Countering culture

One good thing about blogging is that when I think to myself, "Why I am so tired?" I can look at my blog and say, "Ah, that's why I'm tired."

Daughter and family were out for the afternoon yesterday so she asked if we'd take Louie for a short walk so he wouldn't be alone too long.

These photos seem to have a funny 'texture'. Do they look weird to you? It was cloudy but very warm. That's Pobbles (foreground) with Three Cliffs behind, and just a tiny glimpse of Oxwich in the far distance.

Church this morning asked some hard questions about how the church can be countercultural in today's society regarding sex, money, and power. I was asked what countercultural meant.

This coming week I have writing group Tuesday afternoon but I've managed to get someone else to lead as I'm leading Zac's in the evening. Then on Wednesday we have a trustees' retreat day. Oh, and next Saturday I'm going to a print workshop. In between I'll be getting ready for our next trip to Italy.

I've just finished reading The Road to Grantchester by James Runcie. It tells the story of how Sidney Chambers ended up as vicar there. It is a very well-drawn and realistic, I think, war story as well as a tale of faith and hope. Highly recommended. How anyone went through the war and stayed sane is beyond me.

A funny old week

It's been a funny week. I haven't felt like blogging and that is most unusual. Let's have a quick recap.

Monday: did nothing.

Tuesday: Had phone call from lady from department of works and pensions. As it happened we'd overslept and I'd only just taken one mouthful of my weetabix when she rang. She offered to call back but I said no. Easier to get it over with.

She was very nice, not entirely sure what she was doing. Apparently she was new to the team dealing with pensions. She said if it had been benefits she knew all the questions - and answers - off by heart. It was very straightforward anyway. Mostly names and dates of birth of birth of husband and children. But then she said, "It seems your wages dropped by £3,000 a year in 2005 and then by £4,000 in 2007. Can you explain why?"

Seriously? That's twenty years ago. I can barely remember what I did yesterday. I think we worked out that I'd cut my hours once but there was no explanation for the other drop. She said it was probably okay but if it wasn't they'd call me back. No-one's called so I guess it didn't matter.

In the afternoon I went for ice cream - in Fortes as Verdi's is still closed following the fire - with Elin, a young doctor, still in training who was traumatised after spending six months in intensive care. Definitely her least favourite department.

Tuesday evening Zac's. Monty had put his talk together over the course of two days and managed to speak for one hour, virtually non-stop. I don't know how anyone can do that. No, actually I know several people who can talk.

Wednesday: Went for coffee that turned into a walk around the park with Jordan, our church pastor. He gave me most excellent feedback, and we had a wonderful discussion about scripture, bible study, church, and stuff. Then, when we'd completed about seven eighths of the route he said, "I want to ask you a question."

Oh oh, I thought. But he wanted to know if I would consider becoming a deacon. I hadn't expected that.

It seems he's had me in his mind for the role for best part of a year. I am tempted to do it because he wants me too. It is so lovely to be appreciated. When I left my previous church to concentrate on Zac's they had me up the front to pray for me. I was asked to say a few words so I started to say that Sean had made me one of the study leaders but that as the rest of the congregation were addicts or disillusioned or mentally unstable (or words to that effect) , "Then you were the best of a bad job. He didn't have a lot of choice," the then leader of the church chimed in. 

I mean that's what I was going to say but it's one thing me saying it and quite another when my church leaders says it, to a huge laugh. Not that I'm bitter or anything!!!

So I need to find out some more about what being a deacon entails. I think he wants to get me in because he knows I think as he does on questions of vulnerability and honesty, maybe more so than the other deacons. I was going to say older but I would actually be the oldest one! I meant those who've been there for years.

In the afternoon I went to the memorial service for a Big Issue seller who had a stand in Sketty by our local shops. He was a lovely man although I didn't know him well - he told me he loved my chilli when I used to make it for Zac's - and there were lots of beautiful tributes from local people who valued his smile and friendly words.

Thursday: The organiser of a retreat day came to see me to discuss what we want to do at our retreat day. It's happening next week for Sean, the heart behind Zac's, Stu, the manager and future of Zac's, Colin, a prospective trustee, and me, trustee.

