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I stayed at a house recently in the course of my duties, and was amazed to see a beautifully appointed downstairs cloakroom, with a Victorian water closet.  It was made by the famous Thomas Crapper, and clearly he had great taste and respect for the better classes, as he had named this particular toilet water closet: The Venerable!   It was with some pride, and honour that my stay was made so comfortable!  Now, when people ask me why the Archdeacon has been given the title Venerable – I can show them one picture, that clearly paints a thousand words – or more!

This month’s interest in parish magazines comes from deepest darkest West Dorset.  The Chalk Stream magazine covers the parishes of Bradford Peverell, Frampton, Stratton, and Sydling St Nicholas.  I was visiting a colleague recently down there who is working in areas of mission and vocation, and it was good to stretch the legs of my 120d.  By the way, if you are ever down that way, the pub at Sydling St Nicholas, the Greyhound, was quiet exceptional, with a good lunchtime menu choice, and excellent food. 

The Chalk Stream [which has a bumper issue for July and August of some 58 pages of news, views and advertisements] offers some interest in the local Dorset bread roll, called the Dorset Knob, produced by Moores the famous family firm.  Each year there is The  “Dorset Knob Throwing and Frome Valley Food Fest”  held at Cattistock on Sunday 2^rdMay 2010. Besides Knob Throwing there were additional fun knob attractions including Knob Painting, a Knob & Spoon Race, Guess the weight of the Big Knob, Knob Darts and a Knob Pyramid. Free parking and other more traditional entertainment were laid on to make this a really enjoyable day out with a difference.  It sounds a fascinating and truly novel local event, and some £4,500 was raised for local community clubs.  The record for throwing these delicious bread rolls, under arm and standing are quite amazing with the three records currently:  Gents:  26.10 metres; Ladies: 20.2 metres; and Under 12’s; 18.5 metres.  Why not tell me about your local novel sporting or social events?

Another article that grabbed my attention was about Lip Reading.  1 in 7 people have hearing impairment, and many result from time with the armed forces or disco customers, with the outcome being a distinct difficulty in hearing consonants clearly – an example being “biscuit” being heard as “big kiss”. A tutor holds classes every Tuesday morning for two hours, in a local parish church centre, where people learn not only how to interpret lip shapes, but also strategies for minimising a sense of exclusion as hearing loss progresses.

How wonderful to have a local resource like this.  Other local events this month included the Evershot Butterfly and Moth Festival; and thoughtful articles included From the Allotment; Bradford Peverell Twinning Association; and many more.  Useful ideas can be found on their webpages: http://www.sydlingstnicholas.org.uk/; http://www.framptondorset.com/; http://www.strattondorset.org/; and http://www.thelocalchannel.co.uk/bradfordpeverell/home.aspx

It is the season for Summer fetes, and John and I recently  attended a village occasion.  It was a lovely day, and John did the decent thing by opening the event, and people thronged and spent loose change and chatted and ate cream teas and smashed crockery, and looked at exhibition photos in the church.  Numbers are up, a local worthy told me, and hopefully the income which the church needs will be too.

Then we had the finale, a tug of war, and yours truly was to start the event and present the trophy to the winning team.  It’s only a bit of fun, they said! A novel twist was that this tug of war took place across a river, and the losing team were guaranteed an early bath!  First of all the children had a go, on dry land, in the neighbouring field, and enjoyed it very much.  Then the men – two teams of strapping, well honed, peak of physical perfection – lined up on both banks.  Can you count?  Nine on one side, eight on the other – Hey! The rope was duly picked up, and the strain taken.  Pull!  A load of grunting and cheering ended when one team found themselves pulled into the River Avon.  Then the ladies teams had a go, and did equally well.  Then men swapped sides, after sorting out the equal numbers a second time, the other team claimed a victory, one-all, and a deciding match.  The ladies played their second pull, and the same team won.

So – the  deciding pull for the men’s competition, and I gripped the trophy as the grunts and groans and battle cries rang out across the valley.  Some slippage, but then a rally, and both teams were giving no ground, but after a while the heat, the pressure and the sheer effort pulled one of the teams into the water. Foul! went up from the losing team!  Apparently one man on the winning team had found a foothold in the root system of a tree on the river bank, and this was claimed as an unfair advantage by the other team.

