Adventures in Irresponsibility

Bloggers beware! There is a very irresponsible man who is encouraging people to think in a very irresponsible manner. By day this fellow is a respectable father, Father, family man and community man. By day (or night, if it pleases him) he writes that we should adopt very odd standing positions that will cause a rush of blood to the head and make us see things in a different way. The worrying thing is that he actually has a point. I went to work today standing on my head and, while I got to know people's shoes very well, I also treated everyone equally as I no longer let their appearance bias my opinion of them. At lunch, I read my book upside down. Turning the pages was a little awkward, but my goodness did I pay attention to the words. For once, they became a more nourishing food than my actual dinner. Things got a little awkward when I boarded the bus home, but I can truly affirm that when among strangers there is nothing like being upside down to act as an ice breaker!

So, what is going on? Our very irresponsible man is suggesting that we may find beginnings where we would expect to find endings; adventure where we would expect to find boredom; dynamism where we would expect to find stagnation. What a strange man! The worse thing is that, if you are a Catholic, he is one of us. I am quite alarmed. It has been a tough week for the Church in the media. I hope this news doesn't get out. But if it does, have no fear, for it will only be tough on the press: There will be no more ethical automatons in The Guardian. No more secular striptease in The Times. No more culture of death in the tabloids. For our man - who, by the way, is overweight: what does that tell you about him! And don't dare say G. K. Chesterton (I don't want you to steal my thunder) - has written a book in which he brings to life none other than the Apostles' Creed. You know the one:

I believe in God the Father, Almighty,
Maker of heaven and earth.
And in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son, our Lord,
who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, dead and buried:
He descended into hell.
The third day he rose again from the dead.
He ascended into heaven,
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.
From thence he shall come to judge the living and the dead:
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
I believe in the holy catholic church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting.
Amen.

Bored? This book is very boring - in fact, it bores right to the heart. Forget your staid catechetical books. They ain't welcome here. Turn away dryasdust primers. No longer needed! Wave goodbye to trendy spiritual writers who have gone from old time religion to new time atheism. Here is a book that will set you off on the journey of an eternal lifetime. Not bad for £10 or less. The book is called Adventures in Orthodoxy and our irresponsible father and Father (you thought it was a typo!) is Mr Dwight Longenecker who gains his two fs by being a married Anglican convert to Catholicism who is now a priest. Ff on from that: Adventures is a delightful little work that delights in paradoxes and attention grabbing turns of phrase. Mr Longenecker is a father X2 but also, very clearly, the literary son of G.K.C. I expect the extra weight is part of that deal. But the applause on the back of the book (aka the blurb) not only compares him to the master of Top Meadow, but the one and only C. S. Lewis as well. I must confess to being less convinced by this comparison. Mr Longenecker wields the same verbal rapier as Lewis but just like planets draw moons into their orbit by their gravitational pull, so I think Chesterton by means of his great (literary!) bulk has drawn Longenecker into his own stylistic orbit.

Anyway, enough of what I think. The facts are these: Dwight Longenecker is a very irresponsible man who is to be commended for giving us a book that helps us to meet for the first time again the greatest creed the world has ever seen. By so doing, we get to know God, the world and ourselves more truly. I did not find much in Adventures in Orthodoxy that I did not know already but I did find alot to remind me of what I had forgotten. That, I think, is the main benefit of spiritual writing and I am thankful for this latest read.

To learn more about the book, click on the photo
to visit Fr Longenecker's website

Catholic Adoption Agencies and the law

So the Government has announced that Catholic adoption agencies will not be given an exemption from the anti-discrimination laws which are due to come into effect on 6th April this year. In what must count as the most one sided 'compromise' this century, the agencies will be given 21 months to 'prepare for the new laws'. In other words, they are being given 21 months to sell out their faith or close down. How merciful is the Labour Government. Homosexual acts are sinful, but if a gay man or lesbian remains single this indicates that he or she is doing his or her best to right their disorder or live rightly with it. Homosexuals who enter a civil partnership, however, are indicating very strongly that they do not intend to live chaste lives, that they intend to enjoy what is wrong. For this reason, it is not appropriate for homosexual partners to adopt. The same, of course, could be said of heterosexual couples who decline to marry but wish to adopt.

Stern stuff. Other Catholic bloggers have gone into this issue in greater depth and with greater skill. Rather than pursue the matter here, I shall only add that as ever in matters of great controversy, our strength should be used for prayer rather than anger or bitterness. No one but no one is beyond friendship and the best people may often be found among the ranks of the sinful rather than 'saved'.

Norman Mailer and Adolf Hitler

The Guardian reports today that Norman Mailer's latest novel has run into trouble in Germany. No wonder - it is about Adolf Hitler. I am not so much interested in the merits or otherwise of Mailer's book, but the response to it of the Central Council of Jews. The Guardian says that,

The Castle in the Forest, which includes the bed-wetting young Hitler known as "Adi", has been pummelled by newspaper critics and has angered Germany's influential Central Council of Jews, which has urged artists to finally leave the history of the dictator alone.
"One can't forbid artists from dealing with Hitler but art will never achieve an understanding of the phenomenon - it will rather serve as a distraction," the organisation's vice president, Salomon Korn, told the ARD television channel. "Anyone tackling [this subject] artistically should carefully consider what their real intentions are."

While I can understand the reason for the C.C.J.'s anger, I do not think that it has spoken wisely. Art even more than factual works (e.g. biography) is capable of telling the truth about Adolf Hitler. Let's take a simple statement, "the sky is blue." This fact tells us one truth and one truth only about the sky. But what if along with Gerard Manley Hopkins you said, "...skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow."? There is so much meaning here that one could spend a day contemplating the truths within Hopkins' words. And if we may say this about a natural phenomena, think of what art can do in respect of human beings. Of course, Mankind being Mankind, we will never get to the bottom of who we are, but that is not the point. What is is that there is a reason why novels sell better than histories. They say more, much more about us than a historian ever can.

The final statement in the quotation above is actually quite offensive, because Mr Korn appears to be intimating that artists who deal with the subject of Adolf Hitler may be doing so because they are in sympathy with him. This is plainly absurd. But, if so, why would someone suggest it in the first place? The cynic in me wonders if this is not an example of a kind of (Jewish) reverse victim culture, an attempt to gain an advantage - not just in the current debate but in general - by trying to take ownership of the history of their persecution by the Nazis. Such an advantage would be well worth having - who would oppose Israel's policies towards the Palestinians if faced with the unchallenged argument, 'but after what happened to the Jews in Nazi Germany, she must be allowed to do what she wants'? Yet even though the Jews suffered grievously under the Nazis, they do not own the rights to their history. No one owns history. It belongs to all Mankind. The only people who try to take such ownership are tyrants.

Assuming good faith in Mr Korn, I think it can be said that, understandably enough, he has spoken from the heart without first thinking with his head. If he had done so, he would have seen how careless his words were. A better response would have been to wait to see what kind of work Mailer produced then criticise it. By speaking intemperately, Mr Korn succeeded only in making himself the real distraction.

The Inquisitive Cow on the ChesterBelloc, Chevrons and Barrows

"I never said a more meaningful thing than when I said moo," said Chesterton, "for if I had simply wished you "good day" the very normalcy of my words would have killed them to your ears. But moo made you sit up and think, 'did he really say that? And if so, what did he mean by it?' Socrates stated that the unexamined life was not worth living. If that is so, then to say moo is to start a very great philosophical journey."
"Mr Chesterton is a man after my own heart," replied Gerrie, the inquisitive cow.

dúnadan: Greetings from Dorset where I am standing in a field with a cow dressed in an academic gown! Gerrie, what is the meaning of this?
inq. cow: Well, dúnadan, Jack Ferret and I have started a literary society. This afternoon, we will be holding our first debate. But to get our audience familiar with literature, we will be performing one of the famous debates that took place in the 1920s between G. K. Chesterton and George Bernard Shaw. Being quite fond of Shaw's Pygmalion I wanted to play him, but I was advised that given the relative proximity of my weight to Chesterton's I would be better suited to playing him!
dúnadan: This sounds very exciting. But two more animals need to be found because H. G. Wells and Hilaire Belloc were involved with these debates.
inq. cow: Yes, Learned Owl is going to take the part of Wells and my own brother Harold will play Belloc. You know, Chesterton and Belloc were such good friends and thought alike on so many issues that Shaw called them the ChesterBelloc. We shall be the GerOld!
dúnadan: Your brother - like most bulls - has a fiery temper: just like Belloc! It occurs to me though that you will be talking more about politics and philosophy than literature.
inq. cow: Indeed. It will be an excellent opportunity to give an extra education to Farmer Bill and my fellow animals. Albeit they will become expert in the beliefs of early twentieth century and to be honest, I don't think Farmer Bill has much use for logical positivism.
dúnadan: I don't even know what that is!
inq. cow: Ah, well, you probably don't want to. It is the belief that metaphysical or ethical statments are meaningless and that only mathematical or scientific statements have any truth value. The minks who live up river are logical positivists. Vicious, nasty animals they are.
dúnadan: Farmer Bill is a very practical man, I suspect he will have a certain amount of sympathy for logical positivism.
inq. cow: Not at all! He knows what love is and his practicality is the same as an animal's - it is rooted in the earth. He doesn't really care for philosophical stands, and neither should he. Not this kind, anyway.
dúnadan: Gerrie, I detect a great deal of passion in your voice.
inq. cow: I was thinking of the dastardly minks.
dúnadan: Ah, then let's move on. I came to the field today through the wood and I noticed that the preparations for Tecumseh Squirrel's Triumph are continuing apace. Horace has painted some very pleasant scenes of Tecumseh's video game battles and auditions have been held to find out who will have the honour of holding his golden laurel crown.
inq. cow: It looks like Little Boots will get to do that.
dúnadan: Tecumseh's younger brother.
inq. cow: Yes. He is even more warlike than Tecumseh is. I really do not know what Mrs Squirrel fed them when they were young.
dúnadan: Hm. I wonder. In the meantime, let's talk about what has been making you inquisitive this week. I understand you have been thinking hard about chevrons.
inq. cow: That is correct. On Monday, I was intrigued by the pattern being displayed on a soldier's arm as his convoy passed the farm on the way to their barracks a few miles away. A chevron is a 'V' chaped pattern that can be turned upwards or downwards.

inq. cow: In the army it is, of course, a sign of rank. If you see a soldier with a triple chevron turned downwards on his forearm, it means he is a sergeant. You wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him.
dúnadan: I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of any soldier. They are brave people though.
inq. cow: Yes, they are. Of course, people reading your transcript of our conversation are probably thinking to themselves "the chevron sounds a familiar pattern. I'm sure I have seen it before, and not on a soldier's forearm, either."
dúnadan: And if they are thinking that, where have they seen it before?
inq. cow: Most likely on a heraldric device or, if they are from the orient, in their own language! In the Japanese, Korean and Chinese languages, the chevron acts as a punctuation mark.
dúnadan: Punctuation marks in foreign languages are always interesting to see. I like the sideways chevron that French uses as speech marks.
inq. cow: Ah. You are talking about guillemets. [<< which look like this >> d.]. By the way, did you know that a chevron is not just something you will see on paper or on cloth. They are also natural phenomena!
dúnadan: You mean when the ground forms a V shape, that is called a chevron?
inq. cow: Yes. What is of real interest, though, is why it is that shape. Chevrons are most commonly found on coastlines around the world, particularly in Australia. Some scientists believe them to be the result of erosion leading to a landslide. But others think that they could be the result of an asteroid striking the ocean thousnads of years ago and causing a huge tidal wave which lifted up the ocean floor sediment and deposited it on the coastline.
dúnadan: I would hate to be a fish when that happened. It would cause such disruption to my day!
inq. cow: Such an event would cause alot of disruption to us as well. In fact, it would kill a great many people and animals. Perhaps a quarter of the world's population would die.
dúnadan: Crickey!
inq. cow: I didn't mean to scare you, dúnadan! Let's talk about something else instead - the dead!
dúnadan: Gerrie, are you getting all gothic on me?!
inq. cow: Indeed, no. Earlier this week I went to visit Uncle Muncle in Stour Valley Way. Muncle is a historical cow, you know. I have learnt alot from him. This week was no different. He took me to Hambledon Hill.
dúnadan: In the Blackmore Vale.

