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."

More water everywhere

People in many parts of England, especially Yorkshire, have been having a really dreadful time lately with unprecedented amounts of rain and the inevitable flooding afterwards. My heart goes out to them all. Apparently we are due to get some pretty heavy rainfall tomorrow too but it is unlikely to be quite so devastating here.
On a much smaller scale, though, I had my own little inundation incident this morning.
My study sits directly below our upstairs bathroom...
you can probably guess more or less where this is going...
After I'd had my shower this morning I went back into my study and noticed that the computer monitor appeared to have shut down. A closer inspection revealed a spot of moisture on the screen. An even closer inspection revealed that the spot of moisture was behind the screen - inside! A quick glanced upwards confirmed my fear... the top of the monitor looked like it had also (like myself) just had a shower. Which in fact it had. Indeed, it was more or less the same shower. After I'd experienced it, it had clearly made its way (via a leak in the shower cabinet) through the bathroom floor and the study ceiling right on to my desk, and in particular on to my pc monitor.
Sad to say... the monitor now appears to be completely defunct!
I'm glad the shower did not have that effect on me.

Chilled but not frozen

What about the concert then?
Well, the band we went to see was the Norwegian jazz trio known as Tord Gustavsen Trio, comprising Tord Gustavsen on piano, Harald Johnsen on double-bass and Jarle Vespestad on drums.
I've been listening to their CD "The Ground" for the last three years but this was my first opportunity to hear them live, as part of the Glasgow Jazz Festival.

As is often the case with those you only hear on the phone or the radio or on a recording, Tord Gustavsen himself looked different from what I'd imagined - even though I'd seen his photograph in the sleeve-liner for the CD. A slight, almost fragile, and slightly crumpled-looking figure, he had a very peculiar hushed but high-pitched voice as he almost whispered into the microphone that he held tight to his lips... but that is to leap ahead a bit because before he, or anyone else spoke, he shuffled across the stage to the piano and in a strange curled-up posture leaned over the keyboard. He stretched out his left arm to press down one key in the bass, then reaching in the opposite direction with his right gently tapped out a single high note. From these two widely-separated but repeated notes, and with a lot of 'loud' silences in between, he began to bring the notes together. [It was the child Mozart who once said that all he did to write tunes was to "bring together little notes that like each other"]

It was like listening to the dawn of creation as a musical theme gradually came into being.

Eventually, he was joined by Vespestad on the drums. He virtually caressed the cymbals and snare (and even the bass drum) with various parts of his sticks and brushes. I don't think I've ever heard a drummer play so quietly, or in such an understated way. He went on during the evening to squeeze all sorts of strange noises from his drum kit, using a variety of techniques, including dragging the point of a stick along the surface of a cymbal to make a sound like a rusty gate-hinge, or a 'keening' sound like whale-song and even dolphin-clicks.... and all with immaculate timing. A bit weird, but in this context it worked...most of the time.

The trio was completed by Johnsen "playing on a hired bass thanks to British Midland."

The thing about the live performance, apart from the fresh jazz improvisations on tracks I'd heard many times before, was the musical chemistry between the three players. It was a real trio, not just a star pianist with two others filling in an accompaniment, even though in a sense Gustavsen is the 'star' being the composer.

All the best music (whatever the style) is about togetherness - even when it is a soloist, as Gustavsen demonstrated with just two notes at the very beginning of the concert.

I don't know how the trio would define their music themselves but I think of it as 'late night jazz' - the kind to just chill out to. It was also for me very spiritual music. Not in a theological sense, perhaps, just in the sense that it touched parts of me deep down that I can only call 'spiritual' - certainly beyond rationality and deeper than emotion.

One of the things that the best music and the best musicians teach us is that the silences, the spaces between the notes, are just as important as the notes themselves. (This applies even to loud, fast and energetic music, but it is much more obvious when the music is 'chilled.')

