MA Creative Writing, Exeter University The Other Module: Prose Week 4: Disaster – bad day at the office

Came away from today befuddled, feeling like a literary dwarf compared with fellow students, and rather downbeat…but that wasn’t the disaster.

I knew I’d be walking into a room of students and staff with heads far fuller than mine with English literature. Although that can leave one daunted, that’s exactly why I’m here…to wear L plates and learn from others.

No, the disaster was simple.

A third of the class uploads work each week. ‘Homework’ for the rest of us is to write critical reviews on their posted work, ready to share our perspectives verbally in the second half of the workshop.

The upload is to an online animal called Padlet. The disaster, as I found out after the lecture, was that I had failed to scroll Padlet right and so missed all but one of the offerings, was lost, had nothing to say, and wanted the earth to open up and swallow hard.

It’s one thing to be in awe of others’ relative ability, but combine that with simple incompetence: that’s my definition of a bad day at the office.

Home now. Sanctuary. Safe space. Last week’s pieces printed out, ready for me to write critiques and catch up in the morning…AND get on with this week’s assignment.

Live and learn, eh? We press on.

Sinatra, where are you when I need you?

Each time I find myself
Flat on my face
I pick myself up and get
Back in the race
That's life

A Tabernacles Trilogy 3. Yom Kippur/Manchester/Hostages

I am well aware that I am writing this blog post just a day short of when Jews around the world celebrate Tabernacles, or Sukkot.

This year, as the world holds its breath over Hamas’s response to the Peace Plan on the negotiating table, and as Jewish eyes are blurred with tears not only with hope but grief, Sukkot 2025 could mark real change in Gaza, Israel, and the whole of the Middle East.

Hope, because no one wants war, conflict, destruction, grief, and hopelessness to set up more than a temporary home in the human heart. And hope, for Israeli’s, that the remaining hostages, alive or dead, will be returned during Sukkot. And hope for some Gazans at least that they can wake up very soon from the nightmare that has been Hamas’s regime.

Grief? Of course. The murderous attack on Yom Kippur in Manchester has chilled the bones of not only Jews but also horrified Britons who have had to clear Jewish blood and the blood of the attacker from their streets; blood spilt days before a credible peace plan might bring the horror of the Israel-Hamas war to a close.

Tabernacles, one of the three main Jewish feasts that Jews were commanded to attend each year, and, therefore, which Jesus would have attended many times, is the final feast in the calendar.

It is no surprise then that many bible commentators link Tabernacles prophetically, despite its evident purpose as a reminder of the temporary tents (tabernacles) that the Jews had to erect in the desert en route from Egypt to the Promised Land, to the end of the world and the final judgement (Rev 21v3).

My comment here is not that this is incorrect, but it falls short of the relevance of Tabernacles in this age and its prophetic significance to the church.

Just as William Seymour and others rediscovered the fulfilment of Pentecost to the church in preaching and receiving the baptism of the Spirit…hence the Pentecostal churches and the Charismatic movement in the 20th Century…so we are on the brink of a rediscovery, this time of Tabernacles.

1. Jesus as a mobile tabernacle
2. Christians as mobile tabernacles
3. Church as mobile tabernacles

Jesus
‘The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we beheld His glory’ John 1v14
‘Jesus said “destroy this temple and I will raise it up after three days”…but He was speaking of the temple of His body’ John 2v19-22
‘the Father in Me does the works’ John 14v11

Christians - individually
‘If anyone loves Me…My father will love him and we will come and make our home with him…the Spirit…will be in you’ John 14v17, 23
‘Do you not know your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?’ 1 Cor 6v19
‘You are the temple of the living God’ 2Cor6v16

Church
‘You are…a building being fitted together and growing into a holy temple…a dwelling place of God in the Spirit’ Eph 2v21,22
‘We know that if our earthly house, this tabernacle, is destroyed, we have a building from God, not built with hands, eternal in the heavens’ 2 Cor 5v1

The question facing us is: What are the implications for our church experience of the Feast of Tabernacles?

The clue comes from the simple ceremony conducted by Jews from tomorrow onwards for a week. They will meet in specially erected booths, the roofs loosely covered with palm branches and the like, and they meet under these roofs with holes to eat and drink, say prayers, and sing hymns. The holes in the roof mean that it is open to heaven.

It is a picture of the church gathering, the ekklesia (those called by Christ, not a human organisation) bathed in God’s presence (the light through the holes). It is not for one week in the year, but a picture of the potential reality of any church, at any time, anywhere.

Those believers who know the church is the temple of the living God will come with expectation and faith, not simply in a future fulfilment à la Revelation 21v3 ‘Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them and they shall be His people…’ but an expectation and living faith in God’s presence now.

If Tabernacles 2025 is to be remembered as the time when the hostages were returned and the dreadful war in Gaza is brought to a close, the world will breathe a great collective sigh of relief

New Testament churches are places where the kingdom of God has already broken in, where the presence of God is normal, and where each believer is functioning as a priest and a king in training…learning, for example, to only do what they see the Father doing. It is a holy place. It is a place where, metaphorically, man removes his shoes, God is there, and the church moves as He moves. It is an awesome place. We become like Moses before the burning bush, where all our doubts, all our fears, all our past sin has been dealt with to such an extent that referring to our ‘old man’ or our ‘old creation’ is irrelevant…we grow in our understanding that God is fellowshipping with churches full of new creations in Christ. Moses lost his arguments with God at the burning bush, ‘I can’t speak’, or ‘I’m afraid’. It’s a place where we lose all our arguments with God. A holy place.

It is now 7pm on Sunday, 5th October 2025.

Jews around the world will be celebrating Tabernacles from sunset tomorrow, 24 hours from now.

If Tabernacles 2025 is to be remembered as the time when the hostages were returned and the dreadful war in Gaza is brought to a close, the world will breathe a great collective sigh of relief. The rebuilding of broken lives, broken homes, broken politics, broken hopes, and broken dreams can begin.

A Tabernacles Trilogy 1. Our green and pleasant land.

There’s something quite magical and evocative about a warm September afternoon. The air may retain its early morning autumnal chill, the grass, which had turned brown until a week or so ago, is green once more, and leaves are beginning to fall to cover the acorns scattered on the ground.

To top it all, the fields have been invaded by hay bales, which sit peacefully, possessing a proportional beauty somehow pleasing to the eye, awaiting transport to who knows where?

Rarely do we see how they’ve formed; it’s an agricultural conjuring trick. You wake up one morning, go for a walk, and the field that not a week or so ago was knee-high in grass or wheat has been harvested and transformed into bales.

There is a certain peace in a field strewn with bales. It’s difficult to put your finger on it, but there is that ‘Ahh, all is well with the world’ feeling, even if it is not. Forget expensive therapies, find a field with haybales and breathe. The quiet, the peace, the lovely aromas, and the light tan colours have only come about after the mowing, cutting, and baling of a combine harvester. There are no screams, of course, but it’s noisy work separating the grain from the straw and the chaff.

That tearing apart of the useful from the useless or the waste is a picture of the sudden polarisation of our society.