Then it was off to Rough Edges for the day to help sort out out what's left after the two big closing down sales into things for recycling, things for salvage, things for a charity shop, and miscellaneous. We're going to need another skip sadly.

Friday: went for an early morning swim at Pobbles with Daughter and GrandDaugher2 (and Louie). We took our body boards as there were waves yesterday but today it was just about flat. A lovely swim though.

I kept spotting little purple blobs around the garden.

Husband explained it's the poo of birds who've been eating blackberries.

And that's done

Last night I dreamed I was due to preach in church this morning but I'd gone to a different church and, for some reason, we were climbing up a very tall tower. It wasn't even a stone tower but a soft cloth one. We were at the top when I realised I was supposed to be preaching somewhere else. So, no, I wasn't stressed at all.

I've been quite calm in the run-up but was a bit trembly this morning. I'm pleased to report it all went okay. Jordan, the pastor, said I was brilliant - but he would say that - and Monty, the reason I'm in this church, approved of what I said, and agreed with my slightly off-topic add-in about the infallibility or otherwise of the scriptures.

I also managed to get my article off to the editor before the deadline so I can think about other things now.

I remember, I didn't tell you: there was a fire in Verdi's! That's the ice cream parlour that my friend and I always meet in. It's very strange: over the last few years there have been fires in the pier chip shop, the pier café, and now Verdi's. Maybe it's an arsonist who doesn't like tourists/people who eat chips/people who eat ice cream. 

The dilemma it causes: where shall Vivien and I meet now?

* * * * *

Tomorrow I plan to do some gardening and start work on bringing together the writing group's writing for Ukraine. Did I tell you that we're planning to publish a small book of writing to raise funds and, primarily, remind people that the war continues?

* * * * *

I harvested the rhubarb yesterday afternoon. Made a rhubarb and raspberry crumble for us and took the rest to church for others today.

* * * * *

In case you're interested, here's the recording of my 'sermon' this morning. 

Liz Hinds · preaching on 2 peter

Books and blooms

I have got through a slew of Icelandic books over the last few weeks. I noted them when we were there and finally got round to getting them from the library or the shop.

Butterflies in November by Audur Ava Olafsdottir is about a road trip around Iceland a newly-single woman takes with her best friend's deaf son. She is a linguist who doesn't want children, and one of her reasons is my favourite line in the book.

"Your kids vanish into the bushes of camping sites, without even giving you a chance to browse through a thesaurus in peace by the entrance of the tent, because you're always on watch duty I imagine."

Farewell Mr Puffin by Paul Heiney is about a sailing trip to Iceland and into the Arctic Circle, and back. It's more sailing info than I would like and not as funny as I expected. That said there are entertaining moments. He goes in search of puffins, 'the jokers' of the bird world, but comes across only one resulting in a rather depressing theory.

The other two, The Quiet Mother by Arnaldur Indridason, and The Mysterious Case of the Missing Crime Writer by Ragnar Jonasson, are both crime novels but not as gruesome as some Scandi noir. I preferred The Mysterious Case.

And I've just started on a Grantchester novel - although actually it appears to be several short linked stories - which is easy reading and I'm enjoying it.

* * * * *

The day before we went to Italy back in April three plants I'd ordered online turned up. I stuck them in the ground quickly and hoped for the best.

They were achillea (I had to check my order to see what they were) and they've all flourished. Here's the pink one next to my sole dahlia success.

Before going on holiday I also came across two packets of seeds I'd forgotten to plant so I scattered them willy-nilly in a spare patch. The marigolds have come up beautifully. I shall plant those again next year.

I think the other packet was Cosmos but they haven't appeared.

Meanwhile the roses seem to love the dry weather.

* * * * *

Another 'before I went on holiday' story but this time before I went to Cornwall. I received a letter from the DWP (department of Works and Pensions) to say my state pension is being reviewed. 

Apparently I have been chosen at random and I have to be available next Tuesday morning to answer a call from them, in which they will ask me questions to check I am getting the right amount. 

I am not looking forward to this. I go blank when asked questions about work, finance, dates, anything formal. Husband will have to sit alongside and tell me the answers.

I spoke too soon

After saying I'm only a bit under the weather yesterday I had a slump. They keep coming and going, hot flushes, rough feelings. I think I have a summer cold. That's what they say isn't it? That's what they call them?