It's true of life too - getting all the different bits of our lives to work together and not be fragmented, but also making those spaces just to be rather than to do - it's not easy.

Some folk have a talent for it - most of us just struggle like beginners banging out chopsticks on the piano.

If you've never heard Tord Gustavsen before have a listen to some of the samples on Amazon.

The Alternative Viewpoint

Whenever I have a camera with me I try to find more unusual angles from which to view things. It's not always possible and often the results just don't work. They just turn out weird.
But I was pleased with this one, taken a couple of years ago in Hong Kong.
We were at a concert hall, about to go in to hear a rather brilliant American clarinet player, whose name I've completely forgotten. In the foyer of the theatre was a cafe/bar, so we decided to have a drink while waiting to go in.
I noticed that the ceiling was a little bit unusual - being covered in mirror tiles. So I discreetly placed my compact camera on the table and snapped to produce this picture of ourselves as if seen from above. I suppose you could say that was weird too, but I think it works.
It was our great Scottish poet, Robert Burns who once wrote:
"oh wud some power the giftie gie us tae see ourselves as ithers see us"
[which, for those who don't quite understand Scots means something like 'wouldn't it be good if some higher power gave us the ability to see ourselves the way other people see us' - though I think the way Burns put it was much more succinct and much more memorable :-) not to mention quite a bit more poetic! ]
Perhaps even more useful than the ability to see ourselves as others see us might be the ability to see ourselves as God sees us. I reckon we'd all get a bit of a surprise seeing things from that angle!

By the way, talking of concerts... I have just come back from an amazing gig which was part of the Glasgow Jazz Festival. I'll write about it later, once I've let the experience seep in to my soul a bit more.

Rain or shine

Apparently over the last couple of days there has been a huge amount of rain falling on certain parts of England - no doubt designed to coincide with the start of Wimbledon. (Incidentally, I am really disappointed, though not surprised, that Andy Murray has pulled out of the tournament this year.)
Fortunately, in contrast, although our weather here has hardly been "summery" we have managed to escape any really severe rainstorms.
I was travelling to a meeting last week through the Upper Clyde Valley. As we approached the fairly prominent landmark known as Tinto (an extinct volcano) my passenger remarked that he had never seen Tinto except when it was surrounded in cloud and rain. (That night was no exception.) However, I had to tell him that I had often passed it in bright sunshine. The photograph above is proof of the fact.
After my last post, I've been reflecting on what it is that makes a place seem 'beautiful.' Certainly sunshine can help, but it isn't always necessary.
Memories can be just as important - though perhaps that just makes a place seem special, rather than beautiful.
As I've said before in this blog, for me some of the most beautiful places are where nature and human creativity combine in harmony. There's very little of that human activity evident in the picture above but I hope that doesn't contradict my 'thesis' (though, come to think of it, the presence of the neatly mown lines made by the tractor do add something to the photograph and do draw attention to the beauty of Tinto itself.)
All too often in the Western world (at least since the Industrial Revolution) we have focused on dominating the environment, shaping the landscape to suit our own ends, and sometimes in the process destroying its beauty and even at times its life. We need to learn from the East how to live in greater harmony with the world in which we are placed and in some ways let it shape us.
Having said that... I'm glad Tinto is extinct!

