Sauna Nostalgia and the Pandemic.

And so, we're at the tail end of the Coronavirus pandemic. As I look back over nearly two years, how could I ever forget the need to queue up outside a grocery superstore? Back then, beginning around Easter of 2020 and into the summer months following, how could I ever believe that the time had come that I had to queue up to get into a shop and a large one at that? Indeed, had we entered the apocalyptic age of human history and the whole world is about to blow?

Superstore queue during a lockdown. Stock photo.

Added to that, our local Leisure Centre had shut down, all the so-called "non-essential" shops were closed, along with all the pubs, bars, restaurants, coffee houses...not to mention offices of all kinds empty of their City employees and their bosses...

The town centre was deserted, the streets were quiet, there was little traffic. Even London's busiest streets, such as Regent Street, Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, and Hyde Park Corner were all deserted, empty of traffic. It was as if the planet had rid itself of all people - every single individual alive had suddenly vanished - very much like in our home video documentary, Life After People, where the world population was zero, and featuring how the natural elements of sun, wind and rain continued in their destructive work unhindered by any human restorative activity. 

Within a few days after all people have vanished and the population is down to zero, every electric bulb and bar lighting blinks off, along with all neon street adverts, every fan stops rotating, every refrigerator shuts down, all industrial water pumps and power generators cease functioning - every form of power-driven machinery, both domestic and industrial, small and large, shuts down and draws to an eternal standstill - creating a deep, haunting, global silence.

In a course of time, every skyscraper in an advanced state of dereliction collapses into a huge cloud of dust, very much like how the World Trade Center collapsed into a massive cloud of smoke and dust after the 9/11 New York attack in 2001. London's Tower Bridge falls into the River Thames, the Elizabeth Tower housing Big Ben, already a few degrees off vertical at present, falls headlong onto Parliament Square, all the Underground tube and cut-and-cover lines and their stations become flooded, and unless also flooded by the river, all the streets would turn into wild garden strips, with an occasional shell of a car consumed by rust remain to be seen and ignored by any passing wild beast.

And wild beasts would wander through deserted streets overgrown with greenery, even trees, with derelict buildings on each side, collapsing into rubble piling on what used to be sidewalks. The domesticated characteristic of dogs that escaped from their man-made confinements, would breed out over the generations and wander around the streets as wolverine packs, always in search of escaped cattle that had grazed through the streets into town.

Hundreds of thousand years after people, anyone landing on our planet from an alien world would never guess that mankind once inhabited our planet, as all human constructions would have disappeared entirely - with thick forests with all its abundant wildlife inhabiting the tropical, the subtropical and the temperate climate zones of our planet, with the two Polar icecaps restored to their original size, and the oceans teeming with marine life, including species once threatened with extinction now thriving.

Perhaps, the sight of some stones piled in some odd manner might be an indication of long-past intelligent design, but such a theory remains debatable among these aliens - in much the same way we humans debate whether the undersea "Bimini Road" in the Atlantic Ocean is a natural formation or an ancient construction. That is until they wander across Egypt and notice three pyramids buried in the sand, with just their pinnacles showing. But the catch-all surety of intelligent design is the gigantic head of the Sphinx, not far from the Pyramids, also sticking out of the desert sand.

And so, I ponder as I stood in the queue whilst waiting to enter Sainsbury's superstore. The first lockdown caused by the Coronavirus had brought the world to a standstill - all by a minute virus! I guess my thoughts also go back to a TV drama series where almost the entire world population was wiped out by a virus, but unlike Life After People, a remnant of humanity had immune systems which resisted and fought the virus, enabling them to repopulate the Earth after the demise of its former civilisation - rather like Noah's family after the Deluge.

I find it amazing how a minute virus can halt civilisation in a dramatic manner no politician could ever achieve! Before then, I recall the freedom we so much took for granted. The sauna was one example.

I recall 1976, not long after having flown the nest when I was talking to a work colleague who spoke much about the sauna and its benefits. Being an avid fan of Queen's Park Rangers FC, Tony was one of several working-class men who frequented the facility, all of them older than me and therefore, rather intimidating for a skinny sauna neophyte who, once again, had to accept their culture of coarse language and crude toilet jokes. Therefore, for my accountant friend and graduate to refer to all sauna bathers as "sissies" - or as he often refers to as "woofters" - would have put his own safety in serious jeopardy in their presence! 

However, my accountant friend might also have a point. During those early days, the customer changed out of his day clothes in a large single room, lined with individual lockers. The changing room was shared by all. Then, the facility had two sauna cabins, one right next to each other, a steam room housed in a plastic cabin, and a very cold plunge pool. At its reception, manned by elderly Fred who was respected by everyone, lemon tea was purchased and consumed at the large resting room, itself furnished with reclining beds, adjoining the main sauna suite through a door. The larger sauna was used by "straights" - heterosexual working-class men, and it was the one I always sat in. But the other was frequented by gay men, attracted to the facility by an advert posted on their magazine by a staff member. Some of these gay men, after talking with several of them, turned out to be better educated and holding down professional careers. Amazing it was when two different cultures dwelt side by side, yet, as I soon found, each kept themselves apart from the other and there was no trouble.

