Spirited Away

A week or two ago, Petrarch's Muse lent me a dvd video called Spirited Away. This is a Japanese anime film, about the adventures of a young girl called Chihiro in a mysterious fairyland.

The film starts off with Chihiro and her parents en route to their new house. A diversion brings them to a tunnel, which leads to an old fairground. Or so they think. Walking into it, Chihiro's mother and father see lots and lots of food laid out - and no one there to eat it. So, they decide to have some of it themselves. Unfortunately, the food is meant for gods for whom the fairground is actually a kind of health farm cum sanitorium. Yubaba is the witch who rules over the 'Land of Spirits' and it is her spell that turns Chihiro's mother and father into pigs. The film follows Chihiro's quest, then, as she tries to rescue her parents and escape from the fairground.

Now, I have to admit that I only borrowed Spirited Away from Petrarch's Muse with a lot of trepidation. I am not at all a fan of Japanese animation. The big eyes and dot noses of the characters iritate me greatly. They do not even look Japanese. However, I have to say that having watched Spirited Away, I have to re-evaluate that position.

Spirited Away is one of the most charming, well written, gentle, exciting and well executed films that it has been my pleasure to watch in a very long time. The story is wholly unoriginal in terms of its premise but that doesn't matter when it is as well written as this one is. There is no dwelling overlong on particular scenes, no character is allowed to outstay his welcome; every moment has its meaning. If only Hollywood writers and studios would take note.

Although in essence Spirited Away is about Chihiro's quest, the story goes further than that. She is helped by a young boy called Haku. He guides her into the main house of the 'fairground', where most of her adventures take place. There we meet Kamajii, a spidery man who, with the help of an army of fluffballs stokes the fire of the furnace that keeps the house warm; No Face, a wraith like creature who is fine when outside but goes to seed in a very bad way when Chihiro unwittingly lets him enter the house, and Yubaba and Zeniba the witch sisters who are at each other's throats.

I have to say that I am still not fond of Japanese animation, however, given that I watched most of the film in one sitting, it clearly did not get in the way too much of my enjoyment of the film. The quality of the script was highly appreciated, as was the evident love of the writer and director Hayao Miyazaki for his characters. A meaner mind than his would have made this a scary, dark and witless film but his more generous heart knows exactly how to balance the dangerous and lighter moments of the picture.

I could wax lyrical about Spirited Away all night and but for the need to get up early for work tomorrow, I would. Perhaps it would be best to say is that whether you are or are not a fan of Japanese animation - or, indeed, animated films in general - Spirited Away would be well worth your time. At two hours in length it demands a fair amount of it, but you will not regret it.

Tablet Readers Have Their Say

Benjamin Franklin said that nothing in life was as certain as death and taxes. If he read The Tablet, he would no doubt have added '... and a negative reaction to anything involving the Tridentine Mass by Tablet letter writers' as well. In the latest edition of the journal, seven letters have been published, five of which are hostile to the Gregorian Rite. The sixth is hostile, although it tries to be fair, so that just one can be said to be positive.

All of the above may fairly said to be par the course. Presumably the positive letter only got into print by being overlooked! However, what stuck in my mind after reading the other letters was the closedmindedness of the writers. For example, one writer says that '[s]eeing Cardinal Castillón Hoyos vested in a cappa magna in Westminster Cathedral was a chillling experience'. Chilling? I was once confronted in the street by a lunatic brandishing a hammer in one hand and a knife in another. That was a chilling experience. But let's try and understand our writer's fear. It is based upon the fact that when Jesus celebrated Mass, He did so in simplicity. That is a fair point, but to say that the grandly dressed cardinal was a 'chilling experience' was, I think, not so much exaggerating his case as taking it to the point of absurdity. Not least since the cardinal was not - like so many American televangelists - wearing smart clothes because he had the money to do so, but because with them he was making a liturgical point.

Another writer inches even more closely to absurdity. For them, '[t]he Tridentine Mass... serves a spirituality of individual salvation'! And apparently, even when he calls for dialogue between progressive and traditionalist Catholics, Cardinal Hoyos is being decisive, 'he speaks of us being "brothers" and needing "fraternal dialogue" when over 50 percent of the congregation are women.' Can she truly believe that women would be excluded from this dialogue?

This Tablet writer's muddled thinking continues. They call the choice of a 'different kind of worship' disturbing. Disturbing. Hold that word in your mind as the writer goes on to say, '[t]oday we need to project the sacramental image of the Church founded by Christ, as one of unity and community.' So, as far as this writer is concerned, unity and community is to be achieved by the suppression of the desire and hope of those Catholics who disagree. Now that is a disturbing thought. Perhaps even chilling.

In Catholic Company

I am currently reading the Holy Father's book Jesus of Nazareth as well as the previously mentioned Evelyn Waugh A Biography. The former is filled with grace the latter, thus far, sadness. The best that can be said for it, in fact, is that this sadness is concentrated in Waugh's schooldays. Firstly, at Lancing College where he was a disillusioned bully and at Oxford where he was part of the empty hearted Aesthetic Set.

As such, he spent his days not studying but getting prodigiously drunk. And I mean drunk. And it seems that hardly for a minute did he enjoy it but was acting out an internal drama of self loathing and despair. Matters are looking up now, however, for I have reached 1930 when Waugh was received into the Catholic Church and finally found his metier as a writer. No more drifting from pillar to post, or, in Waugh's case, one obscure school mastering job to another.

Being a Catholic and lover of Benedict, you might expect me to extol Jesus of Nazareth, but I am only telling it as I see it: reading that book is palpably like being in the presence of someone good and holy. The only other book that I remember feeling like that towards is one or two written by Jean Vanier, the founder of L'Arche. These will be happy moments reading Jesus of Nazareth. God bless the Pope & Evelyn Waugh too.

A Site To Remember

SisterHevs and I have discovered that Tracksy has ceased to work. This will probably be a temporary measure, but to keep in touch with my inner stat-fiend, I have installed Sitemeter. Hevs, I recommend it. There is a nice little map of the world which shows where your visitors come from!

