The Strange World of Simeon Whiting

The Reunion

2011-02-24T12:48:00.002Z

Here it is - an extract from my short story 'The Reunion', shortly to be published in the compilation Someone Has to Die, Volume IV. If you like it, please head to spikethecat.co.uk and buy a copy. If you don't like it, please humour me and buy a copy anyway.

When the invitation arrived to my university 10 year reunion, I ignored it. I just knew it would be full of exactly the same louts and airheads who plagued me for my whole three years in Durham. I added the invitation to the pile of post, free newspapers and takeaway menus on the kitchen table and forgot about it. With hindsight, I wonder how different things would have been if I’d just thrown the thing away.
The invitation would probably have stayed in the pile on the kitchen table for the next few weeks, if it hadn’t been for the phone call I received on Friday. I answered the phone as I opened the fridge, looking for milk to put in my tea. As the fridge door opened, a precariously balanced carton of orange juice fell onto the floor and burst. The first word my caller heard from me was, ‘Shit!’
‘I see you’ve still got the legendary charm, Alex,’ the caller drawled.
‘Kate?’ Whoever it was I expected to be on the other end of this call, it’s fair to say it wasn’t her.
‘Afraid so. How have you been?’
My relationship with Kate was highly complicated. This relationship had gone through three distinct phases. Phase one, lasting for the whole first year at university and most of the second, involved me lusting after Kate and going to ever more desperate extremes to persuade her to notice me. Phase two, which lasted just short of eight delirious months, consisted of wine, French cinema, sex (initially pedestrian but gradually becoming more and more acrobatic) and very little else. Phase three was prompted by certain photos of Kate of a rather intimate nature being uploaded to the university website, apparently from my laptop. This phase involved horror, apologies and protests of innocence from me; outrage, verbal abuse and finally, deathly, deathly silence from her. The silence continued up until graduation and had not been broken for the past ten years. So a phone call from Kate now was both unexpected and long hoped for.
‘Kate! I… Have you… This is a surprise!’ My powers of articulation had entirely deserted me.
‘Yes, it is a bit, isn’t it? I’m a little surprised myself.’ Her tone of voice was incredibly level, as always. It made it extremely difficult to judge her mood.
‘It’s… good to hear from you,’ I ventured.
‘I think I’ve been rather hard on you Alex,’ she said briskly. ‘Ten years is a long time to give someone the cold shoulder. I think it’s about time we moved on.’
Every possible definition of ‘moving on’ crowded into my head: every possibility from a chat over a cup of coffee to a post-coital cigarette.
‘So, I was wondering if you’re coming to the reunion?’ Kate concluded.
‘Er… yeah, I’ll be there,’ Dammit! Where did I put that invite?
‘Great,’ she replied. ‘See you tomorrow then. Bye.’
Tomorrow? I soon found the invitation in the pile of paper. Yes, the reunion was indeed happening this weekend. I knew it would be dreary: people I either didn’t know or couldn’t stand, tours around the university’s latest anonymous building, and hourly appeals to give to the alumni association. However, weighed up against the chance to resurrect my relationship with Kate, it was worth it. I switched on the PC in the living room, and began to search for hotels. I was just booking a room when the phone rang again.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello Alex.’
‘Hello?’ I repeated. I didn’t recognise the voice.
‘You don’t remember me?’ my caller asked in a mock-hurt tone, ‘After all we’ve been through?’ Suddenly it clicked. My stomach knotted as I realised who I was talking to.
‘Oh, I remember you, Miles. Don’t worry.’ Miles Lawson had a reputation in our college for being highly intense and more than a little unhinged. The famous rumour was that he once killed and skinned his tutor’s cat after she gave him a bad mark for an essay. This was almost certainly exaggerated, but I’d always had the uneasy suspicion that there was a kernel of truth in it. More immediately relevant to me, Miles used to go out with Kate, before I did. Unfortunately, when Kate dumped him, it took Miles a while to get the message. When Kate and I started seeing each other, Miles offered to castrate me. He got into the habit of sitting in the union bar in the evenings, and spending the whole night just staring at me and Kate. The fact that he was renewing our acquaintance now could not be good news.
‘Of course you do!’ Miles replied, slightly too cheerfully. ‘Now. I have just one question for you, my friend. Will you be at the reunion this weekend?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it, mate.’ Hang on. How did he get my number?
‘Wonderful!’ His tone was unsettlingly warm. ‘I’ll see you in Durham then.’
‘Great,’ I probably sounded considerably less enthusiastic than Miles.
‘Oh, just one more thing,’ Miles went on. His voice became suddenly highly menacing. ‘You’re going to pay for what you did to Kate, you scum. You’ve been waiting a long time to get what you deserve and now you’re going to get it. I’m going to destroy you, Cohen. Your life is over.’
He hung up. If I’d believed for a minute that Miles actually was as serious as he sounded, I would have forgotten about the reunion and spent the weekend at home, in bed, with the doors locked and the curtains drawn. But I didn’t believe it. So I went to Durham.

Joe

2010-12-16T14:18:00.000Z

He sits in the yard behind his workshop. He often comes out here for a smoke and a cup of tea. It gives him space to think. And today he has a lot to think about. Recently, suddenly, his simple, straightforward life was shaken to its core. Everything’s changed. He was so sure he could trust her. Now he just doesn’t know. When she told him, she was pale and quiet, choosing her words carefully and obviously aware of the implications of what she was saying. How it all happened, he didn’t know. She didn’t seem too clear on it either. She mumbled something about an angel. Could he really believe a story like that? For some reason he did.

He knows how people will react when he tells them. This is a small town with old fashioned values. They way they treat girls in her position is utterly merciless. He can’t tell them. They’ll figure it out themselves soon enough. Hopefully, by then they’ll have got used to the idea.

There’s so much he has to take on trust. He has to trust his fiancée to be telling him the truth, however unlikely it seems. He has to trust God to somehow take care of what happens next. And he has to trust his own instincts. Can he trust the evidence of his own eyes and ears? Is he just the butt of some massive practical joke? He notices his hand is shaking slightly as he takes another drag on his cigarette. He’s not ready to be a dad. He never really saw himself as father material. And he certainly never expected to be bringing up someone else’s kid. How is he supposed to handle all this? All he can do is trust.

The Donkey's Tale

2010-12-03T07:00:00.002Z

Feeling a little festive? Then here's a piece to get your Christmassy juices going. It's written by Roz, my wife's cousin. She's 11 (Roz, not my wife...) and as you'll see, she's a talented young lady.

I thought it was just another boring day trudging around the village; after all they never used me for any important jobs.

“You’re too small and weak,” the other donkeys would say and they would laugh and call me Silly Little Donkey. Huh!

But that morning one of the humans (a male I think) came into the yard and surprisingly he didn’t choose any of the big bullies, instead he walked straight over to me and put my bridle on.

“Wow! I’ve never been chosen for anything before.”

The human loaded up my panniers then helped a female to climb up – she looked very young, not much more than a foal I would say.

We set off Southwards, I heard the male say it was about 100 miles journey (and I thought we were just going to market!).

We trudged slowly along for several days and I learnt that my humans were called Mary and Joseph. Mary rode on my back all the time and we had to have lots of rests. Joseph looked after her very well and he was kind to me too. He would pat me and give me oats.

“There you are, Little Donkey,” he would say. Nobody had ever been kind to me before, and because I didn’t have to fight the bigger donkeys for food I felt strong and fit. I could have carried her a thousand miles!

After many days and nights of travel we arrived at a big town. It was complete chaos! I was so scared, people were rushing around everywhere! Joseph led me to every inn in town trying to find somewhere to stay but no one could help. During that time I realised that Mary was going to have a baby, poor thing. I thought that we would have to stay outside all night but finally a kind old innkeeper said we could use his stable for shelter.

”Nothing wrong with that,” I thought, “stables are nice places, warm, cosy and friendly."

