John Bull: Should I Support Him?

Daniel was one Biblical prophet I have learnt to admire. According to what is recorded of him, he was very well educated and had exceptional qualities. He was also trustworthy, he was also very loyal to the king, and there was no corruption in anything he did, nor did he ever show any negligence in his calling. And how devoted he was to God, trusting in Him completely and praying regularly in the privacy of his own room every day. He was also innocent of any blatant sins, such as adultery and murder, two of which King David was guilty of during his lifetime, around four hundred years earlier. Yet, David too was referred to as "a man desiring God's own heart" - according to his biographers.

Daniel's faith in God was so strong that he wasn't afraid to be thrown into a pit containing hungry lions. And that was what his associates desperately wanted - for him to die - but not peacefully in his sleep but with intense pain and bloodshed by the sharp-toothed jaws of these feline predators. Their motive was jealousy. That deep resentment felt among them after their inability to interpret dreams the king had, nor were they were able to read and interpret the supernatural writing on the wall which foretold the Babylonian king wanting - and his resulting demise that very same evening. Yet, the prophet was able to solve these difficult problems with remarkable ease, giving them the impression of superior intelligence, learning, and power.

The fact that the prophet Daniel was a Jew - a "proper" Jew at that - as he was from the tribe of Judah, from which the word Jew originated. His associates, of Chaldean origin and renowned for their knowledge of mathematics and astrology, already harboured a deep resentment in their hearts for having a Jew appointed over them by the king. After all, it was they, the Chaldeans, who sent their armies to Israel, under their former king Nebuchadnezzar, to raze their city to the ground and brought the captive Jews into Babylon to settle in subservience to them.

And so, as Daniel was praying, or even lay asleep in the lion's den in the company of sleeping lions, King Darius the Mede, tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep and in the grip of deep sorrow and anguish, as he imagined the flesh of the prophet being torn apart over a puddle of human blood soaking into the ground. He also felt angry at the astrologers for their idiotic decree. He was also angry at himself. How could he allow such a stupid, stupid decree to be signed by his own hand? That one irreversible law of not allowing anyone to pray to any god or man except to the king only for the next thirty days! Perhaps the most senseless scheme ever thought up by these so-called "intelligent" Chaldeans. And he fell for it, hook, line and sinker. How could he not smell a rat? And afterwards, he was then forced by law to condemn an innocent friend to a horrible death, despite his plea to his advisors for clemency. 

Meanwhile, in stark contrast, the Chaldeans responsible for Daniel's demise lay in their wives' arms in bed, feeling smug and content that, at last, there won't be an exiled Jew telling them what to do! How little did they know that this would be their very last night in their lover's arms? For the king's wrath would spill on them at daybreak, and they will all be food for the hungry lions.

However, the goodness in Darius' heart was manifested when, at the crack of dawn, the king made his way to the pit while he was still wearing his nightclothes, and called out to the prophet, perhaps expecting silence or at least a roar or two from the lions. Instead, to hear the Jew calling back to the king had caused his heart to change from distress to joy - and then to anger - anger at those Chaldeans who wanted his friend dead to get him out of their way.

It's the jealousy lurking in the hearts of these Chaldeans that has given me some food for thought: The 1993 murder of Stephen Lawrence by a gang of white racist youths is one example. Could I see a parallel between these youths towards Lawrence and the Chaldean's attitude towards Daniel the Jewish prophet? Just as Daniel displayed divine wisdom at a level beyond the Chaldean's capabilities, so Stephen Lawrence, who was black, was already better educated than his persecutors, and they knew it.   

Then at a football match, there is the racism that often exists at the stands. This is when fans make monkey noises at a black player or even throw a banana at him. There is a story that when the very first black player, Wilf Mannion, scored for England in the 1950 World Cup in Brazil, the English supporters refused to accept the goal as a valid score. The resentment that was seen among English fans against non-Caucasian players throughout the decades to follow has, to my mind, has given English fans a bad reputation on the international scale, particularly in the eighties.

I too have been a victim of this prejudice, albeit in a much milder form. This began in school, followed by my work colleagues into the late sixties and the seventies, and then into the eighties and the nineties when I was part of a group of five unmarried Christian men from several churches. Their commitment for England to win the World Cup and the European Cup caused my skin to tingle and my hair to stand on end after categorising me as an Italian, despite being born in England, and as such, someone to be regarded somewhat as an inferior, more of an out/group than in/group. And all that is manifested whenever the European Championship or the World Cup football tournaments comes around.

