Guilt and Innocence; Pride and Appearance

The plight of the captured British sailors in Iran is thought provoking.
There seems to be a divide between those who home in on the facts - such as
the precise location of the 15 when they were captured - and those who
give precedence to appearances - such as which nation is perceived to
have the higher international pecking order in the matter.

This divide has also been said to be based on a cultural/religious tradition, with Christianity
focussing on truth, guilt and innocence and Islam on public perception and status.
The emphasis of each nation involved with the 15, illustrates some kind of divide.

We British have been at pains to demonstrate, using the latest satellite technology,
that our sailors were not within Iran's territorial waters. The Iranians on the other
hand, have concentrated on showing off their prisoners and criticising the bellicose
newspaper reporting in the UK.

To base this divide on the two nations' diffferent religious heritages
seems facile. Many people within the UK frequently conceal their true feelings
for example by exhuding confidence when in reality they feel weak and lacking
in confidence. Women and not a few men in the UK and elsewhere in the West ,
will put a great deal of effort into selecting and wearing clothes to impart
to the world at large, a position or mood which may be quite different from the
wearer's real status or feeling.
I have little doubt too that ordinary Iranians
are as much concerned about ordinary truths innocent or otherwise in their own
lives as we Westerners are in ours.

Perhaps the reality is that rather like the USA and the UK are often said to be
divided by a common language, Iran and the UK are divided by their common
characteristics of homing in on both appearance and truth.

The divisions are caused by the way in which these
human characteristics, which we share, are manipulated by some leaders for
what the ordinary man or woman might call "control freakery" reasons of their own.

Whatever the truth or appearances about their capture may be,
the reality is surely that the 15 (and their families and friends) are and appear to be, suffering at present.

The relevant religious traditions to follow in my view,
are those of praying for those who are suffering and, when politics permit,
visiting the prisoners.

Lady Day 2007

Amazing how quickly the year passes. Easter almost upon us again
and soon the annual HCPT Group 35 trip to Lourdes will be under way.

Bernie a long standing Group 35 helper, an emigre from Baghdad produced
a feast for the helpers' meeting at her home last night, fit for a king.
The food included the biblical "manna from heaven", which I have never seen
or tasted before. Its consistency is akin to man made nougat but the taste
of this natural food is not at all sweet; more nutty and almost meaty.

A great turnout of voluntary helpers and a full agenda prepared by
Doctor Lucy also gave us the courage to practice some Lourdes-type
singing which we did with some gusto.

One of the miracles of Lourdes for me is the huge goodwill it brings out
in most people when the topic is raised in conversation. For example:

Fundraising for taking disabled children to Lourdes
brings in the cash for their fares and accommodation each year without fail.
A local school headmaster volunteers to drive 9 helpers in
his school's minibus, to the airport, at
4:30am on Easter Monday a bank holiday.
A sharecrazy poster gives some prize money to HCPT HQ for the group
even though he signfies that normally religion is not his thing.
17 year old "A" level students volunteer to help during
their school holidays.
Bernie cooks her feast and won't even hear of help with washing
the dishes afterwards

And I could go on...

Today in England is "Lady Day". The lawyer in me recalls that this
is one of the old fashioned Common Law default dates for paying quarterly rents
but the HCPT pilgrim part of me recalls the feast of the Annunciation
that Lady Day commemorates. BBC Radio 3's early morning rendition
of the Salve Regina today makes plain the relevant thought.

Broadband Suppliers and Problem Solving

BT Broadband at home a has been out of action for days.Their call centre people in India are all very polite but unless the problem is with our home pc (which it isn't) rather than the BT exchange, which it is, all they can do is promise that it will be fixedwithin 48 hours - which it isn't. Despite the bother of changing ISPs telephone etc suppliers, we are seriously considering doing so.

Virgin/NTL cable look possible but others views would be welcome. As BT exchange problemwould be likely to extend beyond 1 householdand as it is so difficult getting BT to act to fix it, their customer base could begin to haemorrhage if they continue to respond to requests to repair etc so unsuccessfully.

