Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post X 21st April 2 weeks + 6 days until Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

Since my last report, in which I seem to remember committing to run 10Ks every other day, nine days have passed.

The purpose of this post, therefore, is to maintain personal motivation through public accountability and possible humiliation.

Thus far:

Strawberry Line (South)15th April 10.06 km in 57:22

Strawberry Line (North) 17th April 10.02 km in 62:15

Strawberry Line (North) 20th April 9.02km in 54:04

A commentary

Yes, you needn’t say anything. Again, I’m getting worse the more I plod/run…’training’ is an exaggeration. But hang on, the truth is stranger than the data.

Run 1. After about 3K Strava is sent into the nether world of the Shute Shelve tunnel, and at pre-dawn, it is ink-black and I’m reduced to walking for fear of tripping over and making more of a fool of myself than running through a pitch-black tunnel in the first place. SO…the 57 minutes is as accurate as counting the number of humpback whales in the Atlantic, or predicting the length of a Premiership football match after VAR officials have read through the FA Handbook on handball…

Run 2. Strava is clever. This was ‘moving time’. I stopped, or was stopped, arrested by a tree here and a gate there gorgeously painted by the soft-dawn rays. Photos followed. Actual time was longer. But I’m unlikely to stop to take photos during the Bristol 10K. Am I?

Run 3. Was going well, or so I thought. But I conked out at 9K, having felt weary for the previous one or two kilometres.

‘If I was a betting man’ - I’m restricted to the Grand National and The Masters in some years, and rarely win a penny - I’d think twice before betting on myself to break 60 minutes, but I’ll give it a go.

The Bristol Course looks mean. That ‘orrible hill near the end and city-centre cobbles are designed to inject despondency and despair as the clock speeds up and the feet slow. Maybe that’s all in the mind? Well, maybe. But it’s in my mind.

Rachel…has gone to ground. Her previous recorded 5K at 26:44 equates to approx. 10K pace of 53:30 is far too fast, and my fears that she has peaked too soon…are impossible to verify. The latest press release from the R Training Camp is that her 2025 10K event will not be the Bristol…we await news.

The theory that Dad’s ‘every-other-day’ commitment to running 10Ks has rattled the young pretender is definitely worthy of further investigation.

For now, all I shall do is continue to plod up and down the Strawberry Line in hope that mind and body might talk to each other and cheer each other on.

Podcasts have included: Elizabeth Day’s How to Fail with Sally Philips was excellent…funny and honest. David Pawson’s Unlocking the Bible on John’s gospel was really good. And I quite like listening to Alistair Campbell and Rory Stewart as they squirm in the Trump era on The Rest is Politics.

Two weeks and six days.

Oh boy!

How to Eat a Hot Cross Bun

You might contend, with deep conviction, that there is no manual, no dictate, no regulation, or statute that exists to distinguish between those who know how and those who do not know how to eat a hot cross bun.

 But, if you are one of those who know how, then you are compelled by an equally deep conviction to share your knowledge gleaned from those who have gone before with those who do not.

 This distinction is on a par with those whose toes curl if milk is added after the tea is poured or are troubled by fellow travellers who care not to use a fork when with cake, or who’s inner peace is disturbed if male MPs enter the chamber unadorned with a jacket, or worse, lacking a tie.

Here are the twelve members of the Hot Cross Bun jury:

1.        Eat only hot when still springy – they are not fit for use as shot putts or cannonballs

2.        Employ your best blade to slice each bun accurately into two halves – ensuring that both sides are toasted at the same rate. Incongruency is disappointing

3.        Discard the grill in favour of a toaster – the horror of uneven, burnt, or worse, an underdone hot cross bun is more avoidable with using a toaster

4.        Toasted hot cross buns are to be caught mid-air as they are propelled vertically, perfectly toasted, from the toaster

5.        Butter always; other spreads are banished and not even to be mentioned

6.        Generosity is compulsory, especially in the butter department. The added slab of butter has to be thick enough so you can watch it melt. Thin-spread instantly-melted butter is not a thing of beauty

7.        No talking. If you are in the company of others, they must abide by this rule. Eating whilst eyes are closed is worthy of bonus points

8.        Jam is contentious. Applications to use jam should be lodged with the master or mistress of ceremonies well in in advance of entry into the toaster

9.        Never repair the hot cross bun so that it resembles a bun. This is a strictly ‘two-halves’ ritual

10.   The final bite should be savoured whilst there is sufficient heat in the bun to keep the butter melted

11.   The purpose of eating a hot cross bun is to enter into prayer, meditation, peace and stillness. By all means sit in a church pew and do likewise, but once you have permitted yourself hot-cross-bun-time, church can travel with you

12.   Hot cross buns only taste of hot cross buns in the run up to Easter. If you don’t know why, there are no words

If you are looking at the members of the jury, wondering whether the judge will take a majority vote, please be advised that eleven out of twelve simply will not allow you to graduate from the do not know hows to the know hows.

Standards must be maintained.

The 2026 examination season starts, as in previous years, on Ash Wednesday, the day after Shrove Tuesday, otherwise known as Pancake Day. ‘How to Eat a Pancake’ will follow shortly

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post IX 12th April 29 Days until Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

New home tucked under the picturesque Mendips called for a Google search to locate the nearest Saturday morning Parkrun.

I arrived at Axminster/Cheddar reservoir car park whilst there was still a nip in the air, wearing a woolly hat, soon discarded as the sun did its work. The route, fairly flat, winds its way around the reservoir then diverts along the Starwberry Line – the track of a disused railway line. Twice round, and then a short run across a playing field to the finish.

Trying not to look as exhausted as I feel. Lungs busting. My head tells me the scenery is unbeatable but the perpetual attempt to run at my limit tends to concentrate the mind on the next step, rather than appreciating the natural beauty al around the course.

I did pray. And it was fairly corny. ‘They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength…will run and not be weary’ from Isaiah.

Meanwhile, in London, unbeknownst to me, daughter Rachel was hearing the starting claxon at exactly the same time, 9am, and propelling herself around another Parkrun, Victoria Park, Hackney.

There the similarity ends.

My time: 28:33

Rachel’s: 26:44

So, again, it’s well-done R. An impressive time!

With 29 days to go before the Bristol10K, what should be done? My intention is to shift gears in terms of distance, if not pace, from 5K to 10K two or three times a week. We’ll see.

Encouragement in life is as necessary as turkeys at Christmas. But where do we get encouragement from? It’s all a bit slippery, can’t be timetabled, and it’s not something that can be tamed…but neither is it completely random as if it’s just out of reach and subject to the whims of a capricious Universe or mischievous divine hand.

So, I take encouragement from looking back at my previous three 5K runs and the moderate improvement in times from almost 30’ to 28’30’’ ish - not a trend that should concern R…but I’m pushing!

I haven’t mentioned podcasts in recent posts. And neither can I today. Strava on knocked out my phone’s ambidextrous capabilities: it can’t handle Strava and YouTube videos at the same time. I had planned to listen to Jordan Peterson’s ARC conference speech whilst making my way round the course; doing so would have masked my wheezing at least from me! Alas, I had to wait until the car journey home for JP to let rip in my lug ‘ole.

Encouragement in life is as necessary as turkeys at Christmas. But where do we get encouragement from?

