Funeral in the rain

Turns out three magpies might not be for death after all. It might be for a wedding. And there's much debate about the whole 'five for silver, six for gold' bit. I have been looking into it, in the interests of science. And the interests of not getting on with any real work.

Death is, however, on my mind, First it came for Gary Coleman, and I did not speak out, for I was not Gary Coleman. Then it came for Dennis Hopper, and I did not speak out, for I was busy watching the Candy Coloured Clown bit from Blue Velvet. Then, last week, it came for my old, poorly, Aunt May, and - I'm hoping - took her somewhere better. Hopefully not in the same bus and Hopper and Coleman.

My Aunt May was not the same as the one from Spiderman. I never had an Uncle Ben, for one thing. Had some of his rice once, but that probably doesn't count. My Aunt May was actually my dad's aunt. As children, my brother and I used to go round every Tuesday and torment her for the evening while my dad went to spend quality time with some beer. My mum worked nights, so this was his only night of freedom in what must have otherwise been a miserable week of looking after my whining, selfish younger self.

Aunt May never had kids, so she used to enjoy spending time with us, her oldest great-nephews. Quite why I'm not sure. At that age, my brother and I were selfish, demanding monsters, hell bent on making a plaything of her emotions and wrecking her house. It was like inviting a couple of miniature Simon Cowells into your home to belittle your life, mock your possessions and eat all your biscuits. Despite this she was ridiculously kind and patient, not even minding when we span her comfy chair round and round, shouting 'Die, Davros. Die!'

Her most notable achievement, in my eyes, was that she took me to see Star Wars for the first time, when I was seven. A more brilliant cinematic experience I have never had. I can't imagine I ever will. I don't remember much about my life before, say, nine years old, but this trip I remember with great clarity. I came home bursting with unspeakable joy, drawing poorly realised X-Wings and TIE fighters on every available surface. My life changed, that day. Now I knew what it was to have a work of art transform my every waking moment, so that everything else became a blank surface onto which real meaning was inscribed by my new obsession.

From there came my love of spaceships, and robots, and monsters, and lasers, and scrambling around pretending to save the galaxy. From then on every stick was a light-sabre, every dustbin a robot, every pile of dirt an alien planet. I even tried to use the force a number of times. And, if you are a boy, so did you. And of course, from here came the love of Doctor Who - that other great, transforming text of my life.

You may think I am ascribing too much importance to this event (and you may think, hang on, weren't you being sad about your Aunt a minute ago, and now you're talking about aliens again). Well, no I'm not, and you're a liar, and your hair looks crap, and those shoes don't go with that face. Thanks to my Aunt May, I saw a film, at 7, that truly inspired me. And then she took me to see Time Bandits, and Raiders of the Lost Ark, and... well, lots of things. Lots of wonderful things.

Since getting older I have been shamefully neglectful of most of my relatives, and this has been very much the case with May. Attending her funeral yesterday, I considered again how I tend to assume that, at some point, I'll catch up with everybody. I wrote to May occasionally, but that was pretty lazy, really. Most of the letters were just photos of me to remind her what I looked like, and a bunch of paragraphs bitching about the Phantom Menace.

But she made a difference. To me. And to lots of people. And now she's with Gary Coleman, and Dennis Hopper, nattering away randomly. Coleman looks up at Hopper. Hopper looks down at Coleman. I'm no Theologian, but that sounds like the beginning of an interesting day in the afterlife.

magpies

One is for... sorrow? I think that's right. It's a David Bowie song. Except I think it's a cover. I don't know who did the original. It's not very good,anyway. Ashes to Ashes is good. The song. And the TV show as well, but I'm talking about the song.

Hello. At least once a week I pretend I'm about to blog, and then I feel the pressing need to wander about the house going 'laa laa laa, my house is nice.' Not my house, technically. But my home. I do have a house, but it's off imits. Geographically and conversationally.

Two is for... mirth. Not joy, as is often reported. Mirth. Which is joy, I suppose, but seems less hateful. Mirth. To rhyme with birth (coming soon).

