Category: Stuff and nonsense

Now I don’t want to get into debates about mathematics, epistemology or metaphysics. I don’t care if there are some people out there who don’t understand how a draw can be a win. Take my word for it – a 1-1 draw is a victory. Aberdeen are in the group stages of the UEFA Cup thanks to a nail-biting, nerve shredding, blood pressure raising, language straining 94  minutes in the Ukraine.

Dniprio 1 – Aberdeen 1 – and for once a Scottish team has gone through on the away goal. See that – it’s juist pure metaphysical so it is!

Last night I was at Firhill to watch Aberdeen play Partick Thistle. Alan and Fraser kindly invited me to join them and others for pre-match hospitality at the Stadium, where the meal was a good, warm substantial input to sustain the long 90 minutes of watching fitba’ in the first really chilly night of the Autumn. Then, just to make sure energy levels were sustained, and nobody fainted from low sugar levels, we had pies, tablet and coffee at half-time.

As a Christian and an Aberdeen supporter (and the two are not mutually exclusive), I made every effort to negotiate conversation around the result with dimplomatic evasiveness about who gubbed who. I genuinely, really, honestly, tried not to rub it in, or gloat, or even cheer in hysterical disbelief as Aberdeen scored twice in one game — Partick 0 Aberdeen 2. So having feasted with my host Alan (Partick Thistle is one of his core commitments in life), and also with his colleague Fraser (who supports Aberdeen as the default when St Mirren aren’t involved), and got to know several other football pundits ‘n that, I was probably guilty of that really annoying, not hard to perceive smugness, that seems to be reserved for those who try to combine courteous modesty refusing to grin in triumph cos we won, with that secret ‘Oh ya beauty!’ that lurks just below the superficial politeness of every semi-civilised football fan.

Being the guest at a football stadium, being welcomed and given generous hospitality by a fine host, in the opposition’s home ground, does raise the problem of muted celebration, of clandestine smirks, and compels the insincerity of sympathising with the losers while being glad it isn’t your own team dumped out of the cup again. So last night I was in the ethical training ground, the place where spirituality collides with reality, when I could hear Paul say, ‘Look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others’. Aye right! And being in the place where pastoral responsiveness of weeping with those who weep, was a real challenge.

But thanks to my friends and my hosts – a good night, a good result, and good company.

Now I know there is a massive yawning linguistic, ethical and cultural canyon between the average Evangelical church and popular media sharp-edged comedy productions such as Little Britain. So what in heaven’s name (and yes, I mean, in heaven’s name), were the Christian Publicity Organisation thinking of (or not thinking), when they borrowed without permission, several catchphrases from the Little Britain scriptwriters for some of their Bible posters?

‘Yeah, but, no but, yeah’ is used to head a poster about ‘always being ready to give an answer for the hope that lies within’. ‘Not bovvered’, Catherine Tate’s schoolgirl in yer face mantra was another phrase  used as a lead in to a Bible verse. Now apart from not seeking permission, which is indeed a matter of honesty, the whole ethos of the comedy stable in question is deeply hostile to convictional Christianity of any flavour, let alone Evangelical Christianity. So what were they thinking of? Now they’ve had to withdraw the posters and the lawyers are arguing about legal redress. Hard to see how you make the Bible more accessible by linking it with its cultural and ethical opposite. Own goals are always embarrassing. You can read about it here in the Scotsman.

This weekend I gave our two 20 foot conifers at the front of the house, a haircut. Third time I’ve done this in five years and I think I now need to pay attention to my size and age, and make this my last major forestry project. When all due attention has been paid to health and safety –  stable ladders and no stretching or leaning, taking care of cables when operating trimmers around and above, protecting the eyes from flying and falling clippings – when all such attention is paid, the one thing impossible to avoid is the aching muscles, (all of them from calves, to thighs, to back, to neck, to arms) – and the shoulders that feel as if I’ve been dancing at a Scottish wedding reception where I was hurled around at Strip the Willow for two hours by people bigger and stronger than me!

That said, I do enjoy getting stuck in to a job that’s more than whirling around with a flymo, garden hose or dutch hoe. And the trees do now look as if they are part of a garden instead of arboreal accidents. And I suppose that also says something about my own way of construing the world – trying to make at least some parts of it tidy, shaped – a way of pretending mere humans can control and shape the world around. Well of course we can…for a while. But at a cost – and for me, that will probably be paid in the next day or two when my shoulders refuse to allow my arms to go above my head. Might well ruin my personal praise and prayer time, being unable to raise my arms……

Went to the local library to get some light reading. came back with Kate Atkinson’s Case Histories. As I left I noticed a brown parcel lying on the floor at the entrance, slightly torn and showing a book inside. I assumed it had been dropped in for return or something. If I’d looked at the neatly printed label on what turned out to be a brown envelope wrapped round a book, I would have read ‘Doorstop – Please don’t Remove’.

