
My sister and I made friends with the children of the houses opposite and one day, when two such were in our house, the milkman came to the door. I guess I was about 8 or 9 years old. 'It's only Barry,' the other children shouted.
It was a seminal moment. The idea that the milkman had a name was fantastic to me. I didn't know milkmen had names. Furthermore the possibility that you could call him by that name - you could use an adult's Christian name - changed me. I wanted, from then on, to be the sort of person who called people by their names as soon as possible, whatever they did and whoever they were.
I think I was a bit of a let down to my parents from then on who had a complex alarm system which alerted them to any use of Brummie accent, any hanging around with the lower classes and any left-wing tendencies. I was never beaten. It was all psychological.
I think my life from then on has been a journey into ordinariness. I was told I was special. I'm not. I was told I was superior. I'm not. I was told to be suspicious of the children of left-leaning lecturers and anyone who lived in a terraced home. I learned not to be.
At the start of Lent I wonder what other accidental prejudice I picked up as a child of which I remain unaware. Negligence, weakness and deliberate fault are often given as the conditions from which we have to repent. How about conditioning, miseducation and striving for acceptance as their understudies?
On the opposite side of the street were pleasant, but more modest, three and four bedroom detached and semi-detached houses from the 1930s or so. My parents identified them as the homes of labour-voting university lecturers. 'They are not one of us,' was the message I received.
All the tradesmen (largely men in those days but called men whatever their gender) who visited our house were known to my parents by their occupations - milkman, coalman, postie, window cleaner.
My sister and I made friends with the children of the houses opposite and one day, when two such were in our house, the milkman came to the door. I guess I was about 8 or 9 years old. 'It's only Barry,' the other children shouted.
It was a seminal moment. The idea that the milkman had a name was fantastic to me. I didn't know milkmen had names. Furthermore the possibility that you could call him by that name - you could use an adult's Christian name - changed me. I wanted, from then on, to be the sort of person who called people by their names as soon as possible, whatever they did and whoever they were.
I think I was a bit of a let down to my parents from then on who had a complex alarm system which alerted them to any use of Brummie accent, any hanging around with the lower classes and any left-wing tendencies. I was never beaten. It was all psychological.
I think my life from then on has been a journey into ordinariness. I was told I was special. I'm not. I was told I was superior. I'm not. I was told to be suspicious of the children of left-leaning lecturers and anyone who lived in a terraced home. I learned not to be.
At the start of Lent I wonder what other accidental prejudice I picked up as a child of which I remain unaware. Negligence, weakness and deliberate fault are often given as the conditions from which we have to repent. How about conditioning, miseducation and striving for acceptance as their understudies?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Lent
I don't always give things up for Lent. A couple of years ago I managed the whole season without playing an online game, which pleased and encouraged me. I've never done the no chocolate thing.
Well, I've been set a challenge. Can I manage the whole of Lent without making any snide or sarcastic comments as humorous put-downs? My colleagues haven't so much forced my hand as suggested that I couldn't do it. Red rag. Bull.
And since that sort of knee-jerk wit, born as a survival mechanism over 40 years ago to avoid being bullied by making the bullies laugh until they soiled themselves, is usually very close at hand I may be spending a lot of Lent in silence. I hear the cheers.
As ever I know the locals will be policing this. Just don't tell me I'm being boring.
Well, I've been set a challenge. Can I manage the whole of Lent without making any snide or sarcastic comments as humorous put-downs? My colleagues haven't so much forced my hand as suggested that I couldn't do it. Red rag. Bull.
And since that sort of knee-jerk wit, born as a survival mechanism over 40 years ago to avoid being bullied by making the bullies laugh until they soiled themselves, is usually very close at hand I may be spending a lot of Lent in silence. I hear the cheers.
As ever I know the locals will be policing this. Just don't tell me I'm being boring.
Great Offer
A regular mailing arrives from publishers Eden.co.uk from whom I bought something once. The subject line?
Science & God, Buy 1 Get 1 Half Price
Start queueing. It will be popular.
Science & God, Buy 1 Get 1 Half Price
Start queueing. It will be popular.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Faulty Lyric Logic
I recall a comedian recently (it may have been Lee Mack) explaining the defect in the Humpty Dumpty story. You know the one:
All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again.
'There's the root of the problem,' he said. 'They shouldn't have let the horses go first.'
The other evening I found myself in the company of some other folk and Thin Lizzy's greatest hits and, in a lull in the conversation which I may have caused by paying too much attention to the music, I noticed the line in Whisky in the Jar:
I first produced my pistol
Then produced my rapier.
Now, were he able to speak to us from the grave, the late, great drug-addled Phillip Lynott has to admit his highwayman of the narrative has made a very basic error there. Frankly, if the gun ain't scaring the ambushed a sword isn't going to get the job done. Look at it this way. You're holding up a stagecoach and you've done the, 'Your money or your life' speech and they've opted for the life to go (a bit silly because then the money more than likely goes too - I don't think highwaymen ever really meant it as an either/or). Are you going to shoot them? Or are you going to have another go with the sharp thing in your hand?
More examples please.
All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again.
'There's the root of the problem,' he said. 'They shouldn't have let the horses go first.'
The other evening I found myself in the company of some other folk and Thin Lizzy's greatest hits and, in a lull in the conversation which I may have caused by paying too much attention to the music, I noticed the line in Whisky in the Jar:
I first produced my pistol
Then produced my rapier.