I was still holding the trophy, and the organisers and team captains remonstrated with one another.  As the person holding the trophy, I went and suggested I had some ideas – a final deciding pull – with both teams in the field, on the level, where we could see all that was taking place.  No – the “winning ” team could not agree to that, and my second suggestion that the trophy should stand in the club rooms for six months each, also found little grace – and the team captains walked off. 

I will still holding the trophy!  Should it come home with me?  No.  I walked across to the team captain of the winning ladies team, announced that these were the overall champions, planted the trophy in her hands, and a kiss on both cheeks, and declared honour still alive in the competition.  I hope the  English referee in the World Cup Final this afternoon has a little more fortune.  They never told you about this in Theological College!

Still loads of stories to blog when I get five minutes to do it, but some interesting events at the top and tail of the day today.

Breakfast – a bowl of cereal was being prepared, and it was one of those mornings when I was trying to focus with just one eye open – been there?  I poured some nut and fruit clusters, and then emptied the last of a plastic carton of skimmed milk, and crushed the bottle and put it in the recycling bin.  I then reached into the fridge and pulled out another plastic carton, and emptied a good slosh on the cereal.  I then realised that the contents were in fact a bottle of elderflower cordial – a gift from a friend who had run out of glass bottles and decanted some into a washed plastic milk carton!  I tasted the cereal, and in fact it tasted pretty good – so I enjoyed a bowl of cereal with a fruity flavoured milk.  Try it?  Up to you!

At the end of the day, I found myself at Sarum College, where we had a Ramsbury Forum meeting.  I’d taken the MG and with the roof down edged out into the Close.  A couple of young men, short haired, dressed in scruffy clothes ambled past, and said, “Woah – nice car!”  Then they followed it with “Crikey, a vicar!  Bless me father!!!”  I replied, yes of course, but what should we pray for?  A brief but meaningful exchange and using their Christian names, I pronounced God’s blessing on both Aaron and James.

And somewhere it says that we should crave spiritual milk… whatever the taste.

Ah yes, the weather has a stable, summery, sunshine feel about it, and we turn our  attention to connecting with people who are enjoying and lazing and drinking a chilled white whilst watching cricket or perhaps  can of something whilst watching the football on the TV.

I’m supporting the Deanery Mission Enabler for Alderbury Deanery, The Rev’d Peter Ostli-East, and at a recent meeting he tells me that he has started a series of Boules Evenings at the Vicarage in Winterbourne Earls.  Peter is a boules enthusiast, and I’m not sure, but probably has a title or two in his back pocket.  It is a great game, and we have a set here at Herbert House, which we toss around on the grass from time to time, only as an excuse to get a little more chilled white into circulation. 

Peter’s evenings have attracted a good following of people, many of whom don’t have a particular connection with the church.  When we were at Little Bedwyn recently, I noticed a Boules piste or terrain [see, I've got the lingo, what?] on the field next to the church.  I wonder whether there are others around the Area?  If you’d like to find out more about this gentle, but highly competitive sport, and perhaps see if you might use it in your toolkit for mission and evangelism, as well as a jolly good evening’s entertainment, then think about contacting Peter: 01980 611350

Friday morning – it was 0700, and around 25 men gathered at the foot of Martinsell hill near Wootton Rivers.  Various bits of kitchen kit were unloaded from vehicles and soon we were walking up the hill.  It was a glorious morning, and great views across the Pewsey Vale.  Soon the smell of bacon and sausages was drifting through our conversations, and then tomatoes too were sizzling in the pan.  Baps were filled and hungrily consumed, merely causing the conversations to become drawn out, rather the ceasing.  Well fed, and orange juice, coffee and teas washed down, we sat on rugs or chairs and listened to an inspiring talk from Bishop Stephen about encountering the risen Jesus in our daily lives.  We ended with some helpful prayer. At 0830, a scampering from the working men back down the hill and into their workplaces indicated that it was time for us to pack up and clear off.  A great start to the day; good companions and thoughts for the road.

This morning, Anita and I travelled out to Alton Barnes for another and our  final coffee morning before the Pewsey Deanery Pilgrimage starts officially tomorrow.  It was a beautiful day, and a wonderful day to drive out to the Vale of Pewsey, and to sit beneath one of Wiltshire’s famous White Horses.