I have had a variety of obsessions this year. Like Toad, of Toad Hall. I think it was him. I was obsessed with Adrian Mole for a bit, and that was nice. Then Stephen Segal, thanks to Vern's great book. This was quickly followed by a devotion to all things Chris Morris related. I listened to loads of Blue Jam, and On the Hour, all prompted by the great book 'Disgusting Bliss'. Recommended. I like my obsessional phases. I'm currently on A-ha, whom I love because I'm going to see them in November. So I bought lots of their albums and am listening to them a lot.

Three is for death. Yes, death. Not a girl. No. You can't have a girl. You can have death. The magpies bring the end of things. Death.

It is sunny, so there's that and that makes me happy. I'm very lucky to have a number of very good friends who like a) the sun, b) wine and c) drinking wine in the sun. Hard to believe that this time last year I was seriously thinking of moving away from these wonderful people. They keep me alive. And I need keeping alive. In case the magpies come.

Four is for birth. See, I told you that mirth was good for something. It rhymes with birth.

I'm enjoying Doctor Who, and Matt Smith is very, very good. Just watched him in Party Animals and he's a lovely actor. Looking forward to seeing where he takes his Doctor. The series has been zippy and entertaining and has made me glad. If I can keep away from the forums, and the spite and negativity that passes for fandom over there, I should be able to continue to enjoy the series in all its exhuberance. I'm just so happy, every week, that the series I have loved for so many years is on TV again.

Five... that'll do for now. Let's stay at four. Maybe it will encourage me to blog again before the year is out.

Enjoy the sunshine.

If music be the food of love, let's eat it

Hello. Yes, I'm terrible at blogging. Well, so was Jesus. And I don't hear you criticising him.

Or is that Him? Never was sure about he capitalisation thing. Seems odd to me.

Here are some things that pass through my cavernous and all powerful mind.

Asdon't

Today is Easter Sunday. C and I managed to effectively 'do lent' and stay away from supermarkets for the last few weeks. We were going to celebrate our own briliance today by going there to buy Easter eggs, but wouldn't you know it - they're shut. For Easter. Or maybe they've simply gone out of business without my child-like impulse buys to sustain their income streams.

Anyway, it was a good thing to do, and we'll probably more or less stick to it, with the odd trip to stock up on Lapsang Souchong and chorizo. We've spent less, and the local food is loads better. Best of all has been the meat - my goodness, it is beautiful from the local butcher. And the vegetables from the garden centre farm shop place are lovely. And that's not all. There's the sense of interacting more with the area a little - getting to know the people who run the smaller businesses a bit. It has been a good thing, and I recommend it.

Four Lions

In other news, I met Chris Morris. This was tremendously exciting and I think I managed not to be too embarrassing when I shook his hand and screamed 'You are, literally, my God. Please have sex with me!' Or something. It's all a bit of a blur now. But it was very pleasing. His new film - Four Lions - is a very funny and insightful pieice of work which will probably be hard to track down but is certainly worth it. Maybe I'll just buy everyone the DVD for Christmas. That'll make for a cheery boxing day - suicide bomber comedy.

Who Joy

Doctor Who season is upon us once more, and so last night the house was full of people. I love these evenings. People, wine and time to talk. (Not during Who, though, obviously. That would mean certain death.) Matt Smith seems very fine, and I am confident that we are in for the best season yet. I love Doctor Who so much that I sometimes want to cry.

Maybe if someone made a really good, HBO style TV show about Jesus, I'd feel that way about the Gospel too. When I actually get into the bible - usually when it's read out loud and with some passion - I get it, and think it's great and life changing. And that's good. All I'm saying is... maybe it could be broken down into 45 minute episodes and set to a kick ass soundtrack. And have some attractive women in it. And cliffhangers. I like cliffhangers.

I should probably go, before blasphemy overtakes me. Happy Easter, everyone. Send chocolate.