Now, were he able to speak to us from the grave, the late, great drug-addled Phillip Lynott has to admit his highwayman of the narrative has made a very basic error there. Frankly, if the gun ain't scaring the ambushed a sword isn't going to get the job done. Look at it this way. You're holding up a stagecoach and you've done the, 'Your money or your life' speech and they've opted for the life to go (a bit silly because then the money more than likely goes too - I don't think highwaymen ever really meant it as an either/or). Are you going to shoot them? Or are you going to have another go with the sharp thing in your hand?
More examples please.
CEN January 2009
Here is the archived copy of last month's Church of England Newspaper Web-watching column:
I found the registration of the birth of my aunt in the handwriting of a grandfather I never met. It was moving. Do have a look at the 1911 census now it is online. Other family tree linking services are hubbed at Findmypast.
School chaplains Mark Smith and David Owen blog a daily, Christian reflection at Lenterm. It has lectionary links and, although they don't like labels, is written from a liberal catholic perspective. Their main site – Daily Reflections – has poetry, prayers and a discussion forum.
If you want to convince people of the truth and beauty of the Gospel you really need to know what its opponents are saying or writing. Before embarking on, for instance, an Alpha talk, I like to browse a few of the latest comments from some of the more militant atheists. Apathy Sketchpad currently serves my purpose, although I'll probably be moving on now all you lot will be quoting from it. Latest two rants are about faith schools and MP's expenses. Thus Magazine also does a bit of snook cocking, not only at theism; most isms in the world takes a hit.
Topendsports is a wonderful sports science site. Amongst many goodies it has a reaction-time project. There is a simple online test and then you can chart your results against a large sample. Won't help me with my deadlines but useful for all sorts of skills as varied as braking time in a car and starting a sprint at the gun.
Tinyurl is a nice service. Often the URL (Uniform Resource Locator or web-address to you and me) of a piece of information can become very long and complicated. When you cut and paste it there is a danger of it splitting and becoming useless. Especially if you put it in an email. Tinyurl will take your long URL and make it into a shorter one that won't break. It's a free service. Many old video links are found through Tinyurl links such as The Beatles 1969 Rooftop Concert. You will see that the URL is half the length of the original YouTube URL.
If you inhabit the world of things-to-do lists and feel nervous if you don't have your list with you, try Rememberthemilk. You can use it to manage tasks, get reminders and you can add notes, maps, keyboard short-cuts and due dates. Great name too.
Regular Powerpoint users may like to check out 280slides. Create a presentation online and then you can download it to anywhere with an internet connection. The site is very sharp and includes multi-media possibilities. Very good auto-save facility too.
If you work for, or run, a company that provides a staff uniform, cost can be the major consideration. Sadly, essential uniform or not, cheap clothes can mean someone, somewhere has been exploited. Enter Cottonroots. They provide a '...range of company clothing made from Fairtrade certified cotton, organic and recycled fibres.' I love their strap-line, 'Corporate clothing with moral fibre.' This month I also discovered Adili (it's Swahili for 'ethical and just') which is a fair-trade, fashion-shopping site. Fairly funky.
Continuing a trade theme, your unwanted Christmas presents my be someone else's idea of fun. Look at Swapz and see if the day can be saved. Remember to invent a clever answer when your mother asks you what you did with the engraved cigar-cutter holders you've now traded for Die Hard 4.
I like sites where wisdom is collected. If your favourite Bible book is Proverbs you will love 1001 Rules for my Unborn Son which includes quotes, folk wisdom, music tips and wonderful illustrations. It makes me happy.
I must confess to always being fascinated by other people's lists such as you find left in a supermarket trolley by the previous user. If you can't spell croissants you don't deserve them – discuss. Or the sermon notes the previous speaker left in a pew Bible. Found Magazine is my heaven. It collates all these things. Poignant might be the word here.
If you are old enough to remember the days when video games first came out then Amog have collected a load of old ones such as Asteroids, Defender, Duck Hunt and Frogger. You can play them online, usually with arrow keys not mouse. These games are pre-mouse.
Go to cymbals.com. Crashes all the time.
I found the registration of the birth of my aunt in the handwriting of a grandfather I never met. It was moving. Do have a look at the 1911 census now it is online. Other family tree linking services are hubbed at Findmypast.
School chaplains Mark Smith and David Owen blog a daily, Christian reflection at Lenterm. It has lectionary links and, although they don't like labels, is written from a liberal catholic perspective. Their main site – Daily Reflections – has poetry, prayers and a discussion forum.
If you want to convince people of the truth and beauty of the Gospel you really need to know what its opponents are saying or writing. Before embarking on, for instance, an Alpha talk, I like to browse a few of the latest comments from some of the more militant atheists. Apathy Sketchpad currently serves my purpose, although I'll probably be moving on now all you lot will be quoting from it. Latest two rants are about faith schools and MP's expenses. Thus Magazine also does a bit of snook cocking, not only at theism; most isms in the world takes a hit.
Topendsports is a wonderful sports science site. Amongst many goodies it has a reaction-time project. There is a simple online test and then you can chart your results against a large sample. Won't help me with my deadlines but useful for all sorts of skills as varied as braking time in a car and starting a sprint at the gun.
Tinyurl is a nice service. Often the URL (Uniform Resource Locator or web-address to you and me) of a piece of information can become very long and complicated. When you cut and paste it there is a danger of it splitting and becoming useless. Especially if you put it in an email. Tinyurl will take your long URL and make it into a shorter one that won't break. It's a free service. Many old video links are found through Tinyurl links such as The Beatles 1969 Rooftop Concert. You will see that the URL is half the length of the original YouTube URL.
