advent conspiracy 3

This is part of our daily collaborative advent project, which will be spread accross a few locations/blogs.
Today's piece comes from singer/songwriter Bob Fraser.
We would love you to come with us on the journey. The simplest way to do this is to subscribe to one of the blogs, and then you should get a daily notification (you can always unsubscribe later!) Otherwise, you can interact with the posts via the usual social media platforms (although I am no longer doing twitter.) A few shares and likes will help us make connections too…
Our intention is to move forward with hope, savouring questions and having no fear of doubt. We live in darkness but look towards light.

How must it feel to have your homeland occupied by the enemy, to be dispossessed of your land, to have your home bombarded and devastated, and reduced to a pile of rubble? How must it feel to lose relatives and friends, lose possessions, lose dignity, and be surrounded by devastation, chaos and uncertainty, knowing no security, and not knowing where the next meal may come from, or whether you even have a table to sit at? How would we cope with no electricity, no running water, living the life of a refugee in a climate of fear? What must it be like to be frightened by the callous actions of extremists, and equally fearful of your own emotions which may boil over in desperation demanding justice and revenge?
For an ordinary bloke wanting to live a peaceful, meaningful life, earn a living, care for a family, bring security and protection to those you love, and maintain a grip on beliefs and values, a life in that kind of environment would be severely restricted.
Even when a cease fire is declared, providing desperate civilians a much needed opportunity to assess the damage, look after the wounded  and somehow go on with their lives, it’s a fragile peace and experience suggests it will not last, that conflict will resume, and there will be yet more suffering.
Sometimes, our hearts can feel like that enemy occupied land - battle weary, battered and bruised after yet another enemy onslaught. Every now and then there is a temporary cease-fire, giving chance to re-group, offering new hope and encouragement to keep going. Yet, after only a brief respite, another bombardment comes, threatening to destroy much of what we had salvaged from previous wreckage. Enemies know how to target with precision any weakness in defences. Their aim is to steal, kill, destroy, immobilise, silence, and distract. They know how to create dis-unity, spread lies and confusion, cut off supplies, extinguish hope, break the battle line, prey on the vulnerable, sever communication, dampen spirits and create exhaustion.
Options are limited in a situation where most of what is happening is outside our control. The only choices available are probably equally daunting. Neither choice comes without risk. Neither is right nor wrong. We can remain victims, hunkering down until the next cease-fire, longing for peace, yet existing and surviving rather than really living, but at least being close to roots and family and all that is familiar.
Or, we can gather all those we love and anything we can salvage, and start out on a path that is unfamiliar, heading for a destination which is unknown, taking on a new adventure with hope of a better life.
Whichever option is chosen, we’ll need to cling to the hope that even though life at the moment is not how we imagined it would be, the best is yet to come. 
Photo: Photo by Matti Karstedt on Pexels.com

advent conspiracy 2

This is the second of the daily Advent collaboration with some blogging friends, in which we will be sharing a post each day over our different platforms
Today's reflection is from me!

Advent is particularly associated with waiting… but for me, this year, Advent will be a little different from the Advents of the past. My own ‘faith journey’ has stalled – so much so that I’ve decided to take an indefinite sabbatical from attending church services while I endeavour to wait for this period to pass.In some ways, agreeing to be a part of a ‘multi-blog collaboration’ seems both inappropriate a little scary.

I am an early riser. I’m usually up by 5am.
At various times in my life, I might have used this time for prayer and/or reading daily reflections/Bible passages.
I no longer do such things.
I can no longer be bothered.
And yet, since moving house, I now frequently find myself in my ‘Thinking Seat’ staring out of the window at the dawn of a new day.
It’s something of a magical time.
Could it be the start of my journey to rediscover my faith?
“Caught by the light of some small heaven” (as my good friend Ian has described it) perhaps?

Note: contributors will include:
Chris Goan: good friend, poet, writer, thinker, cricketer, maker etc. This is his rather wonderful blog: https://thisfragiletent.com/
Graham Peacock: pantomime dame, chaplain, former methodist minister, terrible cricketer, who has this eclectic, thoughtful blog: http://wearilyhopeful.co.uk/
Bob Fraser: we will also be having some contributions by the fantastic singer/songwriter Bob Fraser.
And me: (I won’t be trying to compete with eloquence of the others – my contributions will tend to be visual, with just a few accompanying words).

advent conspiracy 1

Following my earlier post…
This from Chris Goan (https://thisfragiletent.com/)
 
To get us started, this is a view from one of my favourite places, the site of St Blanes chapel, built in a bowl of Isle of Bute hills on the site of a monastery established by or after Catan, an Irish missionary saint, some time in the 500s.
Amongst and around the viking graves and medieval church walls, you can see marks and mounds in the earth from the earlier religious settlement. A boundary wall marking the division between 'secular' and 'sacred 'space, simple beehive cells made from piles of stones in which monks lived. A well still full of fresh sparkling water. Wild plants whose ancestors may have been planted as part of a monastic garden.
 
Leaning in are huge trees; oaks and sycamores - ancient, but more recent than the placing of the stones.
But the stones themselves - they are old on a different scale. Shaped by the igneous intrusion that formed much of these parts.
It is a place of reflection. A place when our hubris is measured against almost-infinity. Our place in things becomes so tiny so ephemeral.
Weirdly however, this place never erases my individuality, rather it contains it. Rather than reducing me to so much blown chaff, as relevant (and as irrelevant) as a fallen leaf, it connects me.
 
But what is this thing that I feel connected to?
The old answers never felt authentic, even when I pretended greater confidence. They used language and ideas given to me that were at best merely a mode of travel, they were never a destination. Perhaps there is no destination. But still, in moments and in places like this, I find myself sensing something beyond myself that draws me. I have no pressing need to define it, to categorise, but I feel hints of something vitalising and alive beyond almost anything else in my experience.
Are these just the fanciful meanderings of a middle aged man? Perhaps, but if so, I am in good company at St Blanes chapel. People have been seeking the same answers there for one and a half thousand years, despite the intervention of Vikings and the Reformation (incidentally, apparently the minister there refused to play ball with the reformists, and he was so loved that they let him be.)
 
Advent is not about certainty, it is about a sense of something more 'felt' than known. In my experience it contains a longing that can not be easily described of a fleeting transcendent connection to something beyond
The tantalising thing of all, is that what I think I sense most strongly in these moments is goodness.
Almost as if at the centre of all things is... 

daily advent reflections…

With some trepidation, I’ve agreed to be part of an Advent project (I know!)…
Today marks the first day of another season of Advent.
It also marks the beginning of a daily collaboration with some blogging friends, in which we will be sharing a post each day over our different platforms.
These will include:
Chris Goan: good friend, poet, writer, thinker, cricketer, maker etc. This is his rather wonderful blog: https://thisfragiletent.com/
Graham Peacock: pantomime dame, chaplain, former methodist minister, terrible cricketer, who has this eclectic, thoughtful blog: http://wearilyhopeful.co.uk/
And me: (I won’t be trying to compete with eloquence of the others – my contributions will tend to be visual, with just a few accompanying words).
 
