Nunraw

I'm just back from a week's holiday with my family at Nunraw Abbey Guest House. We've been going there for over 20 years and it's become a home from home. The monastery and the guest house are situated in the beautiful countryside of East Lothian. It's a lovely part of Scotland, very prosperous and boasts some top class golf courses, which ticks all the right boxes for me. I did'nt really do very much, just slept, read some books, played golf and lazed about. I finished 'The Kite Runner' which is a brilliant book. It is by an Afghan/American author called Khaled Hosseini and, althouhg my finger is not really on the pulse of modern fiction, he must be one of the best contemporary writers about, along with Louis de Bernieres. It is extremely well written. Very powerful, honest, compassionate, moving. The same can be said of his second novel 'A Thousand Splendid Suns'. I can't recommend them highly enough. I enjoyed the two games of golf with my dad, although my game was very erratic, especially my short game (pitching and putting). It ususally takes a month or two to find your feel for the short game. Golf is strange. One minute you are playing well and all is sweetness and light, and the next minute you have triple bogeyed a hole and you feel like snapping the putter over your knee and wondering why on earth you play the infernal game. I like the challenge and it's a father/son thing to do, which is important, but futhermore I like the feeling when the club connects sweetly with the ball and soars through the sky like a bird or when a long putt rolls in to save par. I play the game for those moments. When not playing golf or sleeping, we visited Haddington and Gifford, a town and a village about six milles from Nunraw. Both are charming. I did'nt make mass in the morning (I'm an insomniac) but my room was near the chapel and I enjoyed going in and sitting in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. Sometimes I would pray, sometimes I would just be still and rest. Compline in the evening is the last prayer that the monks say. It's a lovely service but the community numbers have noticeably diminished in the past few years and it's quite sad. The voices chanting passages of the psalms are old and not as strong as they used to be. It would be a great shame if Nunraw closed but it is a possibility if there is not an influx of new vocations. I don't think that the monks are worried, they just get on with their life of work, prayer and community. They are holy men and the world is crying out for people like them.

What not to say

I played 5-a-side football this evening with my cousin Raphe and some of his mates. Towards the end of the match one guy caught the full force of the football in the testicles. It had him on his knees for a couple of minutes and he was still holding his genitals tenderly as the whistle blew for final time. We all shook hands and as I approached him to shake his hand I almost said 'How are your balls mate?' but stopped myself just in time. I didn't want him to take it the wrong way and follow me into the showers!

Craig Lodge

At the weekend I went to a Catholic house of prayer up in the highlands of Scotland called Craig Lodge. Craig Lodge was originally a hunting and fishing lodge up until the early 1980's. Following a pilgrimage to Medjugorje, a small town in Bosnia where Our Lady is appearing, the owners had a powerful spiritual experience and felt called to turn the lodge into a house of prayer. A community started up, living a life of prayer and service, and subsequently Craig Lodge started to take in guests and host organised retreats. It is a very special place, an oasis of peace and grace in the barren desert of this secular society. It has played a very important role in my own life and I have experienced much healing and grace there. On Friday evening the bus journey took about two hours, and I spent the time reading a book called 'The Kite Runner' (great) and taking in the scenery, which at times was beautiful. At Dalmally, a village about a mile from Craig Lodge, I was picked up by one of the community members, a pleasant girl called Christina. I had not been to Craig Lodge for a couple of years and I knew the weekend was going to be a challenge. When you have depression everything is a challenge, even getting up in the morning, but this was a quite a big step for me. I was a bit apprehensive at first but the guests and everyone in the community made me feel welcome and I began to feel more at ease. This weekend was a 'Community Retreat', the idea being that the guests take part in the way of community life through adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, divine office, the rosary and mass. There were also talks, testimonies, a healing service and praise and worship lead by the community. The retreat went well and I enjoyed most of it but it is quite an intense spiritual and human experience and it's a very religious environment if you take part in everything. I was glad that I had attended and I'm sure I was blessed in some way. Part of me did'nt want the retreat to finish, but I was feeling emotionally drained and raw by Sunday and part of me was relieved to go. I got a lift back to Glasgow and as we entered back into the city everything seemed drab and flat in comparison to the beautiful setting, atmosphere and spirituality of Criag Lodge. It took me a couple of days to settle down and feel better. I hope to go back in Novemeber for an advent retreat. I highly recommend everyone to visit Craig Lodge. http://www.criaglodge.org/index.htm