I think that had I done better at school, things might have been different and I would be treated with better respect, although two areas of my life have given me a morale boost. Firstly, knowing Jesus Christ as Saviour, and secondly, my love of travel. However, mingling with Christian friends who were avid England supporters came to a head during the 1998 World Cup. Rather than face my friends if England were to lift the trophy once again since 1966, I bought an air ticket and fled to New York. However, I was still in the UK when England was knocked out of the Cup by Argentina on penalties after a 2-2 draw. But rather than ask for an airline refund, I gladly flew across the Pond to visit the Big Apple, where I stayed at the world's largest HI-affiliated hostel, according to the Guinness Book of Records.

And while I was there, I successfully photographed the twin towers of the World Trade Center from the ferry linking Battery Park to the Statue of Liberty. Back then, I never realised how precious those pics will be after 9/11. 

World Trade Center, taken 1998.

I find it amazing how everything changes for the better after one member of the group finds his ladylove and marry. The young architect, and perhaps the most handsome in our group, was the first to marry. Not long after, the accountant marries. This is followed by the banker. Finally, I marry - after meeting Alex just a few months after flying home from the New York trip (actually, I flew home from Boston Massachusetts after spending a week there.) However, one other member remained single right up to the present, the kitchen porter. He was the most patriotic in the group, the one who believes that the English are the kings of the world and all other nationalities - especially the Italians - are ethnically and culturally inferior. Yet, this same chap, who is proud of his British stiff upper lip, remains unmarried and is now in his sixties.

I was affectionately referred to as that Reckless Itai (pronounced eye-tie) by the banker, and I'm still called that to this day. I don't mind that at all, for it's always done in a friendly spirit, and not in a derogatory one.

With the group long dispersed after we had all gone on our separate ways, my apprehension over whether England will win the cup or not has somewhat wained. Perhaps not entirely. I still feel a little of it now. But just goes to show how much psychological harm can be caused for Mr B, when Mr A thinks he's nationally, culturally, and even biological superior. Then Mr A's team knocks out Mr B's team, from the tournament. Then Mr A appears smug and looks down with a patronising gesture towards the hapless Mr B. I recall this happening once, some 25-30 years ago. When his English rugby team beat the Scots, the mockery from the England supporter was enough for the Scotsman to break into tears, to which the Englishman finally admitted, Oh dear, I'm not behaving Christlike.

This spirit of England has become, in my opinion, something of an anomaly since the start of the Coronavirus pandemic. Perhaps I can personify England as John Bull, a character that is supposed to represent courage, stoicism, and to keep going during a crisis. Mr Bull, I think, is generally introverted, and he's not the one to be a braggadocio people-minded individual but more of a task-minded person who is shy when it comes to winning contests and quite happy to accept defeat. After all, it's the participation in the game that counts, whether win or lose. Such as John Bull, that is, until recently.

Oh, what has happened to John Bull? Have we become a nation of chocolate teapots? Have we become afraid to ditch the facemask? Isn't there any optimism for the near future? Do we have faith in the vaccines? Does the majority believe that there will be another lockdown before the onset of Winter? Are we constantly looking out for a new variant? Would this new variant result in an immediate lockdown? Will it be vaccine-resistant? Are we avoiding each other as if each one of us is carrying the Bubonic Plague? And have we become reluctant to return to the office which involves commuting in a delayed packed train?

I say "we", but I have never seen the inside of an office, let alone work in one. This idea of "flexible working" - the concept of part-time office work mixed with working from home - a new trendy culture that would never be dreamed of during the early days of my own working life! I recall the days when there were two kinds of occupation: The salary-earner and the wage-earner. The man in a business suit and the man in a boiler suit. The one who signs in and the one who clocks in. The one who works flexi-time and the one who is told when to start and finish. The one who takes a company-paid business flight to a foreign country, and the one who pushes a broom across the factory floor. The one who is highly respected and the one who is treated like cattle.

And it all comes down to the level of education, does it not?

Like the scientists who are advising our Government on which course of action for the whole nation to take. Like the king listening to the prophet Daniel, our MPs are listening to these scientists as they bow to their wisdom gotten at Oxford. And the rest of the people bow. At least the Brits are quite unlike the ancient Chaldeans!

Oxford University.

Don't be surprised when I say that there were times that I felt a pang of jealousy. Maybe, I understand how these ancient Chaldeans must have felt. After years in college, they became great and well knowledged for that period. Then this exiled Jew arrives, and with his powers, wins the favour of the king, who then sets him over the whole kingdom. No wonder the Chaldeans felt miffed!

Daniel's character is admirable, and with all honesty, I would very much like to be like him. He had the mind of Christ. And this level of spirituality is attainable by anyone who wants to have it.

There are three choices I can make:

I can be like one of the ancient Chaldeans and wallow in envy towards those who are better off.

I can be a typical Brit, which, at present, seems characterised as a chocolate teapot.