We settled down for the night. Joseph made Mary a soft bed of straw and the animals gathered protectively around her. In the middle of the night Mary’s boy child was born. It was quite extraordinary for this baby seemed special in a way. He didn’t cry, he didn’t sleep but lay there silently as we gazed at him. The stable was filled with a beautiful light and a feeling of deep peace.

After a few hours there was a bit of a kerfuffle outside and a load of shaggy shepherds trooped in. They were all really excited and I heard them talking about angels and heavenly music but when they saw the child they fell to their knees and were silent.

The light in the stable grew brighter and brighter until it was so bright that we all had to shield our eyes and then the glorious music began. We saw blazing figures of silver and gold with flames of colour surrounding them. I felt scared and fell to my knees and touched my muzzle to the floor in worship. Mary smiled at me and somehow I couldn’t be scared because there was a beautiful warm sensation running through me. I knew this was the start of something amazing.

During the next few days many people came to look at the new born child who had been named Jesus. Then one night some very important men came to the stable, they had camels, servants and carried gifts of great treasure.

All three men knelt down and placed their gifts before Mary and her baby.

“Hail” said one “We have been led here by a star to see the new born king.”

Wow! A king! I knew he was someone special.

That night an angel from heaven came and spoke to Joseph, he said

“Joseph, I have a message from God, you must leave Bethlehem immediately because King Herod, an evil man, is scared that Jesus will take his throne. He has ordered that all baby boys must be killed. Flee at once; you will be safe in Egypt.”

I was terrified, but Joseph spoke calmly to me.

“Little donkey, are you strong enough to carry Mary and her baby 200 miles – all the way to Egypt?”

That very night we set off South West towards Egypt. We travelled by night and during the day we stayed with friendly people or hid in caves. Everyone was terrified by Herod’s law and they helped us when they could.

One night we were hiding in a windswept cave and couldn’t get warm, though I tried to shelter them with my body the baby started crying. A spider in the cave woke and asked me what was wrong.

“It’s so cold” I said “and we are hiding from soldiers who want to kill the baby.”

“Don’t worry,” said the spider. “I’ll help.”

I didn’t think he could do much but he started spinning his web. All night he worked and worked and by the morning a web covered the mouth of the cave. Suddenly we saw soldiers coming and we cowered down in the back of the cave. But when the chief soldier saw the web across the cave opening, he said, “No-one’s been in here for a long time. Look there’s a spider’s web right across the entrance,” and the soldiers moved on.

What a relief! I reckon that hard working little spider saved our baby’s life!

When we finally got to Egypt I was tired but proud and I was even more proud when Joseph patted me and said, “Well done little donkey. Will you stay with us and help us in this new land?”

I bowed my head; I knew I had played a big part in this wonderful adventure.

I maybe a little donkey but I can do big things!

Who knows one day someone might even write a song about me. They could call it 'Little Donkey'.

Runner-Up Again!

2010-12-01T14:16:00.002Z

Just heard 'What If I Just Kept On Driving?' is a runner up in Cazart's November flash fiction competition. That's encouraging, and it means I get two pieces published in Cazart's next anthology, but I'm beginning to wonder what I need to do to win one of these things. I'm working on some new stuff now, though, so hopefully I'll write something suitably impressive soon. There should be a new piece here in a day or two...

New Material

2010-11-10T12:50:00.002Z

I've disappeared off the blogging radar for a while now. I've been focussing on writing a short story for Spike the Cat's latest competition, so haven't had any new flash fiction to post. The short story's nearly finished though, and I'll aim to get some new material added here soon.

I'm quite pleased with the story itself - I just need to knock the corners off one or two of the characters and make sure the ending is at least vaguely believable. I won't find out the competition results until January, but at that point I'll post the story here. I'll either post the story in full here if it isn't going to be published in the anthology, or just an extract if it is going to be published. (Hopefully the extract will whet your appetite and make you want to buy the book...)

I'm still entering the Cazart flash fiction comps too, but the latest result didn't go my way. I s'pose the piece I entered ('You Don't Know What You've Got') was a bit risky. Never mind. I'll be trying again with another piece this month. I'm thinking of entering 'What If I Just Kept On Driving?' this time.

Competitions and novels and things

2010-10-15T13:15:00.002+01:00

Cazart's October flash fiction comp is upon us. (Has it been a month already?) I'll be having another go at this, if I can jsut decide which of my recent efforts I should enter. Any thoughts on this?

Also, I just discovered Spike the Cat. It's an opportunity for fiction writers to get some of their stuff published as part of a compilation, so that established publishers will be more likely to take us seriously. I'm particularly intrigued by Somebody has to Die (Volume IV). If I can provide a decent short story by 30th Nov, I'm in with a chance of getting it published. I could even win £100 if the judge decides it's the best piece. Now I just need a decent idea...

Finally, I'm also taking the plunge and making a start on a novel. I always promised myself I'd write a novel one day, and I reckon it's about time I got on with it. Don't want to say too much more about it now, but drop me an email or a private message if you're interested.

Visiting Hours

2010-10-08T12:28:00.000+01:00

You know the time we went rowing on that lake? It was just after we started going out. (Our third date, maybe?) I don’t remember what made you drop the oars, but I do remember how embarrassed you were. I laughed about it and told you not to worry. What I didn’t tell you at the time was how disappointed I was when someone finally came out to rescue us. I know it was cold. I know you felt stupid. I know we only had a bottle of Ribena and a packet of Mini Cheddars to share between us. But it’s one of my favourite memories. Just you and me, with all the time in the world and nothing and nobody to spoil it. So peaceful. So simple.

It might sound strange, but in the months since the accident, it’s all felt a bit similar to that. We’ve been cast adrift, you and me. And yes, it’s been hard. It’s been a lonely experience, especially since no-one can tell me for sure whether even you can really understand what’s going on. Like being in that boat, we just don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here. But somehow, I still know it’s all going to be OK. And whatever happens, we’re together.

People wonder why I still come and see you every day. In fact, Natalie took me to one side last week and told me plainly to find someone else. ‘Let him go,’ she told me, ‘Why waste yourself on a man who’s never going to wake up? You’re still young. You’ve still got time to find someone else.’ But how can I do that? When I promised, ‘In sickness and in health’, I didn’t add, ‘unless you’re in a coma’. Besides, I don’t want anyone else. Of course, I’m angry to be in this situation, but more than that, I’m grateful. I’m grateful for what we had; for what we still have. Think of all the people who go through life without ever truly loving someone. Think of all the people who are lonely, abused or bitter. Whatever happens to us now, how many people can say they had what we’ve got? So that’s why I keep coming here. That’s why I’ll always keep coming, regardless of whether you wake up or if you keep lying there, not moving, not saying a word. We might be stranded in the lake, but at least we got in the boat to begin with. See you tomorrow.

New Story

2010-10-08T08:25:00.002+01:00

I'll be uploading a new story later today - the 'Love' instalment in the Faith, Hope and Love sequence. I tried to do something a little different with this one. Also wanted to see if I could write a believable female narrator. Not entirely convinced this one works. Have a read and see what you think. As always, I'd appreciate your comments.

You Don't Know What You've Got...

2010-10-05T23:17:00.001+01:00

I wonder if they stopped to think of the consequences before they set about trying to depose God. Come to think of it, I wonder if it really was as calculated as that makes it sound. More likely, it was just a matter of one small step logically following on from the last. The move from urging respect and tolerance for other beliefs to endorsing all beliefs (including no belief) as equally valid was so subtle that hardly anyone noticed. Carrying on to insist on prosecution for anyone who taught that their own belief was somehow objectively true seemed a reasonable and responsible step. From that point, discussing religion at all seemed dangerous, and anyone guilty of doing so had to be imprisoned, simply in the interests of tolerance and civil liberties. And then came the final, inevitable step: the 2027 Abolition Act, outlawing religion altogether. It was greeted as a great day for humanity; a triumph for tolerance, reason and enlightenment; the end of centuries of bigotry and oppression.