For me, JP is like a skilled physician; he’s taken the pulse of American and Western society and discerned its ills, its malfunctions, and, like a good professional, gives solemn warnings about the inevitable destination of the Western world if it continues to ignore the warnings. He can stare into your soul from the platform and deliver the direst of prognoses and leave you hungry for a cure.

But here is precisely the moment when I depart from JP. Good on diagnosis/prognosis, but I’m off for a second opinion…not about the diagnosis but the cure. The route back to health.

Enough, enough! This is a blog about running and the co-aim of a daughter and a dad to run a 10K in 2025.

But that’s the trouble with runners, especially slower runners like me, it gives you time to think…and when the legs are sending a message to the brain to Stop, to pray.

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post VIII 7th April 34 Days until Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

Yikes, Bristol 10K is closing in fast.

Since the last post, I have moved house, and this has seriously set back my plans to reach peak performance as we head into the closing stages. Or…maybe this is good. the peak, re-set for the day of the 10K?

If you’re sensing one of those ‘Oh! I seem to be getting slower not faster’ posts, you’d not be wrong.

This morning, just before sunrise, I set off for a swift 5K along the Strawberry Line from Winscombe north towards Yatton, the sun rising to my right. In the pre-dawn light, an illusion of speed took hold. I thought I was going well, especially after a lay-off to grapple with endless cardboard boxes and awkward furniture.

But Strava doesn’t lie.

5K in 29’56”

Meanwhile, daughter Rachel not only is averaging a faster pace, she is restricting herself to running 10Ks which, to me, feels like a marathon at the moment.

Her recent distances/times include:

April 5th 9.42 km 5:29 min/km

March 29th 10.03km 5.34 min/km

In other words, a projected time of 55’ for 10K…with Dad lagging behind, maybe breaking 60’

Of course, this NOT a competition.

Time is not everything. The weather for the past fortnight has been unbelievably sunny, cool, and still – ideal running conditions. And for walks. Yesterday’s hike was a 10K up Shute Hill and back to Winscombe via (posh) Sidcot. The Mendips at its best.

Back to this morning’s run, accompanied by Desert Island Discs with Cindi Lauper of ‘Girls Only Want To Have Fun-damental rights’ and how ‘True Colours’ became the LGBTQ+ anthem and the origin of the 6-coloured rainbow Pride flag first waved at a concert to honour a friend, Gregory who died from AIDS way back when.

For those that know me, you’d fall off your horse if I was to wave a Pride Flag…but…what is important in all these matters is compassion, and True Colours hits the target and some.

Those of a certain vintage, like me, will recall the tragedy of AIDS that ripped through LA initially before devastating the homosexual and heterosexual world. I remember a friend who spent time in Uganda asking why, in the bush villages, there were only children and grandparents. The lady guide pointed at the mounds of earth between the mud-huts. Graves for the parents. AIDS.

It was a great life story and interview interlaced by a great variety of musical choices from Sachmo to Maria Callas, and a great rendition of Hound Dog by Big Mama Thornton.

To conclude.

34 days to go. The ‘no-bread, no booze’ diet is more or less still in place. I suppose I ought to do some running now.

As for Rachel…calm down!

I Wonder what Abraham Did

What on Earth has moving to Winscombe to do with Abraham of the Old Testament?

In my head, quite a lot.

This is Day 5 of life in Winscombe. At this precise moment I’ve found my way to Lillypool Café, Shipham whilst my Astra is subjected to an MOT. Even that journey, from garage to café, exemplifies the move from city to country, walking as I did along footpaths and fast roads with no pavements, hanging onto sturdy branches as cars swept by. But surrounded by gorgeous frost covered fields, hillocks and birdsong.

Conversation at the garage:

‘How long, roughly?’

‘About 10.30. The café’s in the dip. Not much of a signal. Walk left, along the road.’

Not much of a signal is dead right. And where the new house is sat.

To my right, a bacon sarnie and a flat white, a warm radiator behind me, and good WiFi. Perfect.

Here’s a quick summary of Abram’s, later renamed Abraham, journey of faith. In Genesis 12 we read that ‘God had said ‘Get out of your country, leave your father’s house, and to a land I will show you’. Let’s assume that Abram heard this during his childhood, growing up in the city of Ur, Chaldea, 200 miles south of present day Baghdad, Iraq. Whether he told his parents we don’t know but Terah, his father, decided to emigrate to Canaan but fell short, settling in Haran, in present day Turkey. At some point whilst living in Haran, God spoke to Abram and said ‘Now, Abram, it’s time to go.’

Abram was 75 years old, was probably enjoying family life in Haran, he had a choice, to obey and have faith that God would lead him, step by step into a new land, with Sarai, his 65 year old wife.

If you’re thinking ‘OK, I can see some parallels, but…’ you’d be right. The purpose of this post is not to equate my minuscule adventure 30 miles south with Abraham’s 1200 mile overland emigration.

The point is downsizing. And what that forces you to do.

I suspect that Abram was living quite comfortably in Haran, surrounded by sheep and an extended family, albeit also with the continual grief of his brother, Haran’s premature death, a grief so deep that Terah named the place where they stopped after his son.

In order for Abram to leave he had to (i) tell his mother and father God had told him to leave his father’s house and  (ii) decide what to take and what not to take.

Some camels, perhaps, some belongings strapped to the camels. And how many items from his father’s house would he take?

Leaving doesn’t imply a lack of love or affection. At all. Hearing the voice of God is one thing. Exciting, maybe, but it has to be planted in the real world. I’m sure there was an emotional cost to cutting ties with his father and family.

Even Jesus had to leave his Father’s house to come to be born in a cattle feeding trough.

Abraham, Jesus…me?

Downsizing to a much smaller house has led to almost countless decisions of what to take and what to jettison. Five days in, and this process is nowhere near ended. Trips to Cheddar tip, Cheddar car boot sale, and copious use of black sacks crammed into the bin for this morning’s collection are likely to be repeated until surfaces are clear and cupboard doors can close easily.

That’s the physical.

Even Jesus had to leave his Father’s house to come to be born in a cattle feeding trough

For example, I’ve retained a painted picture-carving made by German P-o-Ws and resented to my father in WWII but reluctantly discarded some other paintings owned by him.

But there’s a spiritual dimension to ‘leave your father’s house’ that has been in place prior to moving geographically.

Abraham learnt everything he knew in his father’s house. Spiritually, I have learnt everything I know from my father’s house – which could be identified as a cocktail of Non-conformist/Charismatic/Evangelical Christianity. I was brought up in the Church of England. Faith was not spoken about, it seemed to be all about conformity to outward ritual. Nevertheless, it gave me a bible literacy of sorts, even if it was a parody of the New Testament, and it was during a Sunday Communion service that, whilst reciting the Creed, I truly believed for the first time and became a truly committed Christian. From that point on, just shy of my 18th birthday, I have experienced Christianity as part of three Charismatic churches, one in Kent, then Exeter, and for the past 36 years, in Bristol.

But I have left my father’s house. The literal geographical move is part of that process but the main action has been going on privately in what the bible calls the ‘inner man’.

