Yesterday we took the girls to see the BFG. The Cutester was desperate to see it, and I was keen too because I loved Mark Rylance’s performance in the BBC’s Wolf Hall. I was also curious to know what a great actor can do with just his eyes and his mouth, which are seemingly the only bits of him left in the film (everything else is CGI’d, or something).
This is the baby who was found, with his umbilical cord still attached, in the manger of a church nativity scene in New York City. Continue reading
Another New Wine summer conference has delivered the goods. This year I went to the meetings in the same ‘urban impact’ venue that captivated me last year – and once again got my heart ripped out, pummelled about and put back in a different way up. Continue reading
The Redster has just had four adult molars extracted at University College Hospital under general anaesthetic. I write this sitting next to her trolley/bed while she plays Minecraft on my laptop, with remarkable concentration for someone who was unconscious less than 30 minutes ago. Continue reading
Tarmac nativity
Last Sunday we had what has become an annual event on our street – a spot of carol singing followed by more than a spot of mulled wine. (Okay, I made 12 litres. Oops.)
A neighbour suggested it three years ago. I was enchanted by the idea of what she called ‘bellowing in the street’, and realised that I have only once seen a group of carol singers out on the streets in the local suburbia (and that was up in the next postcode where they are all quite posh white and English). Three years later, I can’t seem to stop organising it.
I’d started to write a post about going to the beach on our holiday here in intermittently sunny Northern Ireland, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could have written about the fantastic aviation display that happened here on our doorstep on Saturday, but it was hard not to see military aircraft without thinking of what’s happening in Gaza, Syria and Iraq. Then one article after another on Facebook – on Iraq especially – has taken residence under my skin.
Mud-free camping this time
Every July we head off to New Wine in Somerset – a several-thousand-strong national gathering of Christians – for a week of camping, teaching, worship and not enough sleep. We always enjoy it, but this year was especially good due to a wonderfully unexpected element of subversiveness.
Subversive Suburbanite 