If you inhabit the world of things-to-do lists and feel nervous if you don't have your list with you, try Rememberthemilk. You can use it to manage tasks, get reminders and you can add notes, maps, keyboard short-cuts and due dates. Great name too.
Regular Powerpoint users may like to check out 280slides. Create a presentation online and then you can download it to anywhere with an internet connection. The site is very sharp and includes multi-media possibilities. Very good auto-save facility too.
If you work for, or run, a company that provides a staff uniform, cost can be the major consideration. Sadly, essential uniform or not, cheap clothes can mean someone, somewhere has been exploited. Enter Cottonroots. They provide a '...range of company clothing made from Fairtrade certified cotton, organic and recycled fibres.' I love their strap-line, 'Corporate clothing with moral fibre.' This month I also discovered Adili (it's Swahili for 'ethical and just') which is a fair-trade, fashion-shopping site. Fairly funky.
Continuing a trade theme, your unwanted Christmas presents my be someone else's idea of fun. Look at Swapz and see if the day can be saved. Remember to invent a clever answer when your mother asks you what you did with the engraved cigar-cutter holders you've now traded for Die Hard 4.
I like sites where wisdom is collected. If your favourite Bible book is Proverbs you will love 1001 Rules for my Unborn Son which includes quotes, folk wisdom, music tips and wonderful illustrations. It makes me happy.
I must confess to always being fascinated by other people's lists such as you find left in a supermarket trolley by the previous user. If you can't spell croissants you don't deserve them – discuss. Or the sermon notes the previous speaker left in a pew Bible. Found Magazine is my heaven. It collates all these things. Poignant might be the word here.
If you are old enough to remember the days when video games first came out then Amog have collected a load of old ones such as Asteroids, Defender, Duck Hunt and Frogger. You can play them online, usually with arrow keys not mouse. These games are pre-mouse.
Go to cymbals.com. Crashes all the time.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
It's gonna be tricky
Go to Trendleblog and you'll find the announcement about the new Rector of Holy Trinity and Trendlewood, Nailsea, being made public at church services today. Interesting name.
I once worked with someone called Hassall who didn't like the word hassle being used as a simile for difficulty. I currently work with someone called Jolly who doesn't apparently have any objections to her name continuing its use as an adjective.
I have heard my new colleague describe something using his lower-cased name. I wonder.
I spent a lot of my early childhood being silly Tilley, much of my teenage years being Willy (adolescent boys eh?) but feel most at home as St - that's the real me. I think.
Names. Burden or opportunity? And who are you?
I once worked with someone called Hassall who didn't like the word hassle being used as a simile for difficulty. I currently work with someone called Jolly who doesn't apparently have any objections to her name continuing its use as an adjective.
I have heard my new colleague describe something using his lower-cased name. I wonder.
I spent a lot of my early childhood being silly Tilley, much of my teenage years being Willy (adolescent boys eh?) but feel most at home as St - that's the real me. I think.
Names. Burden or opportunity? And who are you?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Crab Apples
There aren't enough 'I told you so' moments in my life. That is to say, there are loads but one of my least appealing qualities is a major tendency to gloat on victory so I am not allowed by my family to go anywhere near 'I told you so.' Apparently I pull a particular face when I win. What's not to like?
So I want to put a few bits and pieces on record. Then, when the 'I told you so' moments happen, it will not be me saying it but hopefully you will all recall and say, 'He did tell us so.' The bits and pieces are about my crab apple tree in the front garden. I call it 'my tree' even though there are two of us living here and anyway it belongs to the Diocese of Bath and Wells because, since I gave it a trim last autumn, everyone else has disowned it.
Let's get one thing straight. The tree had grown beyond being an ornamental front garden tree on a suburban estate and had grown to the height of our house, some branches rubbing against our bedroom windows. When it fruited it scattered unimpressive crab apples all over the road and drive for cars and pedestrians to squash. It turned the street into the world's biggest crab-cider (is that a drink?) press. So I was asked to trim it.
After a couple of hours therapeutic sawing and pruning it was reduced to a four foot trunk with five or six thick branches off. It did look like the aftermath of a serious artillery action and, from some angles, appeared to be throwing a V at those walking down the street. But trimmed it was. It will now make an excellent trebuchet platform if we are ever invaded from Wraxall.
'I didn't mean that much,' said Mrs T, ignoring the rule that you can tell a man what to do or how to do it but not both.
'You didn't say how much.'
'It was obvious,'
'Not that obvious.'
'To normal people.'
'It will grow back to a nicely rounded shape.'
'You reckon?'
Now this hasn't been allowed to lie. Sleeping dogs have been prodded.
'What happened to your plans for the tree?'
'What plans?'
'For a nice-shaped round top?'
'It's still winter.'
'So?'
Last week:
'Sue told me that crab apple trees are grafted. Once you prune them back there will be no more fruit.'
'It was the fruit we didn't like.'
'Who said?'
'You did. We made one batch of crab apple jelly and we still have three jars. It only goes with pork and you're a vegetarian.'
'I'm just saying.'
Most recently:
'Sue says the branches grow from the bottom.'
'There are shoots at the top.
'Only small ones.'
'That's why they're called shoots. They start small then they shoot.'
'You're a compete arse to live with.'
'For being right?'
'For being an arse.'
So let it be heard that my substantially pruned crab apple tree now has some small shoots at the top, which will grow into a nice leafy round, and some larger shoots at the bottom which I will remove.
So I want to put a few bits and pieces on record. Then, when the 'I told you so' moments happen, it will not be me saying it but hopefully you will all recall and say, 'He did tell us so.' The bits and pieces are about my crab apple tree in the front garden. I call it 'my tree' even though there are two of us living here and anyway it belongs to the Diocese of Bath and Wells because, since I gave it a trim last autumn, everyone else has disowned it.