21 Wapping Lane

Punchdrunk's Production of Goethe's Faust supported by the National Theatre is amazing.
We arrived early (6pm) via the antiquated, soon to be re-built, East London underground line
and decided to take a Pizza Express in Wapping Lane before the play.
While Mrs maytrees was ordering the pizza I ventured out to find the "theatre" and collect our tickets.

No. 21 is a huge derelict looking warehouse marked "Dangerous Structure Keep Out".
The main gates were padlocked shut, topped with barbed wire and a notice proclaiming
that a security company was on site. There was no theatre or box office sign of any sort.
Upon closer inspection I saw sellotaped to the gate, a small piece of paper announcing
simply; "sold out - ticket collection from 7pm". This slightly reassured me so I hastened back
to join mrs maytrees.

The Wapping Lane Pizza Express is also situate in a warehouse
but rather more modern looking than that at number 21. A glass or two of their
house red washed the pizzas down well and their Jazz pianist also warmed
us up nicely for Faust.

By 7:15pm the forbidding looking iron barred gates of no. 21 were open.
We began to appreciate that this might be a drama with a difference when
we were asked by young people hoping to go to the show,
if we would like to sell our tickets. Also most of the people
heading through the goods yard seemed a lot younger than us may be their average age
of under 30. Later we realised that clambering around the six floors of
old warehouse was probably not what the more middle aged, middle class
theatre goer might appreciate most.

We eventually found the goods entrance to the warehouse which had been
converted into a makeshift theatre lobby. Admissions were limited to groups of
about 10 people at a time. First port of call was a full sized bar with a small stage
on which there were a number of musicians playing. This it turned out had nothing to do with the drama at all but was a
place to come to for time out or to debrief after the main event.
Another reason for so many young people in the 'audience' might have been the fact that
this live music venue remained open well after the end of the Faustian dramatics
themselves. This is a show that is published mainly by word of mouth.

We were all required to wear white ghost masks
then were ushered into the old Tobacco Docks goods lift.
The 'lift attendant' spilled people
off the lift at different floors usually in near darkness - some six vast floors in all.
We were given carte blanche to roam at will; to stay in one place for a while
or to follow actors around, as the whim took us. The actors were not masked,
which was helpful as the whole place was eryily dark and working out who the
actors were might otherwise have been difficult.

As I moved around rooms
corridors and staircases of the warehouse space,
players would appear and enact small cameo dramas
or hugely mesmorising big set pieces or dances; then vanish or wander off followed
in some cases by members of the audience curious to see
where the next thread of an interesting piece of plot would lead.
Sometimes there would be music sometimes quiet.

A scene which made a huge impact on me was a dance depicting the human traits
of love, jealousy, envy, lust and beauty, which took place in
a mock up caberet stage on the third floor, involving a dozen or so members of the cast
watched by the 20 or so of us souls whose ramblings happened to take us
to that place on that floor at that time.

Another cameo piece took
place in a small corridor involving two
very well dressed men, a pretty girl and alarge aluminium locker...
and another in a mock up
hotel bedroom. Yet another in a forest of Christmas trees and as for
the events in the basement...

Phew! words cannot do justice to this a unique theatrical experience.

Wimbledon 10K

Sunday morning 11th March 2007 at 9am and the runners were
gathering in the glorious sunshine at Wimbledon Rugby Club's
SW20 Grounds. Though family and friends had arranged to meet
fellow runner Chris and I for breakfast in Wimbledon Village
after the race, I was tempted by the toasted bacon butty aroma
that was drifting around the Rugby Club bbq, but resisted.

I was running as part of the Donhead school team whose efforts supported
the Sacred Heart Parish Capital Appeal and we had a team photo in the sun.
wearing specially designed team tee shirts generously provided by a parent.

