A second happy day!

An outdoor ceremony in England during June – such as Mini and Leo planned yesterday – means umbrellas at the ready, but our daughter-in-law proved right in saying that she is "Sunny Lady:" there was only the merest whiff of rain during the post-marriage blessing and celebration in the romantic setting of Painswick's Rococo Garden. Andrew Meynell devised a beautiful liturgy: this was his Introduction:

Leo and Katsumi are really thrilled that you are all able to come to this Celebration of their Marriage, and want to welcome you very warmly to the Rococo Gardens. This is the English celebration – the Japanese version will happen in October – so it is based on a Christian service. They are very keen to help us think through the significance of what they have done in marrying each other and to open our understanding of the meaning of this relationship. They particularly want their family and friends to participate with them in this Service before we all move to the Orangery for the reception and cutting of the cake.

You, Mini and Leo, are standing in front of your family and friends as husband and wife, as you come to dedicate your lives to each other.

From very early in the Christian story, Marriage has been understood as a gift: it is a given that husband and wife may comfort and help each other, living together in need and in plenty, in sorrow and joy. It is a given, that with delight and tenderness they may know each other in love, and, through the joy of their bodily union, may strengthen the union of the hearts and lives. It is a given as the foundation of family life in which children may be borne and nurtured in accordance with God's will, to his praise and glory. This is the meaning of the marriage you have made.

Leo and Mini, you are doing more than marrying each other: you belong to one another as partners and as soulmates; and also are bringing together two families from different countries, crossing the boundaries of cultures and faiths. By your action here you are saying you are not afraid of differences, but are enriched by them; not distancing yourselves through fear but committed to working with whatever keeps you from loving one another to completion. We have a common humanity - in which we know deeply that we belong to one another; a world in which we pray and work for humanity’s well-being; where we search for its meaning and purpose; where we repent of what goes wrong, where we act to put things right, where we celebrate what goes well; it’s a world where we become more healed by being prepared to bear more for the sake of others who are less well. It is through close relationships such as marriage that we learn about trust, commitment, faithfulness and love and how we might live most fully the life we are meant to live.

St John wrote ‘God is love, and those who live in love live in God and God lives in them.’ So let us keep silence, and become aware of the deeper mystery that is the Holy Spirit here within and amongst us now.

‘Love does not come to an end.’

A rare group

Not often do all the Davises get together, but - with one exception - Saturday last was just such an occasion, for Sarah's 60th birthday lunch. She gave us all a lovely party, with the help of friends who live down her road, who offered their garden for the afternoon. The sun shone, and Edmund made a speech - short and to the point. We saw people - non-family - we hadn't met for ages, and all ate and drank probably rather too much of Sarah's delicious food and wine: a perfect way to celebrate.

The absentee was the most recent Davis, namely Mini, who was looking after her parents, uncle and aunt, over here for a fortnight from Osaka.

Two Cheltenham festivals

This weekend, the high-profile Cheltenham Science Festival draws to a close, and the 2009 Cheltenham Art Festival & Open Studios - a Cinderella in comparison - sparks into life. Yesterday, local MP Martin Horwood (pictured here) nailed his colours to the mast at the Science Festival, in introducing Jonathon Porritt to speak on "The Green Resurgent."

We need a dramatically accelerated change in our lives, Jonathon said in the course of a punchy presentation; that's pretty blindingly bloody obvious. He reported that one of the Nobel prizewinning scientists, who assembled in Britain recently, said 50% of the world's energy needs could come from renewable sources within 10 years if we we were to move onto a war footing: by this, he seemed excited. He also spoke of the Labour Government of the past 12 years as illiberal and authoritarian: this, by contrast, kept him awake at nights. It rather appears that all depends on who the dictator is.

Today, Ann Sohn-Rethel and I opened our joint exhibition of pottery and photography as part of the biennal Cheltenham Art Festival. A respectable number trickled into the house to have a look during the day: one couple were refugees from a rained off bowls match, so perhaps the dismal weather helped. Takings were up on two years ago, when we also combined, but numbers were slightly down.

Cheltenham's new Mayor, Lloyd Surgenor (pictured here with his wife Ann) was able to put in an appearance, amidst a host of other engagements. Sadly it seems that the elegant chain of office was too valuable for him to risk wearing it for a visit to our house. A keen racing fan, he went away having bought a photograph of Kauto Star. The nice bit about being Mayor, he said, was having to do all those things you always wanted to do but could never quite fit in.

