Hello All. I’m just checking in to see that everyone is alright. Death bringing pandemic notwithstanding. This is me, taking shopping to Aged Parent this week. She’s a bit bad-tempered about the extra lockdown and not being able to go out. (Don’t believe her. She goes out. Frightens her carers to death when they can’t find her but she definitely goes out). This week the sheltered housing is having something done to the rendering and apparently, all the hammering made a picture fall off the wall. HOH and I arrived with her shopping to find that she had taken ALL the pictures off the wall just to be on the safe side. We left it. There was no point in putting them all back. The scaffolding is still up so she will only take them down again when the builders come back. AP has always erred on the side of caution. She unplugs all the plugs at night because she doesn’t trust electricity. It’s commendable in a way but it does mean that the heating doesn’t come on in the morning because all the timers are out of sync. Fortunately, she can’t reach the plug to the fridge.

I think she gets this from her mother. I remember as a little girl that my Nana used to put tea cloths over mirrors during thunderstorms. And also over the budgie’s cage. The mirrors were to stop the lightening reflecting back into the flat. I’m not sure about the budgie. To be honest, it didn’t end well with the budgie. My Nana accidentally sat on him when she was bending down to put her boots on. She was very upset but, I would think not half as upset as the budgie was.

My Nana and Grandad lived in a huge tower block in Salford. If she ever looked after me when my parents were working, she would wrap a pair of tights around the handle of the door to the balcony. This was to stop me or my cousin getting out and having a terrible accident. She was a big worrier with nervous problems Some said it was because my cousin and I would shut ourselves in the wardrobe and burst out and shout “Boo!” when she was looking for us. She did jump. We thought it was very funny at the time. Kids are horrible sometimes.

However, my Mum told me that Nana was frightened of the balcony because one day she had seen someone fall past her flat who had thrown himself off the balcony much higher up. And, for a horrible split second, she had actually caught his eye. My cousin and I felt bad about that. Although not bad enough to stop using the bed as a trampoline and then denying all knowledge when it broke.

There’s a lot going on that would make any sane person frightened at the moment. Real things involving death, destruction, empty supermarket shelves etc. Everyone – including me – is talking about anxiety. Low level, knawing anxiety. In my Nana’s case, it led to her being afraid of so many things – her life became very difficult. Most things you read now encourage us to be mindful and look inside ourselves for answers. I’m ok with being mindful if it’s about noticing the sky and trees and how nice Jammie Dodgers actually are. I’m not so keen on too much looking inside myself at me – at least not for too long. All I seem to find inside myself is more of me. I’m also not sure that I have any answers to fear and depression. But I found this. It’s Psalm 94

When I was upset and beside myself,
    you calmed me down and cheered me up.

or more poetically

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.

Because you see, I’m not sure that I am capable of dealing with my fears on my own. I would rather go to someone who understands better than I do myself and ask for calm and consolation there. Safer that way I think.

And on the fourth day…

…a lot of people gave up on the idea of Christmas altogether.

It is the fourth Sunday of Advent (she proclaimed with a lot more certainty than she actually felt) and I gave up on the lovely idea of lighting my Advent candle on the balcony for reasons of not drowning and have brought them indoors.

And so this is Christmas (nearly) as John and Yoko so memorably droned and what have you done?

Well, we’ve stayed in a lot. If you live in the UK, the news about Christmas isn’t good. If you live in the South East of England, the whole thing is worse than you ever expected. I’m a Tier Two kind of girl myself but am very aware of the pressure of living elsewhere at the moment. Although (digression) I live quite close to Cornwall which is Tier One and apparently full of people enjoying pints of cider on the sunny uplands while rosy-cheeked purveyors of non-essential goods are raking the money in like it is the end of the rainbow. Unfortunately, though they have spent the last few days bailing out their kitchens and evacuating entire towns and the Eden Project because the heavens insist on opening – full on – all the time. However, because they are (a) Tier One and (b) Not London, it seems they are not deserving of our fair Cabinet’s time and attention.

