Hunt the Highlight

I tripped over something yesterday that reminded me that last summer there was lots of media hype about the centenary of the Battle of the Somme. It was actually a whole series of battles that lasted from 1st July until mid-November.  For anyone involved, it must have been exhausting ... unimaginable for anyone else, like us.  But now, there seems to be silence; the whole arena of WW1 centenaries has dried up.  I guess it was just one long grind, still going on, but nothing to shout about.

That's how this week has been for me.  I'm sitting at my desk on a bright sunny Sunday morning, feeling exhausted at the end of a busy week, but wondering what I can write in a blog that purports to be an interesting reflection of the week just gone.  To be honest, I'm scratching my head to see exactly what I've achieved.

Monday's activities were concentrated at the ends of the day as usual.  The men's breakfast meeting took place amidst a store of unwanted sofas, these being parked in the room where we gather, while some decision is awaited about how to dispose of them without paying a heavy fee for 'commercial waste'.

Then, at the end of the day, came the bell-ringing practice.  After a rousing address by the tower captain at last week's AGM, we concentrated on striking ... the art of controlling our ringing so that the bells sound evenly one after another, instead of big pauses followed by clattering as if some mighty hand had dropped huge pebbles among them.  We also learned a new method - perhaps one that would have been good to start out with - called 'Original'.

Wednesday is shopping day ... it fits in nicely after the midweek Communion service.  This week saw the collection of a big trolley-full of stuff, followed by my biggest ever pay-out for a week's groceries.  I think everything was running low at the same time.

Friday was our church's day for 'prayer and fasting', with three half-hour gatherings in church at 7.0 am, 1.0 pm and 7.0 pm.  This time we welcomed back our vicar, Simon, who has spent a couple of weeks teaching in Africa, and returned with stories of unseasonal weather there.

I'll end with another snippet from yesterday's delving.  I unearthed a postcard, almost 110 years old, saying, "Dear Nephew, Just a line to say we are all well. We have got another son and P. is about again.  I will write before long.  Remember us to all at Home.  Frederick S."  It was written to my grandfather when he was 23 years old.  The 'another son' was the third of what would become five children, four boys and a girl.  The boys each had two Christian names; the girl just one.  I always think there must be a sense of unfairness when one child has more or fewer names than a sibling, but for this difference to be so clearly gender-based is something I hadn't noticed previously.

Doesn't it seem so out of keeping with modern thinking!