Thank you to Mulier Fortis for putting me onto Sitemeter!

A slightly belated response!

Oh dear. I owe someone called Thomas an apology. Last September, he stumbled upon Cally's Kitchen Index of Stories - those second rate Tolkienesque efforts that kicked off the writing of this blog three years ago. However, since I used the Index only as an index, I never bothered to look at the comments. In fact, I thought I had disabled the Comments Box for the Stories.

Now, I see that I didn't; for last Autumn, Thomas kindly left a comment in the Stories from Cally's Island asking if I was going to develop them (the stories) any further. Thomas, if you happen to read this, I have to admit that the answer is 'unless anyone asks me to, probably not.' However, although I haven't written any for a long while, I am always on the look out for an idea so maybe I will go back to the Island in the future.

England Rugby: Crime or Ill Discipline

There is something depressingly familiar about the allegation of sexual assault that has been made against four unnamed England Rugby players in Auckland, NZ. But usually, the claim is made against football players. Yet, as often as the allegation is made, so it is dropped. Thus, after being arrested on suspicion of rape following Manchester United's Christmas party last December, Jonny Evans was subsequently cleared by the CPS. In 2005, Arsenal's striker Robin van Persie was similarly arrested and released by Dutch police. If memory serves, Christiano Ronaldo was likewise accused.

As for the England case, the allegation is bearing some similarities to the Evans case:

• Footballers/Rugby players are at a hotel
• They enter the rooms of a woman
• Sex takes place
• An allegation of assault/rape arises

Curiously, in New Zealand, the alleged victim does not appear to have made a complaint to the police. So, who raised the allegation? I'm afraid the cynic in me can't look too far beyond a jealous associate of the woman involved - family or friend.

Of course, just because most other allegations of this nature go nowhere, does not mean that this one will fail. Perhaps something did happen. On that front, we will have to wait and see. But, if it turns out that if the England players are innocent of any offence - what next? If I were Rob Andrew, bearing in mind how Danny Cipriani was dropped from the England team for a game after delivering match tickets to friends in a nightclub after midnight, I would put the players concerned on the next aeroplane home. They are in New Zealand to play for England against the All Blacks. Not to mess around after hours. That they were doing so is a matter of simple ill discipline and has no place in the team.

In The Footsteps of Joseph Ratzinger - Alessandra Borghese

A few weeks ago, the Roman Miscellanist kindly lent me a copy of Alessandra Borghese's little book In The Footsteps of Joseph Ratzinger. It is a slender volume, part biography, part travelogue, part hagiography. I don't know much about Miss Borghese except what I have read in publicity for this book, and that can be summarised as follows: she is a princess, she was a lapsed Catholic but has now returned to the practise of her faith and she loves Pope Benedict very much indeed.

Actually, her love for the Holy Father shines out from the pages of Footsteps. Most heart warmingly, that love does not cause the book to become too sweet. Miss Borghese is in love but remains level headed. Perhaps this is due to her return to the Church and the knowledge that, as great a man as he is, the Pope is not an end but a means by which she comes to the Saviour.

Having read Fr. Nicholas's copy of In The Footsteps of Joseph Ratzinger, I have now bought my own copy and look forward to reading it again. It will be the perfect tonic for a tired heart at the end of the week. I heartily recommend it to you.

The Tablet and the Gregorian Mass

To Westminster Cathedral this afternoon to pick up a copy of The Tablet and Catholic Herald. I don't usually read the former nowadays, but was keen to do so this week to see what it said about the Gregorian (Extraordinary Form) Mass that was celebrated at the cathedral last weekend.

As you might expect, the Tablet takes a lukewarm view of the re-emergence of the 'old rite'. It believes that Catholics might be 'confused as to the intentions of the Vatican regarding the new rite' by, first, the issuing of Summorum Pontificum and now Cardinal Hoyos' suggestion that the Gregorian Mass be celebrated in every parish. The Tablet states that,

'Some see [these events] as a sign that the old rite is being restored step by step. Others go further, warning that if both rites become widely available the Mass could become a sign of division rather than a place of communion.'

A couple of things jump out at me from the above quotation. Firstly, who are the Some and Others to whom the Tablet refers? I strongly suspect that they are the progressive (so called) Catholic intelligentsia who are, thankfully, many fewer in number than the Joe Catholics of the world who will either attend the Gregorian Mass if he wishes to or ignore it if he does not.

Secondly, I believe that the Gregorian Mass would only become a 'sign of division' if those who like or dislike it too much are allowed to dominate the debate. As for Joe Catholic, he will be considerably more easy going. He has a life to lead, after all.

To give the Tablet some credit, it states that,

... there is a need to understand the way in which Catholics of good will who loved the old rite have felt estranged from the Church for so many years.

That is very true. But then, it adds,

To suggest the Balkanisation of the Catholic Church is to go too far, but a situation akin to that of the Anglicanism divided along high-church and low-church lines, may not be far off if the old rite becomes widespread.

So, what the Tablet believes is that Catholics should listen to their estranged brethren but do nothing to help them. Sorry, not nothing, but only a little. Even worse. What offensive, patronising, nonsense. I am convinced that the only way in which a high/low church division could break out is if extremists on the traditional and progressive wings of the Church are allowed to dominate the debate.

The Tablet goes on to argue the case for the Novus Ordo by saying that people today 'no longer define the transcendent as distant or remote but as accessible and intimate.' I am going to be very unfashionable and say that while God is indeed 'accessible and intimate' He is also utterly inaccessible and we fool ourselves if we think that He is one rather than paradoxically both. The Gregorian Mass, of course, shows God in both these ways. In a certain sense (the use of Latin, for example), it does allow Him to be inaccessible; but look, look as the priest raises the Host; read, read the words that he is speaking (in persona Christi); God is with us! This is the truth about the Gregorian Mass, not the one sided nonsense of the Tablet.

A New Day and...