We would love you to come with us on the journey. The simplest way to do this is to subscribe to one of the blogs, and then you should get a daily notification (you can always unsubscribe later!) Otherwise, you can interact with the posts via the usual social media platforms (in my case, facebook). A few shares and likes will help us make connections too...
Our intention is to move forward with hope, savouring questions and having no fear of doubt. We live in darkness but look towards light.
 
I’m unsure how things will evolve… no doubt there’ll be some errors and frustrations with the technology (speaking personally!) along the way, but just bear with us and share the ride. 

ellie gowers at st george’s…

I went along to St George’s again last night for a concert by folk-singer, song-writer Ellie Gowers. Living so close to St George’s, it’s great to be able wander out from our apartment and, within 5 minutes, be at this lovely concert venue.
Actually, I felt something of a fraud to be attending the concert… I’d never previously come across Gowers, but was initially attracted for three reasons(!): a) the gig tickets were only £10, b) it was being held in the Glass Studio (I’d not previously been to a concert there), and c) watching a couple of videos on Gowers’ website called to mind the voice of an English Joni Mitchell/Judy Collins (I know!).
In the event, it was an absolutely beautiful concert (in front of an audience of some 70 people?)… I was hugely impressed. Gowers – from Warwick, but who studied Music at Bristol for 3 years – is an incredibly gifted musician. A wonderful, pure voice. She plays the guitar quite beautifully… and she can write some rather wonderful songs (and perform other people’s songs probably far better than they can).
She sang for some 75 minutes and she was very, very good.
A really lovely evening.
PS: Check out her website/videos here: https://elliegowersmusic.com/
Photo: Pics from last night’s Glass Studio. 

october-november 2022 books…

Walking Back Home (Ricky Ross): I bought this book after Ross’s recent concert at St George’s (he’s my mate, don’t you know!). It was the second solo concert of his I’d been to (just his voice, his songs, his stories and the piano)(“when I grow up I’m going to be Ricky Ross”!). Although I like Deacon Blue’s music – they’ve now been going for some 35 years – it’s the solo/piano stuff that most appeals to me. Having said this, the book prompted me check out some old videos on YouTube and they were a good reminder of the group’s talent. This book is a memoir of his family, his early upbringing in Christian Brethren Church, his brief career in teaching and, of course, his life in music and some of the notable people he met and who have influenced his life. I very much enjoyed the book; full of humour, pathos and stories. He’s a good man!
After The Apocalypse (Chris Goan): This is a book of poetry by my good friend Chris. Actually, it’s much more than a book of poems – it’s a book about protest against what we were becoming; about the time when everything stopped during lockdown; and about searching for hope. It’s a book about Chris’s journey before, during and after the pandemic… and, again and again, I felt he was describing MY journey and MY thoughts. It’s a journey that many of us have shared over recent years. Chris and I have shared zoom conversations; collaborated on books together; and participated in a memorable art exhibition together… but never actually met face-to-face!! One day, one day! The beautiful illustrations are by Si Smith (another wonderful friend who Chris and I have both worked with in the past) are simply perfect. I absolutely loved this book and I absolutely KNOW that it’ll be something I’ll be regularly referring to on my journey through life. Inspiring, challenging, thought-provoking and hopeful.
Wilful Behaviour (Donna Leon): I bought this from the NT second-hand bookshop (apparently, it’s the 11^th of her Commissario Brunetti series). As ever, it has a clever and compelling story (one of Brunetti’s wife’s students visits him asking if it was possible for a pardon to be issued for a crime committed by her grandfather many years ago) and, as in the previous books, Brunetti’s lovely family features prominently. Another very enjoyable read (if murders can ever be classed as ‘enjoyable’!) but it contained a little too much ‘padding’ in the middle section for my liking. But, hey, I’m a great Brunetti fan… so I coped!
Angelica’s Smile (Andrea Camilleri): Yet another Montalbano mystery (the 11^th I’ve read to date!) to take my mind off the seedy world of UK politics… It’s an intriguing tale of the Sicilian elite being targeted in a series of perfectly executed burglaries. Montalbano reluctantly takes on the case(s) but has his head turned by one of the victims – a captivating beautiful young woman named Angelica (hence the book’s title). As ever, the story is funny and entertaining (as well as being perplexing) with Montalbano mixing work with plenty of high class food; whisky; beautiful women; spending time of his veranda watching the sea; an avoidance of paperwork; a distain for his political bosses/commissioners; and trying to manage his devoted police colleagues (especially trying to understand/interpret the nonsensical messages from Catarella, who deals with incoming phone calls and visitors at the police station). Enjoyable, easy reading.
The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver): This is our Storysmith bookgroup’s latest book (the ‘theme’ was to select a ‘long’ book for November/December to take us into the New Year – my copy is 614 pages) but, perhaps rather ridiculously, I finished it six weeks early! I first read the book 7 years ago and recall commenting at the time that it was one of the best books I’d EVER read… and, frankly, I don’t think I’ve changed my mind second time around (although I was surprised by how much of the detail I’d forgotten)! The story is told (over the course of 3 decades) by the wife and four daughters of a fierce Baptist minister who takes his family and mission to the Belgium Congo in 1959. It’s beautifully-written and the characters are all drawn wonderfully well. Although it’s a work of fiction, the historical figures and events described within it are genuine and I found it utterly compelling. I’ll avoid the key details (no *spoilers*!), but the painful backdrop to the story is the greed of the western world for the natural resources of an African country; the desperate political power struggles – again influenced, at that time, by the United States and others (shipments of weapons to opposition parties/violation of peace agreements etc). A simply brilliant book and I very much enjoyed re-reading it.    

maggie o’farrell at st mary redcliffe…

Moira, Ru and I went along to St Mary Redcliffe Church tonight to hear Maggie O’Farrell talk about her work – and, in particular, her latest novel “The Marriage Portrait”. The book imagines the story of Lucrezia, daughter of Cosimo de’ Medici, who married Alfonso d’Este, the Duke of Ferrara in 1558… but, a year after entering her husband’s court in 1560, aged just 16, she died. The novel was inspired by Robert Browning’s poem “My Last Duchess” which describes a painting portraying the young woman who actually lived. I’ve yet to read the book for myself (Moira’s just about to finish our copy) but, in it, Maggie O’Farrell imagines 16th-century Italian courtly life and the brief days of a girl forced into marriage at a very young age.
O’Farrell is a wonderful, natural speaker and communicator – eloquent, beguiling, amusing and informative. I’m a great fan of her writing and “The Marriage Portrait” will be the fifth book of hers that I’ve read (I think). I’ve loved all the books of hers that I’ve read, but “Hamnet” was very, very special.
The evening – which was organised by our wonderful local Storysmith bookshop - was a great success… and all the more so for us because, when Moira mentioned the difficulty she has in hearing what’s said at such events to Storysmith’s Dan and Emily, they set aside three seats in the front row for us! How special was that!?
Great event. Wonderful speaker.
Photo: the view from our front row seats. 

living…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to watch Kazuo Ishiguro’s gentle and touching film "Living", about a man dealing with a terminal diagnosis (and transforming himself from a life of pointless tedium in the town planning department to one in which he realises what he might still be able to achieve). The fact that the central character is played by Bill Nighy is, for most of us, a virtual guarantee that the film would be well worth seeing… and so it proved. Nighy was his wonderful self – playing a lonely widower who lives with his somewhat grasping son and daughter-in-law. Set in early 1950s London, it had a wealth of feel-good imagery and characters (steam trains, snow, old buses, black cabs and the like!).
 