Ours is just one of 72 venues, open till 14th June: the Festival website has all the details.

Plastered on my birthday

I'm sorry to report that my grand tour - see my last post Northwards Ho! - ended yesterday with a bump. On the last leg of my journey, biking home from Brackley, I was intending to head for Chipping Norton, when instead I headed into the tarmac, and to Banbury Hospital. Coming down a steepish hill at speed with a clear road ahead, my front wheel hit a pothole and buckled. I didn't know too much about what happened next.

An amazing procession of extremely helpful people then introduced themselves to me: the couple with a first aid kit in their car, and telephone (for a 999 call); the local police; the ambulance crew; a team of nurses at the hospital; Dr Ahmed; the radiographer; the Plaster Queen - and above all Caroline, who dropped everything and rushed over to be with me, drive me home (and rescue the remains of the bike from the roadside).

And so I returned home to my birthday tea party feeling rather sheepish and very battered and bruised, with possibly a fractured foot - hence the plaster. (Agnes took this picture, and also photographed the remains of my cycle helmet, see below, without which I would certainly not be writing this today.)

Oh dear, and it had all gone so well till then! After a cold, wet start from Ludlow, the weather gradually improved once I had reached Edinburgh. The cycling was glorious when I was on canal paths and country lanes - less so at the times when my route took me along the side of a dual carriageway. All but one of the 16 trains I caught ran to time. I met as planned - amongst others - some Christian Ecology Link and RCE contacts. I visited more than 20 cathedrals and churches (more counting the ones which were locked).

But more importantly (as it was the object of the exercise), I checked out most of the places where my ancestor Peter Davis had been (and which he had written about) on his travels 174 years ago. If I found it tiring, getting round his 800-mile itinerary by comfortable train (mostly) with 100 miles on my bike, then he must have been completely exhausted after his fortnight spent mainly on top of rattly coaches with 100 miles on foot!

Northwards Ho!

On Monday morning, I am setting off by bicycle from the Shropshire farm where my great-great-grandfather lived on a journey North. He made the same trip, 830 miles, in 1835, and wrote it up in a journal. This was later transcribed by his granddaughter, and copied to me by a cousin in New South Wales.

Peter Davis walked more than 100 miles during his fortnight, but for the most part travelled by coach. I shall try to bike the bits he walked, and then put the bike on the train. Bikes weren't available in 1835, and trains only just: he describes catching the one from Liverpool to Manchester.

So it's something of an adventure!

2030 targets

Last June, Professor John Beddington spoke at the Cheltenham Science Festival - fairly soon after taking up his appointment as the Government's chief scientific advisor. I mentioned his talk in one of my early blogposts. Last night he was back in his birth county, addressing a surprisingly sparse audience at the Oxstalls Campus of the University of Gloucestershire. His theme was The Challenge of Global Sustainability. It was a stimulating hour.

Professor Beddington listed the threats, and how they would grow over the coming 21 years - that is, by 2030. By then, the Arctic would be ice-free every Summer, and the world will need 50% more food, 50% more energy and 30% more water. A frightening prospect. His comfort? We can commission more nuclear power stations and look forward to fusion; and we can embrace GM foods. Bad news for many then.

Transition Cathedral

Gloucester Cathedral hosts a Future Energy exhibition this week. I've been stewarding there today, on behalf of Christian Ecology Link, which shared a stall with Eco-Congregation. There is an obvious synergy between draughty church buildings and efficient use of energy, but all the same there were not many who paused to inspect the stalls lining the Cathedral's North and South Aisles. Perhaps there will be more interest later in the week and at the weekend. I hope so, as a lot of work has gone into organising the displays.

Well done to the Cathedral for making it possible! Roy Strong would no doubt approve. Though possibly not of the other show on in the Cathedral at present: one exhibit is a life-size wedding dress made entirely of chicken skins.

