Get Fit and be Damned!

For many years my wife attended Yoga classes. She went because she felt it exercised her body and helped keep her in trim. And I have to admit that she has a beautifully slim figure. She stopped going because she preferred pilates, another form of gentle exercise which helps to keep her trim.
I will also state that my wife has no religious views. She was brought up C of E because that was where her parents went. We were married in her local parish church - mainly because that was what her parents wanted, not because we had strict views on making promises before God. She teaches in a C of E school - not because of her religious views but because it is local and it suits her. In short, my wife is a religious "don't know".
What is all this leading to? All will now be revealed.
The Reverend Derek Smith, a vicar at St Michael's Church, Melksham, Wiltshire, England, has told a local yoga group they are not welcome in the church hall.
Why? Because of the connections with the Hindu faith.
The vicar said that spiritual leaders in the East insisted that yoga was inseparable from Hindu devotional practice and therefore yoga was "un-Christian". Perhaps they do hold that belief. But practitioners in this country probably don't think that. I have no hard evidence but I would be prepared to wager that even most teachers of yoga in this country think first and foremost of the good that yoga can do for the body's fitness. Perhaps there doesn't have to be that religious link?
Ask most people who go to yoga classes in this country and they will tell you they go there to keep fit. To keep in trim. To keep healthy. Do most of them go to practise devotional exercises? The answer would be a resounding "no".
The Bible states that the body is a temple to God. As such we should look after it and keep it healthy. Yoga could help.
I wonder how fit Reverend gentleman is? He is reported to be 50 years old. Does he have a paunch that would benefit from some exercise? I don't know. I know one thing. His brain definitely needs exercise. If he thought before he talked he would realise that Jesus didn't discriminate about who he talked to. He taught us to love our neighbour. He taught us to turn the other cheek.
Hang on - Jesus is considered a prophet by the Muslim faith.
Should we ban Jesus from our churches because he is "un-Christian"?
Oh shit! This is getting out of hand . . .
Nuff said.

Horse shit!

Today I am in campaigning mood. I'll tell you all about it - but first I must give you some background info.
For several years now it has been an offence to let your dog roam free on the streets. Dogs must be kept under control (usually meaning on a lead). It is also an offence to let your dog "do its business" in a public place without clearing up after it. All around the streets you see law-abiding dog owners stooping down after their dogs with their little plastic bags picking up the canine excrement they leave behind. Most do it from a sense of civic duty - but some only do it because they face a fine of up to £1,000 if they are caught.
All very commendable. It leads to cleaner, more healthy streets for our citizens.
It's a shame that it would not be workable - at least in this country - to enforce this type of law against cat owners. It really upsets me to find little piles of cat turds in my garden. Perhaps people should be made to walk their cats on a lead just like dogs. Then perhaps some of the wildlife that visits my garden - birds, hedgehogs, other rodents - would not be needlessly killed. I know it's instinctive for cats to hunt and kill small animals but that harks back to the times when they killed to eat. Most cats are well fed and they just kill from instinct, not from a need to eat or survive.
One day I'm going to get a shotgun . . .
But I digress.
I'll take you back to the title of this entry. Horse shit!
I live in a suburb quite close to countryside. Very often one sees horses being ridden round our streets.
In case you hadn't noticed, horses are much bigger than dogs or cats.
Thus, they produce proportionately more excrement.
It seems quite acceptable that horses can dump a load of hot, steaming shit whenever and wherever they feel the need.
A cat produces a few grammes of detritus. A dog a little more.
A horse?

PILES OF THE STUFF!

Do we ever see a rider stopping and shovelling it off the road into a sack? No, they leave it there for others to avoid as best they can. Cars spread it over the road. Cyclists and motorcyclists have to try to avoid it as best they can or else they stand a chance of skidding on the stuff and suffering serious injuries and damage to their machines.
In times gone by people would rush out of their houses to shovel up the piles of muck because it makes good garden fertiliser. These days we have no need because we can buy it from the local garden centre nicely sterilised and not smelling like a farmyard.
It's about time that the people who own and ride these beautiful animals took responsibility for the damage they are doing to the environment.

SAVE OUR STREETS FROM HORSE SHIT!

Time to learn about keeping time . . .

I haven't mentioned it before but quite recently I celebrated my 43rd 18th birthday (do the maths yourself). Spouse and offspring were all strictly instructed that mention of the numbers 6 and 0 together were strictly taboo! So they honoured my wishes and produced a beautifully appropriate birthday card. They also clubbed together and bought me a flying lesson! Joy of joys - it's a great feeling to be behind the controls of an aircraft, soaring through the clouds into the brilliant sunshine above and knowing that the craft is going where it's going because YOU are controlling it - even if it is under the strict control of an instructor.