Or, I can inherit the qualities which Daniel the prophet had, which can only be possible by having the Holy Spirit dwelling within, who is available to anyone who asks God.

Feeling Nervy At The Train Station

For many months now, hardly anyone can be seen in a superstore without wearing a facemask. I could go further to add that if a maskless adult happens to line up behind one of the tills, then I might have been tempted to cheer. Unlikely. At the store's main entrance doors sits one member of staff who was never there pre-pandemic - the Covid marshall.

The previous week, I entered the superstore to buy the morning newspaper, and in my haste, I'd forgotten to put on my mask. I was still at the stand with the paper in my hand and about to head for the self-service checkout when I was approached by the marshall to asked me if I would like to borrow a mask. That was when I apologised and whipped out my own face covering.

That morning's experience left me feeling uneasy for the rest of the week. What kind of society had we evolved into? 

I seem to recall reading a futuristic adventure comic strip back in the 1970s. A young woman, named Axa, living permanently inside the Dome, which covered a large city underneath. The huge transparent dome was built to keep the air within it pure and free from any contamination. Like all the other Dome inhabitants, she was dressed in a dull, full-body uniform from crew-neck to ankle. Then one day, in rebellious anger, she tore her top from the neck, down the middle as she strode along, leaving her with a partially exposed chest. However, she was immediately caught by an officer and brought before the governing council.

The Council granted Axa's request for her to dress how she liked, and her desire to leave the safety of the Dome was also granted, providing she sets out on a very dangerous mission arranged by the Council. One wise member of the ruling party gave her a sword, and she was then dismissed.

The air outside the Dome was polluted with a radioactive Great Contamination, gotten from the last nuclear war which wiped out the majority of the global population, and as such, the need to construct new cities for the remaining human inhabitants, each city under a protective dome, for their own survival.

The Great Contamination had an effect on wildlife. Axa was barely out of the Dome and wandering through the semi-desert when she accidentally ran into what looks like a pattern of cords. Approaching her was a spider the size of a car, and dwarfing the woman. The web was strong enough to hold her in place as the spider was about to roll her in a cocoon that would have given the hungry arachnid its much-needed nourishment.

But Axa was swift with her sword. With it, she took a swipe and decapitated the spider. She then used her sword to sever herself from the web strands. She then departed on her adventure, leaving the lifeless giant arachnid as food for the birds and other wildlife.

The current pandemic has brought back memories of the comic strip. Indeed, the air may not be contaminated with post-war radioactive pollutants, but it transports viruses from one person to another. Hence the need for a national lockdown - perhaps symbolised by the dome under which Axa lived and felt restricted.

I can also see a parallel between the tearing of Axa's own clothing to my desire to throw away the mask. At least she was given a sword by the Council - the equivalent to the vaccine, endorsed by our Government, and the struggle with the giant arachnid which can be likened to our struggle with the fatal illness, which only the sword/vaccine can fight against.

Okay, I'm aware that comparing the present pandemic to a comic strip that seems irrelevant may seem ludicrous, but then, why not? Just as often a true word is spoken in jest, so why can't real prophecy be expressed in a cartoon?

And so, one very warm and sunny weekday, I thought of killing some spare time with a trip to Reading, a short train ride from my hometown of Bracknell. There is one issue I'm aware of - that is - whenever the weather is warm, I prone to sweat rather freely. Therefore the fabric of a facemask would quickly soak, begin to smell and become even more uncomfortable and unhealthy over a short time.

But I was also curious about our current laws regarding the restrictions. For example, suppose that I was sitting in the train maskless and the guard, or conductor, arrives to inspect my ticket. He then orders me to mask up. But what if I had a paper cup of hot coffee and a croissant resting on the table in front? Would the guard still deliver the same order?

Just like this morning, when I visited Starbucks for an in-house coffee and croissant. While I was standing in line, waiting for my turn to be served, I had to wear a mask because this was required. But as soon as I sat at a table inside the restaurant, I was allowed to take my mask off.

It's as if the virus itself has adversity against the presence of food, and therefore, it's powerless to infect where there's food around! Why that is, it's quite remarkable. Either that or the laws lack sense. Therefore, I decided to conduct a social experiment - to see what might arise when I use public transport maskless. If the guard was to approach me and either ask me to put on a mask or order me to do so, then I would love to have countered with the question:

If I had a mug of coffee here in front of me, and maybe a cake as well, would you still order me to put on a mask?

I would have loved to hear how he would have answered that question. But instead, no guard walked through the coach throughout the train journey and as such, my curiosity remains unfulfilled. However, before settling down at the start of the journey, I made sure that all the seats around me were unoccupied. Being off-peak, this wasn't a problem.

