Covid 19 - Atheists Vs. Christians.

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

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

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

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

Life in India - Source of the Delta Covid virus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freedom Day - Much longed for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professor Philip Thomas.

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

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

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

**Ibid. 

Thankfulness Arrives - After 63 Years!

Every weekday morning up to September 12th, 2015, or at least nearly every weekday morning throughout our then sixteen years of marriage, just before rising, I ask my sleeping wife in bed next to me: 

Would you like breakfast, dear? Or more realistically: Breakfast?

When she normally answers in the affirmative, often with a sleepy hum which tone I can interpret, I then utter a groan:

Doh! Another day to face! - As if such was another day on the battlefront, in prison, or attempting to teach, without much success, a class of rowdy and verbally abusive pupils while at the same time forbidden by law to keep a cane in my desk drawer, as many staff members did half a century earlier.  

No, it was none of these. Rather, as one self-employed and depending on my own initiative, and without a boss to tell me what to do, or to cover for me if anything goes pear-shaped, to set out to the street I'm currently working in to ensure that I return home that evening with enough cash in my bag to keep our stomachs full, to keep our bodies clothed, to keep a roof over us, and to satisfy all creditors.

A bowl of Malted Wheat for breakfast is ideal for both of us.

And so, a typical morning in the life of a window cleaner. Hoping for a smooth sail - or ride - whichever way you interpret, sometimes it won't be as I hoped. The bright sky allowing sunlight to stream through our bedroom window looks so inviting, thus, doubting the day's forecast. But soon, clouds gather and eventually, the heavens tip a heavy shower over our locality. Then the customer comes to the door with the announcement that she does not have her windows done during wet weather.

No payment coming from that house, then.

At another property, the front of the house had received a facelift with a sloping roof built beneath the two front bedroom windows. One way to reach them was to stand on the recently-wetted roof tiles and risk a slip and a fall to the ground - very much like the accident that occurred in September 1997, which was exactly what happened, fracturing my right shoulder and ribs, and also causing a small wound on the scalp which dyed the whole of my hair blood-red and puddled the concrete step where I landed. After five days in hospital, I had to take a further two months off work with my arm resting in a sling.

With further wrestling with the weather, it was business as usual. Whether we had rain, snow, fog, wind, or warm sunshine soaking my shirt with sweat, by the grace of God, I managed all 35 years of it. And this includes the unexpected - a client messing around whilst deliberately delaying payment or even giving me a bag full of pennies, losing customers due to the sale of their property, or being made redundant, a death of an elderly pensioner, or disputes - usually about payments - that can so unexpectedly arise. There was even one occasion when this thirty-year-old asked me to take a tight screw out of the wall of his property after struggling unsuccessfully with it. I climbed up his ladder and turned it without too much difficulty. But was he pleased? Rather, I became scum, a target for his expletives! Oh well, busting egos wasn't meant to be part of the job.

Then you wonder why I said back then, I have another day to face.

However, retirement wasn't all a sense of relief as I first anticipated. Rather, I was suddenly aware that I had just turned a page in my life book. More than that, a chapter ended and a new one begins. A chapter that is titled, 

A Pensioner.

A pensioner. Whenever I imagine a pensioner, I tend to visualise an elderly gentleman and grandfather with wrinkly skin and thinning white hair, stooping forward as he relies on the support of his walking stick, trembling as he slowly makes his way on his three legs. And now, I'm one - a pensioner. Yet this isn't a definition of a mere elderly gentleman. Rather, he is defined by his income - the money he receives to live on. The same money as a wage, salary, or even benefit, but this one with another name, the one which defines old age.

A pensioner I might be, simply because the income I receive is called a pension. But, thanks be to God, I bear no resemblance to the elderly gentleman I had described above. Instead, I could pass myself off as in my forties or fifties. I need to be. My current job is to love and look after my partially-disabled wife. Thus my need for regular exercise and sensible eating. I suppose there is no such thing as retirement in a true sense of the word, at least for the Christian. Rather, I merely changed jobs.