They bought me a flying lesson ten years ago when I reached my half-century (oops - I've given my real age away!) and that has lived vividly in my memory ever since, especially as I was able to take the two kids with me in the passenger seats. This time I'm hoping we can again secure a craft capable of taking passengers so that my wife can share the experience and pure excitement.

Another thing I had listed as a possible present was a watch which showed both analogue and digital time.

Well, my wife's sister and her husband came to see us today and brought me a present of a super watch.

It shows both analogue and digital time.

Great! Just what I wanted and I'm very happy to wear it and use it.

It also shows the temperature.

Useful!

It shows the date.

Also very useful!

You can use it as a stopwatch.

This can have its uses.

It has an alarm.

Good for when I fall asleep in my lunch break!

It can also tell me the time in any part of the globe.

Just in case I want to telephone someone in Outer Mongolia without waking them in the middle of the night.

It tells me the phases of the Moon.

Like I can't look up and see what shape the Moon is?

It also tells me - based on all the other data - when is the best time to go fishing.

Fishing? I have never been fishing in my life! Neither would I ever want to.

Nevertheless, it is a beautiful watch. I would like to enrol in a University degree course on how to set the whole thing up so that I can make it do what I really need it to do - namely tell the time.

As I said I would like to learn how to set up the watch by taking a degree but - I haven't got the time . . .

Cars - who'd have them?

I have just spent the last two days working on cars. Nearly two weeks ago my wife bought another Renault 5. It is almost identical to the one she already owns - except that the latter has nearly 80,000 miles on the clock and the new one has less than 28,000.

So we decided it would be a good idea to take all the best bits off the old one and transfer them to the new one.
Now I am not a mechanic. But I have a little book which tells me exactly what to do and how to do it.

Tailgate gas struts - a doddle.
Swap the back bumpers - no problem.
Wheel trims - a piece of cake.
Swap the radios - OK, I went about it the wrong way. The sensible way, as I realised halfway through the job, was just to swap the whole console. But by that time I had managed - via various sweats and swearwords - to strip out one radio! Ah well, shit happens!
Change the windscreen wiper motors. Well, the book shows you the complete sequence of operations for taking out the windscreen wiper assembly so that should be easy! The book, however, does not allow for the fact that not everything is exactly like the book. So, it says remove the bonnet seals - done. It says remove the windscreen washer reservoir - after some shoving and pushing and a lot of swearing, again done. Remove the windscreen wiper arms - no problem. Unscrew the bolt of the motor mounting bracket - it won't unscrew! The locking nut doesn't lock - it just turns with the nut you're trying to undo! Decided that I can't do that and have to reassemble all the bits I'd taken out just to make a working wiper again. Several hours of wasted labour, not to mention wasted breath swearing at said wiper assembly.
On the whole, though, a reasonable job done. We can live with the fact that the wipers don't self-park. I even washed the new car (that's probably the first and last time it gets washed!).
Several hours work over several days has made me realise that I will never make a motor mechanic.
As I said before - shit happens!

Holidays!

We have just come back from a superb break in Wales! Yes, Wales! Not the Algarve, the Spanish Costas, Peru, Australia, Thailand or any of the other popular destinations of the great unwashed British tourist-cum-lager-lout.
For the first time ever we didn't book anywhere. We just pointed the car and hoped we would be able to get accommodation when we arrived. We landed up in Lampeter in West Wales, found a B&B in the Castle Hotel and did some exploring. Hotel OK, if you allow for the fact that the loo had a Sanilav which made all sorts of industrial noises when it flushed - IF it flushed! The float valve had a habit of sticking so that the cistern did not always fill - shit happens . . .
The countryside in the area is beautiful - lots of hills and rocky coastline with beautiful rocky coves. We stayed in Lampeter for two nights, visiting local beaches and places of interest. Devil's Bridge was notable. It is a wild park with an amazing waterfall which drops down and down over many stages. It's not Niagara or the Victoria Falls but it has a beauty and serenity all its own. Visitors from many different countries were there and yet there was still a sense of calm and peace as we all marvelled at the wonders of nature.

