Readers of RadioFar-far could be forgiven for thinking I've posted to my wrong blog today; 'Flowers in the Rain' by The Move was the first ever record played on BBC Radio One early on a Saturday morning back in September 1967. No mistake though: this week it could well also have been the theme song for the famous Chelsea Flower Show during what's now being described as "the wettest drought on record". To say May has been moist would be an under-statement.
It could only happen in Britain, couldn't it. We're renowned throughout the world for our love of gardens as much as our dependability in talking about our undependable weather. The combination of these two elements made for a classic Chelsea this year, as right on cue the heavens delivered a deluge for much of the six days of this start to the annual social season in the UK. Even HM the Queen, making her traditional visit with other members of the royal Family on Monday, decided that a headscarf was better than a soggy royal coiff as she toured the showground and admired the awesome achievements of dedicated amateur and professional gardeners from all over the world.
I've only managed a trip to Chelsea once, one evening in the early eighties. Understandably, tickets sell out weeks in advance so thank heavens for the BBC's excellent coverage,anchored by Alan Titchmarsh who himself has become something of a national treasure and a best-selling author to boot. It's only a pity the technical bods have yet to find a way to transmit smells across the airwaves, then we could really enjoy Chelsea in all its glory from an armchair.
Rain too is punctuating the last Bank Holiday of the Spring in what was traditionally known as "Whitsun Week" when the holiday always coincided with Pentecost before it was set for the last weekend in May regardless of religious timings. Yesterday afternoon, I went with my brother to enjoy the Brentford Waterside Festival, except most of the water seemed to be coming from the sky rather than the Grand Union Canal and the River Brent at this historic point where both enter Britain's longest river and, in legend if not in proven fact, Julius Caesar crossed the Thames.
Being British means stiffening your upper lip not with starch but with stoicism whatever the weather. That was evident from everybody at Chelsea this year and it was just as present in the hardy souls who braved the rain to enjoy the Waterside festival. This was once a bustling docks, where all manner of cargoes were transferred from the watery way to the permanent way of Brunel's Great Western Railway, and vice versa.
The steam trains and the horses which once pulled the barges have long gone, but the views of flora and even fauna along the towpath here can be as delightful as anything found in the grounds of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea. Barges painted in colourful floral liveries vie with the wild flowers of the towpath for visitors' attention, and are all the more enjoyable when viewed from on board one of these lovely vessels. I was delighted to take a short ride aboard the "Pisces", one of the craft of the Hillingdon Narrowboats Association along with my brother who knows these vessels well and has a certificate in the delicate art of steering and turning them- no mean feet given that they are up to 72 feet/24 metres long!
For all that the weather has disappointed this week, it's ended with a great appreciation of the English spring in all its variety and colour. The great English landscape painter J M W Turner spent his early years in Brentford, commemorated in one of the town's hostelries, but even he could never have captured the scenes of natural wonder on hilltop or water's edge, as finely as God does in leaf and petal, stem and branch.
Britain has so much to offer the lover of greenery and scenery in it's watery reflections and garden paths, but as Rudyard Kipling put it "the glory of the garden lies in more than meets the eye". Or rather, as Jesus himself put it, "even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these".
Sunday, 28 May 2006
Sunday, 14 May 2006
Penalty Post Script
Little did I know when I wrote yesterday's posting what a thriller we were in for! After a scrappy start (twenty minutes of nothing particularly impressive), an own goal for Liverpool and then a gaffe from their goalie, things seemed to be going West Ham's way. Yet the match ended at full time with the score line at 3-3 -helped largely by a "hat trick" by Liverpool's Steven Gerrard. It remained so after extra time. Sadly this meant the result had to be decided on penalties, and perhaps inevitably Liverpool then went on to win. As Gerrard himself put it "we summoned up the spirit of Istanbul", referring to The Reds win on penalties in the European Cup just short of a year ago, another nail-biting escape from defeat.
For balance though, I should mention that no less exciting for Scottish supporters was the contest between the tiny team of Gretna, famous for its Green and teenage marriages of yore, and Hearts. The village team with a population of 600 had made it through to the final of the Scottish FA Cup, and their match too was level at full time and went to penalties. Hearts won 4-2, but Gretna surely captured the hearts of many a football crazy Caledonian.