Gilraen and Arathorn have noticed it, maybe you have too: Cally's Kitchen has a new look. For a long time I have been wanting to add a picture or a splash of colour to the blog and upon a moment the other night (when France were losing to Italy), I looked at the blogspot template... and here we are. I hope you like it!

Of Chavs and Johns

Martin Brundle, ITV's Formula 1 commentator recently got into trouble when he said that the broken up surface of the Montreal F1 race course looked like it had been laid by 'pikeys'. Apparently, pikey is a derogatory term for gypsies. I never knew that. I thought it was just another name for a chav.

As I understand it, a chav is someone (male or female) who wears fake branded clothes, lots of jewelry and likes burberry. They usually hail from Essex. Chavs will most often listen to American rap music and wear hoodies in an attempt to look hard. They probably want respect, but their choice of attire and behaviour brings them only contempt.

What a chav isn't is a john. Up until recently, I had never heard the use of this name to describe a type of person but I have since been put to rights. I am told that a john is a geezer; a wide boy; a jack-the-lad. Shove your shoulders back, say, "Awrigh'!" or "'Ow's it goin'." and you exhibit john-like behaviour. As chavs usually come straigght outta Romford, I have been told that johns can most often be found in Walthamstow - or the Stow, as I have heard it called.

Obviously one cannot condone labelling people in the ways described above, but I do find it fascinating how people dream up the oddest words to describe others, or even how the most normal words (like john) can come to take on a very odd meaning. What is so johnnish about a geezer? Come to think of it, where did geezer come from, anyway? It is all very interesting stuff.

A Diverse Character

"According to James Lees-Milne, who barely knew him, Waugh was the 'nastiest man in England, Catholic or Protestant'; according to Malcolm Muggeridge, who barely knew him either, Waugh was 'a saint'... Hilaire Belloc said on first meeting him that he was convinced the young man was diabolically possessed.'"

I have just started reading a biography of Evelyn Waugh by Selina Hastings. As of this morning, Waugh has just arrived at Oxford. Unfortunately, while at Lancing College in West Sussex, his personality conformed to the Lees-Milne interpretation. Incidentally, as you can see above, there is a link to Lancing's website, which looks very nice, although I am still trying to find some photographs of the rather glorious looking gothic chapel. Waugh is mentioned on the Old Lanconians (?) page, but a part from more recent alumni which I think is a bit rum.

My copy of this book comes from the library of the Venerable Bede, who, I trust, will be pleasantly surprised that I have not waited a year before beginning it!

As for Waugh, the best thing I have discovered is that he lived in Hampstead. If that isn't an excuse to get back up there on a summer Saturday and search out his home (if it still exists) and drink to his books in a pub, I don't know what is.

Westminster and Other Places

A busy Saturday! Yesterday morning, I kicked things off with a trip to the gym. A mistake as things turned out, for although the exercise started well with a good run - or row - on the rowing machine, I wilted on the cross trainer. Gamely, I kept going on the treadmill, but was lucky to manage ten minutes on it. The fact that England were being thumped by the All Blacks on the TV screens in front of me didn't help, either.

After grabbing a bite to eat in the gym café, I returned home. At least this was a nice walk on a sunny day. But there was little time to really enjoy it, because not long after my return, I was on my way again - this time to Westminster Cathedral for Mass in the extraordinary form.

With reference to the photograph above, and as Lee McQueen would say, "That's what I'm talkin' about!". The photograph has been 'borrowed' from Fr Finigan's blog where other photos may be seen. Not long after my arrival, and while I was waiting in a queue, I was met by one Ottaviani.
No, not that one! But his blog namesake. Ottaviani, in case you read this, it was very pleasant meeting you! Not long later, one or two more familiar faces flashed by. First of all, was that Fr. Paul Chavasse of the Birmingham Oratory walking swiftly towards the sacristy? Well, that slender figure can only be Fr. Whinder! Then, a most unusual sight was seen - a priest wearing a cassock and carrying a backpack: Fr. Finigan, I think. Some male religious flitted to and fro as well - a Dominican and Benedictine, perhaps from Oxford or Gospel Oak or even further afield.

All the while I was in this queue the cathedral was filling up so that by the time I was done, it was very nearly a case of standing room only. I managed to grab a seat near the back of the cathedral and not long later, it pretty much did become standing room only.

The Mass began at the back of the cathedral with the entrance of the celebrant, Cardinal Castrillon Hoyos, wearing his cappa magna. I have to admit that I was expecting to see something like a wedding train, but it appeared to be a lot shorter. The Cardinal, who is the head of the Ecclesia Dei Commission, entered the cathedral and began a slow and dignified walk up the central aisle, blesssing the congregation as he went. I remember reading, I think in G. K. Chesterton's autobiography, that when he was young GKC, witnessed Cardinal Manning getting out of a car and the crowd of Catholics around him falling to their knees (as he blessed them?). This is what happened at the cathedral as the modern day scarlet flame passed by.

If you want a good account of how the Mass went, I'm afraid this blog will not provide it. I was at a bit of a disadvantage because I did not have a service sheet with the service printed on it. I had to rely on my own 'Little Mass book'. Also, my abiding memory of the Mass is the amount of singing that there was by the choir. Once the cardinal and other priests had reached the sanctuary, it seemed like the choir took over until the reading of the gospel. I'm not saying that this is how it really was, much less am I complaining, but it seemed like the high altar saw very little activity. Having said that, as I write, I do recall the announcer at the beginning saying that it was a 'pontifical high Mass from the throne', so perhaps that is why.

After the gospel, His Emminence delivered a short homily in which he thanked the Latin Mass Society for organising the Mass (hear hear). The one thing I remember most about the homily, however, is the Cardinal saying that we must unite our sufferings with that of Our Lord. Of course, he also spoke about the extraordinary form and its place in the Church.

As I mentioned, Westminster Cathedral was standing room only by the time that Mass started. Near where I was, people were standing. One brave young woman (I wouldn't have done it), knelt on the floor at the appropriate moments. I hope she has strong knees! The atmosphere was very reverent. Alas! Despite the announcer twice asking people to turn off their mobile phones, someone's still went off during a quiet moment. What is to be done with such people?! To be sure, that was a one-off.