Let's get one thing straight. The tree had grown beyond being an ornamental front garden tree on a suburban estate and had grown to the height of our house, some branches rubbing against our bedroom windows. When it fruited it scattered unimpressive crab apples all over the road and drive for cars and pedestrians to squash. It turned the street into the world's biggest crab-cider (is that a drink?) press. So I was asked to trim it.
After a couple of hours therapeutic sawing and pruning it was reduced to a four foot trunk with five or six thick branches off. It did look like the aftermath of a serious artillery action and, from some angles, appeared to be throwing a V at those walking down the street. But trimmed it was. It will now make an excellent trebuchet platform if we are ever invaded from Wraxall.
'I didn't mean that much,' said Mrs T, ignoring the rule that you can tell a man what to do or how to do it but not both.
'You didn't say how much.'
'It was obvious,'
'Not that obvious.'
'To normal people.'
'It will grow back to a nicely rounded shape.'
'You reckon?'
Now this hasn't been allowed to lie. Sleeping dogs have been prodded.
'What happened to your plans for the tree?'
'What plans?'
'For a nice-shaped round top?'
'It's still winter.'
'So?'
Last week:
'Sue told me that crab apple trees are grafted. Once you prune them back there will be no more fruit.'
'It was the fruit we didn't like.'
'Who said?'
'You did. We made one batch of crab apple jelly and we still have three jars. It only goes with pork and you're a vegetarian.'
'I'm just saying.'
Most recently:
'Sue says the branches grow from the bottom.'
'There are shoots at the top.
'Only small ones.'
'That's why they're called shoots. They start small then they shoot.'
'You're a compete arse to live with.'
'For being right?'
'For being an arse.'
So let it be heard that my substantially pruned crab apple tree now has some small shoots at the top, which will grow into a nice leafy round, and some larger shoots at the bottom which I will remove.
Any of Mustard's followers want to extol the virtues and benefits of Twitter to me. I registered a while back but never did anything about it. What's to gain from it that Facebook doesn't have?
Milestone or Millstone?
Yesterday was my 1500th post. Only noticed just now. Can't begin to imagine, and have no intention of counting, how many words that has involved but if you've been with me for the long haul, or any part of the journey, thanks for sticking around. Now. What's next?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Tokyo Marathon
Jon and Carys (son of mustard and partner) are running the Tokyo marathon for Cancer Research. Should you know them, or even if you don't, and wish to sponsor them visit their site here.
You will see a photograph of Jon with a very attractive young lady. We know he's punching above his weight.
You will see a photograph of Jon with a very attractive young lady. We know he's punching above his weight.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Patronage
In the previous post a comment asked for an explanation of how patronage works. There is an excellent article on the Church Society web-site here.
I think I would be a bit more positive about the outcomes than the article is. Our parish has just been through the process and it has delivered us a new Rector without blood on the carpet.
I love the notion that the origins of patronage are pre-Christian.
I think I would be a bit more positive about the outcomes than the article is. Our parish has just been through the process and it has delivered us a new Rector without blood on the carpet.
I love the notion that the origins of patronage are pre-Christian.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
What is the PCC for?
The Church of England is part of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church. It is episcopally led and synodically governed and if you think that sounds like a dodgy compromise find someone else to take it up with. I may make fun of the rules but I don't make them up.
The Synodical Government Measure of 1969 (sometimes I amaze myself at how much useless stuff I actually know) was designed to give the laity (non-clergy) more say in the running of the church. Good show, say I.
So Bishops are in charge but often complain about their relative powerlessness to do anything. Except Sentamu, who totally gets it. And hierarchical synods sort out the nitty gritty of policy so we have General Synod (which has recently been meeting), Diocesan Synods, Deanery Synods and then the Parochial Church Councils. Which often moan about their relative powerlessness to get things done.
Hypothetically a PCC could pass a motion that the Deanery Synod reps could get put on their synod agenda and discuss, vote on and pass on up the line. So the ordinary person in the pew has access to the power structure to get things done, subject to lots of democratic checks and balances. It works but it is painstaking. That self-same ordinary person can also stand for election to the higher synods.
The Synodical Government Measure of 1969 (sometimes I amaze myself at how much useless stuff I actually know) was designed to give the laity (non-clergy) more say in the running of the church. Good show, say I.
So Bishops are in charge but often complain about their relative powerlessness to do anything. Except Sentamu, who totally gets it. And hierarchical synods sort out the nitty gritty of policy so we have General Synod (which has recently been meeting), Diocesan Synods, Deanery Synods and then the Parochial Church Councils. Which often moan about their relative powerlessness to get things done.
Hypothetically a PCC could pass a motion that the Deanery Synod reps could get put on their synod agenda and discuss, vote on and pass on up the line. So the ordinary person in the pew has access to the power structure to get things done, subject to lots of democratic checks and balances. It works but it is painstaking. That self-same ordinary person can also stand for election to the higher synods.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Guardian Headline
OK so it was probably the Press Complaints Commission and not the Parochial Church Council that they had in mind, but it caught my eye.
Art and White Horses
Every now and six months I like to chuck my huge personal ignorance into the art world. The discussion about Mark Wallinger's white horse seems as good a time as any.
Opinion seems to be divided on the matter. On the one hand white horses have been the preferred hill-marking of south-easterners over the years with the occasional break to draw men with big willies. A huge, 3D white horse will be in keeping with the past yet brash, bold and visible from the motorway. It couldn't be a black horse. May as well be a burning ten pound note as that.
