The week began with the annual autumn outing of the bellringers. Last Saturday's travels took us around six churches in rural Bedfordshire, a total of 55 miles, during which (as a team) we rang a total of 39 bells - three sixes, two eights and a five. Some were easy to ring, some sounded wonderful but were hard work and one, where the ceiling of the ringing room was quite low, demanded skills that some of us could only achieve intermittently! It was a tiring, if enjoyable, day and I noticed that our organiser, who is expecting her second child in the new year, wasn't in church the next day. I later verified that she had simply felt in need of a (well-deserved) rest!
Talking of babies, one who was on parade last Sunday - at the age of only a week! - was the son of another bellringer. Having been a 'lapsed' ringer for many years, she told me earlier in the year that she would like to join us after her confinement. In view of her account of long-ago achievements, that's a day we are looking forward to!
It's nice to try something new, even if there are uncertainties about its success, right up to the moment. Wednesday brought such an occasion to my life. For many years, formerly in Norfolk, and more recently with my present church, I have enjoyed the fellowship and mutual support structure of a home group. In Norfolk we always met in the home of a single mum who had a large lounge and welcoming open fire. The group here meets in rotation in the homes of several members, and I had felt the frustration of not being able to host a meeting because of the limited size of my flat.
This week is half-term, when usually there is no meeting because many are unable to attend. Knowing that any gathering would be smaller than usual, I seized the opportunity and offered to lead a small group at mine. The usual source of materials is provided as a follow up to recent sermons, and since last Sunday was Bible Sunday, it had been agreed that this would be our theme. However, plans had been changed, and a different topic chosen for the sermon, so ... what to do? Luckily, our sister parish had follwed this theme, their sermon had been recorded as usual and was published on their website. It was the ideal basis, and our meeting - of only four including myself - was a success.
The week has drifted to a close, it seems, with a couple of full but untiring days. Thursday brought the announcement of the laying of an Early Day Motion in the House of Commons regarding the introduction of proportional representation - the UK is the only country in Europe that doesn't enjoy this privilege - and I wrote to my MP to urge his support. Sadly, but unsurprisingly, I received a prompt and polite reply declining his support because his views differ from mine ... the very purpose for which I have supported this cause for many years!
Over the last couple of months, I've been nibbling away at a transcription of the 1871 census for several north Suffolk parishes under the auspices of FreeCEN, and this also figured in the activities of these last days, bringing my personal contribution so far to this effort to 1,944 individuals, from 88 pages, covering two whole villages and most of a third.
Yesterday, as the last Friday of the month, was our day of prayer and fasting, which added another dimension to an otherwise unbroken spell at the desk/screen. It's good to meet up with friends like this and, at the same time, have the opportunity to catch up with other aspects of our common life that have escaped us during the week. Our churchwarden brought with her a notice, which she later posted on the inside of the church's outer door, requesting that it shouldn't be banged. The reason for this is not for silence, since it is normally only closed when the place is empty. Apparently it had been getting more difficult to close, so those locking it had applied increasing force. Now a carpenter has rectified this, after identifying the cause. The frame had shifted ... possibly because of people banging the door!
Saturday, 29 October 2016
Friday, 21 October 2016
Follow up and Follow Through!
Retirement is such a busy life, I'm not sure how I will cope with it. Much of this week has been a follow up of last week; very little new ground has been trodden. Starting my narrative where last week's ended, I enjoyed my time at the Liberal Democrats' Regional Conference. It began with coffee and croissants for new members so that we could be given a brief introduction to the Party. I could have done with a bit more historic/structural info, but I realise that's not everyone's cup of tea.
As I was getting my coffee I heard a familiar accent; I looked up and saw that the woman standing opposite me - who had just replied to her husband - bore a label 'South Norfolk'. A pleasant, if brief, exchange followed in which each of us discovered that the other was from Diss. As well as the inevitable minutiae of constitutional amendments, the day also included some interesting speakers, including the elected Mayor of Bedford, who outlined some of the achievements he has pioneered for his community whilst holding a post of which he personally disapproves!
