A LITTLE THEOLOGY

Not much going on. I lack inspiration. I had an interesting eavesdrop into a theology conversation, but I quickly realised they might as well have been debating in French. It was impenetrably clever, littered with terms, concepts, ideas and words I could barely understand.

No word from the BBC either. I expect I’ll have to start from scratch next year. Though I did dream that they’d reformatted Brain of Britain with a million-pound cash prize, so you never know, I suppose? Something’s got to be worth learning the periodic table for.

I played guitar today. First time in ages and it really hurt my fingers. Then a nail split, so I stopped. I lack inspiration.

The thing with theology is that it seems a bit pointless if it just stays academic. To get to know someone, the best way is to spend time with them, I think, and given that I believe that’s doable with God, to have clever arguments about him seems a little odd - rather like trying to get to know your brother better by reading his school reports.

It’s not a great analogy. Mostly because university-level lecturers aren’t sitting in coffee shops, desperately trying to persuade me that I’ve imagined my family exists. Honestly, these guys were so smart, and they were loving the debate. It was like watching chess.

I’ll probably pick up the guitar tomorrow. That’s how it’ll usually go - round in phases, little bit of finger-picking, and hopefully it’ll hurt a bit less as I crank my finger tips over the strings onto the fretboard. Round we go.

You know in Italy, they have a proverb. At the end of the game, they say, the chess pieces all go back in the box. Right or wrong, win or lose, queen, king, bishop or pawn - all back in the box.

Ain’t that the truth.

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE

Are you supposed to admit that there’s a great sadness in you? In the insta-reality we live in, I think you’re supposed to post pictures of how excellent everything is: your PB on the park run, your good-looking dinner plate, or a memory of that fun day out with perfectly-behaving children. You’re not really supposed to admit that it’s lightning in a bottle.

But then neither are you supposed to constantly whine about how terrible life is for you. That’s seen as attention-seeking. Or something. If you’re down, depressed, struggling, gasping for air in the stifled well of your own emotions, you are required to keep it to yourself.

I’m not just talking about social media. In Christian circles it’s been true for a long time that everyone expects a ‘church face’, a kind of dogged smile that’s like plaster of piety. If you’re struggling, says the culture without saying it, hide it. Pretend that it’s all okay and that you’re blessed, and somehow that enables God to still be good and in control and all the things our cheerful songs and sermons proclaim him to be.

Don’t get me wrong. He is those things. I just think Christians (me too) fail to be real sometimes, and given that we follow probably the realest person who ever lived, that’s a shame.

Anyway, the great sadness. It’s hard to really pin down the why. I don’t think it’s simple tonight - it’s not one effect mapped to one cause; it’s a network of causes and a flurry of effects, like a weaving where all the threads tug and pull on each other. It’s okay. I’ve been here before, I know. I know you know too if you’ve read enough of these posts.

Perhaps I should take up park running. By the way, great to have a hobby, just like it’s great to have a nice dinner. I’m not knocking the lightning in a bottle. I just want to stand up sometimes and say that it’s tough to think that’s the norm in the middle of a long and dreary thunderstorm.

BURNING EMBERS

I’ve gone out to sit in the park before sunset. Feels like it might be a good one tonight - clear blue sky, bright falling sun, long shadows already, and the birds are singing.

I miss these moments. It occurs to me that I used to do a lot more of this - this dreaming, listening, dwelling in the sunlit afternoon of a quiet park. It is admittedly, a luxury. My world moves at a different pace these days.

I wonder whether I’ve become afraid of these moments. It is possible, isn’t it, to live in such a way that you busily paper over the truth. Daunting then to remember the real person that’s underneath, to uncover in a rare, lucid moment - that reality, that raw human who doesn’t have to be anything other than his or her self. It’s confrontational to face the real you sometimes.

There are wisps of cloud. I’m hoping that as the sun sinks lower behind the trees, they’ll catch fire with colour, lit like tinder from burning embers. I’ll probably have gone in by then though.

I’ll probably have gone in.

BRAINS PART 6: THE PAUSE

The headline news (though it’s not in a headline on the BBC) is that they’ve had to put Brain of Britain on hold until 2026. So, I won’t be in it this year, after all.

I feel okay about it. I mean, disappointed obviously - I’ve angled all my learning towards this summer (I know my cocktails now) - but not as disappointed as you might think. There’s at least a little relief swirling around in the glass.

The reason (said the email) is that the production team have left. There’s obviously nobody steering the ship, which seems like a good time to tow the thing into harbour. I did find myself wondering whether it really would be back next year, but the email was hopeful about 2026. And, after all, the show is what you might call a grandee of Radio 4 - I can’t see them not patching up the sails and hiring new crew for such a long-running programme. I messaged back with my original deferred ‘automatic place’ offer attached, asking them to confirm whether that too would roll into 2026.

Despite the information piling up in my head and the time it’s taken to get it there, I have to say, I don’t even know that I’d be terribly disappointed if they now said I had to start at square one and audition all over again! It’s already three years since I first applied, so at this point… well maybe there’s an extra shot of relief in the cocktail. I might not want to go through all that again.

And if they do say I’m in the 2026 season, then great! Yet another year to prepare for it. And as I said last time, somehow the learning, the reading, the accumulation, has been the best thing about the process.

