Skip to main content

Does Everyone Read the Daily Mail?

I made the *mistake* of wearing a hoody (without the hood up!) on the 0733 to Moorgate this morning. Why was this a mistake, you may be asking? Well, all was fine through the Luton stations- but as the suited got on at Harpenden and St. Albans I began to get pompose down your nose looks! In fact a couple of people looked positively aggressive.

Those of you who know me well will understand that I now want to buy a baseball cap (preferaby fake Burberry) and wear it with my hood over the top. I want to calll the good Christian folk of the world to make a stand on behalf of the poor and start wearing appropriate estate clothing. I want to get thrown out of Bluewater!

Hmmm.. anyway- I'm off to try and get some compassion for the aforementioned suited!

Comments

Steveybabe said…
Bring on the baseball cap jude! Always thought you looked good in a hoodie!! :o)
Chris said…
Heheh... aren't they trying to make it school uniform in one school?
mareike said…
i happily join in!!!
Lengths said…
I actually got in trouble for this at work, all the students have been told that hoddies ar'nt coats and they are not to wear hoddies in school. Coming from a slightly different generation to most of the staff i do wear hoddies as coats and got "politly" requested not wear my hoddie to work.
Paul Windo said…
Yeah, I heard they were going to make hoodies 'uniform' somewhere - cos getting people to resist wearing hoodies is going to solve the problem of anti-social behaviour! I also now *want* to get thrown out of Bluewater...

Popular posts from this blog

NO MORE MAGIC BULLET- or why I have stopped watching the West Wing

I love the West Wing. It still rates as one of the most well informed and influential series of the genre. Its speeches have been stolen by people who have osmosed its hope for a better way of doing politics. When we watch it today it holds a very particular kind of resonance because it demonstrates a civility that has been drowned in a sea of hate. It has positive images of a wrestled out faith, is rich with camaraderie and pith and is just good telly.
But its bad for me. 
It pains me to admit this, but the West Wing makes me think I can change the world in a way that is simply not helpful. 
It holds out the present hope that the world can turn on a single conversation. With the brave statement or right turn of phrase one might change the debate, and in turn might change the world entire. The moment in the Oval where they realise that if they take no credit they can save social security. The moment where Donna remembers to pay welfare payments. The realisation that all the NATO people a…

A very dull post about what I do with my time...

Each year I take a calendar month and record what I do in it. I break each day into twenty minute chunks and note down what happens in each twenty minute block. I don’t do the same for designated Sabbath time (nor do I note each bit of time outside of the beginning and end of a working day, no-one needs to know how long I clean my teeth for).
I categorise each thing that I do (an imperfect science) with a view to getting a handle on what I do with my time. 
This year I did the audit in November (as clergy I always avoid doing this in Lent, Advent or August). 
So- what did I discover?
I work around 55 hours a week. (thats up one hour from last year) That work is spread over five and a half days. The only sabbath day that was interrupted by work was about processing a painful meeting.  Of 26 working days, I worked 12 evenings.
In terms of what I do:
In November 17% of my time was taken up with prayer, reading and learning. Thats a slightly false read as I had a 48 hour away time in there. Prayer…

Falling out with Football

Some of my earliest memories are of Sunday mornings. There was one which seemed to involve being in a big hall colouring pictures, but I didn’t much like that, so the memories that have stuck are of sitting outside. Now, I love outside, it calms me, so pretty much any outdoor activity would have held some thrall for my turbulent child self. But the family Sunday activity was football.
When I was very small my Dad played. He was past his glory days by the time I can remember. The cartilage in his knees had run out before the rest of his body- and so much of my memory of him was as he “ran the line”.I’m pretty sure he sometimes did that in wellies, but its been a long time.
Sunday football was part of our life. We would go to the game and then mum would join us as we had drinks at the social club next door. It’s why I drank beer from the age of eight and could snaffle my way through about a thousand calories of crisps in a sitting.
And then we would go home, have a massive roast and w…