Yes, I DO Pray For Our Nation...

Have you ever felt that your world is about to end and therefore you want to do something which will forever be cherished in your memory before the lights finally go out? Perhaps in the last few weeks, it was how I felt, and therefore we made a rash decision for a day-trip to Brussels - while it was still relatively easy to pass through security and the two passport control kiosks at London St Pancras International before boarding the train.

But it was not to be. Instead, as already mentioned in my last blog, the Consultant at our regularly-attended hospital had already arranged for my beloved to receive her chemo intravenously on that same day. Therefore I had two valid return Eurostar tickets which were non-refundable. I would have been far happier to have given those tickets away to any interested couple if it wasn't for the rather small hindrance of having our names printed on them. After all, to make someone, or better still, two people, very grateful and happy would have helped atone for the loss, and therefore considered a privilege.

On the early hours of Wednesday morning, I laid on the bed next to my sleeping wife, in torment and unable to sleep. Where we should have been in bed at the Premier Inn St Pancras, instead, we were at home. I felt troubled by my own stupidity, my impulsiveness, going back to when my wife and I were sitting at St James Park fronting Buckingham Palace. It was here where the idea of a final trip abroad before the UK leaves the EU entered our minds. Alex was equally enthusiastic.

There was some justification for this decision. I was curious about what could happen at St Pancras International if we were to leave the European Union without a deal. On the worst possible scenario, the passport checks would be so much slower and more complicated than at present. After a no-deal Brexit, according to a couple of independent sources, very long queues could form, even snaking back to Warren Street Station! Of course, fully realising that if such would happen, Eurostar would quickly go out of business, and the threat of the French SNCF withdrawing permission for our trains to use their lines also stands as a very real possibility.

This and all other thoughts raced through my head as I lay there. Indeed, Project Fear would love to exaggerate any potential future disaster to unrealistic proportions in their attempts to thwart Brexit. But with us both heavily relying on medicine, the thought of its cross-Channel shipping suffering bureaucratic hindrance from mainland Europe does pose a very serious threat. Then not to mention empty superstore shelves due to panic-buying. Unfortunately, the optimistic view from the Daily Mail journalists, assuring us that all will be well after a no-deal Brexit, does not offer me a crumb of comfort. Instead, I feel the torment biting.

What is happening to our country? Could it be likened to a river approaching a deep waterfall? That is to say, is Brexit more of a judgement from God rather than a blessing, as the optimists believe?

This is one of many thoughts passing through my head as I lay there. Indeed, the Bible does predict that in the latter days, men "will run to and fro" and knowledge shall increase (Daniel 12:4). If I have gotten this interpretation right, then the whole world, and not just England, can be likened to a much wider river on its approach to a massive waterfall - the waterfall of universal tribulation. All life in the river doing its own thing, totally unaware of the catastrophe ahead. And so we drift with the current as we all make our own plans for an imagined golden future of national independence and sovereignty of patriotic fervour and optimism.

And as the waterfall gets nearer and nearer, the level of wickedness increases. But that not just the increase of bad deeds, even though the rise of the knife and gun crimes are making headlines every day. Rather, Britain is the birthplace of the greatest brain robbery ever to arise. This terrible deception had its origins here, in Britain, of perhaps I could refer to as the diabolical trinity of Uniformitarian Geology of Scotsman Charles Lyell, Organic Evolution of Lyell's English follower Charles Darwin, and Social Evolution and Eugenics of Darwin's English cousin Francis Galton. Such philosophies had not only brought about the Holocaust of Nazi Germany's national supremacy but remain active to this day in both in the medical world and in the subconscious of many an average Briton.

And as by these academic ethics continue to push away the truth of the Gospel until the very existence of God is ridiculed as ludicrous and a laughable joke by a very high percentage of the English population, any optimism attached to Brexit is eroded away to the point of believing it's a judgement of God for the nation's rejection of him rather than a deliverance from the chains of the EU.

And so I lay on the bed racked with despair. Grieving over the loss of our trip combined with our fate - a destiny which I have voted against.

And it was then I began to pray in an audible voice, even if it risked waking up my wife and keeping her awake. Indeed, the wonderful therapeutic benefit gotten through prayer cannot be exaggerated. Prayer has that power to free the soul.

As usual, I tend to open prayer with thanksgiving. This is when I count my blessings. This includes the breath of life passing through my nostrils, the ability to think, feel, understand, my health, the ability to love and everything of life. I thank God for my beloved and by God's grace, the ability to love and care for her during the darkest moments of our marriage where her health is concerned.

It was then when I remembered Abraham's plea for Sodom as recorded in Genesis 18:16-33. I really thank the Lord for having such a conversation recorded in Scripture. In it, there's so much to learn. And this includes the humility before God's holiness shown by the patriarch when he sees himself as dust and ashes. But through this Scripture comes my conviction that we as a nation exist with a reasonably healthy economy and a respectable level of prosperity because there are plenty of righteous people living in the land.

And so I cried out,
Lord, what about the righteous living with us? Will you pass judgement on the righteous as well as on the wicked? Will you pass judgement on us too, who are righteous before you?

Among other things, including our marriage relationship, I brought the same request over and over again. Then I pleaded with God that the hold of Evolution in our land will be loosened and souls saved. I even pleaded that we remain in the European Union, for we would be far better off remaining as a member than to leave. Then I conditioned the request with the words:
However, not my will, but your will, be done.
Thus, I left the decision to leave or remain in the EU entirely in God's hands.

In the end, I have prayed for a considerably long time, perhaps for a better part of an hour. Then when she realised that I have gone quiet, she turned and whispered that that was the best prayer she had ever heard. Encouraged, I dropped off to sleep, at last, around 4.30 am.

Although I felt much better when my friend Dave took us both to Frimley Park Hospital, where she had her chemo treatment, it still took a while before I was totally free of the torment. However, it's good to know that such prayer was able to move mountains.

Abraham's intercessory plea for Sodom is an eye-opener for why we as a nation keep on doing reasonably well despite its rejection of God's existence, its denial of Divine Creation and the reality of Noah's Flood. Simply this: Righteous people are living in the land. And if as little as ten righteous people living in Sodom was enough for the whole city to be spared for their sakes, how much more will the presence of churches will spare England also?

At this point, it's wise to ask: Who is a righteous person? Am I being presumptuous by calling myself righteous? Simply this: He is the man whom God imputes the righteousness of Jesus Christ into the sinner's account. Therefore, all his sins, past, present and future, are wiped out, and God sees this person in the same way he sees his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. As Paul the apostle wrote:
However, to the one who does not work but trust God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness. Romans 4:5.

Paul then goes on to write about Abraham and how he was credited with God's righteousness when he believed that children will come from his loins, including his seed, that is, Jesus Christ:
Abraham believed the Lord, and he credited to him as righteousness. Genesis 15:6.

Therefore, I'm absolutely convinced that there has never existed a person who was made righteous by his own deeds. Every single person who will enter heaven, from Adam, right through to the end of history, will be there because God has imputed his own righteousness into that man's account. There is no exception. As the Scripture says that no one is righteous, no one seeks after God, then imputed righteousness from God to the undeserving sinner has no other option.

This is dramatically demonstrated in Scripture when John the apostle sees a remarkable vision of a sealed scroll, and a challenge was thrown out to the entire heavenly population on who is worthy to undo the seals of the scroll. And it was found that not a single person throughout all of history was worthy to open the scroll! And at the vision, John burst into tears. That is until someone worthy to open the scroll was revealed to him, who is none less than God the Son, the crucified, buried and risen Jesus Christ (Revelation 5:1-5.)