Terah, Abraham’s father, fell short of the word to his son and settled in Haran. In a similar way, the temptation confronting what were the radical pioneering charismatic apostolic churches that have sprung up all over the UK in the past 75 years is whether to settle or push on to the Promised Land.

Theologically, there are two battles.

·      The first is a lack of conformity to the word, the word as summed up in Rom 6v6, Gal 2v20, and Col 3v3

·      The second is conformity to the world and permitting in church, those things proscribed as ‘abominations’ in the eyes of God

Culturally, there are signs that what was a movement founded on the baptism in the Holy Spirit and the power of the Spirit, is relying on well-rehearsed, professionally produced worship that all-but prevents any use of the gifts of Spirit as stipulated in scripture. Most churches are led by one leader, not overseen by an eldership; the New Testament norm being plurality of leadership. Spontaneity and the leading of the Spirit has been discarded in favour of organisation. Churches are strangled in red-tape, policies, rotas, and are financially burdened employing staff to keep the whole show on the road. Exhaustion is commonplace. Spiritual aridity is a sign that all’s not well.

The whole edifice is heading for a mid-life crisis and may finish in an end-of-life hospice on life support…unless it wakes up, repents, and walks free of the slavery it has formed around itself, like Gulliver, however unintentionally.

When Nicodemus came to Jesus at night, Jesus expressed surprise, (perhaps tongue in cheek?) that Nicodemus ‘a teacher of Israel’ didn’t know what Jesus was talking about he spoke about being born again by the Spirit as a prerequisite of seeing the kingdom of God. What is less well taught is what Jesus said next:

‘The wind blows where it will…so is everyone born of the Spirit’ John 3v8

There is a liberty here that is immediately under threat if we ‘settle’ and fall asleep.

In the Old Testament, the men were required by the law of Moses to attend three annual feasts: Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles.

My car, 2009 Vauxhall Astra is undergoing its annual MOT and service. The three feasts were designed very much like an MOT and service, to keep Israel spiritually healthy, and yet they were a prophetic signpost to the fulfilment in Christ, in the New Testament. The letter to Hebrews makes it plain that the Old Testament Temple worship was a ‘shadow’ of the reality of the new covenant/New Testament reality that should be our church reality.

Passover – Christ, the Lamb of God sacrificed for us, not to redeem us from slavery in Egypt but to set us free from slavery to sin, enslaved as we were in Adam to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. We have been delivered from Adam, we were included in Christ’s death ‘we were crucified with Christ’ Gal 2v20 and placed in Christ so we partake of the tree of life ‘the life we now live in the flesh we live by the faith of the Son of God’ Gal 2v20

Pentecost – Jesus told the apostles and those with them to wait in Jerusalem until the Holy Spirit was poured out in power…this is the new normal, and when these ‘wind-blown’ born-again believers meet to worship, there is no power on Earth that can imitate the liberty of the Spirit, or should

Tabernacles – Jews today celebrate Tabernacles meeting under rooves of overlapping branches from four types of woods which are open to the sky. It is to remind the Jews of their voyage through the desert to the Promised Land. For us, in Christ, we are being led by the Spirit…together…and our rooves should be open to the heaven so that as we gather ‘unto Him’ His glory can fill the church, the new normal for church. It is a collective body of Christ experience. Even though each believer is blown by the Spirit, these gatherings are more like murmurations of starlings or the flight of wild geese where one after the other are leading the direction, than a predictable pre-determined experience. As Paul prayed, ‘Unto Him, glory in the church through Christ Jesus throughout all ages’ Eph 3v21

It may be an oversimplification to state that evangelical churches restrict their theology to Passover, that Charismatic churches add Pentecost, and that Tabernacles lies ahead of us, but what is true is that if Israel relied on all three feasts we need to press into all three in their New Testament fulfilment…and not settle for one or two out of three.

Let us, me included, hand ourselves over to God for an MOT and service. Let Him run Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles through us, before we set off on wherever the wind may blow you next, as you leave your father’s house. It’s settling, like Terah, or pushing on and being ‘of the faith of Abraham’.

What has moving to Winscombe to do with Abraham? It is a visual aid.

Pilgrimage to Fratton Park, Portsmouth 8th/9th March 2025

PORTSMOUTH FC v LEEDS Utd

The tug of war between romance and the rational was at play.

First, Paul J, a Leeds United supporter, dreaming of a return to the top-flight and I, a partisan Pompey supporter nervously hoping that the recent return to form will relegate relegation fears this season to the bin.

It was a Sunday fixture, in the sun, at that old stadium that is Fratton Park, now surrounded by a soulless shopping precinct and rows of Victorian terraces that have withstood promotions and demotions, WWII bombs, solvency and insolvency, Harry Redknapp, high hopes and descents into despair.

Such was the romance that caught hold of two balding and greying fellas, one from Whitstable the other from Bristol, to make their journeys to Portsmouth, the day before the match.

Rationality was called for: a car journey for me via Chievely Service station in my faithful 2009 Astra, and trains, first to Victoria then a second down to the South Coast, for Paul.

Plans are one thing.

My story: Friday afternoon and the car won’t start. Jump leads cure the problem, but this is the third time in two weeks I have had to resort to jump leads. A photo sent to Paul from Halfords carpark, jump leads from a new battery to the dud-battery told its own story.

Saturday: Travelling and…

All well. Saturday morning rolled around. Just enough time to do a Severn Beach Parkrun in glorious sunshine before returning home, shower, last minute packing and off, various podcasts and music booming from the speakers, and, sunglasses on, travelling East along the M4.

Paul: A text from Paul informed me that he had successfully boarded the train from Whitstable and then another from Victoria. I can’t remember which part of the journey brought Paul together with four loud ladies, party animals, great friends, dressed similarly, discussion at top volume, and, amongst other topics, their dilation statistics in glorious detail whilst giving birth. Paul kept his head buried in his book.

Me: SatNav took me to a draughty road in between a bunch of modern high-rise buildings, but no sign of the Ibis hotel destination. Pulling over on a double-yellow, I resort to Google and hit directions and follow the voice to Reception…but it turns out to be the sister hotel. Ten minutes later I pull into the correct carpark and impersonate Paul J at reception, get the keys.

Paul: Texts John to say he’s arrived at Portsmouth and Southsea station, can see a Barclay’s Bank but that Google map blue dots seem to be a moving target and, if he’s not lost, he’s ‘temporarily disoriented’. I think I mentioned Winston Churchill to be helpful. Not entirely disconnected with reality as Ibis sits very close to Churchill Way. It seems to help, and Paul arrives less than ten minutes later.

The room: Ah! The on-line booking gave the option for twin beds. That instruction seemed to have been ignored and a well-made up double sat there looking at us. I’ve only shared a bed with one man (!) and he was a prisoner on the run (a story for another time). Hastily, we made our way to reception where polite complaints were made and some haggling over the price for a second room ensued…with success.

Saturday Evening: The weather could not have been better; full sun and still. It wasn’t long before we were sat behind two plates of food and drink at a dockside pub after which we were inexorably drawn to the Spinnaker tower, impressive a rather beautiful addition to the Portsmouth skyline. Conversation varied from Trump to theology, Fratton Park to family life, and navigation by the sun and old buildings to neuropsychology.