Regarding the congregation, it came in all shapes and sizes and ages as well: clear proof, as if it were needed, that the extraordinary form of the Mass is not the plaything of radical young turks or oldies who never reconciled with the 60s. It is, quite literally, the Mass of ages.

Communion was very interesting. Because of the numbers, the cathedral was split in two. Those at the front went to the foot of the sanctuary to receive communion, those at the back went to altar rails placed half way up for that purpose. I don't know about the front, but communion here was received kneeling and on the tongue. Given the numbers involved, I would have thoroughly expected to be waiting for some while to communicate. Not so. After a sluggish start, the queue started moving and never stopped. Amazing.

At this point, I confess that I did Scott Hahn's 'Judas shuffle' and left the cathedral. I wanted to get some air, but I was also yawning a bit through the Mass - perhaps as a result of the misguided trip to the gym earlier in the day.

From Westminster, I travelled up the Northern Line to Hampstead where I met Our Man of the Antonii. Cleopatra is from Sweden and so we watched the Swedes take on Spain. The game ended 2 - 1 to Spain who scored with almost the last kick of the game. Very lucky, but given the pressure they put on Sweden during the whole of the second half, also just. Oh yes, and we visited the Hampstead Waterstones where, taking advantage of a splendid 2 for 1 offer, I bought the next three Bond books.

How to Pray the Mass

'Fr Blake's Common Sense' is a most interesting post at the Hound of Heaven blog. Equally interesting, and very well worth a read, are the comments on it. I am thinking especially of Mulier Fortis' suggestions of what to do during the celebration of Mass in the Extraordinary Rite. Here is a taste,

Might I suggest that you read through the readings before Mass, as a preparation. Then, instead of trying to "keep up" with the priest as he says the prayers, just read through, prayerfully, the translations of the collects, and meditate on how they can be put into practice in your own life. During the Canon of the Mass, consider how Jesus is putting himself at the beck and call of the priest, for you. No huge fanfare to advertise his arrival, just a small bell... and offer him your life in exchange.

It's one way in.

I shall remember what she says at Westminster Cathedral this afternoon.

Live and Let Die - Ian Fleming

I have just finished reading Live and Let Die, the second book in the James Bond series. Whereas the first, Casino Royale, took us over the English Channel to Normandy, Live and Let Die is a little more exotic, being set in Harlem and Jamaica.

Seventeenth century gold coins once owned by a pirate have entered the market. M sends Bond to find out what is going on. The news is bad as it turns out that a criminal mastermind nicknamed 'Mr Big' is behind the operation. What's more, he - Mr Big - has connections with Bond's arch enemy of Smersh.

Arriving in America, Bond is happy to have the help of his old friend Felix Leiter in investigating the case, but Mr Big is one step ahead of both of them and it isn't long before they are his prisoners.

Live and Let Die contains all the acts of derring-do that you would expect from a James Bond novel, but the Boy's Own nature of the story is overwhelmed when Leiter is captured and tortured by agents of Mr Big who feed him to some sharks. 'He disagreed with something that ate him'. Suddenly, we are in the real world, where wicked people do some very wicked things - and there is nothing that the good guys can do to stop them.

Still, somethings never change. Bond falls in love with Solitaire - Mr Big's mind reading captive - but is still prepared to kill her, if necessary. In fairness to him, I should add that he considers this option when they are tied together and about to be pulled behind Mr Big's yacht, the Secatur, as live bait for barracuda and sharks. Bond's intention is to spare Solitaire the pain of being eaten alive.

I suppose the real controversy of the book is in Fleming's attitude to black people. In Live and Let Die, they are uniformly described as negroes and are made to speak in a very distinctive patois. However, while you would not today refer to a black person as a negro, I myself would not call its use racist. As for the patois, I thought it quite evocative. For all I know, however, it is not at all realistic. In fact, as I write this, I can only think of one scene where what appeared to be overtly racist behaviour is exhibited, and that is a comment made by Solitaire. Against that, at the beginning of the novel, M tells Bond that now that (black) men of genius are emerging it is no surprise that a black criminal mastermind is as well. In regards the race issue though, I would freely admit that reading the book once, with a focus on its hero, is really not enough to gain an understanding of what Fleming - consciously or not - is communicating in terms of his attitude to black people.

Live and Let Die is 229 pages long - a few more than Casino Royale. This gives Fleming a chance to develop his descriptive writing. I think Ian Fleming must have enjoyed eating because he always takes great care in his description of meals, but he also does really well in describing Bond's swim from Jamaica to Mr Big's yacht, through a coral reef. What is more, he marries the description of the journey with the rising tension as Bond enters dangerous territory, perfectly.

James Bond himself doesn't really change in this book. I don't suppose he will in any of the others. Therefore, it is vital for Fleming to keep his readers interested by sending the secret agent to different locations so that we can see him operate in a new context. By taking Bond from Normandy, where Casino Royale was set, to the rather more exotic Harlem and Jamaica, Fleming does this well. A good book and well worth a read.

'Waste Of Time'

Father Dwight Longenecker reports on a Daily Telegraph article, which, he says, "reports that Catholics in England are raising a petition asking for married men and women to be ordained." This gives the impression that the Telegraph is reporting that all English Catholics are asking for the ordination of married men and women.

In fact, what the paper states is that, "[t]housands of leading Roman Catholics including Lord Patten and Baroness Williams are calling on the Church to allow women and married men into the priesthood." (my emphasis)

But 'thousands' doesn't sound too clever for the orthodoxy of the Church in England, does it? In actual fact, as the paper goes on to admit, only 2,000 have so far signed the petition. But hold on, as we have seen above, among them are 'leading Roman Catholics' such as, er, Lord Patten and Baroness Williams.