A world without God. A brave, new world, indeed. After all, what purpose did God serve? We didn’t need a divine provider any more, since the endlessly benevolent Internet gave us everything we needed. We certainly didn’t need any kind of cosmic judge. The justice we meted out to each other was more immediate, more proportional and somehow fairer than anything we could expect from him. We had no need of miracles, either, now that science could solve practically any problem we could imagine – even creating life. All that was left of God was an archaic, superstitious concept.

But the fundamental error that the atheists made was in not realising that trying to eliminate something is certain to make people realise they miss it. The increasingly shrill anti-God polemic only succeeded in reminding people that God was, actually, good. The championing of the human spirit as the pinnacle of existence merely made people reflect on how flat life seems without someone or something, greater, better, other than oneself. The draconian fines and prison sentences might have driven religion underground, but they also drove people through the doors of clandestine places of worship in unprecedented numbers, dwarfing any previous religious revival Britain had ever seen. It would appear that God has a great deal to thank atheists for.

Change of Plan!

2010-10-05T23:13:00.002+01:00

So I got a little bit stuck on the 'Love' piece, and at the same time got inspired to write something on 'Faith'. So I'll post the 'Faith' piece in a second, and I'm afraid you'll have to wait a day or two for 'Love'.

This next piece is different - kind of a mixture of fantasy, satire, dystopia and optimism! Hope you like it!

Competition Results

2010-10-04T13:56:00.002+01:00

I entered 'In Loving Memory' in the September flash fiction competition at cazart.com. I just found out I was one of the runners up. That's great, but my first reaction was to be annoyed that I didn't win. (Much to Jo's despair.) I just think the results were a bit odd. I didn't think the winning piece was much good at all, although that might just be me being a bad loser. At least one of the other runners up seemed stronger. Hmmm. See what you think.

Anyway, I'm writing another piece now. If 'What If I Just Kept On Driving?' was about hope, this one's about love. And yes, there is a 'faith' piece in the pipeline too.

What If I Just Kept On Driving?

2010-09-27T22:16:00.003+01:00

I can’t do this anymore. Not at my age. Speeding around the country to endless meetings, trying to charm people whose names I can only just remember, so that I’ll meet my sales targets. And motorway service stations. I’m so unutterably sick of motorway service stations; of the crap, overpriced food and the staff who look as bored and apathetic as I feel. I’ve had enough of it. Leave this nonsense to the young turks who still think they can achieve something and be someone by flogging tat to strangers.

I woke up this morning with the prospect of a drive to Gillingham ahead of me. I mean, Gillingham. If ever a town was guaranteed to instil existential ennui in a man, Gillingham is it. And as I curse my way out of bed, I’m struck by a vague sense of low-grade pointlessness. I look around me. I survey my one-bedroom kingdom. Simple, functional, devoid of all the feminine trinkets that made the old place feel like home. I’m about to leave this expensive but soulless apartment to drive a featureless road to a depressing town, to do a job I no longer have any passion for. I’ll earn my money and give half of it away to a woman who treats me with cool, morally-superior politeness, so that a teenage girl who despises me can continue to feed her £200 a month retail habit. Is this what it’s all come to?

My mind begins to drift. I picture the journey to Gillingham in my mind, and I start to wonder, what if I just kept on driving? What if I carried on past Gillingham to Dover and got on a ferry? How difficult would it be to find a quiet little town somewhere in Brittany and start again? How long would it take before anyone noticed I was missing?

I’m still daydreaming when I slump into the driver’s seat and start the engine. Thin, wintry sunshine starts to struggle through the clouds, so I pull down the sun visor. As I do that, something drops onto the floor at my feet. I fumble around and find a folded piece of paper. When I open it up, I’m greeted by Camilla’s florid but precise handwriting:

Dear Dad,

Whatever Mum says, I still think you’re alright. Have a nice day.

Love

Camilla

She signed off with one of those colon-and-bracket things that’s supposed to look like a smiley face. And actually, I am smiling now. God knows why. It’s an off-hand one-line note, written on the back of an envelope. Hardly a warm and effusive hymn of praise from an adoring daughter. But for some reason, I find myself smiling. Even with Gillingham, motorway service stations and meaningless clients to contend with, for some reason that note makes it worth my trouble not to disappear.

In Loving Memory

2010-09-23T20:08:00.002+01:00

There’s not much there to look at now. Just a small pile of rocks on a windswept cliff top. Josie and I put the rocks there to mark the spot – to do something to commemorate what happened – because it seemed clear that no-one else was going to. After all, who commemorates a suicide? We felt like we had to do something. Josie said it felt as though if we didn’t do something to remind us of Gareth, that there’d be nothing to anchor him to us, that our memory of him would just float away on the breeze. Hence the rocks. It had the sensation of weighing him down, stopping him from flying away and leaving us. Leaving us for a second time.

Standing there now, nearly eight months later, neither of us really know what to do or say. We’re left just kind of standing there, looking at the rocks, looking past the rocks, out over the edge of the cliff into the air beyond. I glance across at Josie, with the wind playing a wisp of her dark brown hair across her cheek. She brushes it away impatiently. I always thought she could do better than Gareth. That's a hard thing to say about my brother, particularly now he’s gone, but it’s true. When I used to see the two of them together, something used to jar inside me. It just wasn’t right. I tried persuading Gareth that she wasn’t for him, but he wouldn’t listen. He said I was jealous. He had a point.

The one good thing that’s come out of Gareth’s death is that it brought me and Josie together. You know how it works – two people leaning on each other, talking things over, grieving – I suppose it was bound to happen.

‘Let’s go,’ Josie says. She smiles bravely, turns to head back to the car, and takes my hand. In a funny way, this has all turned out for the best. Far better than I expected when I did what I did. I was right. Josie could do better than Gareth. That’s why I pushed him.

[Inspired by the image 'Memorial' at www.elephantwords.co.uk.]

Ed

2010-09-18T20:44:00.003+01:00

Ed couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept properly for weeks now. It began with one or two nights of tossing and turning for an hour or so, until his mind eventually stopped whirring and let him drift off. But soon, alarmingly soon, it developed into a persistent, nagging insomnia which drained him of all energy and enthusiasm, leaving him vacant, listless and dispassionate. An awkward position for a vicar to be in. He knew everyone expected him to be patient, caring, wise and simultaneously bold, visionary and indefatigable. But he felt none of these things. Could his parishioners see through the thin veneer of patience and vibrancy which he put on for their benefit? Surely they could tell by now that their vicar just wasn’t up to the job.

The irony was that the job had reduced him to this state in the first place. The ever-lengthening list of sick and elderly to visit, the exhausting counselling of young men in the throes of the Dark Night of the Soul, the endless, cripplingly mundane meetings, populated by people who seemed psychotically driven to make sure the church lounge was painted exactly the shade of beige they wanted. It all combined to leave Ed’s head spinning, even late into the night.

An unfortunate side-effect of the insomnia was that it left Ed more disposed than usual towards navel-gazing. A better man, a wiser, more godly man would surely be able to handle these pressures, he thought. Did it reflect on his own spirituality that stress drove him to insomnia, not prayer? If he was plagued by this inconsequential yet strangely debilitating affliction, how could he still tell his flock he believed in a God who healed? Wasn’t he living a lie, just pretending that he was OK? And the more Ed drifted towards self-recrimination, the more time his insomnia granted him to think it all over. More and more time, confronted with his own darker side; the vices and character flaws he couldn’t seem to shake off, his fondness for cigarettes, alcohol and internet pornography. More and more time, lying in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, quietly hating himself. Which of course took him deeper and deeper into the grip of self-recrimination. It was all so neatly self-perpetuating.