Wednesday afternoon showings at the Watershed are normally quite sparsely attended, but today’s attracted a virtually full house (in fact, we were all given instructions ‘not to leave gaps between you and the next person’!). As 95% of those individuals attending were clearly retired, it was probably a case of people trying to imagine their own reaction to living with a terminal diagnosis!
If I had one criticism, it would be that I felt the action moved rather too slowly in the film’s middle section… but, hey, it’s a charming, poignant film and I very much enjoyed it.  
I want to be Nighy when I grow up… but as he’s younger than me, I think I might have missed my chance! In the meantime, I'm going to speak with a rather crisp accent, dress in my one old suit everyday and buy a trilby hat (obviously). 

proposed bristol airport expansion…

I turned up outside the Bristol Law Courts this morning to protest at the proposed expansion of Bristol Airport. Bristol Airport's initial proposal for an extended airport terminal, and an increase in capacity from around 9 million passengers a year to 12 million, was refused planning permission by North Somerset Council's planners back in January 2020… but was subsequently allowed on Appeal by a government inspector.
Local people are against it, Local Councils are against it, local MPs are against it and yet the original decision was overturned.
Today marks the first day of a two-day Appeal against the inspector’s decision. Unlike the Airport Authority (who can happily spend big money on expensive lawyers), this Appeal has been crowd-funded by locals.
I was very impressed by the people who turned up this morning to demonstrate – articulate, passionate, amusing and very determined – but, particularly by the group of singers (perhaps 50-strong) who sang as they approached the Law Courts. It made for quite an emotional entrance. This might sound a little over-the-top but, for me, it almost felt along the lines of Greenham Common or the US civil-rights movement of the 1960s (or perhaps Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance”?). Well, it certainly worked for me!
The Climate Change Committee (CCC) is an independent, statutory body established under the Climate Change Act 2008 and it maintains that there must be “no net airport expansion” if we are to reach our legally-binding carbon budgets and our Net Zero targets.
In the current circumstances, the Inspector’s decision to overturn the original planning refusal seems to be nonsensical and unsustainable. I just hope and pray that the decision is overturned.
The ultimate irony, of course, is that the Appeal is being heard at the same time as the COP27 climate summit.   

family…

A large number of the ‘Broadway’ family (perhaps nearly 50 of us in all?) gathered on Saturday to celebrate (somewhat belatedly) my cousin Janet’s 80^th birthday. As you can imagine, it was a pretty special occasion – a gathering of the ‘clan’ and something that Janet, bless her, was determined to organise on the family’s behalf.
For us oldies (cousins), it all goes back to the time of our grandparents Fred (1887-1964) and Rose (1888-1974) Broadway. They lived in Handsworth, Birmingham and had four children (Irene, Olive, Ronald – my Dad - and Laurie). They, in turn (apart from Laurie who lived in Hastings/Jersey and never married - he was gay, but sadly nobody properly acknowledged this within the family until fairly recent times), lived within a very few miles of the old family home and would gather regularly for Saturday afternoon cake/football results, Sunday teas/parties and, of course, Christmases. We were, and continue to be, a very close family – albeit that subsequent offspring are now scattered around the country.
Over recent years, my cousins (Janet, Lyn, Jackie, Barry and Alan) and I have met up for lunchtime meals in Birmingham on a fairly regular basis (although, more recently, these have been limited by Covid/lockdown restrictions).
 
Janet was keen to arrange a ‘full family gathering’ for her birthday celebrations. As we oldies get older, we’ve certainly become aware that such opportunities are likely to be limited to funerals (probably one of us cousins or our own!)! Moira and our daughters Ru, Hannah and Alice (and me!) were all going to attend Janet’s party (somewhat embarrassingly, I’m not a ‘party animal’ and so, frankly, the prospect of travelling up to the Midlands and back by train - none of us Bristolians any longer drive - for a family gathering was somewhat daunting - especially given Moira’s Parkinson’s limitations). Sod’s Law, of course, intervened… Saturday 5 November was a Rail Strike day and our plans were completely scuppered. We chatted it through and I decided that I would endeavour to travel up the previous day (and return home on the Sunday) and the others would regrettably have to make their apologies. In the event, this proved to be a wise decision because my Friday train journey was somewhat chaotic – crowded train and standing room only for much of the journey). Nevertheless, it was very sad knowing that ‘we’ were likely to be the only family group not to be fully represented (and particularly sad for our daughters – as it was one of the rare opportunities for them to meet up with some relatives they’ve rarely met!).
 
Despite my own, somewhat pathetic (and guilty!), reservations, the party proved to be a brilliant success. It really was lovely to catch up with everyone (oh, how we’ve all grown old!), to reminisce and to share stories. It was yet another reminder of the importance of taking the opportunity to ask all those family questions while people are still alive (again and again, we spoke about “I wish I’d have asked XX about YY, but I never did and so we’ll never know”). Happily, there WERE lots of occasions at the party when someone cast light on matters that, for most of us, had previously been forgotten or unknown. A beautiful case in point was when Janet showed Alan and me a package that our father had sent home from Ceylon (according to Janet) in 1941 - he was stationed in India and what became Pakistan with the RAF in the war – to mark the occasion of the family’s first grandchild (Janet). The package included a pair of beautiful, tiny, hand-made sandals and a simple, cotton dress (see photograph). How thoughtful… and how wonderful that they still survive.
 