We pulled up in front of the Coronation Hall at Alton Barnes, after quickly showing Anita the cherished Saxon church in the village.  Ours was the only car in the front of the building, and we suspected the fine day, and a Saturday would not be popular for the coffee morning.  How wrong could we be.  Inside was a welcome party of  four people, who quickly poured some very decent coffee, and implored us to choose freely from a selection of delicious cakes.  I picked a lovely slice of coffee cake, and an apricot slice.  No charge – donations only!

We took a table and chatted to the couple sat alongside, and within a few minutes the hall was packed with chatty neighbours, who clearly saw this opportunity to get out and get caught  up with the local news and views.  There must have been around 40-50 people in the hour we were there.  I managed to speak to most people, and found out so much from just listening to their story, their thoughts and ideas about community and the values that they try to live by.  Some recognised me from the Sarum Link articles [well done editorial team!], others had heard about the Pilgrimage week with the Bishop, and were looking forward to various events in the diary. 

Another indication of how this community welcomes people, was demonstrated when a local farmer’s wife, who has diversified into gypsy caravan holidays, brought into the carpark her lovely caravan, Tom the horse, and the family from Bexley who were renting the van for a few days.  I came out and chatted to the family, and visited the van – basic, but romantic, if that does it for you – and wished them God’s blessing for their journey this week, and asked them to remember us in our journey.  Anita took some photos – just for you to enjoy the caravan, and to show that my rolled up clerical shirt sleeves, and the cool but casual/smart chinos are still making me fashion fit and a fine fellow! Fancy the chance of a similar holiday?  Try your luck at: http://www.whitehorsegypsycaravans.co.uk/

I am now really ready and geared up to enjoy all that our Pilgrimage brings us – remember to check the diary to see what we are up to: http://www.unitefc.org/events.html

Countdown to the Ramsbury Area Pilgrimage Week 2010 has started, and events and visits will have been noted in the past couple of weeks, but for me, today was the start of some serious mission activity.

First thing, I went over the Burbage church centre, where a coffee and browse morning was underway.  Coffee and yummy jam doughnut for just £1, and a chance to browse around a few table top sales.  Good stuff too!  But for me the opportunity to chat a residents was priceless.  I chatted to a group of mums, and their children, about the village, the church, and their lives – fascinating.

Then, this evening I went back to Pewsey to the Bouverie Hall where we watched a film called Mugabe and the White African.  The synopsis of the real life documentary goes as follows:

Michael Campbell is one of the few hundred white farmers left in Zimbabwe since President Robert Mugabe began his violent land seizure program in 2000. Since then the country has descended into chaos, the economy brought to its knees by the reallocation of formerly white-owned farms to ZANU-PF friends and officials with no knowledge, experience or interest in farming. Mike, like hundreds of white farmers before him, has suffered years of multiple land invasions and violence at his farm.

In 2008, Mike, 75 years old and a grandfather – unable to call upon the protection of any Zimbabwean authorities and unable to even rely on the support of his fellow white farmers, all facing the same brutal intimidation – took the unprecedented step of challenging Robert Mugabe before the SADC (South African Development Community) international court, charging him and his government with racial discrimination and of violations of Human Rights. 

This film is an intimate account of one family’s astonishing bravery in the face of brutality, in a fight to protect their property, their livelihood and their country. The outcome of the court case potentially determining not just the future that lies ahead for Mike and his family, but the future of millions of ordinary Zimbabweans who continue to suffer at the hands of a dictator who, in setting his own countrymen against each other, has demonstrated that he cares only for power.

On the brink of losing everything, Mike and his family (wife Angela, daughter Laura and her husband Ben Freeth) stand united by their courage, their faith and their hope. Mike knows the personal risk to himself and his family that this case brings. Whatever the verdict by the court, this audacious and unprecedented stand may yet cost them their lives.

The evening was made very special – we were honoured to have Zac Freeth, the father of Ben Freeth present, to update us on the family’s situation, and to offer some insights into the worsening state of affairs in Zimbabwe.  A huge turnout was rewarded with a heartrending account of adversity being overcome by prayer and faith.  If you want to know more check out: http://www.mugabeandthewhiteafrican.com/  I was asked to give a short reflection and then end the evening with prayer.

Great stuff, and a great start to the Unite FC  pilgrimage in mission week.  I hope to blog each day, but that may depend on signal and internet access, but please stick with us!!