A place of beauty

I suppose I should let you see the castle where I conducted the wedding earlier this week. Since the local press photographer was there I guess the wedding was not a secret. The present castle (known as Lee Castle, by the way) is not all that old by Scottish standards. It was built in Victorian times, no doubt as some kind of hunting lodge/stately home, though the chapel is apparently much older.
I was told the rather gruesome story that the chapel was for a long time used as an abattoir until the time of the previous Baron of Lee who arranged for it to be reconsecrated by an Episcopalian minister as a place of worship. I was also told that there is at least one regularly haunted bedroom. Well, it wouldn't be much of a castle otherwise, would it?
It is set in a beautiful valley. There was talk about 20 years ago when we first moved into the area that an exclusive golf course was going to be created with the castle as the clubhouse. That particular plan was thwarted, probably by the local planners, but it would have been a spectacular setting for a golf course and it would almost certainly have rivaled, and even outshone, Loch Lomond.
Actually the valley in which it is situated was once part of the original course of the River Clyde. Just when, or why,the river changed its course I do not know, but it left behind a valley of exceptional beauty. I'm sure it took millions of years for that valley to be formed and it has also been further shaped by human beings over the centuries. Unlike some places, the natural beauty has been enhanced rather than destroyed by this human interaction with the countryside, and like the very best of Buddhist temples, Lee Castle sits in harmony with its surroundings.
In many areas of life it is hard to get that balance right between shaping the world around us and living in harmony with it. But when you get it right, it makes your heart sing.
.

Come on let's celebrate...

From a wedding... to a graduation...
I'll take any excuse to celebrate... especially if it involves eating lots of good food.
And I got my chance to eat too much again last night as we celebrated the graduation of one of our daughters.
You've no idea how much I like the fact that celebrating and eating so often go together. Like they were made for each other.
Last night to mark Ailsa's graduation we visited our favourite local restaurant. Prego's. Unfortunately it is not as local as we would like it to be, and as we had hoped it would be by this time. Some unforeseen building snags have delayed the opening of the Carluke restaurant, but it didn't stop us enjoying once more the friendly atmosphere and good food I have mentioned before. In fact, I have mentioned Prego's often enough online that maybe I should be asking for a discount on our next visit...
I draw some comfort from the fact that Jesus himself was accused of doing too much celebrating, and especially of enjoying eating and drinking far too much... for his own good. The religious people of his day reckoned Jesus ought to be much more sombre, much more serious, and much more sober... in fact, much more like themselves.
Funny how we always seem to want everyone else to be like us, isn't it?
A pity too because it's the sheer variety of life that makes it so interesting.
Actually, I suspect the Pharisees were really closet Presbyterians, or Puritans, who in the words of H.L. Mencken lived with the "haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy."
Life's too short not to let yourself be happy now and again, is it not?

Together

We are well into the wedding season and over the last few weeks I have conducted quite a few wedding ceremonies- one reason for the recent shortage of blog posts. They have all been very enjoyable though all quite different from each other and all memorable in their own way.
Someone once asked me how many weddings I had conducted over the years, but I'm afraid I could only guess - as I have never kept an actual record. I imagine, however that it must be somewhere between 500 and 800, maybe even more. Almost all of the time the weddings I have conducted have taken place in a church, although there have been one or two notable exceptions. And yesterday, was one such exception.
The wedding took place in a castle not too far from here (although to qualify that last statement - the castle has its own little consecrated chapel see below)
But what made this particular wedding most memorable was not its location but the coming together of two very distinctive cultures - American and Chinese. I can just about speak American (but I confess only with a Tennessee accent derived from an American friend) but when it comes to Chinese I haven't a clue, so I was grateful for the assistance of an interpreter who was able to translate much of what I said into Mandarin. [At least I have to assume that he was translating what I said. He could have been saying anything!!]
For my "talk" to the happy couple I used a pair of chopsticks as an illustration.
The gist of what I said had to do with the fact that chopsticks must be used together if they are going to work. (Ever tried to pick up a grain of rice with just one? It's hard enough with two.)
They are made for each other - a pair. And yet each is free to move in its own direction. What makes them work together as a team is the hand that holds them.
I'm sure you can fill in the rest yourself...
There was an earlier bit about the Chinese words for chopsticks (which means something like "quick little fellows") sounding very similar to another Chinese word which means something like "soon son" i.e. 'may you soon have a son' but I won't go into all that.
At the reception afterwards we had the same mix of Eastern and Western cultures.
The thing I liked best is what you see in the photograph above. An apple on a string (ribbon) was held above the heads of the bride and groom and they had to simultaneously (without using their hands) take a bite from the apple. It required the same kind of co-operation that you need between two chopsticks to get the food into the mouth. It was also a lot of fun to watch. Probably even more fun to do!
However, it also reminded me of another story of a man and a woman sharing a piece of forbidden fruit... and all the trouble that caused... :-)
The photographer at yesterday's wedding was a young photo-journalist by the name of Beth Skabar. Check out her website to see some very interesting examples of her work.

