Wings to fly

In the so-called Piazetta of St. Mark's Square, Venice, near the water's edge stand two tall Byzantine granite pillars. On top of one you will see the figure of St. Theodore, the first patron saint of the city, proudly holding his shield and spear. On top of the other is the winged lion of St. Mark, which you find all over the city, and on the Venetian flag.

And on top of that...

... at least for a moment or two the other week...

there stood a proud gull.

I don't know how much thinking seagulls ever do, but I can imagine this one thinking.

As it first looked upwards to the golden winged angel on top of the campanile, then down at the winged lion on whose back it stood...

"Your wings may look more impressive than mine, but I can actually fly you know!"

Something to think about.

Grounded

If you want to see loads of Italian Renaissance Art, Venice is one of the places to go. The place is overflowing with it, or almost sinking under the weight of it, to vary the overstated metaphor.
Never mind the art galleries: every church has its Bellini, Titian or Tintoretto (usually several, in fact.) After a while it can get a bit much.
For some relief from all of this overwhelmingly religious imagery, you can call in at the late Peggy Guggenheim's house (just don't make the mistake of ordering anything in the tearoom/cafe there - it will cost you the price of a small painting, if and when it finally arrives, and it won't be worth eating anyway!! -You can see we had a bad experience there.)
It is, of course, a museum displaying some of Peggy Guggenheim's amazing collection of modern art - very different in style and subject matter from all of the Renaissance stuff...
OR...
you can find 'art' in the streets.
I'm not sure whether this object pictured above could really be considered as a work of art or simply as a political 'flyer.' It is certainly preaching an environmentalist message and it is a stark reminder to all the tourists and visitors like myself who arrive in Venice by air, that we may be leaving some rather large (size 12+) carbon footprints for the sake of a short break.
Well, it made me think.
But, will it make me change my behaviour?
Does any preaching do that?

One thing is certain: the crate above is not going to get off the ground any time soon. It is going nowhere. And that's the problem with the environmental issue too. We need to find new ways of fuelling transport because the long term answer cannot be for us all to stay in our own little corners.

Daft hands

Talking about creativity and original ideas, what about this for an original idea?
Bizarre, but genius all the same. (Thanks to my daughter for pointing me to this video.)

Abstract reflections

I've said it before - there's a sense in which the camera always lies. That is - a photograph is not reality itself: it is merely a creative interpretation of one aspect of that reality, a freezing still of a moment in time. This is, in itself, a distortion of reality; for we do not experience life as separate, or even separable, static moments: it is a moving continuum, like a river.

However, distortion is not the same as deceit, for it is possible sometimes to capture just the right moment which expresses the essence of a place, or a time, or an event, or (and this is much harder to do) of a person. In this sense it is, like bending palm leaves into 'locusts,' an act of creative transformation.

Water provides the photographer with some of the best opportunities for doing this, precisely because it is usually something moving. You can vary the exposure time to make reflections in water look like molten metal or smudged paint. Depending on how far you take it you can even create almost totally abstract patterns. The picture above doesn't quite go that far, but it is almost there.

What people sometimes fail to realise is that words are often just as much distortions (or at least interpretations) of reality as pictures. When we do take this into account we are much less likely to be arrogantly dogmatic in believing we have grasped the whole truth of anything.

A play of locusts?

The creativity, inventiveness and sheer skill of human beings never cease to amaze me.
Where do people get their ideas from?

I once watched two young boys in a little Greek village take an old metal container and, with nothing more than a couple of large stones, transform it into a boat which they could float on the water and play with. A toy out of almost nothing.

The picture above was snapped hurriedly last week in Venice as we passed this group of Chinese people transforming palm leaves into 'locusts' with just a few deft and well-practised twists and folds. They looked to me as if they could have made these things with their eyes closed.
Amazing.

Reach for the moon

Another picture from Venice...
On the basis of the old saying - that's another thousand words...

Keeping in touch

I know... I haven't blogged anything for ages.
But I have a good excuse, or at least an explanation. I spent last week in one of my favourite places in all the world (outside Scotland that is) - namely Venice. It was a treat for my second youngest daughter who recently graduated and who had not, until then, ever seen Venice, or any other part of Italy.

I've blogged before about why I find this place so special, particularly when it comes to taking photographs. It is always good, however, to see even the most familiar of places through the eyes of someone who has never seen the place before. (It was also good for me that Ailsa, like myself, enjoys a good espresso!!)

One of the things I like most about Venice, and which, in many respects sets it apart from so many other cities of the world, is that on one level it never seems to change. Not many new buildings here.

And yet... it is always different. The shifting light reflecting on the water sees to that. And there is always some little back alley that you haven't been lost in before.

In addition, because in some ways the backdrop stays more or less the same, you can pay more attention to the little details.

If you look closely at the photo above you might just spot one of those details...

No?

Take a closer look at the gondolier.

He is not just resting his chin on his hand: he is talking on his mobile phone. Nothing unusual about that these days, I suppose, but there is a certain incongruity between this ubiquitous 21st century accessory and the 18th century mode of transport, not to mention his outfit.

The only time I've seen something like this yet even more incongruous was in the Masai Mara when I spotted a Masia nomadic herdsman walking barefoot with his cattle in traditional Masia dress with a mobile phone clipped on to his belt. Unfortunately I didn't have my camera at the ready that time.

How did we ever manage in the old days without our mobile phones?

Don't look down

What sort of situation might provoke in you an urge to pray?

Perhaps a scene of natural majestic beauty - like this seascape, photographed on Islay earlier this year?

Or perhaps a situation of danger?

Let me tell you another of my true stories from the dark side of employment pre-Health & Safety Executive days.

This particular event happened early on in my roofing 'career.'

As I said before, I started that summer job with a very definite phobia about heights.

(It's no use telling me that choosing a job as a roofer was probably not the best option for someone like me: the truth of the matter is that it was all that was available at the time and it is amazing what some people will do for a little bit of cash!! Especially students.)

Anyway, I arrived at the site of our first assignment - a set of factory roofs in East Kilbride.

These were called 'nest factories' but this description had nothing to do with any avian housebuilding activities. I think it had something to do with most of the companies being 'fledgling' companies, but maybe I'm making that one up.

At any rate the one good thing about this being our first job was that the roofs of these particular factories were not too high. A mere 30 feet or so. A good place for an acrophobic* student to begin. [*look it up if you don't know what it means]

There was one drawback, however.