A Sauna cabin. Stock photo.

But above all that, each bather in both groups knew each other well, thus creating a club atmosphere, and I was accepted into their "club", so to speak. This sense of "being part of the family" was certainly felt among the straight working classes, more so than in the gay group. In addition, I would have felt an oddity had I worn shorts or swimwear at the sauna. All the men there were starkers, like a nudist beach camp. However, I quickly got used to it and within days, being nude in company with others was never an issue.

Also, the men's session and the women's session alternated each evening. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday were assigned for the men, while Tuesdays, Thursdays, and I think, Sundays, were assigned for the women. It's these single-sex sessions, patterned after the ancient Roman culture, that had allowed nudity to flourish. Not any more.

Those were the days I look upon with fondness, a hot room smelling of pine and eucalyptus, a fragrant oil poured with the water onto the hot coals, located at the corner by the door. Anyone can ladle the mixture onto the coals, and as often as needed. There always was that sense of adult freedom that seemed to fade over time, with the fading accelerated by the recent pandemic.

How the facility had changed over the years! The whole spa suite is now refurbished with individual changing cubicles, two luxury bubble baths and both of them are rich in aesthetics. The steam room is of much better quality, and one of the sauna cabins is now replaced by a saunarium, a cooler room with higher moisture content in the air. But gone is the cold plunge pool. Instead, a cold shower had taken its place, which, to my mind, doesn't hold a candle to the old plunge pool. Gone too, is the old resting room. Instead, the wall that separated it from the sauna facility was demolished, leaving a smaller space within the facility with fewer reclining beds.

But the big difference is the lack of the "club atmosphere" created by the old regulars. Instead, its patrons tend to be strangers who keep themselves to themselves, although before the onset of Coronavirus, there were a few regulars who kept a remnant of a club atmosphere, even that was wiped out by the pandemic. No longer hosting single-gender sessions, swimwear is now compulsory for all bathers, with even a wall notice reminding us of it.

Then came the pandemic. And with it, the national lockdown. This included the closing down of the entire Leisure Centre. The sauna facility remained out of use for around 18 months. It was also when we all had to queue to get into a superstore such as Sainsbury's. I remember the first time we all had to queue. At first, it looked very long and daunting. But each person or couple stood more than two metres apart, the newly-initiated social distancing which made the queue appear longer than it really was.

But it took up to an hour between joining the queue and actually passing through the doors, with a marshall monitoring each person entering, to ensure that the people inside the store didn't exceed the maximum number. Over time, the queue got shorter, and with the shop encouraging its customers to shop alone rather than as a couple, the waiting time became considerably quicker.

By the Summer of 2020, the pandemic began to wane, and I thought that life will return to a resemblance of normality. But with new variants of the virus, first, the Kent variant followed by the Delta variant, by Autumn of that year, our Government made mask-wearing compulsory. And here is the twist. As soon as mask-wearing became mandatory, cases of new infections began to rise again. But at least there was one issue in its favour - the doing away with shopping queues altogether, thus, the normalisation of daily shopping trips. 

Whether there's any connection between mandatory mask-wearing and the rise of the third wave, in particular, I can't be sure, but there are many who argue in favour of the facecloth. But the scientists who had worked hard to develop the vaccine deserve my praise! As I see it, the vaccines are a mercy from God. And as the rollout took off with vigour at the start of 2021, the effects of the pandemic began to wane, with far fewer hospitalisations and deaths after a positive test.

And the rate of hospitalisations and deaths remained at a roughly flat rate. By the Summer, I was able to swim again every week. But it's no longer the case of just walking in at any minute of the day and swimming as long as I desire, as it was pre-pandemic. Now I have to book in advance, and I'm allowed a maximum of one hour to swim. Although I dislike the restriction, yet I find it's enough for me. The sauna is different. Fortunately, I can make two sixty-minute bookings back-to-back, therefore giving me two hours of bathing time which again, I have found to be adequate enough.

And so, I sit alone in the sauna cabin with no one to start a proper conversation with. What a difference from what it was 45 years previously! At least I'm no longer buffeted with swear words, the teasing and the criticising of others, and toilet jokes. But that "family atmosphere" is forever gone.

And then another phenomenon which never occurred back in the old "club" days - the admission of the severely disabled. Only yesterday, some carers brought in two mentally disabled women. Both were in wheelchairs. But one of them, plump but quite facially pretty with long dark hair, kept roaring like a lion. The loud noise was quite daunting, yet I looked upon her with my heart longing to give her an embrace, a tight hug. If I had the love of Christ for her, that was it. I would have done anything to enhance her welfare. 

And just as I was, in all, beginning to settle into this new way of living and enjoying the facilities, news comes in of a new, more dangerous variant of the virus. Named Omicron, after a Greek letter for "o", the Government is at present trying to reassure us that there is no need to panic. At least not yet, as further research is needed to establish the power of Omicron, whether if it spreads quicker and if so, would it intensify illness of its human host? Is it resistant to the vaccines? Would hospitalisation rise again to the levels back in January? And would deaths follow suit? And so our Government, having learned their lessons from previous variants, quickly banned flights from the affected countries. Good on them!

