You can't scare me - I have children

Holidays....

The holidays are coming....

Once again I know this, not because of the produce being stocked in the seasonal aisle at TESCO, or the snow-light decorations at the new Silverburn shopping centre but because Coca-Cola says it is. I saw my first Christmas Coke advert yesterday on 'Dave', the freeview channel which should be renamed Top Gear TV. So it's official - Christmas, or the more generic and less offensive 'Holidays' are coming. Though at 21st November this is probably a little later than usual....

News....

At the back of a church I know well there is a missionary notice board with a sheet of prayer news for each of the missionaries the church supports. Under one stalwarts name are the following words:

"No news - keep praying."

Maybe this person is lost somewhere in the Amazonian jungle. Is it time for us to find a 21st Century Stanley to go looking for her? Any volunteers?

Being Frank....

When you watch as much TV as I do you begin to notice patterns in adverts. One theme I've noticed is the decline in optimism in adverts for the military. When I was a lad I remember an army advert about Frank. Two bored guys were sitting in a cafe remarking on what had happened to their friend Frank. This was interspersed with clips of Frank jumping out of helicopters, jumping tanks of ramps and finally walking a cross a sandy beach with a cute girl. To be Frank, we were told, join the army. It seemed attractive, unless you were actually Frank, because in each exciting scene a large luminous arrow was pointing to where he was. Not great if you are trying to remain hidden in the bushes....

More recently, as the military engages in more activities overseas activities we can see the adverts reflecting the roles they do - building hospitals, helping people after storms, infiltrating drug smuggling. Joining the military will challenge your ability to do good. And its better to use your diplomacy skills as an infantry officer than as night club doorman. But slowly there is more evidence of conflict coming into the adverts. One of the latest has a TA nurse dealing with a 'hostile combatant' coming into his first aid post. Still a challenge of using your abilities. But the last I saw was of two snipers observing an enemy cam, their position is rumbled, an enemy soldier is seen in the cross-hairs of the rifle sight and then we are encouraged to visit www.army.mod.uk to discover what happens next....

We are involved in a number of conflicts now and it seems that the army recruitment is reflecting this. Because although the military do get involved in humanitarian actions much of what they do ultimately involves guns. Maybe they can't hide this fact anymore.

The older I get, the more repulsed by guns I become. I don't read my commando comics anymore, we ebayed them, to a pastor from Florida actually, for £120 a couple of years ago. I don't like that we have to have an army anymore. But there are people in this world who have guns and may not like me very much. So maybe I am quite grateful that we do have one. We might just have to be more careful about how we use it. Maybe we're learning that now. To be Frank.

It's a bit quantum....

There was a physicist,Marcus Chown (download for a limited time), being interviewed on Radio 5 yesterday afternoon, and he was trying to explain quantum. Which is very small.... Apparently quantum theory tells us that atoms can be in two places at once and this can be demonstrated by a simple experiment using a light bulb, a shoe box and a Stanley knife. In fact if we could be isolated from all surrounding impacts and matter bouncing off us we could see ourselves as being in two places at once as well.... Physicists have big brains. I know some, and once one of them explained in quite some detail the PhD Theseus of another. I almost understood it - the universe it seems is like a sheet of rubber with ball bearings thrown on it.

Anyway, with matter being in two places at once, theorists are speculating on the existence of parallel universes or alternate realities. An example of this is that the military are trying to build quantum computers which are running so quickly that they are using more resources than there is matter in the universe (I wonder if this includes dark matter). The boffins don't know how this is possible. So they think they may be borrowing stuff from other dimensions....

Now I don't want to proclaim that science has proved the existence of God but then be too blind to admit it - after all Richard Dawkins may stumble across this musing, and I'm not Alistair McGrath and so don't have the smarts to defend myself against all the big words he would use (see the God Delusion and the Dawkins Delusion)- but it was interesting that though the scientist on the show mused that the universe was not infinite and had a beginning, he felt that it was probably not the first beginning. That it was part of a cycle. But when pressed he admitted that he did not know what started 'existence' first time round he didn't know.

It seems that science is actually showing that the universe is not all there is and that existence is a mystery. People of faith have held to that for eons....

Act naturally....

We took Josh and Jake to the movies during half term to see the new Pixar film, Ratatouille. It was the middle of the afternoon and the place was packed out with kids, but the boys still seemed to be the youngest there. And Josh didn't quite fit in.

Going to the movies is a passive experience - so much so that I wonder why we end to go with friends; we would often be better off going by ourselves. We face forward, get rapt up in the movie and munch our popcorn. It is the way we've been taught to behave, the way we expect others to behave, and when they don't we get upset.

Josh doesn't know this though. All through the movie he was giving a running commentary. And not in a whisper either - at full fog-horn volume. "This is good - that's really exciting - that's a funny bit - I liked that..." He wouldn't just talk to me either. He would talk to the boys who were sitting next to us. Or he would stand on his seat and turn round and try to engage the row behind in conversation. He didn't realise he wasn't supposed to do this. He was just acting naturally.