That is an astonishing vision John had which endorses the eternal security of the believer. The true saint will once be saved always remain saved. And furthermore, any political opinion has no credit whatsoever. If the righteousness imputed into him is God's own righteousness, then this righteousness cannot be broken by political views, as God's own righteousness is eternal.

As such, I think about my good friends, including Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, who has voted to leave the EU. But I also have good friends who had voted to remain. Really, it doesn't matter. Righteousness comes through faith in Jesus and not by political opinion.

Therefore, it was perfectly right to intercede that night. But this wasn't the first time. I have prayed for our nation several times, maybe many times over the years. But if I did, then I can be thoroughly sure that it had to do with its sin of unbelief and its need for salvation, and not for any political direction.

A Cretin Halts Eurostar!

I grew up in a family where my late father seemed to have had an averse against public transport. Therefore I became used to being transported in his family car, the Ford Popular, a particular make and model, as the name implied, popular around the late fifties and into the sixties. However, despite how he might have felt towards using public transport, I do remember very clearly his use of the London Underground with just me to accompany him, before passing his driving test and acquiring his first ever car. As a small child, it was quite daunting to sit inside this apparently huge, man-made subterranean cavern and the sight of the train emerging from the tunnel at one end of the cavern. Because of the enclosed space, the noise of rolling wheels on the tracks was amplified as it echoed around the confines of the station space.

The Ford Popular, Dad's first ever car.

However, those were the glory days of my youth, when we lived in Pimlico, a Westminster residential district with the River Thames itself forming the southern border, with the east by Vauxhall Bridge Road, the west by the Grosvenor Canal, and the north with Belgravia by Victoria Station. During my childhood days, the Victoria Line with Pimlico Tube Station, now very close to where we used to live, did not exist, since the Victoria Line opened in sections between 1968 and 1972, with Pimlico Station itself being the last to open, which by then we were long settled in Bracknell. Therefore I have always tried to figure out which of the Tube lines Dad took me in when he had to travel across London to do business.

And so indeed, when Dad used the tube, I often accompanied him. But not so with Mum, because she never used the Underground, always preferring those red double-decker buses which plied the streets of the city. Although she had never said so, I suspect it could have been a feeling of claustrophobia, especially when the train stops in between stations and we are stuck in a tight tunnel beneath the surface and out of reach from sunlight. I guess those were the glory days of Empire, or at least, the end-days of Empire, while across the Channel, a six-nation European Economic Community was in its fledgeling stage with the rising of General De Gaulle of France making sure that Britain will have no part of EEC membership.

Therefore what a privilege it was to be old and eligible enough to vote for the UK to join the EEC, or the European Common Market, in 1973, when I was a mere twenty-year-old. It was as if I was sticking my two fingers at the former French president. But more important, to be in the Community drew closer ties with Italy, my ancestral home country where the rest of our relatives still live. And I rejoiced when the result came out the next day. We were in.

Although my father continued to drive his own car until old age coupled with cancer finally overtook him, just like Mum never taking to the Underground, I never took to the steering wheel, although in 1978, on one occasion, I did drive a three-wheel Reliant right into London on the M4 motorway, nevertheless, on a daily basis, the nearest in guiding a motor vehicle along Britain's roads was on a motorcycle. It was only a small bike in the motorcycling world, not more than 90cc, but it gave me independence and pleasure until one afternoon, a car in front decided to brake suddenly, and to avoid a rear collision, I swerved sharply, throwing me off the two-wheeler and left lying on the road next to the bike. Eventually, someone called the ambulance and was taken to the nearest hospital, where I spent the next few days bedded down in one of the wards.

As a child, I was overawed by the cavernous tube station. 

Having heard so many stories of permanent disabilities and fatalities caused by motorbike accidents, it was after leaving the hospital when I decided to leave the motorcycle locked permanently away at the garage and buy a pushbike. I believe it was a wise move. This was because not only riding a bicycle was much cheaper than any motor vehicle, but pedalling offered fitness as well, to the extent that triathlon training and competition began to dominate the 1980s, into the nineties.

Therefore the train became the main form of long-distance transportation. Although the much-maligned British Rail was plagued with strikes, go-slows and other forms of industrial unrest, nevertheless whenever normal service resumed, I always found our trains to be fast, efficient and punctual. For example, the Bracknell-London Waterloo service took just forty minutes to complete during the early 1970s, stopping only at Staines. Now, after privatisation during the nineties, our Southwest Trains stops at eight additional stations before arriving at Waterloo, and another stop is due to be added due to a housing development. Indeed, our present services are a lot slower than they used to be, at least on our line.

But I think the development of HS1, or the Eurostar, was the great leap in Anglo/French rail development, with the construction of the Channel Tunnel, a tube 31.35-mile, 50.45 km in length passing through a chalk bed under the English Channel. It's actually longer than the 30-mile route from our home town into London but it takes just twenty minutes for the Eurostar train to pass under the sea from Folkstone to Calais.

Therefore it came of no surprise over our excited anticipation in 2016 as Alex was able to climb out of her wheelchair, fold and to push it under the luggage rack as we boarded at London St Pancras for Paris. As the train accelerated through East London and Kent before entering the tunnel, I thought of the vast improvement in travel since the 1960s when Dad drove his car from our home to Paris. That is, without any direct motorways back then, this involved up to two days driving, including a late-evening ferry from Dover to Calais (with a long wait before embarkation), an overnight sleep in the car just outside Calais, then a day's driving into Paris. That was in 1966, after stripping off my school uniform for the Summer and when our family's tight budget caused us to eschew a hotel for the night.

By comparison, the Eurostar train took just 136 minutes to pull into Paris Gare de Nord from London St Pancras. We repeated the journey exactly a year later as part of our wedding anniversary celebration, and then again only a couple of weeks ago, when we boarded the international train for the third journey, this time for the 120-minute dash to Brussels. All three outbound journeys were fast, non-stop. For the return journeys, the 2016 return trip from Paris was also non-stop, the 2017 return stopped additionally at Ebbsfleet International, while the return from Brussels stopped at Lille. 

Yes, it can be argued that some magic has gone from international travel. At least with the good old boat-train which dominated my travels during the early seventies. From London Victoria, there was this hassle of alighting at Folkstone, passing through Passport Control to board the ferry to Boulogne, then board their train for Rome. With further onboard Passport checks at Modane, the whole journey took more than 24 hours to get to Rome from London overall, but I found it to be very thrilling. Especially on board the ferry which rolled over a rough sea, causing a rush of sea-spray to give us all on deck an unexpected soaking! (For the record, many of us stood on the outdoor decking to avoid the stench of vomit flooding the floor of the bar and restaurant). No wonder that after the crossing, I felt that I was really in a foreign country. 

Those were the days, my friend - the good old 1970s. Who thought they would ever end?

Therefore it came as a shock to the system to read about this deranged individual who successfully halted all Eurostar departures out of St Pancras and also delayed the arrivals from Paris and Brussels, and wrecking the plans of thousands of passengers. He was protesting about the delay of Brexit from the original March 29th exit until the 12th April, with a strong possibility of further delays in leaving the EU until a deal can be passed through Parliament. 