I would readily admit that both Chris Patten and Shirley Williams have been significant figures on the British political stage, but that was in the 90s and 80s respectively. They are not now leading political figures let alone religious ones. To suggest otherwise is a fantasy.

Fr Longenecker then states, "I've lived in England. I can tell you why there is a priest shortage. One of the reasons is that certain liberal bishops actually discourage vocations." By way of proof, Father Longenecker says that these bishops turn away candidates for the priesthood who are 'too rigid' (ie. orthodox). If this is true (and I am not going to argue otherwise), as scandalous as it is, it isn't quite discouraging vocations in general though, which is what has been implied.

He goes on to say that they (the 'certain liberal bishops') have an 'open agenda to discourage vocations'. If this is true, then presumably details of the agenda are freely available, perhaps on the internet, perhaps in print. I should very much like to see where.

Father Longenecker then says that "[the bishops] are men who couldn't organize (sic) a drinking spree in a brewery, [yet] they want to put in place a total overhaul of the parish system? Get real." Well, if the bishops in general (as the suggestion here is) are so incompetent, why worry that this overhaul will ever take place? It won't. It can't. Why worry about what would happen if the wrong sort of person becomes the lay administrator or who will pay them? These things won't happen. They're too incompetent, remember?

Amidst all this worry and knowing talk from the other side of the Atlantic, something real is happening in London tomorrow. Despite their animosity towards orthodox Catholicism, to orthodox priests, to priests in general, the bishops - in fact, the cardinal himself, has allowed Westminster Cathedral to be used for Mass in the Extraordinary Rite. What is going on? Is it a case that what the bishops give with one hand, they take away with another? Or, heaven forbid, could the picture be a little more complicated than we are being told?

David Davis's Resignation

There is no doubt in my mind that David Davis has done something very brave and noble in resigning his parliamentary seat in order to fight for re-election on the basis of his opposition to the 42 Days Detention for terrorist suspects.

Unfortunately, if the Labour party refuses to put up a candidate for Haltemprice and Howden, he will also have done something rather foolish because the debate that he wants - and which this country deserves to have - will not happen.

Of course, Kelvin Mackenzie, the former editor of The Sun newspaper has said that if Labour doesn't, he will very likely stand against Davis on a pro-42 Days ticket. And with the support of Rupert Murdoch, Mackenzie will have no shortage of money to get out his message.

It is rare that any of the British press covers itself in glory. Usually, it is in another, less desirable, substance. This has most notably been the case of The Sun (and its lamentable Sunday equivalent The News of the World), especially during the editorship of Kelvin Mackenzie in the 80s. Under his watch, The Sun falsely accused Elton John of having sex with rentboys and of Liverpool football fans of causing the Hillsborough disaster. Many other lurid headlines came before and after.

Of course, the 80s was now a long time ago. Forgive and forget? Maybe, but to the best of my knowledge Mackenzie has made little real effort to say sorry to the people he used to sell that newspaper. For this reason, he makes a poor choice to stand for election to Parliament let alone represent an issue as important and fundamental as the 42 Days case. Alas, Gordon Brown's cowardice.

With that said, to be fair to Brown, he has nothing to win and everything to lose by putting up a candidate. Haltemprice and Howden is a true blue constituancy. David Davis will win his seat again; it is only a question of by how many votes. If Brown took the bait and put up a candidate, therefore, he would only resurrect a crisis which by the narrowest of margins he ended when he finally won the 42 Days vote. Why do it then, if that is the cost and when there is no chance of electoral success, anyway?

I hope beyond hope that David Davis gets his debate, even if it is with Kelvin Mackenzie; I hope he wins it and that this country sees this Government for the stupid and squalid authoritarian regime that it is. I fear, however, that it the spin doctors on the Left will turn it into a sideshow that portrays this man of principal as a fool. We shall see.

Alexander the Great

BBC-On-Line reports that on this day in 323BC Alexander the Great died 'sparking 42 years of war for his succession'. What killed Alexander, who was only 32 at the time of his death, is, as the BBC website says, a great mystery. What is known is that he fell ill during a drinking party. That illness turned into the fever which led to his death. Alexander was in Babylon at the time and had recently passed through a swamp outside the city. It is possible, therefore, that he could have died of malaria or typhoid fever.

However, when you look at the fact that his great friend Hephaistion had died only months earlier in equally similar and mysterious circumstances, you inevitably wonder whether someone or some people were acting to end the reign of Alexander and his allies. "Cui bono?" Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla asked (and who Cicero quoted). Unfortunately, asking that question does not take us much closer to the truth as there were many people who benefitted from Alexander's demise. Could it have been Antipater, whose reign as regent of Macedonia was under threat following Alexander's return from the East? Or Cassander, Antipater's friend. Perhaps one of Alexander's 12 Marshals did the deed, fed up with his orientising. Even Aristotle, once Alexander's tutor, has been named a suspect. We will never know the truth so today we simply mourn the passing of one of the greatest generals, if not the greatest, of the West.

The Apprentice Finale

I never watched The Apprentice before this series but after my first episode (which was the one where the candidates had to cook a meal at pubs in Islington and Hampstead), I became addicted.

Sad that Ian Stringer got fired in that show, I was pleased when his nemesis, ferrety Kevin, received his marching orders a week or two later. At the time, I disliked gobby Claire alot, but later become reconciled as she showed that she could learn from her mistakes and actually listen as well as speak. Raef was always my favourite and I am still too upset to talk about his firing.

After last week's interviews-from-hell, my heart wanted Lee to win but my head said Claire would claim the prize. Okay, Lee falsified his CV but he also had the great catchphrase 'THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!".

So, it was with great joy that I read the result on BBC On-Line this morning. Well done, Lee! I hope his apprenticeship worked out for him. It was with some bemusement, however, that I read this Daily Telegraph article. Apparently the criticism of a few employment and recruitment specialists counts as a 'barrage'.