I spend more time on Instagram than is strictly necessary for survival and I do follow a lot of Christian type people. On hearing the news that Christmas is going to be severely curtailed I saw a lot of people putting up advice along the lines of – “Christmas isn’t canceled – Christmas is about Jesus.” and “Remember – Christmas is always like this in Syria.” or something of that ilk.

But, I think it is important to say that there is a process. Extreme disappointment and upset is a natural and authentic reaction and you have to own that before you get all jiggy with faith. The Bible is full of people having a good lament. If something is rubbish – it’s rubbish and you have to go along with that first. You may be mad at whoever you think has caused what is happening at Christmas be it the virus, God, or incompetent, last minute, always putting their rich mates first, government and you have to accept that you are mad and sad and sometimes dangerous to know. And, I think it’s only after you do that that you can begin to find comfort.

Comfort, oh comfort my people,
    says your God.
Speak softly and tenderly to Jerusalem,

Isaiah 40

If you think about it, to need comfort, you must feel sad first. God is big enough to both understand it and, when you feel ready, help you move through it. So feel free to have snotty cries and, when you are ready, move on to be comforted. And, annoying as it is, Christmas is bigger than the Argos Toy catalogue and turkey with your loved ones who never loved you because of the quality of your gravy anyway. And, almost more annoying, a lot of people do have it a lot worse at Christmas. Crisis doesn’t provide Christmas dinners just to get out from under the general horror of a Christmas Day that develops when Nana has had one too many Advocaarts. (Why is everyone in my family nodding sagely as they read this?) They provide it because it is needed. So, in the middle of this Festival of Incompetence, if you feel you can help someone less fortunate than yourself and have the wherewithal to do so then I would recommend it as a way to aid your healing process. Even if it is just sending them the few bob you were going to spend on booze and After Eights.

So, in what is, for many people, the saddest of Christmases, can I send you the compliments of the season. In or out of faith, I am convinved of the love of God towards us – and that the height and depth of it cannot be overcome. In our house we are about to enter into competitive lot drawing to see who gets to tell Aged Parent it will be the briefest of visits this year – if indeed it happens at all. We went up to see her at weekend and we are not sure what had gone on but she was saying “They better not start with me because I am feeling lippy today!” We have no idea but she seemed happy enough so we have left it.


Welcome one, welcome all to a continuation of my meander through Advent. I am playing catch up but better late than never (or “better never late” as the old lady that HOH used to give a lift to church would say. The whole arrangement was a challenge to his grace levels I seem to remember). Anyway, digressing.

First of all, a couple of Christmassy books. (Or Advent if you are a hardline religious maniac and prefer things to have their correct title). As I am a woman on the edge and struggling to catch up at the moment, HOH is actually reading the Nick Page – Christmas, Tradition, Truth, and Total Baubles. If you have read any Nick Page, you probably know exactly what to expect. HOH says it’s really funny. He is a terrific writer. But, HOH would like it pointed out that there is lots of studious thought and research here, resulting in lots of interesting facts and things that make you say – “well I never knew that”. This I know because HOH keeps reading bits out – usually when I am trying to read something else. Among the ideas he tackles are: Christmas was a pagan festival that Christians pinched (not so fast, Buster), Joseph was an old man and Santa Claus was invented by Coca-Cola. He also looks into the background of various Christmas Carols. I am warning you though, I will have no truck with any criticism of Hark The Herald Angels Sing. HOH recommends the book wholeheartedly. It’s especially good apparently when your brain is still a bit Covid foggy and you can dip in and out of it.

The book I am reading is “Into the Heart of Advent” by Penelope Wilcock. Full disclosure. I am a big fan of Penelope’s writing and would call her a chum. This is a format she has used before, where Jesus appears to the writer and, over a series of conversations, they address the problems and the pluses of Christmas. Jesus appears as a normal-ish man and it may be significant that not everyone else can see him. The conversations are short, affectionate, and usually accompanied by a cup of tea and a log fire. Again there is a lot of research and thought here and again it is lightly presented, managing to make it both accessible and challenging. It has made me feel good about who Jesus is and who he thinks I am.