With society at large witnessing the formation of Farage’s Reform Party situated to the right of the Conservative Party, Corbyn’s, Your Party, sitting to the left of the Labour Party, and the radical Islamists, everyday Muslims, and Palestinian supporters shouting ‘Free Palestine From the River to the Sea’, it feels as if Britain’s seams are being stretched and tested as never before.

Add to that Scottish nationalism and the ructions over leaving the EU, and we can view the past few years either as a demonstration of the robustness of our democracy or a threat to its integrity.

So, is it escapism or good sense to find a field and simply enjoy the sight of a good harvest and luxuriate in the warmth of a sunny September afternoon?

the choice between escapism and good sense is a false dichotomy

In Old Testament days, the men of Israel were commanded to travel to Jerusalem three times a year to celebrate three feasts: Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. That’s at least three weeks ‘off work’ per annum, away from work and wars, in addition to the weekly Sabbath.

There’s some wisdom in that, isn’t there?

Tabernacles, or Sukkot, as it’s also called, is right around the corner, sunset on Monday, October 6th and ends at sunset on Monday, October 13th, coinciding with harvest, the end of the agricultural year. Special ‘booths’ are constructed; it might be a plastic corrugated roof covered with palm branches and pampas grass on top to remind Jews of the temporary tents (tabernacles) they constructed on their journey through the desert to the Promised Land. Jews today meet in replica booths under the roof, to eat and drink, recite prayers, and swap news. It’s provides an occasion to remember the past but also a look into the future, as we all do when we take a break.

It is also a call to unity. Jews of all political persuasions meet under the branches, under the roof, in the booth.

I hope you can see what I’m saying?

In church, amongst Christian believers, there has been much talk and many sermons preached about Passover and Pentecost. But we have a deep spiritual need, whether we are Christians or not, to hear the message of Tabernacles, or Sukkot and to meet together under a roof with holes, somewhat open to the heavens, so that we experience a fellowship that transcends political differences and is open to God in heaven, like the light streaming through the roof; not an atheistic socialist utopia of unachievable equality and unity, or a capitalistic freedom that turns a blind eye to the losers, but a deeper note, a reverberation, the call of the Spirit of God. You know it when you hear it.

It's a call to the satisfaction of harvest, a call to completion, a call home, to feet up, to rest, for barriers to collapse, and friendship with neighbours and God to soak into work and world-weary souls.

So, the choice between escapism and good sense is a false dichotomy. To escape, to take time out, to celebrate, to worship, is time well spent; and it is good sense. There are plenty of days to attend to the affairs of the world of work and life.

Go for a drive, maybe. Find a field with hay or straw bales. Go in. See if you don’t go ‘Ahhh’ and relax to your core.

MA Creative Writing, Exeter UniversityDay 1

First lecture at Exeter University for 48 years, having arrived here with dark hair in 1977, feeling rather lost, excited, and ready to smell the Chemistry labs for the first time.

Now, the hair colour has changed, it’s always a surprise if a dark hair hits the barber’s floor, but a similar mix of trepidation and excitement at switching disciplines and attempting to absorb what I can from my lecturers and fellow students.

Day 1 was so nearly a disaster.

Firstly, the sleep parking app decided it would not communicate with my banking app. After muttering – that didn’t help – and repeating the failure two or three times, I resorted to the card option. But that required confirmation from the bank, which it gave! Now with less time to reach the platform before the train was to arrive, I had to walk back to my car, put the old-time slip on the dashboard, and trog back to the station.

Upon arrival at the platform, the electronic scoreboard announced that my train had been cancelled.

 Arghhh! With the lecture starting in 2 hours' time, I was forced to drive to Exeter (with an engine warning light on all the way and all the way back later), praying for a parking space.

There was one…one…left. I parked and walked into my lecture as if there had been zero hassles from bed to Writing Prose Workshop 1.

 15, I think in the class. 4 blokes, 11 ladies. Varying ages. Probably every decade from 20s to 70s represented. Ice breaker wasn’t too difficult, a brief bio. Then, after a sausage roll and flat white break, a wide-ranging discussion about Truth using The Salt Path as a leaping off point.

 C, opposite, a bloke, had looked at the background reading for the lecture – swine! – and was well away, having thought through the nature of truth in fiction and non-fiction. I feel as if I’m already languishing. There’s an award-winning literary student from Texas to my right who gets lost in her monologue…but respect to all who spoke up. Quite a few did. I did in fact. Nice open ethos in the room. I warmed to the lecturer.

I parked and walked into my lecture as if there had been zero hassles from bed to Writing Prose Workshop 1

 After, I walked to the timetabling room and changed my Tuesday lecture to a Wednesday.

 At the time, it made sense to put both lectures on one day instead of travelling twice a week. Upon reflection overnight, this was not the right decision as the train times leave no time on campus for trips to the library, timetabling, personal tutor, IT and so on.

So…some hassles, but so good to get underway.

A sunny and warm September day. Exeter is well known for its campus arboretum, squirrels and the like. It was, of course, swarming with energetic undergraduates, and the various coffee shops were doing a roaring trade. Although many were looking at mobiles or screens, there were a great deal of conversations going on. A good sign, I feel.

If I’m allowed to switch back to the original group, I’ll be very chuffed as I felt the lecturer was a good enabler; only saying the minimum to get everyone else thinking and participating.

The reading list: 6 books, 3 fictions, 1 creative non-fiction, and 1 memoir.

Writing Poetry today. 9am train. Hopefully no cancellations.

The Cows of Winscombe 13th September: Cows three days running? Really?

Another unexpectedly sunny morning.

Boots on and with various disturbances in my innermost being (otherwise known as ‘things on my mind’), I set off intending to retrace a walk past the surgery and across fields to Shipham Lane. I’d even spent time searching for my glasses so I could see enough detail on an OS map to know where to find a particular footpath.

In the event my feet took me to a longer route, through Sidcot and up to the radio mast before descending to King’s Wood and on to the Strawberry Line to return home, 90 minutes later.

I did not expect to see cows.

I’ve walked this route a few times and only walked past sheep and lambs in the Spring. So it made me smile when I found some cows happily munching grass far enough away not to notice me gazing at them. The thought went through my head ‘that means I won’t be able to resist a third Cows in Winscombe blogpost’ and here we are.

Two of the uppermost ‘things on my mind’ I could name in specific terms. Better, though, to reflect on the bass notes. Most music is recognisable by its melody, the top notes, and the right hand on the piano. The left hand, which plays the bass notes, plays a background role. Without them, something’s missing, but it’s difficult to recognise the piece or the track simply from the bass alone. Two bands that buck that trend are The Police and Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

I digress.

So, it is tempting to comment on Charlie Kirk’s assassination, which was on my mind, probably like yours? And Exeter University. Also bothering me. But I won’t.

On Charlie Kirk, I will leave the floor to Barack Obama, who tweeted (if that’s still a verb?) on X:

We don’t yet know what motivated the person who shot and killed Charlie Kirk, but this kind of despicable violence has no place in our democracy. Michelle and I will be praying for Charlie’s family tonight, especially his wife Erika and their two young children.

On Exeter University, all I need to say in detail is that I’m looking forward, even though daunted, sitting at the feet of expert lecturers. It (an MA in Creative Writing) starts next week…and I still have some hoops to jump through.

