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Weekend away ‘essentials’. (#Blog4Trek!)

When I saw this Blog4Trek competition, I was pretty psyched. Trip to ‘Mericuh? Check. Enter by blogging? Love it. The topic is on travel? Lovely, loads of fun to write.

But then I started thinking about it. The topic is “What are your weekend away essentials?”- fairly innocuous, nice little glimpse into your travelling style and juicy enough to get your blogging teeth into. Right?

Wrong. The day I wrote out a draft, I was getting more and more irate. Nothing I wrote was actually an essential, more what I thought would sound snazzy or impressive. And hardly any of it was stuff that I actually took on a weekend away.

Always take black skinnies.” I chirped. “Great for clubbing through to camping, and no spill marks!” Then I went to Margate for the weekend, and packed a floaty pink dress and the only other clean thing I had in my room while I was packing- a tartan scarf. No black jeans in sight- and it was for the best. It would have been weird to rock up at a wedding wearing biker-chic.

Don’t bother with your fancy camera and tablet, you’ll only forget the charger!” I giggled. Then I remembered my last trip to York, where I got more work done on the coach than I think I did during my entire three years at University- all on my tablet- and still had the most gorgeous time wandering around tiny side streets.

Take a book- but choose wisely!” I squeeked, ignoring the fact I’ve been on a total reading-dry-spell for nearly two months, forgetting that my last trip to visit Oxford-based friends resulted in me being too hungover to board the right train, never mind settle into a cosy novel.

Annoyed, I deleted my draft. It turns out I’m not very good at following my own advice, and my weekends away are usually haphazard, last-minute, don’t-forget-the-train-tickets, oh-god-I-hope-I-brought-underwear, where-did-I-say-the-B&B-was packing affairs. Great. This meant I was going to have to write something corny about “pack only your sense of adventure“, when in reality, I want to say “Oh who cares, it’s only two nights. If you brought odd shoes or left your camera under your bed, you’ve got two days of relaxing, catching up, exploring or adventuring in front of you to make up for it. It’s not a bad compromise.”

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When London breaks

You know how when it snows, everyone gets ready to make those “Southern pansy” jokes? The ones about how oop North, we rally through full force gales, shimmy over snow drifts and pick our way through the perilous icy peaks to get to the mines, but when a single snowflake lands outside Buckingham Palace, every Londoner goes into a full-scale meltdown as though they’d never seen the sky deposit such an unearthly matter on their beloved city before, and as a result they spend all day blankly refusing to go to work?

Yeah. I used to make those.

I lived on the edge of the Pennines for a year, where, in winter, it was safer to sit on your bum and slide one mile down the ice-covered road into oncoming traffic than to risk breaking your back by walking down said hill- and I still never missed my bus. I used to slide to college, voluntarily or otherwise, every day with only a few complaints and a twisted ankle. I felt my perils were just a simple part of winter, and coping with it was a simple job of getting on with your life despite external forces.

I used to look at Londoners, whimpering over the weather forecast, and think that they were pathetic. That was then. That was before I experienced The TFL Tube Strike.

I’m not sure if you noticed (…) but London just had a public transport freak out. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the situation, so do your fact-finding elsewhere, but I do know that for two days, it messed with my head.

The night before the strike, I’d been pretty smug. Meh, I thought, ignoring all warnings, this will just be another thing that Londoners meltdown about. Oop Norf, we rally through full force gales to get t’werk…(cont.). That was before what should have been an hour and a half round trip took me SIX AND A HALF HOURS.

I saw five people crying. I saw three arguments. I saw queues of one hundred people trying to bustle onto a single decker bus. I was in Waterloo East when it had to be evacuated and I was in gridlocked traffic for so long that I gave up and decided to walk the remaining stretch in the windy drizzle.  I was on the only central-bound train from Clapham that thoughtful strangers decided to fart on. And you know the worst bit? I didn’t even have it that bad.

I’ve got a new found respect for Londoners. I used to think that the transport-drama headlines were hyperbolic, and simply proof that people were softer down south. But having experienced just a taste of what it’s like to be in a crowd of one thousand lost and late commuters, I sort of get it now. Because back home, when there’s a transport crisis, we’re not battling with crowds of hundreds of people who are getting in your way, or knocking you over to get on the bus. And there’s certainly no one farting into your handbag.

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Blog Alpha: Why do I keep going?

After a particularly hairy week on the Alpha course, which I blogged here, I decided to go back. I glossed over my reasons in that particular blog post- partially because it was getting excessively long, but also because I had an episode of Breaking Bad that needed urgent attention.

So why did I go back? Why would I voluntarily put myself through another session of feeling vaguely offended and wound up? This is evidently not a place for an achingly liberal athiest. The free food was surely not worth the incandescent rage that followed, so I must have had another reason.

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To be honest, I was intrigued to see how the next session would recoup. I was almost challenging Alpha to come back fighting: either give me a definitive reason to quit, or to make it up to me. I’d become invested in the course, and (cheese alert) I was enjoying learning.