Reading Station is larger than the one in Bracknell, as while the latter is on a commuter line, Reading serves as both a commuter terminus and a principal through-station on the Great Western Railway for trains from London into South Wales and Cornwall, as well as a stopping point for Cross-Country Trains from Birmingham, Manchester and Newcastle to Bournemouth and Cornwall. Therefore, for such a busy station, its forecourt doubles as an indoor shopping precinct, making mask-wearing compulsory, that is, except when seated at one of the tables placed near the eateries.

The nervousness I felt when I kept my mask in my pocket instead of donning it after alighting, was not spotted by the two barrier controllers as I inserted the spent ticket into the slot to activate the barrier. I felt relief when I stepped outside.

I had lunch at Marks and Spencer. It was on that one occasion when I entered the store that I had to don my mask. The Covid marshall was gazing at me, and it was as if I felt her eyes piercing my soul. I was in no mood for any potential confrontation. One story less for the newspapers! But when I sat at a table at the upstairs cafeteria, I immediately whipped off my mask, not to wear it at all for the rest of the trip.

After such a refreshing meal, I sauntered through the indoor shopping precinct, maskless, until I arrived at the Riverside. This is where the River Kennet passes through an open-air precinct, lined with diverse eateries, a relaxing area, a large cinema complex, and the main car park, itself a building aesthetically well-disguised. Under the summer sunshine, the Riverside is a wonderful area to sit, relax and unwind while watching the river making its way to join the River Thames, the main river passing just north of the town.

And at the footbridge which straddles the river, two couples were occupying the public seating. Each couple sat about six metres apart. I took my place between them, that is, not less than three metres from the person on either side of me. Immediately, both couples rose up and left, leaving me as a sole occupant of the bench that lines the whole length of the walkway.

A short time later and feeling thirsty, I made my way back into the indoor shopping mall to buy a cold fruit juice. The pretty young female who served me seemed to have taken a delight in me not wearing a mask, perhaps her first such customer of the day. Afterwards, I took my drink to a lawn bordering the river, where a young man in his early twenties was sitting, alone, about 20 metres away. He gazed at me as I approached to find a suitable spot to settle. I sat down, facing the river, about ten metres from where he was sitting. He rose up and relocated further away from me as if I was the disease itself.

I sighed. I have seen this several times before, including an alfresco church meeting one evening of last summer. What has happened to us? What has become of our national reputation? What has happened to John Bull, the stoic Brit who does not flinch during a crisis but carries on regardless? The sort of people who would offer a cup of tea to a stranger, right in the midst of the Blitz, when German bombs rained over the city. This Covid-19 pandemic has English Bulldog metamorphosed into Chocolate Teapot, a phrase coined by my PhD friend Andrew.

Indeed. When passing a stranger on the sidewalk, he swerves to avoid passing too close. Another wears a mask while driving alone in his car. Yet another wears a mask out in the street. A marshall asks to put on a mask inside a public facility. A slight rise in infections and another lockdown is on the cards. Any lifting of restrictions appointed on a certain day is delayed further. And so it goes on...

The Riverside, Reading, UK. It's crowded in the Summer.

All these go on here in the UK while I hear or read about the USA, Denmark, and recently, Israel, all making mask-wearing non-compulsory. That is, it's no longer necessary in those three countries to wear masks. At the same time, news comes in about our government offering a five-day "grace period" for Indians and British holidaymakers from India to fly home before the quarantine deadline. And so, infection rises as the Indian variant spreads, thus, "Freedom Day" is delayed by a month. More recently, our Prime Minister is considering admitting up to 2,500 VIPs into England to watch the European Cup Final at Wembley. These Very Important Persons are from amber-coded countries where all other returning travellers must quarantine for ten days after arrival into the UK. These VIPs refuse to quarantine. And I wouldn't be at all surprised that they refuse to take a Covid test either.

Then one wonders why I'm rather hot under the collar?

The day spent in Reading virtually maskless was a social experiment, putting myself at risk of a rebuke from someone in authority. But actually, I got away with it. Nevertheless, while I was both onboard the train and sitting at a table, I made sure that I wasn't sitting close to anyone.

Would I do this again? Really, I don't know. Perhaps, quite likely. However, I need to take heed from the exhortation by the apostle Paul in his New Testament letter to the Romans. In chapter 13, verses 1-8, the apostle instructs us to submit to the authorities, as no authority exists that wasn't established by God, and everyone in authority is a servant of God and he does not bear the sword for nothing.

The Covid marshall at M&S in Reading was a good example. Her stare was a warning to comply and not rebel. She was a servant of God, even if she may not realise this herself. And by complying, nothing else happened.

