Prayer time at the Mosque

Before you start to worry, I did not cause an inter-religious incident!

Yesterday, our 'Islam in the Contemporary World' class had the privilege of visiting the Butetown Mosque, and observing prayers.

I had dressed carefully, with modestly in mind, wearing trousers and a long, high-necked and unfeasibly-long-sleeved top. I even wore a nice scarf in case I was asked to cover my head. All was fine until we arrived and removed our shoes. For the first time in (honestly!) a year or more, I had allowed myself to put on odd socks... At least both were stripy, even if that's all they had in common.

A member of the Mosque showed us around and spoke with us at length. The time came for the traditional showing of thanks for his time and effort, but my brief attempt to initiate a clap was resolutely ignored by my colleagues. Words of encouragement came as we left the venue,
from the blindingly obvious "Your attempt to initiate the clapping fell a bit flat, didn't it?" to the rather charming "Yeah, that was pretty 'special'!"

Politeness is dead folks.

A giant performance

Thanks Jazzy J for directing me to this video. A great mash-up of two very cools things -
The Bible and Queen!

Peek-a-boo music!

I often feel like a small child these days. Clumsy, unable to master a simple drinking exercise without spillages, and increasingly aware of how little I know.

I imagine that most folk will have played peek-a-boo with a baby, or at least watched it being played. The child understands full-well that you are there all along, and can usually still see most of you, but will enjoy waiting expectantly for you to pop out at them. They take enormous delight in your appearance, which happens at unpredictable moments, and from a variety of strange angles.

This is the closest analogy I can find to describe how I most frequently experience God. I will go to meet with Him regularly, but I never know when, or where he will pop out at me. My greatest joy is in the times that He side-swipes me at a random moment, and in such a strange way.

Perhaps, if we should be seeking to be like small children, my regression is not as regrettable as I first thought!

Well God’s been making me jump quite a lot recently, and this evening, He did that through a book which explores an author’s relationship with a particular selection of songs. In Chapter 5 (all 3 pages of it!) Nick Hornby focuses on Rufus Wainwright’s cover of One Man Guy. I happen to really like Wainwright’s music, but Hornby’s writing doesn’t rely on any knowledge of the track.

I find it wonderful that this man, a self-proclaimed Atheist, is able to best express how through music, and often the most unlikely type, God leaps out at us in an undeniable way.

(I wish I could type-up the pages to add here, but I’m sure I’d be breaking copyright.)

If you love music, you’ll enjoy this book. Even if you don’t, I can highly recommend you read this chapter. (I’ll have my copy handy if anyone would like a peek.)

There Hornby, despite his supposed disbelief in the divine, manages to pull-off one of the best arguments for the existence of God I’ve heard in a while!

He begins:

"I try not to believe in God, of course, but sometimes things happen in music, in songs, that bring me up short, make me do a double take..."

This BBC news magazine article intrigued me, for obvious reasons.

"Alan Petrie has travelled from Aberdeen to research the possibility of starting a ginger community in Scotland."
Finally, a place where Ginger Nuts, Carrot Tops and Duracell Batteries are free to roam in peace and harmony...

Check out the following genius from Catherine Tate. It never fails to crack me up!

Apolstles' Creedish

This evening I found an old bracelet, made of copper, that I used to wear 'religiously'. Not for any particular reason, other than I liked it. It brought to mind this Not the Nine 'O Clock News clip though!

The Unexpected TV Evangelist

Al Murray, the pub landlord, spurs conversion in Brighton.

Haunted makeup brushes

I'm currently on a placement in Romsey Baptist Church, Hampshire.

I'm very grateful to be staying with a member of the church in a wonderful 16th Century cottage of vast proportions, which my host has spent a lot of time, effort and money renovating over the last couple of years. I have a huge room with its own staircase, and most crucially (with my reputation) the entire upstairs is carpeted in a pale cream colour...