Seeing people being photographed in their various groups made me acutely aware of the history we’ve all inherited, the people we’ve become and the adventures/possibilities that lie ahead for all of us (but especially the younger members of the family). Reflections on all the changes, such as: two World Wars; the NHS and health technology; the massive differences in education (eg. widespread university experience); transportation advances (eg. space exploration/air travel!); huge developments in technology (eg. the internet, wireless communications) and SO much more. All those hugely different careers that family members have entered into; the relationships; and the new family members.
What started with Fred and Rose when they married in August 1912 has gone on to produce another four generations (and counting!) of family – something like 38 new lives, by my calculations. We’re all so different and yet we all carry that common bond. 

the banshees of inisherin…

I try to get to the Watershed at least once a fortnight but, to be honest, it’s been far less than that this year – there just haven’t been enough films that have appealed to me (perhaps it’s due to the knock-on effects of the pandemic?). There have, of course, been a few notable exceptions – such as ‘Brian+Charles’, ‘Vortex’, ‘The Worst Person In The World’ and, most recently, ‘Moonage Daydream’.
BUT Moira and I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Martin MacDonagh’s remarkable film ‘The Banshees Of Inisherin’… and it was EXCEPTIONAL!
Set on the remote, fictional island of Inisherin in 1923, against the backdrop of the Irish civil war, it’s a tragicomedy of male friendship gone (very) sour.
Every day at 2pm, dairy farmer Pádraic (Colin Farrell) calls on his best friend, Colm (Brendan Gleeson), and the two head to the pub. They’re very different characters: Pádraic can talk for Ireland about all things mundane while Colm is a thinker, writes music and plays the fiddle. BUT then, one day, Colm refuses to go to the pub… he’s apparently decided that he’s got to the age when time is running out and he needs to do something creative with whatever he has left. Colm decides to cut Pádraic out of his life completely… with ‘severe’ consquences (I’ll leave it there) *no spoilers!*…
Farrell and Gleeson are simply wonderful and Kerry Condon is absolutely excellent as Pádraic’s bookish sister Siobhán.
It’s a brilliant, powerful and flawlessly-acted film… tragic, moving and humorous.
You REALLY must see it if you can. 

october 2022 books…

The Treasure Hunt (Andrea Camilleri): As I’ve previously made clear, I’ve read a LOT of Inspector Montalbano Mysteries and, having watched the entire TV series (twice!) during lockdown (I think there are 35 episodes!), so you won’t be surprised that I knew who the murderer was from very early on in the novel. Despite this – and the awfulness of the horrific crime – it was an intriguing and, bizarrely, frequently very amusing plot… involving a perplexing treasure hunt set by an anonymous challenger, inflatable dolls, Montalbano’s perception that (at 57) he’s getting too old and, of course, food! Another enjoyable relief from the real world of depressing Tory politics.
Eventide (Kent Haruf): This book is the sequel to ‘Plainsong’ (which I read last month) – both books have been recommended to me by my good friend Charlotte. First published in 2005, this novel is again set in a small town, Holt in Colarado, and recounts the lives of individuals who share little else than belonging to fractured families – including the two old bachelor rancher brothers and the young mother they gave a home to; a couple struggling to keep their heads above water and their children out of care; and two young friends finding solace away from their troubled homes. As with the first book, the writing is magical, almost poetic. The individual stories offer an unflinching depiction of the hardships of small town life but I came to love some of the central characters and the quiet, understated gentleness and decency that Haruf is able to describe so beautifully. A very special book. I loved it.
What Just Happened? (Marina Hyde): Look, it’s no secret that I LOVE Marina Hyde! This book is a collection of her Guardian articles written over the past six years. Obviously, I’ve previously read them all (either via newspaper or online), but it’s still acutely depressing to be reminded of the absolute mess of a nation we’ve become since we cast our referendum votes in 2016. As you will no doubt appreciate, this book/her articles cover a wealth of subjects and individuals – from Johnson, Trump, Billionaires, Royal Family, politicians in general and, of course, not to mention the government’s handling of a global pandemic, partygate and a whole lot more. Hyde is hilarious and yet still able to sum up situations with withering effectiveness… she has an amazing ability of being able to describe situations/people’s actions (and inactions) in a brutally potent way and, often, using references from popular culture to make her points (eg. her astounding knowledge of films). Surprise, surprise… she’s also brilliantly intelligent. Oxford University must be hugely relieved that not all their graduates are in the ‘Liz Truss’ calibre bracket! This book frequently made me laugh out loud… and shake my head in frustration and anger at some of the things our politicians have put us through over recent years.
Frankenstein (Mary Shelley): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book (‘something scary’). It’s the sort of classic (first published in 1818) that I’d long promised to read but never had, until now. I think most people are vaguely aware of the plot – the story of Victor Frankenstein, who plunders graveyards to create a new being from the bodies of the dead… but whose botched creature causes nothing but murder and destruction. Actually, the novel (written by 18 year-old Shelley after a nightmare) was somewhat different to what I’d imagined. I’d anticipated that much of the ‘action’ would be taking place in the laboratory and involve the intricacies of building a new being when, in fact, it features Frankenstein in the Arctic - pursuing the monster he’d created - meeting up with an explorer (who had earlier reported seeing a 'gigantic figure' crossing the ice). Over a period of days, Frankenstein tells the explorer his long, complicated and tragic story… and his disgust and sense of guilt about creating the monster (who ended up murdering several innocent victims) in the first place. A truly Gothic novel (very much of its time), but one which, frankly, I was relieved to have finished/put behind me. Not exactly my ‘cup of tea’… and there were several times when I just wanted to scream in frustration at the Frankenstein character (eg. he frequently gained people’s sympathy and attention about his horrendous experiences, but always managed to stop mid-explanation - refusing to go into details!).
The Diary of a Provincial Lady (EM Delafield): This is our next Bloke’s Books book. It’s a long book in four parts (first published in 1930) and, because some members of the group are rather ‘reticent readers’(!), Ed (who proposed the novel) suggested we should just read Part One (although I’ll certainly read the other three parts in due course). I thoroughly enjoyed this book and thought it was beautiful funny and a perfect antidote to current UK politics (and the like). The book’s Introduction describes it as “a proper English treat, like a cream tea after a long, muddy country walk” and I think that sums it up perfectly. It’s a satirical diary of a social climber trying to make an interesting life for herself in the English countryside. The provincial lady faces the problems of never having enough money, an unruly house and garden, never well-read enough, never attractive enough, and her children never quite well-enough behaved. The book very much reminded me of EF Benson’s ‘Mapp+Lucia’ novels. Like them, I found this an absolute joy to read. 

