"The Christian Christs"

My friend Christopher Page came up with this apothegm over lunch today. Something - a mantra - for me to take with me on my walk, next week. It's equivalent, he offered, to those seemingly tautologous words, "The just man justices," in Hopkins' beautiful sonnet, As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Dragonflies Draw Flame.

After lunch, I went shopping for some waterproof gaiters. The first packet I took down turned out to have only one inside it. "Take another," the cheerful assistant urged. I did, but when I got it home, I found it had three gaiters inside.

This lovely image (16th Century glass, as I recall), I found at Sudeley yesterday: amongst other quirks, one of two angels, kneeling behind the crib, seems to be wearing a pork pie hat.

Newman

On Friday last, Paul Newman died. For some 50 years he was an icon to my generation of film buffs; but reading his obituaries you see a bigger picture: in his long life, he suffered much personal tragedy, and whilst his success made him rich, he was also hugely generous.

Today's illustration is of another Newman, John Henry, 1801 - 1890. Here he is, shown as an old man in his robes as a Cardinal. The illustration appears on the front of the current Friends of Cardinal Newman Newsletter, kindly dropped on my doorstep yesterday by Christopher Page.

The picture, by the Birmingham artist, Claude Pratt, was owned by my cousin Tom Townsend, who would have inherited it from either his father Sir Reg Townsend or his mother Millie, the daughter of Birmingham-born Ned and Agnes Cartwright. (Agnes was my grandfather's aunt.)

Tom and his wife Betty had no children, and I was fortunate enough to inherit "Cardinal Newman" on Tom's death. But with our impending move, we have been trying to slim down on pictures, so I am very happy that it has now found its way back to Birmingham, and indeed to Newman's Oratory in the Hagley Road.

Driving off into the sunset

When my dear friend and work colleague Christopher Page asked whether I'd like a retirement party, I said yes, provided I didn't have to make a speech. Well, the party was last night, and a very good one too, but I was not to get off so lightly. I had prepared (and delivered - in response to all sorts of embarrassing reminiscences Christopher came up with in his speech in my favour) a "non-speech": this morning of course I can think clearly of all the witty things I might have said.

I had parcelled up presents for Christopher (who is about to be 50) and for Lisa, my wonderful secretary, and had them in a Tesco's bag. When we arrived at Christopher and Celia's house their son Leo pointed us to a parking spot near the (rather full) skip. I rested the bag on top of the skip for one moment whilst I helped Agnes with her baby carrier, when before you could say Synecdoche there was Agnes unwrapping one of the presents, thinking she had found something worth scavenging from the skip. Eek, I cried (just in time).

And coming away, we did indeed drive into the sunset, and (for a few minutes anyway) a beautiful red sky.