What I will attempt to comment on re: Exeter is the difference between modes of communication and actual communication; the harmful drift from simplicity to false sophistication.

And, continuing a heavy theme, to articulate my concerns about suppression via polarisation as the background to Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

Well? How many of you have taken yourself off for a long walk because you’re carrying some bothersome thoughts that need some time to settle, or to emerge from the brain fog?

Hopefully, I won’t forget the cows and the countryside by the time I finish this. It was a beautiful walk. Another title I considered for this piece was ‘Beauty’. I hope I can link the above to beauty.

In recent years, the term ‘polarisation’ has become a popular term expressing deep concerns about the glue that holds societies together. In the UK, our recent flirtations with polarisation have been, I would argue, over whether to Remain or Leave the EU, and in the last two years over Israel/Gaza. In the States, the antagonism between MAGA and Antifa supporters (rarely reported in the UK) and similar left-right extremist groups and the two main political parties continues to be extremely unsettling.

Why deep concerns? Here’s my interim answer: polarisation leads to suppression.

In the UK, depending on whose company you were keeping, it was wise to keep schtum about your Brexit or Remain views, or your support for Brexit champion Boris or Remainer Cameron, or you’d be shouted down, shunned, ostracised, and vilified. (Even in churches, Christians were nervous about showing support for either side, depending on the political profile of their church, for fear of an unseemly row).

Fear of speaking out was palpable. Wisdom triumphed over Courage. The result: Suppression.

In the campaign to join the EU in 1972, arguments were put forcefully by both sides, but without rancour spilling over into societal unrest or an erosion in civil dialogue.

The glue that holds a democratic society together is free speech, freedom of association, freedom of assembly, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, and the right to a fair trial.

In conclusion, as much as I defend Charlie Kirk’s exercise of freedom of speech, I look to America to ensure that the man arrested for his assassination is given a fair trial.

Really, what is on trial is whether we want to live in a democracy or whether we will slip into fascism, either to the right or to the left. Since Mussolini, who coined the word ‘fascism’, and Hitler, we have associated ‘fascism’ with the far right, but it can be equally associated with the far left. The characteristics of fascism include dictatorial leadership, forcible suppression of opposition, and subordination of individual interests for the perceived interest of the nation or race.

Why deep concerns? Here’s my interim answer: polarisation leads to suppression

Tragically, we have witnessed democracies tumble into the fascism of Hitler’s far-right National Socialism, and then the far-left version in Communist East Germany in post-war Europe. Dictatorships that ruthlessly silenced all opposition and free speech.

Beauty? The freedoms we have taken for granted in the UK – and the West in general - are as beautiful as the air we breathe, the blue sky above, and the sweet smell of autumn. The bible says we should think on these things. It’s good advice.

Let’s just say that my experience of joining Exeter University with its sophisticated e-management of umpteen Apps, email log-ons, an avalanche of communication, and, with less than a week to go before I sit in a lecture theatre here, are the things I don’t know:

1. My timetable

2. Who my lecturers are

3. Where to go

4. The number of days per week I need to be on campus

5. Access to a personal tutor

Here’s my point.

The avalanche of communication with well-designed webpages, links to opportunities, and so on, has relegated the essential information, as above, to a lower league. I have the impression of busyness; an overworked admin staff desperately trying to keep this complex show of e-communication on the road so that, heaven forbid, it never falls beneath the presentational standards of competing institutions.

Meanwhile, I need to know the above. Really, that’s all I need to know.

This disease is not Exeter University-specific. It’s widespread. Sophistication has replaced Simplicity, with the result that priorities are obscured and lost.

Sometimes progress is an inversion of the meaning of the word.

In 1975, if I wanted a doctor’s appointment, I would travel to the surgery, take a board with a number from a hook, and wait until my number came up. Simple. No forms to fill in, no website to log on, no admin staff needed, no telephone calls. During the night, a doctor was on call. Every day. Local. Reached by a landline telephone call.

It wasn’t perfect, of course, and had to expand as Whitstable’s population grew, but simplicity has been replaced by false sophistication.

The beauty of simplicity is that it is democratic; everyone, young and old, understands how to access the information they need. False sophistication leads to a divided and unequal society where those who can navigate the sophistication become a mobile e-elite and those who struggle are discriminated against and, all too easily, fall through the cracks.

St Paul wrote the following words:

‘Finally, brothers, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue, and if there is anything praiseworthy – meditate on these things.’

The walk in the beautiful countryside near Winscombe this morning allowed me to meditate on the type of society I hope we can maintain. Personally, I hope the walk has helped me from getting too drawn into commenting on the awful assassination of Charlie Kirk, or the specific frustrations surrounding starting a Master’s at Exeter. I hope I have been able to reflect on how good and wholesome a society can be if it upholds the above-mentioned freedoms; freedoms I have more or less taken for granted, and that I want my grandchildren to enjoy without fear.

The Cows of Winscombe 12th September: Running in the Light

I hadn’t written yesterday’s Cows of Winscombe post with any intention to turn it into a series, but that may be what’s transpiring.

The day so far.

At approximately 7 a.m. I donned my ear buds and headed to The Strawberry Line, a disused railway line, for an early morning run. In fact, 7 a.m. for me is quite a late start, but I woke up later than usual.

The forecast was for rain, so I was mentally prepared for a soaking. Not a drop of rain fell. Clouds were moving slowly across the sky from the SW, but the sun shone.

Normally, I listen to a podcast to accompany my sweaty efforts; this morning, I listened to Pete Grieg addressing NC25, a Christian Conference, speaking about the Quiet Revival that has hit the headlines in recent months. It was excellent, funny (naked in a glass-sided shopping centre lift made me laugh out loud), informative, and an appropriate ‘wake-up’ message for an early morning run.

But that’s not what I want to write about.

I moved here approximately 6 months ago, and I realised I was surprised to find myself running in the same soft morning light as in March/April. Not as funny as Pete Grieg’s mishap in the lift, but it made me chuckle. ‘Of course! Doh!’ was how I reacted.

The Earth looked at ease with itself. All was well. It was like an unexpected gift

April 1st Sunrise: 6.36

October 1st Sunrise: 7.01

It doesn’t match perfectly, due to the alignment of the planet with respect to the Sun and the equator, but it’s near enough. And gorgeous.

And, as you can see, I ran past more cows. Today’s cows were illuminated in those soft sunrise rays. I felt calm. They looked calm. The Earth looked at ease with itself. All was well. It was like an unexpected gift, remember, I was expecting to be soaked through, this was like darkness into light, defeat into victory, turmoil into peace…poetically speaking.

If that’s a tad melodramatic, so be it, but I enjoyed the run, stopping every so often to pick a succulent blackberry or take a photo of the light falling on cows, a bridge, and a disused, rusting farm trailer.

For those reading this of a spiritual disposition, you will understand why this morning’s run in the light reminded me of David’s Psalm 30v5

Weeping may last for the night,
But a shout of joy comes in the morning

The Cows of Winscombe 11th September: between a bull and a field of cows

One of my normal early morning running and walking routes across fields and footpaths has an in-built risk of encountering the cows of Winscombe.