Public Enemies review

The film revolves around the infamous John Dillinger and his gang during an golden era of bank robbery in the early 1930's. The cast is excellent, particularly Christian Bale as the FBI agent in charge of the manhunt. Johnny Depp portrays Dillinger with smooth charisma and the eye candy for the male viewers is provided for by Oscar winning French actress Marion Cotillard. Ooh la la, is she pretty! Michael Mann's direction is stylish and slick, and he excels in the action scenes which are exciting and realistic. The log cabin shoot out is reminiscent of the climatic gunfight in Heat. The choice to use digital instead of film is interesting and possibly open to criticism. To capture that 1930's period feel most directors would use film whereas digital is more effective when dealing with modern urban settings such as modern day Los Angles in Collateral. The cinematography is very modern and at times the camera moves around like it was a documentary but it is effective in an unusual way. There are other interesting aspects to Public Enemies, such as the birth of the FBI, the portrayal of Babyface Nelson (who was a real nasty piece of work, bordering on pschyopathic) and the way America dealt with its criminals (Dillinger was sentenced to 10 years in prison for robbing a store of just $50). All in all, Public Enemies is solid entertainment. 7 out of 10.

A night out with The Boss and Raphe

Last year I decided not to go and see Neil Young in concert and I've regretted it ever since. Sometimes you have to take the chance when it comes along, so when my cousin Raphael sent me a text to see if I wanted to go to the Bruce Springsteen concert I hestitated for a moment, mostly for financial reasons, but ultimately decided yes. It's not often that you will get to see a legend of rock in concert and I did'nt want to feel that I had missed a great opportunity. Raphe lives in Shawlands so we met about a mile from Hampden stadium shortly before the concert started. In our haste to get tickets we bought the first we came across and then discovered that we were sitting in different parts of the stadium. Our plan was to meet up inside but after 20 minutes of running up and down corridors and going through doors marked 'Restricted' or 'Staff Only' I realised that my search would be fruitless and decided to find a seat and hope the stewards would not ask any questions. I ended up on the upper tier of the east stand with a seat that offered a really good view of the stage and screens. The concert had started by this time and Bruce was already in full flow. The first thing that I was struck by was the energy and great voice he had for a man almost sixty years old. His enthusiasm was infectious and he had great charisma and stage presence. He belted out song after song. Some songs I did not know, some I recognised but I could not name. It didn't really matter. Even somebody not aqcuainted with Springsteen's songs would have really enjoyed the concert, it was that kind of night. I liked some of his new songs, particularly 'Outlaw Pete' and 'Working On A Dream'. Other classics such as 'Pink Cadillac' and 'Thunder Road' went down a treat. The atmosphere inside Hampden was terrific, the crowd of 55,000 applauding every song. The famous E Street Band lived up to their reputation and it was obvious that they were all top class musicians. The sound crew also deserve credit. The sound was really clear and well balanced. Bruce saved the best for last. The encore started with an old time ballad about hard times, followed by 'Dancing In The Dark', another song I did not know and 'Born To Run'. Towards the end I noticed a lady standing up just behind me, her eyes closed, mouthing every word of the song being played. She was totally in the zone and I suppose it would have been something almost like a religious experience for her. He played for just under three hours, eclipsing his two and a half hour set at Glastonbury and the whole band walked off to a deserved standing ovation. I've been to a few gigs this year: Ray LaMontagne, Tom Paxton, Half Man Half Biscuit and Richard Thompson. They were all excellent but this evening had been something a bit special. I met up with Raphe afterwards and we both raved about the concert. I don't know if it was Raphe's terrible sense of direction or the fact that we were so engrossed in our conversation (probably a bit of both) but we ended up miles away from Shawlands and not with the faintest idea where we were. For a while we wandered around a prosperous looking area with big mansions and gardens before stopping a couple to ask for directions, which they kindly did. They had also been to the concert and we parted agreeing that it had been a wonderful night. We eventually found Raphe's place just before midnight, a handsome tenement flat in a nice area. We stayed up a couple of hours, had a glass of Glenlivet whiskey (lovely), chatted for a while and then watched an episode of The Wire (very good but I could'nt understand what they were saying half the time). Despite his terrible sense of direction Raphe is a great guy and I really enjoy his company. I slept in the spare room, woken only by Raphe at about 7.30am to get some clothes and say cheerio. I dozed for a couple of hours but decided not to stay too long because Raphe's fiancee was on holiday and due back at the flat at some point. I did'nt want her to return to the flat and find a stranger making coffee in his underwear. I had visions of me being lead away by the police shouting out 'I really am Raphe's cousin, honest!' so I made a quick getaway. As for Raphe he was never heard of again. He is still probably wandering around the south side of Glasgow as I speak looking for his flat, poor guy!

