Missing the Changing Room? `

Hot feet leaving their memory
Sweated on the cool tiles
White towels discarded
Steam from the showers
Percolating through
To where silence
And speech own the floor

It is here that boys become men
The place of the pubescent
Two-finger cough
To check something unknown
Of early pubes and armpit odour
Voices cracking, showers
Avoided in the uncertainty

Pre-match rituals
Are conceived here
One hangs his knotted tie
On the lower hook
Another sits, unfocussed
As hopes and fears
Take him, like a dream

Older now, the Ralgex owner
Takes his position
Gumshield in
The huddle, the shout
Louder than the opponents
The knee drives
The clatter of hooves on the floor

Finally, the locker room
Can relax, for nigh on an hour
‘Til the animated, injured
Swearing horde
Returns, jubilant or jaded
Weary, but rejuvenated
With a joke or a fierce captain

Finally, the survivors
Of the second-half return
To the steam, to the undressing
To the exaggerated stories
To the towels, the crisp shirt
To the bar, with a black eye
And blooded manhood

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post X 21st April 2 weeks + 6 days until Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

Since my last report, in which I seem to remember committing to run 10Ks every other day, nine days have passed.

The purpose of this post, therefore, is to maintain personal motivation through public accountability and possible humiliation.

Thus far:

Strawberry Line (South)15th April 10.06 km in 57:22

Strawberry Line (North) 17th April 10.02 km in 62:15

Strawberry Line (North) 20th April 9.02km in 54:04

A commentary

Yes, you needn’t say anything. Again, I’m getting worse the more I plod/run…’training’ is an exaggeration. But hang on, the truth is stranger than the data.

Run 1. After about 3K Strava is sent into the nether world of the Shute Shelve tunnel, and at pre-dawn, it is ink-black and I’m reduced to walking for fear of tripping over and making more of a fool of myself than running through a pitch-black tunnel in the first place. SO…the 57 minutes is as accurate as counting the number of humpback whales in the Atlantic, or predicting the length of a Premiership football match after VAR officials have read through the FA Handbook on handball…

Run 2. Strava is clever. This was ‘moving time’. I stopped, or was stopped, arrested by a tree here and a gate there gorgeously painted by the soft-dawn rays. Photos followed. Actual time was longer. But I’m unlikely to stop to take photos during the Bristol 10K. Am I?

Run 3. Was going well, or so I thought. But I conked out at 9K, having felt weary for the previous one or two kilometres.

‘If I was a betting man’ - I’m restricted to the Grand National and The Masters in some years, and rarely win a penny - I’d think twice before betting on myself to break 60 minutes, but I’ll give it a go.

The Bristol Course looks mean. That ‘orrible hill near the end and city-centre cobbles are designed to inject despondency and despair as the clock speeds up and the feet slow. Maybe that’s all in the mind? Well, maybe. But it’s in my mind.

Rachel…has gone to ground. Her previous recorded 5K at 26:44 equates to approx. 10K pace of 53:30 is far too fast, and my fears that she has peaked too soon…are impossible to verify. The latest press release from the R Training Camp is that her 2025 10K event will not be the Bristol…we await news.

The theory that Dad’s ‘every-other-day’ commitment to running 10Ks has rattled the young pretender is definitely worthy of further investigation.

For now, all I shall do is continue to plod up and down the Strawberry Line in hope that mind and body might talk to each other and cheer each other on.

Podcasts have included: Elizabeth Day’s How to Fail with Sally Philips was excellent…funny and honest. David Pawson’s Unlocking the Bible on John’s gospel was really good. And I quite like listening to Alistair Campbell and Rory Stewart as they squirm in the Trump era on The Rest is Politics.

Two weeks and six days.

Oh boy!

Easter Saturday

My early morning routine hasn’t varied a great deal for decades. It is far from remarkable but serves to get body, soul, and spirit unclogged from the inactivity of the night.

It is as follows: wake up with or without alarm, bathroom, exercises, kettle on, Radio 4, tea bag in cup, make cup of tea, pour cereal into bowl, add milk to tea and cereal, and retire to my study, write yesterday’s events and reflections in a journal, open bible and read a chapter, pray, finish breakfast, and attack whatever is top of the TTD list.

And every other day, an early morning run is inserted between exercises and kettle on.