Christians are supposed to act naturally. Very often we find ourselves in situations that if we weren't believers we would act in a certain way. It's expected. it's the way that everyone else would act. Yet the Bible is full of instructions for us to do things which are awkward. Don't spend time with the cool people - show hospitality to the people who need it. Don't get your own back than on those who stamp on you. Show them kindness instead. It's not the way we are expected to act. Yet it should come naturally to people who follow Jesus. I wonder what impact it would make if we did this on a consistent basis - not doing what we were expected to do, but just acting naturally according the nature we inherited when we became believers.

I wasn't looking forward to leaving the cinema. I was wondering what looks people would give the noisy boys and his liberal parents. I shouldn't have worried. Just by acting naturally Josh had made an impact and won them over. All the little girls loved Josh - I hope they always will.

Bonfire Night....

I've been watching the activities of some of our local youth with wry amusement over the last few days as on the ground beyond the building across the road from us they've been constructing a bonfire. it got quite large, and I was considering taking the boys around tonight to watch it burn instead of trekking into Glasgow Green to see the official display.

But on the way to catch the train this morning I saw two council trucks parked next to the pile of wood, and on coming home at lunchtime I saw the wood had been removed.

Meanies....

Sand Castle....

I love building sand castles. But I like to think that I don’t build them like other people. Over the years I’ve observed a number of different styles. First is the ‘vanilla’ shoveller, using the small plastic spade that came with a bucket from Woolworths (for the prepared person who brought it to the beach with them) or for twice the price from the convenient beach shop. Then there is the ‘family feud’, usually caused when you arrive at the beach without any equipment, buy one set from the beach shop, but not two since it is extortionately priced, which means that your children squabble over the spade, until one realises that using the bucket as a scoop is actually much more efficient and fun, which results in the spade being ignored and battle commencing over the bucket. Then you find the ‘doggy naturalist’ who simply uses their hands to scoop sand backwards between their legs  - but its shallow as when you reach the wet sand it becomes less effective. Occasionally you come across an x-treme improviser who uses an empty cool box.

But they’re not really building, they’re piling. Their aim seems to be to make the biggest mound of sand they can, make a sand pie at the top, stick a flag in it and call it a castle. It’s not –it’s a heap.

Me, I like to think that I put a little bit more thought and effort into making a castle. In fact I like to think that I make it in my own image. Visionary – I usually mark out a square, at least a metre across, sometimes bigger…. Precise – a trench is dug around this square to make a moat, the sand from the trench used to carefully build a raised , levelled base on which I’ll build the walls which will come exactly to the edge of this base…. Accurate – walls, towers, the inner keep and barbican are all sited as they would be in a real castle, providing overlapping lines of site for my imaginary archers with no blind spots…. Purposeful – a castle was designed to dominate its surroundings, and my castles are the same. They are built to make a statement. They are built to awe other beach visitors. To say to them they can just turn around and go home – that their piles of sand dare not occupy the same stretch of coast as my magnificent edifice. It is to make small boys look up to their fathers and say “Don’t bother Dad, it could never be as good as that. It’s wonderful….”

Once you pop!

Barbecue Pringles.

It doesn’t matter where they are in the house, I have to root them out. Even if Jenny places them on the high, secret shelf in the kitchen cupboard I will find them. They’re out of reach, no problem. I’ll just drag a chair across the floor an using a brush handle if I have too I will lever the tube down and into my clammy and expectant hands. And then comes the a brief moment of anticipation, one which is savoured…. I pop the plastic lid off and peel back the foil. And then that pungent, sweet, aroma of the flavouring is released and I inhale deeply, the scent stimulating my senses into a frenzy. And quickly, before the power of the moment fades, my fingers dive inside the tube, grasping a chip, pulling it out and placing it whole into my mouth. Where I let it rest on my tongue. The salty and sweet flavours mingle, and then I suck, the coating dissolving in my mouth, flowing over my taste buds, causing me to sigh, until finally, the coating gone, the chip become soft and soggy, I start to chew and swallow, before running my tongue along my lips, wiping the last fragments of flavour away….

You’d think I’d want to repeat this process, but no. I can’t contain myself. I grab two, then five, then eight at a time. I push them into my mouth, sometimes gnawing them, sometimes biting straight away. And I’m enjoying them, I tell myself, but somehow each bite is less satisfactory than the one before, and never as good as the first. And soon, though I know it should stop, I’m still pushing the chips into my mouth, and now it’s not an act of pleasure, but one of habit that I’m trying to find pleasure in…. I feel my gut is over full, I know my dinner is coming up soon, but still I eat, until all 180g have gone and I look up from my hiding place an empty cardboard tube in my hands, a jumper with crumbs down the front, and a guilty look on my face to find Jenny standing over me with a look of disdain on her face….

See Fighting Nuns! here....

The Palace of Fitness....

