Nativity

The spiteful journey is one they didn't choose to take. 

90 miles over mountains and deserts. 

Suffocating heat by day,

Biting cold by night, 

Danger lurking everywhere, 

Despised and friendless because of a scandal that they did not own. 

The Empire, of course, showed no compassion. 

"Caeser has willed it. Your child is no concern of ours. Now go." 

But when family were remorseless too, 

The wounds cut deeper. 

"Pregnant? Before your marriage? 

Pregnant? And you're staying with her? 

Be gone to Bethlehem and hope that strangers will welcome you, 

Because we will not." 

So here they are. 

Joseph and Mary, all alone with her blessing. Her burden. 

Bleeding hands and feet, 

Dust in her eyes and mouth,

Parched throat, throbbing head, 

She feels faint. 

The pain in her is matched by the anxiety in him. 

For here is Bethlehem at last, 

But will she make it? 

He knows that she is close. He has no experience of this but he can see there is little time. 

A diligent and responsible man, he has made arrangements. 

He knows where to take her. He hopes they will be welcome here. 

But the words that greet him are a dagger to his heart. 

He pleads and begs in the doorway. 

Do not turn us away! Please look at her! It will be a death sentence! 

The expressionless man has kept his distance but now, cautiously, he steps forward and whispers. 

"Get your filthy hussy away from my door.  

I won't have your bastard born in my house. 

Have it in the street with the other animals." 

And in desperation even these cruel words give him hope. 

"Do you have a place for them sir?" 

What? What did the stupid cuckold say? 

"I asked if you had a place for them. For the animals. 

We will have him with them if we must." 

He stares. 

Then he laughs. 

Friends and neighbours have gathered around, 

And he sees the chance to win their esteem by humiliating the outcasts. 

"You want to have your baby in the shit and the piss and the hay?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Ha! Then go. The cave is round the back. And don't disturb me if it doesn't survive the night!" 

Amidst the scoffs and jeers, he has to support her now. 

Whether from shame or discomfort he doesn't know, but she can no longer walk.

He helps her into the dark hole. 

He beats away the animals with his stick. 

He will kill for her now if he has to. 

She falls onto the rocks and the muck and she screams. 

There is blood and water. 

He cries for help 

But of course no-one comes. 

He panics. 

His wife and his child will die here, despised and rejected, miles from home. 

No! That will not be! 

If there is no-one else to love this woman and this baby 

Then he will.

Today and always. 

He helps her onto all fours. 

His heart breaks some more when the stones cut her hands and feet again, 

But there is no time. 

A desperate moan, 

And he is here! 

Slowly at first, then he is out. 

With a knife he cuts the cord and looks urgently around. 

It will have to be the feeding trough. 

He dumps the child 

Then returns to her. 

She is pale as death. 

He rips his clothes to stem the bleeding and holds her. 

Holds her. 

Slowly, her gasps become breaths 

And her moans become sighs.

The ordeal is over. 

But very soon, fear stalks him again. 

It has pursued him more relentlessly than beast or bandit on this journey 

And it will not release its grip now. 

For night is falling 

And muck and straw will not protect them from the vindictive cold of a Bethlehem night.

 

The baby cries. 

She must feed it soon

But she is weak, ill and tired. 

Child that she is, she won't make it through the night herself 

Let alone the babe. 

He remembers the angel's promises 

And he sobs 

Then laughs, bitterly and resentfully. 

Save his people? 

Ha! 

He won't survive the night and nor will his mother! 

Nothing but scorn and hatred since you gave us this burden! 

Shame and scandal for this? 

Liar! 

Where are you now? Where is our help now!!?

"Excuse me sir?" 

A shadow at the mouth of the cave and the first kind voice he's heard in months 

Jolt him from his desperate lament. 

"Who are you?" he asks, reaching for his club. 

"Shepherds, sir. From the hills nearby." 

There are four or five of them. Strong men with rough voices but gentle expressions. 

They have food. Water. Fleeces and blankets. 

He looks them in the eye, each one in turn. 

If they are here to steal or kill then he is helpless 

But somehow he knows that this is not their purpose. 

He asks them the only thing he can. 

"Will you help us?" 

A smile and a nod bring different tears to his eyes.

"Don't you worry about anything sir. We've survived more than a few nights out on these hills. We'll see her right. The infant too."

And in that dank, desperate cave, there is suddenly hope. 

"Just one thing, sir, before we do." 

Anything. 

"Can we see the babe?" 

And as they gather round, 

Joseph and Mary realise that they haven't looked at him yet either. 

They look down into the trough. 

And the baby who will shape history  

Reveals himself first to 

Four rough shepherds, 

A simple tradesman 

And a rejected teenage mother. 

There were many in Bethlehem that night. 

And, at Christmas time, many have travelled there since. 

For those who are 

Prosperous; 

Safe; 

Comfortable;  

Respectable; 

Admired. 

There is nothing for you to see here. Not in this filthy cave! Your Christmas is elsewhere. There are much nicer places than this. You might even find a five star stable with central heating, or a kneeling donkey. 

But for those who are 

Scorned;  

Rejected; 

Consumed by guilt;  

Despised;  

Diseased;  

Destitute. 

For you? 

Welcome to the cave. He wants to meet you. 

Happy Christmas     

 

   

  

   

        

School teaching vs home teaching

Teaching 30 children professionally 

Okay. What book do you want to read today?

"I'd love to read the book about sharks!"
"Can we read something by Roald Dahl please?"
"The Dr Seuss book! Please please please!"

Wow, I love your enthusiasm! Let's do the shark book today and we'll look at the others later in the week. Boy A. Could you start reading please? 

"Blah blah blah fluent fluent fluent blah blah blah."

That's really nicely read Boy A, well done! Girl B can you have a go at the next page please? 

"Blah blah blah fluent fluent fluent blah blah...stuck."

Okay let's break the word down. Can you read the first part?

"First part fluent."

Well done. Now, looking at the picture, what do you think the rest of the word might say? Can you read it all now? 

"Think think think...fluent fluent fluent."

Excellent Girl B! Well done for persevering. 

Boy C? Your turn now...fantastic! 

Girl D off you go...brilliant reading! 

Well done everyone. Off you go for break time. 



Teaching one child at home 

 Okay, what book do you want to read today? 

"Can I have a biscuit Daddy?"