Vaccines for Coronavirus was a wonder in themselves.

Another lockdown? No, please, no! If our beloved Leisure Centre with our sauna facilities (paid for by us members) was to close down again, who knows, it could be permanent. New homes built on the site after demolition? No thank you! After all, who wants such wonderful memories swept away forever by a virus? 

Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear...

Isaiah 59:1 AV.

The real cure for this global pandemic is to fall on God's mercy and call upon his name. No one can go wrong there.

A Hike Along the Coastal Trail.

Whilst I was writing a comment on somebody else's blog on this website, my memory went back to 1996. Oh yes, that year. Having been on a trip to the USA a year previously, which included a hike down into the Grand Canyon, and then back up again on the following day, this time, I was at it again, hiking the West Coast Path from Bournemouth to Exeter via the Poole Harbour ferry, and taking in six overnight stops. 

The toughest part of the hike was between Swanage and Lulworth Cove, completed on Day 2. It was the most interesting leg of the hike and indeed, the most physically demanding. As such, I shall let my thoughts wander a little - the kind of thinking I might have indulged in whilst walking such a route.

The Foreland and Old Harry Rocks, Swanage.

As my feet trumped along the path, the ground so unyielding, the rock so hard under my feet, to fall could cause an injury, yea, even fracturing a bone upon contact with the solid rock. How could the surface be so unyielding, with not the slightest dent in the ground caused by the impact between my feet and solid hard rock? And yet, who would anyone realise that if our planet was the size of a golf ball - just over 4 cm across, the Earth would have the same constituency as toothpaste.

Or as I look at a lifesize mirror, or even down my own legs as I take one step after another as I headed west towards the Cove, I can't help thinking that like everything else in our Universe, both animate and inanimate, we are all made of atoms. Yea, those tiny particles, rather like miniature solar systems, the nucleus in the middle of each atom, with electrons whizzing in their orbits around the nucleus in a similar way that a planet orbits a star, or even the Moon orbiting the Earth. However, if I had a golf ball in my hand, which has a standard size of 4.268 cm, and assuming that this represents the nucleus of a hydrogen atom, then an electron would be represented as a slightly smaller ball, just over 25,804 metres, or nearly 26 km, 16 miles away!

This rather fascinating fact brings home the reality that everything in the Universe consists mainly of empty space. In other words, by using the hydrogen atom as a model, if every atom that makes up my physical height - all 1.80 metres of it - were to implode, so every electron is touching its nucleus, then I would be hardly any taller than a grain of salt in the kitchen. And if the same were to happen to our planet, the diameter of the Earth would be just a little more than 2.1 km, 1.3 miles, across.

I wonder whether if all this was to happen - every atom in the Universe - were to implode in such a manner - I would ask whether everything around me would look exactly the same, except that I'm a human the size of a grain of salt walking on a sphere just 1.3 miles in size, or would everything be vastly different, especially in the relationship between the rate of density, and gravity? And what would the condition of our atmosphere be like? And our oceans?

And so, such thoughts circulate in my mind as I pause to take in the scenery, especially passing Durlston Head, with its quaint restaurant housed in a small castle, and arriving at Anvil Point Lighthouse, which is on the other side of a small but deep ravine, known locally as a chine, with a steep descent followed by a steep climb to get to the lighthouse. As the chine has every resemblance of a dried river bed leading directly to the sea, I guess it wasn't hard to imagine water from an inland flood flowing through this chasm, cutting through the Purbeck Beds and then cascading over the hard Portland Stone cliff as a spectacular waterfall.

Oh, how I long to have gone back in time to when this chine was draining away fast-moving waters, at the same time, cutting out the ravine as the water flowed into the sea. I carried on walking along the reasonably level coastline, the trail forming an endless streak along the clifftop, and unlike with chalk that is prone to crumble into the sea, this is, in a geological sense, almost permanent, as Portland Stone making up the cliffs is so hard, that coastal erosion is minimal. A rather unusual geological phenomenon to my right, as I headed west towards the Dancing Ledge and St Alban's Head. That is the landscape slopes between ten to twenty degrees off the horizontal as it faces towards the sea, with the trail running along the lower edge of the sloping strip. A raised beach? Quite a point, that.

I can imagine this part of the coastline slowly rising from the sea as the Flood receded, with the waves lapping at the sloping beach, and where the trail is now, that particular zone still underwater, especially during high tide. Now it's well above sea level, the ancient beach having frozen in time, grass replacing bare sand, cows now grazing where jellyfish might have been left stranded by the receding tide, the vertical cliffs beneath the fossilised beach exposed whilst taking the full force of the waves crashing onto them on a windy day. Ah! That particular day was warm and sunny, being in the height of Summer.