But I didn’t, did I? Like the responsible adult I claim to be I took it to the issue desk. And the librarian looked at me with what I am convinced was a hint of pity, and said, with thinly disguised courtesy, – ‘Aye juist put it back where ye goat it. Thanks’.

Well?    How was I to know?    I don’t go around nosing into other people’s parcels, especially books in plain brown paper bags………I wonder how many times in a week some well meaning wee nyaff comes in to put the world right by handing in what, to all appearances, is a fugitive book??

Decided the design of the blog was tired and needing a makeover. I like the space and the clearer, larger font, the colours, and the butterfly heading out the top corner for freedom. I’ts called Art Nouveau Red – I think it’s the smartest I’ve had so far. I had a wee problem getting the blog to accept the changes, emailed Typepad help at 6.45 and had an answer an hour later – and the answer solved the problem.

Not everything about someone else’s holiday is interesting. But I did say (warn) in the pre-holiday post that I was looking forward to Italian ice cream. Here is the ice-cream diary for the holiday. All but one of them, single scoop – good sized scoops though! Consider and drool – the funny thing is, I hardly ever eat ice cream except on holiday. But as you see, tend to make up some of the deficit on an annual basis!! The one I didn’t have the guts to try (that may be more a physiological rather than metaphorical expression), was gorgonzola cheese – couldn’t quite persuade myself to forego the definite enjoyment of the other options, for the risky thrill of strong cheesy ice cream.

July 11 Nottella – hazelnuts ‘n stuff

July 12 Cocolat piquant – chilli and Chocolate

July 13 Creme Catalone – cherry and crystallised toffee

July 14 Vanilla

July 15 Pistachio

July 16 Malaga – Rum and raisins

July 17  Africana – Chocolate, morello cherries and dark flaked chocolate lumps!

July 18 Double vanilla – well it was 95 degrees!

July 19  Stratiatella – dark chocolate flakes

July 20 Snickers – peanuts and toffee.

July 21Bounty – coconut and chocolate

There are degrees of daftness that are so, well daft, that they should become a new form of  reality TV called ‘Extreme Daftness’. The following comes from a news item on my AOL browser. I cannot think of anything to say that comes anywhere near the gobsmacked astonishment with which I read this. Please don’t read on if you are allergic to extreme daftness.

Re-runs of a well-known television commercial from the 1950s which instructed viewers to "Go to work on an egg" have been banned. Standards watchdogs say they do not encourage a balanced diet.

The Egg Information Service, set up by the industry to provide information and answer questions about eggs, had wanted to screen the advert, which featured legendary comedian Tony Hancock, to mark its 50th birthday. But the Broadcast Advertising Clearance Centre (BACC), which regulates advertising standards and practice, blocked screening of the adverts on the grounds that they did not comply with Ofcom rules about promoting a varied diet.

BACC spokesman Kristoffer Hammer said it was not a question of whether an egg a day would cause any harm, but that it should be served with fruit juice or toast.

He said on GMTV on Wednesday morning:

"We are not questioning the effect it would have on your health. Our role is to ensure that advertising that goes on television is in compliance with the act. It’s quite clear from the act that they should be presented as part of a balanced diet."

British Egg Information Service spokeswoman Amanda Cryer told BBC Online: "We have been shocked by this ruling as eggs are a healthy, natural food which are recommended by nutritionists.

"What’s more, there are no restrictions on the number of eggs people can eat, which was recently confirmed by the Food Standards Agency, and between five and seven eggs a week would be totally acceptable for most people. In addition, many other advertisers clearly promote their products to be eaten every day such as breakfast cereals so we are very surprised that eggs have been singled out in this way."

I have since sent the following email to abovementioned Kristoffer Hammer:

"Blessed are those who don’t need to fill in pro-formas, for they shall not be so frustrated they want to stick the heid on the computer monitor".

Just spent an hour writing a report on a pro-forma and it wouldn’t let me save it – or copy it – or print it. So all my wise, perceptive, helfully constructive comments just sit there, ciphers on a screen, mockingly inert, unmoved and apparently immovable, and in the non-theological sense, unsaved.

So – nothing else for it – to save doing the work again I decide to write out the more complex bits in longhand to save me thinking it all through again and if truth be told so as not to lose the more, in my less than humble opinion, well, the impressively, sonorously wise bits – aye, OK!

Well – only took quarter of an hour. But then I had to find out what went wrong. So I retraced my clicks, repeated the actions, and when the pro-forma appeared it gave me an option to save it before I started working on it. So I clicked save – and bless me, so it did. It saved it. So now I have a Word document into which I can insert, all the handwritten work I copied from the previous pro-forma which was, again in the non-theological sense, unsaved and apparently unsaveable.

By the time I now type my report, it will be a third draft – I wouldn’t mind if the whole process had contributed to my sanctification – on the contrary!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!