As a Christian civilian, it's my duty to respect the Government as servants of God. But this does not prevent me from getting uptight when they make rash and apparently stupid decisions that can jeopardise the health and freedom of this country's citizens.

Covid 19 - Atheists Vs. Christians.

Just this morning, I made sure that I shoved a facemask into my pocket before leaving the house to buy the morning newspaper at a local superstore. However, as I was concentrating on where I wanted to go, I totally forgot about the mask after entering the store to pick up the paper from the stall. Just then, whilst I was still at the newspaper stall, a pretty young female approached, dressed in staff uniform, and with an equally sweet tone of voice, asked me whether I would like to borrow a mask.

Borrow a mask? No way would I hand it back to her with germs, saliva droplets, and all other impurities caught in the fabric! Instead, I apologised and whipped out my own nappy and covered my face with it. And yes, this was a genuine incident of forgetfulness and not a deliberate evasion of responsibility - despite my rising resentment at what appears to be a permanent necessity.

And so, the newspaper I had just bought carries the front-page headline: SUMMER FREEDOM ON HOLD TILL JULY.*  Indeed, I was disappointed but not surprised. I saw this coming. And the feeling of unease persists, and from time to time, bouts of anger and frustration as the question circulates around my head: When news of this new variant became apparent, why on earth didn't our government immediately impose a shut-down of all airline routes to and from India?

Indeed, this looks to be a repeat of the mistake made more than a year earlier, when British skiers flew to Northern Italy when that particular region had a high infection rate. But at least, back then, they hardly knew any better. Now we do. News of a high death rate and a broken health service across the subcontinent kept flooding our TV screens. And these footages included ghastly images of bodies cremated in public car parks, as the death rate was terrifyingly high. Yet some faceless bureaucrat in the Civil Service had advised our Government to keep the airline route open - whilst our PM had to cancel his visit to India's Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi, originally to set up a post-Brexit trade deal with that country.

Life in India - Source of the Delta Covid virus.

Maybe, our PM's intention is to keep on good terms with our Commonwealth member. After all, if a post-Brexit deal is so desired by us, dare we fall into India's bad books? Then, be sure to keep the airline routes open. Never mind the virus. We are the winners! Britain was once regarded as God's Country and rightfully ruled the waves. Therefore we remain immune to any foreign variant. So we thought...

And so, a threat hangs over our holiday prospect like a heavy thundercloud. This 6-day break is what we now call a staycation - one of those newfangled words whose proper meaning is controversial. It could mean a holiday at home, without actually going anywhere. Or, as we interpret the word to mean staying at any destination within the UK as opposed to holidaying abroad. Whichever it may be, our destination this time will be at Llandudno in North Wales.

I recall, with a level of amusement, one churchgoer who would have insisted that we will be going abroad - since Wales is not England. Never mind about that. My main concern is that the English/Welsh border may close again if the rise in this viral infection results in another national lockdown.

But I also need to ask: Is this whole scenario purely the fault of our government and its civil servants? Or was it inevitable that this Indian variant of the virus - now renamed Delta - had already found its way into the UK some weeks earlier by hitching a lift from an unsuspecting carrier? But what had annoyed me was that once discovered, a four-day "grace period" was set by our ministers to allow for all returning from India to enter the UK without the need to quarantine. And so, they poured back into the UK - only God knows how many of them were asymptomatic carriers of this Delta virus as they passed through Heathrow Airport.

As I often remind others at our weekday morning Zoom prayer meetings, I give thanks to God for the magnificent national vaccine rollout achieved in such a short time. And talking of vaccines and lockdowns, one academic, Prof Philip Thomas of Bristol University, wrote an article for The Daily Mail Online. Titled: Why we CAN be free on June 21, he argued - by using mathematical formulae - that because of the high percentage of inoculations, the rise of the infection rate in the weeks to come, including the possibility of a third wave, should have little effect on the rise of hospital admissions or the death rate. This is due to the present observations that the sudden rise of infections is confined mainly among the unvaccinated, that is, among the younger people who tend to recover from the infection more rapidly either without the need or with the minimum of hospital admissions.

Further checking has shown that this article had been deleted entirely from the main newspaper website, but can still be found on Mail+ which is linked directly to my Facebook profile (at least at this moment.) To have deleted the article was a great pity. The long comment forum trailing Thomas' contribution contained mostly positive feedback, with the majority praising him for his mathematical expertise and common sense.

Therefore, according to Thomas' excellent article, anti-vaxxers can still fall prone to the disease. And that is a great shame. And I find this quite embarrassing to my Christian faith. There are atheists who, with a much higher level of education and common sense combined, can argue against the so-called "Christian stance" with remarkable ease. And these atheists don't hesitate either.

Freedom Day - Much longed for.