Ed couldn’t see the situation improving any time soon. He decided this was just a cross he’d have to bear. Particularly since his sexuality was so glaringly at odds with everything everyone believed about him and expected of him. Material for months of lying awake, in that one fact alone. No doubt about it, a vicar’s lot is not a happy one. Especially when the vicar is gay.

We're back...

2010-09-18T20:38:00.002+01:00

And... you're back in the room. It's been a while, but here we are again. I've been inspired to resurrect this blog by my desire to get some of my fiction out there. By 'out there', I'm not sure exactly where I mean, but just knowing it's online and people can read it if they're really determined to find it makes me feel I've accomplished something. Anyhew... my first piece of flash fiction will follow in a few minutes.

By the way, if you like this next piece (or even if you find it mildly disappointing but still enjoy really short pieces of well-written fiction), check out elephantwords.co.uk. I aspire to write for this site one day, but in the meantime, check out what's there already. Some of it is very good indeed.

2006-06-06T20:53:00.000+01:00

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! I can't believe they ended the series like that! The 12th season of ER finished last night, with half the main cast either dead, dying, or being held hostage! And then they glibly announced that the new series will begin sometime at the beginning of next year. NEXT YEAR?! What are they trying to do to us?! I'll be in need of psychotherapy by the end of October. I NEED CLOSURE!!!!! AAARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!! Even the 'official' ER website seems to be two entire series behind, and offers no insights into future plot developments at all. What am I supposed to do with myself?

Still, at least the World Cup starts on Friday. That'll do nicely as a distraction. At least, until England get knocked out by Germany in the second round, rendering me even more hysterical than I was to start with. In the meantime, the BBC Sport website is running a highly diverting little competition called Goalfinger. It's a quiz, structured like the World Cup itself, and offers the prospect of tickets to every round of the FA cup next season for the lucky winner. I'm feeling quite smug, having just played the quiz and won the World Cup with Saudi Arabia. Check it out...

2006-05-22T16:45:00.000+01:00

I woke up this morning with a distinctly sort throat. The thing is, I seemed to spend most of the weekend shouting. I was part of the team running Fort Rocky, YFC's weekend residential for 11-14 year olds. It was a whole load of fun, not just for the kids but for the team too. Who cares if it rained non-stop for the whole weekend? There was climbing, a zip wire, loads of food and random games involving mexican secret agents, jam donuts and an inflatable fish. Where else could I get to dress up as a sumo wrestler and get 200 kids to execute a karate chop, while screaming 'ATTAAAAAA!!!!' (Possibly the most politically incorrect thing I've ever done, and almost certainly the reason for me feeling a little hoarse today.) We also saw a bunch of kids become Christians. Blinding weekend.

2006-05-09T20:57:00.000+01:00

I'm actually beginning to enjoy food shopping. I never thought I'd hear myself say that, but it's true. You see, a couple of months ago, Jo and I joined a 'food cooperative' with some of our neighbours. We order a lot of staple foods from an organic supplier, buy in bulk, and get the stuff for wholesale prices. And the beauty of it is, shopping basically consists of sitting in our neighbour's kitchen for 2 hours on a Monday evening, guzzling wine, and picking what we want from a catalogue. Now tell me that doesn't sound better than trudging round Tesco's. You can even get a case of Samuel Smith's Best Organic Ale for less than £20. And very tasty it is, too.

The downside is the buying-in-bulk bit. Usually, it's possible to split an order of, for example, a 20kg bag of chick peas, with another member of the cooperative, but that doesn't always work. Last night, Jo and I ended up ordering 12 tins of chopped tomatoes. Hmmm. Firstly, what are we going to do with them all? (Can I look forward to chopped tomatoes on my organic muesli?) Secondly, where are we going to store the bloody things? For anyone who's read Catch 22, I'm beginning to feel like Milo Minderbinder with his warehouse full of Egyptian cotton.

You also find some slightly off-the-wall items in the catalogue. Tom last night ordered in a job lot of 'Sea Vegetable Rice Cakes'. What on earth is a sea vegetable? Seaweed? Or the salad from an ill-advised late-night kebab, which was chucked into the sea off Brighton pier? And what on earth does one do with a sea vegetable rice cake? 'Do you just eat them on their own?' Helen asked. 'I've got no idea!' Tom replied. An adventurous man. I hope he's got an understanding wife.

The conversation turned to jam. Gina mentioned a friend who makes 'Hedgerow Jam'. Apparently this means scouring the hedges of SE26, making jam from what she finds, and selling it on. But the range of items on display in the hedges of SE26 is quite mind-boggling. Plastic bags, empty Special Brew cans... They'd give the jam an interesting texture. On any given Friday night, it's highly probable to find a courting couple if you look in enough hedges. Not sure I'd want them pureed and spread on my toast. Does seem a harsh punishment even for pre-marital sex.

Really though, I love all this. It's adventurous. It's flicking a big, fat V-sign at evil, nasty multinationals. And it's gloriously English. Where else on earth could you possibly find an arrangement like this?

2006-04-30T18:36:00.000+01:00

Christians are great. Fantastic people. Really. (I find it immensely frustrating that, even when I'm trying desperately hard to be sincere, I still sound sarcastic.) I genuinely love the church and the people in it. But, they aren't half weird sometimes. Take the church service I went to last Sunday night. An act of worship involving writing down sins and problems in our lives, taking the paper to the front of the hall, and jumping on it. (Apparently to symbolise our having faith to move mountains.) Wandering around the hall while singing, to symbolise 'taking ground'. And a middle-aged woman, who clearly thought she was blessed with a gift for prophetic dancing, and seemed to be miming milking a giant cow, and walking like a velociraptor.

Now, I freely admit that I sometimes have a problem with cynicism. I chose to go along with all of the above, precisely because it's exactly the sort of thing I usually raise a satirical eyebrow at, and that usually helps nobody at all. But my goodness, it's hard not to make snide comments. These people practically take the piss out of themselves; how am I supposed to resist giving them a helping hand in the process? Picture a recovering alcoholic, wandering into a pub, and being surrounded by people chugging down every conceivable alcoholic drink. How easy would it be for this recovering alcoholic to stay dry? Perhaps I'm being melodramatic, but I consider myself a kind of recovering cynic. Middle-aged women dancing like velociraptors are likely to send me off the deep end. I know I need to stay in the metaphorical pub. After all, what's the alternative? But I know I'll need God's help to stay on the wagon.

2006-04-30T18:21:00.000+01:00

Whether or not I've gained a reputation for being a cynic, never let it be said that I'm oblivious to God speaking to me. If you haven't read The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning, you really should. People seem to think that the idea that God loves us is cheesy - almost a truism. We just don't get it. What the book brings across is just how deeply, irrationally and unconditionally God loves us. I'm not even going to attempt to explain it. Just read the book!

Anyway, I was reading The Ragamuffin Gospel over Easter. It was certainly thought-provoking, but I s'pose it didn't really sink in. But on Easter Sunday, some rather strange things happened to me. I was at Spring Harvest, and, in the same evening, the following three events befell me:
1. A guy who I didn't recognise, having already spent the whole day being inexplicably nice to me, insisted on buying me a coffee. It was only when he physically handed the coffee over that I recognised him from my small group in the 11-14s venue at Spring Harvest 4 years ago.
2. A group of girls who I'd spoken to once (maybe twice?) before, gave me a chocolate bar for no accountable reason.
3. A friend of mine came and found me, and gave me a tube of Jaffa Cakes. (Truly the food of the righteous. If there are no Jaffa Cakes in heaven, I'm not going.)

Certainly an unusual chain of events. It was only when I got to bed that night that I realised that through each of these people, God had been clearly illustrating the lessons He'd been teaching me through the book. He just loves me. He wants to bless me and give me great stuff. I've done nothing to deserve that, but He wants to do it anyway. In practical, down-to-earth ways, He'd shown me that. It might sound stupid, but I'm taking great comfort in the knowledge that God knows that I like coffee and Jaffa Cakes.