Talk of transition pervades at present. My area of Cheltenham has its own version, Cheltenham Connect, which plans a big launch on 27th June. People interested meet at the Exmouth Arms in the Bath Road on Wednesday evenings between 8 and 9. There was a useful quorum for last night's session. I heard about it only yesterday afternoon, at a well-attended meeting to consider a possible Transition University (of Gloucestershire). Professor Shirley Ali Khan referred to the Transition movement, started by Rob Hopkins, as "allegedly the fastest-growing citizen movement in the UK." How do we get off our oil-addicted treadmill? How do we best use our stock of human energy and creativity to accommodate climate change? What kind of learning programme will lead to changes in behaviour?

A happy day!

Leo and Mini were married yesterday! Here they are Skyping Mini's parents in Osaka, Mini showing off her ring. She wore lilies of the valley in her hair, and Leo sported a magnificent buttonhole. Agnes brought all her floral skills to the arrangements, which now scent the house.

As they wished, the wedding was a low-key affair, with a lunch for the immediate family afterwards. Caroline had organised beautiful food, and Leo made an excellent speech! Off they went afterwards on the bus to Burford - but for a two-night honeymoon only: we are all going to Japan in October, and Leo is saving his holiday for that.

We are absolutely delighted to have acquired such a lovely daughter-in-law!

Back from St Jean-Pied-de-Port

Having marked my 60th birthday year by walking the Milford Track on New Zealand's South Island, I thought it was appropriate to mark my 65th by tackling another decent walk. So I can report with satisfaction that I returned last night after completing on foot the final (almost) stage of the Voie du Puy, one of the ancient routes through France which leads to Compostela. Starting at Manciet in the Gers on 22nd April, I arrived in St Jean-Pied-de-Port on Wednesday, a bit weary and wet, but very happy after eight days on the GR65.

Perhaps the tiredness was evident: carrying my rucksack and staff, I was offered a seat in the tube from St Pancras to Paddington yesterday evening by a woman to whom I would normally have offered mine. (I said I was fighting fit, having just returned from a 200km walk: she replied, "So I should think you could do with a sit down." Nevertheless as a matter of pride I declined her kind offer.)

MD65, GR65 and A65: during my walk, I trespassed for a couple of kms along the as yet unopened A65 South of Aire-sur-l'Adour, the construction of which has usurped pilgrims from their direct route: a long detour is now indicated, which I wanted to avoid. But my comuppance arrived with misdirections from a trio of the roadmakers on their return from lunch, towards a path ending in a tangle of fallen trees worthy of a scene from The Road: the devastation caused by the February tempest in the French South-West was evident everywhere, though the GR65 was itself pretty clear of fallen timber - indeed the wayside is now furnished with plenty of wooden seating.

My French and German and a lot of smiling were just enough to get me by with the mainly French, but also German, Belgian, Dutch, Finnish, Italian etc. other wayfarers I came across: not until Wednesday afternoon did I hear a couple of others speaking English as I caught up with them on the final stretch - and they turned out to be Norwegian and Portuguese respectively.

In previous years, Caroline and I had walked stretches of this Chemin du Puy together. It is different altogether doing so on your own, however many others you come alongside. I am still trying to distill the experience, with the aid of the photographs I took and many good memories.

Whilst away, I read - and can recommend - Kevin A. Codd's To The Field of Stars: A Pilgrim's Journey to Santiago de Compostela, published by Wm. B. Eerdmans last year.

"Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani"

As I said, I am just off to walk some more of the Compostela Way: this calvary stands by the Cathedral in Eauze, where we ended our pilgrimage walk in 2007.

This time a week ago, we had just returned from London where we heard the OAE St Matthew Passion in the Royal Festival Hall. A wonderful experience, musically, but the setting could have been more conducive to religious meditation, I found.

At the crucial phrase of Jesus on the cross, Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani, I became distracted by the fact that the singer, the excellent Roderick Williams, pronounced the last word "Asbachthani". It so happened that I was sitting opposite his neighbour at dinner afterwards. Do you know Jesus? I was able to ask her. Yes, she replied, and proceeded to introduce me; so I enquired whether or not his pronunciation was intentional. Indeed it was, he replied: an Aramaic-speaking friend had been his guide. So, is this another Mumpsimus perhaps?

The Way of St James

In September 2006, Caroline and I set out from Figeac, North of Toulouse, on the Chemin du Puy, one of the pilgrimage routes to Compostela. We didn't walk far that year, but the following Spring, we picked up the route where we had left off, in Cahors, and walked as far as Eauze. Next week, I am hoping to walk the final French instalment of The Way, reaching Saint Jean Pied de Port. (Actually, it's not really the final French bit: we need to go back and start properly in Le Puy at some stage: rather mountainous, some of that first stretch.)