Although the roofs were only about 30 feet off the ground... the ladder we used to access it was a bit less than 30 feet. It meant that to get on to the roof you had to climb to the second top rung of the ladder then reach up to grab the flashing on the wall-head and pull yourself up the last three or four feet. When I saw one of the existing workers engaging in this particular acrobatic feat while simultaneously holding a large propane gas cylinder on his shoulder, I began to contemplate taking a vow of poverty for the summer. But I couldn't escape very easily and soon it was my turn to attempt to get onto the roof. It felt as if my stomach got up there before the rest of me but by concentrating hard and not looking down I managed it.

Well, this was to become a several-times-a-day routine over the next couple of weeks and eventually (to my own amazement) I too could be seen quickly shinning up that wallhead from the top of the ladder while carrying all sorts of objects, like buckets and brushes and compressor hoses... and, yes, even a propane gas cylinder. But I didn't ever dare look down.

Now, the 'regular' workers knew that we were all students but, as far as I was aware, they had no idea what subjects any of us were studying. (For a lot of the time neither had we, but that's another story!)

We were a diverse foursome in this respect.

Electronics. Chemistry. Law.. and, of course, in my case... Theology.

But nobody knew... I thought.

Then, one day, the foreman (a rough, red-faced Glaswegian by the name of Ronnie) was holding the foot of the ladder on which I was climbing. His job was to make sure the ladder did not slip. I was carrying something in my hand at the time. I think it was a bucket.

I was almost at the top of the ladder and therefore reaching up to take hold of the wallhead with my free hand when suddenly the ladder started to fall back away from the wall into a vertical position. Involuntarily, I looked down!! Almost 30 feet below me Ronnie was pulling the ladder backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, while I clung desperately to the top of it like some sort of performing monkey.

And from down below I heard Ronnie's voice bellow out in mocking Glaswegian tones "Aw right then, Reverend, let's hear ye saying yer prayers noo!! Ha! Ha!"

He didn't hear me...

but -believe me- he had certainly provoked within me an urge to pray!

Worth waiting for

Some things are worth waiting for.

No - I am not talking about our uninvited arachnids! I am referring to our new local restaurant, Prego.

Some time ago I wrote about Prego in Lanark as one of our favourite eating places, and I was looking forward to the opening of a 'sister' restaurant here in Carluke. It should have been ready for business in late April/early May but various snags and delays in the construction meant that it only opened this week. However, as I said, some things are worth waiting for, and yesterday I was at Prego, Carluke, for the first time...

...and the second time.

I had lunch... then dinner.

The restaurant is decorated in the same style as the Lanark one. The main difference is one of size and space. There is room to breathe as well as eat in Carluke!!

The food is of the same quality, which is great. Last night I had the 'special' for the main course - large fillets of grilled halibut on a bed of fennel and a souffle of asparagus and ginger. Mmmm...

Definitely worth waiting for.

Vital though they are, decor and food are only part of the eating out experience. It's the attitude of staff that for me decides whether I will return another time. And I am happy to report that Prego in Carluke is every bit as welcoming as Prego in Lanark - because many of the staff from Lanark now work in Carluke.

We have been in some eating places where as customers/clients we got the impression that we were a necessary inconvenience. The staff knew vaguely that we had to be there for some reason but apparently wished we weren't.

And then there are places like Prego (too few of them) where you are made to feel "this is your place; you belong here, and we are here to make your stay enjoyable."

Sadly, you find the same variations of welcome in churches.

The other week someone told me about a visit their family had made to a church while on holiday. It was quite a big church but with very, very few worshippers. And so, almost all of the seats/pews were empty. The visiting family had a wide choice available to them and chose a row near but not quite at the back. Just as the service was about to begin someone entered the sanctuary and uttered the time-honoured words of Christian welcome: "Excuse me - that's my seat you're sitting in!"

You couldn't make this stuff up.

Sadly, you don't have to.

Here at Kirkton we try to make our church like Prego's...

...except for the food.

(although Crossroads cafe on a Monday and The Coffee Club on a Tuesday are a good start.)

Through a glass darkly...

Recently I have been called upon to evict a number of unwanted house-guests from our home.

Usually I am summoned by an urgent cri de coeur from my wife, who loves these uninvited guests every bit as much as I love heights (if not more.) [See previous posts.]

Personally, I find these guests rather fascinating.

However, I am usually obliged to dispose of them as rapidly as possible. I usually try to do so without causing any unnecessary injury, and for this purpose I normally make use of a glass and a piece of card or strong paper.

Occasionally, though, my aim or my timing may be a little bit out, and this can result in an unintentional amputation, which is distressing for me - not to say for the victim. But most of the time I succeed in capturing the intruders alive and am able to show them the door.

I am beginning to suspect, however, that some of them simply turn around and re-enter by some other secret way. Either that, or they have very large families.


Having spiders appear in our house is nothing unusual, but lately these unwanted visitors seem to be exceptionally huge.

I just caught this one this evening.



To give you some idea of scale, the glass is 7.4cm in diameter (almost 3 inches.)
Its body was about the size of a wasp.
Definitely super-sized!
I think there must be an obesity problem among arachnids as well as among humans!

Tales from the dark side

I began my 'tales from the rooftops' at the top - that is, from the highest roof that I actually worked on. Being pretty scared of heights, I'm glad it wasn't the first roof that I actually had to climb on to, but neither was this escapade (in spite of the fire) the most dangerous of all the roofing exploits that we 'got up to' (so to speak.)

A week or so before the Bowaters incident, we were dispatched to a rather gruesome old building in Rutherglen which housed one of the British Ropes factories. We never did get to see inside the building, nor can anyone now, as the building was long ago demolished. This is one reason why the photograph above is not of the building in question.

The picture is, instead, of the oldest house in Glasgow, the so-called Provand's Lordship. (I visited it again recently with our Korean guests.) This particular building dates from the 15th century, so I am sure that if its stones could speak they would have many an interesting tale to tell, and most of them more interesting than mine.

However, I uploaded the photograph for two reasons:

one, because I like the picture, taken from the vantage point of the St. Mungo Museum of Religious Life on the other side of the road,

and, two, because it may help you to imagine the building I am about to describe and whose roof I was sent to work on.

The British Ropes Factory was an ugly building whose slate roof was roughly 80 feet high (that's more than 25 metres by the way) - probably high enough to reach terminal velocity if you should slip from it. And there was nothing at the edge of the roof to prevent this from happening should you begin to slide. We, expendable students, with absolutely no training on how to walk on roofs, and with absolutely no safety equipment to anchor us to the roof (something which would now be required by the Health & Safety Executive) had to trust in our own sense of balance and good luck.

Where the roof of the the British Ropes factory differed from the roof you see above is that along its length were large "roof lights" (i.e. windows.) They were rather crucial to the activities going on in the factory below as they were virtually the only source of daylight. But there was a problem. Around the edges of all of these roof lights were strips of lead, or at least there had been until thieves had stripped the strips of lead from the roof. (In those days you could get a good price for second-hand lead.) It meant, of course, that whenever it rained the windows now leaked and the rain dripped on to the factory floor 80 feet below. Not pleasant for those trying to make ropes for a living.