What he did was to spend the whole of the early hours of Saturday morning on the roof of the tunnel at Barnsbury, which takes the Eurostar track underground beneath the Overground railway tracks, therefore bypassing all the stations on that line. This action endangered his life, therefore the need to shut down all overhead power lines.

This guy, who is in his forties, does tarnish the reputation of Brexiteers. I can even go as far as to say that not all Brexiteers are lunatics of course, but every lunatic had voted Leave. I can bet every single penny that he is one of many who would love to see the Eurotunnel dynamited and sealed forever, so never again would a train pass from England to France and back under the ocean. His protest was a cry for British sovereignty - or secretly, something else.

Like as I mentioned two weeks earlier, chances are that he had never travelled on Eurostar, neither has he any intention to do so. If I was able to pierce through his tough-minded Euroscepticism, I would most likely find fear lurking in the inner depths of his heart. Not the fear of losing the chance of Britain being free from the shackles of Brussels, but fear of being in the tunnel itself. As aforementioned, he could imagine being stuck below the sea due to a signal failure, a fire, a mechanical or electrical breakdown, or seawater rushing into the tunnel, drowning everyone. Alternatively, he could have feelings of deep envy of these middle-class scum who can afford to pay for the journey and enjoy the experience, himself having to scrimp and scrape from his low-paid job, or even from benefits.

Many Brexiteers would love to see this permanently closed.

These are the thoughts and feelings most likely lurking under his stiff upper lip and patriotic love for his country. He gets a level of comfort by believing that we who voted to remain in the EU are spineless wimps who promote Project Fear, and are too pessimistic to consider England's bright and glorious future as an independent sovereign nation without the need for God, yet advancing in evolution. As former Daily Mail journalist and ardent Brexiteer, Katie Hopkins, who once publicly announced that all Remainers and foreign immigrants are but monkeys, hinting backwardness on Darwin's evolutionary scale - the exact thoughts of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi henchmen who favoured eugenics and ushered in the Holocaust in their attempt to obey Francis Galton's recommendation to spur natural selection on the eradication of the unfit in their survival for life.

Was that protester acting in a godly manner by halting all Eurostar departures? I think not. But I do know quite a number of Christians who hold the same opinions and share the same desires as this lone protester. The only difference is that they attend church instead of protesting on the roof of a railway tunnel. Other than that, they are arm-in-arm in support for the divorce.

The Penny Dropped into the Tunnel

Ever since I took my beloved into the Chamber of Commons inside the Palace of Westminster last year, she had a longing to also visit the European Parliament in Brussels. Never mind that she intended voting to leave the European Union at the 2016 Referendum, to visit a centre of authority, especially one of political or governmental administration has always filled her with a sense of enthrallment.

I felt nervous about the whole idea of taking her to Brussels, a rather unusual feeling to have when considering that international travel was, and I guess, still is, second nature to me. But that is the outcome of her suffering a neurotic disorder which not only makes her reliant on a constant supply of medicine but for the need to call for an ambulance whenever she finds herself in a temporary "locked in syndrome" which is known to be linked to her severe backache.

Here in the UK, a call for an ambulance can be made at any location and NHS treatment is administered free to the point of use. But step off our soil and enter another country and things could well be different. One has to pay for an ambulance journey to the hospital and added to this, it's up to the discretion of its staff to decide whether we need to pay for treatment, and if so, how much. Yet once again, the EU has provided a European Health Insurance Card, or EHIC, which allows, in some countries, free healthcare or one of a reduced price within Europe.

A big contrast and a risk indeed if visiting the USA without medical insurance! Across the Pond, treatment can cost the patient thousands of dollars, and there have been instances when uninsured British holidaymakers to the States had to sell their own homes to pay for the astronomical medical bills. Indeed, every time I was due to fly across the Atlantic Ocean myself, I always prayed that no harm would come my way, even when I was fully insured.

And prayer might have been very effective in the mid-1990s, on two occasions. The first was in 1995 when hiking into the Grand Canyon, during the last part of the hike back to South Rim, I suffered a severe bout of hyponatremia, which is a dilution of the bloodstream caused by drinking of excess fresh water without the equivalent need for salt intake. The result of this is muscle cramp, particularly with the calf muscles, but the pain can spread to the back of the thighs. After successfully completing the hike, I was offered by one of the on-duty rangers to see an onsite doctor. I declined his offer, knowing that just for him to poke his head through the door would set me back $200. Instead, I was cared for by a nurse for free, who gave me a cup of electrolyte and told to rest for an hour, after which I made a quick recovery.

I suffered leg cramp on the last part of the hike...

The second near-cropper occurred in 1997, after flying to Los Angeles from Sydney. (Back then this commercial flight was featured in the Guinness Book of Records for being the longest non-stop.) It was three or four days later, after visiting La Jolla, which is some miles out of San Diego, when I saw the bus back into town on the other side of the highway. And so I did, what to any sensible person would have seen, was an incredibly stupid thing. I dashed across the highway to board the bus just as it was about to pull out. Of course, I looked both ways beforehand, but such an act of mad impulsiveness could have landed me in hospital, or even a mortuary, coming to think of it, after being struck and tossed into the air by a fast car "which appeared suddenly out of nowhere".

And for both of these occasions, my insurance policy may not have covered me, due to "taking risky acts" and suchlike clauses found in the small print giving the insurers good reason not to pay up.

I shake whenever I look back, especially of that bus incident. It was one of those things which any lone traveller can get involved, and an important lesson for the future always to keep my impulsiveness under check. Therefore, to travel abroad with a high risk of ill-health brings a multi-sense of nervousness, anxiety, fear even. Back in the nineties, I was very fortunate indeed. By doing this now, am I tempting fate?

For these reasons, I had a feeling of reluctance when my beloved wife kept up her desire to visit Brussels. I suppose this was something of a repeat of the Samson-and-Delilah scenario when after the constant mentioning of her wish, I finally gave in. But why was I feeling anxious in the first place? After all, since the partial loss of her mobility, I had taken her to Paris on the Eurostar twice already - thirty months ago and again a year later in 2017. Why so reluctant this time?

It was due to her worsening episodes of backache and related symptoms, and her greater dependence on powerful painkillers such as Co-Codamol and Oramorph of which neither were needed on her Paris trips. Therefore, ensuring that she was fully stocked with all her medicines, and also ensuring that I too was fully stocked up with Warfarin and related drugs, we set off for London St Pancras International Station.

I love the Eurostar international train service. It has that something which sets it apart from all the other national rail services. Even the train from Paris Gare de Lyon to Dijon, the fastest section of the Boulogne-Sur-Mer to Roma Termini, the whole journey which I completed in 1975, does not hold a candle to the Eurostar route. And as far as I'm aware, the Paris-to-Dijon route was the forerunner of the high-speed TGV which was the fastest in Europe, if not the world, at the time.

And so we arrive in Brussels Midi through station after a two-hour non-stop journey from London. And here again, I can draw a comparison between this journey and the one I did some 44 years earlier. To get to Brussels, the train first enters the Eurotunnel near Folkstone, on the English Kent coast. It travels under the sea to emerge at Calais on the French coast. It then travels across northern France until it reaches the French city of Lille. Just after Lille, the train crosses the border into Belgium. After we alighted at Brussels, the Eurostar continued on for Rotterdam and ends in Amsterdam, both in Holland.