On the other, of all the things to choose, isn't a horse (in the age of the petrolhead) looking backwards not forwards? Compared to the stylised Angel of the North and the south-west's dancing wicker man isn't a big horse a bit, well, dull?
Most new, iconic artwork receives its fair share of criticism before being accepted and loved. The Angel of the North didn't have a good start. Any piece of art that receives general and immediate public acceptance will probably be something we fall out of love with equally quickly. Or, in the case of Manchester's B of the Bang, will fall apart. Forgetting all other considerations a piece must be well constructed and not a danger to the casual observer. Art that kills people soon loses its popularity. The horse shouldn't be inflatable. Best not to topple either.
What will they say about our generation when they are looking at our surviving art in 500 years time? One Guardian columnist recently noted that this age would be known as that of the people who put dog poo in plastic bags and buried it. What could the folk who did that possibly have to say to their descendants?
On balance I'd trust Wallinger. He knows what he's doing, has a track record and if the horse is huge it will be eye-catching. We were the people who made big art, they'll say. Why not?
Opinion seems to be divided on the matter. On the one hand white horses have been the preferred hill-marking of south-easterners over the years with the occasional break to draw men with big willies. A huge, 3D white horse will be in keeping with the past yet brash, bold and visible from the motorway. It couldn't be a black horse. May as well be a burning ten pound note as that.
On the other, of all the things to choose, isn't a horse (in the age of the petrolhead) looking backwards not forwards? Compared to the stylised Angel of the North and the south-west's dancing wicker man isn't a big horse a bit, well, dull?
Most new, iconic artwork receives its fair share of criticism before being accepted and loved. The Angel of the North didn't have a good start. Any piece of art that receives general and immediate public acceptance will probably be something we fall out of love with equally quickly. Or, in the case of Manchester's B of the Bang, will fall apart. Forgetting all other considerations a piece must be well constructed and not a danger to the casual observer. Art that kills people soon loses its popularity. The horse shouldn't be inflatable. Best not to topple either.
What will they say about our generation when they are looking at our surviving art in 500 years time? One Guardian columnist recently noted that this age would be known as that of the people who put dog poo in plastic bags and buried it. What could the folk who did that possibly have to say to their descendants?
On balance I'd trust Wallinger. He knows what he's doing, has a track record and if the horse is huge it will be eye-catching. We were the people who made big art, they'll say. Why not?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Hermeneutics Cafe
Andy Larkin and Ali Mepham have set up this cafe franchise for theological and minstry-based banter. You need a facebook account but that won't hurt you. Drop in here.
Sorry
It's sad, so sad, it's a sad, sad situation
And it's getting more and more absurd.
It's sad, so sad, why can't we talk it over?
Always seems to me
Sorry seems to be the hardest word.
No I guess Elton wasn't the greatest lyricist the world had ever seen; certainly not by Blue Moves days. But he had a point.
It's not the hardest word to say but it is the hardest word to nuance. A refrain comes back to me.
'Say sorry to your sister.'
'Srre.'
'Say it properly.'
'I did.'
'No you didn't. Say you're sorry.'
'Soh - reee.'
'That's better.'
Big news Jacs. I had my fingers crossed. I only did it to make Mum go away.
I was watching those bankers in front of the Commons Select Committee. The grillers gave the impression that even a pound of flesh would be insufficient. The respondents were prepared to apologise unconditionally and with whatever other form of words was required that 'it happened.' But not that it was their responsibility. They simply wanted to make Mum go away.
Sorry has become pretty well meaningless on its own. As the Rev'd Ian Paisley was fond of saying during the troubles/struggle in Northern Ireland when the IRA were apologising for killing the innocent, 'It's no good without repentance.' I don't agree with him very often.
Repentance in Greek is metanoia meaning to change or turn. It is the idea that you turn in the opposite direction. A banker's apology might involve the acknowledgement that there are other ways to handle people's money wisely.
I have two equal and opposite worries right now. The one is that society is seeking a scapegoat and bankers will do the job for failing to spot the biggest economic downturn in their lifetimes. We will be happy if they surrender their bonuses. The other is that we will simply tough it out and get back to normal - normal being the Thatcherite lie that we can continue to create wealth inexhaustibly and therefore house prices can return to going up and we will all spend more on stuff year on year on year.
Wouldn't the nuance of the universal sorry (because we are all culpable, not just bankers) be better right now if it included a, 'Hold it everyone. Are we sure we've been doing this money thing right?'
I only ask.
But Elton was right, for the wrong reasons. Sorry. It's a devil of a word.
And it's getting more and more absurd.
It's sad, so sad, why can't we talk it over?
Always seems to me
Sorry seems to be the hardest word.
No I guess Elton wasn't the greatest lyricist the world had ever seen; certainly not by Blue Moves days. But he had a point.
It's not the hardest word to say but it is the hardest word to nuance. A refrain comes back to me.
'Say sorry to your sister.'
'Srre.'
'Say it properly.'
'I did.'
'No you didn't. Say you're sorry.'
'Soh - reee.'
'That's better.'
Big news Jacs. I had my fingers crossed. I only did it to make Mum go away.
I was watching those bankers in front of the Commons Select Committee. The grillers gave the impression that even a pound of flesh would be insufficient. The respondents were prepared to apologise unconditionally and with whatever other form of words was required that 'it happened.' But not that it was their responsibility. They simply wanted to make Mum go away.
Sorry has become pretty well meaningless on its own. As the Rev'd Ian Paisley was fond of saying during the troubles/struggle in Northern Ireland when the IRA were apologising for killing the innocent, 'It's no good without repentance.' I don't agree with him very often.