2006-04-11T21:20:00.000+01:00

So America want to tighten their border controls (or more specifically, their border with Mexico,) to prevent a continuing influx of illegal immigrants. Not surprisingly, a lot of people are unhappy about this. Even less surprisingly, a large number of them are Mexican. Read more on today's demonstrations on the BBC website.

What are we to make of this? Are the new border controls a perfectly reasonable measure, to protect America against a large number of people who, let's face it, are trying to take advantage of them? Or is this yet another symptom of America's insularity and suspicion of anything remotely foreign? (I still can't believe that the overwhelming majority of Americans don't even own a passport.) Probably a combination of the two.

2006-04-04T22:13:00.000+01:00

It was a schoolboy error. There's no other way of putting it. I arranged a couple of weeks ago to take a trip to Oldham, in order to meet a contact, with a view to organising a 'Funday' event in the summer. We arranged to meet yesterday, and, not realising exactly how far it is from London to Oldham, I cheerily agreed to meet at 10.30am, and took it for granted that I'd be able to drive there and back in a day. Oh dear. I consulted the oracle over the weekend (AA Routefinder), and was confronted with a 446 mile round trip. That's further than the distance between London and Glasgow.

I was left with a dilemma. Cancelling was out of the question. Getting a train was now also out of the question, as at this notice I'd have had to take out a second mortgage on my flat to buy a ticket. So, I just had to bite the bullet and drive. But, should I phone this contact of mine and ask to meet later, thus eliminating the need to leave home at 5.30am? Or should I save face, and just go ahead as planned? For me, sleep outweighs personal pride anytime. So I managed to negotiate myself an extra hour. Makes all the difference, and makes me look not-too-stupid. Unfortunately, I was still presented with the prospect of ten hours in the car. Incredibly bad for my posture. Still, at least I had plenty of time to listen to Radio 1, immerse myself in youth culture, and surprise myself with how much of the current chart music I actually like. Old fogey? Moi?

2006-04-02T17:32:00.000+01:00

OK, this is getting shameful now. Several people have remarked on how slack I've been in keeping my blog even remotely up to date. My excuse is that I've been doing so much writing for work recently, that it's been really hard to motivate myself to blog as well.

But I'm feeling suitably chastened now, particularly after an evening with some friends on Friday, who poured scorn on my blogging credentials. So, here's a quick run down on what I've been doing recently. I've been writing new material for Rock Solid and RS2. By the end of this week, I should have written 12 meeting outlines. Check out the YFC website for more on exactly what Rock Solid and RS2 are. Suffice to say here that I reckon they're about the best resources available to help churches reach 11-14 year-olds. (But then, I s'pose I would say that...)

I've also been writing some meandering thoughts for YPs, the Bible reading notes for younger teenagers. Click here and find 'Insite', to see my online ramblings, but I'm afraid my hard copy material won't be available until September. (This is one of the quirks of my job. Because of the time needed to get material edited, designed, printed and distributed, I have to work months in advance. Last week, I found myself writing an RS2 meeting about Christmas. Weird.)

2006-01-30T19:43:00.000Z

Yes, yes, I know. It's been over a month. I'm afraid Christmas, New Year, a nasty stomach bug (both ends going at once - urgh) , a new job, and the iPod I got for Christmas have all distracted me from the important business of posting my meandering thoughts here for all the world to see.

The latest is, my new job with YFC is going really well. So far, I have endured a gruelling 5 day conference in a luxury hotel in Wales, (being forced to put up with a bedroom with ensuite bathroom, 3 huge meals a day and free use of a swimming, sauna and gym,) a conference in Eastbourne which involved making total strangers roll toilet rolls across the floor with their noses, and countless "meetings", involving cups of coffee and talking about nothing in particular. It's a hard life, this full-time Christian work, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

The mighty Emmanuel Lightning go marching on too. 5 wins from the last 6 matches have put us 4th in the league, and only 3 points off the top. Wonders will never cease. (Frustratingly, while Lightning are doing uncharacteristically well, Arsenal are just about managing to achieve the level of "woeful". The performance against Bolton on Saturday was utterly toe-curling.) Lightning's website isn't anything to write home about, I'm afraid, but click here for the Bromley and Croydon District League. (Yes, we're in the 3rd Division, but hopefully that will soon change...)

2005-12-19T22:50:00.000Z

At last! I've finally managed to secure all the necessary funding, and I'll be starting my job as 11-14s Coordinator for YFC in January. The relief! No more pestering people for money. No more long lists of phone calls to make when I'd otherwise be relaxing. And I don't think it's any exaggeration to say that getting the money together has been a miracle. How else could I possibly have managed to raise £10,000 in three months? Praise God.

So, as of January 3rd, I will be YFC's all-singing, all-dancing, all-knowing 11-14s Coordinator, available for youth events, youth leader training, weddings, christenings and bar-mitzvahs.

In other news, my temping job at Morley College finishes tomorrow. It's been OK, but it will be a relief to move on. My boredom recently led me to poke around the Channel 4 history website, where I found tests to find out how black and how gay I am. Turns out I'm actually 50% black. So there. To celebrate, I downloaded 5 A Tribe Called Quest songs from iTunes. Heavy. And I can also put an end to the years of speculation, and tell you quite categorically that I am 16% gay. Which I think came as something of a relief to my wife. Basically it means I only fancy girls, but I moisturise and do the washing up occasionally.

2005-11-14T18:20:00.000Z

Bored bored bored bored bored. I've been back at work for one day, after a holiday in Wales (wish I'd packed my snorkel for that, by the way), and already I'm so bored my brain is melting. Thank goodness I've got the YFC job to look forward to in the new year. So, I spent a large portion of this afternoon testing my mettle against pointless quizzes on the net. I scored 18 out of 20 on a Red Dwarf quiz (on the BBC website), and 14 out of 14 on The Simpsons (I probably should get out more, shouldn't I?) I can also tell you from the results of extensive scientific tests that the Red Dwarf character I most resemble is Kryten, and that if I was in The Simpsons, I'd be Ned Flanders. (Something of a disappointment. I was really hoping for Sideshow Bob. Honestly, how can you mark yourself high on desire for world domination, and still end up as Ned Flanders?) The most worrying moment of the afternoon was when I narrowly avoided my boss catching me filling in a questionnaire to find out which Desperate Housewife I am. (I'm a Susan, if you're interested.)

From all of this you can divulge the following:
1. If the test results are at all accurate, I'm essentially well-meaning, endearingly disorganised and rampagingly insecure.
2. I need to find something else to occupy my time FAST, before I start to believe I actually AM Susan from Desparate Housewives.
3. It's a really, really, really, really good job my employers don't know about this blog.

2005-11-14T18:07:00.000Z

This is worrying. Apparently bird flu has hit Paris...

2005-10-09T17:43:00.000+01:00

One more thing for today. I was wandering in to work the other day, when I happened to pass two guys about my age, walking in the opposite direction, and obviously deep in conversation. They were walking fairly quickly, so I only caught 2 words of their conversation. I'd share these 2 words with you, but I fear I'd be contravening the obscene publications act.

Immediately, and involuntarily, I made a judgment in my own mind about the sort of people these guys were. It's amazing the impact we can make on those around us, just in a word or two. And most of the time, we probably don't even realise we're making any kind of impression at all. Now, it'd be easy to get paranoid about this, and to tie ourselves in knots trying to make sure we always influence people for good, and that probably wouldn't do anyone any favours in the long run. But let's remember who we are. Let's allow God to influence people through us, actively ask Him to do that, even, and let's think before we speak, too.

(Yes, for those of you who know me, I know that last exhortation was a bit rich, coming from me, but I'm working on it, honestly...)

Housegroup blog

2005-10-09T17:33:00.000+01:00

Inspired by what Mark Wilson said about recording what God has done, my church housegroup has started a blog. Check it out for moments of inspiration from my friends, as well as further self-important pronouncements from yours truly.