Last full week at work this week. (A bit of a cheek really – can’t remember my last full week at work) so quite a lot to get done. I still have a couple of presents to buy although we have deliberately drawn our horns in this year. It doesn’t seem appropriate to run up and down aisles like Supermarket Sweep this year does it? Aged Parent would like it to be known that she did not sign up to a reduced Christmas List, except when it comes to buying for other people. Yesterday, she tried to fob us off with the tinniest Selection Box you have ever seen which she had won at the Bingo. “That’ll do for the kids for Christmas.” I was patient. I was kind. I begged to disagree. We came to an arrangement.

I am persevering with my Advent candles. Tonight is week three. Is it supposed to be pink on week three? I’m rubbish at this sort of thing. Let’s pretend I am a Puritan or something. I certainly am not in touch enough with the proper Christian calendar to know why today’s candle should be pink (or not) I have to say, the weather isn’t helping much. It keeps blowing them out. Anyone would think that God wasn’t that bothered about Advent Candles one way or the other. (Digressing again. Do you remember when Advent Calendars just had tiny pictures of robins and holly behind the windows? Then, on Christmas Day, there was a bigger photo of the Nativity scene. That was before all advent calendars had to have a full-size jar of Creme De Mer, a bottle of gin, or a tiger cub behind the windows. At the risk of sounding like someone in Dad’s Army – I think we were happier with it before).

Anyway, talking about light and Christmas (yes we were). Yesterday, on our restorative walk we turned a corner to be greeted by a low slung sun which was so bright and overpowering, that we couldn’t look at it. (My photo doesn’t really do it justice). I was thinking that Jesus had said that he was the world’s light but often – to our eyes, it isn’t always an overpowering, “everything is going to be fine”, kind of light. Sometimes it feels like it is a candle – struggling on a windy balcony because life is crowding in so much that you really have to screw your eyes up to see it. But keep your eyes on it. The Light is still there and the more we pay attention to it, the more we find we can see it.

Well Lit

Hello All. Welcome back. I am much better thanks for asking. I still occasionally find myself a little wanting on the breathing side but, there is a suspicion around here that less breathing means less talking and there are those who are not averse to that.

Anyway, the last few entries have been Martha Covid this and Martha Covid that so it’s probably time we started talking about something else. So how are you? All well I hope. Be careful out there. I was back at work today and there was a general discussion about whether we would trust the vaccine. Just to let you know that I would push over Aged Parent to get it. (Don’t worry – she would push me back – really hard) In fact, I am rolling my sleeve up as I write this. Apparently, there is a strong possibility that the vaccine has a microchip in it that will begin to control our minds when it has been injected in. I don’t know about that but I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t have liked to be the person whose job it was to put individual little microchips into individual vials of vaccine. Fiddly or what?

Aged Parent is doing ok I think. She went for a mystery scan last week. No-one seemed to know that she was going or why but an ambulance turned up apparently, spirited her away, and returned her an hour later. She was quite happy though. “I was looked after by a lovely young man with long plaits in his hair. ” (We think it was probably braided) “He kept asking if I wanted a drink or a wee which was helpful.” We await the results – if she did actually go to Derriford and has not been inducted into some kind of vaccine death cult. You never know.

We are creeping slowly towards Christmas. The Decs are up. I keep forgetting to put my advent candles on the balcony. The idea was to put one up on the first Sunday, one up the second, etc, and the candles would be different heights if you get my meaning. It’s not going well. It is definitely not going to give out the desired effect if I keep forgetting to light them. Pah!

I had a quick look at Christmas telly to see if it will be worth splashing out on a Radio Times but it’s not looking good. There’s a little bit of a hoo-ha isn’t there because the Vicar Of Dibley will have a Black Lives Matter thing going on and that is too political or something. A couple of things. The first thing is that I LOVED the Vicar of Dibley and was beyond happy when they gave her the happy ending she deserved. I’m just not sure that they shouldn’t have left it there. I had to make my eyes go all blurry on the fundraising thing she did for Covid so I didn’t have to watch it. It looked like it had taken about twenty minutes to write. (Just to confirm that Dawn French is, obviously beyond reproach though). Also, I heard a story on the radio about a black, middle-class mother telling us about when she had to have “the talk” with her children. In some ways, the talk wasn’t too profound. It was – always keep your receipt and, if the self-service asks if you want a receipt, always say yes. That’s not a talk I’ve ever had to give my kids but this mum knows that her black children are much more likely than mine to be stopped and accused of shoplifting and they always need to be in a position to prove their innocence. And, I think, if that is the state we are in, I don’t think I can complain much about a political Vicar of Dibley.