Although the lead had been replaced more than once, this had just provided additional supplies to the lead thieves, who were happy to return and repeat the process as often as they could.

So, we were called in.

Our mission?

... to paint non-drying, anti-vandal paint in a one-metre strip all around every roof light. I guess the theory was that if a lead thief were to step on that one-metre strip he would immediately slip... and the roof lead would be safe... though it is unlikely that he would be. Of course, as this anti-vandal paint gathers dust it becomes pretty much invisible, hence making the trap all the more effective.

Can you believe this stuff??

I'm not sure who the bigger criminals were - the lead thieves, or those trying to stop them.

Anyway, we simply had to do what we were told, which meant being especially careful not to put a put a foot on any of the non-drying paint that we had already laid down. A bit scary, even if I had not been afraid of heights in the first place.

We worked away, each of us with a bucket of paint in one hand and a long-handled brush in the other. It took us about a week to complete the job. Then we went on to the Bowaters job.

While we were working on the paper factory roof the weather was especially warm - and that was before the fire. What we didn't realise was that back in Rutherglen our beautifully painted window-surrounds had begun to melt with the heat of the sun, and this tarry-black non-drying paint had started to run down the glass and give to the roof lights a less-than-attractive brown tint. In fact the amount of daylight reaching the factory floor had been cut by 50%!!

So we were sent back - this time with buckets of diesel oil and long-handled brushes- to wash off the non-drying paint.

And, this time, it took two weeks.

To risk your life doing something that is totally futile and meaningless... ah! those were the days.

Up, up on the roof

During our visit to New Lanark with our Korean guests, I noticed that a new feature was being installed - a garden, on the roof of Mill 3. Quite an impressive sight, even though it is still under construction and probably won't be ready for another month or so.
To see it, of course, required us to go up onto the roof, and for that purpose a very convenient elevator was available.
It took me back a few years.
Right back to 1974, in fact.
I was a student then. I had just completed an Arts degree and was about to begin my Theology degree. I needed a summer job, especially as my father had died the year before, but work of all kinds was in short supply that year.
In the end the only employment I could get for the summer was with a "roofing" company. (The inverted commas are necessary to indicate that this "company" was of the Western variety. i.e. they were pretty much cowboy builders!!)
Now, I think it's worth observing that since I have always been pretty scared of heights, it seemed to me to be a rather a cruel irony that this was the only job open to me for the summer. It's amazing what you'll do for a wee bit of cash, mind you.
It is also worth pointing out, to those who may not know about these things, that The Health and Safety Executive had not come into being at the time I started the job. I have no doubt that it was precisely because of the kind of work practices that I enjoyed (sorry... endured) that the HSE was invented.
Anyway, I was reminiscing about some of these experiences on Saturday evening when I was the guest speaker for our local Baptist Church's Anniversary weekend. I was asked to think of something light-hearted to talk about after the Saturday evening meal, and this is what I came up with.
I can laugh about these experiences now but I'm not sure how much I laughed about them at the time. I'm also pretty sure I was pretty much unaware at the time of just how dangerous were some of the exploits we got up to.
I'll share a few of them with you in due course.
The highest roof I had to work on was more than 100 feet above ground level. (I still don't know how I managed to do it.) It was the Bowaters paper factory near Yorkhill Quay.
I remember it was pretty sunny that week and we (the roofers) were working on the roof alongside some glaziers.
You could certainly see for miles in all directions.

"Hey, come and have a look at this!" cried someone, and we all went nearer to the roof edge to see what he had spotted. It was a couple of fire engines racing down the Great Western Road, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Moments later we could see a few others, also converging from different directions.
"Some view you get from up here, eh?" says one guy.
"Ah wonder where they're heading for?" says another.
"Don't know, but it must be quite a big blaze when there's so many of them!"

...and then from down below, the bellowing voice:

"Get aff the roof, ya eejits! the buildin's oan fire!!"

Given that it was a paper factory, it was probably sound advice.

Some time later when we were allowed to go back up to the roof, I noticed that my jacket (which I'd left behind in the evacuation) had mysteriously 'vaporised.'
Strange that - given that the fire had never got anywhere the roof.
I always wondered if maybe some wee Glasgow glazier went home that night with a nice nearly-new jacket?

Catch 22 and a half

Aren't computers amazing? Don't they represent a pinnacle of human technological achievement, the product, surely, of some of the greatest intellects of our time?

Doh! Not when it comes to error messages!!

I mean, who makes these things up?

Especially this one (above) which happened to my PC recently.

The only question is- should I press F1 or F2?

What do you think? :-)

An apple a day...

I don't have time to write anything today but I thought that I would post another close-up picture illustrating the richness of the natural world. (The photo of these so-called "cooking apples" on my sister-in-law's apple tree was taken in August.)

I eat an apple just about every day but I don't always stop to marvel at the simple beauty of fruit.

Consider the fuschias of the field

You don't have to believe the world was created by God to be amazed by so many of the things you see in it. (Such incredible variety and such frequent beauty.)
But you do have to be prepared sometimes to stop and take a closer look , even at the most ordinary of things.
This particular fuschia plant was in the garden at Scottish Churches House in Dunblane, but they are common enough in homes and gardens throughout Scotland. In fact, we have a huge, sprawling untidy mess of fuschia in our own garden. Together the massed flowers do make a certain impact but its when you get in close and look at each individual bloom you discover that although they are all similar, they are not identical, and each bloom is a masterpiece of asymmetrical balance and vivid colour. There are masses of them, yet they never look mass-produced. I just love Nature's extravagance in this respect.
Somehow, sneaking such a close-in look at all this variety makes me feel astonishingly rich.

PS. Remember to click on the picture to see it full size. Hope you have a good PC monitor to see it on.

Signing on the dotted line...

The picture above was taken last week at our Presbytery meeting as we signed a partnership agreement between the Presbytery of Lanark (Church of Scotland) and East Seoul Presbytery (PROK.) The two other folk in the picture are the moderators of the respective presbyteries.

I suppose it could be argued that coming to this historic agreement (the first between two presbyteries in our two countries) and reaching that moment of signing was the fundamental purpose of the visit to our presbytery of our seven Korean visitors.

However, that's not quite how I see things myself. What I mean is that, to me, the signing of the piece of paper is in itself quite meaningless: what really does matter, and what, for me, was the real purpose of the visit, was the establishing of genuine friendships that transcend our very different cultures. The signing of the agreement becomes, then, a tangible expression of the existing friendship/relationship.