Later. What book would you like to read. 

"Nothing."

One book and then you can have a snack.  

"A chocolate biscuit?"

No. Something healthy. 

"A piece of cake?"

No. Something healthy. 

"Ice cream?"

NO! 

"Stop shouting Daddy."

Sorry. Yes you can have some ice-cream, but please let's read this first. Shall I choose one? 

"Yes."

How about this one? 

"No."

Right...which one do you want to read? 

"That one."

Okay...we did have this one yesterday...

"THAT'S THE ONE I WANT DADDY!"

Okay okay, fine! Right, page one, off you go. 

"Daddy does Batman have a motorbike?"

No...well, sometimes I think. Page one. Off you go. 

"Does he have a helicopter?"

No. Page one. 

"If he doesn't have a helicopter then..."

SON!! 

"SORRY!"

It's okay. Right. This is Chip. This is Kipper. Who's this? 

"B...I...F...X"

Well done! Great sounding out. Just one letter wasn't quite right...the last one is the same as the third one. So who is it?

"B...I...F...Z"

Not quite. Remember that the third letter and the last letter are exactly the same. Have another go. 

"B...I...F... Daddy is Moana a goody or a baddy?"

Definitely a goody. What's the last letter sweetheart? 

"F"

YES! YES! Praise the Lord yes! So...have a go at the whole word..." 

"B...I...C...F"

NO! 

"Don't shout at me!"

Sorry...sorry sweetheart. You remember we said the third and fourth letters are the same? So what do you think it might say?

"I DON'T KNOW!!"

Okay, okay fine. Let's move on to page 2. 

"No Daddy, not yet! We didn't read this sentence about Biff!"

Sorry, you're right. Well done you read it! Off you go then, from the start. 

"B...I... Daddy could eighteen velociraptors beat a T-rex?"

No. Yes. I don't know. Please read son. 

"B...I...F... But Daddy if the...

Son if you love Daddy you need to read this word. 

"But you said we were reading the next page."

Yes I know I did but then you said you didn't want to! 

"Okay okay okay. B...I... Daddy...?"

PLEASE!!!  

"B...I...F...TXWRSXUIPLTY"

............

"What's the matter Daddy?"

Just eating my face son. 

"Can I have some ice-cream now?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. Anything but this. 

"Well done Daddy. Same time tomorrow?"

A few honest opinions...

Today I spent about seven hours building Ikea furniture: by the sixth hour I wanted to take my hammer to the smiling man with his phone attached to the Ikea building and smash his face in with it.

Then this evening I enjoyed listening to this video clip from Jonathan Pie which a friend posted on Facebook.

For these two reasons I'm feeling slightly reckless, irritated and brave. I'm fed up of woke culture and, despite being someone who proudly identifies with (broadly) left-wing values, I'm both embarrassed and concerned about the way that some 'liberal' factions have taken it upon themselves to regulate other people's thoughts and demonise those who have the 'wrong' opinions. I'm also proud to call myself a Christian, but am similarly embarrassed and concerned that I recently heard a colleague at work, in a discussion about religion, say "Christians? They're the anti-gay ones aren't they."

So, in the interests of complete honesty and in a reckless "up yours" to the thought police, I'm going to express a few opinions.

1. The decision to remove programmes like Little Britain, Come Fly With Me and episodes of Fawlty Towers from various TV channels - as well as the decision by the creators of The Simpson's to no longer employ white actors to impersonate BAME characters - is either (at best) a misguided attempt to do the right thing, or (at worst) a commercially motivated effort to be seen to do the 'right' thing. The murder of George Floyd was reprehensible, outrageous and tragic and the Black Lives Matter movement, along with all attempts to create a more equal and tolerant society, have my whole-hearted and undying support. But let's think about ways that we can genuinely make a difference and not succumb to knee-jerk tokenism.

2. It's both ridiculous and dangerous to try and pretend that gender is some kind of out-dated, unnecessary or oppressive concept. Some people are born male. Some people are born female. You have the freedom to live your life in any way that you like and so long as you're trying to be kind and compassionate, I won't be judgmental. But don't try to deny or repress one of the most fundamental facts of life.

3. Sea-gulls are bastards. So are pigeons. They steal your food and they shit on your head in front of large groups of children that you're trying to teach. No? Just me then...

4. Piers Morgan sometimes...sometimes...makes a good point.

5. Some Conservative voters are kind, compassionate, good people. As are some Brexit voters.

6. The belief that gay people will go to hell if they do not commit to a celibate life is plain wrong. It's based on a 'rule-book' approach to scripture, failing to consider the holistic, love-centred arc of the Bible's narrative which shows us that God's plan for His people is constantly changing and adapting so as to be gracious and inclusive: 'See, I am doing a new thing!' (Isaiah 43:19)

7. 'All's fair in love and war' is bollocks.

8. I greatly respect and admire JK Rowling as a person, but as an author she's average.

9. Roald Dahl wipes the floor with her.

10. Car mechanics, IT specialists and people who are competent at DIY have a sole purpose in life - to make me feel inadequate, stupid and useless.


If you disagree, please tell me. Explain to me why. I promise to take your views seriously. I'd rather poke myself in the eye than assume that I'm right and you're wrong and I'm genuinely open to the possibility that you'll change my mind.

But don't rage and scream and shout at me for having opinions of my own. I have a wife and five-year-old child who do that for me.       

 

Thank you Donald!

Now look - please just hear me out.

Like many others I too have felt shocked, outraged, appalled and dismayed about a certain 8 minute and 46 second video that came out of the USA last week. Words have felt totally inadequate and I've been too depressed and overwhelmed to write or even speak very much about it. But then this morning I read this article by ex-footballer Liam Rosenior in The Guardian and it got me thinking. And what it got me thinking was something that I never imagined I'd ever think in a million years.

I am just a little bit pleased that Donald Trump is the American President at this particular moment in time.

Let me try to explain.

I'm one of many teachers who will tell you that arguments, fights and disagreements between boys are often a great deal easier to deal with than those that happen between girls. A few years ago, I had two volatile, belligerent and bad-tempered boys in my class. They didn't like each other and enjoyed finding ways of winding each other up to the point where blows were exchanged. Their strategies for doing so became highly time-efficient. One of the boys - let's call him Malcolm - had yellow teeth. The other - Derek - had a mother with a mole on her cheek that looked a little bit like a dark red rice krispie. These unfortunate features were the lines of attack that Malcolm and Derek used to taunt each other. The whole thing would kick off in seconds. Malcolm would walk into the classroom, make eye-contact with Derek and point to his cheek. Derek would respond by miming the action of brushing his teeth. One or the other would then let out a cry that was usually some variation of "Fuck off!" and they would fall on top of each other, punching and kicking.