inq. cow: That's right. Do you know what is significant about Hambledon Hill?
dúnadan: Gerrie, I must confess that I do not.
inq. cow: Well, there is a long barrow there. Barrows were where Neolithic people - those who lived about five thousand years ago - buried their dead. They would build a burial chamber then cover it with earth, forming a barrow. The barrow that we visited has long since been emptied, but it was a most interesting place to visit. The quality of grass on the barrow was good, too.
dúnadan: Are there many barrows in Dorset?
inq. cow: Muncle says there are about sixty. There used to be more but they have been destroyed. I should add in case you go barrow hunting, that there are two types: the long and round. The former can be of great size: Long barrows 300 feet in length have been found. That's human feet, by the way. Round barrows are generally smaller. Also, they were created by Bronze age people three thousand or more years ago. Late Bronze Age barrows tended only to hold cremated remains whereas earlier ones held bones.
dúnadan: I wonder if there are any ghosts around them...
inq. cow: Well, I did feel a certain chill as I went into the one at Hambledon Hill... as if someone was stroking me...
dúnadan: You did??
inq. cow: Yes, but then I realised it was Farmer Bauer who had come to stroke me!
dúnadan: Oh, Gerrie! You are mean! It seems you have the making of a story teller in you! Well, at that point, I see we have run over schedule, so we had better bring our conversation to an end. Gerrie, thank you for your time. We shall talk again next week.
inq. cow: Or when you switch the tape recorder off!
dúnadan: Be sensible! Readers, goodbye and from Gerrie the most meaningful thing she can say-
inq. cow: Moo!

more interviews with the inquisitive cow here

A Great Day Out, Shame About The Game

Bath 31 Harlequins 23

6:00am An obscene time to get up on a Saturday morning, but needs must as I have to travel across town to Twickenham to join the Harlequin (Quinssa) coach by 9:30am. It is my first time on the coach and I don't want to be late! As it turns out, 6am was too early as I was able - after breakfast - to have a half hour rest.
7:45am I leave the house. The journey to the Stoop should take about one and a quarter hours but I am leaving earlier in case of delays along the way.
9:30am Fortunately, there were no delays and I arrive in good time. The coach is not filled up but there are a good number of us: men and women, young and old alike. One supporter tells me he wanted to bring his dog in his (the dog's) Quins' coat!
9:30 - 11:45am A very pleasant journey through some delightful countryside. No delays. I have never noticed it before but Bath appears to be nestled in (or at the top of) a valley.
11:45am - 1:15pm We dine at the Crown Inn. Does this name sound familiar? That's because I mentioned it in my report of the EC Cup game back in December. The Inn provided another splendid meal - a 16oz steak. Yes, I finished it, but managed little else that was on my plate.
1:15pm I dash down the road ahead of the Quins party to visit the Bath merchandise shop to pick up another souvenir of my visit. Since December, I have started collecting rugby bears. I have a Quins Bear, Worcester Bear and now-- nothing, yet, as the shop was so busy there was a queue to enter it. Rather than wait, I walk down by the river to pick up my ticket from the head of our party who has gone to pick them up
2: 15pm The Game. Oh dear. Harlequins never really turned up for the first half. Under constant pressure, they give away one penalty after another. One minute after one of our party predicted it, one of our players gets sin binned. The culprit was Nick Easter. Towards the end of the second half he will round off a miserable game for Harlequins by getting sin binned for a second time. As I got my ticket for this game through Quinssa I sit with the Harlequins fans. We all make lots of noise! The first half ends 16 - 6 to the home side.
At half time, Dean Richards (our Director of Rugby) clearly reads the riot act to the team as they come out with all guns blazing in the second half. In fact, Harlequins win it 15 - 17. That is satisfying but why did they get themselves into such a bad position that the second half win did not result in a game win? Bad discipline, that's why. When the game finishes, Bath reappear on the pitch to do their warm down. I wait nearly ten minutes for Harlequins to come back out. Most unusually, they do not. I wonder if Dean Richards is giving the team a mauling.
4pm: I revisit the merchandise shop. I still have to queue but I am determined to see if they have a little Bath Bear. Indeed they do and, most charmingly, he is dressed in something akin to a sou'wester.
4:15pm I dash down the road to the Huntsman pub when I have time to have most of a pint of Guinness before 5pm and departure time for the coach.
5:00 - 7:30pm The journey home is enlivened by drunken singing from the Lads at the Back. being rugby fans, they are good humoured and not at all nasty or loutish. A raffle is held for Quinssa. I win a half bottle of port and a full bottle of red wine! So the day is not a total loss after all!
9pm Back home. Unfortunately, the photographs that I thought I had taken appear not to have been saved by my mobile phone.

Despite the lack of a victory, I can't say how much I enjoyed travelling to the game today with the supporter's club. I have signed up to go to the Northampton Saints and Gloucester games by coach and can't wait for the big days to arrive!

Gladiator

My most favourite literary scene is the end of The Lord of the Rings when the elven ship passes out of the world and into the True West. Tolkien describes a curtain of rain parting and the sound of singing on the distant shore. For as long as I remember this scene I have no fear of the act of dying (as opposed to the process) because I imagine that it will be akin to what Frodo and his fellow passengers experience. Of course, in terms of the story, they are not actually dying: 'simply' passing out of this dimension into a different one where Valinor now resides; however, the nature of the scene invites the reader to think of this passage as a kind of death and so this one does so.

Gladiator is very good historical drama about a Roman general (Maximus, well played by Russell Crowe) who is appointed by the dying Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris) to return power to the Senate. Unfortunately, his wicked son Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) assassinates his father before he can make this appointment known. Maximus is sent to be killed but escapes. He flies back to Spain to rescue his family, but too late. He finds them dead, killed by Maximus' soldiers. The strain of the journey causes Maximus to collapse. When he awakes he has been taken into slavery. His new owner, Proximo (Oliver Reed, in his last film role), turns him into a gladiator and so we return to Rome where Maximus wins glory in the Coliseum and, more importantly, joins the rebellion against the Emperor's rule.

The film is bittersweet, for though the Emperor is killed at the end, Maximus also dies. However, that this will be the outcome is foregrounded at various points during the film when we see a person walking through a strangely coloured field: It is the dead Maximus passing through Elysium on his way to meet his wife and son. At the end of the film, after slaying Commodus - appropriately enough in the Coliseum - Maximus dies. Whereas earlier in the film we had only seen his hand brushing the heads of grain, we now see him in full approach his wife and son. This scene, for me, elevated Gladiator from being simply a good film to a good one that is full of meaning. The Elysium scene is director Ridley Scott's (or rather, writer David Franzoni's - why don't Hollywood writers get more credit?) version of the elven Ship passing out of time and space and into eternity. It is a reminder to any lost, downtrodden, tired and weary soul that there is more to life than life itself. At the end comes a new life, and one that is far greater than what came before. Just as it is good to have reminders of how to live the life that the Lord means for us - through the writing of the Saints and good spiritual writers - it is good to have the reminder that Shakespeare's silence is not permanent. There is singing to be heard ahead.

As for the film, I should say that Gladiator is not a good historical drama in the strict sense as it is not historically accurate. Marcus Aurelius was a philosopher and Commodus a nasty piece of work but I am not aware of a historical Maximus nor of any intention by Marcus Aurelius to return power to the Senate - as the film suggests. Perhaps wiser heads can put me right on this. Gladiator makes very good use of special effects - especially of Rome itself, which is made to look like a city that is larger than life itself. I know that the TV series Rome was set two hundred years earlier but it is amazing how differently people can conceive the same place. I must also say that it was good to see Djimon Hounsou in a bigger speaking role than that which he enjoyed in The Island, an underrated action film.

I mentioned in my review of Jerry Maguire that I felt the script was not as good as it could have been. This is my perennial complaint against Hollywood. It spends so much money on brilliant special effects yet is content to film plainly half finished scripts. I would name names but I have lost count of the films I have seen that have been deficient in this regard. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I can say that I got to the end of Gladiator without thinking 'what about this?' or 'what about that?'. The film was very focused on the character of Maximus and, despite its epic pretensions, did not lose sight of him. I very much appreciated that.

A most enjoyable picture. Violent in part but not offensively so. If you get the chance to watch it then don't pass it by!

Six Political Heroes

After this post it might be thought that I do not have too many in the way of political heroes, however, as I have been tagged by Paul Burgin to name some I shall give it a go...

Hugh Grant's Prime Minister in Love, Actually
Oh for any prime minister to stand up to an American president

Tomás de Torquemada
'The hammer of heretics, the light of Spain, the saviour of his country, the honour of his order' A real man

The Emperor Palpatine
Was he so wrong? I mean, the Republic was in a mess and the Jedi weren't sorting it out and he did bring peace, just as he promised...

Alright, three slightly (!) more serious heroes:

Gaius Julius Caesar
Probably better known as a military leader, but ancient Rome made no distinction between the two. A hero because he ended a corrupt regime

Winston Churchill
A list of heroes without him is not credible. I would also add F. D. Roosevelt here as without his help, Britain would have been stuffed (I know we could say the same about Stalin, but I would not have him as a hero in a million years, despite this)

Alfred the Great
For saving his people from the Norsemen and ensuring six hundred years of Catholic England

tagged: Mulier Fortis (moral of the story: be careful what you wish for!)

Video Analysis Night at the Stoop

This evening I attended a special event at the Stoop, put on by Quinssa, the Harlequins supporters' club. It was a talk on the use of video analysis by the team's coaches. Appropriately enough, it was the team's coaches who gave the talk. Leading them was ex Quins player and bona fide legend Tony Diprose.

So, what place does video analysis have? Well, while we were told that current Premiership champions Sale don't use it, it was clear that Quins live by it. And no wonder, for good use of this media can help a player identify his failings and foreground his successes. It can do likewise for the opposition.

The talk was based around last weekend's game against Connacht. Diprose and Backs coach Andy Friend took the 50 or 60 strong audiance through key moments in the game - the line outs that Harlequins failed to win, scrums and passing. It was great to see the game again from a different perspective. Friend also spoke about how they had used video analysis of Connacht's most recent games to build up a picture of the way in which the team plays.

The third man in the talk, Ed Spokes, dazzled this writer as he showed how they use Apple Mac computers and programmes to organise the video analyis files. It involved lots of names, lots of colours, lots of links and a headache when I tried to think about it.

All-in-all, it was a good evening. The one word that I would use to describe the coaches now would be wily for it was clear that they do not only using video technology to improve the performance of their players, but stretch the rules as well. Diprose as much stated that this was the case. I can't say I approve of this, but, as he (Diprose) said, all teams do it. So that I can end this report on a positive note, I might also add that the major impression of the coaches that I came away with was how hard they work. It takes time to edit video footage of a game, then they have to talk about it with the players over and over again. They are very hard working people.

Berry's Other Throne

Yesterday's snow only lasted a few hours but was beautiful while it lasted

the dúnadan prepares to set off into the wintery wild

Snow in the morning

A very sleepy dúnadan got up at 5:30 this morning to let Berry the cat out into the garden (there being no cat flap in his window). Upon opening the curtain, his eyes became aware that it was strangely white outside. Ah... he had heard that it might snow, but did not believe it would happen. Fetching his glasses, the dúnadan returned to the window and lo and behold: snow!

the dúnadan's garden at ground level

I know that snow is not very convenient to people who have to use the roads, but I am lucky. I walk to work every day and so can afford to have a very romantic sensibility towards it.

and from higher up

As you can see from the above photographs, there is still a greeny hue to the garden. This is because it never snows heavily in London. The chances are there will be no more and by tomorrow the snow will already be a fading memory - like a Hollywood starlet who was famous for a while but who no one remembers now.