This month's trip involves some complicated travel arrangements: train from London to Pau via Paris; car hire in Pau (Caroline is house-sitting nearby whilst I walk), and separate trains home which supposedly meet up in Dax. Rail Europe have disconcerted me by saying there are two at the same time from Dax with different numbers.

Last time we walked, I photographed this notice pinned up in the porch of the church at Saint Antoine. (I am hoping the weather next week won't be quite as extreme as mentioned.)

Easter

Do you know about the Kenyan Stations of the Cross? They contain an additional 15th Station, Jesus rises from the dead. Simple, and expressive illustrations too! (Thank you, Barbara, for introducing me to them.)

We have been celebrating Easter at home this year, and in a quiet way. Agnes and Ida have been in Lisbon (with Thomas); Edmund and Claire at their home are seeing the boys through chicken pox, leaving Leo and Mini to spend yesterday with us here. We all went to St Gregory's for a joyful Easter morning mass. Arriving just before it began, the only room - as so often - was right at the front, which gave Mini a vivid experience of what went on: her first Christian Easter.

Fr. Bosco spoke about the descent into hell: this may sound unpromising, but wasn't at all in the context he set - his friend's daughter, locked in a depression which led to her suicide. Where we gather in His name, He is there in the midst of us - not needing to knock to seek admission.

At teatime it was warm enough to be in the garden under our magnolia tree, which looks particularly good this year (though difficult to photograph adequately).

Cotswold stealth

Walking around the Slad Valley this afternoon, the company agreed that you could smell the money. It's a far cry from the Slad of ninety years ago, as described by Laurie Lee in Cider with Rosie! That money is plentifully lavished on house, horse and (in this case) a car with something of the look of a stealth bomber. I wondered what the catsuit - sorry, carsuit - alone had cost with its dinky pockets for the wing mirrors.

Photobooks

If you google "photobooks", you come up with approaching five million results! A bewildering choice exists, and I have not made any sort of proper survey. I did however look into it a bit after our InterRailing last Autumn. It seemed clear that, whilst expensive against the sort of book you can buy in a shop, a photobook was a worthwhile investment compared to the normal album: first, you have to buy your album: cheap ones are a false economy; and secondly you have to buy or print the photographs to go in it. Added up, it's cheaper to have a photobook made any day.

I only received my finished InterRailing book - the photograph is of the front cover (showing our route) - the other week: it took ages, first of all because my broadband connection wasn't adequate for zapping the data up to the publishers: the disk I sent was then lost in the post etc. etc. The saga is too long to bore you with. However, I am delighted with the eventual result, which looks most professional.

I used a company called myphotobook.co.uk, which is of course their web address. Despite appearances, they operate from Germany, but email communication (in English) went smoothly, and as I say the necessary troubleshooting was at length successful.

The book (132 pages all told) incorporates quite a bit of text, which I found easy to manipulate when putting it all together. You can have pictures of all sizes, with different backgrounds for variety. The colour reproduction is pretty faithful: the finish is lustrous, not glossy. The pages feel nice and thick!

Duntisbourne Abbots

What a great Spring day this has been! We ate lunch outside with our friends Colin and Jessica Russell after a gentle stroll up the dry valley to the North of Duntisbourne Abbots, returning via St Peter's Church. It has an unusual lychgate, swinging on a central post, and old gravestones stand like sentinels lining the path from it to the South porch.

Although it's 12th Century, I didn't find there was a lot to notice within the church itself, its setting on a sloped site in the village centre being the main charm of the place. However, this modern, deeply-engraved glass in the West porch window caught my eye: I wonder what its story is.

"She could be tricky"

This stained glass portrayal of Chipping Campden church by Henry Payne is a detail in the magnificent East window he made for the church itself 85 years ago. It symbolises Chipping Campden as a focus of the Arts & Crafts Movement. Twelve years earlier, a life commenced which a goodly number came together to celebrate yesterday afternoon in that church: Peggy Nelson had died aged 97.