At the conference, a collection was made to support the concluding phase of the by-election campaign in Witney, to which I also referred last week. The combination of this collection and news of the campaign still passing my eyes via Facebook, was beginning to create doubts in my mind: guilt that perhaps the declaration that my involvement was complete had been a bit premature. Then on Monday evening (while I was taking a night off from bellringing practice because of a slight stomach upset) came a phone call, thanking me for my efforts and asking if I would possibly be able to help on polling day. Having ascertained that, contrary to my intuitive expectations, there would be some clerical activity with which I could engage, I determined to go along yesterday after all.
It was a long day, partly because I'd left home earlier in the morning than last week, but then, after getting home, I'd felt unwilling to leave my computer screen and go to bed until well beyond the close of the polls, still reading the various posts about what was going on there. I won't bore you with the details (readily available elsewhere), save to say that our candidate came second with a 19.3% swing, the greatest for about twenty years, I believe.
Today's adventure was the recovery of my motorhome after securing a trouble-free MOT certificate and undergoing a habitation service. I began by repeating the double bus journey I'd rehearsed last week. As the sun began to shine, I enjoyed the ride, and my mind began to wander back through the years. Seated high above the road, and without the need to focus my attention on where I was going, I could admire little facets of the experience unique to that mode of travel, or that I would miss in the car: the lake that, until last week I didn't know existed and a charming thatched cottage by the edge of a now cleared cornfield.
The passengers, too, were interesting. One in particular I recalled from last week's exploratory trip. He was only going as far as the next town but, in this short journey, spoke courteously and profusely to each passenger in turn, using the same expressions over and over. I could imagine that, for some people, this journey might be the highlight of their week - an image based, I admit, on the recollection of aunts and uncles who used to visit my mother in my childhood, coming into town from the outlying villages on market day, the only day there was a bus service.
The two bus journeys took me to Bedford, where I walked comfortably from bus station to train station. Then came problems. Convinced that I'd missed the first alternative albeit only by a minute or two, I followed signs for the second. This train was bound for Brighton, whence I would alight after only two stops, to be collected by the engineer whose depot is about a mile away. I made my way over the footbridge to platform 3 as indicated and waited while other trains came and went. Then came an announcement that this service would today leave from platform 1.
I trudged back over the footbridge, and smartly onto the waiting train. The doors closed and safety announcements were made. There was no movement. A hesitant driver then announced that he had just been told that the Brighton train would now leave from platform 3 after all. We all trooped back, boarded the train that was now there and were soon speeding through the countryside. It all went just that bit too smoothly, though, as first one, then two stations were passed through, and then a third, too, before we stopped in Luton. I emerged somewhat bewildered and explained to a member of staff what was happening. He took this quite calmly and indicated that the train now approaching from the opposite direction would take me where I wanted to be. I was the first of quite a few with the same problem, it seemed.
Thereafter there were no further hold-ups, and I was back home by lunchtime and could begin to pick up the threads of 'normal' life after a day and a half 'out of the office'. One aspect of that normality, going back to my opening remarks about newly trodden ground, is the start of work on the crocheted chair cover. While I don't intent to bore my readers with a weekly report of progress, let me simply announce the completion of the first six of over 400 little squares.
As I was getting my coffee I heard a familiar accent; I looked up and saw that the woman standing opposite me - who had just replied to her husband - bore a label 'South Norfolk'. A pleasant, if brief, exchange followed in which each of us discovered that the other was from Diss. As well as the inevitable minutiae of constitutional amendments, the day also included some interesting speakers, including the elected Mayor of Bedford, who outlined some of the achievements he has pioneered for his community whilst holding a post of which he personally disapproves!
At the conference, a collection was made to support the concluding phase of the by-election campaign in Witney, to which I also referred last week. The combination of this collection and news of the campaign still passing my eyes via Facebook, was beginning to create doubts in my mind: guilt that perhaps the declaration that my involvement was complete had been a bit premature. Then on Monday evening (while I was taking a night off from bellringing practice because of a slight stomach upset) came a phone call, thanking me for my efforts and asking if I would possibly be able to help on polling day. Having ascertained that, contrary to my intuitive expectations, there would be some clerical activity with which I could engage, I determined to go along yesterday after all.
It was a long day, partly because I'd left home earlier in the morning than last week, but then, after getting home, I'd felt unwilling to leave my computer screen and go to bed until well beyond the close of the polls, still reading the various posts about what was going on there. I won't bore you with the details (readily available elsewhere), save to say that our candidate came second with a 19.3% swing, the greatest for about twenty years, I believe.