Signs and wonders

One of the interesting people I met at the General Assembly was a woman from Finland called Minna. We got talking about language. (In English of course!) Minna had originally trained as a teacher but according to Minna herself Finnish people when talking are usually not very animated. (She described what she meant by putting on a blank expression and keeping her hands firmly by her sides.) She reckoned this was not good for effective communication - something she felt essential for teaching. (Mind you, it has to be said that the Finnish education system is already reckoned to be about the best in the world.) Anyway, she decided it might be a good idea to learn sign language.
Now, having had an uncle who was born deaf and a sister who currently signs for the deaf, I began to get very interested and made the observation that as there is British Sign Language and American Sign Language, I guessed there must be Finnish Sign Language too.
"Yes" she said "but it's a bit more complicated than that. In Finland people speak either Finnish or Swedish, so there is Finnish Sign Language and Swedish Sign Language but the Swedish Sign Language used in Finland is quite different from the Swedish Sign Language used in Sweden."
That 'Finnished' it for me, and I decided it was time to change the subject...
The language of signs, however, is a fascinating area for exploration.
I love this shop sign in Byers Road, Glasgow. It is above a Florist's Shop which also sells (quote) "unusual gifts."
How aptly named, for isn't grace an unusual, but priceless, gift in our world?
Unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me recently when I passed a Gents' Barber's Shop above which hung the sign:
DAN DRUFF'S THE BARBER!

A week in Edinburgh

I've just been reminded by someone I met at the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland that I had promised I would make my own little observations about the week, and, of course, I have not yet done so. In my defence I would like to say that in the first place I've been having quite a few difficulties with my computer systems in the last couple of weeks and really have not had much time to think about the General Assembly or blog about anything else either. Another complication (though probably not one that would bother anyone else) is that I didn't take any photographs of the happenings at the General Assembly [not that much actually 'happened'.]
OK - enough excuses - I've thrown in a picture of Edinburgh, taken on another occasion - what are my observations of the 2007 General Assembly?
On a personal note - disappointment that no one even asked a single question of my report (though to be fair since my 'report' of the Nominations Committee is little more than a list of names, there are very few questions anyone can ask except maybe 'why wasn't this name or that name on this or that committee?' and in my spoken presentation I answered that question in advance.)
Much more significantly, on the progress of the whole Assembly, I think you'd have to say it was more business-like than earth-shattering. Indeed there were very few topics on which anyone seemed to get even in the slightest way worked up, even though there had been predictions that the debate on human sexuality might result in some blood on the carpet, if not an outright schism in the church.
The only thing you can say about it is that this was the one thing on which all sides were in absolute agreement - they did not want to split the church, even if they were diametrically opposed on points of theology or floundered somewhere in the middle, unsure of what to believe. All of which caused amazing consternation to one group of observers - the Press.
One reporter was seen at the end of the debate pacing up and down the so-called 'Black & White corridor' shaking his head and muttering to himself as if someone very near and dear to him had just met with a serious, if not fatal, accident. When asked what was wrong he could only stammer out something like "M..M...My Editor is going to kill me!"
Why the perceived death threat??
There had been no fight to describe, no catastrophic division of a dying church to report, no 'blood on the carpet' To him it was a disaster...nothing 'newsworthy' had happened; everyone had been unbearably understanding and tolerant towards each other! I suppose it could be said that good news is no news to the news people.
Staying in Edinburgh for the whole week meant my elder and I could go along to lots of 'fringe' events most of which were fairly interesting: especially the lunchtime ones as they usually offered a 'free lunch.' Well - all it cost was agreeing to listen to someone speaking about their topic of interest.
For myself, the best thing about the Assembly (as always) was getting to meet people. Some, I already see regularly at meetings in Edinburgh and elsewhere, many I see only on occasions like the Assembly (and it is so good to catch up on news) and (best of all) there are others I meet for the very first time- from all around the world, Finland, Hungary, Israel, Kenya, Lebanon, USA...etc. etc.
So many interesting people.
We were sharing a house with an American who is the Church of Scotland minister in Budapest and a Hungarian-Romanian woman, both of whom were great company. We had lots of laughs, late into the evening at times.
Another house I seemed to visit quite a few times in the week was the little one at the end of the Royal Mile- not Edinburgh Castle but Holyrood Palace. Sadly, I wasn't asked to stay for dinner on any of the occasions and had to make do with the cucumber sandwiches, or other little canapes.
However I did have a very pleasant lunch with the Moderator and a few other guests on the last day in the Moderator's Room at the Assembly Hall.
As you will have already guessed, apart from meeting people, another very favourite pastime of mine is eating.
But - hey - I'm in good company. Didn't Jesus get a reputation for sometimes being more interested in people and food than the niceties of the Law?