Sunday: The day of the Match

A full English and coffee, of course. And discussion about how the past and the present are related in our outlook on life. The most important aspect of this rather in-depth discussion over bacon and eggs was how we arrived at our commitments to Portsmouth FC for me, and Leeds Utd for Paul. Anyone wishing to carry out a full psychological profile should be warned: the minds of football supporters are not complex.

And off to the stadium via a coffee in a shopping precinct with the most depressing muzac I’ve heard since working at Herne Bay Tesco’s in 1975. It was a joy to leave and make our way to the ground. Early attempts to match the ticketed North Stand and Block K with the stadium signs (I do hate the non-word ‘signage’) at Fratton Park proved to be impossible, and we resorted to a human for directions.

Two seats in the corner wedge between the Away End with very vocal Leeds Untd supporters and some unsavoury Portsmouth ‘fans’ whose only enjoyment during the two hours of the match, was to yell insults at the Leeds Utd fans, practice crude hand gestures and the like. Why is probably not even worth asking. Each to their own…but it was as entertaining as unpleasant. Hardly cricket ‘ol bean! Or rugger, what?

Meanwhile, without dragging out a match report, the spectacle was impressive. Leeds, looking assured on the ball as the stylish leaders of the Championship that they are, were pitched against an aggressive Pompey team living off scraps and winning second balls. 0-0 at half time.

Portsmouth, after the resumption, piled pressure down the left wing ‘til worn defences yielded and the Leeds net bulged with the only goal of the match.

Thirty nervous minutes later, after terrible Leeds attacks, corners and free kicks that hit the bar, eluded the posts, but not the goalkeeper, and victory was ‘ours’, by which, I don’t mean Paul’s, but Pompey and her crazy fans.

Happy and heavy hearts poured out of the stadium for the journey home.

Are You a Filer or a Piler…or a Lurcher?

March 7th More Than Writer’s blog

Filer or Piler...or Lurcher?

I apologise. This is rather hurried. Something in my early morning foggy brain told me to look at the MTW blog, read, and write comments…and then…’O No! It’s the 6th of the Month and I’m ‘on’ tomorrow! Yikes!’

How has this happened?

In my former life as a Chemistry teacher, I attended umpteen Insets, training sessions and professional development courses. Of the umpteen I suffered; I have fond memories of…erm…two. One dealt with the Men from Mars, Women from Venus thing and was surprisingly helpful to such a dense, analytical type like I, and the other was entitled ‘Filer or Piler?’

As with all categories, I seem to lurch from one extreme to the other, so maybe ‘lurcher’ should be added. I do love a tidy desk, sock drawer, feng shui arrangement of cups in a cupboard etc, but I find I can’t sustain this organised approach to living for more than, I dunno, a few days?

And now I am on a strict regime: no bread, no booze for 10 weeks whilst I haul my 67-year-old body towards running the Bristol 10K with a much younger daughter who will bounce round whilst I…lurch.

What has this got to do with the MTW blog, you ask?

Simply this; I have prided myself on writing 7th of the month blogs well in advance, leaving enough time to fuss over the uploaded draft before the predetermined 6am or 7am launch. It seems that lurching has come to infect even this relatively well-organised portion of my existence.

Some excuses: Apart from the self-imposed strictures in the run up to the 10K, I’m negotiating a house move AND I’m trying to write a novel, for goodness’s sake!

Worry not, I will break it to haul out someone’s donkey stuck in a Sabbath ditch

The truth is that I’ve added a ‘1 hour a day minimum’ novel writing rule to my Pharisaical ‘no bread no booze’ discipline. Thus far I have slipped twice in a week. Nevertheless, I feel the wind is with me thanks to having that ‘1 hour a day minimum’ rule, lodged somewhere in my lurch-like interior, calling me onwards. It seems to be helping.

Back to the diet. Worry not, I will break it to haul out someone’s donkey stuck in a Sabbath ditch (or at a forthcoming writers’ gathering in April) and I will break the 1-hour-a-day rule in the opposite direction and indulge in a few binge-writing days where the pen virtually sings as it flies across the paper as fast as those creative thoughts arrive from Who knows where? Well one can hope.

So, in short, to summarise…are you a filer or a piler, or, like me, a lurcher?

And how does this affect your writing? Your desk?

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post VII 26.02.25 79 Days until Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

Progress of sorts.

Since the last update, I decided to follow my sporting hero’s strategy and abscond to a faraway Training Camp to put in some serious prep.

Ali’s training camp in Deer Lake had some features absent from my lowly cottage in Cornwall: Ali had numerous personal trainers, an entourage of friends and well-wishers plus media attention…whereas my version is splendid for isolation. Good for writers.

The weather forecast for today at Deer Lake is, perhaps surprisingly, very similar to many of my days in deepest Cornwall: overcast, 9oC but with a westerly breeze, feels like 3oC. Ali (just like me…ahem!) wasn’t put off by wintry conditions.

Ali’s training camp in Deer Lake had some features absent from my lowly cottage in Cornwall

Cornwall weather: Day one and two bathed in glorious sunshine. Days three to seven were bitterly cold, submerged in freezing fog, and high winds. Suffice to say more attention was paid to dialling up the heating towards the end of the week and writing than running.

When the weather permitted, I ran my first 10K since taking on this challenge and found a fantastic running track in Par, near St Austell to slog round 12.5 laps ie 5K.

Are times relevant?

There is a certain joy attached to running. Honestly.

Level One is simply finishing! Keeping going to the finish line whatever the time, brings an intoxicating sense of achievement however grim the ordeal may have been.

Level Two is achieving a good time in the conditions – weather, terrain, route, other runners. It doesn’t have to be a PB. But a PB is Level 2.5.

Level Three joy is, for me, a rare feeling. It’s when you ‘feel’ you are ‘running’ not plodding. More akin to flying. It’s more than jogging or straining to work hard at each stride. You feel light and strong as if you could carry on at speed all day. I rarely – very rarely – experience Level 3. And didn’t on either occasion in Cornwall!

Pentewan Trail 10K time: 61:00  i.e. 6.08 min/km

Par Track 5K time: 28:35 i.e. 5:40 min/km

For the past week or so, Dad and daughter have had some interruptions. For me it was partly the inhospitable weather in Cornwall, then distractions back home and, for Rachel, an inopportune encounter with a virus. So we’re both on yet another recovery road.

A couple of days ago I puffed round local roads for not quite a 5K and yesterday did a run-walk 10K across the Severn Bridge on a chilly but gloriously sunny morning…and stopped everysooften to take some photos.

Reflections.

Personally, Level 1 joy was in abundance managing not to stop on the 10K Pentewan trail. The final 2K were tough, legs felt like stilts. But it’s a start. Hopefully, I’ll do one 10K per week from this point on.

For some, pounding out laps on a running track is about as exciting as sorting out a sock drawer, but I hadn’t run on a track since…erm…1975… fifty years ago! I paid a mere £5.00 online and had the beautiful red track all to myself. Temp 5oC, felt like -2oC, and a 21km/hr easterly may have put off more sensible athletes.

Looking ahead

77 days to go to the Bristol 10K. My hopes are (i) to enjoy the day, the crowds, and complete the course, get home, sink into a hot bath, and enjoy a cool beer to celebrate (ii) to beat my age ie sub-67 mins. (iii) but my true ambition is to run sub-60. I’m hoping Rachel might be there at the finish line to cheer her ‘ol man across the line!