Today's adventure was the recovery of my motorhome after securing a trouble-free MOT certificate and undergoing a habitation service. I began by repeating the double bus journey I'd rehearsed last week. As the sun began to shine, I enjoyed the ride, and my mind began to wander back through the years. Seated high above the road, and without the need to focus my attention on where I was going, I could admire little facets of the experience unique to that mode of travel, or that I would miss in the car: the lake that, until last week I didn't know existed and a charming thatched cottage by the edge of a now cleared cornfield.
The passengers, too, were interesting. One in particular I recalled from last week's exploratory trip. He was only going as far as the next town but, in this short journey, spoke courteously and profusely to each passenger in turn, using the same expressions over and over. I could imagine that, for some people, this journey might be the highlight of their week - an image based, I admit, on the recollection of aunts and uncles who used to visit my mother in my childhood, coming into town from the outlying villages on market day, the only day there was a bus service.
The two bus journeys took me to Bedford, where I walked comfortably from bus station to train station. Then came problems. Convinced that I'd missed the first alternative albeit only by a minute or two, I followed signs for the second. This train was bound for Brighton, whence I would alight after only two stops, to be collected by the engineer whose depot is about a mile away. I made my way over the footbridge to platform 3 as indicated and waited while other trains came and went. Then came an announcement that this service would today leave from platform 1.
I trudged back over the footbridge, and smartly onto the waiting train. The doors closed and safety announcements were made. There was no movement. A hesitant driver then announced that he had just been told that the Brighton train would now leave from platform 3 after all. We all trooped back, boarded the train that was now there and were soon speeding through the countryside. It all went just that bit too smoothly, though, as first one, then two stations were passed through, and then a third, too, before we stopped in Luton. I emerged somewhat bewildered and explained to a member of staff what was happening. He took this quite calmly and indicated that the train now approaching from the opposite direction would take me where I wanted to be. I was the first of quite a few with the same problem, it seemed.
Thereafter there were no further hold-ups, and I was back home by lunchtime and could begin to pick up the threads of 'normal' life after a day and a half 'out of the office'. One aspect of that normality, going back to my opening remarks about newly trodden ground, is the start of work on the crocheted chair cover. While I don't intent to bore my readers with a weekly report of progress, let me simply announce the completion of the first six of over 400 little squares.
Friday, 14 October 2016
Looking Back and Looking Forward
Looking for some structure upon which to base my weekly review, I realise that this week has been a bit 'Janus-like', looking backwards - in some cases quite a way into the past - but also looking forward, too.
Whilst doing a bit of tidying up last weekend, I came across an old book of prayer notes dated 2014 that had been surplus to requirements, but which hadn't been re-cycled at the time. Before finally consigning this to the bin, I flicked through it and realised that it contained a Bible-reading list that could be fairly easily adapted for 2017. A few hours with a spreadsheet turned inspiration into achievement, neatly knocking something off the (as yet unwritten) New Year to-do list.
Another constructive idea last weekend features my handicraft skills, so little-used these days as to be virtually atrophied. My armchair is in need of being re-vitalised, and I had the idea of making it a cover. This was inspired by my cousin, who recently completed a blanket for her spare bed made of knitted squares (Well done, Jean!). Although I was taught to knit as an infant, my ability in that direction is severely limited, and for this purpose, I decided to re-kindle a skill I must have learned in early adulthood, although I can't for the life of me remember where or who from: that of crochet.
I remember making something - what actually it was now escapes me - when I was first living alone in the 1980s, comprising what are commonly known as 'granny squares' - one of the simplest crochet techniques - and I shall use this principle to make the chair cover. I sought advice from my daughter about materials and sources, but got far more than I bargained for! Not only did she remember the crochet of my past, she told me where it was that I had kept my wool and hooks, and also revealed that it was I who, in those days, had shown her how to crochet! The expression 'the biter bit' came to mind, and in a further exchange I likened this to my teaching her to drive. She had a story to tell me about that, too, of which I had no recollection. And they say that age improves memory?