And so, the trail rounds a bend which marks the tip of St Alban's Head, and the path leads to a spectacular sight: Chapman's Pool, although not knowing who this Chapman fellow could ever be, I'm reminded of our short-tempered Deputy Head during my schooldays. Bearing the same name as this natural inlet, Mr Chapman was reputed by all the students for wielding his cane too willingly. To continue on the trail, I had to descend the steep slope of the ravine where its mouth is directly above the cove. Having crossed the dried river bed, the rest of the hike all the way to Lulworth Cove will be strength-sapping, starting with a steep climb out of the ravine. 

Chapman's Pool, Dorset.

After Chapman's Pool, it's up and down, up and down. Some of these slopes were very steep, and with a heavy rucksack weighing me down, it had almost got to the point of crawling on all fours. There was hardly anyone around, the trail was deserted. Yet, I continued with this challenging hike. Although I felt tired, I couldn't help but admire the beautiful seascape, and how land meets sea through vertical cliffs of varying heights - especially after pushing myself up those slopes. 

For me, the hike symbolises the Christian life, more so than the Grand Canyon hike. Here in Dorset, the general height of the cliffs from sea level remains at an average level. But this section of the trail crosses some hills, many of them quite steep, but, as I always like saying, what goes up must come down - a true fact when considering that this particular hike will terminate (for the night) at Lulworth Cove beach - after starting that morning at Swanage beach.

The Christian life isn't easy. Jesus himself has once said, 

In the world, you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world - John 16:33.

Climbing those hills, one after another, with a heavy backpack strung across my shoulders wasn't easy. But after reaching the summit, I was rewarded with magnificent views, vistas of the fields and trees inland, a dramatic view of the neighbouring hills, the cliffs, and the sea. Furthermore, there is that sense of satisfaction in accomplishment, that feeling of exuberance in a quiet a peaceful setting, far from the road busy with traffic lights, crawling car queues, exhaust fumes, lorries, bad driving and foul tempers. Indeed, by car, you can get to your destination very quick and easy, such as on the Bournemouth-Exeter route. But you would also miss out on the sense of adventure, the pure air, lovely views to enjoy, the sea, good exercise, sleeping at different venues, meeting people, sharing your experiences...

I wonder how Paul the apostle took it all? Apparently, he too lived a fulfilled life in Christ, so much so that he compared his new way of living with his old, religious life as a Pharisee. Comparing one with the other, his new life in Christ has made his old life as a Pharisee seem like human defecation! Yet, according to a couple of his letters, he was suffering a physical ailment. He even called upon the Lord to have "the thorn in his flesh" removed, but the Lord refused to heed his request. Instead, God answered that his grace was sufficient for him (2 Corinthians 12:7.)

It does look as if Paul had an ailment with his eyes, according to Galatians 4:12-16, 6:11, which affected his eyesight. I personally believe that he suffered from conjunctivitis, a viral or bacterial eye infection that causes a mucus discharge and difficulty in opening the eyelids. Accompanied by soreness, the disease can be highly infectious. To the believers in Galatia, Paul must have looked a sorrowful, even a disgusting sight.

Yet, according to his letter to the Philippian church, he was running the race with joy, encouraging them to shine like stars and demonstrating how life with Christ is so much more fulfilling than his past life as a Pharisee, even if, as a Pharisee, he enjoyed better health. Yet, even after his conversion, God refused his request for healing. And that's not too difficult to understand why.

With so many visions he had, along with various revelations from God, his heart would have been good soil to sow the seeds of pride. His illness had not only kept the apostle humble but quite likely had generated a greater show of love and compassion from his followers. The Galatian believers were proof of this. This sense of greater compassion added further credit to his message, along with encouraging stronger faith among his listeners, and quite likely added a greater number of converts to the church. Furthermore, rather than seeing his pride and feeling put off, they were encouraged by the humility his illness had brought.

Both Alex, my wife and I have health problems. She suffered from cancer, still suffers from pain, is reliant on medicine and attend regular healthcare appointments. In turn, I'm living with heart failure, hence my need for blood thinners and a plethora of other medicines. But, as I can see, these struggles have kept us close to God, and no matter how serious or threatening our crisis can get, we both refuse to turn away from God, his love and saving power. Furthermore, we are both hoping that our weak health will strengthen our testimony about our faith in Jesus Christ and, like Paul, can edify others and, in turn, receive compassion and encouragement.

Hence why I had made a comparison between walking in Christ and hiking a tough trail. I can see the parallelism. Can you? Climbing those hills and then easing down the other side, one hill following another, some with rather steep sides - all that is hard work, tiring, even frustrating and with a temptation to give up. How I longed to see the end, the welcoming end of the hike, and an even warmer welcome of my bed awaiting me at the Lulworth Cove backpacker's hostel. Yet rewards of magnificent views and good photography, along with a sense of fulfilment accompanies the hike.

After passing Kimmeridge Bay, a beauty spot with a car park and a stopping point for hikers, the trail enters a restricted area, owned by the Ministry of Defence. The MoD opens the trail for public use only during school holidays. At all other times, the area is closed to the public and it's used as a shooting range. When I completed the hike, it was accomplished during the Summer school holidays, hence, I had no trouble with access. The restrictions cover the trail between Kimmeridge Bay and Lulworth Cove itself. 