It is, of course, possible to devise treaties and contracts and formal agreements on a quite impersonal level, and there are many contexts in which this is either sufficient or even preferable, but in terms of the shared community of the church, I don't think it is enough.

But now we are friends.

All we need to do now is extend the number of these friendships between us and we will have a genuine partnership.

Paris Match!

France 0 - Scotland 1

Brilliant!

Blogger not letting me upload photos at the moment but what a picture that scoreline represents!!

A tree, a bird, a fish and a bell

There are some people who seem to think that it nearly always rains in Scotland and the sun hardly ever shines. (Most of us who think this way, it has to be said, actually live in Scotland, so we know what we are talking about!)

However, it does not always rain... just nearly always.

Which means that when the sun does come out and the sky is blue it is all the more welcome, and all the more beautiful.

During the time that our Korean visitors were with us, surprisingly enough, we saw very little rain - apart from our short time on Iona. One particularly beautiful day was right at the start of the visit, when I took the group to Glasgow. Among other things, we visited the St. Mungo Museum of Religious Life and Glasgow Cathedral, a visit that was certainly enhanced by the blue sky and the gently warm sunshine.

In the Cathedral precincts are a number of attractive lamp-posts bearing the emblems of Glasgow's Coat of Arms - a tree, a bird, a fish and a bell. There's a little rhyme that accompanies these varied objects:

There's the tree that never grew,

There's the bird that never flew,

There's the fish that never swam,

There's the bell that never rang.

There are also legends attached to each of these, and to save me having to type up my version, I'll just direct you to another web-page where you can read it for yourself.

Most legends are interesting, even if they have little or no historical foundation, because they often express a view of reality, or an aspiration, or a sense of identity, or even a universal truth... and that is the point of them. Some kinds of truth are best 'explained' by not explaining them at all, rather by simply telling a story that resonates with something deep inside of us.

Jesus knew this; which is why, as far as we know, he never bothered to write a systematic theology or philosophical treatise, preferring instead to tell stories that rang true, and leaving his hearers to make the connection... or not.

I recently came across this interesting description of the power of the story in our shared human experience. See what you think of it yourself. In the meantime I'm away to try and think of some stories that I can tell at a dinner on Saturday evening. I've been invited by our local Baptist church to be their guest for their anniversary weekend, which means speaking on Saturday evening at a dinner, preaching on Sunday morning then preaching again on Sunday evening.

I think I'm going to need quite a lot of stories for that!

Light and Shade

Well, most of our Koreans have now returned home and it is time for me to return my 'luxury Mercedes' to its home. (see pic below)

It has been an interesting, if tiring, couple of weeks.

As someone pointed out to me recently, one of the benefits of showing visitors around your country is that it encourages you to see your own familiar world through a stranger's eyes.

Well, that's my paraphrase of what this person said, because I can't remember the exact words. It's true, though. When you take on the responsibility of showing visitors around, you have to learn to notice what they might notice and also what they might not notice.

You are also, of course, expected to be able to answer all sorts of historical and geographical questions. My philosophy on these occasions is just to give a confident answer, even if I haven't got a clue. Sound authoritative. Appear to know what you are talking about. Chances are they will never remember what you said anyway, or it will get edited, re-worked or completely re-invented anyway.

How else do you think all these urban myths and historical legends first came into being? :-)

Seriously, though, it does make you aware of what you know, and even more of what you don't know, as well as what you ought to know.

It goes without saying, I suppose, that I was also very busy with the camera over these last couple of weeks. Among the many hundreds of photographs taken was the one above taken on the road to Oban (while I was not driving, I hasten to add again.)

I like it because of the brooding dark clouds and the shadows they cast contrasting strongly with the patch of bright sunlight striking the mountainsides.

Most of our lives are like this, a mixture of 'sunshine' and 'shadow.' Some people, it has to be said, do seem to have more than their fair share of dark clouds on their horizon, and some seem to breeze along in bright sunlight most of the time. There are no explanations for this and few consolations for those who have to cope with the dark times, but it does seem to me that, in the photograph at least, the clouds make the light seem all the more spectacular.

Talking of contrasts... what about that Mercedes badge and the paint job above??

Yon bonnie banks again

Here is Loch Lomond from a different angle altogether. This picture was taken at Inveruglas, on our way home from Iona last night with our Korean guests. The light was beginning to fade and a gentle rain starting to fall, but there was great sense of calm about the loch.

That's two Friday evenings in a row I have been at Loch Lomond. How blessed is that?

But, then, there are thousands of similarly beautiful spots all around Scotland - and none of them is exactly the same two days in a row. A bit like people, I suppose.

It's the unpredictability of the natural world that makes it so fascinating to those who take the time to look carefully, and the unpredictabilityof human beings that makes relationships so challenging.

Our brains are programmed in such a way that they prefer regular patterns and routines, in order to make sense of the world around us, but there is sufficient space and flexibility in the way that we process information for us to take delight in the new or unexpected. Again, though, it requires us to stop and to notice. And when we do, we begin to make sense of the world in another way, and sense its givenness and even its Giver.

So here's another picture to stop and stare at for a few moments at the end of a day.

It was taken quite early in the morning from the window of our minibus on the road between Dunblane and Oban.

I hasten to add that on this occasion I was not the one doing the driving!

Four wheels on my wagon...

I'm always joking that if I decide to give up ministry I'd like to work as a bus driver. Well, that boast was well and truly tested today as I took our newly-arrived Korean guests (they came last night) on a wide-ranging tour of our Presbytery. Actually since the Presbytery covers over 500 square miles the trip wasn't as wide-ranging as it might have been. And, guess what? I haven't changed my mind. I had a great time, even though the bus I was driving looked like it had been shipped out of a war zone. (Maybe I'll take a picture of it later.)

The minibus belongs to a local Scout group and has obviously seen one or two jamborees in its lifetime. But it is a Mercedes and well built and, in spite of its length, it is actually pretty easy to drive and even to park - although I haven't been too challenged on that score as yet. Wait till I take it into Glasgow tomorrow.

But today, it was a chance to underline the vast difference between the home Presbytery of our visitors (East Seoul) and our Presbytery. Seoul, of course, is a vast conurbation with a population of about 20 million all crammed into a space probably about the size of Lanark Presbytery. Maybe even less. Here, on the other hand, there are more sheep than people. So it's a bit of a contrast.

In the background of the picture above is one of our older churches, St. Mary's in Biggar. This particular building dates from 1565, I think, and replaced an earlier one built in 1164. Apparently, however, there has been some sort of church on this site since the very earliest days of Christianity in Scotland, perhaps as far back as AD500 or 600. Amazing to think that Christian worship has been going on in that spot for so many hundreds of years.