Jerry Maguire

I have just finished watching this 1996 film starring Tom Cruise for the first time. It is a fun film, silly and sweet and also touching. Tom Cruise stars as a sports agent whose utter commitment to the business of his business is ended after an ice hockey playing client suffers an severe injury. The player's young son tells Maguire that his father has suffered his fourth concussion and shouldn't someone get him to stop playing. Maguire responds inanely, telling the boy that it would take an awful, awful lot to stop his father. His response is awful and is met with a very Anglo-Saxon response. This moment changes Maguire's life. It enables him to see how empty his life has become. In the midst of a nervous breakdown he writes a mission statement in which he outlines what a sports agent should really be like. Taking care of the business of business should be replaced by the business of looking after people.

The fall out from Maguire's manifesto (which he sends to all the staff at his agency) leads to his being sacked. And his being sacked leads to him losing all of his clients except one, entertainingly played by Cuba Gooding jr. Gooding, as American Footballer Ron Tidwell, is a larger than life figure. He is a family man but absolutely determined to get every last penny that he can from his chosen profession. In fact, he only agrees to keep Maguire on as his agent once he has succeeded in getting Maguire to bellow down the phone at him, "Show me the money! Show me the money!"

Maguire is forced out of the sports agency that he created. With him goes Dorothy Boyd, played by Renée Zellweger. She comes across as being a rather downtrodden character: a single mother, not in full control either of her son or of her life. Regarding the former, I should say that but for one or two moments in the film, he is very well behaved. Regarding the latter, that is not so easily reconcilable. Dorothy tells her sister that she is the oldest twenty six year old in the world. You can see it in her plain dress and plaintive eyes. As you might guess, however, it isn't long before Jerry Maguire and Dorothy fall in love. This brings us to the denouement of the film - does Maguire choose his career or his beloved? I won't give the ending away, but let's just say that the answer will not surprise you.

Tom Cruise is very enjoyable as Jerry Maguire. He acts with emphasis and not with subtlety. This may be due to limits to his acting ability, but it suits the role of Maguire perfectly. If the truth be told, I know absolutely nothing about sports agents in Britain let alone America, but I imagine that they have to be very committed people. Jerry Maguire is that. The secret star of the show is Cuba Gooding jr. What makes him so is his comic timing which allows him to get away with some (admittedly delightful) absurdities of behaviour. I have read that Jerry Maguire was Renée Zellweger's breakthrough film. Her performance is simple and heartfelt.

Such criticisms as I have of Jerry Maguire would centre on its script. Too little attention was given to Maguire's mission statement. Once it was been written it is literally shoved into a drawer and left there. Also, when at the end of the film Ron Tidwell gets the deal that Maguire has spent the film fighting for, I had the impression that this plot strand had just come out of nowhere. The film focused too much on the relationship between Maguire and Dorothy.

Before concluding, I must add that Jerry Maguire is a little repository of good lines. As well as the one mentioned above, there is Dorothy's positively Curtisian response to Maguire's convoluted declaration of love for her. "Shut up," she says, "You had me at hello."

Peace or War

One of the themes of The English Patient is that of national identity. In the film, where one is from is (literally) the difference between life and death. Apropos of this, at work today, we discussed the issue of identity cards which the Government wants to bring in. I am against identity cards, not so much because I don't think that they will help in the fight against terrorism (a point of view that I do nonetheless agree with), but because I believe they are the product of a failure by the Government to press for peace through peaceful means in the Middle East.

My perception is that instead of committing itself to the way of peace, the Government is trying to achieve it through the barrel of a gun. The cost of the inevitable failure of this policy is paid for by members of the public for it is they who are the common victims of terrorist attacks. But the public pays twice over because upon seeing these outrages the Government then thinks that the right response is not to ask why the terrorists are acting in the way that they are but to erode the public's civil liberties through the introduction of I.D. cards and the like. But I.D. cards, greater use of surveillance technology, more laws to help the police etc etc will no more help end terrorism than sticking a plaster over a gaping wound. I find the failure of the Government to realise this to be very sad and frustrating.

George Lucas did not get many things right with his Star Wars prequel, but the slide of his Galactic Republic from democracy to tyranny had a ghostly reality to it. The Government's reliance on ever greater security measures to combat terrorism coupled with the frankly undemocratic European Union indicate that we are - albeit in a less exciting way - surely proves that. I imagine first century Romans thought the same thing, firstly when the Republic silently died under Augustus and then when the Principate gave way to the Dominate.

I have spoken about the Government, but I don't know that things would be any better under the Conservatives. When I ponder this, my enthusiasm for national identity becomes muted. Or rather, my enthusiasm for borders. National identity is what it is but can borders be so easily justified? Would a world without them not be a better one? I think it would, but only if mankind believed this. Unfortunately, once the genie is let out of the bottle, it is impossible to put him back again. We are, therefore, stuck with our borders whether we would have them or not.

But we are not stuck with a political establishment that believes the way to win peace is through war. In this regard, I think a non vote is perfectly justifiable. Let politicians bleat about how we must vote or else. But if we did not, they would certainly be given a much better view of the public's anger at having to suffer for their militarism.

Katharine Clifton: My darling. I'm waiting for you. How long is the day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone, and I'm horribly cold. I really should drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun. I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings, not writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we've entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men. I know you'll come carry me out to the Palace of Winds. That's what I've wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps. The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.

The Chair Speaks Out on Greece, America and TLS

This meeting is called to order

"Good day to you all. Once upon a time, it was the duty of chairs to be sat upon and keep quiet. Since political correctness went mad, however, the Chair has seen an upturn in his fortunes and is now in charge of the show! So, first on the agenda today...

Equal Opportunities

"As Chair, I owe my current position of authority to the council's equal opportunities policy so I am more than happy to enforce it wherever possible. For that reason, I am delighted to welcome Ms Wigglesbottom to the committee. Madam, I look forward to seeing more of you (nervous giggles from further down the table).

Award for Most Un-PC Person of the Week

"This weeek, the award goes not to a person but to an organisation: The Greek Orthodox Church. The BBC reports that a religious group that worships the ancient gods of Greece - yes, really - have been denied access to ancient Greek religious sites. The Orthodox Church - with admirable clarity and forthrightness - is said by the BBC - well known for its lack of religious bias, of course - to believe that these neo-opagans are 'miserable resuscitators of a degenerate dead religion.'. Amen!

The Lovely Ségolène Royal (TLS)

"Ah, yes, Vice-Chair, it's no use shaking your head. As the French Presidential election draws ever closer, we must take a closer look at the lovely Ségolène Royal."
Vice Chair: Eh... don't you mean 'at the issues involved.'?
Chair: Isn't that what I said?
Vice Chair: Never mind.
Chair: Very well, I continue. Now, as we know, in the last few days, TLS and Nicolas Sarkozy won the nominations of the their Socialist and Conservative parties, respectively, although, for the sake of accuracy I should add that M Sarkozy's party is called the Union pour un Mouvement Populaire (UMP) and isn't even his party. The UMP was formed by the current president, M Chirac. M Sarkozy stole it from him, which tells you alot about the kind of man he is.

"Anyway, back to the lovely Ségolène. There has been some concern from committee members that I have not made enough effort to outline her policies. So, ever mindful of the responsibility I owe to the committe to act upon its wishes, I have mined the internet for answers, and found these splendid photographs. (sighs from the committee).

In the photograph below, we see Ségolène at her radiant best. Note the firmness of her chin and the smooth, confident smile. Authority and compassion, all in one. Her hair is tied back in a rather conservative fashion, but it would take just one sweep of the hand to unleash it...
And in this next photograph, we see Ségolène at her charming best, communicating with a normal person. Well, the gods did communicate with mankind! The grip of her hand is firm, her eyes honest and smile welcoming. I imagine that the monsieur forsook contact with all other women and became a hermit or trappist monk after this encounter.
Lest it be thought that I am ignoring M Sarkozy, though given what a disreputable character he is, that would be a kindness, let me offer this photograph.

"I believe my chances of winning the election
just disappeared over that mountain."

Enough said.

Hilary Clinton

"This week, the Former First Lady declared herself a candidate for the nomination of the Democratic Party in the 2008 Presidential Campaign. Let me tell you, Mrs Clinton, you are no Ségolène Royal."

"So, there we are, upon that note, I hereby bring this meeting to a close. I hope you have a good week with lots of voting on interesting issues at work and at home!"

previous meetings

The Inquisitive Cow on Protest Songs, dundrearies and the Chatham House Rule

dúnadan: It is the weekend and I am with the inquisitive cow! So, in the time honoured tradition, good evening and hallo from a field somewhere in central Dorset! Hallo Gerrie.
inq. cow: Good evening, dúnadan, isn't the moonlight lovely?
dúnadan: It is beautiful... the Moon certainly is an evocative sight. Strange yet alluring, fantastical but simple all at the same time.
inq. cow: That is a very human thing to say. Because we animals live within nature we are less inclined to try and dissect its meaning.
dúnadan: I suppose that is why there are no animal poets.
inq. cow: Indeed. And it is why no human writes poetry about his torch or the electricity that comes through the wall. We live within nature. You live within technology. That is not wholly true, though. Some humans do write about technological things. And some animals write about nature.
dúnadan: As you have been doing this week...?
inq. cow: Indeed. Did I ever mention my brother to you? He was taken on a walk and never came back again. Well, this week, I found out where he went and why he did not return. Dúnadan, they killed him! For you to eat him!
dúnadan: Oh dear... you found out.
inq. cow: I cannot believe it! I would not eat you. Why would you want to eat me?? It's awful.
dúnadan: I'm afraid to say that humans have been eating animals for a very long time.
inq. cow: Moooooooooo. I simply cannot conceive of why - and how. It is abhorent. Oh, dúnadan, I never felt more awful than I did when I discovered this.
dúnadan: How did you discover it?
inq. cow: Learned Owl told me. He was flying about on his business when he stopped for a rest and saw some cows being hearded into this building. He thought it might be a farm so went to take a closer look... oh, dúnadan... he described what they did... hateful!
dúnadan: Gerrie, we had better move on. That is one subject that it would not be good to talk about. Here, use this tissue to dry your eyes.
inq. cow: Thank you!... That's better.
dúnadan: So, tell me, tell me what you have been doing since you found out about this awful news.
inq. cow: Well, I have not been idle. Learned Owl told me that when humans want to pursuade their leaders to change their policies, they write songs. So, that is what I have been doing.
dúnadan: You have been writing a protest song?
inq. cow: Yes. Protest songs seem to be largely a product of the nineteenth and twentieth century, but the first recognised one comes from the Middle Ages. It is called The Cutty Wren and is an allegory about what the peasants wished to do to their landlords. The song is very violent. And no wonder, in the feudal system, landlords had complete power over peasants. They owned them. Just as if they were slaves. Here is a couple of verses that I have learned:

Oh where are you going said Milder to Moulder
Oh we may not tell you said Festel to Fose
We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose
We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose

And what will you do there said Milder to Moulder
We'll shoot the Cutty wren said John the Red Nose
And how will you shoot her said Milder to Moulder
With bows and with arrows said John the Red Nose

dúnadan: Jenny Wren can't approve of the use of her race in this way.
inq. cow: When I told her about it, she was quite put out. For that reason, I have adapted my version.

Oh! Where are you going said the postman to the barman
Oh we may not tell you said Beryl to those
We're off to the palace, said John the Red Nose
We're off to the palace, said John the Red Nose

And what will you do there said the postman to the barman
We'll shoot the prime minister said John the Red Nose
And how will you shoot him? Said the postman to the barman
With petitions and votes said John the Red Nose

inq. cow: As you can see, I use violence metaphorically here as I would never wish to advocate shooting any one for any reason. I firmly believe in non violence. Those... people... in that building use violence. I wouldn't.
dúnadan: That is very commendable of you. What else have you learned about protest songs?
inq. cow: Some of the causes that have been sung about have been the abolition of slavery and civil rights. Some of their titles were "A Slave's Appeal" and "Song of Our Mountain Home". A famous group in Nineteenth century America were the Hutchinson Family Singers. John, Asa, Jesse and Judson Hutchinson. They even sung about womens' rights so were, I think, quite ahead of their time, though not as far ahead as Mary Wollstonecraft. By the way, the Hutchinson Family Singers did not sing as a band does nowadays, but in a four part harmony.
dúnadan: I see. Did they go far?
inq. cow: All the way to the top - they were friends to Abraham Lincoln.
dúnadan: That's far. What have you learnt of Twentieth century protest songs?
inq. cow: Unfortunately, as you could say, the last century was a good time for protest songs. In America, apart from the civil rights movement, there was the Vietnam War. Well, everyone has heard of Bob Dylan. He sang "The Times they are a'changing'" A very good song. Before Mr Dylan there was Pete Seeger. Many will have heard of him. I like him.