The article brings up the issue of McQueen's spelling and his CV. As for the spelling, as one of the guests on The Apprentice: You're Fired pointed out last week, it may be that he has an undiagnosed dyslexia. Let's hope that has been looked into since last year. If one was really going to criticise this part of the CV, what would be more disturbing than the spelling is the message: "Today's goals will be different from tommorrows until I finally fulfill my ambition to be recoingsed (sic)." It does sound vaguely sinister, doesn't it? Either that, or just plain silly. But at least it is not like the uber-bland, "I am ready to leave the sea of success and enter the ocean of opportunity", which one of the other candidates came up with.

As for the CV, McQueen states that he wasn't lying when he said he had been at university for two years instead of four months, but, of course, he was. Just as Hilary Clinton was when she said she came under fire at Kosovo airport. That story died a death after Mrs Clinton said that she never lied, just 'misspoke', so either the media in a most supine manner decided to let her get away with it or decided that a Presidential candidate lying was okay. Either way, it seems funny that McQueen should take more heat than Hilary. Especially given that in all I have ever heard about about CVs they are never regarded as documents containing the gospel truth but ones in which you embellish your record as far as you are able. Which is what Lee did (he never claimed to get a degree, after all). But hold on, didn't I just say he lied? Maybe in this context it is not an out and out lie but a fracturing of the truth.

The Telegraph quotes Christopher Davies, a professional support lawyer, who says that McQueen would never have got his apprenticeship in real life. I hope for his sake, however, that it is poor editing by the Telegraph that led to this rendition of his statement, "[i]t has got to be taken into account the circumstances of television and that he was everyone favourite and done well on the tasks."

'everyone favourite' ? 'done well'?! Actually, the first half of the sentence is badly constructed, full stop. Of course, rather embarrassingly, Davies has lied. Lee McQueen was not hired by Sir Alan Sugar because he was 'everyone favourite (sic)'. The programme was filmed last year when 'everyone' (presumably he means the public) did not know McQueen from Adam. Perhaps Mr Davies just misspoke.

The next person to get on their high horse is Hannah Ford, an associate employment lawyer., who said, "It is disappointing that Sir Alan quite such a relaxed view [regarding McQueen's CV]," she said. "It could have been a real opportunity for him to draw a line in the sand and say this is completely unacceptable."

I wonder if Ms Ford or any of the other critics have watched the other episodes of the Apprentice. This is not a show for drawing lines, anywhere. If it was, the bullying (of which McQueen was guilty in one episode) and backstabbing is more deserving of attention than McQeen's dodgy CV.

So, well done Lee and hard luck Claire, Raef and all the other candidates. Roll on the next series!

42 Not Out

Gordon Brown has won the 42 Days Detention vote by a whisker - the ayes to the right: 315 the noes to the left: 306. This bill was so unpopular with the Conservative and Labour parties that they are saying on the TV news that it was effectively Anne Widdecombe (Con) and the nine MPs of the Democratic Unionist Party who saw it through.

Tory bloggers Iain Dale and Donal Blaney were both against the bill and have criticised Conservative Home for supporting it. Personally, I agree with them, but well done Tim Montgomerie for not bowing to party interest and standing up for what he believes in. No marks at all to Donal Blaney who demonstrates his commitment to party unity, however, with this piece of petulance.

The Crockford's Affair

Last week, the Catholic Herald ran a story about the Our Faith on Sunday newsletter which, as the Herald read it, suggested that "Catholics should not campaign against abortion and that the killing of the unborn was no more a legal matter than adultery." and that "Catholics were wrong to criticise former Prime Minister Tony Blair's conversion in December over his Government's record."

I think the Herald must have picked the story up from the Hermeneutic of Continuity because Fr Finigan wrote about it on 1st June. The Hound of Heaven has also written an interesting post about the matter, as has the South Ashford Priest.

So, the article has caused a stir. Fortunately, news of it has not reached the broadsheets. I say 'fortunately' because when I read the Hound's and Fr Boyle's posts last night, I was reminded of the controversy that raged when Crockford's, the Church of England clerical directory, published an anonymously written preface in its 1987 edition. The preface was a traditional feature of Crockford's, as was its always anonymous authors' waspishness. Bennett's article, however, took its sharpness to a new level. Here is a taste of what it had to say,

[Robert Runcie's] clear preference is for men of liberal disposition with a moderate Catholic style which is not taken to the point of having firm principles. If in addition they have a good appearance and are articulate over the media he is prepared to overlook a certain theological deficiency.

Ouch. If the broadsheets had never picked up the story, Gareth Bennett might still be alive today. However, they did, and unable to cope with the pressure that they brought to bear on him, Bennett killed himself on 7th December 1987.

I have no recollection of the actual crisis as it developed as I was not very much interested in ecclesial matters then, but I do remember reading William Oddie's book Crockford's File: Gareth Bennett and the Death of the Anglican Mind while at university a few years later. As you can imagine, it was a very sad read, which painted few of the protagonists in a very good light.

What Aloysius Did Next

With no role for him in the new adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, Aloysius decided to do what was expected of all well heeled Oxford graduates and pursue a career in Whitehall. Jacqui Smith was most relieved.

Verona's Finest

Gilraen has a blog! Like Arathorn, she has taken a new blogging name - Giullietta. Read it here!

Euro Footie: German vs. Poland

Joachim Low, manager of Germany

Ve haf vays of making you yawn.

At Mass last night, I was engaged as a Eucharistic Minister. Afterwards, I shared a drink in the local pub with the Roman Miscellanist and another parishioner. It wasn't a social visit, however; at least, not to begin with, for we were there to discuss the parish website and how it might be improved (I am its 'webmaster'. A grand title for someone who has the webdesigning capability of a gnat): the parishioner is a professional web designer.

Once our discussions had ended, Fr. Nicholas and I stayed behind to watch Germany play Poland in the Euro 2008 tournament. Cue sundry World War Two jokes about Germany invading Polish territory, concentration being necessary in the Polish camp (hur hur) and other tasteless puns. Actually, we - or rather, I - had disgraced myself already with these jokes. Instead, as we settled down to watch the game, a young gentleman who had been at Mass earlier and his lady friend said 'hello' as they left the pub. Fr. Nicholas introduced me. "Yes," said the gentleman, "you gave me communion at Mass tonight!". Now, how often can anyone claim to have that said to them in a pub?!