One thing that's very much in the news at the moment is the question of Britain's proposed exit from the European Union ... the so-called 'Brexit'. Some great new revelation on the subject is in the news each day it seems; how it will all end - and when - is anybody's guess. Some definite and alarming effects are already being felt at the mere announcement of it, never mind when it actually happens. With the value of sterling falling, bizarrely, the investment markets have risen and, as I monitored the value of my pension fund, I began skimming off some of the biggest increases and re-investing them. It occurred to me this week to compare the performance of these new investments with the measure of how they would have performed if I'd left them where they were. It says something for my market-awareness - or lack of it - when I discovered that, in over £5,000 of such trading, I'm now actually worse off, although only by £33!
As mentioned last week, I spent this Tuesday once more in the Liberal Democrats' by-election campaign HQ in Witney, addressing envelopes. At the end of this, I felt that I had given sufficient support to the cause to express my solidarity and that, with everything else going on in my life, I wouldn't be going there any more ... although I shall still follow the campaign on social media. However, tomorrow I dip my toe a little further into the world of politics by attending the party's Regional Conference, which will take place in Peterborough, only an hour or so's drive from home. Given the discovery above of the effectiveness (!) of my prowess in a field with which I am - to a limited extent - familiar, I'm treating tomorrow's excursion most definitely as a time of learning, so don't go looking for me on the hustings any time soon ... if ever.
Today, I took advantage of a bright, if cool, morning to explore the bus services to Bedford in readiness for a similar journey in earnest some time next week. This will be to collect Mary the motorhome following her extended stay at the repair shop for the annual MOT test and at the same time the advisory habitation checks. Now I know the best way to get that far, all that will remain will be securing a seat on the last leg of the journey, by train. When I did this in the opposite direction the other week, I had the whole carriage to myself ... such luxury!
Whilst doing a bit of tidying up last weekend, I came across an old book of prayer notes dated 2014 that had been surplus to requirements, but which hadn't been re-cycled at the time. Before finally consigning this to the bin, I flicked through it and realised that it contained a Bible-reading list that could be fairly easily adapted for 2017. A few hours with a spreadsheet turned inspiration into achievement, neatly knocking something off the (as yet unwritten) New Year to-do list.
Another constructive idea last weekend features my handicraft skills, so little-used these days as to be virtually atrophied. My armchair is in need of being re-vitalised, and I had the idea of making it a cover. This was inspired by my cousin, who recently completed a blanket for her spare bed made of knitted squares (Well done, Jean!). Although I was taught to knit as an infant, my ability in that direction is severely limited, and for this purpose, I decided to re-kindle a skill I must have learned in early adulthood, although I can't for the life of me remember where or who from: that of crochet.
I remember making something - what actually it was now escapes me - when I was first living alone in the 1980s, comprising what are commonly known as 'granny squares' - one of the simplest crochet techniques - and I shall use this principle to make the chair cover. I sought advice from my daughter about materials and sources, but got far more than I bargained for! Not only did she remember the crochet of my past, she told me where it was that I had kept my wool and hooks, and also revealed that it was I who, in those days, had shown her how to crochet! The expression 'the biter bit' came to mind, and in a further exchange I likened this to my teaching her to drive. She had a story to tell me about that, too, of which I had no recollection. And they say that age improves memory?
One thing that's very much in the news at the moment is the question of Britain's proposed exit from the European Union ... the so-called 'Brexit'. Some great new revelation on the subject is in the news each day it seems; how it will all end - and when - is anybody's guess. Some definite and alarming effects are already being felt at the mere announcement of it, never mind when it actually happens. With the value of sterling falling, bizarrely, the investment markets have risen and, as I monitored the value of my pension fund, I began skimming off some of the biggest increases and re-investing them. It occurred to me this week to compare the performance of these new investments with the measure of how they would have performed if I'd left them where they were. It says something for my market-awareness - or lack of it - when I discovered that, in over £5,000 of such trading, I'm now actually worse off, although only by £33!
As mentioned last week, I spent this Tuesday once more in the Liberal Democrats' by-election campaign HQ in Witney, addressing envelopes. At the end of this, I felt that I had given sufficient support to the cause to express my solidarity and that, with everything else going on in my life, I wouldn't be going there any more ... although I shall still follow the campaign on social media. However, tomorrow I dip my toe a little further into the world of politics by attending the party's Regional Conference, which will take place in Peterborough, only an hour or so's drive from home. Given the discovery above of the effectiveness (!) of my prowess in a field with which I am - to a limited extent - familiar, I'm treating tomorrow's excursion most definitely as a time of learning, so don't go looking for me on the hustings any time soon ... if ever.