But this changing of jobs has brought a whole new dimension in my perception of life, and that is, to be thankful for each day God gives me. It's to be thankful for the appreciation of the finer things in life - the benefit to serve Christ in a way by giving to those in need, whether time, money or even both. And to appreciate God's mercy. And I'm talking here about the rollout of the vaccines for inoculating against the virus. 

Since I see the vaccine rollout as a wonderful act of God's mercy, I grieve when I hear about or read of some of the stuff put out by anti-vaxxers. I am aware of at least four people, all of them Christians, three of the four are women, one of them giving an almost convincing argument that this worldwide vaccination programme is the forerunner of the coming Antichrist, and therefore paving a way to receive the Mark of the Beast described in Revelation 13 - even though each jab has no resemblance to what is written in the Bible.

This kind of false news which anyone can write on Facebook can be frightfully convincing to anyone not fully acquainted with Holy Scripture. But the vision to get a vaccine out to combat Covid-19 as soon as possible was shared among middle-aged, professional women, rather than by men in suits.

Soon after the outbreak of the pandemic early in 2020, a 45-year old Cambridge graduate, Maddy McTernan, spent a night at her desk negotiating for contracts with firms such as Moderna, Novavax, Pfizer and AstraZeneca for millions of doses to be made and delivered to the UK before even one vial was produced. Sarah Gilbert, Teresa Lamb, Annette England, and Kate Bingham were the pioneers for the development of these vaccines which would, I hope, eventually free us from the grip of the pandemic.

And so, God's mercy works through these people and all the teams of scientists involved in developing such inoculations against the various strains of the pathogen. But instead of giving thanks and glory to God for such mercy shown, many, and Brexiteers in particular, began to act with aloofness against the EU, when a lack of proper coordination and fearmongering among its leaders has set the EU into a disadvantage when it comes to the vaccine rollout across the Continent.

As this arrogance begins to make itself felt, with Brexiteers going as far as laughing at Europe's misfortune, such statements appearing especially on Facebook, what I have found as a comforting rebuke, also on Facebook, is taken from Proverbs 24:17-18:

Do not gloat when the enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice, or the LORD will see and disapprove and turn his wrath away from him.

The trouble is, English Brexiteers has acted arrogantly against Europe and gloated over its failures. And such evil attitudes are also found among Christians, who should know better. This can make it difficult to fellowship with them. It takes a greater effort of the Holy Spirit at work within to stay friends with them, to do them good and to show hospitality. But as long as this gloating is kept up, sooner or later the tables will be turned. Although God is God, and his thoughts are higher than our thoughts, and his ways than our ways, it still may not be too difficult to fathom out what might happen in the future.

And that, the EU vaccine rollout will eventually accelerate until the disease is brought under control, alongside a growing economy among member nations following the end of the pandemic. In turn, although Britain might, by then, have brought the virus under control, its economy might suffer as a result of the new trade tariffs affecting imports and exports of goods, along with the dispute affecting the borders with Northern Ireland and the Irish Republic, and perhaps a further collapse of its interior economy in one way or another. And who can guarantee that The Troubles will never restart? Or be free from the threat of international terrorism? Indeed, with such fears, everything has always looked to be so fragile. 

And such fragility of emotions had reared its head again only this week when two presenters of BBC Breakfast, Naga Munchetty and Charlie Stayt, made a gag against Housing Secretary Robert Jenrick on the morning of Thursday, March 18th, 2021, regarding a British flag and a portrait of the Queen, both on display in his studio. I never watch these chat shows at all, as they tend to be a drag and boring, but I couldn't help take notice of the fuss surrounding this incident, right in the wake of the Meghan/Winfred scandal. Then, in today's edition of the Daily Mail, I read of Amanda Platell's tirade against the BBC as a whole for allowing these two to "lambaste" Jenrick.

The word "lambaste" is a pretty strong word to use for what was meant to be a lighthearted joke. But all this shows a fragile, eggshell culture of national insecurity. Platell goes on to say that there is no other country where its citizens poke fun or criticise the presence of its own flag.