We shall eat our grass,
We shall eat our grass,
We shall ear our grass, someday

chorus:
Oh deep in my heart
I do believe
We shall eat our grass some day

We shall moo in peace
We shall moo in peace
We shall moo in peace some day

[chorus]

We shall all be free
We shall all be free
We shall all be free some day

[chorus]

inq. cow: As you can see, my song writing talent does not quite match my inquisitiveness, but the lyrics say what I feel and that is the main thing.
dúnadan: Of course, that was a very good rendition.
inq. cow: Thank you. I must also mention Woody Guthrie. I intend to adapt his song "This land is your land" to "This grass is your grass". And Joan Baez. Who would have thought a cow from Dorset would ever discuss a folksinger from New York!
dúnadan: Indeed! Let's move on now, not just a little but alot. As we can see from the photograph of you at the top of the interview, you have a nice little mop of hair on the top of your head.
inq. cow: Yes, I do, thank you for saying! But this week, before that brutal news came to me, I found out why Farmer Bill has just funny looking whiskers. He models them after a Victorian actor called Edward Sothern. I don't suppose many of our readers will have heard of him.
dúnadan: So you had better explain who he is...!
inq. cow: It will be my pleasure! Edward Sothern was a British actor who was born in 1829. He found fame in a play called Our American Cousin. This was the play being performed at Fords Theatre in 'downtown' - a funny turn of phrase that - Washington D. C. on Good Friday 1865 in the presence of President Lincoln---
dúnadan: Goodness, when he was shot?
inq. cow: That is correct. And the theatre is open again today. Naturally, after the assassination, it closed. For a hundred years it served as a Government building before being reopened as a theatre in 1968. But we digress. Edward Sothern played a character called Lord Dundreary. The play was a smash hit when it moved to London. And so were Sothern's whiskers! They were very, very long! As a result of the play's success, the whiskers became known as dundrearies and were the hight of fashion for twenty years.

Edward Sothern as Lord Dundreary

dúnadan: Looking at a photo on my laptop, they look like roots sprouting from the side of his face!
inq. cow: I imagine that dundrearies will remain an esoteric offshoot of the study of hairstyles for the forseeable future!
dúnadan: Indeed. Alright. A very important meeting took place last night outside Petra in the Wood. It came off the back of good news in Switzerland.
inq. cow: Yes. To no ones surprise, Tecumseh Squirrel won the Theatre of War contest. The Little Red Baron outwitted the German Grey Squirrels to conquer every farm on mainland Europe. The Greys were caught out by their own aggresiveness and walked straight into a trap in the unfamiliar land of Libya.
dúnadan: Since when did Tecumseh know about desert warfare??
inq. cow: He is a little bag of surprises!
dúnadan: So it seems. Now, about this meeting.
inq. cow: Ah yes. Well, it came very close to being a secret one - conducted under the Chatham House Rule.
dúnadan: The what?
inq. cow: The Chatham House Rule. This was a rule invented in the twenties to preserve secrecy for the sake of openness at important meetings. The Rule was revised in the nineties. I contacted Chatham House this week and they kindly told me how it now reads, which is like this- "When a meeting, or part thereof, is held under the Chatham House Rule, participants are free to use the information received, but neither the identity nor the affiliation of the speaker(s), nor that of any other participant, may be revealed".
dúnadan: I see...
inq. cow: When we heard about Tecumseh's victory, we all decided spontaniously that he should be given a grand welcome home. But there was a disagreement over how grand the welcome should be. Naturally, the rabbit friends of Hannibal Henry were not keen for his win to be overplayed. So we all met to discuss the matter. Augustine Squirrel and Professor Mrs Owl suggested that the meeting be held under the Chatham House Rule so that whatever was said by whoever would remain secret and not used to gossip against them in the future. But the motion was defeated. Thankfully, I don't have the freedom to tell you that the rabbits voted down the eventual proposition as we managed to pursaude them to support it.
dúnadan: And what was that?
inq. cow: Well, since Tecumseh likes his Roman army - it is still here, in fact, as he never disbanded it - we are going to offer him a Triumph into the Wood.
dúnadan: Crickey!
inq. cow: It will a good opportunity for everyone to dress up and have a fun day and night - hopefully under the beautiful Moon!
dúnadan: Ah! I see you are learning! Well, you are right, Gerrie, that sounds a splendid idea and I look forward to seeing it. In the meantime, I am very glad that we have ended the interview on a high. Come here, let me give you a hug.
inq. cow: Oh, dúnadan, you are most kind!
dúnadan: I'll never let anything so bad will ever happen to you, Gerrie.

>the dúnadan plants a soppy kiss on Gerrie cow and the tape recorder runs out<

index of inquisitive cow interviews

Ford's Theatre
The Chatham House Rule

When the best is not enough

Harlequins 26 Connacht 10

Harlequins cruised to an easy 16 point win against a Connacht side blunted perhaps by the knowledge that come what may in this game, they could not qualify for the next round of the European Challenge Cup. But after last night, Quins' own chance of going through to the next round hung by the slenderest of threads. Then, they rested on Saracens beating Glasgow and Quins scoring a bonus point win today. Well, by scoring four tries, they managed the latter. If Saracens had won, Harlequins could then have sneaked through to the knock-out stage of the EC Cup as one of the three top scoring runners up on 21 points - a point ahead of Glasgow whose defeat would leave them on 20. But when that game ended in a 6 - 6 draw, giving Glasgow 2 points to put them beyond the reach of Harlequins, the Quins' chances were nearly extinguished. Nearly, because if Bristol or Newcastle - the other contenders for the runners-up spot - had lost their games against Bucaresti and Petrarca respectively, then we would have been through. No such luck - both teams disposed of their opponents with ease. As it happens, both Newcastle and Harlequins end their EC Cup campaigns with 21 points but the men from the Stoop go out of the tournament as the Falcons have a better goal difference - such is the advantage of being in a group containing an Italian club.

But if Harlequins knew that their chances of progressing were so slight, they did not play like it. The team were strong in attack and resiliant in defence. This game mattered to them. There were mistakes along the way, some as a result of clumsiness others a product of the wind - this was especially the case with some of the kicking. I don't know who won the Man of the Match award, but it will be a great injustice if it was not David Strettle. Once more, he ran like lightening on the wing as well as providing good support in the midfield. One of the four Harlequin tries came as a result of him drawing three Connacht players to himself thus allowing the outside players plenty of space to avoid the remaining defenders and score a try.

Today's game started early today (at 2:15pm) so perhaps the crowd were still tired from the night before. Whatever the reason, I did feel that there was a distinct lack of atmosphere except for spurts of songs and chants. With that said, Mad Max the P.A. man was in good form! It appears that although he sounds as English as me, he comes from Connacht. Thus, he was alot more friendly towards the opposition than normal. He even went to sit with some of their fans during the game. It was a nice touch.

All-in-all, a very satisfactory performance today. Harlequins are really coming along these days - just as I thought they would, even during the dark days of the seven defeats at the beginning of the season - and are a joy to watch. The team have now won five games in a row. Next week, they play Bath away. After making my own way there in December, I shall be experiencing a first next week: travelling on the Quinssa (supporters' club) coach with lots of other Quins fans. It should be a cracking day out!

Berrydict@Katamail.com

A few days ago, Berrydict had watched as his owner had addressed the Roman Curia on a topic which was no doubt of great importance but which he could remember nothing about - he had been too busy washing himself. Berry was quite unrepentant about this for, as all cats know, being clean and tidy is the essential duty of all moggies.

After having a good rest, of course. Even the poor cats he had met last week knew this, though their circumstances made it difficult for them to live up to this.

One thing that Berrydict had noticed during his owner's address was the golden throne on which the Holy Father sat during his address. It looked very comfortable, Berrydict thought, and at the first opportunity (i.e. as soon as his owner had finished his address and gone off to talk to the Curia members elsewhere), Berrydict jumped onto the throne, curled up and had a nice, long sleep. One of Berrydict's bodyguards (a Swiss Cat) even saw to it that a special roof (just like a baldacchino, in a church) was placed over the chair so that no one sat on him by accident.

beretta tip to Fr. Nicholas for this pic

Berrydict's sleep was most satisfactory. It lasted twenty four hours exactly, excluding times when he was obliged to get up and turn one way or the other for reasons of comfort.

The next day, Monsignor Catswein woke him up. "Your Furriness, you have a visitor! Cardinal Paw is here to see you." Ah yes, Berrydict thought, Cardinal Paw who is Arch Cat of St Mary Moggiore across town. He was American and a good friend. Berrydict got up, stretched, and jumped down from the throne. Cardinal Paw was not alone as he had brought with him a group of seminaricats. As soon as Berry jumped down, they all genuflected. Berrydict gave them his papal cat's blessing and they rose again. Berrydict could not help but admire their fresh faced enthusiasm for their faith and the Church. He himself was very old as cats went and often felt tired with things. Not with his faith and the Church, just things in general
"Your Furriness, it is an honour to be in your presence." Cardinal Paw said, most respectfully, kissing Berrydict's papal collar. The seminarians, of course, all followed suit. It should be said that they all had fine black coats - truly traditionalist Catolic priests in the making.
"And yours, Father Paw!" Berrydict replied. One by one, Cardinal Paw introduced the seminaricats to him. When the greetings were completed, Berrydict asked them if they would like a tour of the Apostolic Palace. This idea was greeted with much excitement.

Beginning in the Scala Regia, they moved on to the Sala Regia with all its fine paintings. Berrydict was not fond of this chamber for he knew that when his owner died, his body would be brought through here. It was a very sad thought. From the Scala to the Sala Ducale. Here, the curial cats had their Christmas and Easter Day parties. As they approached this room, Berrydict and the seminaricats heard voices, but whoever was ahead of them had gone by the time they arrived. The tour continued, and the American seminaricats started talking about all kinds of interesting things. Most notably, something called the 'internet'. Berrydict asked what it was.
"Why, its a virtual world!" exclaimed Br. Felix
"What, like dreams?" Berrydict asked.
"No. If you switch on your computer and log on, you can find websites about lots and lots of things. Even non-feline and Catolic Church related subjects." said Br. Sylvester.
"Like Baseball!" Br. Tibbs said, helpfully. "And soccer!" he added, seeing Berrydict's lack of appreciation for this great fact.
"That's football." Msgr Catswein told Berrydict.
"Has Cardinal Furtone been informed of this?" Berrydict asked. The Secretary of State was mad keen for Juvenpuss.
"I think he has." Msgr Catswein replied, solemnly. In fact, since the Calcio loving catinal had discovered the Juventus website, the Catican's internet bill and rocketed up.
"Your Furriness, if you have an e-mail address, we could send you en e-mail with lots of useful links." Br. Felix suggested.
"An e-mail address? What is that?"
"It is what you need to receive a letter on your computer." Cardinal Paw replied.
"Why would I need that?"
"But even your owner has one. All our owners do!"
"Monsignor..."
"I shall see to it that you get one." Msgr Catswein replied. The tour continued and they came to the Third Loggia. This was where the Pope came to greet the crowds in St Peter's Square. This time, however, they saw not Berrydict's owner but four priests looking around. Or rather, three of them were looking out of the window and the fourth one was poking about behind the chairs.
"The one in the middle," Msgr Catswein said, pointing towards the loggia, "is famous on the internet! Especially in England."
"And in Greenville, my home town!" one of the Seminaricats piped up.
"And the one poking about. He is an English priest. He came with instructions to look for your owner's Motu Proprio about the Old Mass. You should read the blogs like I do, Your Furriness, then you would know all this."