Today, I took advantage of a bright, if cool, morning to explore the bus services to Bedford in readiness for a similar journey in earnest some time next week. This will be to collect Mary the motorhome following her extended stay at the repair shop for the annual MOT test and at the same time the advisory habitation checks. Now I know the best way to get that far, all that will remain will be securing a seat on the last leg of the journey, by train. When I did this in the opposite direction the other week, I had the whole carriage to myself ... such luxury!
Friday, 7 October 2016
Falling off a Cliff!
The other day, I had an e-mail reminding me that my courier insurance had expired. It hadn't actually expired, of course, because I cancelled it last December when I retired and then secured the welcome refund of a fairly large unexpired premium. Some systems, however, are so efficient they cannot be 'killed'. Thinking to correct this apparent oversight, I followed the 'contact' link, and found myself logged into the driver web-pages where I had previously collected my weekly invoice. For interest's sake, I looked at the last couple, and found it exhausting just seeing how far I'd driven in those last two weeks. In my present, fairly mixed, range of journeys, I would have to go back into February to amass that many miles!
I remember describing occasions when a week or two of intense work had been followed by a spell of virtually nothing. Some things don't change. As I've written here before, it seems always to have been a pattern of my life that I have a 'project' on the go. If your life shapes up that way, then you will know the feeling of emptiness - even disorientation - that can follow the completion of such an exercise. This week began with not one, but two such projects; not lengthy and time-consuming as some are, but intense nonetheless.
It wasn't exactly a decision, but by last Thursday evening, I was convinced that this Monday and Tuesday I would make a pilgrimage to Witney in Oxfordshire, to help with the parliamentary by-election campaign. (I have chosen my words carefully; I didn't go to knock on doors or to deliver leaflets - such things are better done by others who have greater confidence on the one hand and better local knowledge and walking ability on the other - but to assist with clerical aspects of the campaign: the 'addressers and stuffers' brigade.) I realised last year that, instead of simply following the political world in the media as I have for many years, the time had come to play an active part. Having now joined a political party, I felt the need to express that membership in a practical way.
After making the necessary personal plans, and spending not a little time finding a night's accommodation somewhere nearby that didn't involve driving half-way home again, by Sunday evening I was all set and left directly after the usual church breakfast on Monday morning. I experienced a number of incidents - what I term 'blessings' - that told me I was doing the right thing and, by Tuesday evening when I made my way home (by way of a previously unknown KFC outlet!), I had collated, stuffed and sealed at least 1,400 official election communication envelopes, as well as addressing and filling a good many smaller items.
Though repetitive, the work was straightforward and afforded ample opportunity for conversation with, laughter at, and often simply listening to and learning from a variety of other people. Only two of them did I already know, and many had, like me, driven quite long distances to lend a hand. It was interesting to see the party leader, who visited the office later in the week, portrayed on facebook sitting at the very table where I had been working only days before. I enjoyed myself so much, and felt it to be so worthwhile, that I shall be returning - for a single day this time - next week.
Immediately following this adventure came another; totally different but equally novel and demanding. Having successfully had a couple of manitenance jobs done on my motorhome recently at a large motorhome depot some twenty miles or so from home, I had made arrangements for the annual MOT test to be carried out there, combining this with the recommended (although not mandatory) habitation checks. Of necessity, not least because of an intervening national exhibition, these require the vehicle to be kept for some while instead of - as previously - needing me to wait an hour with coffee and a book. So the need now was to arrange transport home, and this, too, had occupied part of last weekend.
In the event - and, I admit, to my surprise - the whole plan went like clockwork. The engineer gave me a lift from the depot to the nearby railway station, where I had to wait only a quarter of an hour in the sunshine for a train into Bedford. A pleasant walk across town to the bus station allowed me a similar wait for a bus to Hitchin, and a second bus took me to the centre of Letchworth, where I had a few errands to perform before walking home. In all the journey took a little over three hours and I'm now wondering how easy it will be to undertake in reverse in a couple of weeks' time.
