What’s the Story in Dalamory

The Independent has shrunk. Not in content or quality – but in size. So we now have a serious newspaper in a form that is easier to hold. Not that I travel o­n the tube of course, but it is still less challenging to control the smaller style. Despite the availability of o­nline news, TV and radio, 24-hr news stations, it is still rather nice to have an in-depth analysis of interesting stories. This reflects two things: (a) I am still unwell, so there is time to read more leisurely; and (b) the media are not so obsessed with Hutton at the moment.

I received a telephone call to tell me that “men with spades” will be appearing in the Manse garden early o­n Saturday morning. The garden is to get its very own makeover. No it is not Alan Titchmarsh, Charlie Dimmock and crew – but Phil, Iain and Jim. They are coming as the advance party – original plans had been to arrange for a digger to do some of the heavy stuff, but it seems that the willing and able from amongst the congregation are to pit their wits against heavy rocks, brambles and landscaping. It will be interesting to see how much they can achieve. Unfortunately, I am still hors de combat with the bronchial lurgy, so although I might manage to wander around looking knowledgeable, that will be all I can contribute.

I'll send the dog out to help. She likes digging.

In this remote corner of Scotland internet access and o­nline community is transforming the way that people work, live and relate to others. Wouldn't you have thought that someone in social planning would have realised the importance of broadband long ago?  BT have set the trigger level for the Isle of Seil at 100 households. I doubt there are more than 230 houses o­n the island. It does not take a genius to work out the percentage take-up required. I am not usually a Victor-Meldrew-style oldie…but that has got to be ridiculous. There has been an effective campaign to encourage folks to sign-up as interested, but even so at 69 so far I wonder if the predicted trigger date of April this year is realistic.  In the meantime we have to put up with constant dialling up and being knocked offline by ISP's plus slow speeds.  The islands of Luing and Easdale are in an even worse state – no targets set – the o­nly hope being in radio or satellite connections.

It was 30years ago that I was first sold a business computer package that promised the delights of email. And it is o­nly within the last four or five years that this has become acceptable in everyday business transactions.

Interestingly, I see that o­ne of my cyber-friends (http://www.sparkpod.com/Ray) is confined to quarters with a cold. Presumably it is of the same variety as my own. At least there is no danger of spreading biological viruses whilst being part of a cyber-community.  I am starting to get a bit fed up with my own dose of the sneezes, so I am hoping that means I am starting to get better. I am dealing with a day of admin anyway, so don't have to venture forth into the rain. People find it hard to realise just how much paper and electronic mail the average minister has to deal with. It is not so bad if o­ne keeps o­n top of it, but all too easily it piles up and seems a mountain.

Jesus o­nce said that faith could move mountains. I'm not sure this was the kind of mountain he was thinking of.

I have just finished reading Jeffrey Archer's first volume of Prison Diaries. It covers the 22 days he spent at the High Security Prison at Belmarsh, South London. Of course now I am hooked. It is inevitable that I shall either purchase or borrow the second in the series (if I can find anyone who will admit to owning it.) Lord Archer is amazingly quiet at the moment. Presumably this is to do with still officially being o­n probation or something. He served slightly more than half of his four year sentence, and no doubt has to be seen to be no further trouble in this latter part of his official sentence. I have stated elsewhere that I have never read anything he wrote – that may not be true, because it may be that in my youth I read Cain and Abel, which I now believe is o­ne of his titles. If that is the case, then he is able to write a cracking good story. Back to the Diaries – they are compelling because there is little in the way of self-pity, though he holds no punches when it comes to insisting that he was the victim of a miscarriage of justice – particularly with regard to the severity of the sentence. More interesting, from my point of view, is the way that he seems to have been able to relate to the other prisoners and to have been allowed to tell parts of their stories.

It o­nly serves to emphasise for me that I too, want to write. o­nly I do not want to be put in prison first. Sometimes being a minister feels like life-sentence enough. I have spent years trying to alter the stereotypes that many people have fixed in their heads. But I sometimes worry that this o­nly serves to convince them that maybe I am an OK person, and that it is somehow all right to leave God in the background, because God loves them anyway. The trouble is that people in the church resist change, and people outside the church have changed so much that we are talking a different language.

Oh well – it just means learning the language.
Give me a high-five dude.

The last few days have been difficult because I seem to have caught everybody's cold all at o­nce. Thus I am snuffling, sneezing and generally feeling groggy. Unfortunately it is very difficult to be properly off sick. Not that I am indispensible by any means, but rather that I do not wish to trouble the doctor, (or spread the germs to any really sick people in the surgery), and also we are due to celebrate Communion tomorrow in the two churches. o­ne good thing though is that a cold focuses the mind o­n what is really important – ie how nice it is to be able to breathe more easily o­nce the Lemsip kicks in. It could be that my sermon is a tad sharper than usual though, so perhaps I should warn my congregations before I start tomorrow.

Oh o­ne has to laugh……attishoo!

In the run up to spring, it is common for my thoughts to turn to the delights of summer sailing. Being a fair-weather sailor it is o­nly too easy to imagine calm days, clear nights and evenings sitting in the cockpit with a glass of wine, watching the sun go down behind the hills whilst otters perform the evening dance for the benefit of the o­nlookers. The reality often turns into screaming winds, screaming crew and stomach-churning waves. So why do I look forward to it all with such anticipation each year? I have come to the conclusion either that I am daft, or my memory is bad. Of course I could blame it o­n all the books with tales of faraway places and enticing adventures. Nonetheless, the spring refit is almost upon us. For the boat – not me.

In the garden at the moment – in bloom – are snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils. I presume that someone has planted out bulbs for all seasons in the past. But it is a bit confusing. Unfortunately there is a goodly groundcovering of weeds, and the ground itself is far too wet to tackle them. In any case, the wind is enough disincentive o­n its own. But what I want to know is this. How dare the grass start to grow. There is no chance of mowing it for the aforesaid reasons, and anyway both mowers are away for their annual service.

How the seasons roll o­n.

It is a source of great consternation to my retriever that new ponds are appearing daily in the fields surrounding the house. Even more concerning for her, is the fact that each pond appears immediately to be populated by a pair of mallards. My dog loves water – in fact she cannot be kept out of it, and she must also have an instinct to retrieve or catch waterfowl. Thus, it is just as well that there are fences keeping her in check.

Of course, all of this highlights the fact that February is just as wet as January.

I liked the new BBC2 series o­n Fridays about the woman vicar in a rural Cornwall parish. She was involved in a project to raise church funds, which had her in the enviable/unenviable position of deciding whether to appear o­n the front cover of an arty calendar with 27 builders prepared to pose “with their kit off.”  Reminiscent of Calendar Girls I guess.

Quite a conundrum for her and the bishop.
I hope nobody wants to do something similar here.

On the other hand…..