More fish and ships

Now, I don't want this to turn into a cookery blog! But, after receiving a few comments from various people about the story of the whale, I feel it is necessary to offer a little basic culinary advice, for it is clear that not everyone quite got the point about the pasta.
First of all, I concede that you do indeed normally cook pasta in water.
Boiling water!
What you do NOT do is "soak" the pasta in cold water for about three hours! (Which is what happened in the incident recalled.) If you do, you end up with flour and water paste.
Not very appetising, though (as I have demonstrated) occasionally useful.
Secondly, it was this flour and water paste that was used, along with torn up newspapers, to make papier mache, which gave the whale some 'body'. We did not (as some people seem to have thought) glue pieces of pasta to the cardboard. That kind of activity is best left to playgroups and nurseries.
I'm sorry to have to spell things out like this but it is one of the hazards faced by all of us engaged in the business of communication that sometimes the wires get crossed and what you think you said is not what some people thought you said. Ask any preacher.

A little tale of a ship and a whale

I've been trawling through some of my favourite photographs. This is one I took in 2003 in Boston. It's the mast and rigging of the USS Constitution, otherwise known as "Old Ironsides."
Definitely worth a visit, by the way.
When I found the photograph I thought of doing a post about constitutions. (We may be about to change our church's constitution, for example) but I realised that would be about as exciting as counting rivets (which I suppose someone somewhere has to do from time to time, but I for one would not find it a riveting experience.)
As a boy I was always fascinated by sailing ships. Most Saturdays after visiting my grandparents in Glasgow we would wait for the bus for Port Glasgow at Clyde Street, next to the old clipper ship "The Carrick." [Occasionally, though, we would travel by train - but that's another story for another time.]
I used to try and build model sailing ships myself. I never had enough money to buy the right materials that real model-builders use for all the rigging etc. but I learned to improvise. It's a skill that has stood me in good stead ever since.
Which brings me to the whale...

Many years ago I was leading a Summer Mission Team to Ayr.
As part of our activities with the children I decided we would put on a ten-minute musical known as "Jonah Man Jazz" by Michael Hurd. It's a fun piece of music.
My problem, though, was how to create a whale for the end-of-the-week performance when all the parents would be coming along. That's where I had to improvise.
The rest of the team were having the afternoon off and I was sitting in the Church Hall wondering how to conceive a whale (metaphorically, of course.) [By the way, I know that the Bible itself calls it a "big fish" not a whale... but bear with me please.]