History and memory are precious gifts but they can never be more important than an appreciation of the present moment, or even the anticipation of the future. Having a past is good (usually) but living in it is not. I'm happy to believe that as we establish this international relationship between a small part of rural Scotland and a small part of urban South Korea we are building something useful for the future.

In the immediate future, however, what I have to concern myself about is getting the bus through our driveway gates. There is only about one inch to spare on either side! ... now maybe I should think about a change of career...

N.E.

I think I have just about recovered from the "Nexus Experience." I'm not sure what that phrase might mean to those who attended the exhibition, the seminars, the children's 'praise party' or the evening worship, but for those of us on the organising side, it meant being on your feet for a very long time, over several days (which is not something that my dodgy back enjoys too much.) And, of course, by the end of the week "the Nexus Experience" = Near Exhaustion.

First prize for endurance has to go to Bryan Kerr, the Project Manager, but I reckon all the team deserve a rest, although I know none of us will get much.

My particular responsibility was for the closing Worship Event on Saturday evening. I think it went pretty well on the whole, even though the first time that the band got to play together was at the soundcheck. (I hope that wasn't too obvious.) Extra thanks to Dave the Trumpet (as opposed to Dave the Drummer, or Dave the Singer... bit short on variety of names I'm afraid. Same goes for Mo the Sax) for stepping in at very short notice and playing so well.

We were especially pleased and privileged to have Pete Greig as our speaker. If you haven't yet read his book "God on Mute" then you ought to do so. It raises many of the questions that most people of faith end up wrestling with at some point in our lives. Thankfully, though, Pete doesn't give any facile or superficial answers. He shows, nevertheless, that it is possible to realistic without being cynical and positive without being superficial.

On the question of the silence of God, it was interesting to read in Time magazine this week about the letters which Mother Teresa wrote over a period of 50 years in which she privately confessed her spiritual struggles and, in particular, how, for very long periods, she never sensed the presence of God in her life. It makes her faithfulness in service all the more remarkable. Most of the truly special (holy) people in Christian history have gone through what the mystics called "the dark night of the soul" but for Mother Teresa it seems to have been a very long night indeed. I had known before of Mother Teresa's private doubts, but the Time article provided many quotes I had not previously seen.

It confirms for me what I have often suspected - that those who constantly express absolute dogmatic certainty on matters of faith are either very superficial or simply dishonest. Life on this earth is never that simple.

By yon bonnie banks

Once again, not much time to blog recently. The last three days have been taken up with Nexus Scotland, a Christian-Muslim wedding, and preparing for our nine Korean visitors who will arrive tomorrow afternoon for a 2-week exchange visit.

However, I just thought I would share with you one of the nearly 400 pictures I took during Nexus.

No - I haven't uploaded the wrong picture!

It was decided to invite exhibitors to come and enjoy a short visit to Loch Lomond, which included a meal on the Maid of the Loch (a paddle-steamer no longer in active service but used as a very excellent eating place) a brief sail up part of the loch, and then some entertainment back on the Maid before returning back to their hotels. This was the view as we returned from the sail just after sunset. Magnificent!

After a long and tiring day in an exhibition hall there is something truly refreshing and restful about the sight of the sun setting across a loch. But what was just as refreshing was the opportunity the exhibitors and organisers had of just getting to spend time with each other chatting and getting to know each other around a table.

It's no wonder Jesus spent so much time just eating and drinking with his followers. He knew the importance of relationships and how they are formed, established and deepened. Shared meals can be a very important element in that process, no matter what kind of relationship is involved.

Look... a picture!

So we're back in business uploading photos.

There was a pretty gruesome story in the newspapers here a few days ago about a swan that had been discovered with a crossbow bolt embedded in its wing. Clearly someone with a warped mind had been using it for target practice.

I am happy to say, however, that the swan above was shot with nothing more than a camera. What attracted me to the scene wasn't just the swan itself, although invariably they are such majestic and graceful creatures, at least when fully grown (cygnets can look a bit comical.) No, what caught my eye was the water and the brightly coloured reflections. (Make sure you click on the picture to see it full size)

I could make this another "guess what it is a picture of..." competition, but instead I'll just tell you- it was a multi-coloured canal barge. An interesting subject in its own right, perhaps, but to me even more interesting 'on reflection.'

I can't remember who it was who first said "the camera always lies" but it is true. Photographs are only ever one way of looking at something: they are never 'the whole truth and nothing but the truth', and that is the case even before you use Photoshop to 'doctor' them. (Incidentally, the above photograph has not been 'doctored' at all.)

By the way, if you follow the link to the Evening Times newspaper article, have a look at the author of the piece. I did a bit of a mental double-take at first, because I thought her name was Sarah Swan!

Look no picture...

When I first started writing this blog I was determined never to upload a post that did not have a picture with it. After all, it was my enjoyment of photography and of words that first led me to experiment with this medium.
Last night, however, "Blogger" had a fault and wouldn't upload any images. The problem still hadn't been resolved this morning. So what I was going to write about will have to wait. And then... as I started to write this picture-less piece the electricity suddenly went off and the PC died instantly. (The handiwork of the plumber who is currently installing a new shower - a fault in his extension lead triggering an RCD circuit breaker. You just needed to know this, didn't you?)
Anyway, these last few days have reminded me just how much I rely on electricity and various forms of technology and how, most of the time, I just take them for granted.
Of course, my wake-up calls have been pretty benign. Spare a thought, and a prayer, for all those who have been caught in the path of Hurricane Dean and other powerful and destructive natural events in recent months.
It is all too easy for us in the developed world to imagine that we are always in control, but the reality is that this world is still sometimes a pretty hostile place. And we inhabit just one small, fragile planet suspended in an unimaginably vast universe.
Strangely enough, the knowledge of just how small and puny we really are can inspire either faith or atheism. Some look at the vastness of the cosmos and laugh at the idea of a deity who might be in the slightest bit interested in one small speck of a planet, far less individual human lives: others look at the vastness of the cosmos and are filled with awe and worship and, an admittedly illogical, sense of the nearness of the Creator of it all. I can't explain the difference.
But neither can I explain the INdifference of those who take no account at all of the world in which we live and whose 'god' turns out to be like one of the old Roman household gods - small enough to put on the mantelpiece and under our own control.
Someone once asked "Is your god too small?" and I suppose that is the question I am asking too.
It was the question that was asked in a very stark and brutal way of the Old Testament character Job. the only answer he got was in the whirlwind, but somehow that seems to me to be much more authentic than the platitudes of Job's 'comforters'.

Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm.
He said: "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?
Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me.
"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy? ....