Last week, my route was blocked by four or five large Friesians standing guard by the fence, so I couldn’t clamber over…nor did I particularly want to. Or, taking a shortcut, I found myself in a field I thought was cow-empty, only to find a small group of about fifteen Guernsey cows (I think), three of whom were headbutting each other.

With about fifty yards to the exit, they started to take more of an interest in me than each other or the grass and started running in my direction, making a din, mooing and bellows. A friendly morning greeting?

This morning, upon reaching a concrete block over a stream and a standard aluminium gate, I was faced with a field with another fifteen or so cows with heavily laden udders munching their way in my direction. They seemed to be quite peaceful – no headbutting – but to get to the gate on the other side of the field would mean walking through the middle of the small herd.

I was about to turn back when I heard a very loud snort and bellow. A large bull had entered the field in which I was standing.

So, one bull behind and fifteen cows ahead. What to do?

I’d been standing at the gate watching the cows for a few minutes. One had wandered over to me to say hello and moved off peacefully, so off I went walking slowly. The fact that I’m writing this suggests, correctly, that these cows were more interested in snaffling the dewy grass and nettles from the field than bothering with me, and I made it to the gate without any trouble.

Cows are rather strange and lovely animals. There’s a mournful, ‘I’m too heavy’, look about them, a resigned acceptance of their lot, and a peculiar combination of bony outcrops and massive flesh. Joy seems to be on hold. They engage a sense of sympathy in me; I hope they get milked soon. It all looks a tad uncomfortable lolloping around with udders fit to burst, cloven hooves standing in wet, muddy fields, loaded with excessive heaviness.

I didn’t study the bull for too long.

In contrast, each cell in the bull’s body seems to be a world saturated with a longing to do something dreadful or drastic, even if it is servicing every cow within sight and over the horizon, or reminding me of my puny humanity.

The matador in me seems to have flown the country.

Why am I concerned about the BBC?

1. The BBC failed to describe the October 7th 2023 attack against unarmed civilians by Hamas as a terrorist attack, even though Hamas planned, targeted, and murdered 1,195 unarmed civilians at the Nova Music Festival and in the Be’eri kibbutz, and took 251 hostages to Gaza. When reporting the July 7/7 bombings in England, the BBC called the attackers terrorists: ‘On 7 July 2005, four terrorists bombed London's transport network, killing 52 people and injuring hundreds more’. [London 7/7 bombings: Returning to the capital 20 years on - BBC News]. And reporting 9/11; ‘On 11 September 2001, four passenger planes were hijacked by radical Islamist terrorists’ [The people who think 9/11 may have been an 'inside job' - BBC News]. This double standard has undermined the credibility of the BBC’s editorial judgement. I am concerned.

2. The BBC seeks to uphold standards of journalistic excellence. One of the foundational requisites of professional journalism is to report using reliable sources; however, the BBC has consistently reported information about the suffering in Gaza using Hamas-run Health Ministry statistics. It is inconceivable that the BBC would have entertained reporting statistics from an equivalent Nazi source in the Second World War. I am concerned that the daily diet of information passed on to the public in this manner, directly from Hamas, is influencing our ability to form a sound judgment concerning matters such as food-aid supplies, and death and injury statistics. By continuing to report Hamas’s statistics, the BBC has weakened its journalistic credibility, and I am concerned.

3. The BBC has an enviable reputation for reporting impartially and objectively – a reputation hard-won over many years. The combined effect of the above two points with respect to the terrible war between Israel and Hamas is, however, to undermine this reputation and to contribute to the public shift away from support for Israel and towards Hamas. The BBC’s double standards and use of Hamas as a reliable source are surely cause for grave concern about its editorial integrity, and it is a matter that should be investigated fully.

It just doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like the BBC of old. Something serious has gone wrong at the editorial level. And it needs to be brought into the light and put right.

The News w/b Sunday 17th August: Three Card Trick – Hiroshima, Hamas, Hurricane Erin

If I were a magician, I’d be saying ‘pick a card’, but I’m not, so it’s three paragraphs on the above The Three Hs that have been astride the media in the past few days.

Hiroshima Genbaku Dome - somehow survived the blast directly below the explosion

1. Hiroshima

On August 6th, 1945, the Enola Gay, a B29 bomber released the ‘Little Boy’, an atom bomb, exploding at a height of 1900 ft above Hiroshima, instantly killing 70,000, some of whom were school children on their way to school. I’ve been listening to BBC R4’s John Hersey’s Hiroshima to mark the 80th Anniversary of the bombing (of Hiroshima and Nagasaki) and the consequent surrender of the Japanese to bring the war to a close. My parents lived through WWII. My father was a colonel in the US Army, and my mother, English, worked for the US Army. (Yes, you can put two and two together). Little was said about the war in the Far East; their involvement was restricted to serving the Allies’ defeat of Nazi Germany. Wisdom, the bible says, is known by its fruit. So, constructing an ethical lens to peer into the past to form a sound judgement about the rights and wrongs of using such destructive force calls on skills that I don’t believe I possess. If the fruit was ending the war, all I can offer is that this must be brought into the weighing scales of whatever ethical lens you are using to judge Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

2. Hamas

Jerusalem - still longing to fulfil its name ‘city of peace’. The bible urges us to pray for the peace of Jerusalem. No more so than now.

I have written a few times about Hamas. To my mind, they are no better than Hitler’s Nazi thugs. Hamas have long since disregarded any value in the sanctity of life and consider their sworn enemies – the Jews in Israel – with the same irrational hatred that Hitler employed against the Jews…vermin that need to be eradicated. Hamas’s murderous attack on October 7th 2023 against unarmed civilians in kibbutzim villages and at the Nova music festival, was beneath contempt. Whatever their grievances, justified or not, that led to stooping so low cannot be employed in justifying such a barbaric assault. They have brought upon their own heads, and the lives of Gazans they were elected to serve, such utter horror - and still they refuse to surrender and hand over the hostages that were taken by their armed gangs in order to end the war and the endless suffering of Gazans. Their violations of basic human rights, disregard of international law, war crimes, and their vows to destroy the State of Israel make them undigestible. In the same way as we worry, ethically, about the Enola Gay operation to end WWII in Japan, we wring our hands at Israel’s military operation to remove Hamas and liberate the hostages. And we should. At least in Israel, the proof, almost, of a healthy society, is that Jews in their tens of thousands are permitted to protest against Netanyahu’s military campaign without fear of reprisal, whereas, across the border in Gaza, anti-Hamas protests by Gazans are ruthlessly suppressed.

3. Hurricane Erin

‘A 600 mile wall of rain’ and other dramatic headlines are a welcome break from reports from war-torn Gaza and Ukraine, as journalists seek out other news in August and spend an inordinate amount of time blue-sky thinking (yes, I know), trying to come up with the most eye-catching headlines. For me, ‘A 600 mile wall of rain’ wins hands down! Alas, all the tabloids seem to be carrying this phrase, so, sadly, I cannot award the trophy to any one journalist. Hurricane Erin, a tropical storm at the moment on the other side of the Atlantic, is likely to be great disappointment to those who are desperate for dramatic weather, but that is no defence against the newspaper proprietors' need to sell print, albeit electronic print these days. As Mark Twain said ‘Never let truth get in the way of a good story’ especially in pre-autumnal August. We press on.