Repentance in Greek is metanoia meaning to change or turn. It is the idea that you turn in the opposite direction. A banker's apology might involve the acknowledgement that there are other ways to handle people's money wisely.
I have two equal and opposite worries right now. The one is that society is seeking a scapegoat and bankers will do the job for failing to spot the biggest economic downturn in their lifetimes. We will be happy if they surrender their bonuses. The other is that we will simply tough it out and get back to normal - normal being the Thatcherite lie that we can continue to create wealth inexhaustibly and therefore house prices can return to going up and we will all spend more on stuff year on year on year.
Wouldn't the nuance of the universal sorry (because we are all culpable, not just bankers) be better right now if it included a, 'Hold it everyone. Are we sure we've been doing this money thing right?'
I only ask.
But Elton was right, for the wrong reasons. Sorry. It's a devil of a word.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
They're Watching You
A few years ago, as CCTV cameras started appearing more and more regularly and the debate about identity cards reached fever pitch, a subtle, cultural shift took place. I still hear members of the liberal, chattering classes bemoan the existence of so much information about them. They seem terrified that it will be misused.
But the shift was for the younger generation to grab the bull by the horns and tell everyone everything. Facebook, BeBo, Twitter - words we hadn't heard of in the last millennium - know it all. And so much of it is dull twaddle that by and large it makes no difference, apart from the occasional spot of identity theft which is avoidable with a bit of common sense when telling your personal details to the world, and a shredder.
Here's a picture of me with some snow. Here's me pulling a bit of a childish face. Big Brother will soon lose interest.
What's Lilly Allen's secret vice? Googling herself, according to the Guardian. And indeed that was the technique I used in working out who might be my new colleague here. And it was used on me when I came here.
In ten years time it will be a standard technique to carry out an internet search on a new employee and the ones who generate suspicion will be the ones who do not have an online presence.
They are watching you. If I were you I'd bore them to death. And note there is a greater CCTV. It is watching you. And you can't hide. It has searched us and knows us. Someone already saw. Take your shoes and socks off.
But the shift was for the younger generation to grab the bull by the horns and tell everyone everything. Facebook, BeBo, Twitter - words we hadn't heard of in the last millennium - know it all. And so much of it is dull twaddle that by and large it makes no difference, apart from the occasional spot of identity theft which is avoidable with a bit of common sense when telling your personal details to the world, and a shredder.
Here's a picture of me with some snow. Here's me pulling a bit of a childish face. Big Brother will soon lose interest.
What's Lilly Allen's secret vice? Googling herself, according to the Guardian. And indeed that was the technique I used in working out who might be my new colleague here. And it was used on me when I came here.
In ten years time it will be a standard technique to carry out an internet search on a new employee and the ones who generate suspicion will be the ones who do not have an online presence.
They are watching you. If I were you I'd bore them to death. And note there is a greater CCTV. It is watching you. And you can't hide. It has searched us and knows us. Someone already saw. Take your shoes and socks off.
Monday, February 09, 2009
New to me
I've got scorzonera. That's the right spelling. It is new to me but although it sounds like an STI (and the spell-checker offers sexiness as an alternative) it is actually a root vegetable.
It came in our weekly box-scheme delivery from Riverford. It's a sort of stretched parsnip with a very black skin. Others tell me it should taste of asparagus but I didn't get that. I'd say a sort of artichokey parsnip but it doesn't make you as windy as a Jerusalem artichoke.
I followed a recipe on the box and boiled it followed by tossing it in butter with a bit of parsley. That was nice but Mrs T felt it was a bit bland.
Anyone got any ideas?
It came in our weekly box-scheme delivery from Riverford. It's a sort of stretched parsnip with a very black skin. Others tell me it should taste of asparagus but I didn't get that. I'd say a sort of artichokey parsnip but it doesn't make you as windy as a Jerusalem artichoke.
I followed a recipe on the box and boiled it followed by tossing it in butter with a bit of parsley. That was nice but Mrs T felt it was a bit bland.
Anyone got any ideas?
Saturday, February 07, 2009
News Round Up
I've been doing my usual trick of a quiet Saturday and reading almost the whole week's newspapers in bed. I'll try and avoid sounding like, 'Apart from that Mrs Kennedy how was Dallas?' So let's say that 'it snowed' seems to have been news. But did you notice...
The inventor of Playmobil toys, Hans Beck, died. Perhaps he couldn't pull himself together.
And did you see the unluckiest person of the week who turned into the luckiest? Novice sky-diver Daniel Pharr was strapped to his instructor quite properly and the parachute was open when the instructor suffered a fatal heart-attack. Using his memory of TV programmes and basic military training Pharr managed to pull the right toggles to land safely.
It has been a busy week for round-robin e-mails. Most, as usual, not that funny but I did enjoy the one that linked to the aircraft landing with only one wing (Google THE_BEST_AIR_RACE_PILOT_EVER.wmv). It looked a bit of a spoof but I employed my favourite research technique which was to send it to a more sceptical friend with an assurance that I didn't think it was a spoof. He pretty soon linked me to a site that pricked its bubble. So one-winged planes can't land safely. Pity.
I've reached Wednesday so far.
The inventor of Playmobil toys, Hans Beck, died. Perhaps he couldn't pull himself together.
And did you see the unluckiest person of the week who turned into the luckiest? Novice sky-diver Daniel Pharr was strapped to his instructor quite properly and the parachute was open when the instructor suffered a fatal heart-attack. Using his memory of TV programmes and basic military training Pharr managed to pull the right toggles to land safely.