Life Principle #1

2005-09-23T21:58:00.000+01:00

Leave memorials from things God has done.

Mark Wilson from City Gates Church came to speak at FHCC on Sunday. He said so much noteworthy stuff, that it wouldn't do it justice to record it all here, but I'll pull out one or two thought-provoking points. Firstly, he gave me a message from God, likening me to Tim Henman, which really would confuse you if you weren't there at the time. Suffice to say, I'm feeling encouraged that God DOES have plans for me, he IS pleased with what I've managed to do for him up until this point, and he ISN'T just a git who enjoys making me suffer.

Secondly, (and here's where Life Principle #1 comes in,) Mark reminded me of the importance of memorials. If God does something good (and if you really think about it, you'll find he does something good very often indeed,) you should make some kind of record of it; write about it, take a photo, come over all Israelite and build an altar - anything which will remind you of God's goodness, and which, when asked about it, will enable you to tell other people about God's goodness. It builds your faith, and it helps you tell people about Jesus. Cunning, eh? And if we set up memorials for what God has done, it'll give our kids a headstart in getting to know God themselves. Mark even says he wants his kids to start from where he left off. Why expect the next generation to start from scratch and fight to get as far as we have? Why not give them the chance to do things for God we've only dreamed of? I'm with Mark on this. Let's give our kids our ceiling as their floor.

2005-09-13T22:37:00.000+01:00

So, amazingly, the England cricket team can actually play a bit. Victory in the ashes is sweet indeed. 18 years of ridicule from those insufferably smug antipodean gobshites are finally over. Which was enough to put a spring in my step this morning, despite making my way to work for the seventh day of a job which a trained dog, nay, a trained canary could do. I'm amazed they haven't found a canary for the position actually - they wouldn't even have to pay him £6.50 an hour. It is a relief to be working at all at the moment, but I hope I find something a bit more stimulating soon. I'm practically gnawing my own hands off in sheer boredom. I wonder if the England team need anyone to polish their trophies for them?

Greenbelt

2005-09-03T12:18:00.000+01:00

For the uninitiated, Greenbelt is an arts festival, taking place at Cheltenham race course every August bank holiday weekend. No showers, unfortunately, but plenty of thought provoking stuff to see and do. Greenbelt is basically a Christian event, but without the huge worship meetings you find at Soul Survivor, for example. The ethos is that different ideas are shared and explored, but you won't catch anyone telling you what to think. This year was my first Greenbelt experience. Good food, good beer, good company and lots to argue about. I'll be going back, I think.

Probably the seminar that will stick in my memory the most is Jonathan Bartley's exploration of post-Christendom politics. I won't attempt a complete description of his ideas, because I wouldn't do them justice, but the basic thrust of his argument is this:

The church began as a minority movement, subversive to the government of the day in not just a religious but a political way
When Constantine declared the whole Roman empire to be Christian, and institutionalised the faith, this dynamic changed profoundly
We today need to accept that Christianity is no longer part of the institution of this country - effectively we're back to how the church began
Our values no longer reflect those of the establishment, and we need to have the courage, the faith and the creativity to live out these values, even, indeed especially, when they are politically subversive

Hmmm. The church as a movement for anarchy. Does this mean I can go and set fire to things? And how do we square this viewpoint with the idea that "there is no authority except that which God has established" (Romans 13:1)? Is there any way of submitting ourselves to the government, while still subverting it?

2005-09-03T12:01:00.000+01:00

The frenzy of summer festivals is over and I'm home. I'm facing life as a temp, and reflecting on what's gone before. In fact, now I've finished as church youth worker, I'm reflecting on the past three years, which have gone by in a blur. This, of course, is the point where the self-doubt kicks in. Have I really accomplished anything worthwhile? Would the church's youth ministry have looked any different now if they'd hired someone else three years ago? Was resigning just wimping out? I suppose deep down I'm still sure that resigning was the right decision, but the future still looks very uncertain. I'm in the middle of preparing something on "manna in the desert" for Graceland tomorrow night, and it's uncanny how similar my thought process at the moment is to the Israelites.

"Wow. The desert/unemployment isn't much fun. Was this really God's idea? Come to think of it, Egypt/church youth work wasn't so bad. At least I had enough food/money there. Shouldn't I just go back? I can't even provide for my family/myself and my wife. Manna/temping's all well and good, but I'd feel a lot more secure if I could plan a it further in advance..."

I know it's all about God teaching me to rely on him, it's just not exactly enjoyable. I just hope I don't have to wait 40 years to enter the promised land...

2005-08-15T17:30:00.000+01:00

Life's been feeling like a bad game of monopoly for a while now. Fines, payments, bad luck, disproportionate rent and not much else. Finally though, it seems I'm turning a corner. A totally unexpected gift of £100 from a friend. "Insurance company balls-up in your favour. Collect £218.25." I've even managed to stay out of jail. Call it luck, karma, whatever. I reckon it's evidence of God's provision. My prayers have been little more than plaintive letters to my solicitor recently. I might not be on a huge spiritual high, (although a good week at Soul Survivor and a decent job offer would probably put me there,) but at least my prayers are becoming thanks for services rendered. And the new football season has dawned too. I wonder if the grace of God will extend to promotion for Emmanuel Lightning?

More changes!

2005-08-12T10:28:00.000+01:00

After weeks of procrastinating, trying to overcome my natural technophobia, I've had another fiddle with the blog template. The result is the new "what's in the CD player" section in the sidebar. No simple piece of code to copy and paste this time, but it was still fairly easy and painless. And now, through this little insight into my musical tastes, you can see how effortlessly cool I really am. You lucky people.

My CV

2005-08-12T10:06:00.000+01:00

I don't know if anyone who reads my blog is in a position to offer me a job, but just in case, my CV can be found at the following websites:

www.totaljobs.com
www.jobsite.co.uk

I'm still waiting for an offer that doesn't involve working on commission or sitting through 17 years of training before I earn anything.

Leadership Principle #2

2005-08-03T15:01:00.000+01:00

Naughty boys make the best leaders. Apparently. I was confidently informed of this last week by an up-and-coming Christian leader of my acquaintance. His point was that people who naturally "kick against" ideas and people they disagree with are more likely to stand their ground under pressure, more likely to attract a following, and therefore make strong leadership figures. In secular terms, I can see the truth in this. Benito Mussolini would, for example, be a case in point. But is this true of Christian leaders? Can those who are exhorted to be humble and see themselves as the servant of those they lead hold to this philosophy of leadership in good conscience? Is this just an example of a high-profile Christian justifying his poor behaviour in earlier life?

Let's be honest. I've always been a bit of a goody-twoshoes. The most rebellious thing I ever did was flicking a chunk of my eraser at my german teacher when I was 13. (Yes, Mr. Harlow, if you're reading this, it was me. Sorry.) So is there any hope for an introvert intuitive leader? Can I still hope to command people's respect with a more cautious leadership style? Winston Churchill, I'm certainly not. But I really don't want to be Ian Duncan-Smith either.

Leadership Principle #1

2005-08-01T15:56:00.000+01:00

I was reminded last week that the most important characteristic of a leader is his or her relationship with God. Somewhere along the line I'd forgotten this, but the more a leader tries to run things themselves, the less room there is for God to work through them.
It was rather galling to be reminded of this with only a month left working for the church, but something tells me this won't be my last experience of a leadership role. This principle may still serve me well in the future.