At a point between Kimmeridge Bay and Lulworth Cove, the Portland Stone cliffs give way to Chalk cliffs, hence a change in character. This section of Chalk is actually the far end of a chalk ridge, known as the Purbeck Hills, with Ballard Down, just north of Swanage town, and famed for its stacks - the Foreland and Old Harry Rocks, along with Corfe Castle further inland. The ridge arches inland until it meets the sea further west at the Cove itself, but the coast does cut into the chalk ridge for some distance east of the Cove.

After arriving at Lulworth Cove, it was early evening. After a 24-mile slog, 39km, (including the bit from the Cove to the hostel) the sight of the bed was so welcoming! Packed away in my rucksack was the ingredients needed to cook a meal before relaxation and then, much later into the night, off to the welcoming bed. Ah! Heaven!

Lulworth Cove, with Stair Hole in the foreground, terminates the day's hike

A terrifyingly-loud electric storm greeted me as I prepared breakfast the next morning. By then, I had made friends with an Australian backpacker on the previous evening. This was one of the inspirations that led me to book a flight to Australia for the following year.

The thunderstorm was intense. Maybe being by the coast and surrounded by hills had intensified the booms and rumbles. But as long as it lasted, I stayed at the hostel until the storm had passed. But I needn't wait long. The storm soon cleared up and I was able to resume the hike, a much short stint from Lulworth Cove to Weymouth town, where I managed to find a hotel.

Hence, when I finally boarded the train at Exeter St David for the return journey home a few days later, the hike proved to be an adventure I won't easily forget - with a spiritual ring to it.

Committed Christians and a TV Soap.

Eastenders is one of those TV soaps aired on the BBC four evenings a week. It's one of those programmes I can't imagine being watched regularly by committed, middle-class churchgoers. It portrays a way of life that is far too coarse and as unbiblical as it gets while trying to put across how typical East London working classes live and interact with each other on a day-to-day basis.

The scene is an outdoor setting that bears the name Albert Square in a fictional district of Walford, which is set at Elstree Studios in Borehamwood, Hertfordshire. The Albert Square setting is based on an actual square of the same design, Fassett Square in Dalston, in the East London borough of Hackney.

Toby Smith plays Gray Atkins in Eastenders.

But as I see it, the characters do not quite portray the real life of the working classes, at least, not so much among the male characters. The incredible absence of swear words, curses, smut, and other strong language and insulting speech have robbed the soap of real, true-to-life drama. You know, the sort of stuff I had to endure as a naive teenager entering the adult world of an all-male factory workshop from the kindergarten of school life. As author Charles Dickens once explained, when he wrote his books, the language spoken between the villains and criminals had to be unrealistically modified so as not to startle and upset his puritan readers.

No doubt, the classic TV soap Eastenders has followed Dicken's path of language modification. And that includes the complete omission of toilet jokes - indeed, often common at a working men's club or at a pub - the sort of jokes which I tend, at times, find hilarious but can be offensive to many other Christians. Indeed, I have wondered whether an odd joke thrown in occasionally would add a bit of cheer to the otherwise melancholic script and even raise its viewing figures. Or would such a joke aired on TV open the door for a plethora of complaints flooding the BBC centre? And eventually, leading to the danger of taking the soap off the air?

I have once read that Hollywood loves to portray the villain as a smartly-dressed English businessman. This is also true in Eastenders. Here, the producers at Elstree Studios wrote a script that led to the introduction of one character, Gray Atkins, played by Toby-Alexander Smith. In the soap, he plays the character of a failed solicitor cursed with a quick temper. On the outside, he looks swell to the women around him, as he goes about in a business suit and tie, thus, he stands out as a middle-class gentleman, a beacon of enlightenment and higher education living in a working-class estate. But behind closed doors, his wife, who was also the mother of his two children, was terrified of him, as his quick temper eventually led to a violent scene where she was stabbed. By covering up the murder by using a smashed bottle of milk, he was able to persuade the police to pass the incident off as a tragic accident.

Afterwards, he kills two more people. One of them was Tina Carter. After an argument and questioning him whether he really killed his wife rather than having been in an accident, he strangles her, then hides her body in a bin wrapper and places it into the boot of his car whilst there was no one else around. He then drives off to bury her in some remote, unknown location. Finally, after an altercation at an underground station, this time he pushes a man, Kush Kazemi, off the platform in front of an approaching train. Afterwards, he leaves the scene to look as if it was a suicide incident.

But despite being who he is, as a widower, he still has that appeal to draw in other women, as the series continues, we now learn that he proposed to the beautiful Chelsea Fox. At his first proposal, she hesitated and turns him down. But shortly afterwards, she changes her mind and accepts his marriage proposal. How I cringed! He may be a serial killer, but his profession as a solicitor with his suit-and-tie attire doesn't fail to allure her, as if she's walking into a deadly trap.

How true to life all this is a matter of opinion. For example, real-life John Reginald Christie, to name just one, murdered at least eight women, including his own wife Ethel, and then buried their bodies under the floorboards, also in the tiny back garden, and even walled up others in the kitchen. He was active in the decade between 1943 until he was executed by hanging in July 1953, then aged 54 years, by then, I was already ten months old.