You should read the rest ... amazing stuff.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, it means I ought to do a whole lot of writing here to catch up... but, don't worry, I won't. The poetry of the Book of Job more than makes up for the lack of pictures.

Here today.. gone in an instant

Where have I been these last few weeks?

I wish I could say that I have been visiting exotic locations, soaking up the sun, enjoying extended leisure time etc. etc. but unfortunately that is not the case. My absence from the 'blogosphere' is the result of a number of much less enjoyable experiences conspiring together. First of all there was the back injury while on holiday which meant sitting at a computer was not an attractive proposition for me. Then on returning to work I became extremely busy with a couple of 'out of the ordinary' ventures being planned - Nexus (which you can read about here) and the forthcoming visit of nine people from South Korea to Scotland to establish a 'Presbytery partnership' (and I am responsible for organising the 10-day visit.) And, just in case these events proved too stress-free... last week my computer network had a catastrophic failure. And I mean catastrophic. :-(

(I'd rather not talk about it too much , if you don't mind, except to say that - although I thought my system had been routinely making automatic backups I am now minus just about every bit of data that I created in the last 18 months!! ouch! )

The picture above is of an extremely well-preserved Roman mosaic in the museum at Verulamium (St. Alban's) in Hertfordshire, a place we visited while on holiday. It's a neat irony, though also a slightly painful one for me, to realise that this mosaic is nearly as fresh and complete now as it was when it was made in 150AD while my computer data (i.e. a lot of my work) managed to evaporate in a fraction of a second never to be seen again. Oh, I know you can go in for all sorts of expensive data recovery procedures (I've done it in the past) but the simple truth of the matter is that, however inconvenient to me, nothing that I have lost will really be missed by anyone other than me. Ah well. C'est la vie.

But enough complaining. I thought that I'd better get round to 'blogging' something before my most loyal readers (both of you) stopped visiting the blog altogether.

Actually, it amazes me that since I started this series of assorted ramblings and musings nearly a year ago, I've had (apparently) something like 11,800 'visits' - not exactly massive by internet standards, but surprising to me.

I'm only sorry that a lot of the time I haven't had anything interesting to say. (Of course, being a preacher...that has never got in the way of me saying it anyway.)

Keep visiting, though... one of these days it may be worth it.

There was a crooked man...

A little postscript to my last post...

(And for a few excruciating moments I thought it was the last post...)

I spoke about this beautiful 17th century house with its low ceilings, but a few days ago it wouldn't have mattered had the ceiling only been 3 feet above the floor. That's because I was on my hands and knees, in considerable agony, unable to straighten out my back.

I had "slipped a disk."

It has happened to me once before and I can say it is not my idea of fun.

For the first couple of days I could only shuffle slowly, hunch-backed, a few yards at a time looking like a man of 85 and feeling like a man of 90. (Well, I have to imagine that since I've no idea yet what it might feel like to be 90, and, of course, I may never know.)

Thankfully I have been improving steadily and once again look more like a specimen of homo sapiens than neanderthal man. (i.e. my knuckles are no longer dragging along the floor.)

But, hey! Every cloud has a silver lining.

It has meant that I have been able to indulge in a binge.

NOT binge drinking (the dubious 'pleasures' of which I've never really understood and which would not have mixed well with the painkillers) but binge reading.

I read five books in four days, including two books introduced to me by Emma- 'Blue Like Jazz' and 'Searching for God Knows What' - both by Don Miller. I hadn't read any of his stuff before but I'm glad now that I have.

Can't say I agreed with everything. Come to think of it when I look back I don't agree with everything I've ever said myself! But both of these books are definitely worth reading. I especially like Miller's emphasis on the importance of story.

The way I see it words create worlds.

It's no surprise to me that the Biblical creation story begins with God speaking and bringing things into being with His word.

Sadly we human beings are probably more skilled at using words to tear down and destroy than we are at using them to create. But it remains true that in the hands of a skillful writer words create worlds.

I'm on my sixth book at the moment. (Each has created its own new and unique world for me.)

I have to say that the latest Harry Potter book is not featured in my binge, but I know that one of the reasons for the success of that particular series has been the ability of J.K. Rowling to create a world of characters and places and events that many children (and many adults) have been able to enter into.

Yep, words create worlds...

but I'll not say what word, if any, passed my lips as my back went out of joint and I slumped to the floor... :-)

There was a crooked house...

Right now I am somewhere in England. (You don't need to know where.) All I'm going to say is that I am in a thatched house, a house that was built around 1630.

Can you imagine that? The oak beams that form the skeleton of this amazing dwelling were first put into place nearly 400 years ago. And who knows how old were the trees from which they were formed? These wooden beams above my head could well be 1000 years old!

I love this house. I love the fact that no two rooms on this house are on the same level. I love the fact that actually nothing in this house is level... or upright. There are no perpendiculars; no horizontals. Everything sits at a weird and jaunty angle. As you make your way from one room to the other you almost feel as if you are seasick, or at least on a rolling ship. It is hard to move in a straight line. It is made all the harder by the fact that some of the ceilings are very low. I guess people in Shakespearean times were smaller than they are now.

I've stayed in this house before and know exactly what it is like when you crack your head off an oak beam... several times. That's why now I walk around in a semi-foetal position... just in case.

Sometimes I feel like a hobbit.

What I like most about this house is that it has no straight lines. I have a good eye for the perpendicular. I hate to see a picture hung squint on a wall. But here it wouldn't matter because the walls are not straight. The whole house is a sort of living, moving thing. It feels organic and natural, not mechanical, nor clinical, nor man-made.

Of course, when you think about it, there are very few straight lines in the nature. Even the horizon is a curve. So this house feels like a part of the natural world, rather than a construction of human beings, although, in fact, that is precisely what it is. I marvel also at that. We have our wonderful new technologies and feats of civil engineering but how many 'ordinary' houses built now will still be standing in 400 years time?

I've commented before on our need to work in harmony with nature rather than always trying to shape it to our ends. This is something that is becoming ever more vital as we see the effects of some of our previous misadventures and exploitations of the natural world. (I happen to believe that climate change is a reality and that recent floods, not too far from here, are part of the pattern.)

I also think that life itself rarely happens in straight lines. Even the paths that God may lead us on are often long and winding roads rather than straight and wide motorways. It's what makes life interesting and challenging.