Before that, lies 10 weeks of training after this weekend. It’s a no bread, no alcohol diet for me. This is getting serious. I may have to practice my frown, get in touch with my American side, and say ugly things like ‘You’ve got this’ or ‘You’re the man’, or ‘You can do this’ and put my fist over my heart & growl into the mirror?

Hmm…maybe not. No, definitely not.

I’ll let Ali have the last word:

“Don't count the days; make the days count.”

Bolt Hole for Writers – an ideal Writer’s Retreat?

Although, as writers we could be classed as a Collective, I imagine what works as a writer’s retreat for one would fail miserably for another. Utopia is not universal.

Facebook, the blogosphere, and various writerly magazines, are replete with enticing offers of Writer’s Retreats in mountainous areas, wilderness zones far away from traffic, or impossibly beautiful houses overlooking ocean waves with cliff walks thrown in. I’m always tempted.

As yet, the cost has been a large factor in deciding not to succumb…but I might in the future.

So, if one doesn’t attend an organised Writer’s Retreat but is fed up with looking at the same four walls at home, what does one do?

Well, this one has done the following over the past few years:

1 x Hilfield Friary, Dorset
2 x Air BnBs in UK
2 x Air BnB abroad: one in Crete and one in Portugal
1x Sykes Cottages
Bristol Central Library
Various Coffee#1s and other brands

I’ve just returned from a week in Penwithick, Cornwall, holed up in a delightful cottage, and want to share some of the features that I look for as clues that might make discovering that sweet spot of creativity all the more likely.

In order, I look for:

1. A good table and chair close to a window…by far and above the most important and not that easy to find!
2. WiFi
3. Remote…I can work in a city/town/busy coffee shop setting…but, if I’m swapping my four walls, I’d prefer to look out on a garden, a beach, a mountain, or a lake.
4. Heating – joy for me is a log burner
5. Furniture and general décor…I know it when I see it. A comfortable sofa is a must
6. Kitchen – a fridge. Got to chill the white somewhere
7. Free parking by the cottage is preferable

In terms of concentration, I’m 10x better in the morning. The afternoon often is a mush, and I revive later in the evening. If I do any exercise, it’ll usually be a run early in the morning, back for a shower, breakfast, then down to it by 9 if possible. Maybe an afternoon walk/hike.

But writing, I find, will not be confined to a well-organised routine; inspiration is as unpredictable as catching trout.

A few days into this latest retreat, conditions 1-7 all met, and inspiration itself decided to evaporate. Grumpily I gave up slogging a dead horse and drove to Mevagissey for a bracing walk round the harbour, along the Coastal path, and to mouche around the town’s quaint alleyways and shops. Foolishly I donned a thin jacket, and, despite wrapping my neck in a thick scarf, the bitter cold quickly penetrated my bones, and I was forced to retreat to a warm coffee shop overlooking the harbour.

I ordered my standard flat white and a slice of sommit and sat down only to find there was no WiFi available. Grumpier now. But I’d brought an old, battered exercise pad and a pen, not sure why, dug it out, and sat there gazing stupidly at the harbour.

At that point of uselessness and redundancy, inspiration struck, and a poem began to form, or rather, I began to see the harbour at low tide as a metaphor and words began to wrap themselves around the metaphor.

Would that have happened if I had stayed at home in Bristol? No. Or would it have occurred if I’d switched on the tv and stayed in the cottage to watch another episode of For All Mankind? No. But did I need to be reduced to nothing, with no WiFi in a coffee shop? That’s a question that will keep spiritual gurus and philosophers in business all day long.

The Universe, and life in it, does seem to run best on a diet of enriched paradoxes.

Be still and know that I am God – is this the necessary prelude for whatever comes next? Psalm 23 carries the same thought, ‘The Lord is My shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me lie down…’ everything else in that well-known Psalm follows on, but first, inaction is called for: ‘lie down’.

This is not easy for us Westerners caught up in our futile attempts at meritocracy and external achievement, rather than switching to the better way: grace.

At that point of uselessness and redundancy…a poem began to form

So, there it is. My recipe for a writer’s getaway. But even the recipe is subject to the whims of the human condition and the starting point of stillness whether achieved through personality, prayer, meditation, or, as in my case, failure.

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post VI 05.02.25 97 Days until the Bristol 10K, 11th May, 2025

In not so many years gone by, the pre-weekend Premiership or European action was often preceded by press releases and short interviews with Sir Alec Ferguson playing mind games with the opposition.

Referring to Inzhagi before United played AC Milan, Fergurson said: ‘That lad must have been born offside’

My suspicion is that Rachel has been studying Fergurson. To quote: ‘Just got in from a 10K…not quite hit my PB but still under 55 minutes’

This was less than 20 minutes after I reported 27:50 for the Severn Bridge Parkrun last Saturday and feeling, for the first time in ages, that I was actually ‘running’ rather than telling my legs to keep moving.

Since Saturday though I have been conscious that the Bristol 10K is less than 100 days away and the last time I completed a 10K is tucked away in the mists of time. The weather, recently, has been relatively benign: dry, cold, still mornings. Ideal for me. So, I’m inserting this blog today as I believe that R maybe, if she reads it, beginning to feel the pressure of her, now, 67-year-old Pa’s determination to prepare well, and his commitment to the challenge by stepping up from 5 to 10K, albeit in chunks.

Run 1: Severn Bridge, Monday, 5 miles (6.3K), 6:30 min/km pace

Run 2: Severn Bridge, Wednesday, 8.77K, 6.08 min/km pace

At this rate of improvement, I will break the European Record by the end of the month and the world record by the end of April…this, of course, would be classed as ‘rude’, so I’m (i) keeping quiet and (ii) will artificially pace my improvements otherwise R may feel like throwing in the towel (NOT that this is a competition…as I have previously emphasized).

The inspiration for my modest improvement in distance and time has been mostly the weather, but I also want to give a shout-out to Frank Skinner’s Poetry Podcast which does a great deal of vital distraction work so I am less and less conscious of running and running out of breath as his melodious tone unveils one poet after another.

Other podcasts as well, but Frank Skinner’s has been my podcast of choice New Year.

LOOKING AHEAD: Rachel has been recording her own Believing In podcast…due to hit the airwaves…watch this space …meanwhile, have a listen to previous episodes Believing In

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post Five 21.01.25 Hot on the heels

Less than a week after comparing our slightly different approaches to winter-training, I have a significant development to report.

First, I am cock-a-hoop. Having almost convinced myself that further training was resulting in a downturn of results and that running in the winter was overrated, I set out again to attempt a Saturday morning 5K Parkrun up and down the Severn Bridge.

Result: 28:32 whereas my previous 5K had been in excess of 30 mins.

Not wishing to shock Rachel to the core, I held off telling her for…Ooo…at least twenty minutes.

Not long afterward I heard a WhatsApp bleep and prepared myself to be understanding if Rachel’s thinly veiled congratulations sounded as if lasting psychological damage had occurred and she was now regretting lazing by the pool in Porto.

Here’s the message: Followed by two texts…

What?!!