169th annual open exhibition

I always enjoy going to the RWA’s Annual Open Exhibition… but I always do so with a certain reservations and, yes, with something of a chip on my shoulder! I’ve previously submitted work on a couple of occasions and have been duly rejected each time (the same has happened to some of my brilliant artist friends!) – although I was accepted for the ‘Drawn’ exhibition in 2013. The result is that I go around the exhibition feeling ‘highly critical’ of some of the work that ended up actually being accepted!!
This year’s exhibition (8 October-8 January) is no exception (although I didn’t submit anything!) and I’ve already made two visits.
One of the things that particularly struck me with this year’s exhibition was its overall rather monochrome character. Yes, there were several colourful offerings, but also entire walls of black+white submissions.
Yes, I fully agree that art appreciation is a very subjective business and, don’t get me wrong, there are LOTS of EXCELLENT art on display this year… but there are also LOTS of work that I found myself really puzzling as to how they had been given the ‘thumbs up’! And the slightly scary thing (and, for me, this seems to happen EVERY year!) is that there are always half a dozen or so works submitted by the RWA’s own Academicians (“Practising artists or architects of exceptional ability and experience with a proven track record of exhibitions… creators of art works judged to be of a consistently high standard”) that in my view fall well short of what constitutes a ‘high standard’ of art.
What, ME out of step with the rest of the world? Surely not!!
PS: There’s part of me that thinks the RWA simply uses the exhibition as a great way of raising funds. Artists have to pay a fee for each submission (and it’s not cheap!); applications are strongly encouraged and LOTS are rejected!
Photo: Just a few of the pieces that caught my eye.

leg club… (really?)

This morning, I attended my first session of ‘Leg Club’ (yes, I know it sounds vaguely like ‘Fight Club’, but I can assure you it’s VERY different!).
It’s an initiative run by seven GP surgeries in Bristol which focusses solely on ‘leg care’. After struggling with varicose veins and leg ulcer issues over the past several years, I KNOW that the level of expertise among GPs and Practice Nurses is somewhat ‘theoretical’ at best (I certainly haven’t found it effective).
This is a weekly clinic for people who’ve been referred to the clinic by their doctors. Patients commit themselves to attend each week; everyone sits in the same large room and is seen in turn by a team of five(?) nurses, a co-ordinator plus three volunteers. I think there were probably 20-25 patients seen during the morning session.
My initial reaction, when I was first told that I’d been registered, was “What a ridiculous name!” but, by the end of the morning, I ‘got’ why it was called a Club rather than a clinic. Volunteers hand out teas and coffees to those waiting to be seen and patients (some of whom have clearly got to know each other over their weeks/months of attendance) chat casually and compare notes.
I think the clinic is the brainchild of the Lead Nurse - who clearly recognised the frustrations and the inadequacies of the ‘old’ system (and who clearly had gained knowledge and experience through her own years of practice). She checks every patient and discusses individual treatments with one of the nursing team. I found it hugely reassuring to feel that I was in the hands of people who really knew their roles and knew what treatment was appropriate.
Believe me, after struggling over the past 4-5 years, this felt like a massive step forward.
It all felt so encouraging. I was greeted by the team co-ordinator (with a smile, I hasten to add!) who explained how the clinic was run and what to expect (and she handed me some really useful additional explanatory notes). I was required to attend EVERY week until my ulcers had cleared up… “and, rest assured, we WILL get you sorted out!” I was told.
Today, I was given an ultrasound leg scan (also referred to as an arterial Doppler) to establish/clarify how my treatment should be processed and then a senior nurse examined my foot ulcers and then applied lotions/creams and compression therapy (in the form of liner and over ‘stockings’) - plus I was given a special plastic sock to enable me to shower etc. I was also given firm instructions to keep the stockings on 24/7, then to attend next week’s session so they can check on progress and renew the dressings. Firm, no nonsense instructions (and encouragement).
My attendance at the clinic was a hugely positive and humbling experience.
Yes, it made me realise how comparatively fortunate I was compared with a lot of the patients but, primarily, I was in awe of the nurses as they knelt on the floor to bathe wounds and administer dressings to the individual patients - and they did it all with humanity, gentleness and encouragement. Dedication. Serving others. As I say, very humbling.
I might moan about the ‘challenges’ of booking a doctor’s appointment but, for the most part:
THANK GOODNESS FOR THE NHS.
Photo: Oh, and the Lead Nurse makes delicious cakes (how do these wonderful people make time for cake-making?) and I was duly given two cakes to take home… I ‘tried’ to decline, but failed pitifully (they were very lovely)!

moonage daydream…

Having attended a Ricky Ross concert at St George’s on Tuesday night, it seems a little strange to have ventured to the Watershed the following day to watch a documentary on David Bowie (directed by Brett Morgen)… although music is important for me, it doesn’t usually feature quite so regularly as this!
It’s a rather brilliant documentary film - told through kaleidoscopic, never-seen-before footage, performances and music - exploring the creative, musical, and spiritual journey of one of the most iconic rock stars of all time. Bowie has always been something of an icon – both in terms of his music, his appearance and the wealth of his innovative work (including art, sculpture, dance, acting, writing, thinking and design), but through the film I found myself mesmerised by the utter wealth of his creativity, his ideas and his constant need to ‘move on’ to the next project/persona/challenge. I was familiar with most of it and yet, seeing it put together in a 140 minute documentary felt quite mindblowing.
I was always a lover of Bowie’s music and bought at least three of his CDs (including Blackstar, the last album before his death in 2016). The film reminded me just how much I like his music and I’ve now resolved to find the playlist I created (and played endlessly) when he died.
As Mark Kermode (in his 5-star review) put it: it’s a “truly psychedelic fever dream of a film that captures Bowie as performer, artist and thinker”.
I think you need to see it.

ricky ross at st george’s again…

Last night my good friend Maria and I attended a wonderful concert at St George’s given by Ricky Ross. It’s been five years since I went to his last concert at this lovely venue.
Previously, I recall blogging that “when I grow up, I want to be a singer/songwriter and play a grand piano… just like Ricky Ross”. Well, I feel exactly the same way(!)… nothing changes (except that I’ve got older)!
He performed his songs, unaccompanied, for nearly an hour and a half – just him and St George’s wonderful grand piano (and a couple of songs on guitar) plus him reading extracts from his book “Walking Back Home”. Obviously(!), I queued with perhaps another 70 people at the end of the concert and obtained my autographed copy and exchanged a few words with him (this morning, he’s probably telling all his friends that he actually shook my hand!).
The concert was simply brilliant.
I just love the sound of a single voice and a piano together. I’ve been listening to a lot of Ross’s music again over recent weeks (his “Short Stories, Volume 1” and “Short Stories Volume 2” formed the basis of the concert) and, for me, Ross certainly has a way of capturing profound, evocative, sad, uplifting, powerful emotions in his words and music.
It was a truly uplifting evening and a thankful reminder that there ARE some positives in the world, despite all the other depressing stuff.
Photos from the concert. 