Obviously paranoia set in immediately. That's why I took to knocking the excess off a makeup-powder brush on the outside of the window frame. That's how I managed to throw it out into the street the other morning, resulting in a desperate dash down the stairs,through the huge house, out the back door, and round to the front to rescue it before a dust-cart could reverse over it. It was a close shave.

A friend at the church, Chris, dubbed it "a Mrs Doubtfire moment"!

Half-full / half-empty - either way, something got wet in the process...

It is said that the glass is either half-full or half-empty, depending on your point of view. I tend not to worry either way. What concerns me is where the contents have gone/could end up any second.

It never ceases to amaze me how such a small amount of liquid can spread over an unfeasibly large area, and make everything so wet.

This was my experiece, yet again, the other day in spilling an apparently miniscule amount of orange juice. How could I need to change and wash my soaked clothes, along with the dripping blanket and, half a kitchen roll later appear to have the same volume of juice in my glass as before?

I had recently thought this particular habit of spilling/dropping/knocking-over drinks (whilst sober) had been improving, until 'Drink the Bar Dry' at the Student's Union a couple of weeks ago.

Half way through the evening, this time I simply lost my grip on a glass. I blame it being a silly plastic flexible glass - though it might be just as well that it was! Given I had survived my first few drinks safely, I'd obviously let my guard down.

It was in the much classier venue later, where a friend had insisted on buying a round of hideously expensive Long Island Iced Teas that the spectacular happened. From about 5 inches above the table, my drink again slipped through my fingers... with horror I saw it fall in slow-motion to it's doom. It hit the table, wobbled on it's narrow base and remained upright - not a drop spilt! Hooray! There may be hope for me after all...

Quotations edition 2.

"If it works it's not cheating"

A conversation where the answer to everything became:
"Have you tried painting him with mud?"

Here's a great one I heard on the radio this week, which I'd like to dedicate to 'a dear friend', from Old Harry's Game:
"I'm Satan. Nothing scares me... except Anne Robinson... and cycle couriers."

The New Blog of Solace

Not a quantum, but an excellent new blog by a friend of mine who runs Solace: the Church in a Bar

Epic Exam Preparation

This afternoon I had a Greek exam. To say I wasn't looking forward to it would be an understatement of epic proportions, if that's not some kind of paradox!.

That was until about ten minutes before kick-off, when we somehow managed to work out what the passage for translation would almost certainly be. Thankfully, I had read it twice already that morning, with the same suspicion. Others even less familiar with the Bible than myself (yes, it's possible apparently) were a bit panicked by not being able to remember much of it. So an acquaintance sitting another exam at the same venue kindly lent me a Bible.

Thus, I found myself standing on the steps of the Temple of Peace, an umbrella held up in one hand, a Bible in the other, loudly proclaiming the word of the Lord to a small crowd of completely rapt first years.

Just bizarre!

Family Reunion / It's no use crying over spilt drinks

I spent Saturday night at the engagement party of a distant relative I had never previously heard of. It seems the event was being used as an excuse for a family reunion. So I spent quite a while being dragged around my Mother's cousins being introduced: "This is Louise; my eldest" to which I dutifully shook hands and said how nice it was to meet them. I was rarely told to whom I was being introduced though.

Eventually I drifted off and began meeting people my own age who were all 42nd cousins 3rd removed, and even discovering friends in common. As we mingled and chatted, one guy asked me who I was. I told him, and asked the same. The response was "Who am I? It's my party!" It seems this was the groom-to-be, and possibly the first non-relative I'd met all evening. Poor man must have felt invaded by the in-laws!

Also, within 5 minutes of arriving, I had managed to pour a drink all down the back of my leg. Well, if Mother will insist on leaving it in places where I can knock it over!

Unfortunately, this wasn't a great surprise given my reputation. Spilling drinks, usually the first of the evening, has become part of what people expect from me. Friends of mine have repeatedly threatened to buy me a Tommy Tippy cup for nights out. Throwing wine spectacularly has become known as 'Doing a Louise' in some circles. Why would I want to go changing and leaving people disappointed?!