Been reading some stuff about leadership today, amongst all the other things which have been going on. It’s interesting how often it comes back to the sense of humour – as in this on Commitment: ‘A sense of humour and proportion and a certain light heartedness are important here if fanaticism and obsession are to be avoided.’ I find that interesting – on one hand, the single-mindedness and focus which is required to bring about change in an organisation as fuzzy as the church; on the other, the need for a degree of self-objectivity to the point of gentle self-mockery if one is to continue to have the ability to relate to others and the resilience necessary to continue against all the odds.

‘We urge the government of the United Kingdom not to invest in a replacement for the Trident system and to begin the process of decommissioning these weapons with the intention of diverting the sums spent on nuclear weaponry to programs of aid and development.’

Church leaders here have been signing this petition – and I don’t think I would refuse to sign it.  But are we really saying that we cannot imagine a situation in which the deterrent effect of nuclear weapons might be necessary?  I was never a great fan of MAD but it played its part in preserving several generations from having to go to war.  Is this unilateralism?  It’s a dangerous world out there.  Who knows what threats may not emerge over a 30 year time span from terrorists, rogue states, emerging world powers, etc.  But then one might reasonably ask whether enormous nuclear weapons carried around in submarines are at all relevant to our defence needs.

I watch the growing debate about nuclear power with great interest.  Global warming gathers pace.  Something needs to be done.  But is the something nuclear power?  Our lifestyle produces ever more CO2 – endless miles in the Passat; constant Easyjet flights.  We seem powerless to change it.  But there must be another way.

No I haven’t read the Da Vinci Code.  No I don’t intend to go to the film – the critics say it is dreadful anyway.  Yes I did watch part of the start of Big Brother.  Even by the standards of the circles I move in, they are a pretty odd-ball lot.  No I wouldn’t take part.  And then there is the Macca and Heather tragedy – which I discussed during a brief but intimate meeting with my hairdresser this morning [see my photo above to understand why all encounters with hairdressers are brief]  Janet Street-Porter in the Independent this morning seemed to make sense – the search for a new partner to replace the former rock-solid marriage; the meeting of a self-effacing creative genius with a crusading campaigner.  One salutes the optimism of ‘too much in love to have a pre-nuptial agreement’ – sorry it ended in tears.

Sermon at St Salvator’s Chapel, St Andrews University

It’s hard to remember the time before the internet.  So, take a bow – www.oremus.org – best source of daily prayer so far as I am concerned.  You can set it up so that it hits you in the face every morning in your Inbox.  Trade secret – it also contains the best selection of intercessions you are likely to find anywhere.  I used to borrow them constantly.  The other trade secret, of course, is the location of the best sermon websites.  But I’m not sharing that.  I have to confess that I still feel the loss of Jane Williams’ Sermon Notes in the Church Times – so, I presume, do those who have to listen to me Sunday by Sunday.

I’ve had one of those days in which I seem to have achieved everything and nothing.  Letters and E Mails written.  Phone calls made.  Lists of things done in town.  A bed assembled.  Office kitchen cleared out – filled the back of the Passat to capacity.  And still there is more of the same.  The question, as always, is whether God is in that grinding detail of trivial round and common task – or waiting to reveal himself in some grand picture and design for the future.  The reality, I suspect, is both.

Poppy and I are alone on the bridge this evening.  She was watching the Classical Brit Awards waiting for to see the nominations for the ‘Music for the Cultured Cat’ Award.  I did a bit of surfing – looking for the local cycling fraternity.  The roads round here are wonderfully flat – although, if I turn left towards the Tay, it is straight downhill for a mile.  The cycling websites are full of helpful stuff for the armchair tourer.  Some are for the mountain bikers who like to hurl themselves down the nearest mountain in the cycling equivalent of white water rafting.  Others invite me to join the peloton – I suppose I could bring up the rear as bishops do in procession.  And the Perth and Kinross Cyclists say, ‘Join us every third Sunday’  Maybe they would join me on the second Sunday in return.

It’s been a strange weekend. The war of attrition on the remaining boxes is coming towards its end. There are still more books and more pictures than there is space for but we’ll get there. Yesterday we went with some old friends from Portadown to a dinner in Dunkeld – part of a weekend for a group of surgeons from Northern Ireland. As always there were people we knew and people who knew people we knew and a former pupil of my father’s. I said Grace – and then watched the surgeons swapping their plates of venison around so that they got their meat well done or rare as they wished. This evening we went to a performance of a children’s musical in Dunblane. It was great – particularly good to see lots of children around the church and totally enjoying the buzz and excitement of it all.

Must be the worst sign-posting in the world.  Where else has roundabouts without any signs on the exits?  I ended up on the A73 heading south when I should have been going north but couldn’t get back.  Must be a sermon lurking in there somewhere.  Anyway, I lost about 40 minutes on my way home from Coatbridge, visited Falkirk involuntarily and thought the faithful Passat was going to run out of diesel.  Falkirk is the place where it took me 25 minutes to find the hospital.   I also spent part of the day with Mothers’ Union who had a lunch in Perth attended by 130 members from all over Scotland. All clergy, if they are wise, treat MU with the utmost respect.  But I do remember another ‘Eats shoots and leaves’ moment when we went to the parish long years ago.  One of the members claimed that they were the ‘biggest Mothers’ Union in the diocese’.  Anyway, today they kindly gave me a copy of ‘even angels tread softly’ – a rather remarkable collection of poetry.  One about 9/11 begins, ‘This morning I donned my shroud/ – smart suit, high heels, handbag/ and strode out into my ordered commercial day.’

I went to an Army presentation this evening.  I am probably one of the most unmilitary …. but I have genuine gratitude for all the years through which they made it possible to live a ‘normal’ life in Northern Ireland.  They also work hard at the skills of presentation.  I became fascinated by their distinctive use of language – ‘deploy’ as an intransitive verb; ‘theatre’ as a place in which tanks do their stuff – and so on.  Until, of course, I had a bit of a ‘mote and beam’ moment and began to reflect on the way in which we in the church take language and create our own patois.  The lower slopes are words like ‘outreach’ and ‘fellowship’.  My favourite is ‘collaborative’ which we use in a postive sense.  And to be fair my OED only lists ‘cooperating traitorously with the enemy’ as the second meaning.