... and cookies

Finally watched Milk. It's bloody amazing. Largely due to an unselfish performance at its centre which puts me in the unusual position of agreeing with Oscar (I thought Mickey Rourke's turn in the Wrestler was unbeatable until tonight).

Anyway, I think lots of things about it, but I'm notoriously bad at articulating thoughts soon after a viewing. I liked the way it was filmed, and the integration of archive footage was beautiful; the faded film stock reminding us that this was not just a story, this was real. Biopics are difficult to structure in a narratively satisfactory manner, but this was masterful in its signposting, early on, of its ultimate destination.

Anyway, it led me to reflecting on something I've been thinking about for a while. A number of years ago I was involved in a series of debates, both formal and informal, whereby my church attempted to address the issue of homosexuality. It was a strange and difficult time, and important in lots of ways. A good many people supported the exploration of homosexuality in a Christian context, and were prepared to consider change. I used to think it was a brilliant and brave thing, and that we acquitted ourselves well. But the further away I am from that time, the more I feel an acute sense of regret and shame.

I had several opportunities, one of which was literally in front of a microphone at the head of the congregation, to express my point of view about the whole 'Does God hate the queers or not?' debate. I was very much on the 'or not'side of things, and tended to suggest that it might not be a bad thing to consider that being gay and being Christian were not mutually exclusive. You know, given that we were intelligent beings living in a civilised society with an understanding of language, culture and history. I was generally well spoken and, if I do say so myself, reasonably witty.

Well, now - now I've seen the years pass and seen the lack of change - I wish I'd been a lot less well spoken, and that I'd forsaken gentle wit for something a bit more forthright. Something a bit more like a list of the horrors suffered by gay people around the world. Just a simple, long list, pointing out the killing, bullying, repression and torture inflicted upon this minority by stupid, ignorant people. I wish I had read the list out, and then drawn attention to our response. Our response, as a church of Jesus Christ.

That response, from a great many people in a church I considered home, was to say no, we cannot be a church that accepts gay people as anything other than second class citizens in need of fixing by us better, more Christian people. Furthermore, we cannot agree to disagree on this. We refuse to share a church with those who think otherwise.

Not everyone thought this, and not all of those in opposition did so without thought. Some people were scared that this was the beginning of the end for a comprehensible belief system. Some wanted to accept the people but could not bring themselves to challenge long held beliefs. Some may have had other, more deeply rooted concerns that I was not privy to.

But there were many whose opposition was instant, angry and lacking in any desire to dialogue. Those whose idea of a 'proper' church outweighed their imperative to love, to protect, and to fight for justice rather than a perceived version of morality. They were stupid, and they were cowardly. And, now I look back on my weak and feeble challenge to their idiotic points of view, I realise that I was too.

Prevarication waits for no man

Not blogged for a bit, due to unreasonable people at work expecting me to do my job. Well, i say do my job. What I really mean is 'generate a massive amount of pointless paperwork to show to people from outside who don't trust us enough to let us just get on with things'. Still, needs must.

And I have to edit some school children performing stuff and singing. Luckily this is fairly good, though it is time consuming. As a result, my brain power is running dangerously low. I find myself happy to stare at patches of light on walls, thinking 'That's nice...' I'm laughing at things that are only mildly amusing. I'm regressing. Save me before I decide to listen to Radio One.

The other day I turned on radio 4, and had a beautiful experience of the very *essence* of something. I switched on the radio, and there was silence. Complete silence, for about four seconds, and then someone with a rich, home counties accent said 'Is that right, Jennifer?' It made me happy, for reasons I can't really understand.

I've seen some good friends recently, drunk a lot of wine with them and found them all delightful and fluffy to be with. I've finished reading about Segal and am now onto Adrian Mole. I find his mid life sense of dislocation uncomfortably familiar.

Still no church. Mosaic is OK. Feel like I want a community that is nearer, though. I like to be among people, on a fairly regular basis. More thoughts on this when I have more time.

26 days until Doctor Who. I confidently predict Matt Smith will be brilliant.

I go now. Rejoice in the small things. And biscuits.