We then moved to a marvellous little village on the coast which goes by the name of Llangranog. If you are exploring the region make a point of staying in the Pentre Arms Hotel. The accommodation is relatively cheap, comfortable and the food is superb! Breakfast is traditional English fry-up and extremely well cooked. Evening dinner has such an extensive menu with the accent - as you would expect from a coastal village - on seafood. Freshly caught swordfish, mackerel, hake, cod, plaice all featured on the menu along with more exotic dishes like Moroccan lamb, lasagne and other pastas and traditional dishes like steak and kidney pie, beef in Guinness and many more too numerous to mention. Staff were always courteous and helpful, although I felt a little regimented when it came to evening meal times when the restaurant was in great demand. Go to their website: http://www.pentrearms.co.uk/ and take a look for yourself. Llangranog is a beautiful little cove with lovely walks, beautiful scenery, wildlife and even - when the tide is right - surfing! Go there and enjoy!

One law for . . .

The Freedom of Information Act was supposed to bring transparency. It was supposed to enlighten us. The ideals of free information, open government - and no hiding behind "official secrets" were supposed to give us all the knowledge that we were not being spied on by bureaucrats, big business and any other snoopers who may have an interest in our personal lives. It applies to anyone in the land. Anyone can apply to see records, data, statistics, information which may affect them.
Except now, it seems, what our MPs are doing and saying will be exempted from the Act. They have voted to exempt themselves from the Act on the grounds of confidentiality. The bill allowing this has already been thrown out once but they had another go and passed it in an almost empty house which only just had enough members present to mount a quorum. It was a Friday when there are few members in the House of Commons because most are on their way back to their constituencies for the weekend. Hopefully the Lords will block the Bill but maybe not.
If MPs get the right to exemption from the Freedom of Information Act how soon before others claim that same right? Doctors, clergymen, government departments . . .
How long before Joe Bloggs , the local postman, applies for exemption on the grounds that he knows everybody's busines in his area because he steams open all the letters before he delivers them and he doesn't want his wife to know he is carrying on illicit affairs with half-a-dozen sex-starved housewives on his round?
Nuff said . . .

Honesty vs Lies

Jessica Lynch is an attractive lady from West Virginia. She was once a soldier serving with US forces in Iraq. She was under fire and, according to the Great American Dream only surrendered after all her colleagues were killed and she had used up all her own ammunition.
She was rescued by some very brave soldiers, taken back to the US and feted as a heroine. The brave girl who took on the Iraqis, fought them with all her might and - against all odds - survived.
Today she appeared before a Congressional committee to tell the world that she was not a heroine. She apparently hid in her truck and prayed. She obviously felt it was time to bring the truth to the wider world.
I don't blame her. Had I found myself in her position I would have been messing my pants and begging whichever deity who might be listening to save me.
Jessica, now a mother, must have mustered up a great deal of courage to come before the world with her story.
Telling the truth takes all the courage in the world in this age of spin and deceit. Who do these liars think they're kidding - only themselves in the end.
Jessica Lynch is now a true heroine because she told the plain, unvarnished truth.

Women's Lib

For more than 40 years we have been bombarded by the (now old fashioned) term "women's lib" or equality for women. So now women can not only participate in the armed forces but they can go to war instead of just doing administrative jobs. They can learn to shoot and bomb the enemy.
This means that they could also be at risk of being shot and bombed by the enemy. . .
The recent capture and detention of 15 British sailors and marines who may - or may not - have strayed into Iranian waters while on a mission to stop and search suspect cargo vessels has been hyped up even further than it normally would by the British press by the fact that one of their number was a woman.
A mother of a three-year-old daughter, no less.
We were outraged. Undertones of dirty tricks. Who could sink so low as to put such a pure and innocent being as a woman into such a terrible situation?
Now let's get this straight. I am not a chauvinist. I believe that women should have all the opportunities that men have. If they want a way of life that they want they should be given the chances to realise that. Their dreams, hopes and aspirations should be given equal status with that of men. That means they must also make the decisions which lead them to such a career, knowing the risks that are entailed in making those decisions.
So why are the media making so much fuss over the fact that a woman, who happened to be a mother, was captured? We did not get much about whether any of the men captured had children. We were not given much detail of their relationships.
Aren't the media being chauvinistic over this whole episode?
Haven't they thought of the thousands of innocents - women, children and men - who have been killed in the "righteous" war against "evil"?
Bollocks!
Nuff said . . .

Decades too late . . .