The two texts: “NEW PB” and “54:13”

In summary: Rachel ran twice the distance and 17 secs per km faster than her old man whilst I was waiting, politely, to share my good news.

Suffice to say that it is Rachel who is cock-a-hoop. I’m off to the gym. This is getting serious – not that we are in competition, I should add. Oh no.

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2025…Post Four 15.01.25 Winter Training methods: Porto v Press-ups, Botox v Blaise

Of course, we’re told to think ‘there’s no right and wrong, just different’ ways to prepare for an athletic showdown…but I’ll leave you to judge whether ‘my’ truth is preferable to Rachel’s.

Over the course of the last month, the weather in Bristol and London has been wintry, cold, grey, and often wet. And dark.

One can react in several ways to inclement conditions. I’m not sure why, but if I’m out of the sack at 5 or 6, everything seems equally impossible – so going for a run is just as unappealing as anything else.

Before I know it, I’m decked out in high viz t-shirt, headgear, shorts over leggings, trainers and socks, gloves, and, heater on in the car, I’m gone, driving down to the flat-ish route around Bristol Harbourside or the more local, Blaise, and after some leg-swings and lunges, I’m off, podcast selected for a pre-dawn 5K.

Then back, shower, tea, and fuss around with Strava to record my efforts.

Rachel’s methodology – remember the showdown is later in the year as we attempt a 10K – has been, shall we say, alternative?

Strava tells me I recorded 12 runs or walks in December and, thus far in January, 3 runs and a few walks. My most recent Harbourside 5K took 30:03 minutes and the one completed on Nov 26th – 29:39.

Yes, that’s right, despite the commitment to ‘training’ I’m getting slower.

Meanwhile, I’ve noticed that Rachel has kept very quiet about her winter training. When I spoke to her a few days ago to see if she was heading out for a run – on a rare sunny day – her reply was ‘I wanted to go for a run this weekend, but I had my Botox done on Friday and they advise you not to do any strenuous exercise for a couple of days’.

And before that, a previous weekend exchange of WhatsApps revealed that, due to the weather, work, and why not, Rachel had relocated to a posh hotel and was relaxing, reading a book, cocktail in hand, lounging around beside an outdoor infinity pool in sunny Porto.

I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.

A Walk in South Wales

Route: Dragon’s Back to Waun Fach, a circular walk

Weather: perfect January day, 4oC, mostly still, full sun, frosty/icy/slippery in parts.

Time: set off at 10.30, one tea break after an hour (tea + dark choc nut bar), one lunch break (tea, cheese/jam sarnie), various photos along the route, finished at 1.45. Just over 3 hours.

Home: cold beer, Walkers Thai Sweet crisps

Notes: small carpark about half full already by 10.30. Such a beautiful day, so no surprise that there were about ten other cars in car park. £5 suggested donation to honesty box. And off on the clockwise route up, down, up, down, up Dragon’s Back, stopping for photos occasionally and a ten-minute tea break. Then up to the summit of Waun Fach – second highest peak in S Wales – and down to a saddle. Turn right and down for a long walk back to the car park.

After dull December days, a treat

Others: a few family groups often with a happy dog, mostly pairs of walkers (about 1 in 10 were using walking poles), all in proper hiking gear, only one fella seemed to be determined to walk fast, a group of fell runners. Long gaps between walkers so there was plenty of time away from crowds.

First tea stop

Lunch stop

Walk down

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025…Post Three 13.12.24

Aim 1: to run the Bristol 10K, 2025
Aim 2: to write this blog, logging my daughter, Rachel’s, progress towards a competition 10K next year, and mine
Aim 3: to prove that my choice of earbud listening is vastly superior to Rachel’s…an unlikely tale…and maybe age-related.

Today – already I’m realising that whilst I’ve ‘troughed’, Number 3 may have peaked too soon.
Earlier this morning, my mobile made that WhatsApp notification bleep, and I just knew that Number 3 was in for a gloat and a boast.

So here it is:

10.0K 5.22’/km 53’ 4” – which of course is also 26’ 32” for each 5K. Compare this with my early morning run yesterday 5K (only) 6.13’/km 29’ 39” and the trough v peaked too early disparity is on display.

How to react?

1. Congratulate Number 3 & keep quiet about one’s own feebleness
2. Accuse Number 3 of employing a pacer/stooge/cycling?
3. Let Number 3 read this blog

In reality, I know my blog address is known so…there is no option other than option 3. Oh well.

Looking ahead, I’m anticipating emerging from Christmas with increased mass and hence slower times in January ie running may become less rapid than walking. But as I’ve started this blog with the hypothesis that Number 3 may have peaked too soon, I anticipate that the gap between our relative performances will close. It’s good to keep positive.

And, anyway, who said this was competitive?

Penultimate comment: actually, well done Number 3 – great run!

Lastly, and more importantly, the earbud update. Despite costing a mere £15.00 they are Dad-perfect. Music OK, podcasts fine.

Dad podcast:

Frank Skinner – Poetry: Seamus Heaney, Irish poet…mostly drowned out by early morning commute
Location: Henbury
Weather: Cloudy, 5oC, felt like 2oC, gentle breeze

Acts Chapter 6 Rethought in terms of English Law v the Law of Moses

Scene: Jerusalem AD 30-40

A few years after Jesus’ crucifixion, resurrection, ascension, and the powerful baptism of the Spirit on the Day of Pentecost, the church is growing rapidly as Jews turn to Christ in their thousands:

Acts 2v41 ‘And about three thousand were added to them that day’

That was following Peter’s sermon on the Day of Pentecost. It’s worth noting that many of the three thousand would only have been in Jerusalem for the Feast of Pentecost and, therefore, would have returned to their villages scattered throughout Israel, and further afield, once the week had ended.

However, the church continued to grow amongst permanent residents of Jerusalem:

Acts 4v4 ‘Many of those who heard the word believed; and the number of men came to be about five thousand’

The growth of the church in Jerusalem was set against continued opposition from the Temple Authorities, the council called the Sanhedrin, made up of chief priests, scribes, rulers, and elders, split as they were between two factions the Pharisees and the Sadducees.

In these early months and maybe years all the believers were Jews, placing their faith not only in the reliability of the eye-witness accounts of the resurrection but believing along with the apostles that Jesus had not only been raised from the dead but was Messiah, the Christ, and as such the King of Israel, the son of David. It was a Jewish affair!

Under great opposition from the authorities, the church looked after its own members:

‘All who believed were together and had all things in common and sold their possessions, dividing them amongst all as anyone had need’ Acts 2v44,45

Acts 6

Acts 6, therefore, is often read entirely as events taking place within the church, not in the wider religio-civic society in Jerusalem, however, the case for rethinking this is surprisingly strong.

‘In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Hellenistic Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food’ v1

The ‘daily distribution’ is traditionally understood to refer to a system of distribution within the church, amongst believers. There is ample evidence from previous verses to support this contention:

‘No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had…there were no needy persons…those who owned land or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone who had need.’ 4v32-37 NIV

The apostles oversaw the distribution to those in need. Acts 6v1 seems to suggest that, by this time, a daily distribution system was in place and that within the church, the Hellenistic Jewish believers were complaining that the distribution favoured believing widows who were Hebraic Jews.