Camino 3 days on the trail Day 5: Friday 18th July 2025

Monistrol D’Allier to Saugues

The forecast was for very high temperatures over 30oC, so, with a steep climb from Monistrol ahead, I elected to depart by 7am before breakfast, and leave Paul to meet his brother, Mark, and friend Barney when they arrive a couple of hours later.

I enjoyed walking in the cool of the early morning, walking mostly in shade, due to the forest lining the steep hill. Walking on my own was fine; my frequent practice at home, a time to collect my thoughts in a different way than in conversation with Paul.

First major stop was with a yellow house (no other houses are painted; all just stone and mortar so it stands out) at the bottom/of an incline, a few yards beyond a standard Camino WC wooden shed. The loo had a pedal which had to be pressed 5 times to operate a conveyor belt to remove all the waste; clever. No running water required.

A woman was leading a small herd of cows up the road, so I stood to one side to allow them to saunter past. Two dogs and the farmer on a buggy at the rear made sure there were no stragglers.

It’s 10am now, and the heat is pouring down. Sun cream on. I’m glad I started early. WhatsApp texts tell me that Paul, Mark, and Barney have met and are making good progress up the hill.

I meet the same cheerful Franciscan mob again and end up discovering that they’re being transported by minibus everywhere and only walking short sections…hardly in keeping with the hardy pilgrims of yesteryear! I receive another blessing and a gift of a silver St Francis, and they’re gone, dust flying from the tyres of their minibus on the road to Saugues only 2.6km away.

I reach the hill overlooking Saugues with its array of totem poles…and a roadside shack selling food and drinks. I have a coffee, remove shirt to dry off, and set off down the long, steep hill into Saugues. Reaching the bottom, I realise I’ve left my walking pole at the shack. Nothing for it but to slog back up.

Reaching Saugues, which appears to be a metropolis compared to the rural remoteness of the past three days, I’m aware of people bustling around, barely looking at each other, from shop to shop. Why this unfriendliness? Maybe it’s simply a mathematical function of crowd density; you can’t say ‘Bonjour!’ to everyone, but the absence of smiles is noticeable.

I retreat to the church to cool off.

Eventually, I find fellow Camino walkers tucking into coffees and crepes at a café and join them. A married couple and a female friend. An hour or so later, Paul, Mark, and Barney arrive just as the others are leaving; an efficient handover!

Good to be reunited with Paul and to meet his brother and Barney. We swap tales until I saunter off to buy a postcard and to flop down at the bus stop waiting for the Compostel’ Bus us at 4pm.

I move just a few yards away from the shelter to a bench in the shade with a slight breeze coming up from the road below. It’s significantly cooler. A French Camino walker joins me. He’s at a personal crossroads, using his time on the trail to think through what to do for the best for others, including his wife of three years and their daughter. He’s clearly facing a difficult decision. I have my guesses, but there’s no need to know the details; one recognises a mid-life crisis when one sees it so clearly. I mention Richard Rohr’s Falling Upwards.

This is a typical conversation on the Camino. Scratch the surface and there’s often deeper reasons for becoming a pilgrim…we all carry our own load. He only had two days on the Camino and acknowledged that it wasn’t sufficient, but maybe a useful stepping stone – he’d missed his wedding anniversary to be on the walk.

Behind the scenes, Tim J. has been booking a BlaBla car on my behalf. The transfer from the bus to the BlaBla works seamlessly: the bus arrives in Le Puy at 5.15. I walk to the Ibis, go to loo, freshen up a little, change shirt, collect the smaller rucksack left at the hotel, and walk across to find the BlaBla driver, Sabina, in the railway station with her friend Elidi. Sabina is all smiles, and we are driving away shortly after 5.30.

They’ve been on the Camino for ten days, reaching Conques.

Much conversation in spurts. Sabina is coy about her reason for being on the Camino, limiting her answer to ‘Love’ with a smile. Elidi is, like me, accompanying her friend. It turns out that Elidi is off work due to a frozen shoulder. I swap my story.

The conversation turns theological after a while, and at the end of the journey, I ask Sabrina to place her hand on Elidi’s shoulder whilst I say a quick prayer for healing.

Transfer to Tim, who’s arrived to drive me back to his house and to meet Evelyne.

My Camino adventure is over.

Yes, I would like to do more. Maybe as in the film, The Way, to start at the Pyrenees, but the Two Moors walk may be the next walking challenge, across Dartmoor and Exmoor.

Camino 3 days on the trail Day 2: Thursday 17th July 2025

Monbonnet to Monistrol D’Allier

Communal breakfast and away, I think by 9.

What I’m failing to record are the conversations on the road and in the non-Camino hours with Paul and others. They are, of course, wide ranging. Sometimes serious or personal matters, and also trivial, funny, and bizarre. I suspect I’m relaxing into this new way of spending time.

Photos of the beautiful scenery, buildings, philosophical notes in toilets, fellow travellers are recorded.

Leaving the gite we immediately went the wrong way. Doubled back and then missed a turning. We ended up walking along a main road, tempted to do so by red and white bollards. Small red and white signs direct walkers along the Camino. Feeling very silly, realising our error, we walked for a few km on the road before taking a path back to the official Camino path to Monistrol D’Allier.

Next stop was a delightful corner in a village with a boulangerie and a bar. Nice thing about France: you can sit outside with a beer from the bar and eat the food you’ve bought elsewhere. Far better than English etiquette, that prevents such a heinous crime.

Met a happy group of seven or eight young men being led by a Catholic ‘father’ dressed in a long black cassock and a young Franciscan in his brown robes and ropes, who gave us a professional blessing at the chapel high up on a rock at Rochegude.

And on to impressive Monistrol D’Allier. Impressive due to a series of bridges allowing transport and people to cross deep ravines, looking down to a winding river…and a beach dotted with people. Walking across the iron bridge constructed by Eiffel, we arrived at ‘Le Repos du Pelerin’ gite and were shown to our room. Rucksacks are not to be left in rooms, so we unpack the minimum and put rucksacks in an outer hallway, strip down to shorts, and head off to the river for a swim. It’s difficult to convey just how refreshing it is after pouring with sweat mile after mile to immerse oneself in a flowing river and swim. The water is cool; not freezing.

Back to the gite for the evening meal at 7. Six of us who had crossed on the route shared a bottle of wine and endless chatter, sometimes theological – Philip Junior, being a recent convert, challenging the agnosticism of Philip Senior with onlookers making their own contributions. Most comments seem to be about man searching for God. I posed the alternative; that God is searching for us, and it is us that attempt to hide.

As darkness fell, the evening came to a close.

Camino 3 days on the trail Day 1: Wednesday 16th July 2025

Ibis hotel, Le Puy en Valay

4.45 awake. Wrote some notes and ordered Ada a Ladybird memory game on Amazon, which will arrive in Hanham tomorrow. Of course, that seems both normal and mad at the same time; the world continues to shrink.

