Category: Blog Entry

He was only a horse – but it was hard to believe as I listened to the breathless accounts of the end of Desert Orchid. ‘Died as he lived’ and other meaningless platitudes surrounded his departure to that greater steeplechase beyond where all fences are cleared and the water jumps run in cool fresh springs. Given the opportunity, he might well have taken time this evening to win the Grand Final of Mastermind or have a cameo role in the shouting match which followed the ‘Will they, won’t they?’ debacle in The Archers. I was on the motorway and I had to turn it off. Can’t stand conflict – that’s my problem.

I’m still pondering Ellie and Miss Dagurreotype’s ‘We didn’t vote for him either’ comments [10.11.06] about George Bush and the politics of fear.  I sympathise with them – I’ve worn variations on that tee-shirt with pride all my adult life.  I just wish that I could climb more sympathetically inside the psyche of those who do vote for George Bush .. for Ian Paisley …  I suspect that what makes this kind of politics fairly repugnant the world over is the way in which simplistic religion is used to give it drive – and to make it hard to challenge.  ‘If you’re against me, you’re against God as well.’  And beyond that, I think that the way in which people describe their country tells you a bit.  ‘Nation’ is ok – tho’ I suspect it is becoming uncomfortably exclusive now that communities are so astonishingly diverse.  But when people start referring to the ‘land’, I think you are in trouble – as in ‘homeland security’ or Billy Wright, the loyalist paramilitary leader, who talked about the choice to be made between ‘land and faith.’

My efforts to indulge in a little light cat-blogging – what you need is a picture – reminded me again that I need to get myself beyond basic functions in this blog programme. I’m like a person who has learnt to drive but put off dealing with reversing for a while. This programme is all very non-intuitive – or so I grumbled to Kelvin, my mentor. But I have now found the instructions – they aren’t called that, of course – and I am reading the words with great interest but not understanding them. Watch this space.
Poppy is so named because she came to us on Remembrance Sunday. She recently had her portrait painted – it’s Exhibit No 126 ‘Poppy the Bishop’s Cat’ in the Annual Exhibition of the Perthshire Art Association – £250!

I wore my poppy today – following my usual practice of wearing it Remembrance Sunday only. I think this is a hangover from the highly politicised nature of poppy-wearing in Northern Ireland. It’s different here – although I read my fellow-cyclist Jon Snow’s complaint about ‘poppy fascism’ with interest.

Meanwhile, we had the simplest possible Act of Remembrance in church today. As always, I find the silence almost unbearably moving – as was the sight of the small and faithful gathering around the War Memorial in the centre of Blairgowrie yesterday morning. No room to be picky or PC. Particularly not while soldiers are dying for a [lost?] cause in Iraq. Re-read Sebastian Faulks’ ‘Birdsong’ – still, for me, the outstanding evocation of the First World War – or Ben Elton’s ‘The First Casualty’ or Pat Barker’s trilogy.

Poppy – classic Brown Burmese cat for those who don’t know – is a bit browned off at present because we have tended to be out for quite long periods.  But, after being purely a house cat for most of her life, she now enjoys rushing in and out through the patio door.   Spice, next door’s Norfolk Terrier who takes a keen interest in her, is away for a while.

Meanwhile, Poppy ponders the pre-occupations of this blog and brings to bear the cat-wisdom of the ages.  She holds no grudges or pre-conceptions.  She is not an ideologue and doesn’t care whether others ‘love freedom the way we love freedom’.  Like much of the population of the world, she simply maintains an interest in where the next meal is coming from – and welcomes love and affection while reserving the right to ignore them.

Tallest mitre – longest and most boring meeting – biggest cloud of incense? Reminds me a bit of Father Ted’s Golden Priest Awards

And, speaking of today, tomorrow is cat-blogging day.  Can’t wait.

So the thoroughly modern bishop arrived with data projector, laptop, extension lead, adapters, etc. Connected it all up but what was in the laptop wouldn’t appear on the data projector. It all worked on Monday but today … nothing. Pressed all the buttons F1-12 – and all the other keys as well. After all, one never reads the instructions ..

So they didn’t go through with it in the end. I’m not an Archers fan. Not that I have anything against – just that I never got into it. But I did find myself reading about the ‘will they or won’t they’ question for Ruth and Sam – stepping across the boundaries of middle-aged, etc., etc. The fans, of course, were outraged – not so much by the subject-matter as by the thought that the plot line should be manipulated to meet the 15000th episode. For the Archers lives in the hearts of its followers in a sort of half-light between fantasy and reality .. now what does that remind me of?

Anyway, I find myself still pursuing the thread which suggests that real life and moral decision making begin at the point at which you could do something – pass a death sentence on Saddam Hussein; seek revenge for what others have done to you – but choose not to. I think this may be another one.

Hard to beat the market for measuring the true significance of things. A short item in the Sunday paper caught my eye – about the enormous advances which celebrity biographies and autobiographies have been attracting and the tiny sales which have resulted. Worst was David Blunkett who apparently received an advance of over £400000 and has achieved sales of 1000. Best statistics, of course, belonged to Jordan – who managed to sell an amazing 900000 copies. As an avid reader of OK and Hello when I get the chance, I am sorry I haven’t had the opportunity of reading it. But, as she said with disarming frankness, neither has she.

There was an inevitability about the death sentence on Saddam Hussein.  And I am sure that if I was one of the countless people whose families had been killed as a result of his appalling rule, I would feel that, in some limited way, justice had been done.  But from the outside, it doesn’t feel that way.  More that the moral authority which is needed if such a verdict is to give closure and bring the hope of new beginning is not there.

One of the things which distinguishes a way of life and decision-making which is rooted in spiritual values is that one does not do all the things which one either has the power to do or feels entitled to do.  Isn’t that how God acts – or chooses not to act?  For example, forgiveness comes up over the horizon at the point where a person who has suffered injury chooses not to express the anger or seek the revenge to which they are entitled.  Even on an ‘eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’ basis, the death of Saddam Hussein is a dreadfully inadequate recompense for his crimes against humanity.   The death sentence may satisfy those who are simply vengeful – but I am not sure that it satisfies more than that.

Idolatrous self-interest – intriguing description of fear used by Katharine Jefferts Schori in the homily at her investiture/seating in Washington.  One can only wish her well and hope that she will be grace-full as she plays her part in the continuing and unfolding world Anglican drama.  These are times when it is easy to be anti-American and to hope that the mid-term elections will inject a much-needed dose of humility into the American body-politic.  But it’s not just an American disease – I’ve seen it too in the balance of power between the communities in Northern Ireland – particularly when I lived in Portadown which had an overwhelming protestant majority.  Why is it that those who – if might is right – should feel most secure in their power and identity seem most ready to indulge in fear-driven aggression?