It might as well be the end of October, if the weather is anything to go by. My ambition to continue regular walking after a good stride out on Thursday was thwarted by heavy rain and high winds. That must make me a “fair-weather” walker, and if I had a dog, no amount of inclement weather would allow me the luxury of not leaving the house.
Thankfully, I generally enjoy a good sleep these days. But my nightly dreams seem to be covid-related. I find myself in a crowded church unable to maintain social distancing. The congregation sings heartily, and some start coughing. I walk out in disgust, then wake up. I suspect that, although generally content, I have subliminal issues which manifest themselves at 3am!
I received an e-mail from the Parish Office last week; church services resume from September 13th. This (if I attend) will be the first service I have been to since a Cunard act of worship while crossing the Atlantic Ocean in March. The last church I was at (I think), was in Aruba.
For the first time ever, congregations are limited to a determined maximum so that social distancing can be maintained. Like any public place, the whole massive interior will have to be disinfected before and after each service, an enormous amount of extra work for the parish personnel, and also, extra serious responsibility. If I understand this e-mail correctly, three of the six churches in the Team Ministry will open in rotation, St. John’s, Christ Church, Burbage and St. Mary’s. No singing is permitted, I doubt the Sign of the Peace will be part of the service. Conversation after the worship is discouraged. And, if you intend attending church, one is obliged to ring the Parish Office, and book your place. I don’t think the Almighty has thought this through!
Lockdown is a strange and unique time to live through; obviously not as traumatic as living through World War 2, but in other ways, far from normal. I have little enthusiasm to seek out steam train trips which now seem to be getting under way. I would have liked to been there, at the long-awaited re-opening of the Crescent Hotel, or the inaugural run of the re-created Brighton Belle. But still, I am saddled with that reluctance to increase the risk of contracting the Covid 19 virus by attending social events which, now, I am beginning to miss. Socialising on-line, e.g. via Skype or Zoom doesn’t work for me.
This morning, after catching Sunday Worship on Radio 4, I busied myself reorganising some archive files. I came across my school report, a reminder that how ever hard I tried, I was no academic genius. My teachers were generally encouraging, and the final report wished me well in my future career. I doubt if my tutors and mentors would have been surprised that I would follow the opportunity to drive trains. I’m not sure that algebra, trigonometry or geometry assisted me in the life to come. But the grammar school education did seem to stand me in reasonable stead later in life, particularly with a belated appreciation of good English, or more accurately, a detestation of sloppy language. But it was strange; reading that school report with its message of good luck for a career now concluded, three years ago.
Sunday draws to a close; a film plays quietly on the T.V. as I conclude this blog. This morning’s worship focused on listening, and hearing. Such contemplation should be scheduled for much later in the day when one is more receptive. Television’s only further nod to the fact that it’s Sunday is the forever ghastly Songs of Praise where my church nightmares seem to come true. But instead of walking out, I merely switch channels. Last week, the late movie was The Railway Man. This week, it’s The Note Book, another retrospective film. It’s recorded, and I shall re-watch it in the week when I am not distracted penning my blog.
Thanks for reading. David, 00.35 Monday 24th August 2020.
David's Cruise 