Guilty as Charged

It went and happened - I got 'Curatitis', a condition identified by ++Michael Ramsey in the Sixties where a Curate becomes a little jealous of another. It only went and happened to me; and 'where?' you might ask ...

...here!

I was reading Lesley's blog post today in an increasing grump about the exposure her efforts recieve compared to mine (like it matters!?). Her latest post surrounded the event of her birthday, and in that post, she offers a number of lists (read her here). I will be the first to confess that I am deeply envious of her blog successes, and indeed of her intellectual and spiritual depths, and recognise that I have become a little competitive about it (after all, what she stands a chance of achieving in the latter list on her post would look preposterous on any that I could write). Anyway, with all this said, I felt it important to place that confession here for safe keeping and take some counsel! 

Blogging is an odd thing and it often creates apparitions and spectres. What I am guilty of is counting what I do not have and overlooking the riches that I do have. That is now to be corrected.

Entirely by chance, my birthday follows Lesley's by a day - for it is my 'turn' tomorrow (I shall be 38). I have no lists for you, I am afraid, save for wanting to be the best person I can be and for my family to be happy and healthy, and for my flock to draw closer to God (a handsome list nonetheless) - and I have a past that shall remain a matter of privacy not because it is alarming, but because it is quite the opposite! What I think is important for me to place here is a simple 'thank you'.

There are a number of you who read this drivel, reliably and regularly, and I thank you all for spending a moment with me in my thoughts. The presence of each of you is noted, recognised and appreciated. Without readers, this and every blog would be utterly pointless and probably grotesquely self-serving. I consider it an honour and a privilege to have an opportunity to express myself in a form hitherto unknown to me; one where I can work it out as I go along. This blog and those of you who read it are a gift to me that I do not take for granted - and be sure, I write nothing purely to entertain. What you see is what you get is what and who I am in that moment. So thank you ... 

...and for the record, Lesley is a close personal and ministerial friend, and I am in awe of what she writes. I don't always agree with what she writes (it would be dull if I did), but I am delighted to share space with her to the modest extent that I do.

Twitter - cos my friend is WRONG

Reverend Doctor Mother in Christ Fellows offered some reflections on the phenomenon that is Twitter (to read the woman, press here). 

Her offering is virtuous, but just plain old good old wrong. She would tell us that it is like Cyberbucks where you can grab a latte and barf no more than 140 characters to the other regulars. 'Good Morning' she says - I know this 'cos I read it. 'Good morning back' they say - I know this 'cos I read it. Bleh ...

I fear to inform you all that a vile coverup is taking place, and that my mate is pulling the cotta over your be-freckled noses and with a sleight of hand, lets you think that this is warm bonhomy. No mate ...

...we tweet because we are nosey.

There you have it. Twitter is the electronic equivalent of phone tapping. Mrs Pankhurst did not burn her D Cup so that we could sit and eavesdrop, legitimately. My iTouch (the prince of gadgets, I might add) is now the glass tumbler that I put up against the wall of the world's private boudoirs, the grubby key hole, the chintz curtain pulled back but a little. Jimmy Carr and ++John Sentamu alike, I listen and watch. I feel like M.I.Farv. 

What is worse, I then go and pour my giblets onto the Tweetdeck for the watching world to paw over. No longer am I merely nosey but a nosey exhibitionist to boot.

And a lesson to the rest of you, if like popster Hayley Williams you opt to snap your boobs and Tweet the picture, don't be surprised how widely they become distributed in four-fifths of a second. Needless to say, I looked away ... good curate I am.