From time to time, like now, the accumulated dust gets unbearable, and I am obliged to attack. Was it Quentin Crisp who famously said of dust, “After two years, it doesn’t get any worse!”? I admire his tenacious sloth. I am not about to put his claim to the test.

I’ve heard it said that most house dust is particles of human skin. “Unto dust we shall return.”  Maybe so, but I’m not quite ready for that. I’m doing a little spring cleaning this morning, which in my house, means dusting on an industrial scale. Clouds and mountains of it.

Originating post: dust

There is a distinction between judging actions, and judging the person who performed them based on those actions. Therein lies the hypocrisy. From time to time we all behave in ways we subsequently regret. We have little trouble making light of our own shortcomings,  so why is it that much more difficult to cut others the same slack?

We are most inclined to judge those about whom we know the least. When we truly love someone, not only do we admire and revere them, and delight in their company, but we also forgive them for their weaknesses, which we recognise as being not unlike our own.

As we get to know people better, we are less and less inclined to pass judgement, and eventually we are obliged to suspend judgement indefinitely.

Originating post: suspending judgement indefinitely

When speaking of heroes, often our first thought is of soldiers and battle. Warriors overcome their natural fear, risking and often losing their lives for the greater good. When we hear such accounts of supreme courage, and the ultimate sacrifice, we are humbled indeed. ‘Greater love hath no man…..’ Faced with such choices, how would we respond?

In fact all of us have opportunities to perform heroically from time to time. To what extent we rise to the occasion is the variable. For me, the true heroes are called upon to step up to the plate again and again.  They quietly live out heroic lives on a daily basis, asking no thanks, seeking no glory and expecting no reward. Single parents, carers of the disabled, the disabled themselves, doctors and nurses, missionaries….these are the more obvious ones. If you were to ask any one of them how or why they do it, they would probably say that they have no choice. They are just doing what has to be done.

I am lucky. Like many, my day-to-day difficulties are not the stuff of tragedy. I could compile a long list of complaints, but in the face of the hardships many others endure, I prefer to thank God for my good fortune.

One of the attributes of heroes, is that they inspire us to emulate their triumphs. We all know examples of these unsung heroes. And though they would never dream of asking for it, they could probably use some help. Let us pray that we discover ways to contribute to their efforts, as each of us, in our own quiet way, aspire to joining their ranks.

Originating post: true heroes

It is in anticipation of this behaviour, that the carnival ethic of Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, and so on has evolved. Christians around the world have relished the last chance to sing and dance and make merry, before the 40 days of fasting and abstinence begin.

Much like Christmas, Mardi Gras has been taken to heart by secular society, as another opportunity for revelry and excess. As usual they are eager to join in any celebration, but baulk at the idea of personal sacrifice. Where’s the fun in that? It is impossible for a non-believer to understand the joy the faithful experience in the performance of their Christian duties. Still, as at Christmas, I feel compelled to encourage everyone to at least consider the origins of the traditional celebrations they so heartily embrace.

No matter what we believe, most of us can own up to falling a little short in the human kindness department. That in particular is what I hope to work on and improve in myself this Lent.

Originating post: the day after Mardi Gras

One of the dictionary definitions of certain is, ‘some though not much‘. For some reason, this is the meaning I assume to be in use in the phrase. In which case, ‘a certain amount of truth’ is a convoluted way of saying something is mostly a pack of lies!

My instinctive response when encountering this phrase has always been, “Well either its true, or it isn’t.” But truth isn’t  necessarily such an absolute. In the material world it often is. A pint of beer, a dozen eggs, dawn, winter…There’s no denying these things. They just are. A pint of beer is a very certain amount of truth. As in sure, finite…

However in the realm of ideas, philosophy, metaphysics and such, there seem as many degrees of truth as there are colours in the spectrum. Perhaps it is something to do with the nature of words, which ultimately fail us when we try to convey our insights to others. Music or pictures often do a better job. But at best, even they allow only momentary glimpses of something we yearn to know better. And that something we suspect is truth, or at least part of it.

‘A certain amount of truth’ sounds like a kind of seasoning that one might add to one’s reality or perception of it. Enough would make it truthful, but anything less would not.

If we are spicing our lives in this way, let us serve generous helpings!

Originating post: a certain amount of truth

Although it is none of my business, it has piqued my curiosity! I know it is not a holiday because both my children have gone to school. Have they complained to their working parents that they are not feeling well, then when the house has emptied, got up and gone out to look for some fun? That’s what I used to do.

I was younger at the time, 10 or 11, but there was a period when I was a child in South Africa, and I would regularly complain to my mother of stomach pains in the morning then once she had gone to work, laze around the garden all day. My school was only two blocks away so my friends would come and hang out with me at lunchtime. I took care not to leave the property before school hours were done.

So I’m not much of an example. I am lucky that my two are both in their own different ways motivated to get something from their time at school, even though they don’t like it very much. So once in a while I will give them the day off, knowing full well that they are not really that unwell. I like to think that they are proactive enough when they are at school to justify this. Certainly my daughters GCSE results last year bear that out.

It is one of the benefits of being self-employed, that as long as the job gets done well and in time, it doesn’t matter how or when. If we can instil in our children a healthy desire to ‘get the job done’, and trust them to manage their time accordingly, I believe they will reward our faith in them.