Breakfast on my own, no one else up so early.

Last minute decision. Yes or no for packing sandals in walking rucksack Yes. Regretting in some ways that I decided not to pack a razor to go for the Crusoe look. After a few days the extra growth is not an attractive feature.

Walk up to the Cathedral for Mass and blessing. Sweat is already making my t-shirt sopping wet; it’s relatively cool, but the climb to the Cathedral is sharp uphill. No one else seems to sweat as much as John S. There’s nothing I can do about it, so I shed my rucksack along with others to the side of the Cathedral and take my seat. There must be 150 fellow Camino pilgrims. Beautiful Catholic Latin singing responses…the higher notes fading away slower than the bass notes in the large space. Many who are there, evidently Catholic, know all the responses. Mostly French, just a few international visitors.

Suitably blessed, I meet Paul and we haul our rucksacks on and head off, stopping almost immediately with a stupendous view from within the Cathedral down and down a cobbled street into Le Puy.

We’ve started; Paul’s dream to do a month on the Camino is underway.

Patterns quickly emerge that carry on over the following days. With those walking at approximately the same pace – and have booked the same Gites – we enter a leapfrogging rhythm as we take breaks and watch people pass, our French being put to the test.

The route to Montbonnet is relentlessly beautiful. Not only the wide views of the Le Puy valley appear as we walk uphill, but the ancient architecture of an increasingly rural France appeals to me. A little like walking in the Welsh hills, but the stone buildings are a variation on the same theme; large, irregular, rounded stones fitted together with mortar. Shutters, of course, adorn every window.

Reaching Le Premiere Etap, our first gite, we walked down a set of steep stone steps onto a large area of decking on which are hundreds of colourful tea pots, plants, different seating areas, a washing line, and a large garden beneath. The owner is rushing around speaking excitedly in French.

I found some games and we sit down outside for a game of Scrabble, quickly joined by another and it turns into a French and English words Scrabble. A crowd gathered, watching.

Our room is basic but fine. Philip the elder and Philip Junior (nicknamed a day later) share the room. Communal loos and shower.

Supper at 7.

I felt a little unmoored by my poor French. Paul seems to be deep in conversation & going well. I needn’t have worried, but at the time it felt awkward.

Jesus the Baptist - Baptism in the Spirit

John the Baptist baptised his followers with water, but he foresaw that the Messiah, Jesus, would baptise with the Spirit.

‘I baptise you with water…but He who is coming will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and fire’ Mt3v11

Still to this day, when the word ‘baptism’ is used, it conjures up images of babies or infants being Christened or of believers being submerged in water either in the sea, a river, or a tank in a church or elsewhere.

How strange! It’s as if John the Baptist’s prophetic announcement has gone unheard! Why is it that when we hear the word ‘baptism’, we don’t automatically think of the baptism in the Spirit, but rather to water baptism?

The New Testament records Jesus’s last instructions to his disciples.

‘Go…and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’ Mt28v19

‘John truly baptised with water, but you shall be baptised with the Holy Spirit…(and) receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you and you shall be witnesses to me…to the ends of the earth’ Acts1v4-8

It is easy to continue to practice outward forms or ceremonies like water baptism but miss the point. If we’ve been baptised in water (and maybe have a certificate to prove it!) but haven’t been baptised by Jesus in the Holy Spirit, something is not right.

The testimony of many Christians is that in becoming genuine believers, whoever taught them or preached to them rarely if ever spoke of the third person of the trinity – the Holy Spirit – and as a consequence had never realised that Christianity rests not on the outward ritual of water baptism but a baptism in the Holy Spirit.

Whilst it is true that the Greek word ‘bapteizo’ can mean a sprinkling – like standing in the rain or under a shower, its normal meaning is to be plunged into and under the water. John the Baptist often used the River Jordan. Many believers who are baptised in water are plunged under the water in a ‘baptistry’ or a tank, or outside in a swimming pool, a river, or the sea. What John the Baptist foresaw was that Jesus would baptise with the Holy Spirit. He would take us and plunge us into the third person of the Trinity and to saturate us with the Holy Spirit.

Throughout the book of Acts, there are various descriptions of believers being baptised in the Spirit.

‘Suddenly there was a sound from heaven, like a rushing wind. It filled the whole house where they were sitting, then divided tongues of fire sat on each of them, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages’ 2v1-4

‘When the apostles heard that the Samaritans had received the word of God…they…prayed for them so that they might receive the Holy Spirit because He had not fallen on them…they had only been baptised in the name of the Lord Jesus’ 8v15

(This is often the case in England and elsewhere when someone has become a genuine believer and been baptised in water, but not in the Holy Spirit)

‘While Peter was still speaking (to Gentiles)…the Holy Spirit fell upon those who heard the word...those who had come with Peter were astonished because gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out on the Gentiles for they heard them speaking in other languages…then Peter…commanded them to be baptised (in water)’ 10v44-48

This also happens these days. Unbelievers, hearing the gospel receive the Spirit and are later baptised in water.

When Peter reported how the gift of the Spirit had been given to Gentiles to the church in Jerusalem, he said ‘Then I remembered the word of the Lord, ‘John indeed baptised with water, but you shall be baptised with the Holy Spirit’’ 11v16

And, when Peter preached to the crowd on the Day of Pentecost, he brought baptism in water and baptism in the Spirit together.

‘Then Peter said to them (the crowd that had gathered) ‘Repent, and let every one of you be baptised in the name of Jesus…and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit’’ Acts 2v38

It’s important to note that each of these incidents recorded in Scripture, in Acts, is different. Divided flames were sitting on the believers on the day of Pentecost, but not in Samaria, for example. Some teach that the primary evidence of the baptism of the Spirit is ‘speaking in tongues’, ie, other languages. It is not surprising; all of the incidents recorded in Acts of the baptism in the Spirit involve speaking in tongues. The argument against that comes from 1Cor 12v30, the rhetorical question that asks, ‘do all speak in tongues?’ The answer being No.

Am I thirsty?

The real question with spiritual matters is not to become neutralised by debating fine doctrinal points, but to ask am I thirsty? Do we long for Jesus to baptise us in the Spirit? Or are we content to plough on within the confines of our rationality, our mental appreciation of doctrines of salvation? Neither of these is bad at all, but in comparison, they are like studying a car manual rather than turning the ignition on, firing up the engine, and driving.

All churches should be packed with the type of people that John the Baptist foresaw, a community of individuals who have been baptised in the Spirit, are walking in the Spirit, and the Spirit is leading.

Jesus also envisaged the same.

‘If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in Me as the scripture says, out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water’ By this he was speaking of the Holy Spirit…the Holy Spirit had not yet been given because Jesus had not yet been glorified’ John 7 v 37-39

To finish, it should strike as odd that when we speak of baptism, our thoughts imagine we’re speaking of water, not the Holy Spirit.

The New Testament is clear. If someone has repented (changed their thinking about Jesus and the resurrection), they should be baptised in water and receive the Holy Spirit. In other words, a water baptism and a Holy Spirit baptism. (see above, Acts 2v38)

Which order these three events are experienced seems to matter less to God than it does to us. In Acts, the examples given above illustrate the point well enough…especially when the Holy Spirit fell on the Gentiles. They were baptised in the Spirit, then baptised in water, and repented and believed somewhere in the mix.

