The Bishop Cometh, and That Right Quick

A 600 year old pointy-hat

In the life of this parish, we are fast approaching the day of the confirmations, in a service that also marks Harvest and also the end of our 150 days of celebration marking our 150 anniversary as a parish in Whitton. 

The entire world turns on its axis; the good folk of the parish continue with their lives as ever they did; God is in the heavens and the milk gets delivered - but there is one among us who is stressed. 

Me. 

I have fast recognised that the one primary difference between a suffragan or area bishop and the diocesan one is the amount of stress made manifest in the heart of the incumbent as the day approaches. I respect all bishops equally (and pretty jolly highly too, since you asked), but there is a definite difference in my stress levels when compared to the impending visit of the area bishop earlier this year. I don't know why, but it seems to be a fact. 

I doubt that +Richard would wish for me to be up-tight, and I am sure that the entire day will be as wonderful as I  predict it will be. I think it is also something about this new Vicar welcoming the top-dog of the diocese into the church. As a curate, I got very well used to grunting words about carrying the stick and the hat when men of the episcopate ambled in - also of carrying bags and smiling in the right places - you know, things that all half-decent curates do! This is different. 

For me personally, some stuff from my retailing life is emerging and this present stress is the same as that precipitated by the imminent arrive of senior management who, if they found too much amiss, would geld the store manager with a blunt Stanley.

... and then sack him.

My church is tidy, the booklet nearly made, the catechumens mid-training, the roof water-tight, the safe locked, the cash in the bank, child-protection statement signed and displayed and the cotta ironed. Oddly, for the first time I am sensing a protectiveness on behalf of my 'flock' -will the bishop enjoy them? I am sure he will, as they are warm and wonderful people.  

I think we all seek approval and none less than new Vicars. That my bishop is well known, darned clever, rather tall and knows the Royal Family - it all serves to make this meagre 'young' vicar wonder too whether he will make the grade. Time will tell, I suppose. 

The Joy of Marriage

This week will become known not for the wonderful Easter and its perfect weather just enjoyed, but as a week where the institution of marriage is once again re-affirmed. 

I am writing this on a day when Mrs Acular and I are celebrating our fourteenth wedding anniversary. You may be pondering why I am wasting good anniversary time writing my Blogette when I could be thinking romantical thoughts with my life's-love. The truth is, she is off helping her sister pick a wedding dress for her nuptials, so here I am (praise the Lord).

In three days, the whole wide telly-watching world will be tuned in to see Prince William marry the fragrant Kate Middleton (who is related to a fryer of fish, by the way). I have heard that this will number into the 700,000,000s of people. Perhaps it is no accident that we in our church-life have seen a little surge in requests to marry this year, and for that we thank God. I pray fervently that they enjoy a happy, long, fruitful life together. Their happy day is a happy day for us, and I thank them for that. 

I speak as one who knows what I am talking about, as I have been in relationships outside of marriage as well the one within it. Many men and women baulk at the idea of marriage, regarding it as outdated, pointless, 'just a piece of paper'. Rubbish! The only reasons not to marry someone, as far as I can see, is that a 'quick-release' mechanism remains desirable, or that two people just don't love one another quite enough that it can last a lifetime. There, strong words, but it is how I feel. 

I believe very strongly, that marriage is the very best one person can offer to another person whom they love with all their heart. Why would you not marry? And it is different. After I married Jo, it felt different compared to  before. It felt different in the very best of ways. Loose affiliations are fine if you wish to be loosely affiliated to someone, but to stand up in front of the 'world' and say 'I do', takes courage, commitment, and is surely the keenest demonstration for that love that there is (and should be available to all adults who love one another). 

For me, it has been fourteen wonderful years with a faithful kind and beautiful woman who has endured much that I may live my dreams. I hope that I have done the same for her. As a couple we have brought to life two gorgeous children, no better fruit of our love. It hasn't all been plain sailing, and to pretend otherwise would be daft - and oh my word how she nags. I jest, but we have had many good days and few bad. Being married meant that we had days when it felt that love wasn't quite enough, and when just duty to our vows was the glue. It happens in all marriages, not just ours. In simple terms, I have agreed to love this woman-without-taste-in-men for the rest of her life, and she has agreed the same. That simple promise changes my whole world, every day. 

