Introversion and Royalty

Enough has been written about the Late Queen Elizabeth II in the last 48 hours. I was determined not to say anything unless I had something original to add.

I want, for a moment, to ask if we are really getting our empathy right.

Quite a few times I have read the critique of Johnson's Downing Street mob that they partied while the Queen was forced to grieve alone. Now I will stand aside for no-one in the queue to denigrate that ghastly government. It's part two of the sentence I want to get us to think about.

If you google 'Queen's personality type' you find many links to the idea that she was ISTJ:

I = introverted and therefore energised by her inner world

S = relied on the information provided by her senses rather than intuition

T = preferred to think things through rather than work off feelings

J = chose an ordered approach to life rather than a 'let's see what happens'

S, T and J make perfect sense and suggest a good match with her duties.

But in these sorts of profiles the words 'introvert' and 'extrovert' are used in a specialised way. Introverts make great actors. More than half the clergy are introverts. Introverts can do people skills and enjoy it. But they are not energised by it. Energy is recovered alone and in private later with reflection, space, peace and maybe a book as the maximum stimulation.

The opposite is true of extroverts who can sit quietly alone for a while but then recover their energy with company.

Introverts don't like small talk, crowds and parties. Take a moment to reflect on the dutiful service of a monarch who was an I and served for 70 years.

I am not ashamed to admit that as an I myself there was something extremely blessed about Covid 19. No meetings or parties. A daily hour long walk by myself. Time to sit alone and read, think or reflect.

Please feel free to be sad with everyone who has lost a loved one. But please do not assume that being forced to sit alone at a smaller-than-expected funeral was a burden. Being the chief mourner at a funeral is a tough business. You are on caring-for-everyone-else's-grief duty. However much I  hated having to do that job a couple of times it is surely amplified a hundredfold for a dignitary. May I dare to suggest that the pictures of a masked Queen, sitting alone in the choir stalls at Prince Philip's funeral, may be pictures of her doing something the way she would have chosen for perhaps the only time in her life. 

RIP.

Gym Changing Rooms

There is a very white, over 50, male, west-country bias in the gym I go to but over-hearing conversations is fun. Clearly casual racism is not a spectator sport I am proud of but it is hard to know precisely where to complain. Some of the everyday prejudice comes so naturally to these guys it is hard to be moved by anything but the more extreme examples (that thought from David Lodge in his novel Nice Work).

Obviously I use the male changing rooms so my sample is limited. Some of the conversations are so personal, so detailed, that I can't believe those involved really are happy that complete strangers overhear them. I have never got any change out of Pete, even when smiling and saying good morning, so I expect he'd be surprised I knew his name and even more surprised I could speak freely of his Viagra prescription.

Today a loud-mouthed regular (LMR) was getting to know another guy. Turned out the other guy was an experienced yachtsman who had taken part in serious races. LMR had been on one boat trip once and decided that the best getting-to-know-you tactic was to tell experienced sailor (another Steve, again he doesn't know I know) all about his one trip. The story went on for ever and probably eliminated this developing relationship from Steve's enquiries.

At the end of the conversation LMR announced that he would like to be buried at sea. I revealed my identity and offered to conduct the service. A voice from across the changing room said 'Make sure he's dead first.'

Cafe Create November

Great night at the Nailsea cafe last Friday with a bill topped by some astonishing guitar picking by Mark Fuller and the best 'audience question' we have ever had. Fascinating to discover that after our 'Films reworked to cope with cutbacks' item the twitterverse was awash with the trend #boring prequels. Cafe Create is utterly in tune with the times and if you weren't there you missed an absolute treat of an evening. Until January 21st then. Call me for a performance slot.