Berrydict had no idea what a blog was but felt sorry for the priest looking for the Motu Proprio. It's release had been delayed after he had accidentally torn up the final version to use as padding for his papal cat basket. "Let's just leave them to get on with it...!" he whispered. So they did. And that night, after enjoying a nice meal in the papal apartments, Msgr Catswein logged on to the internet and got Berrydict an e-mail address: berrydict@katamail.com. Very appropriate, he thought.

index of Berrydict stories

Hover and Preview

I have added a new feature to the blog... if you hover your curser over a link, a little picture preview of the blog or website in question should come up. The image is not necessarily up-to-date, but is a nice touch nonetheless. For Mac (Mulier Fortis) and anyone else who is interested in getting the code for this feature, just visit the Snap.com website here.

Rome and Westminster

What is the connection between up and coming patricians in the Roman Republic and aspirant MPs in Britain today? The answer is the dependance of both on money. If you wanted to be a serious political player in il citta aeterna, perhaps even Consul, you had to spend large amounts of it in order to buy the support of as many patricians and plebs as possible. That meant racking up large debts. Julius Caesar did this, and, if he had not won the Consulship (in 59BC) would have been bankrupted as a result.

Watching 18 Doughty Street tonight, I heard Iain Dale mention that it cost him £40,000 to be the Parliamentary candidate for the Conservative Party for the last election (in 2005). He added that if the election had not been held until October of that year, he would have been facing bankruptcy. Dale, by the way, is a successful businessman. One of the other guests added that he had spoken to various Labour Party candidates who had told him similar stories. I wouldn't like to think of what the cost to them was if they did not have rich families or business backgrounds.

The issue of whether political parties should be publically funded is one that is never far from the concerns of politicos. I don't know if they should be or not, but that parliamentary candidates should be funded (in full or in part) seems to me to be both necessary and desirable. The Roman Republic did not fall because politicians had to spend, spend, spend their way up the political ladder and I daresay British democracy will not fall because of the cost to aspiring MPs. However, if money was removed as a defining factor as to whether someone could become a candidate or not (and if it is not that then it must be fairly close) then it would surely help improve the quality of parliamentary candidates. How many good men have decided not to run for parliament because they have been scared off by the cost?

Berrydict in Scrapfood Kitchen

Berrydict was in the city of Rome on a visit to a Scrapfood Kitchen. Although, for 'kitchen' read 'Alley' because that is what it really was: an alley with scraps being handed out to the poor cats of the parish by the Catolic charity, Rome Catitas. These trips were the one time when the papal cat hoped that no one would be present, because then it would mean that there were no poor cats here. Unfortunately, though, just as the Lord said, the poor will always be with you. He meant, of course, human beings, but it was no different in the animal world. Especially just after Christmas. Then, the cats who had always been strays, those who had got lost one day (or night) and never found their way home again and those who left home purposefully because their owners were mean to them, were joined by cats who had been bought as Christmas presents - only to kick them out once they had found that their family didn't want them.

Accompany Berrydict was Cardinal Mogillo Ruini and the Auxiliary Episcopal Cat Furnesto Mandara. With them were Monsignor Guerino Di Clawra, the Director of Catitas Rome and his staff. And all around them were, of course, lots of mangy cats. Not one had a perfect coat. Many had severely matted fur, some had clumps of fur missing, others visible scars on their bodies. One or two even had an eye or an ear missing. One poor cat only had three legs. It was a sorry sight, but Berrydict would not have chosen to be anywhere else, because he had a reckless love for his fellow cats, no matter where they came from.

Upon Berry's arrival, all the poor cats stood up to receive him as he jumped down from the alley wall. "Three cheers for Berrydict!" Old Tom, the oldest, mangiest and lamest cat in Rome, croaked. The cry went up. Berrydict smiled. Then they sang the Te Deum with a gusto that belied their bodies of bone and skin. Whats more, they caterwauled in German. It was quite something to hear.

"Gentlecats, God gave us the Saviour in a cave in Bethlehem. Tonight, through you, our Saviour shows Himself to us again." The poor cats liked being compared to Jesus and purred their applause loudly. Berry turned to Msgr Catswein, his secretary, "Is that theologically correct?" he asked. Unfortunately, Berrydict was not quite as up to speed on his theology as his owner. Msgr Catswein consulted his palmtop copy of the Catechism (what else?) and - seeing what paragraph 2229 said - confirmed that it was. When the poor cats had finished appurring, Berrydict continued, "As my owner was writing a speech the other day, he mentioned that Bethlehem means 'House of Bread'. Well, Bethlehem has come to this alley tonight for there will be bread for all... not literally, of course, we are cats after all!"
"In fact we have some very nice meats to hand out!" Msgr Di Clawra added, helpfully, to many nods of approval. "So, enough of my talking, let's get on with it!" Berrydict said, and that was the end of his speech; short and to the point: the papal cat tradition of 2,000 years.

As the meats and biscuits were being handed out, Berrydict toured the Alley with his entourage. The Alley was dark with most of the street lights being broken. There was rubbish everywhere and it smelled bad. Caritas had tried to clean the Scrapfood Kitchen up for Berrydict, but nothing could stop the Alley from being what it was - the buttest butt end of a great city. What was worse for Berry - for being a cat he was used to unsalubrious surroundings - the poor cats were quite overawed by the gaggle of ecclesial visitors. So, Berrydict dismissed them and walked among the cats himself. near the far end of the Alley, he came to a couple of tabbies who looked very alike.
"Are you twins?" he asked.
"We are!" they squeaked. Berry thought they could only be just out of kittenhood.
"How did you end up on the street?"
"Our owner threw a frying pan at us." the first twin, whose name was Gabriel, said. "It hit Timmy. He hasn't been the same since." Berrydict looked at Timmy. It was true, he did have a slightly vacant look about him. Berry also noticed that half of his tale was missing.
"Ah... he had an accident... as he was crossing the road..."
"I understand," Berrydict said, wincing; most cats knew someone who had a close shave - or lost someone - on the road. Just then, he noticed a group of older, very grizzly cats, watching the twins and sniggering to themselves. Berrydict turned to Timmy.
"Timmy, come here." Timmy did not quite understand, so Gabriel repeated the command in simpler language - two short meows. Timmy came forward. Berrydict sniffed at him and began to groom him; licking him and pulling at the matted fur. It made Timmy feel very good to be groomed but could not understand why the papal cat was demeaning himself. He began to cry but Gabriel soothed him. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Catinal Mogillo tried to stop Berrydict, but he was having none of it. "Here is Jesus!" he said, "Is this not right, Monsignor?" Msgr Catswein grinned. "Indeed, Holy Moggie, you are right."

read the adventures of Berrydict the papal cat cat here

Pope Innocent III Action Figure

It's true and you can buy it here! That Innocent III, he really kicks, er, spiritual butt.

credit where it's due: a tip of the tiara to Sheepcat!

Next week, Pope Pius V and X Sweeney style figures. Pull back their tiaras to hear them speak!
Pius X: You're absolved, mate!
Pius V: Get your crown on and make me a cup of coffee
Pius X: Shut it! Or speak Latin!

Quantum Cow

Back at the beginning of December, the inquisitive cow and I discussed the matter of quantum physics. Today, The Daily Telegraph ran a story (no doubt picked up from our interview) on just the same subject! You can read it here. The whole quantum business is very interesting although be warned, working out the physics will make your head hurt.

collected interviews with the inquisitive cow

The Last King of Scotland

Last night I met my friend Iain, technology whizz kid with the BBC and fresh back from a tech show in Las Vegas. We went to the see The Last King of Scotland. No, not James I or any other sixteenth century nobleman, but Idi Amin, dictator of Uganda.

The film tells the (fictional) story of newly graduated doctor Nicholas Garrigan as he goes from village doctor to dictator's physician. An actor who I had not heard of before, Forest Whitaker, plays Amin and if there is any justice in the world, we should all be hearing alot more of him in the future, especially at award ceremonies.

Whitaker is absolutely brilliant as Amin. He plays him as a larger than life, friendly and generous man and as the murderous tyrant that he was with ease and complete conviction. The Last King of Sotland (a title which comes from the title that Idi Amin gave himself to annoy the British government) employs a grainy and shaky camera style that sometimes left me a bit dizzy but gives the film an intimacy that makes the impact of what you see on screen (especially in respect of the more grizzly moments, of which one or two demand strong stomachs) so much more powerful.

Had Iain not suggested going to see this picture I would not have thought to have gone, but I am glad I have now. In The Holiday, Miss Potter, Into Great Silence and now The Last King of Scotland I have been fortunate to see quite a range of films over the Christmas/New Year period.

The English College In Rome

A tip of the hat to the Roving Medievalist for pointing this out. The picture appears to be the front page of the on-line version of a project started by "Nicholas Schofield and [drum roll] Richard Whinder". Okay, it is not quite a sighting, but who can resist a medieval woodcut?

Unfortunately the page seems to go no further. If I see Fr. Nicholas at Mass tonight I shall quiz him on this.

update: Aunt Joanna (sorry, I can't quite bring myself to say 'auntie'. It lacks gravitas) mentions that Fr. Richard is the curate of her parish. I have just left the following comment which awaits her approval for publishing. Let me know what you think:

There aren't any rules on how to join what is really the Fr Whinder Sighting Club (open to English speaking bloggers and all others) but I would like to propose that two be instituted:
1. You post a photo of said priest.
2. You link to a sighting of him on another blog or website.

Hm. This is clearly an important matter.

Now, I'm obviously right that this is important, but what do people think about the ground rules?

Nota Bene for Fr Dwight Longenecker: This update - which is not really a sighting - is published under the provisions of the Sixth Amendment to the Baron Florsheim Rule (aka The Berne Prerogative, 1904) whereby all interested parties must be informed of suggested changes to the rules of Mornington Crescent within 24 minutes of the idea being dreamed up. For the historians, this law was used cunningly and unsportingly by the Japanese to ensure their destruction of the Russian fleet in the 1905 war after they informed the Russian naval authorities of the change in a communique written in Japanese. While the Russians were still translating the document Japan's navy executed a clinical reverse sweep that took them from High Holborn to Mornington Crescent. Demoralised, the Russian Navy fell not long later.

Die Grosse Stille (Into Great Silence)

Click on the photo to visit the website of the Carthusians

Who would have thought that a film without a star, no plot, no dialogue and hardly any music could be so watchable. Yesterday afternoon, L. and I met at Charing Cross in the west end of London to watch Die Grosse Stille (Into Great Silence) at the ICA cinema on Pall Mall. Unfortunately, I was expecting it to be on another road. It took us half an hour to realise this error. By the time we got into the cinema and took our seat the film had been going for 10 minutes. Despite what I have said above, I like to think that there was a special effects budget and it was spent on a dramatic opening sequence (monks parachuting into the charterhouse, car chase with a rival order etc) and we got the aftermath.

What an aftermath though! The film, sixteen years in the making (or rather, waiting), followed the daily routine of the monks of la Grande Chartreuse in southern France. We saw them sewing a habit for a novice, tending to the garden, delivering food to the cells in between of fulfilling their monastic duties: prayer (lots of). The emphasis of the picture certainly seemed to me to be weighted in favour of showing the monks' day-to-day living. Thus, I can only remember one Mass being said. There was, however, a procession of the Blessed Sacrament and what seemed like a fair bit of singing in choir. In a film like this, the lighter moments are a treasure. So, it was great to see a humorous conversation between the monks (on an outing across the hills) on the symbolic value of washing one's hand before dinner and even the self same monks skiing! That particular moment has to be seen to be believed.

There were a couple of things I did not like so much about Silence. One was the repetitious use of Biblical quotations. Presumably they were tied to what we were seeing of the monks. But I don't know that there was a need to keep repeating the same quotes. A second thing was the fact that the film did not really focus very well on the movement of the liturgical year. The director, Philip Groning, certainly knew how to mark the passing seasons, but I wish he had made the same effort for the Church year. The Carthusians do base their lives on it in a very intense way, after all.