It wasn't pleasant and it needed to stop (although it was also hilarious at times) but at least the problem was obvious, blatant and in-your-face. Two boys are insulting each other. Two boys are punching each other. Something has to be done. Something needs to change. This can't continue.

But girls? Don't even get me started.

So often they are charming, polite and compliant on the surface. Then you find out about the most appalling bullying and you question them about it. Why have you done this? Why have you said this?

"Well Mr Shepherd, I know we're in Year 6 now but when we were in Year 3 she didn't play with me once at lunchtime and it upset me." 

"Well Mr Shepherd, she invited me to her party but she also invited some other girls and I'd told her only to invite me because I'm her best friend and I didn't want all those other girls to go, so that's why I wrote it." 

"Well Mr Shepherd, she's been really nice to me ever since I've known her but in a previous life in the eighteenth century she wore the same bodice as me to a party so that's why I don't like her." 

And to be honest, as a teacher you sit there thinking: "How on earth do I deal with this? This is so subtle and disguised and yet so deeply embedded that I don't even know where to start."

And in this admittedly limited and tenuous analogy, I suppose that Donald Trump is a boy and so many of the leaders that came before him are girls.

I think it's both naive and cynical to believe that all political leaders are corrupt and wicked, but so many of them for so long have been very good at saying the right things and conveying the right image, but underneath the surface the prejudice, inequality, bitterness and resentment have gone largely unchecked. The lies have ultimately been exposed and the trust has gone. Margaret Thatcher inspired people by quoting St Francis of Assisi - "Where there is despair, may we bring hope." But for many millions she brought the exact opposite. Bill Clinton told his nation and the world that he did not have sex with that woman - ever. But he did.

What's the problem with these people? Simple. They're girls.

But Donald?

He's the boy who walks into the classroom and starts punching people. It's odious and repulsive and wrong. But at least it's blatant. At least you can see it. And if it's blatant and visible then you and I and millions of others can stand together and say "NO! I won't stand for it! This is not how I want the world to be!"

Don't you dare use military force so that you can stand in front of a Church with a Bible and claim to champion the beliefs of a faith that stands for freedom, inclusivity, diversity and tolerance.

Don't you dare threaten to kill (largely) peaceful protesters who are outraged that they live in a world where people are murdered in the street because of the colour of their skin.

Don't you dare try to create and stoke division and hostility in society to serve your own ends.

We won't stand for it. And because you're not clever enough to be subtle about it, you will - with a lot of hope and prayer - help to create a society that stands for everything that you seem to be opposed to.

So, thank you Donald! Thank you for being a boy. Thank you for making it so easy and obvious. Thank you for bringing all of this ugliness to the surface and not hiding it away. Because now we can see it for what it is. And believe me, we won't stand for it.         

Dominic Cummings - what should he do next?

Off with his head!

Not literally, but when I saw that even The Daily Mail was calling for the sacking of a Tory government stalwart, it well and truly felt like we'd fallen down the rabbit hole and quoting Alice In Wonderland felt somehow appropriate. Mr Cummings has been a naughty boy and has upset a lot of people. His fall from grace may not come very soon, as Boris first needs to figure out how to make decisions without him, but this whole episode will probably prove to be the beginning of the end for Dom.

What should he do next? If the way he looked at the press conference yesterday is anything to go by then keeping score at primary school sports days might be one way that he can make himself useful. However, I think he can do better than that. As we all know, Dominic likes a catchy slogan. He is also one of the most famous names in the country, so I've been thinking of a few alternative careers that could combine both the name and the slogan to help him establish a lucrative life after Downing Street.

1. Demonic Cummings
His very own occult business. Specialising in summoning spirits that are now long dead, such as the Spirit of Political Campaign Integrity, or the Ghost of Tory Credibility Past.

2. Dominic Cumins 
His own range of herbs and spices. Each one would have its own catchy slogan, such as 'Thyme to go' and 'Oregano resign or what?'

3. Dominic's Cumings 
A one-man sperm donor business.

4. Dom. I nick cumings 
The black market or 'dark web' equivalent of the more respectable 'Dominic's Cumings'. This would essentially involve the theft of sperm samples for fathers who wished to remain anonymous. His old boss would be his first customer.

5. Dummy Nick Coming 
A logistics and delivery company that would provide temporary relief for HM Prisons by providing pop-up, 'dummy' jails at a fraction of the cost. Not to be used for hardened criminals, of course, but those who need just a few nights in the slammer as punishment for minor criminal offences, such as driving 30 miles to a beauty spot when you can't see properly.

6. Dumb Nick Coming 
A signal system to let people know when anyone who doesn't have the faculty of coherent speech is about to enter the room. Tory Party conference would undoubtedly be a target customer.

7. Dummy Nit Combings
An Idiot's Guide to getting rid of headlice.

8. Dummy Not Coming
A guide-book for parents who want to wean their infants off a pacifier. Either that or a means of informing the media whenever the PM is due to be absent from the daily briefing. 

9. Damn Eye! Not coming
A database of ready-made excuses for when you really don't want to go to a social event. Alternatively, a database of entirely valid excuses for why one shouldn't drive 30 miles to a beauty spot.

10. Tummy Nip Coming 
A range of DIY at home procedures for helping people to lose weight. Very appropriate for an individual who has himself become excess baggage.


Of course, all of these ventures would take time to set up, so if Mr Cummings does lose his job then I'd recommend he spends the first few moments reading 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf', a cautionary tale of what happens when someone who prides themselves on their ability to bend the truth suddenly finds that he desperately needs to rely on the trust and goodwill of other people. 



      

Let's (not) play the Blame Game!

With hindsight, I should have organised a sweep-stake nine weeks ago.

It was inevitable that this would happen. The sense of togetherness and unity that characterised the early weeks of this pandemic was never going to last: they wouldn't have allowed it. It's not in their interests. The only question was...who was it going to be?