A short reflection on Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson. Where do I start? It took me a couple of days for his death to sink in. I don't have any of his albums but I admired his great talent as a singer, dancer, musician and showman. It's hard to separate fact from fiction. All the rumours, all the speculation, the lost childhood, the weird behaviour, the physical transformation, the constant media spotlight. After his untimely death it did'nt take long for the tasteless jokes to circulate via email. He was never actually found guilty of child abuse, but I guess we'll never really know the whole truth. Maybe there was child abuse, maybe there was'nt. Maybe he just loved the company of children in a totally innocent way because he was denied his own childhood. I think it's a sad reflection of the society that we live in. I'm sure there are many adults, especially men, who are afraid to show physical affection to a child because, in the back of their mind, there is the worry that people might misinterpret it as something more sinister and perverted. He was rich and famous and liked the company of children - he left himself wide open to be taken advantage of and it was something the media could get their claws into. He was probably naive in that sense. My friend Alan reckons he faked his own death and it won't be long till there are 'Jacko sightings'. I would disagree with him there. If you saw the touching and tearful words spoken by his daughter Paris at the memorial service then I don't think a loving father would willingly put his children through all the trauma and pain of grief. Anyway, the man will always remain a mystery, he will always be an icon and his talents will always be admired and celebrated. Rest in peace Michael.

Rosie and Paul's wedding

Rosie and Paul's wedding started at 1pm but we had to pick up my sister Christina and my Uncle Kester on route so we left the house about 11.30am. Christina looked great in her blue vintage dress and thankfully she had recovered from her recent illness well enough to attend the wedding. Uncle Kester was co celebrating mass so he had to be at the church fairly early to get prepared. His short term memory had deteriorated in the last few years and he kept forgetting peoples names although during mass he recited a long prayer off the top of his head and later on at the reception he talked to my dad about books and philosophy so obviously certain parts of his brain are still functioning very well. I like him very much, he's a cool guy. This was the first big family event I had been to for a number of years so I was slightly nervous but all my cousins and aunts and uncles were pleased to see me and we exchanged warm greetings. The mass was lovely. Rosie looked beautiful in her white wedding dress and was glowing with happiness. Paul also looked very relaxed and happy. The only blemish was the homily. Instead of talking about the sacrament of marriage and Rosie and Paul he droned on about the priesthood and himself, repeating the same points over and over. He did eventually talk about Rosie and Paul but it felt more like an afterthought, rather than the focal point. I think he liked the sound of his own voice. My Uncle Brian timed the homily at 30 minutes but it felt more like two hours and my mind began to wander after a while, daydreaming about Jessica Alba and other gorgeous and unattainable women. Afterwards we made our way to the Marriott Hotel in the city centre for the dinner and reception. I mingled and chatted for an hour or two in the lobby, sipping on the complimentary champagne. Then Rosie and Paul arrived to loud applause and shortly after we made our way through to the main function room for dinner. The tables were all named after albums or songs by the late great Michael Jackson. I don't know if this was a last minute tribute or something planned well in advance but it was a novel idea. Maybe at my wedding the tables can named after my favorite wrestlers. 'John, you're sitting at the Bret 'The Hitman' Hart table'. Each table had a photo of MJ and the title of the album or song. I was sitting at the 'You Gonna Start Somethin' table but, in keeping with my character, maybe I should have been at the 'Bad' or 'Off the Wall' tables. I was seated next to Christina and an old acquaintance David Kerr on my left and my cousin Lucille Rose and her boyfriend Tom on my right. Lucille Rose is a lovely girl and over dinner we chatted away about Michael Jackson and her degree in medicine. The dinner was very good: melon and mango slices for starter, chicken wrapped in bacon with potatoes and veg for the main course, and cheesecake for dessert. The wine and chat flowed freely, maybe a bit too freely as my memory from this point gets a bit hazy. I was just about lucid enough to follow the speeches and to cheer and laugh and applaude at the right moments. They actually went very well, including the best man's speech, which is always a bit of a banana skin, and thankfully there was no embarassing anecdotes. Contrary to tradition Rosie got up and spoke, and she did so very well. She recalled the time when Paul and herself were 'just good friends' and saying to him 'You're not my type and I'll never be your type'. It's funny how things turn out! She also said to Paul 'Thank you for not trying to understand me but for just loving me and accepting me'. I thought that was very sweet. Shortly after the speeches the band arrived and they were terrifc, playing swing and jazz, so Rosie and Paul had their first dance in style. My dancing is quite shocking so I stayed away from the dance floor, the only exception being when everyone gathered around to watch my mad cousin Adrian dance Michael Jackson style to one of his songs. It's really the only time a man can grab his crotch and shout 'OOiii' and not get arrested for indecent behaviour. To give Adrian his due he was a great mover and thoroughly entertained the onlookers. I spent the rest of the evening mostly catching up with my cousins, who I had not seen for quite a while. There was a mixture of good craic and banter, deep and philosophical conversations, and general chit chat. I'm not a great conversationalist but I managed to pass myself okay and enjoyed the company. As for chatting up a good looking blonde I'm afraid I was unsuccessful. My excuse is that I have about 40 cousins and most of the evening was spent catching up with them, so there was not much time left for chasing girls. I did have a very good conversation with a nice girl in the early hours of the morning but her boyfriend was lurking in the background so it was a non starter. But I can't really complain, it was a great wedding. My only regret was that I did'nt get a chance to say hello and congradulations to Rosie but I will send her a card after she returns from honeymoon in Thailand. Rosie and Paul are a really lovely couple and I'm sure they will be very happy together. I wish them all the very best.