Podcasts, BBC Sounds, Red Hand Files…out walking or jogging No1.The Robcast with Bonnie Tyler and her book ‘The Spark of My Womb’

The podcasts in no particular order:

The Robcast with Rob Bell – interviews or monologues on the human condition
Inspired with Simon Guillebaud – interviews with Christians with stories to tell
How to Fail with Elizabeth Day – interviews with celebrities, 3 failures and their responses
The Life Scientific with Jim Al-Khalili - interviews with leading scientists
(DiD) Desert Island Discs (BBC Sounds/R4)
(FOOC) From Our Own Correspondent with Kate Adie
More or Less (BBC Sounds, R4) with Tim Harford examining statistics in the news
Curious Cases (BBC Sounds, R4) with Hannah Fry and Dara O’Briain – Science questions
Dead Ringers (BBC Sounds, R4) – comedy
The Rest is Politics with Rory Stewart and Alastair Campbell
Frank Skinner’s Poetry Podcast – a poet each week
Unlocking the Bible – David Pawson
In Our Time (BBC Sounds, R4) with Melvyn Bragg

Red Hand Files – Nick Cave with a weekly letter/email answering questions from fans

Sunday 6th July

Walk 4.65K : Strawberry Line from Winscombe N to gate into fields, across road to Banwell, and into Thatcher’s Cider orchards, to Barton Lane and back through fields, dodging cows.

Podcast: The Robcast, Rob Bell’s lively interview with Bonnie Lewis, author of The Spark of My Womb under the name B. Coil.

For those not familiar with Rob Bell, he was a pastor of Mars Hill Church, Michigan, a mega-church, until 2012 when he left to pursue a non-evangelical-friendly path of spirituality. Why, then, you might well ask, are you, Mr Stevens, listening to The Robcast?

It’s true that if I had a 1:1 with Mr Bell, I would want to explore his reasons for abandoning his evangelical beliefs. And what he now believes about Jesus Christ.

And it’s also true that over the past few years, when I have listened to The Robcast, I think it would be accurate to say he hasn’t interviewed an evangelical Christian. Perhaps he should?

So, where’s the doorway into listening to The Robcast? In the same way that I might have tuned into Michael Parkinson, or, to be more up to date, Elizabeth Day (see above), or any interviewer who has that knack of attracting interesting individuals who can articulate their experience of life.

His interview with Bonnie Tyler was a cracker

His interview with Bonnie Tyler was a cracker. Most of it orbited around her new book The Spark of My Womb. If I’ve gleaned anything from the interview, the book is a fictional pastiche that is semi-autobiographical and serves as a vehicle for Bonnie to tell her readers what it’s been like to be Bonnie Tyler, and a woman. Be prepared for a very non-evangelical perspective…we’re probably talking New Age ++

Not only is Bell a skilled interviewer, but the reason I listen to his monologues and interviews is that he is attempting to communicate what it’s like to be a human being in the context of today’s world, and his world in the United States – and does it well, with characteristic cheerfulness, enthusiasm, and occasional tears.

Of course, I don’t agree with every statement, but that’s not the point. In previous articles, I’ve lumped Bell, McClaren, and Richard Rohr in the same boat. I disagree with many of their viewpoints, but they are better than many at talking about the human condition.

The crunch question: will I read The Spark of My Womb? It’s hardly a blokey title.

If I do, I shall report back.

In the meantime, maybe listen to a few Robcasts and see what you think.

The Problem with Awe

ACW More Than Writers Blogpost 7th July 2025

The Problem with Awe

It’s a strange expression, if you slow to a stop and think through the words, ‘took my breath away’ it seems to have two meanings; something utterly shocking or beautiful that causes you to gasp – to breathe in, or to suddenly exhale.

 Does anyone travel from birth to death without having a few such moments? I’ve had a few.

 One was maybe six or seven years ago: a piece of music on Radio 4 was so beautiful I had to stop the car, it wasn’t safe to continue driving through a blur of tears.

 Or a beautiful woman I had the privilege of meeting and knowing. My socks were blown clean away.

 And two paintings. One, as far as I know, is still in the Bristol Museum, and the other (a relatively inexpensive print) hangs in my house. Both made me stand and stare.

 Then there’s mist in the hollows on an autumnal morning, a sunset across the ocean, the crash of a wave on shingle beach, or the particular blue of a cold January sky…I could go on.

 All good, but then there’s a sinister side of awe. In writing.

 When, as a writer, you encounter writing that is nigh on perfect and seems to occupy some impenetrable place reserved for an unapproachable elite. As a consumer, you are transfixed and carried along in a beam of satisfaction and joy of reading; your imagination, long since sent soaring with emotion and movement.

 But as a writer? As a writer, one can either be inspired or discouraged.

 One recent example. I enjoy reading Nick Cave’s The Red Hand Files, a weekly letter replying to a few questions posed to him by adoring fans. But the quality of Nick Cave’s replies, his ability to interweave ideas, meditations, poetic imagery, humour, and plain good advice and common sense, is…depending on the mood I’m in…either dispiriting or uplifting.

 Another author I may have mentioned before that has that seemingly casual inability to write a single sentence that is not worth rereading…no, not Shakespeare, Dostoyevski, or Steinbeck…but Ian Rankin. No fillers, no unnecessary descriptive interludes, no fat, it’s pared to the bone and yet entirely nourishing. How does he do it?

 Here’s a sentence that I particularly liked, from this week’s Red Hand Files, where Nick Cave is relaying to a fan something of the agony he goes through in writing the first two lines of a song, starting with ‘the unpredictable arrival of those first two lines’:

 ‘Within those few words lies the ‘beautiful idea’ and the inception of that idea is fundamentally unstable, unreliable, and deeply mysterious’

 None of us can ever write entirely in the style or ‘like’ another. But let us learn. Let us be open. Let us be influenced, inspired, and aspire to write well, to improve, and yet be content, and continue to convert those ‘beautiful ideas’ into poetry and prose, novels and blog posts.

 St Paul said ‘I have learned to be content. I know how to be based, and I know how to abound…I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’

 So far, I’ve read this blog post through once or twice, tweaked this verb, that sentence, and cut and pasted a paragraph…I’m almost content to leave it and push on to August. Almost.

The Final Eleven O’Clock: Coffee Beans & A Phonecall Monday 30th June, 2025

Each day for the remainder of June, I’ll post The Eleven O’Clock and aim to answer the following three questions in short sentences and/or very short paragraphs.

1. Where am I?

2. What am I doing?

3. What am I thinking about and feeling?

Of course, I would welcome any comments, humorous, poignant, serious, or otherwise.

1. Kitchen

2. Grinding coffee beans and finishing conv. with daughter No 1. Mutual feedback on matters retreating to housewarming

3. Thinking. Multilevel, multi subject matters…mentally multitasking: spin off matters from daut No3’s text, real-time issues raised by No1…also the excellent content of some posts on a writing blogsite I write for once a month (More than Writers) and my replies. Also mundane thoughts regarding grinding coffee beans. One bean escaped the spoon three times and needed to be hunted down and dropped beneath the spinning blades.