It has been a busy week for round-robin e-mails. Most, as usual, not that funny but I did enjoy the one that linked to the aircraft landing with only one wing (Google THE_BEST_AIR_RACE_PILOT_EVER.wmv). It looked a bit of a spoof but I employed my favourite research technique which was to send it to a more sceptical friend with an assurance that I didn't think it was a spoof. He pretty soon linked me to a site that pricked its bubble. So one-winged planes can't land safely. Pity.
I've reached Wednesday so far.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Swearing
Excuse me but I won't be asterisking this one. Don't read it if you are offended by strong language.
We haven't talked about this subject for a while. I notice that there has been an attempt to censure Gordon Ramsay because a recent programme included nearly 200 examples of the F-word. It got me thinking. Do 200 fucks in an hour change the status of the word?
I have had a few eureka moments over the years on this subject:
1. Aged about seven I asked my Dad what the writing on the swimming pool cubicle wall meant. 'Daddy, what's a baster?' I could tell from the pause that I had now accessed a really good thing to say when I wanted attention.
2. A plumber, called to my office in about 1980, pronounced a verdict on a radiator valve, 'The fucking fucker's fucking fucked.' We were in no doubt what he meant and wondered if we could spend a whole day communicating only with profanities and an occasional definite or indefinite article.
3. At theological college our football team once had a player sent off for bad language but, in his defence, he'd spent the previous years before ordination undercover with the drug squad.
4. My ordination. I get very peeved when people apologise for swearing in front of me. It is one of the reasons why I find a dog collar changes everything and prefer to avoid it. I take very seriously the charge that we should be slow to take offence so nobody should ever have to apologise for treating me like they treat others.
5. I recall from the early 1990s when Paul Gascoigne was dismissed from a football pitch for using foul and abusive language. He complained about the referee, 'That wasn't swearing at him; it was just swearing.'
6. A mother I overheard, dragging her six year year old round a supermarket about 1997, told him, 'Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that again.'
Enough eurekas. What would Archimedes have shouted today? Well he would, wouldn't he? Almost certainly.
The Bible has a lot to say about not swearing but it almost always refers to oaths - the preferred way of life for the Christian is to let your yes be yes and your no be no. No mantra or occasion should change that.
The bit of the Bible that those of us who aren't that bothered about bad language need to get to grips with is Ephesians 4:29, 'Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths but only what is helpful for building others up...' So even if we feel an occasional expletive isn't the end of the world we need to gauge the audience. The nature of an internet audience is such that I needed to offer the warning at the start of the post as I know it will be read by the offended and unoffended simultaneously. It may not build everyone up. You will find the word pisseth in the Authorised Version. When Paul counts everything rubbish save that of knowing the Gospel it would be as good a translation as any to say he counts it all crap.
It has been an interesting season for language. Carol Thatcher lost her job at the BBC for the use of the word golliwog. Quite right too. We've been educating on this subject for over twenty years now. She should have known better. Prince Charles got away with calling an Asian Sooty, mainly because the guy himself took it in such good spirit. These days I may write fuck but always asterisk ni**er. Race has become the language monitor.
I'd call someone a silly bugger but not a silly c**t. Is a tosser better than a wanker? Can't believe I wrote that but do have a care about what I'm trying to discuss.
I'm playing a parental advisory CD right now. 'Parental advisory' is usually taken to mean we don't play it in front of our parents. My mother's deaf and my father's only one letter different. My mother-in-law is delightfully liberal these days. So I would.
Language changes, moves on, evolves. Teenagers develop their own. We don't get it. That's the point. We can be insulted without knowing. Those of us who say strewth, blimey, flipping, sugar and crikey are all swearing in a way. Try gladioli or Falcon Camps if you really need a substitute.
So back to the top. The more we use the word fuck the more we downgrade it. It loses its power to offend. I think, because of hanging around with users of fairly industrial language most of my life, I am unoffended but shouldn't simply copy. I need to be very careful who I am speaking to. You?
We haven't talked about this subject for a while. I notice that there has been an attempt to censure Gordon Ramsay because a recent programme included nearly 200 examples of the F-word. It got me thinking. Do 200 fucks in an hour change the status of the word?
I have had a few eureka moments over the years on this subject:
1. Aged about seven I asked my Dad what the writing on the swimming pool cubicle wall meant. 'Daddy, what's a baster?' I could tell from the pause that I had now accessed a really good thing to say when I wanted attention.
2. A plumber, called to my office in about 1980, pronounced a verdict on a radiator valve, 'The fucking fucker's fucking fucked.' We were in no doubt what he meant and wondered if we could spend a whole day communicating only with profanities and an occasional definite or indefinite article.
3. At theological college our football team once had a player sent off for bad language but, in his defence, he'd spent the previous years before ordination undercover with the drug squad.
4. My ordination. I get very peeved when people apologise for swearing in front of me. It is one of the reasons why I find a dog collar changes everything and prefer to avoid it. I take very seriously the charge that we should be slow to take offence so nobody should ever have to apologise for treating me like they treat others.
5. I recall from the early 1990s when Paul Gascoigne was dismissed from a football pitch for using foul and abusive language. He complained about the referee, 'That wasn't swearing at him; it was just swearing.'
6. A mother I overheard, dragging her six year year old round a supermarket about 1997, told him, 'Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that again.'
Enough eurekas. What would Archimedes have shouted today? Well he would, wouldn't he? Almost certainly.
The Bible has a lot to say about not swearing but it almost always refers to oaths - the preferred way of life for the Christian is to let your yes be yes and your no be no. No mantra or occasion should change that.