John Reginald Christie.

The two criminals, one fictional and the other real share some common themes - as children, they were both ill-treated by their unemotional and unloving fathers. Both suffered bullying at school, yet, both achieved a high level of education. Both found women to be a threat to their egos. Both concealed their crime or their victim's bodies to avoid discovery. It's these similarities that have made me ponder whether the fictional character of Gray Atkins was borrowed from the historic John Reginald Christie.  

It's my opinion that most committed Christians would shun watching the soap, branding it as too worldly, unspiritual and glorifying sin. And it's quite true that, throughout the series, evil was allowed to flourish for a very long time before the perpetrator was brought to justice, much to my own sense of injustice. But one lesson does stand out quite clearly - that is, if you sleep around, you will face grave consequences. Throughout the soap, where adultery and unfaithfulness happen, it's always followed by the shock of its discovery, anger, strife, tears, divorce, mental illness, an unwanted pregnancy, even violence, and long-term ruin for the guilty. Perhaps that was why God instructed Israel not to commit adultery. God had already known of its dreadful consequence and wishes nobody would suffer from such sin.

The same applies to lending and borrowing. There are multiple stories in Eastenders connected with large sums of money lent out, and the borrower is unable to pay back the debt. The results often end in fear, frustration, hate and gang violence, a very sad set of consequences for not taking the advice Jesus gave, which is if you lend, don't ask for the money back, if they ask for your shirt, then give him your coat as well, and if they tell you to walk a mile, then walk two miles - advice which seems at first to be incredibly unrealistic, even imbecilic and impractical, along with the fear of becoming a doormat, but at the end turns out to result in peace of the soul, greater happiness, less stress and anxiety, far less hostility, a recipient of greater respect, maybe even honour, and just as important, "piling hot coals on the enemy's head" - a poetic way of piercing his conscience. Indeed, Watching Eastenders could give us all a lesson in not behaving in a way that discredits the truth of the Bible.

As Christians, both Alex and I have discussed the consequence of sin after watching Eastenders. Rather than tut-tutting for wasting our time on "unwholesome hedonistic pleasures", such storylines does bring us to the Bible and if anything, conclude that the soap verifies the truthfulness of the Bible rather than denying or ridiculing it.

And now? We're waiting for Gray Atkins' comeuppance for his murders. It will come eventually. How? We just have to wait and see. It all hangs on how long the contract will be between the actor Toby Smith and the makers of the soap. If the producers of the soap stick with Biblical principles, then the thick of reaping what you sow will eventually bear fruit for Gray Atkins. And I believe that is what the viewers want, and patiently waiting for.

And if there's an irony here. We both also enjoy nature programmes, especially those presented by David Attenborough and physicist Brian Cox. Lately, we've been watching the Universe and how it began, a presentation by Brian Cox. Throughout the two one-hour-long documentaries, there was no mention of God or any hint of divine or intelligent creation. Rather, our Universe, including our Sun and Solar System, were all formed purely by chance over multiple billions of years. And we as a species, are nothing more than a coincidence, an offshoot from the Universe out of pure luck, an unnecessary side-issue, the Universe owing us nothing. Although all that is diametrically opposed to how the Bible evaluates us - as the pinnacle of Creation and made just a little lower than God himself and perceived by our Maker as worthy enough for redemption.

And so, such science-based programmes appeal to the middle-classes, including Christian graduates who fill our church pews. Such documentaries appear far more wholesome than the horrid goings-on within the soaps. Yet although very interesting to watch, such philosophies presented by the likes of Brian Cox can be soul-destroying, making us feel worthless and psychological damaging - far more so than Eastenders. At least with the soap, it's all fiction and the world knows that. But what Cox (and also Attenborough) presents is meant to be taken as historical fact while at the same time the Bible is relegated to mere legend, well within the realm of mythology.

Then, if we as a species is nothing more than an accidental spinoff from the gasses that swirled in universal space, then what's the point of good or bad? Indeed, Gray Atkins, and for that matter, John Christie, can snuff out the lives of as many people as they want. Why then, is that bad? We're just swirling gasses, after all, nothing more. And the NHS. Why do we all here in the UK love the National Health Service so much if all we are is a mass of random molecules gotten here by a stroke of luck?

Earlier in the week, my good friend and PhD holder Dr Andrew Milnthorpe posted a video of a Remembrance ceremony that was held at the Royal Albert Hall in 2016. He posted it on 11/11/2021, the day we remember Armistice Day, which was signed to end the Great War on that very day in 1918. After the hymn, I vow to thee my country, was sung by the choir filling the auditorium, a colonial publicly addressed the Queen with such adoration, had I arrived from another planet, I would have sworn that she was a saviour-goddess. Such praise and adoration for the Head of State do not come from a chance offshoot from swirling gasses. Rather, it arose from the Biblical record of Divine Creation.

Brian Cox.