Sorry, I'll try to be more clear. The sweep-stake that I should have set up nine weeks ago was - specifically - this:

"Who will the Daily Mail try to scapegoat first??"

But I'm too late! We know the answer now. And a depressingly predictable one too.

Teachers! Of course!

Feckless, lazy, obstinate, work-shy, union-loving bastards the lot of them!

Actually, on this occasion, I think the beloved DM might have misjudged the mood. Criticism for the government's plans to re-open schools on June 1st have come from a range of sources: parents; the British Medical Association; the devolved governments. There is a lot of genuine sympathy towards a group of people who are concerned about returning to a potentially unsafe working environment in which an infection that could kill them or the people they come into contact with is still rampant. Shocking, I know!

Still, even if they have got it wrong, nothing would have stopped the Daily Mail from adopting its strategy of choice: Who can we blame?! Which group can we demonise in order to distract our readers from the real problem?!

We've had some gorgeous weather lately. Because of this, and because we're British, lots of men have started taking their shirts off. I was looking at a shirtless guy just the other day (in a totally non-pervy way obvs - although he was pretty ripped...) and noticed a tatto across his back: 'Only God can judge me'.

Now my instinctive concern whenever I see someone displaying this is that they use it as an excuse for being a tosser, but aside from that, I couldn't agree more. Only God can judge me. Only God can judge you.

Why?

Because no-one else can do it right. And it's a tragedy that we even try. One of the traps we fall into is to judge by category. We have no way of knowing all of the millions of different factors that determine a person's character and behaviour, so we look at a group they belong to and judge them according to that.

"Blame the teachers!"

"Blame the Tories!"

"Blame the football fans!"

"Blame the social workers!"

"Blame the Muslims!"

"Blame the Jews!"

It's dangerous and wrong and we shouldn't do it. I'm guilty of doing it too and I want to try and stop. In that spirit, I'm going to say this:

Our next-door-but-one neighbours are an elderly couple. He loves a can of Fosters, enjoys sitting in the garden and I like talking to him about football. She looks after our cat every time we go away, with no expectation of thanks or reward. She puts pages of colouring activities through our letter-box which she thinks my son would enjoy doing. At Halloween, they invite us to go and see their pumpkins. At Christmas, we go and see their decorations.

And they read the Daily Mail.

I don't know why and I'd rather they didn't. But I do know that there is far, far more to both of them than their choice of paper. They are, in so many ways, kind, decent, good people. So I'm not going to judge them. Because that would be wrong.

And hopefully, when they read the last few front pages of their favourite newspaper, they won't judge me either.       

You can't handle the truth!

This is a story about three boys: a fourteen year old; a ten year old; and Luke Skywalker.

The fourteen year old was me in 1994. I went with a youth group to the local cinema. The younger half were going to watch some kiddies' film whilst the older and cooler ones were seeing 'The Bodyguard', which was a 15 certificate. I was determined to be older and cooler. I approached the ticket desk with absolute confidence: I'd recently started shaving and my voice had broken the previous Summer. I was Barry White with bum fluff. There's no way she wouldn't believe I was fifteen. Unless, of course I did something really stupid like...I don't know...this:

"Ticket for 'The Bodyguard' please."
"Here you are, that's £5.10 please."
"No, no. I pay £3.50, I'm only fourteen."
"Then you can't go and watch The Bodyguard can you?"

I spent the next two hours with the local kindergarten watching a bunch of animated puppets singing, feeling depressed partly because I wanted to watch 'The Bodyguard', but mostly with my own stupidity.

The ten year old boy is an ex-pupil. I shouldn't really use his real name. I can think of lots of different names to call him, some of which I used when he wasn't listening, but none of those would be appropriate here, so I'll call him...Trevor.

Trevor was a very clever boy who could be charming and funny, but he had a volatile temper which was often triggered by the most innocuous of circumstances. Teaching him was like walking through a mine-field: one minute all would seem calm and peaceful, then with virtually no warning at all he'd be punching another child in the face, or throwing a chair across the room, or standing in the doorway and informing me (in a voice that the whole school could hear) that I was a female reproductive organ who was currently engaged in sexual activity.

The most challenging thing about managing Trevor wasn't his day-to-day behaviour. It was the attitude of his parents. I honestly believe that I could have sat them down at the end of the day and told them that their son had single-handedly triggered a nuclear holocaust in the West Midlands, and still the response would have been: "Well who's wound him up then??!...Who's done something to him to make him behave like that??!...Who gave him the Uranium??!!...He doesn't do that at home!!...What are you teaching him that for??!...Why aren't you doing nothing about it??!!"

I kind of get it, to be honest. As a parent it must be upsetting and humiliating to be told that your child has very serious behaviour problems and probably needs professional help. The problem is, it was the truth. A couple of years after teaching Trevor, I bumped into a colleague who still worked at the school. I asked after Trevor. He'd been permanently excluded from secondary school because his behaviour was completely unmanageable. His parents had had to take time off work in order to try and home-school him. I feel sorry for Trevor. In spite of everything, I genuinely liked him. And I wonder how things would have turned out if Mum and Dad had been brave and humble enough to accept the truth.

If only they'd been more like Luke Skywalker. He had the courage and the humility. The most psychotic and evil individual you've ever met. Your sworn enemy who's just chopped your hand off. And what's the next thing he tells you?

"I am your Father!"

NOOOO! Anyone but HIM! I can't deal with that!!

But Luke did deal with it. He was in denial, then in shock, then depressed...but he eventually accepted the truth, difficult as it was. And at the end of the next movie, it was only by crying out "Father!" to Darth Vader that he saved both his own life and the soul of his Dad.

If Darth Vader is the voice of uncomfortable truth, I wonder what he'd have said to my fourteen year old self?

"Accept that you're fourteen. Either that or don't be a colossal idiot."

What would he have said to Trevor's parents?

"This is your son. This is how he really is. Be upset and angry if you need to be, but don't deny it. Accept the truth and we might be able to get somewhere."

What would he say to Matt Hancock...Boris Johnson...Donald Trump? 

What would he say to me. Right here, right now?

Get to know the truth. It might be hard, but the truth will set you free. 

   
    

My Favourite Albums

People are getting a bit reflective at the moment, aren't they? Facebook is full of it:  '10 photos that make me proud to be a Mum'... '10 movies that have made an impression on me'...'10 albums that have changed my life'...'10 shoe-horns that rocked my world'...'10 types of instant gravy that led me to a higher plane of consciousness' and so on and so on. Maybe we're all contemplating our mortality a bit more at present and feel more inclined to be open about the things that have shaped and influenced us.