The bit of the Bible that those of us who aren't that bothered about bad language need to get to grips with is Ephesians 4:29, 'Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths but only what is helpful for building others up...' So even if we feel an occasional expletive isn't the end of the world we need to gauge the audience. The nature of an internet audience is such that I needed to offer the warning at the start of the post as I know it will be read by the offended and unoffended simultaneously. It may not build everyone up. You will find the word pisseth in the Authorised Version. When Paul counts everything rubbish save that of knowing the Gospel it would be as good a translation as any to say he counts it all crap.
It has been an interesting season for language. Carol Thatcher lost her job at the BBC for the use of the word golliwog. Quite right too. We've been educating on this subject for over twenty years now. She should have known better. Prince Charles got away with calling an Asian Sooty, mainly because the guy himself took it in such good spirit. These days I may write fuck but always asterisk ni**er. Race has become the language monitor.
I'd call someone a silly bugger but not a silly c**t. Is a tosser better than a wanker? Can't believe I wrote that but do have a care about what I'm trying to discuss.
I'm playing a parental advisory CD right now. 'Parental advisory' is usually taken to mean we don't play it in front of our parents. My mother's deaf and my father's only one letter different. My mother-in-law is delightfully liberal these days. So I would.
Language changes, moves on, evolves. Teenagers develop their own. We don't get it. That's the point. We can be insulted without knowing. Those of us who say strewth, blimey, flipping, sugar and crikey are all swearing in a way. Try gladioli or Falcon Camps if you really need a substitute.
So back to the top. The more we use the word fuck the more we downgrade it. It loses its power to offend. I think, because of hanging around with users of fairly industrial language most of my life, I am unoffended but shouldn't simply copy. I need to be very careful who I am speaking to. You?
Elbow - Press Your Red Button Now
My ex colleague at CPAS John Fryer emailed me this tip:
If you have Freeview or the equivalent and can press the RED button on BBC1 then select ELBOW in concert. They are playing a Radio 2 concert of their album The Seldom Seen Kid with an orchestra and choir. It's a rolling loop so you can watch it round and see all the tracks till 7th Feb.
Gang, you therefore have two more days to enjoy one of the best bands of the day. Elbow deservedly won the Mercury Music Prize for this album, their fourth. They are a band who work hard, love touring and playing and in Guy Garvey have one of the strongest song-writers of a generation.
This sort of venue/event suits them well. In a place such as a Carling Academy or other arena all the audience idiots talk too loudly through the excellent quiet moments. Rock bands with shade to their music suffer in such places. Sorry that makes me sound old but there you go.
If you have Freeview or the equivalent and can press the RED button on BBC1 then select ELBOW in concert. They are playing a Radio 2 concert of their album The Seldom Seen Kid with an orchestra and choir. It's a rolling loop so you can watch it round and see all the tracks till 7th Feb.
Gang, you therefore have two more days to enjoy one of the best bands of the day. Elbow deservedly won the Mercury Music Prize for this album, their fourth. They are a band who work hard, love touring and playing and in Guy Garvey have one of the strongest song-writers of a generation.
This sort of venue/event suits them well. In a place such as a Carling Academy or other arena all the audience idiots talk too loudly through the excellent quiet moments. Rock bands with shade to their music suffer in such places. Sorry that makes me sound old but there you go.
Great Book Titles
Wendell Steavenson's book about life for Iraqis in a post-Saddam world is called The Weight of a Mustard Seed. Respect. Published by Atlantic at £14.99.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Simple Language
We may not have quite deteriorated to the point where a window cleaner is required by law to be known as a transparent wall maintenance engineer but we have had some fun with our snow language haven't we?
To summarise, we have a had a major snow event as part of an extreme weather situation and in the theatre of disruption there are many localised incidents.
A man on the news just complained that there was a jack-knifed lorry on the M1 and it was ridiculous because all the traffic was now stationary. Call me stupid but I reckon that was because there was a jack-knifed lorry on the motorway.
The stockpile of salt, which hasn't been touched in the south-west for 18 years, may run out. There's always a danger of that when you use something.
15,000 people have called the emergency services because of snowballs. Crazy country. Bonkers .
To summarise, we have a had a major snow event as part of an extreme weather situation and in the theatre of disruption there are many localised incidents.
A man on the news just complained that there was a jack-knifed lorry on the M1 and it was ridiculous because all the traffic was now stationary. Call me stupid but I reckon that was because there was a jack-knifed lorry on the motorway.
The stockpile of salt, which hasn't been touched in the south-west for 18 years, may run out. There's always a danger of that when you use something.
15,000 people have called the emergency services because of snowballs. Crazy country. Bonkers .
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Rector Idol
For those who are from outside our situation I am pleased to tell you that the audience elimination programme to find a new Rector of Holy Trinity and Trendlewood, Nailsea has a clear winner although we cannot announce a name for a bit. Etiquette has it that both churches (the one being left and the one being joined) are told at the same time.
There are also a few formalities to be gone through such as the operation to remove charisma and putting a watch back twenty years. Please laugh now or I'm in trouble.
Meanwhile the snow which appears to have stopped Britain singularly fails to have any impact on this particular North Somerset valley although the town did look as good as it has ever looked for about two hours this morning.
There are also a few formalities to be gone through such as the operation to remove charisma and putting a watch back twenty years. Please laugh now or I'm in trouble.
Meanwhile the snow which appears to have stopped Britain singularly fails to have any impact on this particular North Somerset valley although the town did look as good as it has ever looked for about two hours this morning.
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