Tailor made

My cousin Rosie gets married this Friday so I went in search of a new suit to impress the ladies with. I had tried on the suit jacket that I had bought about ten years ago but, to the dismay of my wallet and I, it no longer fitted my waistline. It reminded me of the scene from 'Father of the Bride' when Steve Martin is determined to fit into the tuxedo he had worn twenty five years earlier at his own wedding. As memory serves me he struggles comically for a while and then his trousers rip down the back. I certainly don't want that to happen to me when I'm chatting up a good looking blonde at the reception, so, with a sigh of resignation, I went to our local outdoor shopping mall armed with my debit card. With my mum as personal advisor we first went to Asda looking for a bargain. The suits there were quite nice and very cheap but the sizes were all to big. I'm no slim Jim myself but they were hanging loosely from my frame as though they were designed for sumo wrestlers. I guess this is a sad case of supply and demand as, accordingly to statistics, Scotland is the unhealthiest nation in Europe and has the highest rate of obesity and heart disease. Our diet plays a major part in this, as we deep fry anything that is edible, from pizza to Mars bars. It reminded me of a funny comment made on a comedy quiz show called 'Mock the week'. The topic of conversation was the spotting of sharks in the North Sea just off the coast of Scotland. One comedian, a sharp witted Scotsman called Frankie Boyle, quipped that if a shark was to eat Scottish people the shark would probably die of a heart attack. It was one of those moments when you are walking or sitting among a crowded area and you think of something funny and involuntary burst out laughing or grin inanely, causing people to edge away from you cautiously. Anyway we moved onto another shop but with the same outcome. I absolutely hate shopping, especially for clothes, so I decided to go a proper shop that specialises in suits, fancy shirts, etc. I found a suit that I liked fairly quickly and it was half price, so twenty minutes later I emerged with the content air of a man who knows that come Friday he'll be looking smart and suave. The wedding will be HUGE. 200 guests at the wedding and dinner, and then another 150 will come to the reception. Hopefully it will be a good day. To quote Jane Austen, I wish Rosie and Paul 'all imaginable happiness'.

Terminator v Nokia

After watching Terminator Salvation at the cinema recently I was faced with the inevitable question - which is more indestructible, a Terminator machine or my Nokia mobile? The endurance of the Nokia phone is quite remarkable. Over the past ten years or so I have dropped it more times than I can remember and it has a crack the size of the Grand Canyon but it still faithfully operates. My friend Alan once dropped his Nokia down three flights of stairs, smashing it to pieces. He managed to reassemble the phone and it still works to this day! I have lost many things over the years: keys, books, hats, even friends, but my trusty Nokia is still by my side and as a result a sort of spiritual bond has developed between us. Terminator v Nokia? There is only one winner!

Pennychews hit by global recession

For those who don't know a 10p mixture in Scotland is traditionally a bag of sweets to the value of ten pence. A pennychew is a sweet worth one pence and usually there will be a couple of sweets worth 2p and maybe one worth 5p but it all adds up to ten pence and the economics are pretty simple even to a mathematically challenged person like me. That all made sense until my friend Mark told me that he recently went into a shop and noticed, I imagine, to his bemusement that a 10p mixture actually cost 20p! I know this is a time of global recession but this must be the worse case of inflation that I've heard of. 10p mixtures were part of my boyhood and I can't help to think of them without a hint of nostalgia, so it's sad to see the day when a pennychew is no longer a pennychew.

Prologue

Welcome and warm greetings to the launch of my much awaited blog. I have procrastinated enough and it's now time to start it off. My blog will have no real theme, it will just be a collection of random thoughts, anecdotes, observations, rants, some poetry and quotes. If you are expecting Jane Austen or Bill Bryson then you have come to the wrong place, but I will try my best to keep my blog entertaining and enjoyable to read. I have the bad habit of not persevering with things that require a certain amount of discipline and effort but I hope that I will keep this blog up and running with fairly regular entries. It will be interesting to see how it develops over the coming months and years. Comments are very welcome and please forward this blog onto friends if you think they will enjoy it. An honourable mention to Tony Murphy for encouraging me to start this. Thanks.