In 1975, I had to go through a passport check at Modane Station before entering the Mt. Cenis Pass, a railway tunnel under the Alps which opens out at Bardonecchia, just inside the Italian border. I recall that time. It was late at night when the train was snaking through the valleys and through many shorter tunnels cutting into the mountain range. When it halted at Modane, it stayed there for I would say thirty minutes, while Border Control checked all our passports. It seemed like an eternity before the train sounded a groan as it started moving towards the tunnel entrance. It was already daybreak when the train emerged from the tunnel in Italy. It was mid-afternoon when I finally arrived at Roma Termini, some 25-26 hours after boarding the boat-train at London Victoria.

And all that was between just two countries, France and Italy. Now the Eurostar can travel between four countries after just one set of double passport checks, one after the other, both at St Pancras. The free movement between nations once out of England is to me, a marvellous effort of the European Union.

There was up to an hour's walk from Brussels Midi to the Parliamentarium, a museum of EU history and present administration. It's located close to the European Parliament. Having the need to push a wheelchair, we both agree to shun any more of public transport, whether bus or metro and enjoy what we could see of this Belgian city. Our decision paid off, as we passed through a lovely garden with a castle behind it, a relic of the city's history. 

We approached a castle, Brussels.

Much of the day we spent at the museum, as well as taking a look at the Parliamentary buildings and also at the European Commission Headquarters, a giant four-prong building about a 15-20-minute walk from the Parliamentarium.

Exhibits displaying the history of the EU has impressed me. Following the ravages of World War II, the Treaty of Rome was signed in March of 1957 and began to take effect from January 1st, 1958. It consisted of just six nations - France, Belgium, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and West Germany. As we walked along the modern glass-lined and illuminated gallery, we were able to listen via earphones on how the Union slowly developed from the initial six-nation European Community to the present 28-nation EU, with the entry of the UK into the EC in 1973, along with Denmark and the Irish Republic. Indeed, I recall voting for the UK to enter the EC as a mere twenty-year-old, and I have never regretted it since!

A hands-on gallery featuring a giant map of Europe on the floor with various scanning points representing principal cities was another area of interest. By wheeling the scanner over London, I was able to learn that the EU was the source for the benefit of advancement in Medicine. I wheeled the scanner over Paris, and learn that railway transport was made much more efficient by being in the EU. For example, it was through an agreement, known as the Canterbury Treaty, which was signed between Britain and France in 1986 for the construction of the Eurotunnel. Finally, a meal at the museum restaurant completed a very edifying visit for both of us. 

In all, the EU arose from the ravages of the War. To my mind, it was the most forward project ever dreamt up to keep the potential of another global war in check. In a fallen world, the EU has never been perfect, neither did it result in another Garden of Eden, but it's a whole lot better than living under a threat of international conflict!

That's why I find leaving the EU a deep mystery within the mind of the Englishman and an incredible insult to common sense! Just last night I came across a poster on Facebook which scrolled on to the screen. It was a video of one-time pop star of The Who, Roger Daltry, who was cursing the EU, using foul language and unprintable swear words. Listing the EU leaders as the effing Mafia (without showing any evidence to prove his point), he reflects many who had voted to leave - the want of to be his own boss and a makebelieve life of a glorious golden future as an independent sovereign nation.

Map scanning gallery, Parliamentarium.

I guess it's the Englishman's Home is his Castle ethic. It is thoroughly unbiblical, arouse hostility, and I believe it's dishonouring to God when found within churches. And it looks to me that there is a connection between this attitude and disregard of Holy Scripture. For example, I have listened to the sermon of one Brexit-supporting graduate deny the historicity of the first chapter of Genesis. He is certainly not alone. Throughout my lifetime I have come across many grads who hold the same set of opinions regarding the denial of the Genesis record. Also apparently disregarded is the wonderful promise made by Paul to the churches in Galatia:

There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.

Galatians 3:28-29.

In other words, being in the family of God through faith in Jesus Christ transcends above nationality, gender and social status. This is a wonderful truth, a great promise, and also provides an answer to the hate-filled attitude among Christians found on both sides of the divide.

What a crying shame this hostile attitude towards remaining in the EU by Brexit supporters. Among other things, this has resulted in hate-filled comments following newspaper articles on the subject. And not a few were demanding the closure of the Channel Tunnel. Some were even pushing for a permanent sealing by dynamiting it. Strange really. British people had ferried to-and-fro across the Channel for decades, maybe even centuries before our present Eurotunnel was even thought of. But I have never heard a whisper or read a single statement demanding the sinking of all Channel-crossing ships! Yet they want the tunnels blown up and permanently sealed.

And while our train was passing through the tunnel on its way to London, the penny dropped.

Why such hostility towards Eurotunnel, especially among Brexiters? 

Could it be that those protesting under the banner of English sovereignty had never boarded Eurostar or used any of its shuttles? They won't admit to the true reason: They are terrified of the possibility of a train breakdown deep within the tunnel under the ocean, a signal failure, fire, a bomb threat, or even a breach of the seabed, flooding the whole of the tunnel, drowning everyone marooned inside. Yes, a terrifying prospect. Just the sort of frightful thinking which would scare me from venturing out the front door, let alone travel on Eurostar.

Should I Be Angry At This?

It was a typical working day probably around February or March of 2006. It wasn't the ideal day for cleaning windows, but such was still within the realm of possibility. So as I carried the ladders past a cordoned off trench in the middle of a sidewalk at a quiet, predominantly middle class housing estate, to knock on the door of one particular small two-bedroom house, which was occupied by an elderly gentleman, perhaps old enough to be my father, and recently widowed.

Whether he fought in the War or not, I had never asked. But had he not been old enough for combat, then it was certain that he had to engage in Conscription, to partake in National Service until it was gradually abolished by 1963 under Tory Prime Minister Harold Macmillan's administration. 

So on that particular afternoon, as he unlocked the rear gate to allow me into his back garden, he then questioned whether it was worthy to have his windows cleaned on such "atrocious weather". This sort of talk always winds me up, thus expressing his reluctance to part with a few pounds sterling, a small payment compared with fees collected from larger properties, yet was still to play its role in keeping a roof over our heads, all utility bills paid, and keeping us fed and clothed. 

I held out my hands into the air directly in front of me, where there has been light drizzle, on and off, throughout this calm and mild Winter's day. I then responded:
Atrocious weather? This? Atrocious weather? When a storm was powerful enough to wipe a city off the map, then that is atrocious weather!

The elderly gentleman knew exactly what I was on about without the need to explain. I was referring to Hurricane Katrina, which did much damage to New Orleans just a few months earlier, towards the end of August of 2005. As news of such disaster was still fresh on our minds, the client relented without a word and I was left to clean his windows without further ado as he retreated into his house.

It was a month later, when I approached his house again. Although this time he left the subject of the weather well and truly alone, whilst he was with me in his back garden, he launched a tirade about the trench at the sidewalk nearby. It was still there, cordoned off and unattended, with rainwater accumulating until fairly flooded, and therefore giving an expression of a shoddy job left to neglect. When he asked for my opinion, I answered halfheartedly that this was the British for us. He did not say a word as he retreated into his house. Although often is truth hidden in jest, it became apparent that the answer I gave him had hit a nerve. Because at the following month, which by then the trench was refilled, he dismissed me as his window cleaner. And I'm convinced that by mocking the British culture may have played a major role in the termination.

I wonder how someone like him can be so thin-skinned and touchy. I would have thought that with such longevity, with military service thrown in, such a fellow would have been tough as old nails, with day-today living making his skin as thick as a rhino's, and as I expected, to laugh with me at the intended joke. Instead, he felt hurt. I had no other option than to see him as one of many Brits whose mode of transport would be paralysed by a half-inch (1 cm) layer of snow covering the road surface, and therefore gripped with nationwide panic. 