The criticisms above should not detract from the fact that this is a very great film. For me, it felt like the missing link between the way I do live and the way I try to. My prayers are structured around a regular recitation of the Rosary on the road and at work and Morning and Evening Prayer (Lauds and Vespers), but it is very often that I will not say one or the other or that I will turn my back to God to do my own thing. I know that living in the world I cannot live as the Carthusians do (to be honest, I think that would be beyond me), however, they show that even so, I can bring God back into my daily living. I can't wait for Into Great Silence to come out on video. It will be ideal to drop in and out of when one wishes to remind oneself of how the holy live.

Allez Allez lez Quins!

Montpellier 27 Harlequins 37

The general aim of these posts is to be a match report and, if not that, then a few observations based upon my experience of attending a Harlequins game or listening to it on the radio. Unfortunately, I was not lucky enough to be able to go to France for the Montpellier game, which was played on Friday night, and it was not broadcast on the radio. Even worse luck, I have not been able to find a report of the game on the internet. What I do know, however, is the score and that the game was a close one. Some Quins fans did go to the game and text messaged the score to the Come All Within fansite as the game progressed. It turns out that it was won thanks to a late try by David Strettle.

Where does this leave Quins in terms of qualification for the knock out stage of the European Challenge Cup? Well, as a result of losing to Bath home and away in December, the team lie in second place in pool 4 with 16 points to Bath's 21. The West Country team have, therefore, now qualified as group winners. Neither Connacht (3rd, who Quins play at home next week) who are on 8 points or Montpellier (last) on 5 points can overtake them so if nothing else we shall finish a very respectable 2nd.

Of course, we would prefer to go through to the knock out stage as well. Unfortunately, I have to admit I am a bit useless here as I don't know if every second place team or just the highest scoring ones go through. There are five groups so five group winners will progress. To make a quarter final, the top three 2nd place teams would als go through. If that is the case, as the tables stand, Bristol and Saracens (in pools 1 and 2) who are on 20 and 19 points respectively look set to claim two of those three places. That leaves Newcastle (pool 3) and Quins on 16 points (Worcester in pool 5 have 15 points). If both teams win their last game that might give Quins a chance of going through as their goal difference is superior. But, as this is only a guess, it is probably not wise to dwell too much on the idea. As for Friday's game, hopefully the official Quins website will post a report. If so, it should appear here.

On on the Quins!

Fr Whinder's Back

A mantilla tip to Mulier Fortis for this story regarding an extraordinary event that has just taken place in Rome... no, not the release of that motu proprio but a meeting between an uber-blogger with a great emoton [o{]:¬)] and a certain non blogging legend (plus my assistant parish priest!)!

UPDATE: In accordance with the Baron Florsheim of Great Snoring Rule*, I should report that I have just visited the Roman Miscellany and have found more details there. Great stuff.

* see here for further info

The Inquisitive Cow on St. Columba, Cisalpine Gaul and the Rubicon

dúnadan: It's Friday and it's time to say hallo to the one and only inquisitive cow, whose real name is Geraldine: Gerrie for short. Hallo Gerrie!
inq. cow: Hallo dúnadan. Are you dún for short?
dúnadan: Certainly not! I would sooner be called 'Malc' than that.
inq. cow: Ah, yes, for your real name is Malcolm, meaning, 'Servant of Columba'.
dúnadan: Do you know anything about him, Gerrie?
inq. cow: Well, I cannot profess to be an authority, of course, but I do talk to the parish priest when he crosses the field on his morning walks. And he has told me about a great many saints. Of St Columba, I am informed that he lived between 521 and 597, the year St Augustine landed in Canterbury. Columba was Irish and his father was called Fedhlimdh and his mother Eithne. He is most famous for founding the monastary in Iona, which is in Scotland. I remember receiving a postcard from my friend the Highland Coo. He likes to wander all over Scotland, much to the dismay of Farmer McWilliam.
dúnadan: Does the name Columba have a meaning?
inq. cow: Of course! It comes from the Gaelic 'Colum' which means 'dove'. Very appropriate for a man of peace.
dúnadan: I wonder if there is a St. Geraldine.
inq. cow: Well, I must confess that I was interested to know that myself. Unfortunately, neither the vicar - whose name is Vicker, funnily enough - or his wife have been able to find one. And there is more bad news! In the United States of America, after peaking in the 1930s, my name has plummeted in popularity. Oh dear!

dúnadan: Ah, but wait, that is for human babies. Do we have any figures for cows?
inq. cow: I am afraid animals are not very good at keeping records! Moo!
dúnadan: Oh well, I'm sure these things are cyclical. Let's move quickly on. You had an interesting encounter this week.
inq. cow: That's right, with Hannibal Rabbit. His real name is Henry, but he is obsessed with - well, you can guess.
dúnadan: Don't tell me his dream is ride over the Alps on the back of an elephant!
inq. cow: Well, yes, actually! And, I must confess, he has done it - ridden on the back of an elephant, that is, but that was in a zoo and at midnight when the guards did not notice him sneaking in. Luckily for Henry, the elephants were feeling friendly that night otherwise they may have tried to squash him, as usually happens.
dúnadan: Hannibal Rabbit is not a good friend of Tecumseh's, is he?
inq. cow: No, unsurprisingly, they loathe each other. Luckily, the little red baron - that martial squirrel - is in Switzerland at the moment representing Farmer Bill in the European Farmers' Theatre of War video game contest. He and the German Greys from the Black Forest are the favourites, you know.
dúnadan: I am not surprised. So, how was Henry when you met him?
inq. cow: Well, it goes without saying that he is trying to put together another expedition. However, he did stop long enough to teach me the difference between Trans and Cisalpine Gaul.
dúnadan: Which is...?

Cisalpine Gaul: bottom right corner

inq. cow: Trans means ''on the other side of' while 'Cis' means 'this side of' - The Alps. For the benefit of our readers, I shall add that 'Cis' is pronounced with an S. Sisalpine Gaul.
dúnadan: Now, when I think of Gaul I think of France, but if Cisalpine Gaul was on 'this' side of the Alps then it was not in France.
inq. cow: You know your geography better than Herbert Goose! Cisalpine Gaul is actually modern day northern Italy. I would like very much to visit it.
dúnadan: Italy is indeed a beautiful country.

inq. cow: I would like very much to be known as the cow that found the Rubicon river.
dúnadan: It has been lost?
inq. cow: Unfortunately, yes. I suppose everyone knows that the Rubicon is famous because it is the river that Julius Caesar crossed to set off the civil war against the Roman Senate. Unfortunately, the exact location of the river is not specified by the ancient sources. So much information about the past has been lost because the sources are not clear enough or simply do not give the information. Even the greatest men suffer in this regard. For example, Augustus Caesar. There are whole years when we do not know what he was doing! Imagine!
dúnadan: Well, we must thank the ancient writers for what they have told us.
inq. cow: Mmmm. Although it would be good to have the original manuscripts and not copies written hundreds of years later, which is what often happens.
dúnadan: At least the country is still there. Gerrie, I love Dorset and would - of course - prefer to marry a Dorset girl, but if I married one from Cisalpine Gaul, would you come and visit me?
inq. cow: Of course I would, even though six months in quarantine does not sound good fun!
dúnadan: That is awfully decent of you. Perhaps Hannibal Rabbit and Tecusmeh Squirrel could team up and lead a company over the Alps! On that note, however, we must call time on our discussion. It is dark now and I can see the vigilant torchlight of Farmer Bill looking for you. Gerrie, thank you for your time and inquisitiveness.
inq. cow: And thank you for your visit!

read more interviews with the inquisitive cow here

Happy to be a Catholic blogger

Earlier this evening Blogger notified me of that I had received a response to a post I wrote last August about the e-mail policy employed by Jay Anderson over at Pro Ecclesia. I strongly encourage you to read my entry and the subsequent comments. What I like is the fact that J. A. corrects me and then corrects himself! What can be said about a religion and form of media where you can influence a stranger and he can provide correction to you?! Catholicism and Blogging. It's the real deal.

also,

If you would like a glimpse into what the Tridentine Rite of the Mass (the one that gets traditionalist Catholics all excited) is like, then visit Matt Doyle's blog Lacrimarum Valle. Matt took his camera to the Epiphany Mass in the Old Rite at the Birmingham Oratory and has uploaded them with an excellent commentary. Having been fortunate enough to visit the Birmingham Oratory in the past, I was especially delighted to see inside the church again. Thanks to Matt. And prayers to him, Mrs. Doyle and the Young'un who is due immanently!

Fr Whinder on the move

No one has yet compiled a comprehensive and easily accessible list of blog appearances by Fr. Richard Whinder, but perhaps it ought to be done as word reaches me that his photograph has now appeared on the other side of the Atlantic. That's right, Fumare and The Roving Medievalist have both entered into the spirit of the most obscure in-joke since Mornington Crescent. I don't know how either blogger found out about our own lengendary non-blogging priest but I suspect the appeal of Fr Dwight Longenecker (thank you for the info!) had alot to do with it. Click on his name and see a new whinder-word!

"I also am looking out for Fr. Whinder."

UPDATE: Another American blog has picked up the Whinder baton! Pro Ecclesia * Pro Familia * Pro Civitate, written by Jay Anderson, becomes the fourth "stateside" blog to do so.

Singing A New Song: Called to Order

or, my Catholic life

Mulier Fortis quite rightly rails against the invidious interuptions caused by mobile phones ringing during Mass (here and here). I am sure we all have our own stories about these disreputable devices. Here is mine. One day, a couple or three years ago, I went to Victoria in the west end of London to join my family for a birthday party at a restaurant over the road. As I arrived early, I went into Westminster Cathedral to sit down. There was a Mass going on so I sat down right at the back. I was due to meet the other members of my family at 5:30pm so a couple of minutes before hand I got up to stroll across the road. As I left my seat, I heard a phone start to ring. Tch, I thought, won't people ever learn to switch it off? The funny thing was, as I walked across the area at the back of the cathedral, the ringing sound did not diminish. Interesting, I thought, but as I was leaving I was not interested enought to find out why this was the case.

The answer only became apparent once I had left the cathedral and the phone continued to ring as loudly and clearly as it did inside. The phone was in my bag. It was my phone! The shame! However, dear reader, don't worry overmuch - the shame was very much assauged by the fact that I did not realise the truth of the matter until I had left the church. Thus, I had been able to stride out of the church in my usual authoritative manner and without any of the red faced embarrassment that you would expect such a soul to have!

My London eye

This afternoon, work took me to the top of a tall building in west London, just up the road from Victoria. Everyone and his brother will know at least two of the three sights above, but just in case you don't, on the left is the London Eye 'observation wheel'. Just to the right of the grey dome is Big Ben. The two smaller towers are Westminster Abbey while the larger tower to the right of them is the end of Parliament. Not a bad sight!
What was I doing on top of this large building? Well, in my capacity as Faith Rep for my Union Branch I was attending the Faith Group meeting, that's what. The F.G. is an achingly, achingly ecumenical body that even includes atheists within its range of membership. This does not mean, however, that the people in charge are a bunch of aging hippies and/or liberals. Quite the opposite. They were down-to-earth, young (well, middle aged, really) and quite focussed on the issues affecting 'people of faith' (yeurghh!) in the work place. The first hour of the meeting was taken up with a general overview of current faith issues. The next two hours (and they were still going on when I left) were about specific ones. By the way, the photograph above is the view from the opposite side of the balcony where I photographed the palace of Westminster et al. In the middle is what looks like Battersea Power Station. But by my geographical reckoning, Battersea would be to the left of the London Eye, not in the opposite direction. I think I need to check my compass.

Miss. Potter

Peter Rabbit & co.

On Friday evening I saw the film Miss. Potter starring Renée Zellweger. This was not about Harry's sister (he doesn't have one) but a fictionalised account of how author Beatrix Potter created a little legend in Peter Rabbit and lost the first love of her life, her publisher, Norman Warne.