As for the game, it was billed (by us, anyway) as John Paul II vs. Benedict XVI. But the Poles lacked flair and the Germans, while solid, were as boring as a meeting of the Bishops Conference of England and Wales. Still, they got the job done with a great volley that was surely the footballing equivalent of the Summorum Pontificum: always going to happen, even if you didn't know when and guaranteed to cheer the faithful. And guess what? It was scored by Lukas Podolski - who was born in Poland. Hmm.

St Etheldreda's, Ely Place

This morning I read Mulier Fortis' blog post on the unfortunate goings on at St Etheldreda's church in Ely Place. A new priest there has decided that the sanctuary needs updating and the altar bringing forward. So, before the 'wreckovation' takes place (although see Ben Whitworth's comment for the same post), I thought I would take a walk to the church with my camera and photograph what I found there.

St Etheldreda's is in Holborn, a busy area of London on the way to the West End, but its peace is maintained by being at the furthest end of a quiet side road - Ely Place.

The church itself, the only pre-reformation church in Britain belonging to the Catholic Church, is a small one. Here is a picture taken from the back of the church.

The beautiful stained glass window behind the high altar dominates the church and is a riot of colour. Statues of six saints line the walls of the church. They are martyrs of the English church.

This next photograph is, as you can see, a close up of the altar. According to one of Mulier Fortis' commenters, Mass has already been said from behind the altar. Either there is more space than I realise or the altar can be pushed forward a little.

Given the restricted space in the sanctuary though, if the high altar and steps removed, it would play havoc with the sanctuary space - especially if there were freestanding candles, flower displays or more than one or two celebrants in the area.

Here is a close up of one of the stained glass windows: St Peter receives the keys and becomes the leader of the Church. Read his successor's documents more often, Mr Parish Priest!

And here is one of the statues to which I referred to a minute ago. I think it is St Anne Line, but I could be mistaken. So busy taking photographs, I forgot to read the plaque underneath the statue!

A riot of colour. Where are the police?!

At the London Oratory

Ah, priests. If only they knew the good that they do. Last Sunday I went to Mass at the London Oratory. Just before it started, I entered the confessional. My confessor was Fr. Julian Large. I have met him once or twice in the past but we are not acquaintances.

Anyway, following confession I took my place in the pews and Mass started. The 11am Mass is so busy that three priests distribute communion, one on the left, one on the right and one in the middle of the sanctuary rail. On Sunday, I was in the middle section, and who was the priest with the distributing communion there? Fr. Large, of course. It was a most apposite moment.

Casino Royale - Ian Fleming

*spoilers ahoy!*

Having read Devil May Care, I have now started reading Ian Fleming's original Bond novels. They are written sequentially and the first is Casino Royale.

The book is a distilled version of the film (which I reviewed here). Absent is Madagascar and the Caribbean; there are no car chases along airports or shootings alongside Lake Como. The book, in fact, is the card game. Le Chiffre is an agent of Smersh, the Soviet spy agency, and union official in France. He is a man in a lot of trouble as he has lost money, given to him by Smersh, in a failed brothel venture. Thus, he has come to the Casino Royale to win it back. James Bond's mission is to prevent that from happening.

There is a little action before the game begins - a bugged hotel room and explosion outside a cafe. The enemy already knows Bond's movements, how? The card game begins. I don't gamble and still had no idea of the rules of Baccarat even after Fleming's description (it appears, though, to be similar to 21 or Bust) but found this part of Casino Royale a very enjoyable and exciting read. As with the film, Bond goes bust before he makes good. And it is Felix Leiter who saves his skin with a last minute cash injection. It makes up for his sudden absence when an assassin pokes a gun into Bond's back during the game. Why is he missing? Or rather, why are they missing - Leiter and Vesper Lynd. In the book, Lynd is not 'the money' but an officer from Section S who is her Section Head's eyes and ears for the operation. It was Section S that found out about Le Chiffre's parlous financial state and so wants to be part of the operation to destroy him.

Lynd, of course, is the traitor. She has a Polish boyfriend who was caught by the Communists. Once he revealed her name she was ordered to work for Smersh on pain of his death. And so she did. It is she who feeds the Russians information about him and who ensures that Felix Leiter does not see the assassin moving in on Bond during the game of Baccarat.

After beating Le Chiffre at the Casino Royale, Bond and Lynd share a quiet meal together. It ends with Lynd's kidnap. This leads to Bond's capture and torture by Le Chiffre which is just as it is represented in the film. Following his rescue - an agent of Smersh kills Le Chiffre, as opposed to Mr White - Bond and Lynd recuperate together. But when an agent of Smersh catches up with her (for failing to stop Bond from beating Le Chiffre at the casino), Lynd commits suicide rather than place Bond in any further danger.

Casino Royale is 180 pages long and the story is told with a great economy of style. This economy does not prevent us entering the head of James Bond, although needless to say we do not spend long there.

And that is just as well for in the matter where, I suspect, he is most seductive - his attitude to women - Bond's beliefs are not to be commended. He is intensely annoyed by Vesper Lynd's arrival in Royale. As well he might, given the nature of his work, but for him, women are things to be enjoyed at one's leisure. When he does 'enjoy' Lynd, there is little sense of equality between them. In fact, Fleming states that because Lynd is a private individual, who doesn't really open up to others, making love to her feels a little like rape. That this is the case is is not a matter of regret to Bond.

In light of this, why do men want to be James Bond? Perhaps it is because in the matter of women, Bond expresses beliefs that a man wishes he could say - though doesn't because despite all he knows it would be wrong - when he is hurt by one.