So here is our list of films:

The Little Train Robbery
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Cubic Zircona Skull
Unemployed Girl
Moderate Expectations
The Bourne Disappointment
One Jumped Over the Cuckoo's Nest
One walked Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Star Disagreement
Star Tiffs
The Empire Strikes Backwards
Insufficient Postage on the Jedi or Return of the Jedi to sender
A Fist Full of Rupees
The Magnificent Six
The Magificent Three and a Half
Bearded Dragon Dundee
Harry Potter and the Quarter Blood Prince
Amble
The Medium Lebowski
99 Dalmations
One Dalmation
The 38 Steps
A Clockwork Segment
A Clockwork Tangerine
Lawrence of Weston-super-Mare
Gala Bingo Royale
Ocean's 10
Ocean's Still Recruiting
The Nine Commandments
Thousand Dollar Baby
Gone with the Breeze
Brokeback Molehill
Mission Quite Probable
Wind in the Bush
Reasonably Good Man
The Green Kilometer
The Green Metre
The Green Yard
Dead Poet
Eleven Monkeys
Sense
The Bridge of Madison County
Planes, Trains and Bicycle Clips
Toy Short Story
A Tale of One City
A tale of Two Small Villages
Where Sparrows Dare
Last Tango in Portishead
Last Tango in West Bromwich
The Six Million Zimbabwean Dollar Man
The Italian Part-time Job
Half a Thruppence
Around the World in 80 Years
Immigrant Cain
Asylum Seeker Cain
The English Still on the Waiting List
4 Cheap Weddings and an Eco-Funeral
4 Civil Partnerships and a Burial
Bronzefinger
Goldleaffinger
Jobless in Seattle
The Boy in Striped Boxers
Breakfast at Little Chef
Breakfast at MacDonalds
Texas Hacksaw Massacre
West Side Sentence
Bonny
The French Disconnection
A Bridge Not Far Enough
The Shortest Day
Extremely Brief Encounter
Homeless Alone
Raiders of the Basement Bin
The Failed Escape
Slumdog
Bedsit Rwanda
There Will Be Ketchup
Pirates of the Bristol Channel
When Harry Waved at Sally
Die Quickly
Snakes on a Hang-glider
One or Two Things I Hate About You
Girl with the Clip-on Ear-ring

Weird Stuff Said to Vicars

Today we had our annual memorial/thanksgiving service. It is good to have an event in the calendar to reconnect with those to whom we have had a funeral ministry. I don't normally do this but on such an occasion I tend to position myself at the door to welcome. A dog collar can, in some circumstances, be reassuring.

So, a lady arrives with a zimmer and needs to go to the loo so I leave my place at the outside door and open the toilet door for her. It is only a little way along the corridor. As I return I get completely in the way of a couple trying to come in through the door.

'Sorry, I say. 'I'm trying to be useful but I'm making a mess of it.'

As the couple wander into church one says to the other, 'I think that's the first time I've ever heard a vicar being honest.'

If you want to be a great vicar I remind you. The bar is set very low.

Margaret Pippen RIP

Had quite an eventful funeral today. I needed to get a lift to the crem in the undertaker's 4 wheel drive. My attempt to drive out of my road failed at the first bend and I only just succeeded in reversing back into my drive.

4 x 4s were also the method of transport for all the mourners, as limousines were unusable today. And the coffin. With a stoical spirit we got to South Bristol crem on time and then returned to Nailsea for a memorial service.

Margaret's daughter had emigrated to Australia and Margaret's favourite song was John Farnham's The Voice. It was a big 1980s song and has such production values (OTT) but as an end to the memorial service its intro was very powerful. Hear a version of it here where Farnham joins Coldplay on stage in Australia to perform it.

Over a few drinks after the service I met a delightful selection of longstanding Nailsea folk (most people here don't come from here) for a great natter.

I also take away with me an interesting question. Someone asked if I knew the whereabouts of the grave of an unnamed stillborn baby, buried in our cemetery in the 1950s. The only evidence available is an undertaker's fee including a minister's charge for burial. The question had remained unasked for 50 years. I am the same age as that child would have been.

Funeral Advice

Clergy and other funeral-taking colleagues. Given the increasing popularity of having a private committal first followed by a memorial service I wondered if you are in the habit of doing anything extra to lengthen the committal part.

There is not much fixed content to a committal but it seems rather harsh to walk in, say the prayers and see the coffin disappear; it is all over in three minutes, notwithstanding that there is a 45 minute service to follow at a different venue.

What do you do? Extra silence? Words of explanation? Further prayers?