We are sailing

On Friday evening I did something I haven't done for about 30 years....
I went "doon the watter in the Waverley."
This is a colloquial Glasgow expression referring to a previously popular activity enjoyed by Glaswegians. It meant sailing 'down the water' (i.e. down the River Clyde) usually in a paddle steamer.
When I was a young boy in the 1950s, living in Port Glasgow (about 30 miles downstream from the centre of the city) I used to watch these steamers regularly from the window of our house and at that time I knew each of their names and could identify them all- The Queen Mary II, The Jeanie Deans (her chief engineer was a neighbour of ours) the King George V, and The Waverley, among others. They sailed to such exotic locations as Campbeltown, Tighnabruich, the Kyles of Bute, Rothesay, Millport etc.
Sadly, there is now only one survivor of these more leisurely days - The Waverley- now the last sea-going paddle steamer in the world.
The original Waverley was in fact sunk at Dunkirk, but a replacement was built in 1947 and it was the last of the Clyde steamers to go out of service when "going doon the watter" went out of fashion and holidays to Majorca and Ibitha became the preferred option. A group of enthusiasts have managed to keep the Waverley going, however, and sailing down the Clyde has become something of a novelty again.
It is, of course, a very different river now. Once it was a noisy, bustling waterway on whose banks were being built some of the world's largest and best ships, like the great Cunard liners. Now the only ships built on the Clyde are warships.
It was a beautiful evening and I really enjoyed the sail, especially as we glided past the place where I was born and I was able to see it from a completely different angle.
I always enjoying seeing familiar places from an unfamiliar perspective, whether that is from the air as you come in to land or from the sea or a river, or just from the other side of the street.


I think too often in life we imagine that we know a place, or a person, or a truth, (or even God) when in actual fact we have only seen them from one particular angle, and in one particular light. It's the job of poets and artists and musicians, and maybe occasionally preachers, to shake us out of that complacency and waken us up to the fact that there is always more, so much more, than we saw before.

Eviction order

I suppose I could begin this post by asking for suggestions as to what the mystery object in the photograph might be, but I won't this time. I'm sure it is would be much too easy for you to work out.
What would be much harder, though, would be for you to guess where it is now, where it was before, how it got to where it was, and how it got to where it is. Confused? You will be.
But let me begin by recounting a tale of 'The Clearances.'
Actually, I'm not talking about the Highland Clearances though there are a couple of tenuous and superficial similarities.
A couple of summers ago, we had to have one of the large trees in our garden cut down because it had become dangerous. The only problem was that the tree in question also served as a residence for a number of creatures, including a family of squirrels. Needless to say the squirrels evacuated of their own accord as soon as the chain-saw gang set about their work.
Obviously they were quite happy with the neighbourhood and looked to relocate nearby. They quickly found a very suitable location in the roof of the adjacent church hall. In fact this particular large hall has more than one roof. The original roof, still intact, had, some years ago, been covered over with a secondary metal roof. The squirrels had managed to create an entrance for themselves through the wooden fascia of this secondary roof and had made themselves quite at home in the gap between the two roofs. A very spacious and no doubt very sheltered spot.
Of course, they were never happy with the small front door, and soon decided to create a back door, two sets of french windows and an emergency exit. To be honest it was sheer wanton vandalism! Some creatures just have no respect for property.
Anyway, the time had come for another eviction order to be served. Not a chain-saw gang this time, but a roofing company. As soon as the scaffolding went up and even before the work began, the squirrels packed their bags, ordered the removal vans and 'flitted'.
But they didn't take everything with them. (No one ever does.)
What you see in the photograph is something they left behind... between the two roofs.
What is it?
You must have guessed by now.
It is a school tie; one which no doubt belonged to our youngest daughter and which at some time or other probably hung on a washing line until an enterprising squirrel identified it as a potential duvet and removed it to the nest. That is where it was, and how it got to where it was. Where it is now is lying on the grass beneath the newly restored fascia, after having been cleared out of the roof space by the builders.
I wonder, do squirrels sometimes wear a tie in the evening?
Actually, although I do have to wear a tie quite often, especially on formal occasions, it is one of those items of clothing that seems to me to be totally pointless. What are ties really for?
Now that is a question you might consider giving an answer to.
And while you're thinking about it, spare a thought also for the suggestion recently made in Italy that removing your tie could help a little with tackling the problems of global warming.
Hmmm...

Long live the King

It seems no one has told the Post Office on Islay that we have a 'new' monarch.
Only since 1952, of course.
So it might be considered a little rash and hasty to have replaced all of the post boxes so soon. Oh, in case, any of my non-British readers haven't a clue what I'm talking about, have a look at the photo above of a post box on the wall of Laphraoig Distillery on Islay.
Above the opening for "Letters Only" you will see GVIR which refers to the late (some might say very late) King George 6th.

I suppose one generous way of looking at this is to see it as a refreshing alternative to what normally happens when Government Departments are restructured leading to a complete and costly corporate-image makeover.
I guess the philosophy is that if it is still working - why replace it?
Perhaps we need a little bit more of this sort of thinking. It might mean that we produce much less waste and pollution. Sadly, I fear the concept of 'planned obsolescence' is too deeply ingrained into our psyche in the Western world.

However, on the subject of post boxes, and UNplanned obsolescence...
I have recently chuckled my way through Bill Bryson's "Notes from a Big Country"
In one of the sections he lists various examples of stupidity and the seemingly inane advice that is often printed on American products (such as instructions on an electric iron not to use it in conjunction with explosive materials.)
But I'll let him tell you the rest in his own inimitably humorous style:

"Until a few days ago my instinct would have been to chortle richly at people who need this sort of elemental guidance, but then three things happened that made me modify my views.
First, I read in the paper how John Smoltz, a pitcher for the Atlanta Braves baseball team, showed up at a training session one day with a painful-looking red welt across his chest and, when pressed for an explanation, sheepishly admitted that he had tried to iron the shirt while he was wearing it.
Second, it occurred to me that although I have never done anything quite so foolish as that, it was only because I had not thought of it.
Third, and perhaps most conclusively, two nights ago I went out to run two small errands - specifically, to buy some pipe tobacco and post some letters. I bought the tobacco, carried it straight across the street to a Post Office letter box, opened the lid, and deposited it. I won't tell you how far I walked before it dawned on me that this was not a 100 per cent correct execution of my original plans.
You see my problem. People who need labels on pillarboxes saying 'Not for Deposit of Tobacco or Other Personal items' can't very well smirk at others, even those who iron their chests or have to seek lathering guidance from a shampoo hotline."

[Bill Bryson: Notes from a Big Country, 1999]

So here's a challenge to you, and your willingness to confess your own stupidity...what's the most bizarre thing you have ever accidentally dropped into a post box?

PS. Looks like the Islay post box may not have been cleaned much since the days of King George either.

Signs and wondering

Most of the distilleries in Islay have their names very prominently displayed, usually in huge black letters against the whitewashed walls.
However, Bruichladdich (pronounced broo-ich-laddie) is different. It's name is spelled out on the ends of old whisky vats.