As readers of this blog will have noticed, I am partial to stories featuring talking animals. Added to the fact that I loved Zellweger's star turn in Bridget Jones's Diary I was always going to be predisposed towards enjoying this picture and I am very happy to report that I did. I have no idea whether Zellweger enjoyed playing the role of Beatrix Potter or not, but if it was the latter, she hides it very well indeed. There is a warmness to her performance that suggests that she was very happy playing this part, very happy indeed. Ewan McGregor stars as Potter's fiancée, Norman Warne. His is a slight part, really, but he plays it with interest and measured aplomb (as befitting an Edwardian 'tradesman'). The fact that he has the most winning smile of any contemporary actor also helps one to sympathise with him. But neither Zellweger or McGregor sweep all other performances before them. This is because every other part has been cast perfectly - Bill Paterson as the laid back but cautious Mr. Potter (his bushy whiskers also put in an excellent performance); Barbara Flynn as Mrs. Potter, a social climber who has no sympathy for her daughter's writing or art and Emily Watson as Millie Warne, Norman's seemingly emancipated sister being chief among them.

As mentioned above, the plot of Miss. Potter is two fold. While I would not go so far as to say that only lip service is paid to the rise of Peter Rabbit, I did feel that once his book had been published, the film turns away from the Peter Rabbit series so as to better focus on the developing relationship between Potter and Warne. With that said, we are given further glimpses into Potter's growing popularity - a couple of scenes that I really enjoyed were when Warne shows his beloved her latest book in the shop window and when Potter visits her bank manager. She asks if she has enough money to buy a house. She is immediately told that she could buy several. When considered in the context of the restricted role of women in Victorian/Edwardian society and Potter's own family problems, both scenes are a delight to see.

To go back to the secret star of the show, Peter Rabbit, the film gives him extra airtime through the use of animations. One minute he - and his friends - are two dimensional images on the page, the next, they are winking, quacking or - as in the case of Jemima Puddle Duck - waving her tail about in a rather cheeky manner. The animations do come dangerously close to being twee. In fact, they probably are, but I would defend them on two grounds. Firstly, they are not overused. This allows them to compliment the actors rather than overshadow them. Secondly, they are not used in a simplistic fashion. After learning of the death of Norman, Beatrix attempts to find peace in her art. It starts well with a simple painting of a frog fishing. But the fish starts to swim in a menacing fashion, pulling at the line. The frog looks up at his mistress in alarm. She presents her brush to him and he grabs hold of it, but it is not enough. And as Beatrix loses him, the animals in all her other sketches that are spread over her desk start to cry and wail. This is, of course, a visual metaphor for Potter's own inner turmoil. I have seen the animations criticised on the grounds that they make her look mentally ill - or 'loopy' in the choice words of one critic. Such a criticism is invalid. Mrs. Potter is not about mental illness. Therefore, it should be perfectly obvious to the viewer that if something strange happens, it is likely not to be because the film has suddenly become a disturbing psychological drama. To make the criticism mentioned above is to deliberately fail to enter into the spirit of the picture. If one cannot do that, one really should not be a film reviewer.

Peter Rabbit is not the only secret star of Miss. Potter. The costume designers should take a bow for bringing Beatrix Potter's world alive. A word must also be said for the Lake District. This achingly beautiful region of England is used too little but to great effect.

Just before Christmas, I saw The Holiday. It was an exceedingly silly film but good to see as Kate Winslet was in it, and it was the perfect film to watch at the end of a long day. Mrs. Potter is not a silly film, but a kind and gentle one. Not only is it good for the end of the day but it is also worth its weight in gold for anyone - child or adult - who dreams of letting go of their work and pursuing a more heartfelt project, whether it involve the use of paint or pen or some other device.

The American poster for Miss. Potter (the British version has Zellweger
holding the index finger of her left hand to her lips)

Cardinal Cormac's Pastoral Letter on the Epiphany

At Mass this morning there was no homily, but instead a pastoral letter by Cardinal Cormac Murphy O'Connor. In accordance with past practise, the Cardinal had taped his letter so that it could be played to the congregation. At times like these I am very glad that I am not a priest of the diocese or employed by it in any way because I am about to rant about that favourite topic of mine- the removal of the feast days of Epiphany, the Ascension of the Lord and Corpus Christi to their nearest Sunday by the Bishops of England and Wales. To read more of my thoughts on this issue, click on the holy days label at the bottom of this post. In the meantime, if you would like to read the text of the Cardinal's speech, you can do so at the diocesan website here. If you do not have time to do so, let me summarise the Cardinal's letter for you.

1. We the bishops have removed the three holy days of obligation to the nearest Sunday because Catholics find it difficult to get to Mass on weekdays.
2. As a result of this, people have written to us to bemoan the loss of 'Catholic tradition'.
3. So, having taken away from you one very traditional tradition let me suggest some others for you.
4. First among those traditions is Holy Hour.

Why does the Cardinal suggest this? Because he is 'always edified by the number of people who are able to attend Mass on a week day, or just visit the church to pray before the Blessed Sacrament.'. Is he really? In that case, what on earth is he doing removing those holy days? Does he imagine that people will have time to go to Holy Hour if they do not have time to go to Mass?

5. The second is that of confession.

I might note that the time it takes to go, prepare and give ones confession (as with Holy Hour) can often be as long as it takes to go to Mass. The same goes for the other traditions that he mentions - doing the Stations of the Cross and attending Faith sharing groups for example.

The Cardinal has some good words to say about prayer at home, but how he can speak to people about this private aspect of their Catholic lives when he and the bishops are responsible for curtailing its public expression I do not know. It is only his priesthood that gives him any respect at all.

I have to give the Cardinal respect for attending to this issue and not just ignoring the concerns of those who have contacted him; however, the bishops of England and Wales should know that they have acted in a short sighted, contradictory and irrational fashion. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they have made themselves the useful idiots of an age which is only too glad to see religion pushed out of the public space and into the private. And the worst thing is, they - the bishops - probably think they have been very helpful to Catholics. They haven't. They have done very badly, indeed.

At the end of his letter, the Cardinal asks that Catholics bring a gift to the Lord, perhaps of 'a little time every day.' for '[i]f we don’t remind ourselves of Jesus Our Saviour in some way or another then we lose touch with Him. Although it is not always easy to do this, I find it essential in my own life to give at least some time each day to think about Him, to be with Him and to pray.' The irony of this statement is so thick it is truly a wonder that the bishops didn't notice it.

A gust of Whind!

It takes a special reason for me to get up early on a Sunday morning and attend the 8am Mass and today I had a very special reason indeed. No, it wasn't to listen to the half baked pastoral letter by our Cardinal (more on that here), but rather, to meet the British blogosphere's most famous non blogging priest, Fr. Richard Whinder. He was here to concelebrate Mass with Fr. Nicholas before the two jetted off to bella Italia for a well earned break in the eternal city. I shook hand's with Fr. Richard after Mass and found him to be a very pleasant and affable man. Goodness only knows what he thinks of us bloggers but he is most polite all the same. Further to Fr. Nicholas' photo of the Whindmeister, here is the two of them outside the parish church...

What a man. I think Christmas will definitely be out next year - we will be celebrating Whinderval instead!

Tree of Life

I wonder if it is only me who finds the practice of dumping one's Christmas tree after the festive season (in secular time) a sad and annoying one. If the owner has a garden, I think they should make the effort to either leave the tree there or cut it up so that as it came from the earth it can return to it again. Leaving it in the street gives testimony to the wastefulness of our consumer culture. It will remain, decaying slowly, as a reminder of the fact that we too easily purchase and throw away our posessions.

A Soggy Stoop Sees the Quins Surge Forward

Harlequins 9 Bath 3

After beating Harlequins twice in as many weeks in the European Challenge Cup in December, Bath no doubt came to the Stoop today confident of notching up a third win against their hosts, but what was certain to be a tough game for the Harlequins got tougher for the visitors as well as the morning wore on and the rain continued to fall. It was at its worst just before the start of the game and during the first half, during the latter period, the game became less about skill and more about who could make fewer mistake than the other side. It was a tough period for the Quins, with Bath threatening on the attack, but they weathered the pitchside storm well to come come into the game from about the twenty minute mark onwards. Adrian Jarvis, the Quins' fly half, had a difficult game, seemingly miskicking several shots. Obviously the weather had a great influence there, but I still think he could have done better. With that said, he did score six valuable points (missing just one penalty) for Harlequins so that the team went into the dressing room at half time 6 - 0 ahead.

Pity the poor waterman who had to sit in the rain!

If Jarvis had a poor game, then so did the whole Bath team. In the whole game, only one attack of theirs really sticks in my mind as being a great chance missed. This is a little unfair to them as they were more dangerous in the first half, but having beaten Quins twice this season, they clearly had it in them to dominate the game. In actual fact, after the start of the game, it was Harlequins who dominated. No more was this more obvious than in the pack. The Harlequins pack - criticised by some fans at the start of the season for being lightweight - absolutely pulverised their Bath opposites. It was a great sight to see the rolling maul heaving its way up the pitch!

The Quins pack (in black shorts) prepares for war

All in all, an extremely exciting and satisfactory performance for Harlequins - the kind that I hope they remember and are inspired whenever they are up against the wall. My association with Harlequins began last year, following their relegation from the Premiership. I have read that this is the kind of game that two years ago they would have certainly lost. It says something very good about the team that they won today, namely, that there is a new spirit within the team that could lead it to much greater things.

The Stoop: wet and out of focus

The Inquisitive Cow on the Gipsy Moth, Father of History and Jebel Uweinat

dúnadan: Hallo and happy New Year from a field in central Dorset! We hope that you had an enjoyable night on New Year's Eve and are on the way to recovery now! With me, as she always is, is my best friend in Animaldom: Gerrie, the inquisitive cow. Gerrie, happy New Year to you.
inq. cow: Happy Moo Year, dúnadan!
dúnadan: How did the New Year Eve play go?
inq. cow: It was a most professional performance by the birds! And the fact that Mr Christmas came back to play himself was a very pleasant surprise.
dúnadan: As the readers might guess, you have Jenny Wren to thank for that. Is there anyone she doesn't know?
inq. cow: A good question. I do not know! I would love to find out though!
dúnadan: Now, Gerrie, a very exciting thing happened this week. I received a very nice e-mail from BBC Dorset who asked me if I lived here as they wanted to write an article for their website on Dorset bloggers. Unfortunately, of course, I come to visit you every week from London. However, that hasn't stopped young Learning Owlet from making himself your press secretary.
learning owlet: >t0-wit!<
dúnadan: Not just yet, Owlet.
inq. cow: Yes, indeed. And, of course, I am most honoured to have the benefit of his, well, enthusiasm; being only an owlet, he does not have a vast amount of experience in this line of work. Or, indeed, any, though I am sure he will be thoroughly professional in the execution of his duties.
dúnadan: So, let me introduce Owlet. Hallo!
lea. owlet: >to-wit!< >to-wit!< >to-wit!< Hallo, hallo!
dúnadan: Owlet, this is obviously a very important position you have taken on. How do you intend to do your job?
lea. owlet: Well! Well... well! I shall do lots of flying! Farmer Bill says that's what important people do so I shall do it too! Yes!! Perhaps Rudy will come with me - if he grows big wings!
dúnadan: Ah... those aren't wings, just leaves. He is made of wood, you see. Tell me, if a journalist wants to visit Gerrie, how should they get in touch with you? By e-mail?
lea. owlet: I don't have e-mail! I have owl-mail though! That's mummy and daddy!!
dúnadan: Hmm. Do mum and dad know about your new job?
lea. owlet: Yes! Yes! But they wouldn't let me because they say I couldn't fly across an empty field without knocking into a tree!! Here I go!
dúnadan: We're not quite finished yet Owl--- oh, well, he is a rather excitable little chap.
inq. cow: I think he will be back!
dúnadan: In the meantime, let's get down to business. This week, Publican Wallace put on display in his car park his latest unusual acquisition: a de Havilland DH.60G Gipsy Moth aeroplane.