It was more recently that a report of a huge sinkhole at a main street of a Japanese city came to light. But what was so remarkable was that this huge sinkhole, which stretched right across the entire street, was completely repaired after just a week. The street was as if nothing had occurred at that spot, and traffic was flowing over it as easily as it always had. Perhaps the contrast in administration between this Japanese street and the trench at a nearby housing estate might have been the reason for the sense of inferior complex felt by the gentleman when it came to cultural comparison and patriotic matters.

Japanese sinkhole - repaired in a week.

A closer look at the street sinkhole.

He would have been the one desiring to see British efficiency, not only over the neglect and long delays in refilling a small trench, but in other matters such as repairing the many potholes peppering our roads and causing distress on car tyres and suspension systems alike, causing the owner to fork out expenses in nuisance but necessary repairs. And sticking with cars, it does look as though as a cyclist, I can be a threat to the egos of some car drivers. There are not a few times when a driver suddenly revs up his engine close by and roars off with his tyres screeching. If there is any truth in this, then how could the presence of a cyclist threaten the ego of a car owner to the extent of demonstrating his power? The only plausible theory I can think of is the rider's potential fitness, naturally gotten by regular riding, and without the need to pay road tax - despite the motorist being totally unaware that the Road Tax was abolished in 1937 and was replaced by Vehicle Excise Duty, which is a tax on motor vehicles which, like the Income Tax, goes into the General Treasury, and not just on the road. Could this also be the reason for the strong dislike for cyclists riding in skin-tight Lycra, and relying on muscle power to cover the distance instead of the self-propelling engine?

Then, staying on transport, there is a matter of the Eurotunnel, which passes under the English Channel (or La Manche if you are French). There has been calls by right-wing newspaper commentators to have the tunnels closed permanently, even to the extent of blasting them with dynamite. English commentators that is, since I have doubts whether the French would be that keen to have the tunnels shut down. With two return trips to Paris on the Eurostar train with my wife already completed, and a possibility of a third trip, this time to Marseilles, on the cards for next year, I have become an avid fan of Eurostar. As I see it, this magnificent service is the visible, tangible representation of the European Union. It also holds the solution to my partially disabled wife for international travel without the need to fly, which cabin air pressure and such, might pose a further threat to her health. That was after the return flight home from Malta in 2012, as well as on board a plane from Kos a year earlier, when on both occasions had suffered with backache.

A fan of the Eurostar, taken Oct 2016.

And it is the European Union which is the issue here, or rather a BBC Panorama programme broadcast earlier in the week. It was about English gang violence against immigrants, Poles in particular, which spiked soon after the 2016 Referendum. The sequence seems to be the same - five gang members against two Poles, or even a single victim. Very much like the right-wing, racist thugs who attacked and killed Stephen Lawrence in 1993. Back then there were also five of them. At first it was five against two, but one of the victims managed to run off to get help. So that leaves five against one. When they appeared in Court, all were dressed smartly in suit and tie. Yet this tells me a lot about them. Their suits might have accentuated their Englishness. But not their bravery or heroism. Instead, they were cowards. Just by looking at a snapshot of Stephen Lawrence tells me straightaway that he already had a high level of education. It showed in his facial expression. This was confirmed afterwards by reading an article saying that the victim's ambition was to be an architect. And his fate was to meet a premature death as a result of inferior complex shared between each gang member.

The Panorama programme showed groups of up to five strong chasing just two Poles and having caught up with them and then shouting at them,

Get the fuck out of our country! Go back to your own fucking country! You're not welcome here!

Then they proceeded to beat them up until hospitalisation was required for the victim.

But before I go any further, I need to ask: Were you shocked to see strong language here, O Christian reader? Were you tempted to click off this page after reading such unseemly words? If so, then I have hit the nail on the head. There lies the problem. For although had Jesus himself had been there, he would have mingled freely among them, even absorbing foul language thrown at him at least at first by them due to his Jewishness. Yet his love for them would have prevailed, with a result of changed hearts and spiritual rebirth. Then if a couple of middle-class Anglican churchgoers were to approach him with the question on what he was doing among scum, his reply would have been classic - I tell you the truth: those whom you call scum will enter the Kingdom of God before you! - Matthew 21:31-32.

But as my wife sat, smuggling up to me whilst watching the documentary, she began to become very concerned, and started to plead with me: Please, don't get worked up! Don't get angry! Remember your heart! That was when she felt my torso tremble with rage. Was it rage against those gangs who were giving the Poles a hard time, simply because they were immigrants, and not English? And was all this exacerbated by the Brexit win at the Referendum? Well, almost, but they weren't the bulls-eye of the intended target. For strangely enough, my anger was directed more towards middle-class churchgoers who voted Leave. Before writing this, I had to sit down and think things through. These gangs living in more deprived areas of any city had the same psychological problem as the thugs who killed Stephen Lawrence. And the same as the power-mad motorist over a Lycra-clad cyclist. And the elderly gent whose windows I had cleaned. They all suffered some form of inferior complex at one degree or another, or some threat to their own egos. Especially if the immigrants were far more successful in finding manual jobs and accepting low pay in such a graceful way no white, English working-class youth would tolerate. In addition, many of these immigrants were successful in setting up their own business, thus showing up the indigenous as incapable of entrepreneurial ability, with the possible exception of drug trafficking.  

As a result of such in-depth thinking, I could not be angry at those deprived city gangs. Rather, due to the reluctance of churches being where they are most needed - at those deprived districts where hatred breeds hatred. It is a well known fact that Anglican churches steer clear of such areas, in favour of wealthier districts with respectability, whilst carefully selecting their leaders from the gene pool at both Oxford and Cambridge Universities.

I don't believe that Jesus would have acted in the same way as the present churches. Instead, he would have mingled right in their midst, and tolerating the foul language, the swearing, the curses, and the obscenity which passed through the air on a daily basis. After all, are these present street gangs really worse than the fishermen who plied the Sea of Galilee each day to eke out a living? After all, had he not heard the invective and abusive language thrown by them at the tax collector, the latter seen as a traitor to the Romans. Yet Jesus called a tax collector along with fishermen to be his disciples. And all this is endorsed by Scripture itself, which records Peter cursing and swearing during his denial after the arrest of Jesus (Matthew 26:74) - which was a relapse into his natural self during unfavourable circumstances.

Then again, I believe that the reluctance of churches setting root at such deprived areas may be borne out of fear. Fear of verbal abuse. Fear of physical harm. If a Christian is fearful or wary, the gangster will see through this straightaway, and tend to be more threatening. Genuine love, borne out of faith in God is the only weapon against such hatred, including patriotic hatred. And not quoting a set of rules on morality, not even the Bible either, as this would probably rub salt into the wound and enhance hostility. Instead, the gangster must see genuine love, based on the believer's trust in God, the same way Jesus' faith in his Father allowed his love to flow unhindered to the very worst of sinners.

How I wish that the Holy Spirit would come upon us so powerfully that all fears, anxieties and wariness would be washed away, leaving nothing else but strong, agape love for these people. After all, God's love yearns for them, and I believe, his yearning for them is more important to him than our obsession with religion, patriotism, social class, higher education, and wealth.

A Shocking Incident At St. Pancras...