When someone has attained that age, funereal faces are hardly necessary, and indeed my ears were met by a merry buzz (more like you hear before a wedding) as I entered the church. My task was to represent the family: the Nelsons (who ran Arden House, a prep school near where we lived, in Warwickshire) were old and firm friends of my parents, and Peggy had taught my sisters French at the pre-prep next door, Hurst House, a school I too attended for a year. It astonished me how many Arden House school ties were in evidence yesterday, showing the devotion which Peggy had engendered. Victoria Checksfield, in her address, brought her mother to life with a combination of masterly objectivity and the deepest affection: we all wanted to clap, but that wouldn't have been British.

In the 57 years since I left Hurst House, I don't suppose I had given the three form teachers a second thought. At that age I imagined them to be already old people, yet I learnt yesterday that not only were two of them still alive, but one was there. And so it was that I reminisced with Miss Jones, whose face I recalled clearly as soon as we were introduced, how she took us to look at the bluebells in Mayswood.

Most of those I met up with I shall never see again. None of them learnt anything about me as an adult; nor I hardly a thing about them: they were names and faces, with which I was making a fleeting reconnection. But somehow, the Spring sunshine pouring into St James' Church, it was not inconsequential.

S. T. R. spells "stroke"

My friend Patrick Brooke included my email address in his "public service duty" round robin yesterday, asking recipients to pass it on. I'm afraid I usually bin this sort of request, but Patrick's message is a helpful one. He writes as follows:

Neurologists say that if they can get to a stroke victim within three hours, they can reverse the effects of a stroke – fully. The trick is getting a stroke recognized, diagnosed, and then getting the patient medically cared for within that three hours.

Sometimes the symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify; and lack of awareness spells disaster. The victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize stroke symptoms.

A bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:

S * Ask the individual to SMILE.

T * Ask them to TALK and SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (coherently) – "It's sunny today."

R * Ask them to RAISE BOTH ARMS.

If they have trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call 999 immediately and describe the symptoms.

In addition, you can ask possible stroke victims to stick out their tongue. If the tongue is crooked (that is if it goes to one side or the other), that is another indication of a stroke.

Against this, my photograph looks rather flippant: our son Edmund (33 today) stroking Tosca, his cat.

Tranquility House

Members of the Gloucestershire Churches Environmental Justice Network met today at Rodborough, for a visit to a remarkably energy-efficient building. We were shown round by its owner, Mike Hillard. On his website, he describes himself as a pioneering environmental architect and designer, his enthusiasm and commitment being born out of his conviction that We are facing total environmental catastrophe.

Tranquility House is certainly not low tech: never, in a private home, have I seen so many gismos, nor so many computer screens flashing away: hibernate doesn't seem to be a relevant term to Mike (let alone shut down) - nor indeed does the concept of virtual tourism, judging from the number of Lonely Planet guides in his bookshelves, his beautiful photographs of tribesmen laid out on his second floor work table, curtain materials carried back from Uzbekistan and the Amazon, not to mention the odd spear leaning casually up against a doorway. Mike speaks with passion about the generosity of primitive people in Africa.

Apart from its enormous two-storey conservatory/solar room, the house looks conventional enough from the outside. No sign of a domestic wind turbine here nor photovoltaic cells - both decried, along with combined heat and power, compact fluorescent light bulbs, multi-foil insulation, ground source heat pumps (assuming you are using a gas boiler), biomass, biodiesel. It was a somewhat controversial meeting, you can imagine!

What impresses are the costs he quotes for water and energy consumption: space heating, £30 p.a.; water heating, £8.25. The walls - two feet thick or so - have a U-Value of 0.12. My photograph shows the black-painted copper tubes in the solar room, collecting heat for water on its way up to the cylinder. This room, filled with huge ferns, orchids and banana trees, provides 19 degrees C in Winter daylight: its internal walls are the thermal mass soaking up the almost horizontal sunlight, the room's warmth being ventilated into the main house.

The house is not just about low energy use: each room features unique curtain rods, hollow tubes filled with macaroni, sunflower seeds or something similar. PVC lines the walls of one of the bathrooms, and the floors and staircase are all made from different timbers, the most spectacular being horse chestnut.

A fascinating visit even for someone as scientifically illiterate as I am, so thanks to the hecticly busy Mike Hillard for sparing us time: after our animated dialogue he ran around to ensure that we saw all aspects of the building, talking ten to the dozen as he went. The name "Tranquility House" is obviously aspirational.