I'm feeling a bit left out, to be honest, because I haven't been nominated to do any of these 'Top 10' things. I probably wouldn't do it anyway, mainly because I'd struggle to think of ten anything that have influenced me in a profound way. So, I'm going to do music albums, right here and right now. There won't be ten of them, I'm not going to spread them out over a number of days and I don't intend to nominate anyone else. Apart from that it'll be the same as everyone else's. Here goes:



 
First album I owned. I was eight and having my first celebrity crush on Kylie Minogue. I didn't really get pop music at this point and thought that Terence Trent D'arby's song 'Sign Your Name' was about open heart surgery. I was also confused by Sinitta's 'So Macho', because it contained the lyrics:  I don't want no seven stone weakling.  At the time I weighed about four and a half stone and so assumed that Sinitta only wanted to be friends with fat kids.

I spent most of my teens and twenties hating this music but have got more into it again recently. Prefab Sprout's 'The King of Rock and Roll' is brilliant. 

About four years older and so much cooler! Naive and foolish people have since claimed that by the time I got this in 1992, the cool kids were actually releasing their rage and angst by listening to Nirvana, but I'm having none of it. I was by this point a nerdy church kid who wore plimsolls to football practice and had a hair-cut like Ronald McDonald. Listening to Axl Rose swear and smashing the hell out of my drum-kit like Matt Sorum was all I had. Don't take it away from me!

   











Of course! Who didn't? I was actually more of a Blur fan, but this was iconic and it was all everyone listened to for about a year. It gave hope to those of us who played an instrument as well, because I'd listen to the drumming on all these tracks and think: "I can do that." It kind of became a victim of it's own success though, because it really was played to death in 1996. The first time I heard 'Wonderwall' I thought it was magnificent. Six months later?  Today, Is gonna be the day... Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP.

I discovered this one late. A friend from sixth form who was on a music course asked me to drum with his band for one of their assessed performances, and 'Killing In The Name Of' was one of the tracks they covered. What a blast! If there's a better rage-release song then I've yet to hear it. Who doesn't occasionally want to jump up and down screaming  "F*** YOU I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!!!"

I started listening to it at home, but was always worried that the swearing would get me into trouble, so if ever I thought Mum and Dad were within ear-shot I'd replace the word 'Fuck' with a loud "WOW!!" My altered lyrics went something like this:

"WOW!!...do what you tell me!" 
"WOW!!...do what you tell me!" 
"MotherWOW!!"

  











My brother-in-law is a particularly brilliant mathematician who may one day change the world, but as far as I'm concerned his greatest gift to humanity will always be introducing me to this album. Effortlessly brilliant. Although I quickly learnt it wasn't appropriate to walk into Church singing  'Ring-a-ding ding ding, I'm going down.' 



And finally, how about a renassisance? My five year old absolutely loves this at the moment:

And...guilty confession...I love his music too. It has resulted in some tricky exchanges with said five year old though:

"Daddy, you know Thriller?"
"Yes son."
"Michael Jackson isn't really a zombie, is he?"
"No, no, sweetheart. It's just make-up and costume. It's not real."

"Daddy, you know Bad?"
"Yes?"
"Michael Jackson isn't really bad, is he?"
"Err...well...not bad, no, but...oh look it's lunch time."

"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You know 'Smooth Criminal?"
(Oh please son, no...)

This is the Middle

Why is the middle so hard?

Back in my foolish days of cross-country running it was always the middle of the race, both psychologically and physically, that was the toughest part to endure. I have generally fond memories of the start: even though stripping down to a vest and shorts in the middle of January and feeling your appendage shrink to the size of a chipstick wasn't always a barrel of laughs, there was a great camaraderie on the start-line and during the early parts of the race.

I remember a race in University days when the temperature was below freezing and, seconds before the start, the sky turned black and we runners huddled together whilst being battered by a hailstorm. The marshals (brief aside: if sadism is your thing then find out how to be a cross-country race official) decided to start the race anyway, and it was hilariously good fun. For about fourteen seconds. On another occasion, I remember laughing hysterically at a team-mate who fell flat on his face in the first fifty or so yards, only to trip myself as I hurdled his prostrate body, face-plant just in front of him, and then bring down another runner by hauling myself up on his thighs. In a crowded field of about 400 runners, I somehow managed to avoid getting spiked. I'm not sure if the other two were quite so lucky. Good times!

The end is exhilarating too, of course. The finish is in sight, the crowd are cheering and you know the pain will be over in just a few moments. You sometimes even start looking forward to the next race as you pass over the finish line and enjoy the satisfaction of a challenge met and overcome, when just ten minutes earlier you'd been wondering why on earth anyone would subject themselves to such brutal agony.

But the middle. Oh the middle! The middle, to put it bluntly, is a bastard. The enthusiasm and fun of the start is a distant memory. The finish-line is an impossible dream. You're out there, by yourself, gasping for breath, legs screaming in pain, face often drenched in spittle or snot (yours or someone else's) and it's all you can do just to keep going. Can I finish? I daren't even think about the end yet. Okay, can I just make the next stride? Maybe. Yes, maybe I can manage that.

Right now, it feels like we're in the middle. Nobody really knows how much longer this lockdown is going to last, so mathematically it may or may not be the middle. But it feels like it. Five weeks ago I was enthusiastic and energetic, even looking forward to the chance to step out of life's current for a while. Now I find myself shouting at my five year old if he doesn't put on his socks quickly enough. Five weeks ago, maneuvering my trolley so as to keep a safe distance from other shoppers, and waiting patiently for an aisle to clear, seemed quite novel and charming, even fun. Now I'm forcing myself to smile and have to fight the urge to shout - "Sod this, who's up for a game of Aldi dodgems!"

The middle is tough. Physically and mentally it's hard. What encouragement is there to be had? Well, the most enjoyable part of the whole-cross country running experience was always the after-race social. We did it boys! Every one of us went through the same pain and suffering, and now we're here and we can laugh about it and it's brought us all closer together. Well, apart from that poor bloke who Joe Shepherd dragged to the ground...

Good luck with your middle everyone! One stride at a time. Don't even think about the finish-line yet. But do believe that you will get there.