Needless to say, this morning all the talk in the media is of "the greatest FA cup final for ages"- but the real action is yet to come. Love it or hate it, there will be no escape from soccer through til the 9th July with, supposedly, billions viewing the World Cup throughout the world. And English expectations once again move to the hope of lifting the Jules Rimet trophy in Germany, as they did against them forty years ago at the old Wembley Stadium.
The pessimist in me can't help thinking the hopes will all be to no avail despite all the flag-waving, but who am I to say. If a young guy can come from nowhere against the world to win the world, there's hope. Surely I must mean England's hero of 66, former West Ham player Sir Geoff Hurst, showing mixed loyalties this year by advertising for the German Tourist Board on London Underground?
Hardly. The young guy saving the world hung on a cross nearly two thousand years ago. With nails hammered excrutiatingly through his flesh to the post, he was there to save us all not on penalties but from penalty- our deserved red card from God. Yet he rose again in extra time- eternal time- three days later. His match on this earth lasted thirty three years. His legacy and the hope he brings has lasted far more than forty, indeed unlike Geoff Hurst or any sporting heroes, this hero will be with us always, until the end of the age. He has captured, and will continue to capture billions of hearts. He had rescued men and women for twenty centuries from a crushing defeat at the hands of a devilishly red enemy, by his own life given up for his side. Alleluia, what a Saviour!
For balance though, I should mention that no less exciting for Scottish supporters was the contest between the tiny team of Gretna, famous for its Green and teenage marriages of yore, and Hearts. The village team with a population of 600 had made it through to the final of the Scottish FA Cup, and their match too was level at full time and went to penalties. Hearts won 4-2, but Gretna surely captured the hearts of many a football crazy Caledonian.
Needless to say, this morning all the talk in the media is of "the greatest FA cup final for ages"- but the real action is yet to come. Love it or hate it, there will be no escape from soccer through til the 9th July with, supposedly, billions viewing the World Cup throughout the world. And English expectations once again move to the hope of lifting the Jules Rimet trophy in Germany, as they did against them forty years ago at the old Wembley Stadium.
The pessimist in me can't help thinking the hopes will all be to no avail despite all the flag-waving, but who am I to say. If a young guy can come from nowhere against the world to win the world, there's hope. Surely I must mean England's hero of 66, former West Ham player Sir Geoff Hurst, showing mixed loyalties this year by advertising for the German Tourist Board on London Underground?
Hardly. The young guy saving the world hung on a cross nearly two thousand years ago. With nails hammered excrutiatingly through his flesh to the post, he was there to save us all not on penalties but from penalty- our deserved red card from God. Yet he rose again in extra time- eternal time- three days later. His match on this earth lasted thirty three years. His legacy and the hope he brings has lasted far more than forty, indeed unlike Geoff Hurst or any sporting heroes, this hero will be with us always, until the end of the age. He has captured, and will continue to capture billions of hearts. He had rescued men and women for twenty centuries from a crushing defeat at the hands of a devilishly red enemy, by his own life given up for his side. Alleluia, what a Saviour!
Saturday, 13 May 2006
You'll Never Blow Bubbles Alone
The venerable John Motson, "Motty" to most, has just announced "the one and only FA Cup Final" on BBC One and indeed it's an event every May famous throughout the world: who needs FIFA and their World Cup every four years? I must confess I'm not really a soccer afficianado, but breaking my habit of recent years, I can't resist watching the build up to the 125th final and the traditional community singing- and I might even watch some of the playing action on the pitch as well.
This year's 22 men - not to mention the subs in the dugout-dribbling and tackling, striking and saving, represent the very vocal fans of two of England's finest teams on Wales's finest turf, the Millennium Stadium in my old university city of Cardiff. It should have been Wembley, of course in my home county of Middlesex, but that's another story. Liverpool and West Ham: the Hammers versus the crowd from the cop.
Whoever wins, at the end of ninety minutes action on the pitch it won't just be the players who are either exhausted or exaltant. The fans, the supporters will no doubt be hoarse from their singing and chanting of their respective anthems. I'm not quite sure how West Ham United came to be associated with "I'm forever blowing bubbles", but surely Liverpool FC's renditions of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic "You'll Never Walk Alone" will as always leave ne'er a dry eye in the stadium, or the house.