RARE CONNECTIONS

“You’ll never guess what!” said the Boss-Man. He looked both surprised and delighted to see me, exactly one week after our platform discourse on the lateness of trains.

“It arrived just after I left, didn’t it?” I said, already knowing the answer. Boss-Man smiled. Last week’s delayed train had indeed arrived moments after Sammy had picked me up.

“Oh well,” I sighed. At that moment, the train, this week’s on-time service, rattled into the station, squealing its way to a stop. The Boss-Man and I made our way to the nearest door.

I suppose I really ought to call him Bossman.

I mean I’m sure he has a name, but we’re now at the degree of acquaintance where it might be awkward to ask each other for introductions. (That may seem absurd to the rest of the world by the way, but trust me, it won’t be to British people.) I almost think it might spoil things if I did find out Bossman’s name. So Bossman it is.

“Do you want company?” he asked. There’s only one answer to that in this context and so I picked it, even though I was already regretting having to slip my headphones away in favour of early morning conversation.

Bossman’s not my guardian angel. That was one theory for his appearance last week, but no, he’s a regular guy, a middle-class project manager who works in engineering. We had a long chat as the train sped through the Oxfordshire countryside, the conversation slowly warming around common ground, as often it does.

You don’t often get chance, I’ve realised, to make a new friend, and this seemed like a rare connection. 

Bossman is still, obviously a boss - confident, unflustered, bold, and in charge, but he seemed happier to be asked things than maybe I expected, and both knowledgable and interested in what I do. The dance of conversation flows from the rhythm of questions and answers. It was a good reminder for me.

He gets off before me, a stop or two before Oxford, so he rose, shook my hand and said, “Have a good day,” and “See you again.”

I waited for the train to start moving before I plugged my AirPods back into my ears. The actress Patricia Hodge picked up where she’d left off in talking about Elizabeth and Mary in the difficult summer of 1554. It occurred to me that running into Bossman again is likely to be inevitable - and that perhaps my audiobook reading rate is going to slow down. But these are rare connection points aren’t they, in a world of increasing isolation. Perhaps, even though I’m not exactly on scintillating form between 7 and 8 in the morning, the trade off will be worth it.

THE BOSS-MAN ON THE PLATFORM

Still chilly in the mornings though, isn’t it? This morning began with me rubbing my hands together on the platform, looking up at the information board. It was foggy. Crows were calling each other in that way that they do on cold mornings, and weak sunlight was trying to break through the cloud. My train was ‘delayed’. Signalling problems apparently, outside London. I sighed to myself.

“What’s the plan then?” said a tall-sounding voice. I span around, and was suddenly aware of a man looming over me. “I mean, I’m waiting on you to decide,” said he, twinkling through his spectacles.

I blinked at him. I had no idea who he was. He wore a tweed-style jacket, soft corduroy trousers, open shirt and gold-rimmed glasses and he was simply emanating ‘boss’ vibes. Some people just have that confidence, I suppose. And some people, people like me, do not. Our two roles on the otherwise empty station platform were never in question. I pulled out my phone to check for updates.

Sometimes a delayed train is a cancelled train, you know. I don’t think that’s as profound as I’ve made it sound, but I do mean that if a train gets delayed longer than it would take for the next one to arrive, then really that first train might as well have not bothered.

The boss-man told me he couldn’t work from home because he’d left his laptop at the office and I nodded in half-sympathy, though he hadn’t been asking for it. I think that’s a feature of boss-men: they prefer giving you information, and it’s weird and countercultural for them to receive it. So when you try, it gets the same blank reaction you would have got if you’d told just them the Shipping Forecast.

Anyway. I called Sammy and asked her to pick me up so I could work from home. Fair enough - getting to Oxford would have taken all morning. She said she was on her way. The boss man gave me a reassuring thumbs up. I didn’t need it. Still no idea who he is. Weirdly though, I appreciated the gesture.

THE OUTDOOR GENTLEMEN’S CLUB

Well then. After my moaning about endless winter, the good old springtime made an appearance!

We’ve had a couple of days now of warm blue skies, and yesterday, on a lunchtime walk with my friend Luke, it was suddenly - beautifully, I should say - too warm for a coat.

I love it. The sky has been cloudless, clear and bright, and the shadows fall in crisp, dark contrast to the gold-painted trees and houses. The world, the morning, the freshness - is finally starting to feel like an Edward Hopper painting. About time too.

Luke was buoyant. He often is of course, but it was nice to stroll across the park feeling light and airy, discussing the issues of the day. It occurred to me how much like a gentleman’s club it felt, although instead of mahogany and leather, the ambience was much more grass and trees and low sunlight. Perhaps that’s how gents did business in those summer months when London was uninvitingly stuffy - twiddling their canes and striding through the park, gently touching the brims of their hats at the ladies, and remarking of course, on the clemency of the weather.

I can see me and Luke doing that. Though I’m not sure our wives would care much for us doffing our hats for passing ladies.

Nevertheless, it was a lovely moment. The first day I hope of a long, warm, hopeful spring. Goodness knows the world could use a little hope. In contrast to us loving the burgeoning springtime, geopolitics looks like it might descend into bitter winter. I don’t want to talk about it.

I suppose the gentlemen would have discussed such things. Luke’s more eloquent, more articulate than I am - and certainly faster at condensing his thoughts into things to say. I must remember to ask him what he makes of it all.