For example, Casino Royale ends with Bond reporting Lynd's death to London. "The bitch is dead now." he coldly states. Despite the utter harshness of his words, I imagine that a man who has been let down by a woman in a big way would at the very least be tempted to share Bond's disregard. Interestingly, if he was, he needs to read more not less of the Bond novels, for in a later one, we see Bond return to Vesper Lynd's grave to lay flowers on it.

Damien's Rabbit

A while ago I said on this blog that I would not trust Richard Dawkins until he had written a book about something other than religion. Professor Dawkins is the most boring man in the world on account of his inability to appear in the press to talk about anything except how Beastly religion is.

I sometimes feel that one or two Catholic bloggers should do the same thing. Unlike Dawkins, they are saying good and true things, but the way in which they go about it is too single minded for my tastes. As I write this, I have the names of two bloggers in mind. I will not mention one but the other is Damien Thompson at The Daily Telegraph. His attacks on the English Bishops while no doubt justified in every particular are so frequent as to be dull, dull, dull.

With that in mind, I was very pleased to see that he wrote the review for Queen Victoria's Men. You can read his review here. It is very positive. Including, most pleasingly, this paragraph:

For once, a docudrama was enhanced rather than dumbed down by having actors read from contemporary documents. Verity Hewlett and Jenifer Armitage were utterly convincing as the old and young Victorias, while Steven Crossley’s Disraeli trod a fine line between greasy flattery and charm, just like the man himself.

You may easily guess which part of the review I was most happy to read.

Queen Victoria's Men

Last night, (The Simpsons notwithstanding) I paid a rare visit to Channel 4 to watch Queen Victoria's Men a documentary about, well, the men in Queen Victoria's life. The Victorian Age is not a period that I have a very deep knowledge of (outside of the life and times of John Henry Newman) so was interested to see that the royal embodiment of that apparently stuffy and repressed age was a rather, well, frisky woman. Hmm.

But, it's true. First, Victoria fell in love with her Whig Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne (Jay Benedict). She was more than in love - infatuated is closer to the mark. As for Melbourne, he returned the compliment by ensuring that Victoria's Ladies of the Bedchamber all came from Whig backgrounds. Not the most romantic thing, but politically most useful.

Victoria's innocence in respect of all matters sexual ensured that her love for Melbourne would also remain innocent. And so it did, until the day she met and fell in love with Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. It was at this point in the proceedings that my glasses started to steam up - after their wedding, the couple had a device fitted in their bedroom which allowed its door to be locked - from the bed. One thing which did escape from the marriage room, however, was a letter from Victoria to Melbourne in which she described how 'gratifying' her wedding night had been. Now, even today, surely only a very frisky woman would do that. Or, maybe I am being a faux Victorian.
Queen Victoria's Men was 90 minutes in length. I have watched two thirds of it - up to the death of Albert and Victoria's subsequent retirement from men and the world in general. For this was not a documentary with a presenter. The queen's story was told by historians and actors, whose words came from documented sources (e.g. Victoria's letters). Although the script was a little twee and cheesy in parts, all of the acting performances were good. It is most pleasing to say this of Verity Hewlett, for as the young Victoria, the burden of making the drama work lay principally on her shoulders. And here I must declare an interest, as Verity is a good friend of mine. It was wonderful seeing her acting talent get this exposure. Maybe Hollywood will be next! Another good friend is The Venerable Bede, without whose txt mssg, I would have remained unaware of the programme. Thank you K.!

England Vs The Barbarians

England 17 Barbarians 14

An overcast day in Twickenham and a gloomy performance by England and the Baa Baas. Games involving the latter really shouldn't be like this, but with an experimental England side filled with players eager to prove to Rob Andrew that they will be worth a shot on the tour of New Zealand, perhaps it was inevitably that this game would be so cagey and awkward.

Nick Easter prepares to lead England out onto the pitch

Speaking of awkward, how awkward did I feel! My heart was with the Barbarians and their corinthian spirit, but a number of Harlequins were part of the England XV. Early on, a player with a shock of yellow hair broke away from the pack and dashed down the pitch towards the Barbarian try-line. Oh no, I thought, it's David Strettle. One second I wanted him to score, the next to fall, then to score, and then... well, you get the idea.

As you can see in the photograph above, the two sides are lining up for the singing of the national anthem. Unfortunately, the Barbarians do not have their own anthem, so we were stuck with God Save The Queen. I shouldn't criticise it though, for although it is not the most cheery anthem that ever was, when sung lustily, it does have the power to stir the soul. Of course, another song is a feature of England rugby games - Swing Low Sweet Chariot - and that got several airings during the match. Woe for me, I sat a row in front of a Fat Bloke whose singing ability fell rather shot of his actual musical ability. Let no Catholic complain about modern hymns until they have heard Fat Blokes like this one try to sing!

As I said before, the game was a cagey one. It was also unequal. Unfortunately, despite the quality of their side (amongst their players was former All Black Jerry Collins, Harlequin Andy Gomersall, Bristol player Mark Regan etc) the Barbarians hardly ever looked like scoring let alone enough to earn the win. Still, they managed to do so twice - although the first was a lucky interception - excellently won and scored by Seilala Mapusua of London Irish. Interestingly, and bemusingly, Andy Gomersall was the Baa Baa's kicker for the day. He blew hot and cold.

As for England, poor old Charlie Hodgson sustained a bad cut which required stitches and, I shouldn't wonder, his place on the tour of NZ, while Toby Flood was the victim of an excellent if slightly lethal tackle and had to be taken off to recover his wits.

Still, there were some highlights. The Mexican Wave was not one of them, but the man who ran onto the pitch and straight past the try-line whereupon he dived on what looked like a bottle. The crowd was indulgent, the security men less so, and he was escorted off the pitch and, no doubt, out of the stadium.

Finally, the photograph below represents an experiment of my own: an attempt to make use of my camera's wide angle feature. In order to achieve it, you have to take two or three photographs. Before taking the second (or third), the left or right hand corner of the previous picture (depending on whether you are going left or right) appears in the appropriate side of the camera's little monitor. If you enlarge the photograph below, you can see where I didn't quite align my photographs correctly!