Today it all went off-piste.

I woke up at 4 but thought it was 5. Five o’clock would have been ideal. The intention was to sneak in a 10K and pick up the rest of the routine before getting into the day, getting the house ready for an invasion of daughters and grandchildren. Poked head outside to find it was ridiculously dark, cold, and wet. Realised it was 4 not 5. Decided to postpone run by an hour. Listening to a podcast, I lay down on the settee…and woke up at 7am, too late for the run.

Grumpily, I picked up rest of the routine.

And read Isaiah 61.

Jesus quoted Isaiah 61 at the start of his ministry, having returned from the wilderness temptations and encounter with the devil in the power of the Holy Spirit.

‘The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me’, He quoted to his home town synagogue congregation in Nazareth, ‘because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted. To proclaim liberty to the captives, the recovery of sight to the blind, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.’

It is a prelude to and an explanation of the remarkable miracles of healing and deliverance that accompanied Jesus’ ministry, often to the poorest in Israel’s society.

What struck me today, Easter Saturday, was the contrast between the heady days of large crowds and astounding miracles, and the solitary body of Jesus lying in the grave, alone, the crowds having departed, and the disciples abandoning him through fear of the Romans.

We remember Easter Friday, Christ’s arrest, interrogation the night before, the crucifixion, and burial and we celebrate Easter Day, Sunday, to mark the resurrection, the stone rolled away, the appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene, the other women, and then Peter and John and the disciples, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and doubting Thomas. Death defeated, Jesus stands amongst them and says ‘Peace’ and eats fish. He is not a ghost, the disciples fearing their own insanity are not imagining the resurrection; he eats fish and struggles with the bones.

But Easter Saturday?

This morning, when I thought about Easter Saturday, my initial thought was of darkness. The sealed tomb, of course, would have been dark, and if not stone cold, then far from warm. A few years ago, I stooped into the tomb in Jerusalem that fits the description and location of Jesus’ burial site. It was a blisteringly hot day, but cool in the tomb.

Dark, and still. The suffering of the cross, at last, was over. It seems there is nothing to say. An inert, deafening silence characterises Easter Saturday.

The disciples, maybe 120 men and women, are in shock, hiding in various locations in Jerusalem, unsure about what to do. It’s the Sabbath, of course, so inactivity deepens as the hours pass. Waves of grief, confusion, and fear, percolate through the minds and bodies of those whose hope had been shattered. Only days before, Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem with the crowds singing ‘Hosannah! The king of Israel’.

He is not a ghost, the disciples fearing their own insanity are not imagining the resurrection; he eats fish and struggles with the bones

As I sat here, with my cup of tea and cereal, reading Isaiah 61 and musing on the contrast between the crowds and a single body alone in a grave, a clue emerged in the final verses of the chapter like a doorway into the divine wisdom. A glimpse of light in the grim reality of the crucifixion and death of an innocent Man.

Like an overstuffed suitcase, Isaiah 61 is crammed with good news. The poor, the broken-hearted, the blind, the trapped…all are blessed individually and the whole nation of Israel is being repaired…imagine that…’they shall repair the ruined cities’ v4. And it seemed as if everything was on track for national renewal, but just at the last moment, the anticipated Isaiah fulfilment seemed to fall apart and go into reverse. One moment Jesus is riding into Jerusalem, the crowds proclaiming Him as the King of Israel - the clash between Jesus and the authorities had long been brewing - but the authorities suddenly get the upper hand, and the dream was dismantled and crushed.

But did they?

The clue is in the final verse:

‘For, as the earth brings forth its bud. As the garden causes the things sown in it to spring forth, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations’

So, the question is ‘how does a garden cause the things sown to spring forth?’ And the answer is simple. It is in the word ‘sown’. A seed falls into the ground.

Now Jesus’ parable makes sense:

‘The hour has come that the Son of Man should be glorified. Truly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat, a seed, falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much fruit’ John 12 v 23,24

The route to the glory, to the fruitfulness, to the national repair, was not to be Jesus the King of Israel triumphing over Herod, and then Rome, but as a seed, to die…the divine secret revealed all around us in every garden, orchard, vineyard, allotment, veg patch, flowerpot, if we have eyes to see.