At the "off" siren about 500 of us started down Barham Road. By the turn into
Coombe Lane, I began to wonder if this would be a difficult run
- maybe a toasted bacon bun would have provided more much needed energy.
A girl runner took a painful tumble at that point and a fall by a
man a couple of minutes later reminded me to keep a sharp eye out
for kerbs and other street architecture designed for cars rather than for
runners or pedestrians. By the foot of Edge Hill SW19, energy from a pre race banana
kicked in and I began to motor. Wimbledon Hill Road is an obstacle
familiar to local joggers and my way of dealing with it by repeating
the mantra "what hill?" worked as usual. The Common was delightful
almost a walk in the park as they say.

Particularly bearing in mind that the race was run early on a Sunday morning one feature
which became noticeable upon re-entering the sideroads from the Common,
is how impatient car drivers can be. The race was extremely well
stewarded but at a couple of key road crossing points, stewards who
halted traffic to allow runners to pass, were met by a cacophony
of car horns. Their response was a jovial "keep on running" to
the runners and a riposte that the longer the blasts on the horns
the longer the car waiting times would be. Modern man and woman, are
surely now far too enslaved to the internal combustion motor, for their own good.


Then the steep roads down to Coombe Lane - someone's comment "it is
harder sometimes to race down hill than to run up" I felt was so true.
The risk of stumbling while running down is great and I was begining to flag
by then but was pleased to surprise a local friend - David - on his way to
buy the Sunday newspapers.

Next the turn back up towards Barham Road and the finish - 51 minutes was my time
not too bad. Eight of us including16 year old nephew Leo perhaps
the youngest runner in the race, enjoyed a really hearty
breakfast afterwards in the Wimbledon Village "Giraffe" cafe.

A great time was had by everyone and if all sponsors remember
to send in their promised donations, more than
£2,000 raised for the Sacred Heart Church appeal.

Thank you to all who provided sponsorship for me and a particular
thank you to Malcolm Stacey
and others over on Sharecrazy for their support.

Many Hands Make Light Work

Usually at this time of year I visit one of the schools from which
children have asked to join HCPT Group 35 for our week in
Lourdes over Easter. This year however three other helpers from
the group joined in the visit.

We decided first to have coffee in the local bakery
run by a mother of one of the children who had joined us in previous
years. Angela gave us great welcome and her cafe lattes taste far
better than their equivalents from the better known global
coffee shop chains. We were also fortunate in being able to
sip the coffee and plan for the visit and the pilgrimage itself
outside in warm sunshine. Even suburban Raynes Park felt good.

Our discussions resulted in many ideas being exchanged
and plans made for the Easter journey.
The subsequent meetings with the school staff, parents and children also
seemed livelier doubtless because of the extra numbers.

The day
would surely not have been as productive, if it had been spent
on the basis of a routine school visit being made by the Group
Leader alone. Such time is I conclude much more productive
if spent with others than alone - more fun too.

Communication by Clipboard

Last Sunday after Masses at my local Catholic parish church, with the approval
of the parish priest, I was able to approach the men and women of the pews
to try to persuade them to give generously sponsor my forthcoming
run in the Wimbledon 10K race. The funds are to be applied for major improvements
to parish facilities on which see further at justgiving website.

The psychology of canvassing for cash in this way was interesting.
Turning up at end of the early morning Mass still steaming and in
running kit from my dawn jog, resulted in much sponsorship. Possibly
also few other campaigns are directed for the early morning faithful so
that there is, at that time, less of the giving fatigue that can understandably
affect people who are asked to fund so many good causes later on.

However at all times, individuals were amazingly generous.
One single sponsor -a total stranger - offered £100s in cash; another
obviously not wealthy, gave a few £s which clearly meant a lot to her.

Perhaps more impressive even than the cash - though a total of £1300 was
no mean sum - was the support from a team of women helpers, many of whom
were total strangers who borrowed some of my sponsor clip boards
and collected with me in the pouring rain.

The most intriguing feature was the ease with which I could strike up
conversations with people I did not know simply using a clipboard
and a cause as an excuse. Often the conversation was more important
than the sponsorship and frequently was not connected with the
reason for my holding the clip board at all.

People seem to like to communicate but often need an excuse (in England anyway)
to strike up an opening conversation.