The weather wasn't great as I pushed my partially disabled wife's wheelchair through the busy streets of London. After a refreshing cappuccino at an upstairs Winstone's Bookshop cafe overlooking Trafalgar Square, we carried on with the walk across London from Waterloo Station, south of the Thames, to our pre-booked room at Premiere Inn Kings Cross, close to the northern boundary of the City. Not that there was no public transport available. There is always public transport in Central London. As a matter of fact, it is possible to take a wheelchair onto the Underground at Waterloo to alight at Kings Cross St Pancras Station, after changing trains at Green Park Underground station. We had done this last year before boarding the Eurostar train to Paris which ran through the Eurotunnel. 

But this time I wasn't in the mood for long waits for the lift at all three Underground stations, nor was I prepared for long walks between platforms through a maze of lighted tunnels. Neither were we in a hurry. We were not due to board the Eurostar until just after eleven in the morning. So instead, by staying at a hotel room overnight has relieved us from the morning pressure of arriving at St. Pancras International station in a desperate hurry. And so, with plenty of time to spare, we delighted in the busy streets bustling with life and vitality. Too bad that when an item advertised as a raincoat was on display at a small, family-run shop in Dorset, it proved anything but a raincoat. For by the time we were walking northwards along Charing Cross Road, the heavens opened.

I quickly grabbed the raincoat out from my small rucksack and whipped it on. It didn't take long for the dampness to penetrate the "waterproof" fabric like water passing through a sieve, fully soaking the V-neck cotton tee-shirt underneath. Yet my spirits remained high, as my wife's spirit remained on the high as well. For the whole purpose of this trip was to fulfil my wife's dream of visiting the Palace of Versailles, which her Mum told her about within the past year, and therefore had excited her. 

We found the Premiere Inn Hotel without difficulty, as its entrance stood directly opposite the east side of Kings Cross Station, which itself stands literally next door to St. Pancras Station, therefore taking only five minutes to reach the international station from the hotel. With my soaking wet tee-shirt draped across a chair, Alex began to blow-dry using the hotel hair dryer. Such little actions goes a long way towards harmony, believe me, because that was the shirt I wanted to travel in on the next day. Later in the afternoon, while Alex was resting, I decided to saunter casually to the station. What I have found there was rather shocking.

There were massive crowds at the Eurostar terminal. Having already become fully familiar with the facility, straightaway I knew something was seriously wrong. This was confirmed by the apologetic announcement from the intercom, asking everyone present that there is a problem and to listen out for further announcements. I wondered around the large terminus. On one of the many illuminated signboards, the reason for the delay and buildup at the Eurostar departure terminus was displayed. Signal failure in the tunnel itself. My spirit fell, but with thankfulness that we were not meant to travel that evening, I resolved that this fault will be fixed within the next couple of hours. And so I returned to the hotel with a degree of hope.

Eurostar Terminal on a normal day.

About three to three and a half hours later, Alex asked if we can go out on an evening stroll. I thought that this was a good opportunity to see if any progress was made at the station. But as we approached from the street, I noticed that the main doors into the Eurostar terminal were closed - something rather unusual. We made our way to the main station entrance, and immediately saw the end of a long queue of people, complete with wheeled suitcases, snaking back and forth, switchback-style, in the foyer before disappearing round a corner. We followed the queue as it snaked towards the Eurostar terminal, where the queue widened out into a large crowd of frustrated passengers, totalling obscuring the rather flimsy barrier stretching the entire entrance, and patrolled by Police and station staff attempting to answer the barrage of questions thrown at them. Even I had quick access to one of the officers, and asked in typical British politeness whether this problem would affect next morning's departures. Her answer was that she didn't know herself, and nobody else knew either.

We lingered as I watched what could be hundreds, if not thousands, of frustrated passengers standing in apparent calmness. Yep, this is Britain, where a crisis such as this is met with astonishing calmness and reserve. I was thinking; had this been Italy for example, there would have been a massive riot, with shouting and arms gesticulating everywhere! Then came the announcement over the intercom:

Eurostar apologise that all trains are cancelled until further notice. Please go to the Eurostar website and claim your refunds.   

Immediately I saw one young man pull out his mobile phone as he began to walk away. More and more phones began to appear as the crowd slowly began to disperse. So concluded that Friday evening, the most peak time of the week for national and international travel. I myself felt crushed at the uncertainty of our own travels. Alex felt very perturbed too. As we exited the station for a stroll into central London, I was forcing myself to understand where God is in all this. Should we call this whole trip off and go home, just as most, if not all, of that crowd may be doing? Would our travel insurance policy reimburse us? After all, none of this was any of our fault. Should I even turn up unexpectedly at church on that Sunday morning to testify of our faith in God, even if I would be aware of one or two in the congregation who would grin from ear to ear with gloating and self-satisfaction?

Then my thoughts turned to the crowd as they all dispersed. I wonder how many were excited at their first try with Eurostar? The satisfying of curiosity on what would be like to enter a tunnel in England and to emerge out of it in France - exactly as I felt a year earlier at our initial trip. Then how many more were regular travellers and therefore perceived the crisis as a one-off nuisance, one of life's mere inconveniences? Whichever may be, a massive crowd of negative emotions, with hardly a positive feeling within the station premises. All caused by a signal failure. Which allowed me to perceive the value of life altogether. Let's face it, we are incredibly privileged to be able to travel overseas in the first place, whether it be by train, boat, or 'plane. And not travelling to war either, nor even for business, but to travel for pleasure. How many here in Britain are homeless and spend their nights in the street, in hostels, even in hotels, or forced to live in homes of their friends, or stuck in unemployment for a prolonged period of time? Or depending on State handouts with a very uncertain future, living off food banks? Such aren't ever likely to see the inside of a Eurostar train.

A Eurostar train at St Pancras International Station.

Then considering Third World countries where many eke out a living ploughing the field, sowing and reaping, often with the risk of drought or flooding. I reckon they have never heard of Eurostar, and as a result, are quite content with their lot. Or to look back at history, when many were born to be slaves, to live without any other choice but to constantly satisfy the will of their masters. If any of them breached his master's will, then its likely to be flogged. Or those born to die young in battle. Or of many more who died of illness or malnutrition. Yet they tended to see all these things as normality of life, and tried to make the best of it. We are indeed a privileged generation who can travel in comparative luxury and style - at a level unknown by previous generations.

And yet, if something like a signal failure had totally wrecked our holiday, I know for sure that both of us would have been very distressed, no matter how loud we might have proclaimed our faith in God. I would have asked, Why did God allow such an insignificant thing such as a signal failure to wreck everything in our lives? Of course, I would have recited Romans 8:28 - For we know that all things work for the good for those who loves God, and are called according to his purpose - but would my own heart really be settled by this form of assurance? I need to be true to myself. Then again, with multiple hundreds in that crowd waiting to board, how many were true Christian believers? There must have been some among the crowd. What was going through their minds? Did their faith in God give them strength of inward assurance which allowed them to give thanks in all circumstances? Or, on the other end of the scale, decided that all this religious stuff is nonsense and unable to withstand the realities of the real world, and then apostate?