nhs and gp practices ‘after’ covid…

I LOVE the NHS.
I’m still in awe of people working in the NHS during Covid; how they managed the Covid vaccinations; how they managed to keep going despite the risks, underfunding, lack of resources and operation backlogs.
But (and you knew there would be a ‘but’!), as we’ve emerged from the pandemic (or have I spoken too soon?), it seems that many of us share a common frustration of having to deal with our respective GP practices. Clearly, practices had to come up with different ways of working during the pandemic… face-to-face appointments were extremely rare; telephone consultations were the only things on offer. It was all very understandable… but very frustrating nevertheless. But, it seems to me (and, hey, maybe I’m wrong?) that GP practices have been very slow to try to revert back to ‘normality’.
It seems that the ONLY way to get an appointment these days is via a phonecall to the GP surgery (gone are the days when you were able to book an appointment online)… and that, as you will well know if you’ve ever tried, is a simply appalling experience.
This is just ONE example (believe me, I could give you many more):
I received a text message from our GP practice offering me my annual Flu jab. If I didn’t want the jab, I was asked to text a particular number with the word ‘DECLINE’ (fair enough), but if I DID want one then I needed to ring and make an appointment via the usual (and only) practice telephone number. So, yesterday, I rang the number (it was mid-afternoon, I decided to avoid the ‘busy times’)… and duly received the usual stream of messages about ringing 999 if I had any of the following symptoms etc… there was also that annoying standard message saying “we’re currently experiencing an exceptional high call volumes”. This is frankly ridiculous because this is ALWAYS the message you’re given EVERY time you call the surgery… SO IT’S NOT ‘EXCEPTIONAL’, FOR GOODNESS SAKE!
Yesterday’s somewhat typical ‘call experience’ went as follows: I was informed that I was 7^th in the queue (not bad, I’ve been 15^th before now!)… and I waited… and waited (all the time being reminded that they were experiencing ‘exceptional’ call volumes, of course!). Eventually, after 30 minutes, I’d got to the head of queue and now had the ring tone… and I waited… and waited (and continued to get reminders about exceptional call volumes and to phone 999 if I had particular symptoms). After a further 15 minutes, I gave up.
This is 'just' for a flu jab, for goodness sake. There MUST be a better way?
During the course of my ‘prolonged’ wait, I was able to look up the practice’s website and find an online form I could complete for options of ‘A Suggestion/Praise/Regarding a problem/Other’ – which I duly did (because I had nothing else I could do!). In my response, I asked if the Practice Manager or any other senior Doctors had EVER tried to ring the practice in order to get some idea of how awful the experience was? I look forward to receiving a reply (but I’m not waiting with bated breath!).
I still haven’t been able to book my flu jab (and, of course, I can’t even book an appointment by calling into the surgery in person).
PS: I tried again this morning, but gave up when told I was number 14 in the queue.

september 2022 books…

Do I Stay Christian? (Brian McLaren): I bought this book (‘A Guide for the Doubters, the Disappointed and the Disillusioned’) to assist me in my meandering spiritual journey! American pastor McLaren is a wise, gentle, articulate man and he talks an awful lot of sense in this book of ‘guidance’ (in which he freely acknowledged reasons for leaving, staying and, whatever we decide, the need to do so in a “good, honest and loving way”) and doesn’t try to “push any foregone conclusion” on to its reader. He deals with the ‘big picture’ issues in a convincing and helpful way but, crucially for me, I realised that, for all his wisdom and experience, he wasn’t able to put his finger on the key issues that were most relevant for me: eg. ‘What was the point of it all?’, ‘Does it really matter what I believe as long as I take a humanitarian view of the world?’. It’s all too complicated to try to encompass such matters in a brief book review, so I might write a separate blogpost at some stage (then again?). Anyway, a fascinating book focussing on making a responsible, honest, ethical decision about religious identity.
Milk Teeth (Jessica Andrews): I read, and enjoyed, Andrews’s first book ‘Saltwater’ and so it seemed like an easy decision to read her second – especially as she lives in Bristol and I was able to attend a ‘book release’ evening at my beloved Storysmith’s bookshop. In ‘Milk Teeth’, the narrator - a young woman plagued by bodily shame - leaves her difficult family in Durham and travels to London, Paris and Barcelona, unable to escape her emotional demons. Like her previous book, it’s written in a series of brief chapters (97 of them) fluctuating between the present and the past. Love and desire take centre stage as the woman struggles with her uneasy journey to rid herself of issues that have prevented her from discovering who she is and what she’s seeking in her life. Beautiful writing and an impressive book – but perhaps not quite my cup of tea.
Plainsong (Kent Haruf): This book was recommended to me by my good friend Charlotte… and how right she was! First published in 1999, the novel is set in a small town, Holt in Colarado, and recounts the lives of individuals who share little else than belonging to fractured families – including a schoolteacher struggling to bring up his 8+10 year-old sons alone; a pregnant, homeless schoolgirl and two old bachelor rancher brothers who take her in. The writing is magical - graceful and almost poetic – with a quiet, understated gentleness and decency that I found quite captivating. One of those special books that I felt I should be reading out loud. I loved it.
Game Of Mirrors (Andrea Camilleri): This must be something like the eighth Inspector Montalbano book I’ve read (and, for my sins, I’ve also watched the 30-odd telly episodes!). As with most detective mysteries, I’m not brilliant at following all the plot intricacies (often slightly farcical), but I do enjoy the Montalbano character, the humour, his work colleagues, his passion for food and the Sicilian setting. In this book, Montalbano comes to the aid of a neighbour (predictably female and beautiful!) after the engine of her car is interfered with… which, in due course, he realises is tenuously linked to a bomb explosion case he’s also dealing with. Drug-dealing, suspicious mafia links and a barrage of false clues from an anonymous source threaten Montalbano’s reputation… (you get the general idea!). Enjoyable, easy reading and a welcome escape from the depressing events in the real world.
The War Between The Tates (Alison Lurie): This is our Storysmith bookgroup’s next book.
First published in 1974, Brian and Erica Tate appear to have every advantage of life: academic careers, two children, good friends and money. He’s a political science professor at Corinth University and she’s a well-educated stay-at-home wife and mother. They’ve had a good marriage and a happy family, but now it’s all starting to break down. He has always been a reliable and faithful husband… but then Erica learns that he’s been having an affair with a graduate student. And so the war begins. It’s very much a ‘campus satire’ and one that, at times, made me feel angry and depressed in equal measure… but it’s also a wise, compassionate and humorous novel. Lurie is a clearly very gifted writer… but, did I enjoy the book? I’m really not sure (I’ve been mulling over this question ever since finishing the book some 10 days ago). There were several times when I found myself laughing at its wit, but also lots of occasions when I found myself angry and frustrated at the actions taken by its principal characters. 