To understand what happened next I have to reveal a rather delicate secret. A member of the team (who is now an excellent cook but at that time was somewhat inexperienced) had been delegated to make the team's dinner on the previous night. It was to be a pasta dish. For about 30 people!
He had been told the quantities of pasta required to feed such a bunch of hungry teenagers. But no one had given him any instructions as to how the pasta should be cooked. Somehow he had got it into his head that it had to be soaked in water. So- picture the scene when the team came back that afternoon to find several large 'dixies' (outsize saucepans) overflowing with a gooey white paste. OK - you got the picture.
One of my fellow leaders wanted to pour the sticky mess down the toilets. But I imagined that this might have led to a kind of constipation in the drainage system and said 'No. I'll think of some way to dispose of it later. '
And there I was one day later, sitting in an empty church hall wondering how to make a whale become.
As a first step I took a piece of chalk and drew the outline of a whale on the floor. It was about 2.5 to 3 metres long. Then I stood and stared at it and asked it out loud "How am I going to make you stand up?"
It so happened that there were workmen doing some repairs on the hall roof and they had left some old bits of timber lying outside. I gathered some and laid them on top of my chalk drawing as a kind of skeleton. (We are at the first part of Ezekiel chapter 37 now ... 'can these dry bones live?' 'Only You know, God!')
The next thing I found were some large cardboard boxes. I opened them out and laid them on top of the wooden 'skeleton.' They could be nailed to the wooden frame and maybe taped together ... I thought .... and then did it.... but it still needs something more.
Of course...!
A eureka moment!
There is always pasta!!!

So, about an hour later when the team arrived back I started handing out the instructions. "Gather as many newspapers as you can and bring them to the hall." And we started slapping on the flour and water paste together with the newspapers to make a papier mache. Two of the girls were sent to a local DIY store to buy grey paint. When the store-keeper asked what shade of grey, they simply said - "The right shade for a whale!"
I would like to have seen his face, but, of course, I was back at the hall directing operations.
How I wish I had a photograph of that creation when it was finished. All I can say (modestly) is that it was perfect for the occasion. It had just enough flexibility to look as if it was alive when it was being carried across the stage, and just enough strength not to fall apart... thanks to the mighty pasta!
It had to be carried by two of the smaller members of the team who would not be seen behind it as they transported it across the stage. One of the 'whale-bearers' had also to hold up various placards such as "Yum! Yum!" when Jonah was thrown into the sea.
But it worked.
Thanks to some improvisation.
You see, even mistakes can be used creatively.
God does it all the time with the mistakes we make.

The only account of the creation of a whale that is even more implausible than this one is the tale recounted by Ted Hughes in his wonderful book of children's stories "How the whale became.." only my tale is a true one and not just a big fishy story.

Hey-Ho...Silver lining

I have not managed to blog for a few days because I've been having computer problems. Amazing things when they work: hair-tearingly frustrating when they don't!
(I won't bore you with the details.)
Anyway... I had a great day today. A real silver lining.
One of our local primary schools (Kirkton) is celebrating its 25th birthday. The scary thing is - I have been their school chaplain for 80% of that time (i.e. for the last 20 years!) Anyway, today the whole school was in the church recording a celebration CD. I was asked to help with some guitar backing etc. It was good fun.
The kids did a brilliant job and I'm sure all those who in the weeks to come manage to get hold of this collector's item will really be pleased and proud to own it.
OK - it won't make the top of the album charts... but I think all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, neighbours and passers-by who are asked to buy one from the Primary 7's as part of their "Enterprise" project will enjoy listening to it... at least once.

Aye, right!

For the benefit of anyone who may not have visited the Livingstone Memorial in Blantyre, Scotland - this is what it looks like.

Of course as you will see, in spite of the presence of a few clouds, there is some fine blue sky. That's because it is always sunny in Scotland.

"Aye, right!"

The great thing about colloquial Scots is that it is probably the only language in the world where a double positive makes a very definite negative. "Aye Right!" is the ultimate expression of cynical disbelief and has to be spoken with just the right amount of sarcasm to get the required effect.