One comes to mind - YouTuber Scimandan, whose latest video supporting inoculations has collected more than 75,000 views in just four days after posting. He submits at least two arguments in his support for the vaccines. These two arguments are a direct rebuke for the opinions held by some churchgoers.

One argument he puts forward is a rebuke against the bizarre idea that the vaccine contains a nanometre-sized electronic device that is injected into the bloodstream and therefore, the recipient will forever be monitored by Central Intelligence. True enough, such nanometre computers do exist. But Scimandan refutes the idea that a jab guarantees that the device will be injected. This because each vial contains four doses, and it would be impossible to guarantee that each dose would contain a monitor in each. Besides, we are constantly monitored already. The device used for this is much, much bigger. He then showed us his smartphone.

The idea of a nanometre-sized device in the bloodstream is taken from the Book of Revelation, the last book in the Bible, chapter 13. Here, the writer sees a vision of the future Antichrist ordering that no one can buy or sell unless he has a mark implanted either on his forehead or on his right hand. Often known as "The Mark of the Beast" - churchgoers use this as a reason for not taking the vaccine - despite that it has no relation to the vaccine! No vaccine leaves a mark on his forehead or right hand. Furthermore, my PhD friend Andrew wrote that those who accept the Mark not only will know what they are doing, but they will go for the Mark with deliberate intention - that is to willingly rebel against God in fist-shaking defiance.

The other reason Scimandan gives on why churchgoers refuse the vaccine is to do with aborted fetuses. I know a Christian couple who refuse to take the vaccine because, according to them, it was made from aborted fetuses. That is untrue, according to the atheist. Rather, in the making of the vaccine, parts taken from the lines of fetuses aborted in the 1970s were used in the development of the vaccine, but not as an ingredient for the vaccine itself. And this was not the first time that I heard this. I have read it from sources elsewhere already.

When I rebuked the husband for his skewered stance, he unfriended me from Facebook and even blocked me, so I cannot contact him in any way. A very sad reaction, in my opinion. But if he was right in standing by his opinion, then lockdowns would remain perpetual, never-ending, as no one who is against abortions, along with all churchgoers, would accept the vaccine. Again, according to my PhD friend, if these churchgoers have their way, the pandemic will never be defeated.

These, I feel, are times of distress. I both watch on television and read in newspapers about the sudden and rather threatening rise of the Delta variant of Covid 19. If unchecked, this could lead to another national lockdown, a move which the likes of Prof Philip Thomas would deem unwise, as this is just kicking the tin can down the road. By autumn, according to the professor, the rate of infection will rise again to coincide with the winter flu season.

But there is hope - a hope which I perceive as a mercy from God - the rapid development of vaccines designed to inoculate against the virus. Some good news: According to one source, around 50% of all determined anti-vaxxers have changed their minds and went on to receive their jabs. If only the other half would follow suit.**

When I feel sad, depressed, fearful, worrisome, then I have learned by experience that three spiritual actions I can take which I have found to be helpful. One is reading the Bible. This I do every morning before getting up. Another is prayer. I can pray in the comfort of my own home, alone and in quietness. Also, my church in Ascot is holding weekday prayer meetings on Zoom for twenty minutes in the morning. I find these virtual meetings very encouraging and beneficial, especially if this is the only way to remain in contact with those I love in Christ.

The reading of the Bible takes three "ingredients" for full effectiveness. The first is reading (the action itself) the second is the intellect or knowledge gained, and thirdly, with faith. Some atheists read the Bible and gain much knowledge, but without faith, the unbelieving reader or student will only pick holes, scorn and laugh at the Scriptures in mockery - especially over the early chapters of Genesis - and then dismiss it all in the name of Science.

At present, I'm reading through the three major prophets - Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel. For those not familiar with the Bible, these are found in the Prophecy section of the Old Testament. However, for the beginner, it's good to read the New Testament, especially the Gospel of John. For Old Testament reading, Genesis is a good book to start with. Appropriately, Genesis is the first book of the entire Bible. But it should be read with faith. Thus, by reading the writings of these three prophets, I came to a quick realisation that God is sovereign and really, the virus is little to be afraid of. 

Professor Philip Thomas.

The third spiritual action may or may not follow the reading of the Bible. That is meditating. One can interpret that as being in deep thought, but I find that going out for a walk and talking to myself whilst out and about prove also to be beneficial. I understand that such walks may not be convenient if one has a busy work schedule. Nevertheless, as a retiree, I have found ways to solve various problems, especially from a Biblical perspective when I talk quietly to myself. Even when I was at work cleaning windows, there were times I was able to meditate. Through means of this, one morning of October 1992, I felt inspired to fly out to Israel to pray over the city of Jerusalem the following year.