Earth Hour

We have enjoyed our earth hour by candlelight! Conversation flourished. Non-computer-based jobs got done. The television didn't distract us, nor the hi-fi. But you can't - as the photograph shows - escape the telephone, and - in our case - the Aga. (Sorry about that, George.)

More Gloucestershire Way

The forecast was good: I'd dug the garden; so I decided to tackle another section of the Gloucestershire Way today - from Coberley to Notgrove. It was a sublime walk. A gentle climb up the East side of the Churn Valley, through Upper Coberley; across to Needlehole, and down to the Hilcot lane; then up nearly as far as St Paul's Epistle, and down to the Coln via Foxcote.

Sitting with my back to the bridge over the river, next to the still-closed Frogmill, I ate my sandwiches in the sunshine. Then, crossing the A40, I found myself in horsicultural Shipton: not only with a maze of fences, but now about double the number of large houses since my last visit. The builders have had a field day.

The best part of the walk was the final stretch: across from Shipton to Hampen; over to Salperton - horses in front of the big house - and down and up the lovely, grassy valley beyond Farhill Farm, into Notgrove.

Still thinking about the Age of Stupid - see today's 4-star Times review incidentally - I found myself doing a double take at the packs of bottled water delivered to the gates of one of the biggest houses I passed: as we all surely now know what it costs to produce the stuff and its plastic bottles - if not, see here - how about a fine, not only for those smoking in public and failing to belt up in cars, but those drinking anything in the way of water other than what's perfectly good from the tap? (My entry for the most impracticable idea of the year award.)

(More photographs of the walk here.)

One-eyed sparrowhawk in the garden

Taking on board the message of last night's film, I have - like Voltaire's Candide - today been cultivating my garden. What a great day for it too! The soil has dried out brilliantly.
I found myself working alongside a hawk, which was making a meal of a magpie. (We can certainly spare one or two.) She seemed to have lost her left eye.

"The Age of Stupid"

Last weekend, Caroline and I went to Malvern, to see Waiting for Godot, a marvellous production with a set to echo some of the scenes described in Cormac McCarthy's The Road. A dazzling performance by Ian McKellen too. His character, Estragon, has the line: "People are bloody ignorant apes." And on my visit to the cinema this evening (the first time I've been to a film premiere), I came out thinking: who can disagree?

"We live in the age of ignorance, the age of stupid," concludes one of those portrayed in the film (a former oil man from New Orleans), and indeed "The Age of Stupid" is its title. Having driven down to Bristol for this event, I became acutely uncomfortable during the film that I was going to have to drive an otherwise empty car all the way back again. Did I need to travel all that distance for another lecture on climate change? Don't I have all the information already?

Well, there was an aura of gesture about Vivienne Westwood cycling - rather uncertainly - along the green carpet, as relayed to us direct from Leicester Square before the showing; but the film itself is quite nicely nuanced in some ways. The character I mentioned - despite seeing the light after losing all in the Katrina disaster - seemed to go on living a lifestyle many of us here would now not wish to emulate. A Nigerian aiming to qualify as a doctor aspires to an American way of living, "and then you would never want to die." The Indian launching a new low-cost airline seeks to take his people out of poverty. Who shall throw the first stone?

So, yes do go and see it for yourself if you can do so easily, and take others with you. It's on from Friday this week (20th) in Glasgow, Inverness, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Bristol, Belfast, Sheffield and various London cinemas - and at others you can find via its website. If the film is not shown in cinemas near you, you can rent the DVD and arrange a screening for yourself and friends, from 1st May: not expensive.

Its subject is after all the single most pressing issue of our age.

"Our civilisation in crisis" - a matter for reflection

As previewed 10 days ago, Frank Regan visited Cheltenham yesterday to lead a Day of reflection under the auspices of Cheltenham Christian Ecology Link. The chapel at St Edward's Junior School was pleasingly full for two stimulating talks, the oldest attendee being 93, the youngest 16 months.

What follows is not a synopsis of what Frank said, rather a series of some thoughts he gave us, some questions he raised, some comments he elicited.

All the world's peoples want peace - which for believers is the experience of living in the fullness of God's blessing. Why are we therefore, since 9/11, in a situation of permanent war?