Resurrection

OK - hands up those of you who hadn't a clue what I was talking about when I said I needed a 2.5inch IDE to USB adapter ! The picture above shows what I was looking for.
Fortunately, through this very blog, one of my regular readers, who lives not a million miles from here was able to get hold of one for me. Thanks, Peter!
Good news is that I managed to access the church laptop's hard disk drive using another PC. Even better news is that none of the data was lost. Best news of all, is that I was able to repair it without any specialist software! Now the laptop is working again. Yesssss...
Of course it may only be a temporary reprieve, and so I am going to be very careful about backing up files from now on.
Nobody is stupid enough not to back up their computer files surely? Ahem...
Of course, I didn't expect this sort of disaster to happen to me...
I was just going to get round to it when...
I always meant to do it, but I never seemed to have the time... etc. etc.
I wish I could say I have learned my lesson... again...
but the trouble with many of the lessons I learn through life is that I seem to forget them again very quickly... and not just when it comes to backing up a pc.

The village of the world

Today I once again had the privilege of taking an African to visit the birthplace of David Livingstone at Blantyre. (I've been there so often in the past year or so that one of the staff asked me if I'd like a job as a volunteer tour guide!)
This time my guest was Rev. Simon Githiora Njuguna, the Director of the Youth Department of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa.
He had been attending last week's General Assembly and I was asked if I would 'look after him' today as part of a programme of visits around Scotland and Northern Ireland. I was delighted to do so, and decided right away that Blantyre was the place to take him.
First of all, though, I had to 'collect him' from Abington.
I guess many exchanges (legal and otherwise) take place in motorway service stations but this was a very slick handover, timed to perfection.
Simon had been staying overnight in Dumfries at the home of another minister there, and we decided to meet each other more or less half-way at the motorway services for the handover. Poor Simon - shunted from one car to another, like a parcel in the post. (He didn't seem to mind, though.)
And he really enjoyed the visit to Blantyre.
Here he is pictured in the very room where Livingstone was born and brought up with the rest of his family.
When I see the enthusiasm and appreciation of African people for all that David Livingstone was able to do among them, and the respect in which he is still held all over Africa, I am saddened by the indifference (and even ignorance) of so many Scottish people to this courageous and committed man, whose story is quite astonishing.

As we sat and talked over a cup of tea in the cafe at the David Livingstone Centre and Simon asked me about my previous visits to Kenya it suddenly became clear to both of us that we had 'met' before. Five years ago I had spoken to a group of ministers in Nairobi. Simon was still a 'probationer' at that time - not yet ordained, but he had been sitting in the back row.
After we returned to my home, I was able to confirm it all by digging out the old photograph album from the 2002 trip to Kenya, and there he was - or at least his head-partially visible behind another minister. Well, Simon claimed that he could see himself in the picture. I had to take his word for it, and since he could remember (better than I could) what I had been talking about that day I have no reason to doubt that it was his head.
As they say... "It's a small world!" And getting smaller every day.

The bad technology weekend continues

A short sequel to the tragic tale. First of all the good news.
Accompanying my iPod on its final journey in the washing machine to Apple Heaven were my Sennheiser earphones.
Miraculously they didn't seem to mind being scrubbed up and are still working normally.
What's more they do look pretty clean.
Mind you, I don't recommend it as a standard method for removing unwanted earwax from the phones. It may be effective but I'm sure it's still pretty risky.
On a sadder (and for me hair-tearing) note... last night (or to be more precise in the early hours of this morning) the church's laptop pc gave up the ghost. Fortunately I had a few minutes of warning that something was going seriously wrong and just as the laptop breathed its last I managed to persuade it to transfer the PowerPoint for the Sunday Morning service to my MacBook...
Sadly, though, I can no longer start the thing up and I am going to have to try find someone who can lend me a 2.5inch IDE to USB adapter to try recover some of the data from the hard disk which (surprise, surprise) was not backed up.
It was just another one of those things in my HAVEN'T YET DONE list.