No, but seriously?
There is a battle going on around here about the adoption of the Mini Holland proposals (aka a generous pot of money from the Mayor of London to increase cycling in outer London boroughs). Continue reading
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.
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.
Can I interrupt this blog a moment, just to say:
When you have just had the most intensely rubbish and stressful ten days of your life, and a maximum of three hours’ sleep the night before, and you walk into a room full of people who are worshipping their hearts out, to this song for instance…