PS - One of my favourite ever poems is 'Aristotle' by Billy Collins, which is very relevant to all this. Highly recommended!             

Rules and Regulations!

“God? Well, I tell ya, let me give you a little inside information about God. 

God likes to watch. He’s a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement, his own private cosmic gag reel, he sets the rules in opposition. It’s the goof of all time!

Look, but don’t touch.

Touch, but don’t taste.

Taste, don’t swallow.

And while you’re jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing?

He’s laughing his sick, fucking ass off!” 


Just reading the words don’t really do them justice to be honest. When Al Pacino (playing the Devil, naturally) delivers these lines at the climax of the movie ‘The Devil’s Advocate’, he spits them out at his terrifying, menacing best. No-one delivers the lines quite like Pacino! You watch and listen to some of his iconic speeches, like this one, and you’re either too transfixed or too terrified to disagree!

On the other hand, it kind of helps to have them written down. It gives you the opportunity to read them, re-read them, think about them and judge them dispassionately, without Pacino’s electrifying delivery influencing you one way or the other. I know it’s just a movie, I know it’s not there to be taken literally or even particularly seriously, but I had a friend at University who used this speech as his entire basis for trying to discredit my Christian faith, and I think Pacino’s words reflect what lots of people think about Christianity and religion in general. Is that fair? Is it accurate? Is the gospel according to Al more reliable and trustworthy than the ones that were written two thousand years ago?

I’d rather steal money from Al Pacino, Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro then text them my address than pompously claim to be certain about any of these things, but one thing I’ve come to believe over the years is this: Christianity isn’t about following rules. I believe in a God who doesn’t want people to follow a set of commands. There are only two that matter to him:

“Love the Lord your God…and love your neighbour as yourself.”

That’s it. It doesn’t get any more complicated. And over the years some Christians, usually with the best of intentions, have extrapolated rules and regulations from this that have missed the point.

“Don’t ever have sex outside of marriage!” 

No.  Don’t have sex in a way that isn’t loving and kind.

“Don’t swear!” 

No. Don’t use language in a way that isn’t loving and kind.

“Don’t drink or smoke!”

No. Don’t treat your body in a way that isn’t loving and kind.

“Those who don’t believe what we believe will go to hell!”

No. No. No. Be loving. Be kind. And don’t you dare judge another person whose circumstances you know nothing about.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s okay to touch, taste and swallow, so long as it’s done in a way that is loving and…you get the idea. Love the Lord your God. Love your neighbour as yourself. It’ll make you, your neighbour and God happier than anything else ever will.

Now excuse me while I go and watch Gavin and Stacey, because after half an hour of listening to scary Al Pacino speeches I need to go and laugh my fucking ass off.     

Home-schooling

For the last three and a half weeks since the schools closed, I've been looking after my 5 year old on most working days between 9 and 2.30, whilst Mummy works. It was a venture that began with enthusiasm and noble intent, but as time has passed it has become more an issue of survival. It is possible that other parents in a similar situation might relate to this. It is also possible that I'm just a lazy, feckless father. Some of the following really happened. Some is either exaggeration or wishful thinking. Sadly, I think it's unlikely you'd accurately be able to work out which is which.

School closure day 1

• 9am - Do PE on Youtube with Joe Wicks. Complete the entire session. 
• 10am - Reading and phonics: compiled a list of all words, digraphs and trigraphs that he's struggling with and told him we'd re-visit them on a daily basis 
• 10.30am - Healthy snack for me and him  
• 11.30am - Number games on the lap-top. Mild frustration that he doesn't have better control over the mouse-pad, but otherwise fine 
• 12 - Lunch 
• 1pm - Art, create an ocean scene. My depiction of a humpback whale is genuinely brilliant, whereas his octopus looks like a talking dandelion on drugs. Never mind, he'll learn.  
• 2pm - Television, strictly limited to 30 minutes 
• 2.30pm - Television. Just another 15 then. 
• 2.45pm - Read a story 
• 3pm - Go for a pleasant walk with Mummy
• 3.30pm - Mummy takes over 

School closure day 4 

• 9am - Do PE on Youtube. Stop after 5 minutes because he wants to do Just Dance instead. We do Ghostbusters and Gangnam Style. He was rubbish. I killed it. 
• 10am - Reading and phonics. After about six pages I want to punch Biff and Chip in the face, so we read Batman comics instead. 
• 10.30am - Healthy snack for him. I have a satsuma while he's watching, then hide behind the fridge and neck three chocolate biscuits. I put a beer in the fridge...for later. 
• 11.30am - Television. Bit earlier today. Still strictly 30 minutes. 
• 12 - Lunch 
• 1pm - Science. He wants to do the experiment after we've watched the Youtube video but I can't remember what it was because Maddie Moate is quite fit.  
• 2pm - Television. No harm in it 
• 2.30 - Television. Don't judge me. 
• 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. Get a bit shouty when his scooter crashes into the hedge for the fourteenth time. Otherwise nice. 
• 3.30pm - Mummy takes over. 

School closure day 9 

• 9am - We're both fed up of watching what Russell Brand would look and sound like if he took steroids, so Joe Wicks can do one. Instead we dance to Shakira's Waka Waka on Youtube. Four times. So that we can...get the moves right. 
• 10am - Reading. With some help from me, he masters the tricky words 'Snickers' and 'Mars' before we both eat them to reward ourselves. 
• 10.30am - Ice-cream for him, chilled beer for me. I'd put it in the fridge at 7. He burps loudly and I'm convinced I can do better, so we have a contest.  
• 11am - Television. Fast and Furious 2. My choice. 
• 12 - Lunch. Pot Noodles. 
• 1pm - Televsion. Film to finish. 
• 2.30pm - Television. His choice. And to be honest, I prefer Octonauts to Fast and Furious anyway. 
• 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. No scooter. I hold his hand, wrist or head all the way. Only way I can get through this. 
• 3.30pm - Mummy takes over. 

School closure day 14 

• 9am - Youtube videos. My choice 
• 10am - Youtube videos. His choice 
• 10.30am - Four-pack for me, ice-cream for him. Share a cigarette in the garden.  
• 11am - I've earned some PPA time, so he amuses himself in the garden with the lighter for an hour.  
• 12 - Lunch. Chocolate biscuits and Wotsits.
• 1pm - TV marathon. Bob the Builder series 2, Super-ted series 4 and Scooby Doo series 6. 
• 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. Particular low point is him turning around and shouting at me "Daddy you're a great big penis!" while we're passing other people. Their interpretation of social distancing very quickly increases from 2 metres to about 40. 