2005-08-01T15:38:00.000+01:00

It's been a month since my last post. High time I added to my collection of rambling thoughts. So why the lengthy break in the rambling? Well, for the past ten days my church has had a second attempt at Soul in the City, and I was jointly coordinating it. This hasn't left me much time for anything else, except eating, sleeping and wondering what I'd do when I got my life back. In fact, what with preparations for SITC, there hasn't been time for much more than this for the past six weeks or so. Anyway, excuses over.
So, since my last post, this is what you've all missed:

I was offered an interview for a very tempting communications job with a charity
I was informed by this charity (very apologeticlly) that funding for this job had fallen through and that I should probably seek alternative employment
Jo and I have begun seriously considering some rather off-the-wall options for our future
I found myself being given a (hopelessly tongue-tied) phone interview for the position of Customer Services Officer for a high street bank
I've also had some very enjoyable time away and been reminded that I really don't need to worry about anything, because God is in charge of my future
And finally, my application form for next year's London Marathon has arrived. Another winter of early morning 6 mile runs, niggling achilles tendon problems, giving up alcohol and boring my friends by moaning about all of these beckons

Hopefully, now SITC is over, I'll be able to post more regularly. My first aim is to see whether I can post my CV somehow. I don't know whether anyone who reads my blog would be interested or capable of employing me, but it's worth a try...

2005-07-01T13:10:00.000+01:00

I'm 26. Am I past it? Last week, I was reading the Wimbledon supplement in the Guardian, and noticed the ages of the seeded players. Of the men, only Sebastien "Grandad" Grosjean at 27, and Tim "Methuselah" Henman at a positively geriatric 30, are my senior. Of the leading women, only Lindsey Davenport is older than me. This was a sobering moment for me. It's not that I ever harboured ambitions of winning a tennis grand slam anyway, but it's becoming clear that my prospects of success in any sport are growing dimmer. I remember seeing Michael Owen score THAT goal against Argentina in 1998, and reflecting that he was a good six months younger than me. Even then, my chances of ever playing for Arsenal were becoming slim. My footballing services are currently engaged by Emmanuel Lightning of the Bromley and Croydon District League (3rd Division).
And this depressing reality extends beyond sport. Look at the worlds of music and cinema, or even politics. How many not-so-young pretenders make a serious impression in these areas after their early twenties? Is it paranoid of me to feel that I am descending into obsolescence, now that I am careering towards thirty? Or is my growing awareness and suspicion of the "cult of youth" just a sign that I really am getting on a bit and developing into a cantankerous old git? Maybe it's time for me to invest in a pipe, slippers and bag of Werther's Originals.

2005-06-14T13:13:00.000+01:00

Has anyone else noticed that professionalism seems to be a dirty word in the church? In the run-up to my church's Soul in the City mission this summer (yes, we are doing it again, and yes, I am aware of the irony in this, in view of the previous post), my colleague Anj Keel has produced booking forms for potential mission delegates. The idea is that we send these forms to our contacts around the country, and are then inundated by enthusiastic young Christians for 9 days in July.
Now these booking leaflets are good. Very good. Glossy, colourful, and, of course, proudly bearing the Soul in the City logo. Unfortunately, it was brought to my notice last week that these leaflets are so good that people are getting the impression that the Sydenham/Forest Hill project is the official Soul in the City mission! Now, I can understand the leaders of other SitC projects being frustrated by people getting this impression, but it's telling that their first instinct is not to produce publicity of their own which is even better, but to criticise our publicity for being too professional!
Perhaps this highlights a tacit belief within the church that it's in some way wrong to aim for excellence. How many appalling sketches have we sat through in church services? How many times have we been presented with unimaginative, monochrome church magazines? But how often do we get anything approaching quality at a church event? What are the chances of even getting a decent cup of coffee after the service? If we really believed that our God was the King of Kings, wouldn't we be motivated to make everything we do in his name excellent, rather than settling for mediocrity?

2005-06-14T13:08:00.000+01:00

It's here! My thoughts on urban mission, and particularly Soul in the City, are now available at...

http://www.blahonline.net/features.php

I expected the piece to be quite severely edited, since it was about twice the length I was asked for, but it's been posted in all it's rambling glory. Expecting the death threats for questioning Soul in the City's effectiveness any time now...

2005-06-03T14:59:00.000+01:00

You've probably never heard of Book Aid. (That's Book Aid, not to be confused with Live Aid). Until this morning, neither had I. It's a very small charity, run out of a disused church in Grove Park, southeast London. But since 1987, they've been dutifully supplying second-hand books for Christians in the third world. Sounds like a worthy, if unglamorous and almost humdrum activity, until you begin to grasp the sheer number of books they've shipped. In 18 years of steadily collecting, packing and dispatching books, they've sent 200 containers of material on their way. This apparently works out at a whopping 20 million volumes. Just try, for a minute, to imagine 20 million books. It's quite staggering.
I only discovered Book Aid this morning, when a friend asked me to help them move some of their stock to their new premises, a warehouse in Sydenham. Yes, it was hard work, and yes, I do have scratches all the way up both arms from carrying steel bookshelves, but I think it was worth it. I love discovering people who are quietly and cheerfully doing extraordinary things for God. When Bob, one of Book Aid's workers, told me he'd spent 17 years collecting, packing and dispatching books, my immediate thought was to wonder how he coped with the crushing boredom. But it gradually occurred to me that here was a group of people, sending quite incredible quantitites of books to people who needed them, and they had, until today, completely slipped under my radar. I wonder how many other people are quietly and patiently, with little or no recognition, doing amazing things in God's name? I suppose this is what serving God is all about. Just doing what you know God wants you to do, not making a fuss, and keeping going until it's finished, or He tells you to stop. We'll probably never know half of what people do in God's name, just because they work as servants, and get on with it, never expecting credit.

2005-05-29T15:59:00.000+01:00

I love my church. I just want to make that absolutely clear. I really love it. For someone who professes to love his church, I do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time being snide about it, but I honestly do love it. This morning, I was reminded why.
As part of this morning's service, we took communion. Now, I don't usually expect to experience God through our morning services. That probably sounds terrible, but when you consider that I'm always thinking through what I'm going to teach the youth group that morning, often I have to give a notice or lead prayers, I almost always have half a dozen people I need to talk to afterwards, and I'm not a morning person at the best of times, you can imagine why I find it difficult to concentrate on worshipping God. But this morning, God took me completely by surprise.
I was serving the bread and wine with Jo. The faithful arose and shuffled forward to meet us. The first person in the queue arrived.
"The body of Jesus, broken for you," I intoned. He tore off a small piece of bread, put it in his mouth, and moved on. Next.
"The body of Jesus, broken for you."
At around this point I glanced at the queue that was forming. Hmmm... there's rather a lot of you, isn't there? Rather a lot of people Jesus' body was broken for... Oh... I started to get the point. They kept on coming, one after another. Almost all people I knew, mostly people I knew well, and for every last one of them, "The body of Jesus, broken for you". Not just broken for us as a group, but for each one of us as individuals. The line continued; teenagers, mothers with small children, pensioners, people with struggles, people with problems, people with huge problems. And Jesus' body was broken for every last one of them. He loves every last one of them.
By the time I'd served the last person in the line, it was all I could do to avoid blubbing. In a way I really wasn't expecting, and at a time I really wasn't expecting, God reminded me why I bother. He really does love the church. I love it too.

Recent updates

2005-05-29T15:51:00.000+01:00

OK. Thanks to Elliott's sage advice, I've now transferred my mugshot to the sidebar. It was actually gallingly simple, once I found out how. I'm trying to work out whether I can be bothered to remove yesterday's post which included it.
I'm also ammassing a quite eclectic list of links. For the spiritual, check out Grace, a monthly alt worship gathering. For the spiritual bit slightly cynical, Ship of Fools will probably be right up your alley. The Barn (youth wing of FHCC) should also be worth a look. For the thinking footy fans, you'll most likely have already discovered When Saturday Comes anyway, but it's always worthy of a visit. And for the bored or downright puerile, Kontraband is a godsend. It certainly made my Friday afternoon bearable.