Let me tell you about my gym…

In our family it is called the palace of fitness, because many of the folk who go there go to worship health. And you’ve never seen people worship like this before. There are rows upon rows of people whop are with one purpose in mind – to drive their bodies to the limit.

All round the building, a pristine glass and steel structure, as airy, spacious and light as any cathedral, are banners proclaiming the virtues of health – one more mile, increased heart and lung capacity, greater likely hood of kissing girls…. And it seems that all who come here worship and despair in equal measure….

We salve our conscience by visiting with the high priests of training. They coach us, mentor us, and with their constant encouragement of “1,2,3 – come on that’s it, 3,4,5, 6 – don’t give up now – 5,6,7 – feel the power through the pain – 6,7,8,9 – come on just two more reps, 8, 9, 10” we forgive their inability to count properly. For they make us fell good about ourselves, letting us replace motivation with obedience, the mantra on our lips being “Please just don’t kill me….” As we allow them to bully us in a manner banned under the emancipation proclamation….

We hide from the mirrors of revelation. They tell you they are there so you can monitor your form and technique – but no, they have a truly darker purpose. Light bounces around the building and as it glances off these reflective surfaces you cannot help but catch sight of yourself – your front, your back, and hideously your profile view, which illuminates the truth of just how far over your waistband your muffin top protrudes…

We all fear the scales of achievement. They lurk in the corner of the changing room, inanimate but somehow alive, a clean, white, aluminium, smug, brooding and hypnotic presence, daring you to measure your progress. “Come to me,” its words invade your head, “Come and see how far you have fallen short, come and be terrified at how far you have to go….” And you step on them with fear and trepidation because you know you will be weighed, measured and found wanting….

And all around you is the corrosive atmosphere of peer pressure. Those wiser, more experienced men, whose bodies are unnaturally muscled and whose torsos are strangely ‘V’ shaped. Who have no muffin top, who have no fear of the free weights, who gather in packs and shout loudly at each other across the changing room and congregate in the sauna and park in the disabled spaces. Who shave their chests and drink strange brown coloured ‘protein shakes’.

And when your worship is finally over, your body cleansed and your sins purified, you sit down in the brassiere to reflect on the experience. Coffee, white (blue milk not red), two sugars in one hand. A bacon roll with ketchup in the other. And on the bank of plasma screens, nestled between ‘Oz Aerobics’ on Sky Sports and News 24 is a daytime TV show of Anthony Worrell Thomson frying potatoes in duck fat. And you wonder why worship at the Palace of fitness is a recurring, devotional experience….

chicken....

There's a chain pub at one of the big round-a-bouts on the Hillington Industrial Estate, between our house and the Braehead shopping centre. It must do good business during the week with all the people pouring out of the factories and stuff at lunchtime, though nearby their is a Subway (quickly becoming the ubiquitous deli on the high street) and a Burger King, but also with reps as it is only a couple of hundred yards from the M8.

But as it is in the middle of an industrial park with the nearest houses being two miles away I can't imagine there being many people willing to call it their local. So I suspect that at weekends it has the atmosphere of a morgue on a bank holiday, which is why I think they have embarked on their current drive to promote Sunday lunch there. As you pass the pub a large sign proclaims "This Sunday - six exciting ways to eat chicken!"

Now I'm a little intrigued by this - what is considered an exciting way to eat chicken in the 21st Century? My memories of the 80s and 90s are a little hazy, but generally eating chicken involved sitting at a dining table with a knife and fork. Sometimes the proceedings were enlivened a little by some experimentation with vegetables or a new flavour of gravy. Sometimes we joked that the potato croquettes were baked so hard that the military would be able to use them as a 'safe' replacement for depleted uranium tank shells. So often chicken was eaten in an amusing fashion - but not quite exciting....

Except our tastes have moved on. Everything now has to be X-treme, especially as the pub is also on the route to the X-scape. So maybe we've moved onto x-treme dining. Because sitting at a table is so last century. So here's my list of six exciting ways to eat chicken:

1. The Colin Mcrae Drive Thru X-perience: sit in the passenger seat of Lanark's fastest son as he propels you around the pub's very own off road circuit to the sounds of "3-right-drumstick-chew into hairpin-dropped napkin-vomit...."
2. The Bourne Ultimate Combo Platter: a breathless sprint of a meal for those in a hurry. A must for those who have just woken up and discovered they can break a chicken wing in five different ways....
3. The Coaster Carvery: Enjoy your chicken, vegetables and gravy as you hurtle at speeds up to 80mph on our two hundred feet tall wooden coaster....
4. The Alien Appointment: a quiet, dark dinner for a party of seven, then six, then five, then four.... eat alone, very alone....
5. Bend it like Bernard: Curl your chicken into the top corner of the oven. If you beat our in house penalty taker then you can mount our champions league podium holding your platter over your head to the applause of thousands....
6. Oh, and Chicken Maryland....

If this is eating chicken in the 21st Century then I can't wait....