I write this blog on the eve of Remembrance Sunday. Biblically based, it's an important day for us to remember all those who gave their lives for our freedom. Indeed, I see myself as more of a European than an Englishman. In 2016, I voted to remain in the EU at the Referendum and I was very disappointed when the result showed a national favour to leave the EU, especially by a very narrow margin. As a full-blood Italian (both my parents arrived in the UK before I was born) I still feel for my roots stemming from Italy, although by law, I'm a British citizen. Therefore, it's right to remember those who gave their lives so we can enjoy our freedom here in the United Kingdom.

A Car Exhaust and a Large Hole...

One of the benefits of retirement is that I can take a weekday leisure trip to London to do the early Christmas shopping. That's hardly ever been the case with me shopping at the start of November. Normally, I carry out this particular errand at dusk on Christmas Eve. However, due to the threatened shortages of imported goods due to the combined issues of Brexit and Covid, I thought it was better than to take any chances.

Therefore, on a typical weekday, I can be assured of a complete train journey without the need to alight at a midway station to board one of those replacement buses - a weekend arrangement that has been ongoing for several months as our line shuts for planned engineering works.

I live in the town of Bracknell, about eleven miles east of Reading. The line that serves our station is the commuter line, where stopping Southwest Train services brings the commuter into London Waterloo Station. However, our line runs parallel to the Great Western line, roughly eight miles distant from ours. Fast, non-stop trains connect London Paddington to the West Country, with the majority of trains out of London making their first stop at Reading Station, a principal centre for changing trains.

Newly-developed shopping mall, Bracknell.

Therefore, I took a train to Reading Station on this occasion, and I didn't have to wait long before a non-stop to London Paddington pulled in. Thirty minutes later, I found myself walking on the platform at the London terminus, having taken a quicker journey than had I taken a direct train from Bracknell to Waterloo - the public service I affectionately dab, The Southwest Snails. 

I'm not being cynical here. I recall the 1970s when our line, then under the national umbrella of British Railways, laid on fast, efficient services. For several years, I was able to board a train at Bracknell for a fast ride into London with just one stop. That was at Staines, a large town roughly halfway between Bracknell and London, marking approximately the outer boundary of Greater London.

So, what is this all about? Why all this background detail? Well, compared with the 1970s, when our trains were no more than eight carriages long, at present, our trains now have up to ten carriages. And what's so ironic was that on this particular occasion, the off-peak service from Bracknell to Reading was almost entirely empty of passengers. Therefore, within the midst of rows or unoccupied seats came the announcement from the overhead tannoy:

Passengers leaving the train at the next station must be in the first eight coaches of the train. This is due to the short station platform.

I couldn't help but smile. Why on earth was the need for ten carriages when the train was virtually empty? And knowing full well that there are some stations on our line with short platforms that are unable to accommodate the entire length of the train. Then, to broaden my smile even further, the same female voice announces;

The next station is... Then gives the name of the wrong station. No help at all for a tourist or backpacker who had just entered the UK and is trying to navigate our public transport system! Or the one occasion, when the train was approaching the London station of Clapham Junction whilst heading towards Waterloo, the tannoy buzzed on with the announcement:

We are now approaching Ryde, Isle of Wight.

Never mind that Ryde Station is some eighty miles and a ferry sailing away from where I was, but also on a completely different line to the one I was using. While I was sniggering at such a blatant error, the rest of the passengers around me kept their cool, and I was wondering how their upper lips could be so stiff as to prevent them from even smiling. And so, that's what it means to be British.

This is a phenomenon that I had never seen or heard about anywhere else, whether in the UK or abroad. Some of the most memorable journeys I have ever completed were by train, both at home and across Europe and even in Australia. But nowhere else have I heard passengers hear such wrong announcements or be told to move through the train to alight. 

I have wondered who would I see if I walked into the management office of Southwest Trains. Young graduate men in their suits? Ambitious young women pursuing a career path? It's into such an environment like this one I would walk into and ask the question: Why?

Why what?

Why do you run trains that are longer than the station platforms they're supposed to serve? Don't you realise that during the day you can get all the passengers in just five coaches? That's just half the length of the train. And why are the announcements over the tannoy so fickle that they often spout the wrong information? And yes, I have seen and heard passengers asking for information regarding whether they were on the right train. Indeed, I would like to hear what they in the office would answer.

As I write this, at this moment there is a major international conference taking place among national leaders over climate change. Known as Cop26 taking place in Glasgow, the leaders of 75 different nations, including Joe Biden of the USA, Emmanuel Macron of France, and our host PM, Boris Johnson, have all assembled to discuss ways of putting the brakes on our planet getting hotter due to the emissions of carbon dioxide and other atmospheric impurities. And such changes as replacing fuel-powered motor vehicles with electric, reducing airline travel, doing away with coal-fired power stations and replacing them with renewable energy such as wind and solar power, along with our dietary conversion from eating meat to vegetarianism, even veganism, and the reforestation of areas previously devastated by deforestation for commercial purposes.

At or near the Armadillo, Glasgow is the Conference.

As I sat on the train heading towards Reading, I was pondering on all this. Then I allowed my thoughts to drift. What if a volcano erupts. You know, those mountains with a very big hole at the summit. During an eruption, a volcano spews out a large percentage of water vapour which is harmless in itself. However, more harmful gasses such as carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and hydrogen halides, all are emitted during an eruption.