And so, I shouldn't feel so threatened over the potential loss of our vacation due to the rise of the Delta infection rate. Getting to know God through the reading of the Scriptures puts everything in the right perspective. We may lose the holiday, but we won't be losing our lives, neither would we suffer any separation from our marriage. 

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*The Daily Mail Newspaper, Saturday, June 12th, 2021.

**Ibid. 

That Which Is Sorely Missed...

It was earlier this week when I, for the first time, boarded a train for the whole of this year. The last time I bought a ticket for use on the railways was early December of last year (2020) to make a journey to Camden Town in North London to buy Christmas presents for the family - only ending up not distributing them in person on Christmas morning due to the third national lockdown initiated by our Government just before Christmas, thus wrecking the plans made by families up and down the land. Furthermore, right now, which is six months later, a wrapped Christmas present lies unopened in our lounge. Meant for one of our nieces, indeed, Santa Clause either forgotten about it or he had to isolate himself after becoming infected with Covid.

Southwest Trains - the first ticket bought this year. 

June 21st, which is also the Summer Solstice, is meant to be Freedom Day, when restrictions will be lifted and the return to normality. But whether I will still be compelled to wear a mask when inside a public facility, or we all shall be free from those wretched face-nappies, I would have to wait and see. One thing I do know: From June 22nd onwards, the nights will be drawing in again on a long, slow slide back to the cold, winter days when once again it will be time to pull the Christmas tinsel out of the cupboard. 

And the population here in the UK is divided into two opposing opinions. According to a YouGov poll, more than 60% of the British population who participated thinks it's too early for restrictions to be lifted. Therefore, I pity those who were in the remaining 38% who were optimistic enough to take a family holiday to Portugal - only for that country to be taken off the Green List, to be downgraded to Amber, which now means that by next week, everyone returning home must quarantine for ten days, along with further tests.

With scores of tourists cutting their holidays short, so to beat the deadline on Tuesday, I can only recall one occasion when I had to cut my holiday short. That was in 1979 when I took a trip to Llandudno in North Wales for a few days. Unfortunately, I can't remember the exact reason for cutting it short. However, coming to think of it, it was most likely to do with my stay at the hotel. But with what is now referred to as a staycation, there were no hassles with flights, airport security, luggage holds, passports or boarding passes. Just the return train ticket to London Euston.

But, by thinking back, I have a clearer memory of the hotel I stayed in. It was a typical off-the-street approach to the reception desk after walking a short distance from the town's terminus station. I was offered a rather drab-looking single bedroom in the loft at this family-owned Bed & Breakfast hotel. That night, I became aware of the drip, drip, drip of what looks to be rainwater from the ceiling near the bed, just missing the foot end. The next morning, I filed a complaint.

The owner at reception apologised and explained that there is a roof leak over that room and it's awaiting repair, and he assigned me to another room, one which was far more comfortable and homely-looking. However, I felt very uneasy. If the proprietor had already known about the roof leak before assigning me that room, then why on earth did he? Ah! Perhaps it was because I presented myself wearing denim and casuals. Tut! Tut! I should have turned up in a business suit and tie!

At breakfast, I was treated with extra courtesy by a young waiter, who fussed over me as if to make sure that I was a prioritised customer. Perhaps he was already aware that I had an uncomfortable night, and he wanted to make sure that my stay in Llandudno would be as enjoyable as can be.

The Great Orme at Llandudno is a geological phenomenon that aroused my interest. Perhaps, a mountain of limestone in its own right, a cable car led to its 207-metre summit from near the pier, and on a clear day, I was able to see the Isle of Man, some 65 -70 miles, approx 110 km away from where I was standing, along with the higher peaks of the Lake District, some 70-80 miles, approx 122 km, north of the Great Orme. I suppose my message for any flat-earthers reading this blog is that neither the Isle of Man nor the peaks of the Lake District could be seen from sea level. At least, that is what I remember.

Even the resort itself boasts two beaches, one on each side of the peninsula which juts out into the Irish Sea. Geologically speaking, the fact that the Great Orme itself is the headland is remarkable. It was once an island, separated from the mainland before the sea washed in enough silt that was deposited from the mouth of the River Conwy over the years to eventually form the peninsula - on which the resort was built.

The Great Orme, taken 2018.

That evening, I returned to the hotel. I approached the bar for an evening drink, and there, in casual, off-duty clothing, sat the waiter who served me that morning. We started talking, and during our conversation, he expressed his wish to move out of the area and relocate to London. After a drink or two, he invited me to his room. Very unusual, I know, but in my naivety, I followed him in.

It was a nice and comfortable-looking room, but to me, the penny dropped. I made my excuse, left, and headed for my own room. 