Are summer colds different from winter colds? And why do we call colds in winter just colds, not winter colds? Maybe we should have spring and autumn colds too. Now I'm thinking about it, I'm wondering do they actually call them summer colds? Or have I made that up?

I was thinking about these things in the shower. I thought, "I'll google that." Then something else came into my head and I decided I'd google that too but I can't remember what it was. From there I went on to thinking about stream of consciousness writing.

I slept well last night apart from the most stressful dream just before I woke up. And I've finished my jigsaw.

Yes, I do get a bit obsessed once I start. A 1000 piece jigsaw in one day. There were lots of dates on it so that made pieces easier to place.

* * * * *

Oh yes, Debra commented on my previous post that it was wars and things that made rich land-owners rich and able to acquire/build fine houses. In the Prideaux Place story it was largely marrying rich heiresses that kept the family in the style to which they wanted to be kept. 

* * * * *

A posy from the garden.

* * * * *

According to AI, summer colds in the UK remain low and at expected seasonal levels, driven primarily by baseline circulation of rhinovirus. A different article said it's more likely to be enterovirus. 

Then again yesterday AI told me that Annapolis was named after Princess Anne, daughter of Queen Elizabeth, who later became Queen Anne.

1066 and all that

It must be weird being the king/queen. I mean, not just because of the attention and stuff, but the fact that you're going to go down in history for children to learn about in school, or watch in television dramas, like Henry VIII. I wonder how history will look on our current incumbents.

I was thinking this as I started my jigsaw. I'm struggling to sleep, partly because I'm under the weather*, and partly because my head is full of sermons and articles. Rephrasing them in my head in the middle of the night is enough to keep me tossing for hours. So I decided to jigsaw as an antidote. (I know jigsaw isn't a verb but it is now.)

The jigsaw is a pictorial of British history. Which would be easier if I had some idea of British history. I mean, I do have some idea but when it gets to specifics, well, I kept putting pieces in the middle of the space because, "they're somewhere around there." Two things strike me: we've had an awful lot of kings and an awful lot of wars; and the monarchy is very boring when it comes to choosing children's names.

But history brings me nicely to what will probably be my final holiday post - but don't bank on it. One day Husband and I visited Prideaux Place, an old manor house. It was a lovely day and, as I've mentioned before the cream tea rated highly, in fact Husband said it was a clear winner.

As we arrived it was feeding time for the deer so we had a wonderful sight of them. The deer herd is one of the oldest enclosed herds in the country, dating back to 485AD and only beaten by those in Royal parks.

The house has been in the same family for hundreds of years and the current inhabitants have spent a lot of time renovating the gardens, which had been left to get overgrown.

I liked this statue, Boy with a thorn in his foot.

The guided tour of the house was excellent but no photos allowed. It's a family home that's only open to the public for the summer months. the original house was built on the site of an ancient monastery and there are some real treasures inside.

*I decided 'under the weather' is the perfect description for how I feel. I'm not ill exactly but not where I would want to be health-wise.

A Cornish sketchbook

You may recall that, a couple of weeks ago, I bought a small sketchbook so I could doodle about our holiday in Cornwall. Well, we arrived in Padstow and almost the first thing I saw was the bookshop window display.

Yes, someone beat me to it and published a Cornish sketchbook. How rude. And how depressingly good.

Nevertheless . . .

They might not be good but they're my memories.

* * * * *

Next Sunday I'm 'preaching' in church. Quote marks to make it seem less terrifying. I have spoken in church before, but that was before I joined the church and people didn't know me. Now they do. And then it was on topics I was confident about; this time it's on a piece of scripture 2 Peter 1:15-21. So I've had to do lots of research, and I'm not sure I entirely agree with some of it so most of my talk will be along party lines with maybe a curve ball thrown in at the end. By then people will have stopped listening so it'll be fine.

The deadline for my next magazine article is the following Wednesday so I've started thinking about that too. Now the problem is making sure I don't get the two topics mixed up.

* * * * *

I was afraid my newly-planted tubs might have suffered during our week away - no rain there or here - but they seem to have survived remarkably well on the whole. One or two casualties but those looked a bit dodgy when I planted them.

* * * * *

Still disgusted with whole Burnham business. Am deliberately ignoring him.