It is one of these things I find difficult, if not impossible to answer. A slave manages to please his master, and he is content with his reward - something equivalent to a small piece of candy. He would never dream of anything more worthwhile. Or a reluctant soldier marching away from his sweetheart or his pregnant wife, knowing that he may never see her again, as he imagines standing in a snow-laden, wind-blown trench with enemy bullets flying close past until one passes through his heart. Or a impoverished farmer suffering crop failure yet again for another year. Or a single mother of two children on state handouts, failing one job interview after another. Or confined to a bed at a hospital terminal ward. Life can be cruel, so unfair, yet I am aware of the reality of distress felt had there been no trains departing on the following Saturday morning. The reality of it all. Indeed, the one of two in our church may feel justified in gloating over our misfortune. Our holiday could have been wrecked. There have always been, and will always be people worse off than us, whose chance of boarding a Eurostar train remains an impossible dream.

We were up fairly early the following morning. After breakfast at the hotel restaurant, we checked out and then I explained at Reception that because of the crisis at St Pancras, would there be a chance of a room for the following night? This was a question I put to them after an unsettled night. Seeing my wife in distress, she began to suffer symptoms which could have put her in an ambulance. Instead, I suggested taking an extra Diazepam medicine pill, and as such, managed to make a recovery. And as I lay on the bed and thought matters through, I spoke aloud, so my wife heard what I had to say. I said that because we have enough resources, we will go to Paris, whatever it takes, and I will fulfil her dream. Even if we had to re-book the train for both outward and return journeys and the hotel dates too. I was willing to pay the extra, if it meant Alex's happiness. I assured her that we will not be returning home until our trip is complete. Suddenly I felt strong. And reassuring. And from then on I slept soundly.

So with the promise of a room at the London hotel assured, we set off early to the Eurostar terminal at St. Pancras terminus. Everything looked normal, including the open entrance doors leading into the facility from the street. Once inside, there were very few people about. Noticing Alex's wheelchair, two of the Eurostar boarding team approached us and called us aside. We were then offered an upgraded place on the ten o'clock departure. After phone calls and verification, we were allowed to board the earlier train, which left right on time, ninety minutes earlier than we had originally scheduled. It was incredible! We literally walked into the station and (of course, after passing through security and passport control) we were settled in so quickly, as if a daily commuter after a day in the office.

Really it all goes to show: What had everything went so smoothly on the Friday evening, watching people board the Eurostar as normal as always - only to discover that the signal failure had occurred during breakfast time on our morning of travel? Yes, what then? I would have been crushed emotionally and gutted! This backed by a fierce envy of everyone who had the fortune to board normally, not only on the evening before, but at all other times. The trouble would have been this -  my thinking being in panic mode, I would have quickly collected my refund instead of sitting down, and with rational thinking, assure my distressed wife that we will be going to Paris, even if it means spending another night at the London hotel and rescheduling our return trip. Although why God allowed many to suffer distress on that Friday evening, that is a mystery I cannot answer, yet I do feel God to be on our side, and even allowed as a little bonus of an earlier departure.

Alex's dream was fulfilled. We had no trouble visiting the Palace of Versailles on the next day after arrival. As I watched my beloved break into tears of sheer joy at the beauty and magnificence of the Palace interior, I could not help realise that life is a precious gift from God. Yes, it does seem grossly unfair, why I was born into this privilege and freedom to travel, whilst just a generation back another was born to face warfare, and yet further back, those born into slavery. Why is it that some are born into a life of Royalty, while another is born to live in the ditch? One rather striking example of this gross unfairness was during negro slave days in the New World. Back then, two sons were born to one father. One was born to inherit the plantation, its wealth and all its slaves. Then his half-brother was born to be a slave. It all depends where the father and plantation owner had planted his seed, whether into his legal wife or into his coloured concubine.

Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles, taken Oct. 2017.

Fountain at Palace Gardens, taken Oct. 2017.

But after all this, I have come to this conclusion: All life is a gift from God, and regardless of which course it takes, it is all by divine grace. Because, if our livelihoods depended on human merit, not a single human being would live! By nature, we are all deserving of death and eternal separation from God. The very breath we take, at each heartbeat, as our food is digested, our immune system, all these and more are constantly maintained by God, with Christ shining his light into everyone born into the world, according to John 1:9. Yes, life is incredibly unfair. There are more questions than answers. But I believe that everything in our lives is a gift of God by grace, including life itself. So I, for one, need to be thankful to God for each day he gives me.

Another Day, Another Year.

When some friends from church and I had gone to watch Back to the Future on the big screen more than thirty years ago, featuring Martin McFly's unintentional journey in his DeLorean back to 1955 from his present 1985, in which the film was made and based on, I made a comment whilst returning home. I remarked on how much I would have loved to go back to AD 32 or thereabouts, to witness the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Immediately, the response from one of my friends was,

"No way would we let you! You will change history!"

How I would have prevented Jesus from going to the cross when he was already so determined to go there, even enough to deliver such a strong rebuke to Peter when he tried to discourage him - (Matthew 16:21-23) - I doubt that I would have had any impact in changing the course of history, certainly not where God's plan of redemption for mankind is concerned anyway. However, there could have been the possibility of showing the Romans how fast a well-made propeller would rotate on its axis if held in the steam plume issuing from the spout of a boiling kettle. Who knows. Had I shown them such a practical scientific gadget, what possibility would have been of today's snarled road traffic system under monitor of those wretched traffic lights being confined to the Dark Ages, along with the ever-enduring train delays and cancellations? The dream of skyways, directional signs bobbing about mid-air without falling to the ground below, flying cars, hoverboards, and computer-staffed coffee bars, all featured in Back to the Future II, might well have been a present reality!

Wishful thinking. On the other hand, my tinkering with human history and scientific engineering might have brought about the Battle of Armageddon centuries ago, as the rapid progress of practical knowledge could have brought an early extinction of the human race long before the 21st Century would ever have seen the light of day. Perhaps my friend was right after all when he said that he wouldn't have allowed me to travel back in time. However, the irony was that such a fanciful notion of skyways and flying cars was projected for the year 2015, thirty years after the making of the movie, and already in the past from this point in time. Maybe still optimistic in America, but right now, here in the UK, the problem of roads clogged with traffic at a standstill, annoying red traffic lights, and on the railways the persistent problems of delayed and cancelled trains, signalling breakdowns, Union strikes and industrial disputes, all to make the daily commute often an unpleasant experience for many.

Upper and lower - Skyway scenes from Back to the Future II

So as our road vehicles remain firmly on the ground, another year comes and goes. It was the year a very historical event took place - a Referendum to decide whether to stay in the European Union or to leave, and for the country to go it alone. To leave, or Brexit, won the vote by a narrow majority. Our former Prime Minister David Cameron resigned from his post after persuading the nation to vote Remain, along with the Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne threatening to impose higher income taxes should the nation vote to leave. When a new Minister, Theresa May, was voted into office, one of her first tasks was to fire Osborne out of her reformed Cabinet, to be replaced by Philip Hammond as Chancellor.

It is said that the victory for Brexit was due at large by the voting of the white working-classes living up north of England, the former heavy industrial areas where steel works and coal mining once provided secure employment. These, together with the more elderly, all voted in favour to leave the European Union. It is also said that the stuffy, upper-class and Public School educated Establishment was shattered by the Referendum result. The Establishment, which included Eton-educated David Cameron and ex-Bullington Club member George Osborne, who was reputed to have set on fire £50 notes in full view of the homeless roughing it on the streets during his student days at Oxford, was given a hard smack in the mouth, so to speak. But as with the Referendum, its underbelly began to be manifest almost from the day the result was announced.