This was not the first time this sort of thing occurred. It happened during the Greyhound Bus service stop on the route from Amarillo to Flagstaff, to visit the Grand Canyon in 1978, as well as in Israel in 1976. Oh well, the ins and outs of Travel. But I ponder on why these men think I'm attracted to them. I believe it might be my accent or the way I communicate, along with my friendliness. This gives a false impression that I'm sexually attracted to them when I'm actually not. They even have a name for this kind of person in their own vocabulary - a Pseudosexual. 

The next morning, I was served by the waiter like all other guests were served - with courtesy but nothing intimate. Rather, I sensed an air of contempt, and I wondered whether I should have been more complicit. It was also the day I made my way - quite a long walk - to the Little Orme, a headland at the other end of Llandudno Bay. True to its name, it was smaller in size and of a lower height, yet nevertheless, it still provided an excellent day out and a good hike.

The next morning the waiter wasn't on duty, and I assume that he's having a day off. As somebody else had taken his place, I felt that it was time for me to check out and board the train home - a day or even two days before my original schedule to return home. Yet I felt a sense of loss in doing so. Therefore, I can understand how these people must feel when making their choice to cut short their holidays in Portugal to avoid quarantining.

 

Another opportunity did arise for us to visit Llandudno, which was in 2018. This time, we spent a few days in Conwy, a short train ride from the resort's station. With Alex in a wheelchair, it was very difficult to attempt to reach the summit of the hill. And we didn't. Instead, we spent just a day there, including a swim in the sea and a walk along the esplanade and onto the pier which offered splendid views of both the Great and Little Ormes with the bay joining both. Although she had expressed her wish for her to return, we recall the last return journey. As the train flew through Rugby Station, the motion caused her back to flare up in pain, and there was little we could do until the train pulled into Euston, from where she was taken by taxi to a nearby hospital to receive an intravenous painkiller. 

But this time, we are better prepared. With a supply of Paracetamol, Co-Codamol, Ibuprofen, and in the worst case, Oramorph, we feel more confident with long train journeys. Maybe, once this Coronavirus pandemic subsides, we can plan to travel more regularly.

To cut one's holiday short because a greater restriction is suddenly imposed by the Government is one kettle of fish. But in the past year of lockdowns, there is one facet of life I truly miss - our weekly church attendance. True enough, I still remained stubbornly anti-church for the first year after my conversion to Christ towards the end of 1972. But when I joined St Jude's in Brixton in 1973 (which, by the way, I came across by accident) the idea of church attendance became ingrained in my life. After a year at St Jude's Anglican, I was recommended to try Bracknell Baptist Church, and I joined them in the Spring of 1975 and remained until 1989. This was followed by several months of no church at all until a friend recommended Ascot Baptist Church, which I joined in 1990 and remained to this day.

My love for the church is as much as I love to travel. Over the years, I have watched Ascot Baptist Church transform into Ascot Life Church, a name it has chosen for itself when we moved from our original building in North Ascot to the Paddock Restaurant at the main racecourse. This move was due to the growth in the size of the congregation until our original building became too small to accommodate our Sunday services.

Due to the rise in the pandemic, all physical meetings came to a halt during Spring 2020. After this, we started an online virtual service, where we all stayed at home to watch the computer screen. This form of communication had never held a candle to the real thing, but it was better than no communication at all. It's as if Providence had carefully waited until our technology was developed enough for such advanced communication to be available. Then came the pandemic. Had the virus spread just a few years earlier and a series of lockdowns stopped our meetings altogether, it would have been a lot worse, with all contact lost, save for an occasional phone call.

Zoom and virtual meetings had kept our spirits ongoing throughout the isolation. However, back in the summer of last year, during a pause in lockdowns, I managed to have a one-to-one talk with two of our Elders at Starbucks Coffee. With one of them, we met over coffee on quite a few occasions. Young enough to be my son, he recognised my wisdom gained by personal experience, hence I was able to offer him advice. His humbleness as a church elder has raised my admiration of him, hence making me feel fully at home at Ascot.

Ascot Life Church

Alex too is fortunate to have two ladies come to visit our home at regular but also at different times. Usually, I go out, and "leave the two ladies to chat at their heart's content" - without a man in their way. During the lockdown, all this was suspended, and only an occasional phone call had to suffice.

It's the kind of fellowship I miss badly. If our Government will be able to lift restrictions once and for all, and proper physical services can resume - without wearing masks! - then how wonderful that will be. Once again, I'll be part of a family - because that is what a church is all about - God's family.

It's a family I have missed so sorely throughout the months of lockdowns. But I hope it's the will of God for us all to meet again and it will be His pleasure for us to be together once again.