SURREY WITH THE FRIDGE ON TOP
I couldn't help thinking of the music and the match as I spent several afternoons this week bowlderising another Rogers and Hammerstein song, as I went out into Surrey, one English county without a premiership soccer side but with no shortage of other top class sporting venues. The annual Christian Resources Exhibition was held somewhat incongruously in another grandstand at Sandown Park Racecourse, on four of the loveliest Spring days so far this year. As a friend of mine wonderfully described it this week, "when May is firing on all cylinders, it can be exquisite". It certainly was, though it was pretty warm and I could have done with a fridge on my top to keep cool at times.
Instead, my half-time refreshment was a reviving coffee or cuppa as I took in the inspiring long view across a lovely part of the Thames Valley and my spirit soared with encouragement and imagination as I attempted to visit some of the 300+ exhibitors while sitting in on just a few of the 110 plus seminars on offer.
Christians of today have almost an embarrasment of riches on offer to present the gospel and to grow with God. Yet so often the media paints a picture of a secular society and of a church in decline. The success of this event, going now for some 20 years, belies that conceit and proves that the church of Christ in the UK is alive and growing, thank you very much.
Yet maybe it's time to remember too that much of what we think secular started with "Christian" activity. In medicine, education, the rehabilitation of prisoners- and yes even in sport, Christians were in the vanguard. What motivated these pioneers, as Gerald Coates, the founder of the Pioneer stream of new churches, noted in his seminar on Friday, was their commitment to Christ. Some of today's soccer teams began as church initiatives. Maybe today, if the church could get its act together and commit to mission rather than survival, yet again Britain could be a nation walking with Christ, who promised "I will never leave you or foresake you" , rather than walking alone on the road not even to Wembley or Cardiff but to nowhere.
This year's 22 men - not to mention the subs in the dugout-dribbling and tackling, striking and saving, represent the very vocal fans of two of England's finest teams on Wales's finest turf, the Millennium Stadium in my old university city of Cardiff. It should have been Wembley, of course in my home county of Middlesex, but that's another story. Liverpool and West Ham: the Hammers versus the crowd from the cop.
Whoever wins, at the end of ninety minutes action on the pitch it won't just be the players who are either exhausted or exaltant. The fans, the supporters will no doubt be hoarse from their singing and chanting of their respective anthems. I'm not quite sure how West Ham United came to be associated with "I'm forever blowing bubbles", but surely Liverpool FC's renditions of the Rogers and Hammerstein classic "You'll Never Walk Alone" will as always leave ne'er a dry eye in the stadium, or the house.
SURREY WITH THE FRIDGE ON TOP
I couldn't help thinking of the music and the match as I spent several afternoons this week bowlderising another Rogers and Hammerstein song, as I went out into Surrey, one English county without a premiership soccer side but with no shortage of other top class sporting venues. The annual Christian Resources Exhibition was held somewhat incongruously in another grandstand at Sandown Park Racecourse, on four of the loveliest Spring days so far this year. As a friend of mine wonderfully described it this week, "when May is firing on all cylinders, it can be exquisite". It certainly was, though it was pretty warm and I could have done with a fridge on my top to keep cool at times.
Instead, my half-time refreshment was a reviving coffee or cuppa as I took in the inspiring long view across a lovely part of the Thames Valley and my spirit soared with encouragement and imagination as I attempted to visit some of the 300+ exhibitors while sitting in on just a few of the 110 plus seminars on offer.
Christians of today have almost an embarrasment of riches on offer to present the gospel and to grow with God. Yet so often the media paints a picture of a secular society and of a church in decline. The success of this event, going now for some 20 years, belies that conceit and proves that the church of Christ in the UK is alive and growing, thank you very much.
Yet maybe it's time to remember too that much of what we think secular started with "Christian" activity. In medicine, education, the rehabilitation of prisoners- and yes even in sport, Christians were in the vanguard. What motivated these pioneers, as Gerald Coates, the founder of the Pioneer stream of new churches, noted in his seminar on Friday, was their commitment to Christ. Some of today's soccer teams began as church initiatives. Maybe today, if the church could get its act together and commit to mission rather than survival, yet again Britain could be a nation walking with Christ, who promised "I will never leave you or foresake you" , rather than walking alone on the road not even to Wembley or Cardiff but to nowhere.
