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“God is a concept/By which we measure/Our pain” – John Lennon

I’m an atheist, but I’m sort of drawn to religion, even though I fight it. I’m not sure why as I’m not necessarily looking for answers. I suppose what I’m after is to obtain a peace with myself.

“They call me The Seeker/I’ve been searching low and high/I won’t get to get what I’m after/Till the day I die” - The Who

Some of my earliest searching led me to read about Buddhism. I knew I didn’t want anything to do with ‘god botherers’ and Buddhism seemed to offer a religion that sort of made sense. I say sort of because I have one really big problem with Buddhism and that’s reincarnation. I don’t believe in it. For me gods, reincarnation and time don’t exist; only the here and now.

As I’ve mentioned before on this blog I used to attend Quaker meeting for worship. I did so for five years which was pretty good for me but for a number of reasons I couldn’t sustain it and never felt able to apply for membership.

“I don't want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member". Groucho Marx

I think this is the problem I don’t really want to join a religious organisation but I want to partake in some of their practices and thinking. Perhaps there’s an online community that I could dip into?

The sound of summer

When I was a kid the council house that I grew up in had a brick built shed out the back. The roof was of corrugated asbestos. In the school summer holidays when it rained, yes it rained in summer even then, you could find me sitting in the shed with the door half open, listening. I love the sound of summer rain on a corrugated roof. So satisfying and comforting. I would sit there for ages listening and enjoying. I would metaphorically soak up the sounds. It was a sound that would make me tingle with pleasure, and still does. I still love the sound of summer rain. Oh and don’t get me started on the smell of rain.

Am I weird?

Well yes I am but this has nothing to do with it.

Social niceties

I’m a shy sort of bloke really. I am nervous of many social situations. One thing that has always foxed/scared me is social kissing and hugging; when to and when not to. As a result I tend not to push myself forward for such things, preferring to wait for the other person to make the move. Perhaps I’m repressed? Who can say?

It has occurred to me that these social norms are an ever changing beast. Even earlier in my lifetime such familiarity would have been seen as quite outrageous. In Victorian times such behaviour would have been seen as licentious and probable an arrestable offence, as it would today in many conservative cultures. In this country that which is socially acceptable between friends is ever changing. Who knows where we will be and what will be acceptable in five, ten or twenty year’s time?

Paul’s floppy

Just before we came back from France on the shuttle just over a week ago we dived into Carrefour in Cite Europe to do a mega shop. You know the sort of thing; essentials; beer, wine, cheese, saucisson, crisps and sweetie things. One of the packs of sweets I brought was made by Haribo and residing under the name of ‘Floppy’. For all I know the Haribo Floppy may well be a big hit in British playgrounds but I’d never heard of them. So I just had to buy them. Haven’t tried them yet. I might just keep them in their virgin state.

And here’s the news

I happen to think all life is sacred. And, even though it is a word that has its origins in the religious I don’t mean sacred in a religious way. I just believe life to be the most important thing. In fact really it is the only thing!

Unfortunately as far as the gospel according to the British news media is concerned there are British lives and then there are the lives of Johnny foreigner; the former taking president over the latter. It never fails to irritate me how our media reports the loss of life in wars and other disasters. X amount of Britons dying will be conveyed in suitably sombre and sympathetic tones. Any death of those from other nationalities will be delivered almost off the cuff and in a very matter of fact way.

I’ve no doubt that the same happens in other countries.

But isn’t that wrong?

Ann Kaide

On this day in 1909 my Nanna S was born in Dundee. My Nanna [sic] was like a second mother to me. I was the first grandchild and was spoilt something chronic. Sadly she died in 1974 at too early an age. I miss my Nanna.

Just after my father died I found a load of family photos thought to have been destroyed. I was over the moon I can tell you. In amongst the photos were a number of my Nanna. Here’s one of her at the age of 48:

Bayeux

Last Saturday we returned home from a wonderful holiday in France:

After a hectic first weekend of our holiday with our friends near Compiegne we made our way down to Bayeux for a relaxing few days. We had rented a Gite right in the town.

We are not very good tourists. Most people seem to like going to places and tick as many tourist 'attraction' boxes as possible. Not us. We like our holidays to be slow and gentle.

For most visitors Bayeux is not a destination. It's just another stop on the relentless ardour that is American coach trip hell. Most visitors seem to come to the area to visit the beaches famous for the D-Day landings. Something that didn't greatly interest us. We had come to Bayeux to see the Tapestry and generally chill.

The Bayeux Tapestry is something quite remarkable even though it is embroidery rather than tapestry. Pictures don't really do it justice. It's not as tall as I expected but much longer than I had imagined. We had decided to visit late in the afternoon in an effort to avoid the crowds. Turning up at 5 o'clock certainly paid off. There were thankfully very few other visitors so we were able to peruse the tapestry at our leisure. You can gauge how busy it must get at peak times by the speed of the commentary on the electronic guide that you are given on entry. We listened and walked at a fairly rapid pace along the almost 70 metres of the tapestry. And then, the commentary dispensed with, we went back to the beginning enjoying the work at our own pace. Studying bits of interest in great detail. And a mighty fine experience it was indeed. It not only tells the story of the Battle of Hastings but events leading up to it. From a Norman perspective obviously. Pro William the Bastard nee Conqueror most certainly.

Bayeux's cathedral is quite a spectacular edifice to behold. Standing head and shoulders above the whole of Bayeux with its spiky twin towers at the entrance, a central domed tower with a spire on top all vying for attention. The medieval equivalent of the Ferrari or Lamborghini and a cudgel all rolled into one; a rich man's penis extension and a vehicle for oppression.

We had no real desire to visit any of the D-Day landing sites. That would seem to be the domain of very narrow minded people. Although we did make a couple of small exceptions. As a pacifist I am so often misunderstood by those that seek to glorify war. I will be accused by those types as being disrespectful to those that fought and died for our freedom but I am most certainly not. We stop on the coast road overlooking the site of some of the landings the skeletons of the mulberry harbours still visible after all this time. I felt sick in my stomach and I welled up inside at the thought of the death and destruction that reigned over that area on people of my grandparents' generation. Nobody should have had to of gone through such unimaginably fearsome times. War is evil. No one ever wins. War serves no purpose.

We had a lovely afternoon in Deauville a rather quirky town on the coast east of Bayeux. It's a seaside town that looks as though it could have been designed in Hollywood. Quintessentially French essence distilled into a concentrated form. Masses of timber framed buildings with towers and conical roofs.

On the way back we stopped at the Pegasus Bridge, we just felt we had to do something. I really can’t put into words how it made me feel.

Bayeux is a nice little French town to spend time in. We spent much of our holiday just wandering around and pottering there. We’re not good at the relentless schedules.