You see, I went to a Catholic primary school, where the leading memory of religion was having an emotional breakdown in front of a priest, aged eleven, when I couldn’t think of anything suitable to say for my first confession. I also went to a Catholic secondary school, where the leading memory of religion was the fact that my RE teacher told us she couldn’t spell “crucifixion”. Other than those two stand out moments, I’m pretty ill-educated when it comes to what Christians believe.

Alpha had started to prick my interest in having faith. Though my personal beliefs are unchanged, I now feel like I actually get it. The logic, the personal experiences, the trust in there being more to life than squabbling amongst ourselves and acapella Beyonce megamixes. The mechanics of faith make sense now. I’m still athiest, or whatever, but something clicked.

Previous to this course, whenever people told me they had a faith I treated it with as much understanding as if they’d told me they had a degree in neuro-astrology. With a respect for their experiences, but no knowledge of a) what was involved, b) how you got started in something like that  or c) how that would help you in daily life.

I’m still no expert, and I’m still far too silly to get involved in argumentative debates about God. But I’m still mystified by certain bits of religious zealousness- watch this space for my speaking in tongues special (yes really)- and I’m still baffled by people who are dead certain of one thing or another. More because I can’t decide between poached or fried eggs, nevermind God or no God.

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Blog Alpha: Week two and three

After a bit of an internal debate on whether it was fair to my other group members to blog about the Alpha Course, I have decided to keep going. I’m going to keep other group members anonymous as default, in case they don’t want their beliefs and experiences published by some gob with a blog. Enjoy!

The routine is settled now; meet my friend at the tube station, walk chatting about our day to the illuminated church, pick up our dinner (shyly walk past the donation box…), navigate our way through the myriad of Alpha-ers (Alphites?), settle into our seats and munch away. We move to the stage area, where there’ll be a talk, a song, a longer talk, then back to our groups to chat about it all.

The stage is a redesigned alter, with a drumkit set to one side and some seriously high-tech AV equipment, ready to show us this week’s montage. Christian rock celeb Ben Cantelon is here to sing Amazing Grace in Week Two, and the ‘congregation’ is encouraged to sing along- the lyrics screened on a projector in front of us. A giant red question mark perches stage-left.

Week Two’s talk is “Who is Jesus”- where Nicky Gumbell, Alpha  A-Lister, reasons that Jesus did exist, that he was a great man, and that he was the Son of God. His logic makes sense, to be fair. He talks of textual analysis, historical records, biblical prophecies come true. Quotes from CS Lewis are read out (not the Chronicles or Narnia, mind) and I’m feeling pretty content. I’m not convinced wholly, but the talk was engaging and insightful.

We trot back to our groups, where we have a discussion on the perception of Jesus today, and on the reality of miracles. I tell the group that miracles, to me, are astounding acts of humanity. I use the example of the feeding of the five thousand- where a little boy gave up his three fish so Jesus could do some shiny magic on them to share amongst everyone else. I make the point that the shiny magic part seems to be a nice embellishment, but the real miracle, the real thing worth celebrating, is the act of a boy giving away his food in a starving crowd. The group agree to differing extents, and conversation is stimulating, involved. I felt quite proud of myself, and retell my thoughts at work the next day. Week Two was fun, and I’m eager for the next session.

Alpha Course 2013

Week Three is different. The talk, “Why Did Jesus Die” by Toby Flint, kinda pisses me off. It’s essentially about sin, and comparing ourselves to God, and receiving forgiveness. I’m disgruntled, and a little offended by the off-hand remarks made in poor taste. My friend disagrees, and I sat fidgeting in my seat. Even this week’s song bugs me- something in the lyrics about unworthiness sticks in my mind.

The group session is a little more fiery this week. Our numbers have grown (which is unusual, groups tend to be whittled down as the weeks go on) and it’s sometimes a struggle to hear what everyone is saying. I’m trying to process my anger into coherent thoughts, ready to bring to the table. Someone has already brought up the issue of sin as a concept- arbitrary and outdated. They reference homosexuality.

The atmosphere is a little stuck. No one wants to sound accusatory, and most sentences are hedged with phrases like “In those days”. One person referenced the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah- and was quickly accused of ‘totally demonising homosexuality’. Later, someone else inferred ‘the gays just want acceptance’.  Many people pointed out the significance of various ‘sins’, such as homosexuality and tattooing, have since radically culturally changed, and that the Bible was written by flawed people. I think the Christians felt a little attacked, and the athiests and agnostic a little hurt.

I was slightly offended, to be honest. I understand that it can be difficult to articulate yourself when talking about contentious issues, and not one person in that group could be described as homophobic, but the conversation left a bad taste in my mouth. It took me a while to stop feeling frustrated afterwards, and I decided not to return. I can’t buy into something that requires you to consider yourself a sinner as an intrinsic part of your belief system- it’s just so negative.

A few days later, having thrashed my thoughts out with a few friends, and even reading a passage of The Message (a version of the bible written in modern day English), I decide to go back. If this week’s session upsets me or directly contradicts my basic values, I won’t go again. The last session seemed tainted with a negative undertone, and feathers had clearly been ruffled. I write Week Three off, but it still lingers in the back of my mind.