This view, that the distribution was an internal matter for the church, is emphasised in the NIV translation above by the inclusion of ‘among them’ in 6v1. These words, however, do not appear in the Greek. Compare this with the NASB and NKJV:

‘Now at this time, as the disciples were increasing in number, a complaint developed on the part of the Hellenistic Jews against the native Hebrews, because their widows were being overlooked in the daily serving of food.’ NASB

‘Now in those days, when the number of the disciples was multiplying, there arose a complaint against the Hebrews by the Hellenists, because their widows were neglected in the daily distribution.’ NKJV

An alternative reading of this verse potentially offers a better fit to the complex and fluid society that Jerusalem had become, now that it was split between those believing Jesus as the Messiah and those who did not; also split between Pharisees and Sadducees; the Royal family of the Herods and the Zealots, Jews who were vying for a violent insurrection; and the Essenes who were looking for the Kingdom of God to appear but whose communities were semi-detached from mainstream Jewish Society.

Governing daily life in Jerusalem, whatever faction one might have preferred, was the Law of Moses – referred to as the Law.

One way of understanding the role of the Law at the time is to consider the place of Shariah Law within British society. The current position is that within Muslim communities, Shariah Law is rulings cannot breach UK Law. UK Law holds the supremacy. For example, it would be deemed t be a criminal act to cut off the hands of thieves – which might be permissible under Shariah Law – as it contravenes British statute. This was similar to the position of Jewish society and how it intersected with Roman jurisdiction.

Jews continued to live and function under the Law of Moses, but Roman Law was supreme. The Jewish Sanhedrin could only request that Jesus be crucified but the order for Jesus to be taken and crucified had to be taken by Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor.

Under the Law it was the duty of local authorities to distribute food to widows:

‘At the end of the third year you shall bring out the tithe of your produce that year and store it up within your gates and the Levite…and the stranger and the fatherless and the widow who are within your gates may come and eat and be satisfied, that the Lord may bless you’ Deut 4 v 28,29

Within the gates of Jerusalem, therefore it would have been the Sanhedrin that oversaw the distribution of food to the widows whether Hellenistic or Hebraic. It was a priestly function.

The resident population of Jerusalem at the time is estimated to have been approximately 40,000 ( Estimating the Population of Ancient Jerusalem - The BAS Library ).

It is difficult to gauge the number of widows, however, in the UK, widows account for approximately 6% of the population. And of those, approximately two-thirds are women. It may not be valid to use these statistics for Jerusalem in AD30 – AD40 but this would give approximately 2000 to 3000 widows in Jerusalem dependent on relief under the Law of Moses.

The cry from the Hellenistic Greek-speaking Jewish widows against their Hebraic Aramaic-speaking Jewish widows, therefore, may well have been directed at the Sanhedrin and the delegated local councils, rather than the apostles.

If so, it was into this difficult dispute that the church appointed seven deacons who were ‘full of faith and the Holy Spirit and of good reputation’ 6v3 to ensure a fair distribution.

Quite how that ministry intersected and overlapped with the local authorities and the priestly function in Jerusalem to distribute food to widows is unclear; the text is silent. But whether in cooperation with the authorities or entirely within the church:

Under the Law it was the duty of local authorities to distribute food to widows

The Law of Moses was upheld and fulfilled within the church!

This is exactly what Jeremiah and Ezekiel had prophesied would be the fruit of the coming New Covenant:

‘The days are coming when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and Judah…I will put My law in their minds and write it on their hearts…’ Jer 31v 31-34; Hebrews 8 v7f,

‘I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you, I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes and you will keep My judgements and keep them’ Ez 36 v 26-27

‘I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws.’ Ez 11 v 19,20

Jesus had criticised the Temple authorities for corruption, greed, oppression of the poor, and hypocrisy. Despite having the Law they failed to obey its demands despite hundreds of added rules and regulations. A typical critique by Jesus was:

‘Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You cleanse the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of extortion and self-indulgence’ Mt 23 v 25

This being the case, it is not difficult to see how such an injustice may have occurred in Jerusalem, favouring ‘superior’ Aramaic-speaking Jewish widows over ‘inferior’ Greek-speaking Jewish widows.

There was no such favouritism amongst the apostles and so they put this right.

As did Paul when instructing Timothy left in charge of overseeing the church in Ephesus. The Law of Moses had no place or authority in Ephesus, a gentile city. Roman rule prevailed. The Law was virtually unknown except amongst Jews who met in the local synagogue.

Whatever the local regulations to may have been to provide relief to widows, Paul instructed Timothy to ‘honour true widows’ 1 Tim 5 v 3 which involved some administration. A list of those who qualified as widows was made, and the church made responsible for their relief.

Again we see the Law of Moses being fulfilled through the body of Christ as prophesied by Ezekiel and Jeremiah. Paul wrote that believers are ‘not under the Law but under grace’; God freely gives us a new heart, a new spirit, and the Holy Spirit who writes the law on our hearts so that we find ourselves fulfilling the law not reluctantly but from the heart.

Under this New Covenant, the Jewish church can finally fulfil the calling on Israel to be ‘a light to the gentiles’ Is 49v6. Within a few years Peter is preaching the gospel to the Gentiles and Paul is planting churches from ‘Jerusalem to Illyricum’ (Serbia) in Gentile-dominated regions. Churches, communities of Christians, are forming that – imperfectly of course – are fulfilling the Law of Moses as the Holy Spirit touches their hearts.

England 2024?

Ever since the earliest churches formed in the 4th and 5th centuries in England, the law of the land has been greatly influenced by the Law of Moses. The dietary and temple laws were not applicable in the New Testament era, but the moral landscape in England has been shaped through passing laws in parliament generally in keeping with the Law of Moses.

Our nation may consider itself to be post-Christian, and even indulge in passing laws that oppose the Law of Moses, but we cannot deny the historic influence of the Scriptures, the Old and New Testaments, in forming our society over many centuries.

Atheists, like Richard Dawkins, acknowledge this; he is on record as describing himself as a ‘Cultural Christian’ realising that he has largely inherited his notions of right and wrong from this Christian heritage, which, in turn, is based on the statutes contained in the Law of Moses.

Jesus quoted Deuteronomy 10 v 12: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul’, an strength,’ and quoted Leviticus 19 v18: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’.

Conclusion

Our sense of justice, equity, and morality and our current laws concerning the treatment of refugees, foreigners, widows, children, commerce, war, marriage and sexuality, property, ownership, and inheritance, if not directly then indirectly have been influenced by the Law of Moses and taken to new levels of the conscience through Christ’s Sermon on the Mount.

‘You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you’

Mt 5 v 43/44

Isaiah saw this day coming…and saw our day coming.

My Elect One in whom My soul delights!
I have put My Spirit upon Him;
He will bring forth justice to the Gentiles…
…He will not fail nor be discouraged,
Till He has established justice in the earth;
And the coastlands shall wait for His law…
…I will keep You and give You as a covenant to the people,
As a light to the Gentiles’ s Is 42 v 1-6

It is not unreasonable to equate ourselves in the British Isles as ‘the coastlands’ nor is it unreasonable to say that the calling of Israel to be a ‘light to the Gentiles’ has been fulfilled through the early church, through the apostles, taking the gospel to the Gentiles.