Here, I would like to do some maths for a bit of fun comparison. Let's say that an average diameter of a car exhaust pipe is 2 inches, approx 5 cm. The diameter of the crater at Mt Vesuvio in Italy is about 2,000 feet, 610 metres across. That would mean up to 113,256,000 tubes with the same diameter as a vehicle exhaust pipe would fit comfortably inside the crater of Mt Vesuvio. That is more than the 38,600,000 vehicles in the whole of the UK in March 2021.* That is, at any given moment, the volcano would spew almost three times the gases produced by every vehicle out on the road throughout the whole of the UK!

Fortunately, at present, this particular volcano is dormant. But it could blow at any time. However, when I stood at the rim of the crater of Mount Etna in 1982, the Central Crater was spewing steam, itself harmless, but with it, a powerful odour of sulfur dioxide was so strong that unless we covered our faces several times with a woollen scarf, the two of us most likely would have choked with asphyxiation. The air above the crater was otherwise unbreathable. The name of a nearby crater, Bocca Nuova, is quite appropriate, as it too is like a newly-opened mouth breathing out foul-smelling breath.

And so, we have a neighbouring volcano, Mt Stromboli, which is constantly active. Whether it's Stromboli or Etna known as the Lighthouse of the Mediterranean, really, it doesn't matter. Both are constantly active and their lava fountains are seen from a distance during the night. Then, not to mention Hawaii, La Palma, Lewotolok in Indonesia, Sangay in Ecuador, Aira in Japan - along with other active volcanoes around the world to make a present total of around fifty peaks presently spewing lava and toxic gasses. Call me wise or foolish, depending on your point of view, but I have serious doubts whether the Cop26 Conference will make any difference to the future of our planet. 

Volcanism has been ongoing since the time of the Flood. Looking at the total number of volcanoes, particular in the Andes of South America's west coast, along with those lining the Ring of Fire surrounding the Pacific Ocean, starting at New Zealand, up through the Philippines and along the Southeastern coast of Asia, then down the west coast of the Americas to end at Southern Chile, it seems that volcanism was far more intense during historic times than they are today. Yet, as far as I know, within the last four thousand years, give or take, is there any real evidence of dramatic climate change after the demise of the Ice Age?

One can look at the point of view of Nature. A volcano spews toxic gasses into the atmosphere. But with those gasses, the crater also spews out pyroclastic flows, consisting of clouds of ash and pumice. This is more so among the more explosive Andesite volcanos, from which lava tend to be more viscous, due to a higher silicone content. Such ash, when entering the atmosphere and dispersed by the wind, tends to cool the climate. As one example, the 1883 explosive eruption of Mt Krakatoa, located at the Sunda Strait of Indonesia. The overall temperature of the Northern Hemisphere fell by 0.4 degrees Celcius, and rainfall intensified as far away as California.

Therefore, it looks to me that volcanic eruptions balance a kind of equilibrium in global atmospheric temperature. As various gasses such as carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide etc, tend to warm the air, then this is offset by the presence of micro-particles floating in the upper atmosphere, cooling the planet and therefore sustaining the essence for life.

When considering what looks to be a puny effort to "save our planet" - really, what is needed is to acknowledge the Creator, the one God who can resolve all issues in regards to our planet. Not that our leaders are completely wasting their time sitting at the conference. Rather, it's good for us all to take responsibility. For example, I'm all eyes and ears for tree planting and reforestation, especially on a global scale. I think that great efforts should go into this, the reforesting of vast areas spoilt by commercialisation, particularly with the destruction of the tropical rainforest of the Amazon region of Brazil, to give way to palm oil crops.

Reforestation will take a lot of effort, but with dedication, I think this can be done. One attribute to this possibility is that the general population is in favour. But when it comes to transport, I doubt that the majority of the population will be as keen to give up their mode of travel so easily. The car is seen as a status symbol, and there is that sense of power associated with having control of a fossil-fuel-powered motor vehicle. I doubt very much whether electric-powered cars will have the same effect. And holiday flights? Again, that's one thing people will not be keen to give up. Foreign holidays are part and parcel of making our lives far richer and meaningful. Just ask me!

And I can't see many benefits in wind turbines and solar energy, either. Imagine a "city of windmills" out to sea and across open fields on a calm day - or even a calm, windless week. As the blades remain still like a solid rock, the need for a nuclear power station will kick in if no coal-fired stations are in use. 

On a calm day, these generators will be virtually useless!

And here is where I find the connection between the Cop26 Conference and the running of Southwest Trains, at least on our line. Both have good ideas but tend to fall short in practice. There was a time when shorter trains ran fast services into Waterloo and stopped at scheduled stations without the need to "move to the front eight coaches" to alight. And back then, passengers knew exactly where they were without any announcements giving out misleading information. Even without any announcements, we all knew where to get off.

Both Southwest Trains and the Cop26 Conference have one thing in common - both have great ideas but both fall short in practicality. 

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*From various Internet websites.