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Showing posts from August 11, 2024

St Swithun's, Narnia

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Sorry, couldn't resist ... the lamppost made me do it. I'm outside St Swithun's, Great Dalby, in Leicestershire. It's almost 8pm so the church is, unsurprisingly, locked. I'm I improving myself by reading gravestones outside.  And what an improving set of monuments they are. Almost every one seems to have a cautionary verse of poetry at the bottom. So Mary Pick (who died in 1820) warns me:  Reader! remember as this stone you view, The transitory life you're passing through.  Thy time's uncertain, death it may be near  And cut thee off before thou art aware. Well indeed. Next door, her grandfather John (1826) suggests this:  O Reader think of that tremendous day When Christ thy every action will survey, And thou receive for deeds transacted here Celestial glory or intense despair.  It's pretty much like that on row after row of gravestones.  So I was delighted to stumble across Robert Parker (1854) who struck a rather more celebratory note: ...

I found work-life balance

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Turns out that, all this time, it was in the marvellous Poetry Pharmacy in Bishop's Castle, Shropshire. If you've not been, it's well worth a visit; they've repeatedly won awards for top independent bookshop in the UK (one from the Sunday Times, I believe). I sat looking at it this morning while drinking some delightful breakfast tea. Realising just how ridiculous the idea is. I mean, just look at this thing for a moment and tell me: is this what you want? A perfect balance between life and work (which apparently isn't life)? I assume the work side is mostly cruddy and the life side mostly ok; that's how we use the phrase, at any rate. So, enough ok to counterbalance the crud? I don't think I want balance. I want life. I want life that's life-giving and work that's life-giving. Or life and work that can be made life-giving. Or is that too much to ask? What do you think? ///showrooms.workroom.jungle

We're back, baby!

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Allow me to introduce La Fenice . If you've followed the story of this blog so far, you'll know that my original scooter, the courageous and much beloved Rocinante , sadly died in the overwhelming heat of central Italy towards the very end of our outward journey to Assisi. After mourning her demise I pressed on by train, completed the pilgrimage, and had to travel back by plane. Which was fine, but wasn't the return leg I'd hoped for. The story since then has been one of surprising and delightful generosity. So many people who'd followed these travels reached out and offered to help in various ways. And thanks to a kind grant from a clergy trust, and to a generous gift (I won't embarrass the givers by naming them, but you know who you are!) a new bike has risen from the ashes: La Fenice , the Phoenix. She's pictured here on her maiden run to Oakham, where we visited (of course) the local church: always start as you mean to continue. Naturally, th...