So, if you're finding this tough, please know that you're not alone. And let me know if you have any other Cbeebies or CITV recommendations.

Oh, and that last bullet point was neither exaggeration nor wishful thinking.

Don't touch me

My last post was about the silver linings that are all around us, despite the anxiety and heartache of present circumstances. On a personal level, it wasn't an exhaustive list of positives: hopefully we can all find encouragement in the reduction in pollution levels and increased community spirit that Covid 19 has fostered, but for me (and I suspect others unfortunate enough to have similar hang-ups) another welcome benefit to all of this is social distancing. People other than my wife and son are being told that they have to stay at least 2 metres away from me, and all that I have to say about that is....thank God and about time!

I like other people. I really, really do. I appreciate their gifts, talents, quirks and idiosyncrasies enormously. I have fantastic friends, brilliant colleagues and a wonderful extended family. I also enjoy meeting new people. Well...I can usually tolerate it with a smile. But I've always struggled with the whole physical touch thing. When to hug...when to shake hands...when, how and where to kiss... If someone else confidently takes the initiative then I'm up for anything, but if there's even a hint of uncertainty on their part then I'm a complete mess, and the encounter is likely to result either in them thinking I'm distant and cold, or in me putting myself in serious jeopardy of being arrested for some form of assault.

Take church, for example. I love church and am missing it a great deal at the moment. But I hate...hate...hate sharing the peace. For the uninitiated, this is a point in the service when the vicar or service leader announces to the congregation "The peace of the Lord be with you," and the congregation responds "And also with you." Following this, the congregation are expected to approach as many people as possible, within a time frame of between one and five minutes (and I'm literally in hell when it's at the longer end) and 'share the peace'. How exactly this is done is open to interpretation: dependent on the congregation and the individual, it ranges from a smile and nod of the head to an act of sexual foreplay.

What on earth am I supposed to do? If the peace-sharer is male then a handshake seems appropriate, although I'm up for a hug of no longer than 1.5 seconds. When they're female, however, it's a minefield of spiritual etiquette. I'd feel most comfortable with a smile or handshake, but this seems quite formal and 'masculine'. Will they feel that my peace-sharing is sincere if I'm not up for a bit more? A kiss on the cheek? Possibly, but if I move in and she doesn't then I'm either going to nut her or look like I want a snog. A hug? Maybe, but how to position my body? Clasp her to my chest and again she's going to think that the peace I really want is a piece of her. Stick my arse out and hug with weak arms and I may as well be telling her that she's a leper.

The whole thing is horrendous! I'd be much happier if sharing the peace was permanently done in the spirit of Covid 19: friendly and sincerely expressed good wishes from a safe distance. The way it's currently done is really quite ironic, because for me it's the least peaceful part of the whole service.

It's a cause of frequent anxiety at work too. It's someone's birthday...it's the last day before a holiday...it's the first day back after a holiday...someone's upset...someone's happy. What on earth to do! Again, if the recipient is very clear and deliberate about what they want then I'll go along with anything (up to a point) but if they're even a little bit unsure then I literally agonize about how to walk the tightrope between coming across like some frigid Victorian schoolmaster, or a deviant predator.

My birthday last year was a horror show at work. A female colleague burst into my classroom, smiling and enthusiastic, wishing me a happy birthday. I was sitting at my desk and she bounded up to me, covering the considerable distance between the door and my chair at a surprising pace. "Oh right, she's up for it," I thought to myself. "I think I've read this one right: it's going to be a hug." So confident was I in my interpretation of her behaviour, I stood and moved forward to make the embrace. At that moment (and I shudder to recall this) she kind of froze mid-bound and just looked at me with wide eyes. I immediately doubted that the hug was what she wanted, but I was so physically committed to it that to back out would have been unbearably awkward, so I kind of grabbed her and pulled her to me for a tenth of a second, then sat down immediately and couldn't look her in the eyes. She left the room mumbling and simpering in what were clear signs of PTSD (at least it sounded like it to me) and I avoided speaking to her for about a month afterwards.

Other people are so good at this! It comes to them so naturally, and needless to say the insecure voice in my head tells me that it's because they're either more popular or more attractive (or at least slightly less repulsive) than me. I'd be so much happier if it was all written down. A hug for this person in this situation; a handshake for this; a pat on the back for that.

Actually, I'd probably be happier if everyone apart from my nearest and dearest just kept their distance. So please people, let's keep saving lives: maintain social distance; stay at least two metres away from anyone you don't live with.

Oh, and we should probably do what we can to stop Coronavirus too.       

Silver linings

There's a lot to feel anxious about at the moment. My daily read through some of the headlines on the BBC news site is an important part of the day, because I want to stay informed, but it's also something I need to psyche myself up for: it leaves me feeling depressed and worried and I generally need to follow it up with a can of beer and something mindless and distracting on the TV.

I don't know about you, though, but I also have moments throughout the day when I feel optimistic, encouraged, even quite positive about everything that's going on at the moment. There have been a few articles and comments doing the rounds that have encouraged us to try and look on the brighter side of life during these present troubles, and whilst mine will certainly add nothing revolutionary or radical to the mix, it will serve as a useful reminder (to me at least) that for every cloud...yeah, that.

The impact on the environment 
There are encouraging reports around the world of significant drops in air pollution, reductions in harmful gases going into the environment and the residents of Venice seeing fish in their canals for the first time in generations. A vast reduction in vehicles on the roads and planes in the sky will hopefully give our exhausted planet the vacation it needs from the harmful things that we inflict on it. I bet wildlife all over the world is loving it too: I feel quite emotional when I see the birds, bees and plants being able to get on with their lives without having to survive the usual swarm of humans all around them.

Exercise
Being told that I can only exercise once a day has made me, for the first time in at least twenty five years, exercise once a day. My ambition to emerge from this lockdown with a physique like Anthony Joshua is almost certainly misguided. I might just, however, be a fitter and healthier version of myself.