Trust a Man to Get it Wrong

Today is a day of mixed emotion for me. On one hand, me ma is enjoying a 'Birthday of Note' (I can't tell you which one, of course, but it starts with a '6' and ends in a '0'). On the other hand, it is the anniversary of the old man's untimely demise. So it is a funny day ... funny peculiar, not funny 'ha ha'.

The thing about having a Blogette such as this, is that in the Early Days (sounding like a pension plan all of a sudden - 'pension', get it?) I am coming up against hitherto untapped events - family stuff, good or ill, things that I have not reflected on in this way - beware dear Reader, I am about to set off on another.

I wrote a little something about the Old Gal a while ago on Mother's Day and declared my admiration for Mrs Brady Old Lady. Well, today is her birthday, and she too of course, has to ally the pleasure of that with the pain of the fact that Dad cocked up big time, and fell off his twig on that day of all days. 'Silly old sod' I said then, and 'Silly old sod' I say now. Only a bloke could could die on his wife's birthday ... silly old sod.

The thing about my old man is that he was a most excellent fella. Built in the image of none less that Humpty Dumpty, he did the rather brave thing and married my freshly be-widowed mother when she had three ankle-biters and he was fast approached his retirement. Yes, that's right - there was a spectacular age gap between mum and dad, thirty-one whole British years. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth from his own family (dad was freshly be-widowed at the same time as mum - it gets complicated, but his daughter was of a similar age to mum, and her son was my age - keep up). Still, despite all, they remained married for well over 25 years, mostly happily - and dad helped raise a young family when he should have been having late-life crises and fits of the dribbles. He was a grumpy bastard, a red socialist who made Scargill look like a LibDem. He was a Colour Sargeant formerly of the Royal Engineers, so had a very very very loud shouting voice (which, from one who looked like a wheeble, was at times amusing).

But he was kind, insightful, funny, wise and in his own way, beautiful. He was conspicuously proud of us even when we made a mess of things. But he had a wonderful sense of how to be silly - an art lost to so many people. There is nothing better at times than just to be silly. Even into my late twenties and until he died, I could walk up to him, given him a big kiss and hug, and reverse his hair on his head so the ones that covered his baldy-slap fell forward - then I would walk away laughing. He didn't mind. We would then argue simply for the pleasure of arguing. 

I didn't see him for a whole fortnight before he died so suddenly that night. I was still a retailer and was based in Swindon at that time, so visits were less frequent. That hurts, that still winds me, and that still makes me feel ashamed. I could not have asked for a better Dad, and I can't believe my luck that I had the dad I had. The old bastard has, however, let me down. He promised that when I got nice furniture of my own that he would come to my house and jump on it like I did to his. Well, mate, it's here and ready. If you came back just one more time, I'd let you smash it to firewood. Then I'd mess your hair up again, just because I could.

May you rest in the peace that you so richly deserve and with the God that you kept so close to you. If you had met my girls they would have loved you too, and had you lived long enough to see me ordained, you'd have known that so much of my joy was down to you and your prayers for me. Take care, mate, God Bless.

But dying on mum's birthday ....... silly old sod.

Doof Doof D D Doof

I admit it, I  watch Eastenders! So scourge me, so stone me, so mock me!

Today is the day when the folks from Eastenders celebrate their 25th anniversary. So, I have watched, on average, three episodes a week, fifty-two weeks a year for twenty-five years:

82 Days of my life  - good grief (and that doesn't include the omnibus on a Sunday)

There are those who claim to listen to the Today programme on Radio 4! I am not of that breed; I am not cut from that cloth. I am a blunt instrument, but I like to be entertained, not terminally bored by high-brow gubbins on high-brow Stations. 

Yes, Eastender is piffle. Yes, it is possibly the most depressing thing every to assault my senses. Yes, it makes me mad at times, but where would the life of any bloke be if he couldn't kick back with a beer and watch this tripe thrice weekly. 

(but if you refer to it as 'Stenders' in my earshot, I am apt to seperate you from your giblets, abbreviating fool)

WICKAYYYYYYYY

And who said we were culturally bankrupt ... those who listen to the Today programme I imagine