dúnadan: Now, I know that Publican Wallace has a quite a large car park behind his pub - unusually so as it is in a village that has a population of 250 - but he doesn't intend to fly it, does he?
inq. cow: Who knows. The Gipsy Moth is perfectly flyable. He won it in Dorchester in a Guess the Beer competition sponsored by a certain airline company that we shall not name here. However, I think he would have to extend the car park somewhat to take off from there! I must confess, up until this week I knew very little about aeroplanes. And, I must confess also, I did not really care for what I did know of them. Publican Wallace's talk on the Gipsy Moth, however, quite changed my mind. Did you know that the Gipsy Moth flew for the first time in 1925. Aviatrix Amy Johnson flew one to Australia and its maximum speed is just over 100 miles an hour.
dúnadan: Would you like to fly in one, Gerrie?
inq. cow: I don't think I would fit into it!
dúnadan: Ah, yes, there is that. Well, these last couple of weeks, your milking reading has been taken up by the Father of History himself, Herodotus of Halicarnassus.

inq. cow: A wonderful author. His other nickname is the Father of Lies, you know.
dúnadan: Oh dear.
inq. cow: But that is the curious thing - neither nickname predominates. He is studied for what he tells us about events in the ancient world, but only with caution because he did embellish what he wrote. And, you know, Herodotus must have something about him since scholars have been arguing about him for over 2,000 years! Cicero debated the truth of Herodotus' tales in his own writings.
dúnadan: So, where does the cow community of a field in Dorset stand on this issue?
inq. cow: Well, if there are two things we cows like, it is good grass and good stories, so we don't really care!
dúnadan: Do you have a favourite story?
inq. cow: I enjoyed reading about the tribe that would never make a decision without discussing it while sober and then high on drugs! Or the other way round, I forget which! The more haunting stories, such as how Gyges userped the throne of Candaules also stays with me. It reminded me of a story I was told when I was a calf about a cow that boasted about his wife's ability to give enough milk to fit ten barrels! But she wouldn't do it with anyone looking, so he invited his friends to watch from the shadows... needless to say, as with King Candaules, it ended sadly and messily.
dúnadan: Hmm. Let's not dwell upon it, then. Perhaps one day though we might talk about other, happier, cow legends! For now, you received a postcard this week from a living legend, Herbert Goose. Regular readers will know Herbert as the goose that got a knock on a head and so migrated to China instead of Canada. There, he learnt Chinese and taught you about shijing poetry. Well, just before Christmas, Herbert set off on his travels again.
inq. cow: Indeed, and this time, he went south and has sent a postcard from the Jebel Uweinat in the Lyban desert.
dúnadan: Two things come to mind here. How is a goose going to survive in an environment where there is no water and how on earth was he able to send a postcard back from there?!
inq. cow: I would be most interested to know! But I am glad he has because the picture on the front of it was of a pictograph and petroglyph.
dúnadan: Being---?
inq. cow: Forms of rock art. Petroglyphs are created by engraving an image onto a rock face. They are slightly different, therefore, from pictographs, which are created by drawing or painting onto the rock face. These art forms occur all over the world. They can be figures or symbols put there by ancient peoples...

inq. cow: ... or by moderns...

dúnadan: Gerrie, I do believe in the first picture on Herbert's postcard, the figues are swimming. Incredible.
inq. cow: Yes, the desert wasn't always so dry, it seems!
dúnadan: Hmm. It's hard to imagine nature being so different.
inq. cow: I would like very much to visit these places to learn more about them. However, perhaps there is rock art to be found in Dorset.
dúnadan: Now, there's a thought! Well, Gerrie, I have very much enjoyed talking to you again today. I hope you have a very pleasant week reading and hunting for rock art and... uh-oh, look out, here comes Learning Owlet! >whizzing sound followed by a bmph!<
inq. cow: Oh dear! He has flown into a hay stack. We had better go attend to him!

read more interviews with the inquisitive cow here

the story of Candaules and Gyges

NASA's visit to Jebel Uweinat

NB: BBC Dorset really did send me an e-mail as described above. Thank you to them for the notice! - the dúnadan

J. R. R. Tolkien's Birthday

Yesterday was the 115th anniversary of the birth of J. R. R. Tolkien. Here is what I think is the most famous photograph of the famous author:

Tolkien (Tollers to his friends and Ronald to his family, even though his Christian name was John) was born in Bloemfontein in South Africa in 1892. When he was still a baby, Mrs. Tolkien took her children back to England for a holiday. Mr. Tolkien remained in Bloemfontain because his work (as a bank manager) did not allow him the time to join them. But he fell ill and died before his family's return. Mrs. Tolkien settled in Birmingham where she converted to the Catholic faith. Tolkien attended King Edward's school, where he played in the school's First XV rugby team. Here is a picture of the team. Can you tell which one is J.R.R.T? (the answer is in the combox).

Tolkien won a scholarship to study at Exeter College in Oxford. After fighting in the Great War he worked on the Oxford English dictionary and then at Leeds University. Tolkien returned to Oxford in 1925 to become professor of Anglo-Saxon at Merton College, where he remained for the rest of his career. Tolkien loved trees as much as he did books. Here are two photos of him with them. These photos also happen to be my two most favourite pictures of him. The first picture is apparently (one of) the last photographs of him ever to be taken (according to Humphrey Carpenter in his splendid biography). Tolkien is at the Oxford Botanical Garden posing beside a pinus nigra, his favourite tree. Despite having visited Oxford a couple of times on Tolkien/C. S. Lewis pilgrimages, I have never been to the Botanical Garden. I wonder if that tree is still there?

I don't know when this photograph was taken, but judging by his age, it was probably during the 60s. I love Tolkien's writings very much. They just make complete sense. Then there is the wonderful fact that he was a Catholic. It is always good to find other people who think like oneself. J.R. R. Tolkien Ora pro nobis.

JPII: Pray for us

A tip o' the hat to Credo for this beautiful photo of the late, great Pope John Paul II lost in prayer.

Joanna Bogle's article on blogs in the Catholic Herald

Blogging is the medium of the moment but until today - despite the fact that even the national newspapers have embraced the blogging phenomena - not a word about it could be read in The Catholic Herald. Now, that omission has been rectified, for the 5th January 07 edition features no less than a full page article on the subject by Joanna Bogle. The article is an 'Dummies Guide' to what blogging is about and features namechecks for Fr. Tim Finigan and Joe Bloggs (sic). Bogle has some interesting points to make about bloggers (mostly young and orthodox) and what makes for a good blog (ironically, those who do things other than blog!). The only point with which I disagree is her assertion that if one decides to start blogging, one should plan it first, jotting ideas down in a notebook. Well, I suppose ought to be a little organised, but if one goes into too much detail there must surely be a risk that the friendly intimacy of the blog will be lost. Anyway, the article is definately worth a read. Let's hope the Herald continues to take an interest in what Catholics are up to in the 'blogosphere'.

A Whindsome Post

The heater is on but I am feeling a bit chilly today. Why? Because the Catholic blogosphere is experiencing some whindy weather, that's why. It began at the blog of Mr. David Palmer, The Fullness of Faith, before moving on to the blog of Mr/Sir/Fra (wannabe, for now)/Dr. J. Blogs', Catholic Londoner. The Whindyness was last seen in the vicinity of a certain woman who is yet to learn her limits Miss (not Mrs) Mac McLernon, the one and only Mulier Fortis. Where whill the Whindy whether strike next?!

UPDATE: Brrrr... Wear a scarf if you visit the blog of Fr. Dwight Longenecker!

A Happy Start to the New Year

Harlequins 42 Newcastle Falcons 15

Wow! Harlequins best Premiership result of the season by a long shot and an indication of what the team is capable of when it tries. Actually, the first half was a closely fought affair which ended 13 - 15 in Newcastle's favour. But despite the closeness of the game, it should not have been like that for Newcastle gave away at least penalties that Andrew Mehrtens went on to miss. The ill discipline of the Falcons led to even more serious consequences when their fly half, Toby Flood, was sin binned for killing the ball. A line out followed his dismissal and Harlequins scored their first try. To Newcastle's credit, they defended stoutly and prevented any further score during Flood's ten minutes in the bin.

Newcastle prepare to restart following a Harlequin try

So, I can only wonder at what kind of team talk Dean Richards gave the Quins at half time. It must have been a corker because out they came to give Newcastle an absolute bashing in the second half. David Strettle played wonderfully well, scoring a hat trick of tries. Nick Easter and Simon Keogh (the latter a real crowd favourite) put together some nice moves, as did Samoan scrum half Steve So'oialo, who won the Man of the Match award for his efforts. He plays in Andy Gomarsall's position. Once Gommers gets fit again there will be a great contest for that place. The game was not without its mistakes - both teams gave away tries through interception of the ball - but my chief memory of it will be of Harlequin dominance and some fabuous running. Later on, the mistakes increased as rain started to fall, but my mind is made up on the matter, even if Dean Richards says that if the team play like that against Bath on Saturday, they will lose. Bath will certainly be a trickier proposition than Newcastle, having beat Harlequins twice already this season (in the ECC) they defeated Wasps at home, but with the confidence of this win and that against Worcester, there is no reason to think that Quins will not at the very least give the West Countrymen a run for their money. Let's hope so!

Game over, enmities forgotten, applauding your opponents

Before the game today, as mentioned in my previous report, I went in search of the portrait of Adrian Stoop. Some fans had told me that they believed it was in the Members' Bar in the West (or 'Lexus') Stand. The walls are lined with the shields of teams which the club has played, photographs of great players and even some rugby shirts, but no portrait of Stoop. So, I asked the old but venerable gentleman guarding the door if he knew where it was. He didn't, but suggested that I go and ask at the main reception next door. So, off I went, where I spoke to a slightly younger but still venerable chap. He was very interested in my enquiry, but alas, could not help. Unfortunately, neither could his younger colleague. So, they suggested that I go to the East Stand reception. Off I trotted, wondering if I would ever reach my goal! At the East Stand reception I spoke to a young lady and fellow whose occupation I would be hard pressed to name. He had a walkie talkie but did not seem like a security man. They both thought that the portrait was in the East Stand bar. As I had already looked there, I was able to advise them that it wasn't. The gentleman then wondered if it was not up some stairs. We looked, and no, it wasn't. But what about the stairs in the West Stand reception. He got onto his walkie talkie and spoke to a lady in that vicinity. I gave a description of the great man ("bald, sitting down, wearing a striped blazer") and she found it! It was indeed half way up the stairs from the West Stand reception leading to a private (I think) bar area. I asked if I would be able to photograph it and was given the all clear. So back I went to the West Stand reception where the venerable gentleman greeted me with profuse apologies (the lady obv. having told him to expect me). I went up the stairs and ta-daa! There was the painting. And here are my photos.

I

II

As you can see, there is a reflection in both photographs. In fact, you can see me taking the picture! It is a real shame that one cannot buy prints of Stoop or simple postcards of him and other Harlequin greats. I am very tempted to write to the club to suggest this.
The search for Stoop's portrait concludes part one of my Stoop quest. If I get round to it, I would very much like to visit the old family house in West Byfleet (now converted into an office) and his old home in Hartley Witney, Hampshire. Also, the Stoop family made their money in the oil market. Frederick Cornelius Stoop, Dutch by birth (from the city of Dordrecht), led a highly successful business until selling it on to what is now the Shell Oil Company. It has occured to me to write to Shell to ask if they keep an archive. It would be fascinating to see if any documents pertaining to the family firm survive. But that is for another day. Tonight, I am simply enjoying a very satisfactory win!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year one and all!

I have just got home from the midnight Mass at my parish church. As far as I know, this was the first time that it has celebrated a New Year Mass so I set off to it thinking that there would probably be a dozen or two parishioners present, just like at Benediction at midnight on Good Friday/Holy Saturday. To my amazement, however, the church was packed out. There were spaces dotted about but it was so busy they weren't seen by a number of people who chose instead to stand at the back of the church. Thinking about it now I am still very surprised by the numbers that came to bring in the New Year by venerating Our Lady and worshipping Our Lord. For their faith, they even got to listen to me doing the readings. I don't like to think what they made of that. Anyway, I think it is a safe bet that we will be seeing another midnight Mass in a year's time.

For now, however, a happy New Year to you; I hope that 2007 is a blessed year for you.