royal reflections…

Yesterday brought the end to ten days of mourning, following the Queen’s death at the age of 96 and after reigning for an incredible 70years.
I think the Queen was a very special, exceptional person and these have been days that will no doubt remain in all our memories.
I found the funeral day itself impressive and, indeed, quite moving at times – particularly the journey and the respectful crowds through Windsor Great Park and the service at St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. It was rather lovely to watch David Connors (Dean of Windsor since 1998) take a prominent role in the service – he was our curate at St Michael and All Angels, Summertown when we lived in Oxford in the early 1970s… we’ve ALL grown old together during the Queen’s reign!
The television coverage of the funeral itself was excellent, but I have to admit I had to mute the BBC’s coverage whenever they resorted to comments from their studio ‘guests’ or, frankly, Huw Edwards. Nevertheless, I have to say that I’m mightily relieved that the mourning period and the funeral have now come to an end. I found the whole wall-to-wall media frenzy in the run-up to the funeral day completely over-the-top.
As far as BBC television was concerned, for example: Why the endless queue of patronising, studio guests invited along for their ‘special insights’ (essentially being used as a ‘space fillers’ sandwiched between the outpourings from Huw Edwards, Nicholas Witchell and the like? Why the lengthy TV footage of a hearse travelling down the A93/A40 and the like? (I could go on!). Why, for example, didn’t they simply dedicate BBC4 (which the Corporation had effectively ‘relegated’ to an archive channel) to matters associated with the Queen’s death instead of dominating everything over the past 10 days in the way it did?
There were several times when I felt that the studio guests were actually trying to tell ME what I SHOULD be thinking or how I SHOULD be responding… and being constantly told how the events had “brought the nation together” and so on. Exasperating!
I’m certainly NOT criticising or underestimating the individual and collective responses to the Queen’s death - simply the excessive (and at times excruciating) media coverage, especially by the BBC.
I was both impressed and depressed by the pageantry of it all (we’re VERY good at pageantry!). It all felt dominated by an almost embarrassing sense of pomp and privilege… the extravagance, the MASSIVE costs, the uniforms, the rehearsals, the carriages, the security, the 64(?) members of the royal family… and reminders of all the princes, princesses and palaces, the sovereign grant, the civil list, the privy purse, the Duchies of Lancaster and Cornwall.
But, hey, with a cost of living and energy crisis, businesses going into liquidation, food banks, global warming, a war in Ukraine, MPs absent from parliament and a new Prime Minister (with, for me, her scary ideology), we quickly need to focus on ‘other things’… which I think will bring everyone ‘down to earth’ again very quickly!
The Guardian’s John Crace rather summed up one of the key things for me about recent days/people queuing to pay their respects in Westminster Hall:
“Like so much of the pageantry on display this last week, it was simultaneously absurd and magnificent. And surprisingly moving. Even to a diehard republican. Most impressive of all was the stillness. The silence. The only noise in the hall came from the spurs of the Gentlemen of Arms on the stone floors during the changing of the guard. The visitors’ feet were muffled by carpets. Finally, we had a chance to turn inward. To think what we wanted to think without being judged or told how to feel. After a week of nonsense, I’ve finally had enough of Huw Edwards’ commentary. I think it was ‘The lights on the Yellow Box Storage Company here on the A40 that the Queen loved and knew so well have been dimmed as a mark of respect’ that finally did it for me. Though I could have just made that up. I’ve had enough of being played. Of being manipulated. And it took half an hour in Westminster Hall to feel some kind of peace…”
I know there will be many who will disagree with me (and that’s fine), but I think the last few days have been a celebration of the QUEEN’S life… and NOT, for most of us, a celebration of the monarchy. I think the style of the monarchy desperately needs to change drastically if it is to survive (perhaps to become closer to the Swedish/Norwegian/Danish models?).
PS: How did all the old people in Westminster Abbey avoid trips to the loo during the funeral service?
PPS: Were all the presenters on the telly (eg. even the sport presenters/pundits on the BBC!) given massive clothing allowances to ensure they ALL wore black at all times throughout the 10-day mourning period? 

august 2022 books…

Wilding (Isabela Tree): This is our Bloke’s Books next book and tells the story of Charlie Burrell+Isabella Tree’s ‘leap of faith’ in handing their 3,500 acres of West Sussex farmland back to nature. The project started in 2000, when the couple were forced to accept that intensive farming of the heavy clay soils of their farm (Knepp Castle Estate) was driving them close to bankruptcy. Their project has since become a leading light for conservation in the UK – demonstrating how letting nature take over can restore both the land and its wildlife. It’s a passionate, articulate book and an inspiring story – well-researched and full of detail based on their own experiences, both the positives and negatives. It talks about how intensive farming has badly damaged the condition of our soil – resulting in the increased dependence of fertilisers and chemicals (which, in turn, fail to replenish micronutrients etc and eventually reduce crop yields) – and how re-wilding has reversed such declines. Sometimes, I found her enthusiasm somewhat off-putting but, overall, I found it a very impressive book (I learnt a lot) – although I think I’d avoid getting into a discussion with her at a party (What? Me, going to a party? Dream on!), as I could imagine her enthusiasm being a little too evangelical for me to take!
Falling Upward (Richard Rohr): I continue to struggle in my spiritual wilderness and a lovely friend lent me this book (“A spirituality for the two halves of life”) for reflection. Rohr is clearly a very intelligent, wise man (he’s a Franciscan priest) and his writings are full of astute insights… and many of my friends find him a huge support/encouragement on their own spiritual journeys. Somewhat embarrassingly, I’m afraid, I struggle with his books. I’ve previously read 2 or 3 of them and, each time, have found that they don’t really ‘speak to me’ in the way I’d hoped they would. On the face of it, I thought that this book (focusing on the ‘second half of life’) would provide a helpful roadmap on my own ‘journey’ and, while it did provide useful insights into what he described as the “mature spirituality” of growing old as a Christian, it didn’t tackle the important matter, for me, of ‘self-doubt’ (and, to be fair, the book never pretended that this was its prime objective). I think I probably need to read Brian McLaren’s book “Do I Stay Christian?”!  
Red Sauce Brown Sauce (Felicity Cloake): Cloake is (among other things) a food columnist on The Guardian newspaper and I read this book after Moira had said how much she’d enjoyed it. It’s essentially a travelogue of her cycle tour of the UK (plus the various train connections) to ‘investigate and celebrate the legendary Great British Breakfast’ – and in the process gauge the merits/popularity/preferences of brown sauce versus ketchup. I must say, she’s a very funny and entertaining writer and the book is full of her adventures, anecdotes, culinary details and amusing greed(!). Strangely, although it’s a really easy-to-read book, it took me quite a long time to finish it (it’s some 370 pages)… a very enjoyable read nevertheless.   
The Help (Kathryn Stockett): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book… and, this month, it’s with a difference – we’re combining our get together with a viewing of the film at ‘20^th Century Flicks’. First published in 2009, the novel is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s at the peak of racial segregation. The book is narrated by three very different women: a black maid who, despite her excellent cooking skills, frequently loses her job for ‘answering back’; another black maid who is raising her 'seventeenth white child'; and, in sharp contrast, a white woman who wants to be a writer (who was herself brought up by black maids). The ‘help’ are the black community who spend their lives bringing up the children of upper-class white families - with their own children being looked after by someone else. The privileged whites are shockingly discriminating and demand continuing segregation of the black and white communities. It’s long book (some 450 pages) and, I thought, quite an onerous challenge for our monthly bookgroup… but I found it an utterly compelling, unforgettable account and managed to read it within 3 days (the final 250 pages in a late night/early morning stint!!). The author (who herself grew up in the ‘deep south’) writes quite brilliantly - informative, shocking, saddening, amusing and uplifting. A wonderful novel… which will almost certainly be one of my ‘books of the year’.
Glucose Revolution (Jessie Inchauspé): I’m really not into reading books about food(!) and blame my great mate Jez for recommending* this one to me (* he was verging on the evangelical!). It’s essentially a book about balancing one’s blood sugar (I have no real knowledge of my own blood sugar characteristics, but hey). It seems that 90% of us suffer from too much glucose in our system – although most of us don’t know it – and this book describes ways in which we can ‘flatten our glucose spikes’. Inchauspé (@glucosegoddess) has a science/mathematics/biochemistry background and writes in a simple, but very accessible, way about factors which she maintains can transform a person’s health. Fortunately (from my perspective), it’s NOT a calorie-counting food book but one in which she provides a series of science-based ‘hacks’/tips, such as: how eating foods in the right order can also aid losing weight; adding a green starter to every meal; walking/exercising for 10 minutes after a meal; reaching for vinegar (I know!) before you eat… and much, much more. The book contains LOTS of sustainable, accessible, practical guidance and, although I’m not very good at taking advice(!), I will endeavour to take some of them on board. I’m hoping to persuade Moira to read the book too – in the knowledge that as our ‘principal cook’ (and therefore the reason I eat as ‘sensibly’ as I do)(obviously, that’s MY assessment!), she’ll be implementing and encouraging me to take on board some additional ‘new eating habits’. 