But as I mentioned before, I am one of the lucky parents. I cannot imagine what I would do if a child of mine consistently missed school. I want to say I would talk to them and explain the importance of education and the work ethic. But it is in the nature of teenagers to have a dwindling interest in their parents opinions. It often seems as if they are hot-wired to directly oppose them.

What children, indeed all of us, need is inspiration. It is easy to point the finger at poor schools and lacklustre teaching, and this is a real problem. More difficult is for parents to accept fully the responsibility they have, almost from birth, to stimulate and feed their children’s inherent curiosity.  In our present day world of working parents, this is not easy. TV, internet and digital games only require passive involvement, and are no substitute for time spent with your mum or dad.

Still it is never too late. With enough care and attention, the most seemingly disaffected can be sufficiently encouraged to take pride in themselves and their achievements. No single person wants to let themselves down.

Originating post: truants

What kind of cost-cutting madness is this? Is this a prelude to a whole range of products that, in the name of economy, no longer meet requirements? Shorter staircases…lets save wood and jump the last couple of steps. Floorboards too thin to support a person’s weight. Lukewarm freezers…. Sound systems you can barely hear, even at maximum volume.. Perhaps solar clocks….

There is an advertising catch phrase I’ve heard on the TV that goes, ‘It does what it says on the tin’. It has entered the vernacular here in the UK. It seems to imply that nowadays just doing what it is supposed to deems a product miraculous!

Hear ye, manufacturers! Its not much to ask…

Originating post: non-stick glue

I dragged myself out of bed with considerable effort, and went to church. When I got home, I did a tiny bit of tidying up, then went back to bed for 2 hours. When I awoke I resolved to fast for the day, except for non toxic liquids.

I went to the supermarket in the middle of the afternoon to buy fruit, vegetables and salad fixings, juice and water. Included in my purchases was a carton of prune juice. By 7.00pm I had drunk the whole carton. Much of the remaining waking hours was spent on the porcelain throne officiating at a spectacular clear out.

One day later I feel transformed. I think I’ll do another carton today, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything.

Originating post: prune juice

I also prefer to shop alone. There are people I love who like nothing better than ambling slowly through displays of goods, stopping many times to pick up and handle items on offer, things they often wouldn’t dream of buying.  A trip to buy milk and bread, winds up being an extended market research project. Not for me! I have ruined more than one relationship, foolishly accepting a casual invitation to accompany someone I like, shopping. In no time at all, I don’t like them as much.

This is one way in which the poor are blessed. I am fortunate to be part of a Western society wherein even the poorest are by comparison very wealthy in the eyes of millions of Asian, South American or African people. Nonetheless, within this society I am definitely one of the ‘have-nots’. Mostly this does not concern me, but the pressure to change is relentless. Every wile and seductive measure is marshalled to persuade me to get more and better stuff, without which I am to consider myself inadequate.

The poorer a person is, the further are such desires from that person’s mind. For the millions of dispossessed around the world, the hunger for something, anything, to eat, and a place to lay their head down for the night keep them busy enough. For them, the choices our consumer society confound themselves with are laughable. They have none of these options, so why dwell on the impossible? Deprived of material advantage, they quite naturally find solace in the world around them, the people in it, and spiritual concerns. Blessed indeed…

Originating post: blessed are the poor

This is indeed a venerable ’seat of learning’. Great men and women have studied, researched and taught here for centuries. Many students have gone on to become world leaders or captains of industry. The feeling of proximity to the ‘corridors of power’ is tangible.

Yet on a trip to town on Monday, it was all to easy to forget this side of Cambridge.

To a great many people who live in and around it, Cambridge is overwhelmingly about one thing only….shopping! The Xmas frenzy is in full swing, and as I wandered through the pedestrian zone, making my few humble purchases, I was struck by how grim it all seemed. The excess of it all, disgusting as it is, is no longer a surprise. But the spirit of good will to all men seemed thin on the ground. Armies of shoppers, laden with bags and parcels, barging through dense crowds, seemed more like a refugee nightmare.

Cambridge has been plagued with traffic problems for a very long time. Yet the city fathers have seen fit to allow the construction of not one but two shopping malls in the centre of town. I thought half the point of shopping malls is that they be on the outskirts of towns, to attract traffic away from the centre, and allow more spacious parking facilities.

In the 1960s, Petty Cury, one of the most beautiful old streets in the city, was largely demolished to make way for the hideous Lion Yard development.

Then in the early 1980s, after years of bitter argument, much of the area known as the Kite was raised to the ground to make way for the Grafton Centre shopping mall. A lot of terraced housing, shops and popular meeting places were destroyed.

In early 2008, after a long period of construction, the Grand Arcade was opened, making the now decrepit looking Lion Yard, to which it was attached, look like an afterthought.

Traffic now queues for hours to get into one of the expensive multi-storey car parks that sit alongside these cathedrals of commerce. Shoppers eventually emerge from their cars, tired and belligerent before they have even begun.

It is hard to understand why anyone would put themselves through this misery. Yet the social and commercial pressures are such that great numbers do. Thus in the minds of the greedy bastards responsible, it is all a great success, and the disregard for aesthetics and history is thoroughly justified.

So a unique and beautiful old town has been transformed into just another multi-million pound trading centre, with the same stores and products found in any walking street in Europe.

Perhaps the big winner is internet shopping. Given the choice of a day in the concentration camp conditions in town, or a quiet couple of hours at home in front of a computer arranging to have purchases delivered to your door, what would you prefer?

Originating post: I live in a shopping mall