And part of that ‘light’ is contained in the Law of Moses.

For the Christian, the Holy Spirit is at work in our hearts writing the Law on our hearts. We are not required to obey an external law, carved into stone. We will continue to ‘walk in the Spirit’ trusting that He will fulfil the law that He is writing on our hearts, even through such imperfect vessels as ourselves.

For those amongst us who are not believers but have a legitimate say in the direction of the nation, we would say there is much wisdom and light in the Law of Moses. Our challenge would be to read it and reflect on it, discover its wisdom, and pass laws in keeping with its light.

Left Brain v Right Brain…for writers

Left brain v. Right brain in Writers

Original Post - click the link above to www.morethanwriters.blogspot.com

It’s difficult to avoid magazine articles, blogs, books, even, that present the world and individuals as either Left-brain or Right-brain dominant.

It all sounds so neat and tidy, as if the brain research has uncovered a key component of human personality left undiscovered for…yonks. Pictures of neurones firing away when presented with images of spreadsheets (left brain) or Monty Python (right brain) are compelling.

Thing is, we like (i) neat and tidy (ii) and eccentricity.

Or am I just talking to Brits?

Here’s a spoof conversation between two writers:

‘Tell me, Jarvis, how do you plan your novels?’

‘I’m so glad you’ve asked me Martine. Not because I know the answer, but the intonation of your soft Dublin accent has given me an idea of a character I’ve been wrestling with…’

‘I didn’t expect that! I’ve known you a long time, Jarvis, but I’ve never quite understood how you prioritise character and plot. You know, I was speaking to our mutual friend, Isaac, last week. He imagines five characters playing poker…’

‘Ah yes, Isaac and poker. He does all the maths. Brilliant at Bridge. Impressive. For me, writing is more like abstract painting. Something moves me towards a colour, and that…’

‘Something moves you?’

‘Doesn’t it you? I mean, an idea, or a feeling of dread, or ecstasy, a longing…’

‘What, about the plot or the person?’

‘Yes, exactly!!’

‘Which…the plot or the character?’

‘Pardon?’

According to the left/right brain characterisation, the left-brain dominant are efficient planners, well-organised, good delegators, and regularly water their indoor plants, whereas right-brainers veer towards spontaneity, insight, empathy, and wear odd-socks.

And, if you’re (rightly, I feel) a tad resistant to being labelled, characterised too tightly, hemmed in by dubious conclusions from brain research, or simply ‘a bit of a mixture’ then, I greet you, and say ‘welcome to the muddle in the middle’.

My right brain seems to write poetry, and my left brain is currently too strong when writing novels…I have to work hard at developing character over plot.

I’m a Chemistry tutor, passable at Maths, partial to a spreadsheet, and drool over maps, but I seem to be engaged in a process (Holy Spirit inspired?) of picking the lock to my left-brain conditioning. Some would say our whole society, education, legal, and political system reeks of Enlightenment thinking, exalting the rational mind over the wind of the spirit, is Greek-rooted. And that right-brainers have a hard time feeling at home in their own skin let alone in the company of others. In schools, we place greater importance on Maths, Science, and English (grammar) than Music, Art, and Drama and wonder why many young people feel alienated.

You’ll find right-brainers on the poetry circuit, or prophesying in church, lampooning the self-important, relieved to stumble across Charlie Mackesy, or supporting Harlequins.

For those of a certain age, I leave you with a question: are you a Captain Mainwaring or a Sergeant Wilson?

Or maybe Phoebe v Monica in Friends is a less patriarchal comparison?

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025 Post Two 01.12.24

Aim 1: to run the Bristol 10K, 2025

Aim 2: to write this blog, logging mine and Rachel’s progress towards a competition 10K next year

Aim 3: to prove that my choice of earbud listening is vastly superior to Rachel’s…an unlikely tale…and maybe age-related.

This morning’s run
Location: front door to the farthest reaches of Henbury and back

As it was 5.45 a.m. when I set off, I was unprepared for how dark some of the stretches were. My normal haunt, Bristol’s Harbourside, is well-lit all the way. This observation, of course, is a prelude, justifying my very slow plod, at 6:27 mins/km; a way off my more competitive 5:18 mins/km a mere 4 months ago. Come on Stevens!

Times aside, I listened to Hannah Fry and Dara O’Brien’s podcast Curious Cases entitled ‘Be More Athletic’ hoping it would have an immediate pain-distracting effect. It didn’t. But I did learn that Michael Phelps has an unusually long torso and short legs, plus a long reach and huge hands, all design plusses when it comes to swimming.

 Note to self: consider buying a decent headtorch.

 Update on earpods: ordered a replacement set…white this time, £15.00. Quality report next post.

Dad podcast: Hannah Fry and Dara O’Brien Curious Cases
Location: Henbury
Weather: Cloudy, 8oC, feels like 3oC, breezy

Gargling A look back: combatting childhood ailments in the 1960s

From the toes:

Mycil to kill toe-itch
Hot towels to burst
Leg boils…honestly!

Mumps – finger-climb the wall
Measles – curtains closed, no sunlight
Chickenpox – pink camomile, ahh!

For earwax – cottonwool and Nivea
Wound round mother’s hairgrip,
Tilt head, and hope

Headaches and temperatures
Soluble aspirin – Disprin
Horrid Benylin for coughs

Vick rubbed on chest and back
And menthol vapour,
Head under towel, breathe in

Iodine, like Marmite
Spread on splinters
Before the sharp needle cometh

And if all else fails…
…gargle with salt water

Writing Process? What’s that?

Lindsay Rumbold’s blog post…how she goes about writing novels…an excellent 5 min read

Dad-daughter 10K challenge 2024-2025 Post One 22.11.24

Hard on the heels of my almost successful bid to run a 5K in the world record time for the10K is this year’s challenge.

                                                 Bristol city centre - quiet before the commuter storm

A few days ago I received an email reminding me that is some distant fuzzy summer month I must have entered the 2025 Bristol 10K. That, plus, a text from daughter Rachel, announcing she had achieved a 5K PB (26.34), has shaken me from an athletic slumber, ready or not, for this latest folly.

Is the aim, as aging Dad, to keep daughter 3, 30 years my junior, in her place? Well, the trouble with this is that ‘in her place’ would mean I would be trailing her, as she is (currently, I should add), consistently faster than the ‘ol man.

On the same morning, in Bristol, to her London 5K PB, I also ran a 5K…but in 28.51.

So, that’s the gap.

Can it be closed?

                                                  Harbourside running East into the dawn

This morning, before dawn, I set out on my latest Harbourside 5K. Blustery and cold, not ideal but fun running with the wind. However, my right ear black earbud fell out, twice. Found the first time but not the second, so the time was irrelevant as much searching yielded a nil return.

Rowers out in two-man sculls, on the cold black water, stern and bow lights struggling to be seen

Rowers out in two-man sculls, on the cold black water, stern and bow lights struggling to be seen.

In these blogs I will record podcasts/music we are listening to whilst running and, of course, the times and locations.

Dad podcast: Frank Skinner – Poetry
Location: Bristol Harbouside
Weather: 20km/hr West, 5oC, -3oC windchill

Rachel music: that Dad is unlikely to play…but…you never know
Location: London