I am waiting for my Advent book to arrive (I know, like I said, miles behind) and in the meantime, I am reading Ang at Tracing Rainbows who is hosting Advent at Home on her blog as usual. I have been known to join in but cannot, in all conscience, sign up when I can’t even remember to light a candle on the balcony but there is good stuff to read there. There is a theme developing around Advent I think, which is more than ever, a light shining in the darkness and the Light being Hope. I mean, that has always been the theme of Advent but lots of us are feeling it very keenly this year. In all this, it’s very easy to forget that Light did come (in the end) and nothing was ever the same. Sometimes that is difficult to imagine happening in the midst of darkness but lots about the Nativity and Christmas doesn’t fit how we would imagine it happening. That doesn’t make it any less real. More real if anything.

What came into existence was Life,
    and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;
    the darkness couldn’t put it out. (John 1)

As Expected…

Well, I was planning to get back to everyone and their lovely comments, and then HOH began to cough – a lot. And whaddya know – he was Covid Positive. Not to be outdone, I was sleeping on the settee by this point and was woken up by bad pains in the muscles in my arms and legs. I put it down to sleeping on the couch. I was wrong. Off to the testing site for you Lady Jane. So that was all three of us.

For those that have not had tests, I have to (somewhat grudgingly) say that the set up was very efficient. I took my test on a Sunday I think it was and got my result within 24 hours. A nice little text on my mobile phone saying – “Try not to worry. Most people can deal with it at home.” Track and Trace then kicked in and, as we had been in isolation since my son’s test we only had the three of us to dob in which resulted in some full-on duplications and phone calls from people telling us not to leave the house – about three times a day – each. And oh yes, about that leaving the house thing, as a rule, I have found that you have to be able to get out of bed to do that.

Not to be negative but all of us think it is probably the illest we have ever felt. FOW1 and HOH had the classic breathing and coughing difficulties. I decided to go for a more exotic approach. My chest wasn’t that bad – although, for some reason, my breathing is quite laboured sometimes. I decided that I would manifest Covid via the medium of overwhelming nausea, pains in my arms, legs, head, and eyes, and diarrhoea. (Hurrah!)

The best description I heard was Hugh Grant saying that he felt like Harvey Weinstein was sitting on his chest. Correct. We were also quite religious about trying to isolate ourselves from each other. All quarantined in separate rooms. Everyone had to bleach the bathroom with a diluted spray between showers. All completely useless of course but my grouting has never been whiter so swings and roundabouts eh?

Anyway, we are all insanely grateful that things are improving now. FOW1 has declared himself back to normal and quite pleased at the amount of weight he has lost. HOH is looking to a phased return to work at the end of the week. I am about a week behind everyone else and have to keep sitting down but am on my way. I’m hoping to spend this week building my strength up via the medium of porridge, white toast, and blackcurrant cordial.

Aged Parent is having problems with her phone which means that we have not been able to speak to her very often. Sky have excelled themselves by being unable to effect a repair for her because she cannot remember her password. They would be able to help if I went in to support her but there is a little matter of a killer disease that I am carrying. Anyway, when I was full on ill, HOH managed to speak to her on a carer’s mobile as he felt she may need reassurance. As usual, it didn’t go as planned.

AP (In dramatic tears) How is everyone? I’ve been worried sick

HOH Well, we’re not too bad – getting there.

AP How’s Matt. I know he’ll be worried.

HOH (A bit put out) Well, he’s the youngest and strongest. Your daughter is struggling a bit

AP He’ll be so upset he’s brought that into the house. Don’t take it out on him will you?

HOH Pardon?

AP Don’t give him a bad time. Promise me! You know what you are like

HOH Excuse me! Seriously?

AP hands phone back to carer as her work here is done.

Anyway. It’s the first Sunday in Advent and I think even HOH is willing to pull the trigger on the Christmas Decs a bit early this year. He says he needs it. Have a great week