‘both sides now’… and me

It’s some 53 years since I first listened to Joni Mitchell singing “Both Sides Now” (and subsequently purchased the ‘Clouds’ LP)… and was utterly captivated.  She’s continued to be my favourite singer/songwriter ever since… (as has the song).
So, this afternoon, as I was sketching and listening to old playlists on ‘Spotify’, “Both Sides Now” (the 1969 version) came on… and, for some reason, it just stopped me in my tracks.
Maybe it was because it reminded me of first meeting Moira at College (“Tears and fears and feeling proud…To say, ‘I love you’ right out loud”)… perhaps it was because it resonated with us meeting up with a few old friends recently… perhaps it was simply because it reminded me how long I’ve loved this song and that we’ve all become old in the process?
Whatever it was, I found myself in floods of (happy) tears.
It actually made me stop listening to ‘Spotify’ and to check out the YouTube footage of Mitchell singing the song at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival… and the crying continued.
And, finally, I watched+listened to the YouTube recordings from the 2022 Newport Folk Festival… and, of course, I cried again.
Music can be magical.
Thanks for the memories. 

hit the road...

Yesterday evening (I very rarely go to evening viewings, but it was the only way I could get to view this), I went along to the Watershed to see Panah Panahi’s film “Hit The Road”.
It focuses on a family’s uncomfortable road trip in a rented car through remote north-western Iran, heading towards the Turkey/Azerbaijan border. There are four family members (plus an ailing dog): the grumpy, lumbering, cigarette-smoking husband (played by the excellent Hasan Majuni) with a broken leg in plaster (but who the wife suspects is putting on an act – the cast has been ‘on’ some four months!); the mother (played wonderfully by Pantea Panahiha) sitting in the front passenger seat and making regular dry observations; the quiet, elder son (Amin Simiar) is at the wheel and seemingly in a world of his own; and finally the clowning, irrepressible 8-year-old son (Rayan Sarlak) – in many ways the ‘star’ of the film.
I found the ‘plot’ somewhat confusing at the start… the younger son was told his brother was leaving the country temporarily to get married, but it transpires that the real reason has more to do with him being smuggled out of the country - perhaps to avoid being conscripted into the army? (well, at least that’s what I’d decided by the end of the film).
Two of the film’s many highlights, for me, were scenes in which, first, the mother lip-syncs to an Iranian pop song on the radio and then, later, the younger son performs a similar, but in a deep bass voice, lip-sync ‘accompaniment’ which reflects both the family’s pain at the demise of the dog (sorry, *spoiler alert*!) and the uncertainty of what lies beyond for them. I know the lip-sync sounds a little ridiculous, but both scenes were beautiful and quite moving.   
It's a mesmerising film which, brilliantly and bizarrely, is able to convey humour, heartache, beauty, fear and defiance. It’s quite brilliant.
PS: The one downside for me was having to watch the film in the small Cinema 2 studio… it was a sell-out and, for me, all a little cramped and claustrophobic. 

bristol pilgrimage… again

If you’re ever on the beautiful island of Iona, the weekly pilgrimage walk around the island is an experience not to be missed.
During the course of my 8-week stay there as a volunteer with the Iona Community in 2012, I bought Jane Bentley+Neil Paynter’s really excellent book “Around A Thin Place” (an Iona pilgrimage guide) and, as well as using it when I was on Iona, I have subsequently used it as a resource for my own Bristol pilgrimage version on four previous occasions – but (I see from my previous blog posts) that the last time was back in 2017.
Yesterday, I decided to undertake a fifth ‘pilgrimage’ journey around Bristol… in part as a practical response(?) to my ongoing journey through what has become something of a ‘spiritual wilderness’.
This time, I divided my route into eight sections or stops… pausing for reflections taken from the book, together with my own deliberations. Each time I’ve done this, I’ve used a completely different set of locations but, unlike on my previous walks, the weather was disappointingly bleak (very light rain for virtually all of the walk) - duly illustrated by my poor-quality photographs – but nevertheless strangely refreshing.
As before (perhaps bizarrely), I related my stopping points with pilgrimage stops on Iona:
St Martin’s Cross/setting out on the road was the Cathedral; The Crossroads was the area around Broken Dock (adjacent footpaths/roads/ferries/river); St Columba’s Bay was the stretch of the River Avon beyond the Plimsoll Swingbridge; the Marble Quarry was Leigh Woods/Rownham Hill Wood; Dun I/High Point was the Clifton Suspension Bridge; The Machair was Clifton Village; Hermit’s Cell was Bird Cage Walk; and St Oran’s Chapel/Reilig Odhrain was Brandon Hill.
I really enjoyed making my pilgrimage walk again – and especially as it was the first since we moved from Southville (and therefore took on a somewhat different character). I was also reminded how much I’ve valued the wise, thought-provoking reflections contained in the ‘Thin Place’ book. It also reminded me that I perhaps need to start re-using daily readings and meditations from the Iona Community again (I have several books on my shelves).
An enjoyable and fulfilling morning.
Photos: rather ‘watery’ photographs from my ‘pilgrimage’.