With these two major exercises over, the last two days have been a bit 'flat' and I've spent some while wandering about the flat, tidying this and tweaking that. There are many things to which I could turn my hand, some that I know I ought to do, but none that are so desperate that they have to be done this week. As I look back once more to those work records, I'm very glad to be retired now, so that I can have 'adventures' as well as tackle odd jobs.
I remember describing occasions when a week or two of intense work had been followed by a spell of virtually nothing. Some things don't change. As I've written here before, it seems always to have been a pattern of my life that I have a 'project' on the go. If your life shapes up that way, then you will know the feeling of emptiness - even disorientation - that can follow the completion of such an exercise. This week began with not one, but two such projects; not lengthy and time-consuming as some are, but intense nonetheless.
It wasn't exactly a decision, but by last Thursday evening, I was convinced that this Monday and Tuesday I would make a pilgrimage to Witney in Oxfordshire, to help with the parliamentary by-election campaign. (I have chosen my words carefully; I didn't go to knock on doors or to deliver leaflets - such things are better done by others who have greater confidence on the one hand and better local knowledge and walking ability on the other - but to assist with clerical aspects of the campaign: the 'addressers and stuffers' brigade.) I realised last year that, instead of simply following the political world in the media as I have for many years, the time had come to play an active part. Having now joined a political party, I felt the need to express that membership in a practical way.
After making the necessary personal plans, and spending not a little time finding a night's accommodation somewhere nearby that didn't involve driving half-way home again, by Sunday evening I was all set and left directly after the usual church breakfast on Monday morning. I experienced a number of incidents - what I term 'blessings' - that told me I was doing the right thing and, by Tuesday evening when I made my way home (by way of a previously unknown KFC outlet!), I had collated, stuffed and sealed at least 1,400 official election communication envelopes, as well as addressing and filling a good many smaller items.
Though repetitive, the work was straightforward and afforded ample opportunity for conversation with, laughter at, and often simply listening to and learning from a variety of other people. Only two of them did I already know, and many had, like me, driven quite long distances to lend a hand. It was interesting to see the party leader, who visited the office later in the week, portrayed on facebook sitting at the very table where I had been working only days before. I enjoyed myself so much, and felt it to be so worthwhile, that I shall be returning - for a single day this time - next week.
Immediately following this adventure came another; totally different but equally novel and demanding. Having successfully had a couple of manitenance jobs done on my motorhome recently at a large motorhome depot some twenty miles or so from home, I had made arrangements for the annual MOT test to be carried out there, combining this with the recommended (although not mandatory) habitation checks. Of necessity, not least because of an intervening national exhibition, these require the vehicle to be kept for some while instead of - as previously - needing me to wait an hour with coffee and a book. So the need now was to arrange transport home, and this, too, had occupied part of last weekend.
In the event - and, I admit, to my surprise - the whole plan went like clockwork. The engineer gave me a lift from the depot to the nearby railway station, where I had to wait only a quarter of an hour in the sunshine for a train into Bedford. A pleasant walk across town to the bus station allowed me a similar wait for a bus to Hitchin, and a second bus took me to the centre of Letchworth, where I had a few errands to perform before walking home. In all the journey took a little over three hours and I'm now wondering how easy it will be to undertake in reverse in a couple of weeks' time.
With these two major exercises over, the last two days have been a bit 'flat' and I've spent some while wandering about the flat, tidying this and tweaking that. There are many things to which I could turn my hand, some that I know I ought to do, but none that are so desperate that they have to be done this week. As I look back once more to those work records, I'm very glad to be retired now, so that I can have 'adventures' as well as tackle odd jobs.
Saturday, 1 October 2016
The Magnificant Seven*
I thought I'd tell you about the people with whom I spent half an hour yesterday evening.
There was a wife and mother whose family is scattered far and wide. At present her husband is teaching several thousand miles away. She delighted in having had the day to think how to respond to a lovely letter from a colleague's six-year-old granddaughter.
One lady has had a difficult time for many years. She suffers from cancer, which appears to be in remission just now, but she's still in constant pain and can't get around without either a motorised wheelchair or her son driving her. Depression makes her reactions and behaviour a little difficult sometimes, although at others it's clear she has a wonderful sense of humour
Another is a single seventy-year-old. She still leads a very active life, coaching at the local tennis club and visiting friends and family near and far. She shared her joy at making a couple of new friends during the week.