It’s a different way to run a kingdom

Easter Saturday. Jesus, dead and buried, not only to be raised as one individual, but just as one apple pip can germinate to create a whole tree, a tree that produces many thousands of apples containing similar pips, or seeds, every year, so Jesus’s death would lead to many thousands, millions in fact, of similar seeds…the life of each believer.

This is true Christianity. This is the Easter hope. Not just that ‘death is not the end’. Not just that the resurrection of Christ is a historical fact, or that Jesus ate fish, but that Jesus is being reproduced in us if we have faith to believe what He has done for us and we abandon our futile attempts to be good…or evil.

To finish.

It’s been a while since I sowed any seeds. The next time I do, I will remember Easter Saturday, and how the whole world is being populated by fruit from one seed. It’s a different way to run a kingdom.

The 5 states of consciousness…in one University lecture

Lecture Hall 2 at 5.15: d-d transitions: Complex Ions Lecturer: KK

It started Oh! So well
Chirpy and animated
Like a chimpanzee on heat
Crisp, narrow-lined A4 note pad
Primed, a new page,
Date written, pen poised
Front row

Thirty minutes in and
Handwriting is punctuated
And decorated with
Unlikely doodles, the margin
A play area for eyes in boxes
Looking back at me
Words on copper complexes
Missed

A stifled jaw-breaking
Face-contorting yawn hidden,
One hopes, from the lecturer,
A mere chalk-throwing distance away
I have dropped my pen, twice
Head propped in the palm
Of my left hand

My recording continues
Never deviating from the voice
All is well, except my eyes closed
Five minutes ago
My copious notes; a diagonal line,
Like an erratic urination
Falling, bottom right

Waking in an in-between state
Blissful in one
Embarrassed in the other
My heavy head collapsing
Into two worlds
I am surely, am I not
Schrödinger’s cat?

How to Eat a Hot Cross Bun

You might contend, with deep conviction, that there is no manual, no dictate, no regulation, or statute that exists to distinguish between those who know how and those who do not know how to eat a hot cross bun.

 But, if you are one of those who know how, then you are compelled by an equally deep conviction to share your knowledge gleaned from those who have gone before with those who do not.

 This distinction is on a par with those whose toes curl if milk is added after the tea is poured or are troubled by fellow travellers who care not to use a fork when with cake, or who’s inner peace is disturbed if male MPs enter the chamber unadorned with a jacket, or worse, lacking a tie.

Here are the twelve members of the Hot Cross Bun jury:

1.        Eat only hot when still springy – they are not fit for use as shot putts or cannonballs

2.        Employ your best blade to slice each bun accurately into two halves – ensuring that both sides are toasted at the same rate. Incongruency is disappointing

3.        Discard the grill in favour of a toaster – the horror of uneven, burnt, or worse, an underdone hot cross bun is more avoidable with using a toaster

4.        Toasted hot cross buns are to be caught mid-air as they are propelled vertically, perfectly toasted, from the toaster

5.        Butter always; other spreads are banished and not even to be mentioned

6.        Generosity is compulsory, especially in the butter department. The added slab of butter has to be thick enough so you can watch it melt. Thin-spread instantly-melted butter is not a thing of beauty

7.        No talking. If you are in the company of others, they must abide by this rule. Eating whilst eyes are closed is worthy of bonus points

8.        Jam is contentious. Applications to use jam should be lodged with the master or mistress of ceremonies well in in advance of entry into the toaster

9.        Never repair the hot cross bun so that it resembles a bun. This is a strictly ‘two-halves’ ritual

10.   The final bite should be savoured whilst there is sufficient heat in the bun to keep the butter melted

11.   The purpose of eating a hot cross bun is to enter into prayer, meditation, peace and stillness. By all means sit in a church pew and do likewise, but once you have permitted yourself hot-cross-bun-time, church can travel with you

12.   Hot cross buns only taste of hot cross buns in the run up to Easter. If you don’t know why, there are no words

If you are looking at the members of the jury, wondering whether the judge will take a majority vote, please be advised that eleven out of twelve simply will not allow you to graduate from the do not know hows to the know hows.

Standards must be maintained.

The 2026 examination season starts, as in previous years, on Ash Wednesday, the day after Shrove Tuesday, otherwise known as Pancake Day. ‘How to Eat a Pancake’ will follow shortly