Feelings. Even on this final post, I’m finding it difficult to figure out what I’m feeling as opposed to what I’m thinking and doing. In conversation with No1 I did speak about my sense of social awkwardness in some moments over the past party-oriented 48 hours: a couple of friends who spent quite a bit of time ranting about subjects – including conspiracy theories - no one had asked them to comment on…and wondering how many times I have done the same thing…and wondering what that is all about? A surplus of energy? A need to speak about pet subjects? Anger? The need to be an expert? Insecurity? Or a conduit of news and views others need to hear? Where’s there a psychologist when you need one?

But how/what I was I feeling at 11 o’clock? Relatively pacific. Aware of tidal patterns and surface ripples as an analogy of friendships – each has its own rhythm.

So, I apologise for ending The Eleven O’Clock with a deliberately obscure comment about tides and ripples, but some things are best left unsaid.

What better than to close with the Wisdom of Solomon:

There’s

A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up (!) and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.

The Eleven O’Clock: Full English and Flat Whites? Sunday 29th June, 2025

Each day for the remainder of June, I’ll post The Eleven O’Clock and aim to answer the following three questions in short sentences and/or very short paragraphs.

1. Where am I?

2. What am I doing?

3. What am I thinking about and feeling?

Of course, I would welcome any comments, humorous, poignant, serious, or otherwise.

1. The Pantry, coffee shop, Winscombe

2. Eating a cooked breakfast – not a Full English but the next size down. Convivial chat with five other late-to-rise friends after last night’s housewarming

3. Thinking: thoughts still assembling after a broken night’s sleep on a karrimat and in a sleeping bag on my back lawn watching the stars. Idyllic? No, not quite. To bed at 1am. Awake with a bad back and raging hayfever at 3am. Exercises, pee, hayfever dose, and approx. two further hours of sleep, then up at 6 with two others, cups of tea, and more chat. So…no settled thoughts, more a stream of ever-changing thoughts in conversations.

Feeling: surprisingly awake, and v. happy & relieved that the housewarming went well with friends & family. That the sun shone was a blessing.

The Eleven O’Clock: Hoovering and a Murder of Crows Saturday 28th June, 2025

Each day for the remainder of June, I’ll post The Eleven O’Clock and aim to answer the following three questions in short sentences and/or very short paragraphs.

1. Where am I?

2. What am I doing?

3. What am I thinking about and feeling?

Of course, I would welcome any comments, humorous, poignant, serious, or otherwise.

1. Behind a vacuum cleaner

2. Pushing, pulling a vacuum around the upstairs and downstairs & listening a bit earlier to Curious Cases R4 making the case that Corvids (Crows, Rooks, Ravens, and Jackdaws) are more intelligent than children.

3. Thinking – my mind is split between working my way through umpteen chores to get the house ready for a gathering later - and crows. Also, a faint thought routine on repeat re: Jackdaws

Feeling – I’m doing ‘subordination of feelings to planning mode’, but it’s not entirely successful. I catch myself worrying mildly over pre-party stuff – will X arrive, will X, who won’t know anyone apart from me, be OK, will P and Q talk over the past amicably (!), how many bodies will require a bed for the night, will there be enough food? What if there’s far too much food? You get the picture. Fretting over all the things over which I have no or limited control…and, yes, I know, control is largely an illusion anyway, and it’s often the apparent randomness of everything where unexpected joy stems from. A verse from Proverbs comes to mind ‘lean not on your understanding but in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths’. This and similar verses have somehow become more crackly with life than ever – you know that anticipation in the air just before a thunderstorm.

Ps – note on Jackdaws. Forgive me if I’ve mentioned this before. From childhood, Jackdaws and swifts have been my favourite birds. Swifts just take it from swallows in the same way as Spitfires are just ahead of Hurricanes. And Jackdaws have had a place reserved for them for decades. And, bless my soul, if having rarely seen Jackdaws in all those intervening years, if the birds that congregate on my chimney and peck around on the roof tiles to my right, are not they! If you’re looking for proof of divinity, I doubt if this would tip you over the edge, but for me, it’s a sign of the love of God for this amateur believer.

The Eleven O’Clock: Spotify Playlist Friday 27th June, 2025

Each day for the remainder of June, I’ll post The Eleven O’Clock and aim to answer the following three questions in short sentences and/or very short paragraphs.

1. Where am I?

2. What am I doing?

3. What am I thinking about and feeling?

Of course, I would welcome any comments, humorous, poignant, serious, or otherwise.

1. Desk, landing

2. Making a playlist on Spotify

3. Thinking: The idea of a playlist originated from a chance discovery of a short series of interviews with well-known TV and radio presenters selecting their favourite classical pieces, some of which were borrowed for the playlist. I suppose my thinking was split between my unfamiliarity with Spotify and feeling immersed, particularly, in some moving choral and other pieces, many of which I hadn’t heard before.

Feeling: as already stated a feeling of being immersed and my inner world being stretched, expanded, stilled, and stirred. Long chords; a blend of bass, tenor, alto, and soprano voices, puncturing any layabout defences. Resistance, as they say, is futile. Not because it’s impossible; futility is doing or not doing something that leads nowhere - the off button is not far away - but music that pours out of one soul is designed to crash past all our No Entry signs; it will not obey and must not. It is we who must yield, trust, and be taken to wherever we have to go.

Try Barber: Agnus Dei, Winchester Cathedral Choir if you dare

The Eleven O’Clock: Tea, toast, and Dublin, 1798 Thursday 26th June, 2025

Each day for the remainder of June, I’ll post The Eleven O’Clock and aim to answer the following three questions in short sentences and/or very short paragraphs.

1. Where am I?

2. What am I doing?

3. What am I thinking about and feeling?

Of course, I would welcome any comments, humorous, poignant, serious, or otherwise.

1. Physically at my desk, writing and enjoying a brief break, armed with a colourful mug of Tetley tea and munching two pieces of buttered toast. Mentally, it’s dawn and I’m alone on a horse en route to Dublin in May 1798 in the form of an Irish girl with a lot on her mind.

2. Thinking. As the character, mostly thinking, dispelling anxious thoughts by forming a detailed plan of action. As the writer, weighing up what it must be like for this fictitious character to be caught in a combination of competing loyalties, and facing a very uncertain future. And wondering whether all this writing is some unconscious form of autobiography; whether the characters we form can ever be truly ‘not me? Perhaps, through our imaginations, we do invent original creations that are not us, in order to dis-cover who we truly are?

Feelings. There are times when you become immersed in a character’s mental, emotional, or spiritual state. As yet, this character isn’t pondering spiritual matters, but is thinking deeply about the various moral dilemmas she faces – one step removed from the spiritual? Her romantic feelings towards the protagonist are embryonic and subject to her other dilemmas. Whatever feelings she may have lie hidden, held just below the surface. Maybe by 11.30, I’ll be there.

I’m also aware of just how tasty the rescued bread has turned out to be when toasted.

Licking my lips.

Back to 1798.