A young ordinand was thrilled at having completed the first assignment of her course at the 'vicar-factory' ... and had found time to get a birthday present for her daughter.
A man who works at a nearby pharmaceutical plant had ordered a takeaway meal which he would collect on his way home. He texted me later to apologise for not saying much to me, and asked of my welfare, commenting that I had seemed quiet.
Yes, I was quiet. I've not been sleeping well lately and my body had told me to spend part of my afternoon in bed, having realised that that would be more beneficial than dozing in the armchair. I returned refreshed, and able to turn my attention to plans and preparations for two little adventures that are coming up in the next week. My thoughts were still focussed on these affairs.
I decided that, rather than simply follow a by-election campaign on the computer, it would bring some sense of achievement if I were to go and lend a hand at their local headquarters, even for only a day. If I can find a bed for the night at a price I can afford, then I'll stay for two days.
Later in the week, I shall take the motorhome for its MOT. At the same time I can get it tested for any deficiencies in the habitation aspects, such as bad ventilation of the gas heating ... a not insignificant danger to avoid! Unfortunately, this means being without the vehicle for a short period, so I'm leaving her for a 'holiday', and will collect her when the work is done, which may be some time later, owing to an exhibition which the engineer is attending. The challenge is, therefore, how do I get home afterwards?
Although I had the offer from a friend of a lift, the times when he can do this don't readily coincide with when the establishment is open, and when I'm not otherwise engaged myself. After some investigation (and a small amount of swearing at my computer screen), I've discovered a sequence of train and three buses by which I can be home by mid-afternoon. Assuming it works, the next challenge will be whether or not this process can be reverse-engineered in order to recover the motorhome later in the month. For now, I'm crossing one bridge at a time!
(*- for maths check, see Matt. 18:20)
There was a wife and mother whose family is scattered far and wide. At present her husband is teaching several thousand miles away. She delighted in having had the day to think how to respond to a lovely letter from a colleague's six-year-old granddaughter.
One lady has had a difficult time for many years. She suffers from cancer, which appears to be in remission just now, but she's still in constant pain and can't get around without either a motorised wheelchair or her son driving her. Depression makes her reactions and behaviour a little difficult sometimes, although at others it's clear she has a wonderful sense of humour
Another is a single seventy-year-old. She still leads a very active life, coaching at the local tennis club and visiting friends and family near and far. She shared her joy at making a couple of new friends during the week.
A young ordinand was thrilled at having completed the first assignment of her course at the 'vicar-factory' ... and had found time to get a birthday present for her daughter.
A man who works at a nearby pharmaceutical plant had ordered a takeaway meal which he would collect on his way home. He texted me later to apologise for not saying much to me, and asked of my welfare, commenting that I had seemed quiet.
Yes, I was quiet. I've not been sleeping well lately and my body had told me to spend part of my afternoon in bed, having realised that that would be more beneficial than dozing in the armchair. I returned refreshed, and able to turn my attention to plans and preparations for two little adventures that are coming up in the next week. My thoughts were still focussed on these affairs.
I decided that, rather than simply follow a by-election campaign on the computer, it would bring some sense of achievement if I were to go and lend a hand at their local headquarters, even for only a day. If I can find a bed for the night at a price I can afford, then I'll stay for two days.
Later in the week, I shall take the motorhome for its MOT. At the same time I can get it tested for any deficiencies in the habitation aspects, such as bad ventilation of the gas heating ... a not insignificant danger to avoid! Unfortunately, this means being without the vehicle for a short period, so I'm leaving her for a 'holiday', and will collect her when the work is done, which may be some time later, owing to an exhibition which the engineer is attending. The challenge is, therefore, how do I get home afterwards?
Although I had the offer from a friend of a lift, the times when he can do this don't readily coincide with when the establishment is open, and when I'm not otherwise engaged myself. After some investigation (and a small amount of swearing at my computer screen), I've discovered a sequence of train and three buses by which I can be home by mid-afternoon. Assuming it works, the next challenge will be whether or not this process can be reverse-engineered in order to recover the motorhome later in the month. For now, I'm crossing one bridge at a time!
(*- for maths check, see Matt. 18:20)
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