An historic act took place in Stormont Castle today. A sight which I never thought I'd see . . . Ian Paisley and Gerry Adams sitting side by side announcing that the DUP and Sinn Fein would form a power-sharing government in Northern Ireland on May 8, 2007.
That date will hopefully go down in history as the beginning of the end of sectarianism in Northern Ireland. I say hopefully because there are many rifts to be healed, many differences to be ironed out.
Paisley will be happy because it makes him Prime Minister designate. Adams will be happy because his party will have powerful positions in the government.
Will the people of the province be happy? Only time will tell . . .
Time.
Sixty years ago this year I was born in Belfast. My late mother was a Protestant Baptist and my father (I don't know if he is still alive or not) a Catholic. In those days Protestants and Catholics did not mix, let alone marry and have children. My mother had helped to build bombers during WW2 and went on to join the Royal Air Force. My father was also in the RAF (I wonder how much castigation he had to endure from the Catholic side because he was "fighting for the enemy"?)
Needless to say my mother never talked to me about why we moved to Bristol, England when I was an infant but I suspect we were hounded out by sectarian bigotry - neither side would want to associate with Papist or Prod scum. We lived in various places until we were taken in by a kindly couple and given a living room and a bedroom in their house. We were to stay for 14 days. In the end we stayed for 14 years. Elsie and the late Ted Essery were our Good Samaritans. In fact Elsie, now in her nineties, is still referred to by my two grown-up kids as "Grandma Essery".
My father was posted to India with the forces and the family was separated. We would get the occasional letter and money for my upkeep but not much else. Then he contracted tuberculosis which, in those days, was considered as much a killer as cancer is today. He survived but with a chip on his shoulder as large as the Grand Canyon. He never came home to live with us. I gather he became a tramp, living on what he could in the way of state handouts.
I have been lucky. My mother sacrificed even her own diet while I was young to bring me up whilst working like a slave for a pittance firstly in a chocolate factory and later in a tobacco factory. She died of cancer at the age of 59 without ever seeing her two grandsons.
Going back to Mr Paisley I remember going to his Free Presbyterian church in Larne, NI in the 1970s. I was curious as to who would listen to this ranting bigot. I entered a packed church and after the obligatory hymns and prayers the "Big Man" rose to preach. I do not remember the words he spoke - just the horror that so much hate could be spewed out in the name of God. I rose to leave in the middle of the sermon and was politely but firmly informed by a "sidesman" who was built like a brick shithouse that Dr Paisley had not finished and it would not be good manners to leave without hearing his whole sermon. I did not argue. I sat quaking for the rest of the service, not hearing a word just fearing for my own safety.
A couple of years later I entered a Catholic church in Belfast. Again I was shocked and saddened to hear hate and bigotry being preached in the name of Jesus. Christianity should not be like that. "Love thy neighbour" - just so long as he is on the right side of the divide.
Back to tonight. I watched Messrs Paisley and Adams and listened to their guarded statements and the tears started to flow down my face. At last some common sense, some realisation that we must work and live together.
I cried. Tears of joy that perhaps at last there could be an end to the bigotry and violence. Tears of sadness that it was too late for my mother and father.
And then I thought "If only this had happened decades earlier . . ."
Perhaps my mother and father would not have been hounded out of the province.
Perhaps I would have been "wee Tommy", living in Belfast and growing up in a vibrant, living society unaffected by the troubles of man fighting man in the cause of bigoted ideals.
Perhaps my mother would not have had to work all her life just to stay alive . . .
Perhaps . . .
But for her, for my father, and for me it has all come decades too late.

It's Not Cricket

Bob Woolmer died last week. Mr Woolmer will be remembered by many as an excellent international cricketer who gave a lifetime of service to the sport, playing for county and his home country England. His playing days over, he went on to coach international teams, including South Africa and finally Pakistan.
It was as coach to the Pakistan team that Bob was in Jamaica with his team for the Cricket World Cup. Somehow Pakistan lost to rank outsiders Ireland, who have never figured at all on the world cricket stage. A day or two later Mr Woolmer was found dead in his hotel room. After long investigations the Jamaican police declared that he was murdered.
The media were quickly rife with stories of how Mr Woolmer was about to blow the gaff on the cricketing Mafia who made millions on betting on, and fixing, matches.
This may or may not be true. There may be corruption within the sport - it has been proved in the past.
If it is true then the old instinct of cricket being the gentlemen's sport of fair play has disappeared for ever. The taking of a life for the sake of monetary gain over a game of cricket is the final nail in the coffin of the concept of sport for sport's sake.
Sod all you greedy money-makers. Especially those in the sub-continent, where betting is banned, both by law and by religious belief. Why should I respect Islam or, for that matter Hinduism, Sikhism, Christianity, Buddhism or any other religion that preaches the love of life and then turns its head away from the depravity of the worship of money?
Cricket used to be a sport. Now, along with most other "sports", it is centred on money and greed - the combination of which seems inevitably to lead to violence, suffering and death.