2005-05-28T18:00:00.000+01:00

So here, finally, is the promised self-important photo of yours truly. I can't remember whether, when the photo was taken, I was making a conscious effort to look deep and philosophical, or whether I was just sulking. At any rate, I hope to shift it to the sidebar, once I suss out how.

2005-05-28T17:49:00.000+01:00

This is me, trying to look deep and mysterious

2005-05-26T11:37:00.000+01:00

I've somehow found myself helping to lead Graceland, the church's semi-regular evening alt-worship service. (No, we haven't got a website yet...) If alt-worship is the buzzword, then really what we're trying to do is, quite simply, to seek God. It's more relective and experimental than our morning worship services, and there's more room for personal thought and self-expression. I find it encouraging that it does, after all, seem to be possible to be a Christian while still retaining the ability to think.
Planning for Graceland has got me back on one of my favourite hobby-horses, the question of what church is actually for. At the moment, I'm chewing over Bonhoeffer's ecclesiology: put very simply, the idea that church is a place where relationship is restored- our relationships with each other and with our creator. This definition appeals to me because it's simple and elegant, and has the ring of truth about it. I think it really sums up what worship and prayer are all about, and it encompasses the Bible too, which explains more what restoring relationship means in every day life. I find this definition quite liberating too, because it leaves so much scope for worshipping God and building community in new and different ways. So having a meal with a group of people who are seeking God can be every bit as much an expression of church as singing hymns, lighting candles or enjoying God as revealed in his creation.
Am I getting woolly and liberal in my old age? I just love to explore new ways to worship God. It strikes me as a particularly worthwhile exercise, since the traditional (or at least most common) modes of church seem to be becoming less and less relevant to the world outside the church. The gospel never changes, of course, but isn't it time to exercise a bit of courage and try expressing it in new ways?

2005-05-22T19:35:00.000+01:00

Let's face it; we were lucky. The golden opportunities Ruud van Nistelrooy missed. The sheer number of times they hit the post. The at-first-glance perfectly good goal that the ref ruled out for offside. Freddy Ljungberg heading a van Nistelrooy shot onto the crossbar and back into the middle of a frenzied penalty area, to be gleefully hacked to safety. The gloriously unpredictable Jens Lehmann, despite spending all day with a thousand-yard stare, against all odds playing out of his skin and all but winning the cup single handed. But in the end, who cares? If it was any team other than United, I might feel a slight pang of guilt, or at least sympathy, but, hell, they had it coming. I'm afraid that when They are concerned, any residual sportsmanship that I carry around gets completely forgotten.
As it happens, even seeing the match was a minor logistical miracle for me. A couple of weeks ago, not realising it was cup final day, I'd agreed to go and watch one of the boys from church dancing in a London Children's Ballet production. It was only a few days before that it dawned on me that this would present me with a problem. Now, let's make something clear: it's not that I don't like ballet. I flatter myself that I'm broad-minded enough to appreciate a wide range of artisitic disciplines. In fact, I enjoyed the performance. It was very professional. Nor was I reluctant to support Jacob in his endeavours. He's clearly very talented, and deserves to be encouraged. The issue is this: I'm an unreconstructed (undeconstructed?) postmodern male. I like football. I'm not ashamed to say so. So, the only course of action open to me was as follows:
1. Watch the first half of the match on TV.
2. Rush into central London to see the ballet.
3. Make my way home, desperately trying to avoid TV screens, fellow Arsenal fans, radios, pubs where the game had been shown - really anyone or anything that could possibly give me any indication of the result. The upshot of this was me, running through central London, with my eyes shut and my hands over my ears. I hope the bruises heal soon. And I must say, those Japanese tourists were very understanding.
4. Spend the evening studiously avoiding TV news reports.
5. At 11.40pm, worn out by nerves and paranoia, slump in front of the TV in my pyjamas, to watch the highlights.
6. At approximately 12.25pm, stuff a cushion into my mouth, so as not to wake my wife with my yells of "Have some of that, you manky Scots git!!"
To my amazement, it worked. But just recalling the day's progress wears me out. Who'd be an Arsenal fan?

Praying for London

2005-05-20T14:23:00.000+01:00

I'm trying to encourage my church youth group (11-14 year olds) to pray for London. (Isaiah 62:6-7 and all that). But how to pray creatively as a group? I hit on the idea of photocopying a London area train map, blowing it up to 4 times its original size, to the point where it practically covers the floor of an average-size meeting room. We're going to write and draw prayers all over it - covering London in prayers. Cool, huh?
Which isn't to detract from the main business of the weekend; the FA cup final. Us v Them for the fifth time this season. Do we stand a chance without St Thierry? Will those odious Manc thugs even let us touch the ball without kicking us into the stratosphere? It's over 24 hours until kick-off and my stomach's churning already. This is not good. It's at about this stage in proceedings that fans of either side look for omens in everything. We beat United in the final in '79. They've never retained the trophy. Jose Reyes apparently knows someone whose mother-in-law's dog's best friend's uncle had his path crossed by a black cat last week. We can't lose!... Nurse, more valium, please.

2005-05-18T17:14:00.000+01:00

Today I escaped from under a pile of admin to meet Jonny Baker, my old mentor, for a curry. As expected, this was a stimulating experience. Jonny's one of those people who have a way of making you think deeply about what you're doing and why you're doing it, which is always a helpful thing to do. Even if it did give me slight indigestion.
I managed to convince him to let me loose on the blah website, which discusses cross-cultural mission and the like. Check it out at www.blahonline.net . I think I mumbled something about church-based mission in an urban context, particularly last year's Soul in the City bonanza. I think I might have picked a few holes in the Soul in the City model, which I find equally exciting and worrying. Exciting, because I always enjoy being provocative. Worrying, because I can't help feeling I'll be vilified if I dare to say a word against Soul in the City. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. And perhaps it's not Soul in the City that's flawed; perhaps it's my methods and my church's approach to local outreach that need altering. Hmmm. Some research necessary here, methinks. Once my article's finished and uploaded, I'll let you know here.
In the meantime, check out www.soulinthecity.co.uk for more on Soul in the City.

2005-05-17T20:26:00.000+01:00

Finally, after much tutting, grumbling and muttering of expletives, I've worked out how to post photos. (See below for the results.) Once Microsoft Publisher decides to start playing ball, I'll post a suitably pretentious photo of yours truly. In the meantime, satisfy yourself by gazing on the beauty of my beloved wife (but not for too long, or I'll start getting jealous), and the loveliness of my friends from church.
Question of the day: Who should be first against the wall, come the revolution? My vote's currently with Bill Gates. Microsoft Works? Oxymoron, if you ask me.

2005-05-17T20:23:00.000+01:00

Introducing my friends from church. We don't generally hang around in the woods, but this is the aftermath of a recent game of pooh sticks.

2005-05-17T20:19:00.000+01:00

The happy couple... This is Jo and I on our wedding day. (Yes, that's me on the left...)

2005-05-17T00:47:00.000+01:00

Welcome to my world. I think you'll like it here. The sun always shines, the birds sing in perfect four-part harmony and anyone caught taking themselves too seriously immediately has their trousers removed.
It's all looking rather minimalist at the moment, but this site will soon be brimming over with news, thought-provoking views, music and book recommendations, and a fair amount of humour. (Well, at least a fair amount of stuff I find funny. You might find it about as funny as a colonoscopy.)
I think you'll agree it's high-time I introduced myself. So I will. My name is Simeon Whiting. I'm 26, a londoner, and married to Jo. I'm currently employed as a youth worker by Forest Hill Community Church, but you find me at a very intriguing juncture in my life, whereby I've just handed in my notice, effective of the end of August, to try my luck as a writer. As you can imagine, this decision has raised a few eyebrows, not least those of my parents, who were labouring under the misapprehension that I was a good, responsible boy. So I'm now seeking employment in the media industry, which is proving tricky for someone with five years' experience as a youth worker and none whatsoever in journalism. Still, at least I've got my natural charm to fall back on. Oh dear.