One of our discount bookshops in Salisbury is closing down.  I like to browse there so will miss the place.  My last visit there produced some interesting purchases, including the Wagamama Cookbook, and the Highway Code.  The cookbook can wait for me to share some of my attempts, but the Highway Code has stirred some interesting thoughts for me.

Since my childhood, I can remember being fascinated by the Highway Code.  My father had a copy hanging around, and I can recall looking at the roadsigns and thinking that the colours and shapes and information given were quite absorbing.  Then of course when I applied for my provisional driving licence, I received my own copy of the Code, and set about  learning all those signs, including the direction signs and those infamous stopping distances – remember? Thinking distance + Braking distance = Stopping distance!

But I wonder how many people have realised that the Highway Code has been updated and many of the rules and regulations have been changed or added to?  We all can identify and know how to use a Zebra Crossing, and a Pelican crossing – but would you know how to use a Puffin crossing, and even a Toucan crossing?  What about the signs for a Home Zone or Quiet Lane? School Crossing Patrol signals?  And do you have to respond to signals given by Highways Agency or VOSA traffic officers?

The Highway Code is still more than just a fascinating read for a nerdy petrol-head like me; these are rules and common sense and good practice which help thousands of road users [including cyclists, motorcyclists, horseriders, pedestrians and disability scooter users] share common space, and protect one another as we journey on the roads and footpaths of our country.

The same is true for our moral codes, which from the Ten Commandments, through to the Human Rights Act seeks to provide a safe and secure framework for our common living together which seeks to provide justice and equity in our journey through life.  Do we know what our responsibilities are? We would do well to remind ourselves often, in preference to finding ourselves advising others, prematurely and incorrectly.

My colleagues will often ridicule me for my passion for motor vehicles.  I’ve always had an interest in cars, and from an early age was keen to see how they worked, and had many many happy moments under the bonnet of my 1960 Austin Mini, before moving onto an Austin 1100 [2-door] then a Triumph Spitfire Mk 4, an MG Midget, and then a move into the more sensible Vauxhall family car range, when children came along - Nova[remember that?], Astra, Astra, Corsa, another Astra and finally the Vectra.

Cars for me are not just a set of  wheels, and a means of  getting someone, and something from point A to point B.  Many conversations with friends and colleagues have mystified them when I talk about cars with personalities, and expressions of my own character [and ego!];objects of  desire, artistic beauty, and technological design statements. 

The time has come to exchange the Vauxhall Vectra 1.8 LS.  KF03WFT you’ve been a close and good friend!

It was bought primarily to carry my daughters and all their worldly possessions to university and back.  The Astra just did not understand the volume these girls required – and so the Vectra joined the family.  And that is  how it has seemed.  We’ve journeyed some 122,000 miles together – those long trips to Durham and York, enabling quality prime time with my teenage daughters.  The car took me home after some tearful farewells, as I left my babies alone and hundreds of miles distant.  The car has provided me with a mobile office across the diocese as I sought to offer encouragement and ministry to parishes and schools.  It has been a favoured minibus as colleagues have scrounged lifts to conferences and retreats.  It has helped the gardeners at Herbert House to transport turf, gravel, plants and all kinds of large and bulky objects.  Holidays, to Norfolk, Scotland, Wales, and the Lakes.  Army staff car, lifting equipment and personnel into camps across the country.  How can you say this is just a metal box and four wheels?

But Friday last, the garage needed to take her in, and give her a new chapter with a new owner.  I pick up my new car tomorrow – but for now, the moment belongs to my Vectra.  I carefully emptied the car of all the necessary, and personal items – cloths, CDs, car park small change, road atlas, ice-scraper etc.  Gave her a final wash and hoover out, and then drove across town to the garage.  We pulled into the car park gracefully and gratefully.  I switched off the engine and sat there for a while … enjoying the silence and the sound of the ticking of the cooling engine…and then it was time to say goodbye. I say a prayer of thanks – for the many hours and miles travelled safely, for the shared family times, and those one to one moments, and a prayer for those who will travel in her from now on.  Humans are fragile and foolish creatures – please do what you can to protect and guide them.

With the full service history under my arm, I climbed out for the last time, closed the door with its familiar firm clunk, and with just a brief glance over my shoulder as I pressed the locking button, walked away… … …