That is the rise of the far-right minded individuals and groups showing hostility, particularly to the Poles who have set up their businesses here. If racism was buried in the minds of many indigenous Brits, it wasn't long before such woodworm began to crawl out of the woodwork, making Europeans and other immigrants living here feel threatened. As the months progressed, the national feeling of optimism and self confidence among Brexit voters grew by the day, as the Media - especially Right Wing newspapers such as the Daily Mail, the Sun, and the Daily Express - pumps out one economic success after another in the business world, together with falling unemployment. As self confidence and national optimism grows, so acknowledging of God's goodness is left out of the picture altogether, with national pride and disdain towards those who voted to remain together with those from overseas, bringing Britain to a close parallel to the ancient builders of the Tower of Babel in their quest to "reach unto heaven" without the need for God's grace (Genesis 11:1-9).

And the attitude of these ancient builders of Babel could be closer to home than one may believe, as I was reading the Daily Mail Online only earlier this week. Another article praising the wisdom of Brexit appeared on the screen, as another economical case in point was proven. Within the comments messaging board which trails the main article was one Brexiteer sneering at the Remainers, the latter who had lost the vote. Just another one of many like-minded, sneering and gloating comments which keeps on appearing by the hundreds each day under the guise of patriotism, except that this one bears the username Kezzit666. In the last book of the Bible, Revelation 13:17-18, the triple-digit 666 makes up the number of the Beast, the apex of rebellion against God as so pictured by the Tower of Babel. It looks to me that national pride here in the UK is on the same wavelength, for God and his grace and mercy finds no place among such pride, self confidence and optimism.

And that seems to be reflected in some true Christians whom I know personally, who had voted to leave the European Union. In my Facebook page, arguments were swapped between opposing sides, and nothing akin to the Gospel was included on either side of the argument. And I will admit, I'm not blameless in this either. As one who advocated to remain, I spoke little or nothing of God's grace and mercy. And there are other believers too, some I have close friendships with, who advocated for us to leave.

I wonder how God thinks of it all. For whether one has voted to leave or remain, another dominant feature of this year has been the deaths of many celebrities, up to 217 in all, each one within this year. Perhaps the three most prominent were David Bowie and just recently, George Michael, both musicians. The third was actor Andrew Sachs, who played the bemused waiter Manuel at the hotel in the hit comedy Fawlty Towers. But the twelve categories of celebrity deaths around the world entirely within 2016 are given here:

1. Music

37 died, including David Bowie, Pete Burns, George Michael.

2. Acting

45 died, including Andrew Sachs.

3. TV Film and Theatre

23 died, including Guy Hamilton, Tony Warren.

4. Comedy, Entertainment

4 died, including Paul Daniels.

5. Broadcasting, Journalism

10 died, including Ed "Stewpot" Steward.

6. Writing, Publishing

13 died, including Anita Brookner.

7. Politics, Activism, World Leaders, Faith

19 died, including King Bhumibol Adulyaej of Thailand.

8. Society

5 died, including Gerald Cavendish Duke of Westminster

9. Science, Industry, Academia

14 died, including Lorv Briggs.

10. Sport

31 died, including Carlos Aderto Brazilian Footballer.

11. UK Public Service

6 died, including Molly Rose World War II Pilot.

12. Outstanding in their Field

10 died, including James Gelanos U.S. Fashion Designer

Total Celebrity deaths, 2016

217 died.

This makes a year with one of the highest celebrity deaths on record. And a very sobering thought it is, considering what Scripture says about men appointed to die once, after this the judgement (Hebrews 9:27). Whether one has voted to remain in the E.U. or has voted to leave, whether one is a celebrity or just another man in the street, whether one is a king or a slave owned by another, whether one is loved by the world or a pariah of society whose home is the gutter, one fate awaits us all. If ever there was and will ever be the great leveller, it can only be death. And so throughout the years I have come to learn to appreciate and be thankful for each day of my life, and to be thankful for what I have, what I have achieved, and most important of all, my soul-mate, who I have vowed to love and cherish, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part.

As such, I could consider myself fortunate enough to take my wife away on two trips, each at opposite directions. The first trip, back in April, was to the Lake District National Park, with its moor-covered mountains, spectacular valleys, and lakes. And when considering that Alex is now in a wheelchair, the whole trip provided a testing challenge, especially when we decided to visit the spectacular Ayre Force Waterfalls, a long bus ride right across the whole park from our hotel, and the wheelchair-incompatible trail leading to the falls from the visitor's centre, a kilometre distant. Navigating the path was testing in itself, yet the reward for hard effort was outstanding. Not only with full view of the Falls, but also admiration from passers-by. Last week's blog, a Christmas Special picture posting, contains photos of the Lake District, including that of Ayre Force Waterfall.

The second trip in October was to celebrate our wedding anniversary, and it was a weekend trip south to Paris on the Eurostar. Having been to Paris several times before, I was primarily interested in the train journey. Alex was far more interested in seeing the city for the first time in her life. Hence making a perfect combination. Booking a seat on the Eurostar, especially on our ideal choice of train, was tricky due to its popularity. But we managed to reserve two seats on the 13.30 departure, one of the fastest trains on the timetable, a non-stop ride from London St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord. Although the train could only do 100 mph 162 km per hour when passing through the Channel Tunnel under the sea, the train reached its full speed of 186 mph 301 km per hour for all French side of the route from Calais to Paris itself, and also from Ebbsfleet which is by the River Thames, to Folkstone on the English side as well.

Sitting by the window of the Eurostar train has brought out the boy in me, and I felt like an excited child, although of course, I behaved like a proper Brit and kept (or tried to keep) my emotions under control under a façade of stoicism throughout the 135-minute trip. The same for the return journey two days later, which was an equally fast journey as the outgoing one.

And that is what I love about the Eurostar and its international route from London to Paris (and another, a different route to Brussels). It will always be a perfect and tangible symbol of the European Union, as during the construction of the whole route during the 1980's, Britain had no intention of leaving the Union. If ever there was a magnificent project to unite nations which were in the past at war with each other, taking lives by the millions, surely the Union was the answer for international peace. The single Eurostar train journey between two countries without the need to change trains is behind the real meaning of the Union. Sadly, also recently in the Daily Mail comments forum, one fellow who calls himself "The True Englishman" demanded that the Eurostar service be permanently ended and the Channel Tunnel bricked up. Other like-minded comments have appeared in the past from these patriots, suggesting for example, a dynamiting of the Tunnel once and for all. Sorry, but I can't help noticing the small-mindedness which seems to be found among those who primarily voted Leave.

As I see it, 2016 with its vote to leave Europe, with its sudden change of Government ministers, the death of 217 celebrities, and on a lighter note a lack of a skyway system, has made these last twelve months something of a sombre year. And to add to this, the realisation of the unstoppable journey to the grave, totally irrespective of who we are.

Like all the celebrities, we will all have to die. But the good news is that we don't have to perish eternally. God is more than willing to give eternal life as a free gift to everyone who repents - to change his mind about Jesus of Nazareth being the risen Christ - and to start trusting in him. Because really, at the end of the day, we were created to enjoy eternal friendship and intimacy with God. That is why we are here. To live forever with God in Jesus Christ with the in-filling of the Holy Spirit, all three Persons of the Trinity making his home in us (John 14:23). And our national, political, and professional status has no part in our eternal being, as all these things will soon pass away. But God's love will endure forever.

So why not start 2017 by believing in Jesus as Lord and Saviour, and allowing his Holy Spirit to enrich your soul?