Tuesday, 2 May 2006
Great Great Great Dott Com
From the tear-jerking drama of inspired fiction to the emotionally-charged thrills of great sport, this morning's posting moves on to the world of the balls, the balls. Yes, this morning's; the final of the 2006 World Snooker Championship has just ended after a last session which broke all tournament records by lasting five hours and eventually finishing well after midnight. More details at the official World Snooker website-click on the title above.
Into the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield, the city of sword and steel, strode two players who'd made it through eighteen days of play to show steely determination to win the coveted trophy, and a first prize of £200K (about $US350K). It was the first world championship in the game to be sponsored by an on-line gambling firm after years associated with the smoke-filled world of the tobacco magnates. The company certainly got their money's worth, as did the bleary-eyed spectators who stayed to watch the gripping, nail biting match between former world champion Peter Ebdon and young Scot, Graeme Dott.
Yet maybe the television viewers who stayed the course -even if they did lapse into slumberland for quite a while during the marathon evening, like me- got the best deal of all. Every nuance of emotion and almost every bead of sweat, was brought out by the lenses of the cameras as much as the physical brilliance of the playing duo in hitting their target balls with stunning accuracy through 31 frames over two days. If it's already riveting viewing, how much more so will it become when High Definition TV becomes the norm.
Peter Ebdon came back from being seven frames down to within three frames of victory by a last burst of brilliance on the night. In the end, however, he was beaten by the new champion with flair and yet grace. Perhaps this is what makes snooker such a gripping and entertaining event at this level. While the game has had its more notorious characters, tonight's final was the antithesis of mis-spent youth with which it has often been linked. Instead, both Ebdon and Dott showed true sportsmanship and praiseworthy acknowledgement of their rival.If only more could be like these two gentlemen in an age saturated by prima Maradonnas, bitter adversaries on the field of play and others who seem to have forgotten "it's not the winning, it's the taking part" that matters.
That's surely as true of life generally, as it is of sport; one reason maybe why St Paul uses the analogy of sporting pursuits when he encourages his hearers to press on towards the goal. Those who follow this spiritual precept with discipline and training, and the supreme coach's command to "love one another" to the end will find themselves in front not of a multi-million betting supremo, but of God made man, Jesus Christ. And that's a glittering prize worth more than any earthly trophy.
Into the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield, the city of sword and steel, strode two players who'd made it through eighteen days of play to show steely determination to win the coveted trophy, and a first prize of £200K (about $US350K). It was the first world championship in the game to be sponsored by an on-line gambling firm after years associated with the smoke-filled world of the tobacco magnates. The company certainly got their money's worth, as did the bleary-eyed spectators who stayed to watch the gripping, nail biting match between former world champion Peter Ebdon and young Scot, Graeme Dott.
Yet maybe the television viewers who stayed the course -even if they did lapse into slumberland for quite a while during the marathon evening, like me- got the best deal of all. Every nuance of emotion and almost every bead of sweat, was brought out by the lenses of the cameras as much as the physical brilliance of the playing duo in hitting their target balls with stunning accuracy through 31 frames over two days. If it's already riveting viewing, how much more so will it become when High Definition TV becomes the norm.
Peter Ebdon came back from being seven frames down to within three frames of victory by a last burst of brilliance on the night. In the end, however, he was beaten by the new champion with flair and yet grace. Perhaps this is what makes snooker such a gripping and entertaining event at this level. While the game has had its more notorious characters, tonight's final was the antithesis of mis-spent youth with which it has often been linked. Instead, both Ebdon and Dott showed true sportsmanship and praiseworthy acknowledgement of their rival.If only more could be like these two gentlemen in an age saturated by prima Maradonnas, bitter adversaries on the field of play and others who seem to have forgotten "it's not the winning, it's the taking part" that matters.
That's surely as true of life generally, as it is of sport; one reason maybe why St Paul uses the analogy of sporting pursuits when he encourages his hearers to press on towards the goal. Those who follow this spiritual precept with discipline and training, and the supreme coach's command to "love one another" to the end will find themselves in front not of a multi-million betting supremo, but of God made man, Jesus Christ. And that's a glittering prize worth more than any earthly trophy.
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