But as we drove past it for the first time on our way from the airport to our B & B, I realised that even allowing for Gaelic's inexplicably irrational forms of spelling (designed perhaps to discourage most non-Gaels from trying to learn the language) there was something not quite right. But since it was raining very heavily at the time and we were more concerned to find the place we would be staying, we didn't stop.
I was determined, however, that we should go back at the first opportunity and take a closer look. I began wondering if some local youths had decided to play a prank and move some of the barrels so that those who were leaving, having just been on the distillery tour, might turn around to take a last look, and wonder: "Did I have too much of a good thing in there?"

It was when we approached it for the second time that my wife very cleverly realised that the name was simply spelled backwards.
Gaelic spelled backwards!! I mean, what is that all about?
It's enough to drive you to drink...

Ah, so it's a marketing ploy then!!

Of course, the puzzle is very easily solved once you recognise the pattern.
Life itself is like that. As human beings we are always looking for patterns to try and make sense of the world we live in: but often these patterns just do not seem to be there and nothing fits.

Had I looked at the Bruichladdich sign in a mirror, of course, the pattern would have been immediately obvious.
Trouble for us is that much of what we experience in the world seems already to be like mirror-writing, and we need it to be put the right way round before we can make sense of it.
As St. Paul wrote: "What we see now is like a dim image in a mirror, then we shall see face to face." [1 Corinthians 13:12]

And I promise you, I didn't just reverse the photograph in Photoshop!

Too much of a good thing?

On the basis that you can never have too much of a good thing (though sometimes that may be a questionable assumption - see below*) here is another little dose of Islay serenity. This is Port Charlotte with the evening sun dropping down behind.

The food at the Port Charlotte Hotel was pretty good, even the bar meals. I had a delicious sea bream one night, cooked to perfection. However, getting a table is difficult on evenings when there is live music and you really ought to make a reservation in advance, but if the staff can squeeze you in they will.



*The bar offers 143 very fine malt whiskies at prices ranging from under £5 to over £70 a shot. Needless to say I was not able to assess the full range on offer. This may be one instance when you could easily get too much of a good thing!

Most important of all the staff are very friendly, especially the owners, Grahame and Isabelle.
I had a good chat with one of the barmen, Alan, a Yorkshire man who had come to love Islay and its people so much that he decided to go and live there permanently. (not the man in the picture by the way)


Don't worry: I'm not going to post all of my 'holiday snaps.' (I took about 500 in 4 days.) But I'll probably share a couple more over the next few days.

Hebridean Jewel

Just to let you appreciate how even four days on Islay is a real holiday here is a picture I took of the view from our B & B on Tuesday morning.
Admittedly there were other moments when the view was only of the inside of a cloud, but those times make the moments of serene beauty and majestic simplicity such as you see above all the more breath-taking.
Life is like that.
Sadly, I think too many people spend too much time remembering and complaining about yesterday's clouds, or fearing tomorrow's rainy forecast, to savour today's glimpse of heaven.

Water of Life

You haven't heard from me for a few days because we've been on holiday (vacation) for a few days on the beautiful Hebridean island of Islay (pronounced Ai-la, for those who may not already know.)
It really is a spectacular place whatever the weather - and, believe me, we had every kind of weather, usually within the space of 15 minutes. Never mind "four seasons in one day," in the Hebrides you get four seasons in one hour!
The picture above was taken at Machir Bay- a long wide stretch of empty sand onto which pound the Atlantic breakers. At one point it became busy... two other people and a dog joined us!
Of course, Islay is famous most of all for its whisky. Although a small island there are nine distilleries producing some of the world's most famous malt whiskies. Clearly, these were places that had to be explored.... purely for the purposes of research, you appreciate.
I must confess, however, that after the first distillery tour visit which we undertook, I emerged legless.

Lest anyone misunderstand me, though, I should quickly point out that I am referring to the state of my spectacles- one leg of which somehow got bent after I had placed them down somewhere. Foolishly I tried to restore them to their former shape only to find the leg snapping off completely.This was, to say the least, inconvenient. (Actually, that's not exactly how it put it at the time but we'll leave that to your imagination.) The problem is, I need to wear my glasses for driving and although my wife did much of the driving (especially after visits to distilleries...) I still had to do my share. I discovered that one spectacle leg was usually sufficient, as long as I didn't shake my head about, which, fortunately is not something I tend to do when I am driving anyway.
Out among the public however it was a different story. For even though there are not usually very many members of the public around on Islay to bump into, I did feel a bit foolish wearing my monopod spectacles. It's not a fashion that I expect will catch on soon.
Another problem emerged which I had not anticipated. I wear vari-focals which means that different parts of the lenses are shaped for different distances. Not usually a problem - you simply point your nose towards whatever you are looking at and, normally, this results in you looking through the correct part of the lens, whether it is viewing something in the distance, something close-up, or something in between.
It works very well as long as the spectacles are horizontal. And for that to be assured at all times, you really need two legs. (So do the spectacles.)
Sometimes the glasses (because of their decreased quantity of legs) were not always exactly horizontal but what I didn't realise was that my eyes were actually working hard to compensate. I only realised it when I took the spectacles off on on occasion while I was walking. Suddenly nothing was in focus, and it was as though I were wearing someone else's glasses. The ground in front of me swirled and rippled and buckled. It felt as if someone had turned on special visual effects. I nearly fell over. [By the way, I had not been visiting any distilleries at this point!!]
It was a very weird sensation. Reminded me of that song lyric "I feel the earth move under my feet" though it was more like "I see the earth move in front of my eyes."
Weird sensation.

When you visit a place as wild and beautiful as Islay the very last thing you want is to be unable to see, so I was very relieved that it was only the leg of the spectacles that had broken and not the lenses.
I was reminded also of the profound words of the blind Helen Keller who once said:
"The worst calamity: 'To have eyes and fail to see.'"
Sadly, there are many who enact such tragedies daily.

Sadly, too, there are many whose vision is horribly distorted. We flew over to Islay from Glasgow Airport a few hours before it became the target of a terrorist attack. On our return we saw the damage that had been inflicted and could only imagine how much more awful it would have been had the plan of the perpetrators actually succeeded.
How can anyone, in the name of their God, ever think that blowing up innocent bystanders (or even guilty ones) is a righteous act? And, if it turns out that those so far arrested are guilty... how can it be that people who have trained to save life can treat life so casually?
Thank God no one was hurt, apart from one of the alleged bombers.
Members of the public made sure they didn't get away. On a lighter note, one of my favourite quotes from the incident was this: "Only in Glasgow do suicide bombers need rescued from the locals by the police."