Keeping your friends close 
For the first time in years, I'm making a deliberate and regular effort to call friends and family. I'm usually rubbish at doing this: I hate talking on the phone, my life gets all too easily consumed by the 'here and now', and I take the people who are closest to me for granted, assuming that they'll always be there and that "I can always call them tomorrow." Now, though, I hate the fact that they I can't see them or that they might be sick or lonely. I love these people. Coronavirus has helped me to actually do something about it.

Gratitiude for my job 
It saddens me that I no longer get to see the class of children whose year with me was so abruptly halted. It saddens me that I can't go to work and do the job that I have grown to love. I'm also enormously grateful that I do a job which makes a real difference to people's lives, and I thank God that I have a salary which has so far been protected throughout this crisis. And I pray that He will watch over and provide for those who are less fortunate.

Gratitude for my family 
There have been moments when my wife and son have driven me to distraction over the past couple of weeks, and there will be many more such moments. I also wouldn't be without them right now for anything in the world. I appreciate their personalities, temperaments, strengths and skills a whole lot more as we spend each day supporting each other through this period of lockdown. I'll try to remember all of this when life gets back to normal.

A new appreciation for others 
It goes without saying how much admiration we all have for the medics, scientists and emergency services who are on the front line and working tirelessly to keep us safe. But how much respect did we previously give to cleaners, supermarket workers and delivery drivers? When we eventually beat this thing, their contribution will have been as important as anyone's. If this virus teaches us to be a bit less snooty and a bit more appreciative of those who do these jobs, then it will have done all of us a great service.

Ubuntu 
I came across this South African word the other day. It means 'I am because of you'. Or, as Simba sings to his daughter Kiara in The Lion King 2, "We are more than we are, We are One." So much of the hostility, vitriol and hatred that we've seen in recent years seems to spring from an individualistic mentality: to hell with the rest of you, I'm only looking out for myself/my family/my tribe. It's an insidious and poisonous ideology. Christianity has been teaching us for over two thousand years to love our neighbour, whoever he or she might be. Not because I want to make some noble act of sacrifice that will diminish me and enhance someone else, but because I can only ever be as prosperous, happy and healthy as I seek to make others. We're all making sacrifices at the moment for the benefit of other people. If we can carry on doing so after all of this has come to pass, then we'll have made a better world for everyone.          

  

Help the Aged

I'm trying to look after my elderly neighbours. Mostly because it's the right thing to do, and because they'll have made sacrifices in their past that I've benefited from.

Partly, however, because doing so can be a very amusing experience: I've changed names and home numbers to protect my brilliant neighbours.

Conversation with number 44: 

"Hello?"

"Hello, it's Joe at number 38."

"Who?"

"Joe. At number 38. Claire's husband?"

"I thought they sold and packed up years ago!"

"Err...no. Still here."

"Hold on a minute (shuffles off, conversation overheard with wife) "Gladys, it's Joe. Didn't they sell up years ago?" 

"No, I spoke to her last week!" 

"Oh never mind. (Back to me) Hello?"

"Yes, hello."

"You're right, it is Joe!"

"Yes...yes...I am. Anyway, how are you keeping?"

"Fine thank you. Absolutely fine."

"That's great. We were just wondering if you needed anything from the supermarket?"

"Did I speak to your wife at the bus stop the other day?"

"Err...possibly."

"Only someone started talking to me at the bus stop. She was very friendly but I didn't know who she was!"

"Right..."

"She was standing outside the front door to number 38."

"Okay...probably Claire then. I hope so anyway."

"Do apologise to her for me won't you!"

"I will. Anyway, do you need any shopping?"

"Hold on  (shuffles off again)    Gladys, do we need anything?" 

"Milk. Whole milk. Four pints please." 

"Okay  (back to me)  Four pints of whole milk please, Joe."

"No problem at all. Anything else?"

"No that's all. Very kind of you!"

"Absolutely fine. I'll leave it in your porch."

"Are you sure you didn't move?"

"No, definitely not. Been here eight years now."

"Well I never. Bye Joe."

"Goodbye, take care."



Conversation with number 42 

(Dorothy is in her 80s. Lovely lady, fantastic neighbour. Also a bit hard of hearing.) 

"HELLO?"

"Hi Dorothy, it's Joe from next door. I was just wondering..."

"NOW LISTEN. YOU'RE PROBABLY NOT GOING ON HOLIDAY ANY MORE ARE YOU?"

"Err...probably not, no."

"ONLY IF YOU WERE I'D BE VERY HAPPY TO LOOK AFTER THE CAT AGAIN."

"Thank you Dorothy, that's really kind, but I'm pretty sure that we won't..."

"IT'S NO TROUBLE!"

"I know Dorothy, I don't know what we'd do without you, you've always..."

"I LOVE YOUR CAT!"

"Yes, I know. Far more than I do."

"SORRY??"

"Nothing, anyway Dorothy, the reason I called was..."

"HAVE YOU SEEN THAT SQUIRREL??"

"What?"

"THERE'S A SQUIRREL HOPPING AROUND IN THE GARDEN! IT'S EVER SO CUTE!"

"I did see it yes."

"I LOVE SQUIRRELS!"

"Yes, they're quite nice aren't they."

"I LOVE ALL ANIMALS!"

"Yes, me too...well, sometimes...anyway, Dorothy, do you need any shopping?"

"SORRY?"

"SHOPPING DOROTHY. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING FROM THE SUPERMARKET?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT, LET ME GO AND GET ARTHUR. I CAN'T REALLY HEAR YOU!"




Shopping was - eventually - safely delivered to both houses. Absolute legends, both of them. If I'm still around in 2065, I hope I'm as fun and full of life as they are!

What albums can teach us

Some of the most iconic album covers of the past few decades can teach us all we need to know about responsible behaviour during the Coronavirus crisis.

Very irresponsible. Social distancing should be observed at all times.

This is just ridiculous. You may as well be at a Trump press conference.

Much better gentlemen, well done. A great idea to use the stripes on a zebra crossing to help keep two metres apart.

Well done boys, all staying at home. You might just want to check that Liam isn't dead.

Absolutely not. We shouldn't be trying to lick each other at the present time, even if your tongue is so severely deformed.

Don't be fooled. It's very unlikely that she'd be examining you if you were to get sick.

Parents, I know that you want to do the best job that you can with home-schooling but please leave swimming lessons to the professionals. Also, there are less dramatic ways of teaching them about money.