Adapting Archbishop Romero, you and I are prophets of a future not our own; priests of a creation not our own, and builders of a humanity not our own.

The lens through which I look upon the world is my faith vision. How does my faith impact upon those for whom I am responsible?

"I have come that you may have life, and life to the full." (John 10, 10) We are in Christ - the body of Christ, given for the life of the world.

"You are the body of Christ. Receive what you are; become what you receive." (St Augustine) In the light of this, how can we relate to other peoples in the manner of war?

Creation is good; and it is beautiful (a particularly Greek insight), clean (a Roman), harmonious (a Slav), rainbow-coloured (a Japanese). Why have we - especially in the last 250 years - ceased to care adequately for it, our planet?

The gathering in, the symbol of the state we're in is Peak Oil. Our oil-driven civilsation is coming to an end. So, why are we still being urged to consider ourselves duty-bound to consume ourselves out of Depression?

Prostitution and body-parts trafficing; extraordinary rendition and Guantanamo - they take place in our name. We are all involved. How do we relate?

These are the questions our churches should be asking. Instead, they give only answers; and sometimes their teaching has not been given reception. An implosion is needed. Meanwhile, we can be the change.

"Civilisation in crisis" - or flux. There is potential for harm, but also opportunity.

The love of God only becomes visible through us, who are loved by God. "I take my delight in you." (Luke 3, 22) "We are God's work of art." (Ephesians 2, 10)

We are not here for the life of the church: we are here for the life of the world.

Mysticism is not about people living in a cave, but about activity and practice in the world. Living simply is a collective effort, a globalised effort; so others may simply live: it needs to be a church activity. We are the saints, but there is no patron saint of equilibrium.

Jesus was known as a devil by his enemies, as a prophet by his followers. Prophets are not so much about holiness as wholly-ness: "I come that you may have life to the full" - not religion to the full!

"Mercy" (connoting nurture), "justice," "good faith" (Matthew 23, 23) are to be our watchwords. "As often as you did this to one of the least of my brethren, you did it to me." (Matthew 25, 40)

A cyclist moans

Our local paper is always ready to print letters complaining about lawless, reckless and/or thoughtless cyclists. Speaking as one who has in his time been all or any of these, and is repentant, I am now retaliating.

I have been complaining for years - literally - about cars blocking cycle access to the main road crossing in Montpellier, Cheltenham. This photo, taken on Saturday morning last, shows what is happening: more often than not, the access is partially or wholly blocked by lawless, reckless and/or thoughtless drivers parking their cars/vans in the Keep Clear space!

It should be possible, with a little street furniture, to ensure the access way is kept clear. Cheltenham Borough Council: if you read this blog, please DO SOMETHING!

Altarcation

Today, we have been exploring North Wiltshire, so near (from home), and yet so far. Caroline had never been to the Swindon Museum & Art Gallery before - and indeed I only went there last year for the first time: currently, they have an Arts Council touring exhibition of Matisse's Drawing with Scissors lithographs. This was interesting, as are some of the Modern British works in the permanent collection, and indeed the 20th Century pottery.

The Gallery feels rather a sad place to visit though. Swindon's population is nearly twice the size of Cheltenham's, but its arts facilities bear little comparison.

Things looked up as we left to visit three churches nearby, Simon Jenkins's guide in hand. St Mary's Lydiard Tregoze was luckily open, but only briefly: I should like to return, to look longer at the extraordinary array of memorials, and some rather tantalising mediaeval glass fragments.

St Mary's Purton we thought was probably less likely to get a second look, though the setting is delightful, the twin-towered church alongside a fine late Elizabethan manor house and enormous L-shaped barn. There's some mediaeval wall painting, and a 17th Century "Last Supper" over the main altar: Jenkins describes the reredos as an "awful tapestry", but he visited at a time when the Flemish painting had been stolen, and a local artist had lovingly created a version to fill the gap. (It now hangs at the West end of the church: Jenkins was not too cruel.)

Finally, to St Sampson's in Cricklade. Its disproportionately large tower dominates the Upper Thames valley, and should certainly be seen from within, so we gathered. But the church was locked. Happily, a kind Churchwarden came rapidly along to open up for us in response to my phone call: most impressive. St Sampson, a rare bird, appears in a Kempe West window.

The cat accompanied us as we explored the church: it apparently lives locked up inside.