Perhaps I can see what she means. Having visited both the USA and Australia, I saw that both take great pride in their flag. In the States, its Stars and Stripes flies from the flagstaff of every administrative building, while in Australia, the image of the Southern Cross Constellation with the British Union Jack at one corner reveals the pride the Aussies have in being one in the Commonwealth. I recall one morning when I stayed at a hostel at the Queensland resort of Hervey Bay, which is also the launching pad for ferries to nearby Frazer Island, the world's largest sandbank. It was here where I asked to cash a US$ Traveller's Cheque. I was almost to the point of being told off for daring to request for such transactions on the Queen's Birthday, which, Down Under, is a public holiday. Fortunately, I had my credit card at the time, which bailed me out from a sticky situation. Then my friends wonder why I'm sympathetic towards Republicanism!

It's so unfortunate that the English St George's Cross had been taken over by far-right extremists, who tend to fill football stadiums with their racist chanting against non-white players. Relegating black players to the level of monkeys is an insult as a direct result of Darwinism, itself having grown out of England's fertile soil.

Naga Munchetty

Being in such a state of mind on a national scale seems to have made any joke or comment against patriotism something of a threat to the nation's wellbeing, as did Meghan Markle's accusation of racism in the Royal Family. Just as Piers Morgan's loss of temper over that incident, so Munchetty's crack at Robert Jenrick's flag had rocked Amanda Platell's boat.

Perhaps 2 Chronicles 7:14 may provide a worthwhile piece of instruction for this sorrowful state of our nation: 

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

"My people" refers to the people of Israel who were under the reign of King Solomon. But this verse can be applied at present to the Church, itself a nation of born-again believers who are meant to be devoted to Jesus Christ. To my mind, the behaviour of some of these Christians, especially those who voted Leave, was and still is, appalling.  

Reading the Old Testament book of the prophet Daniel, chapter 9 and verses 4-19, provides an excellent template on what intercessory prayer for our nation should consist of. It is worth patterning our prayers to this template and with thanksgiving for God's goodness and mercy, bring our intercessory prayers to God with a sincere heart. 

Sweet and Sour News?

I believe one significant occasion took place this week which had, to my mind, split the nation between the most devout among Royalists from those who favour Republicanism. And I reckon these two groups represent the more extreme margins of our society, very much like far-right and far-left wings of the political chicken. And the wider zone in the middle, the moderates, whose opinions are diverse enough, yet not to fall into extremity.

As such, I try to imagine a scenario that might have happened if I were to visit my parents this coming Sunday for lunch (that is tomorrow from the time of writing.) Dad, seated at the head of the table and still dominating it despite his age of 95 years. I would be sitting at the opposite end, facing him, whilst Mum sat to my left and my wife on the opposite side, to my right.

Halfway through the meal, I would ask him:

Dad, how do you feel about the Duke of Edinburgh walking unaided into King Edward VII Hospital and all the publicity? 

Prince Philip in his younger days.

It would have been quite likely that he would have given a sneering expression and maybe look towards me as if his eldest son was a little addle-headed. And then proceed to answer my question by asking: 

"Why should this man be given immediate access to a private hospital on a doctor's recommendation after a few days feeling unwell, while at the same time, there are thousands of cancer and cardiac patients left out in the cold, many with symptoms remaining undiagnosed, while many others had their scheduled operations cancelled and others died needlessly due to further cancellations?"

Such an answer delivered in the form of a counter-question would have been well in keeping with my father. Both he and Mum were Labour-supporting Republicans, and therefore, having a greater concern for the welfare of ordinary people than for the privileged members of the Royal Family or for the aristocratic world.

Poor Dad! I guess that he never had a proper understanding of English love for Royalty. How willing the crowds were in standing in the pouring rain to watch the floating pageantry pass by - as the Queen sailed along the River Thames in celebration of her 2012 Diamond Jubilee. The cold, wet June weather compromising her physical comfort enough to make her look miserable as she stood with stoicism under a flimsy-looking shelter erected over the boat, The Spirit of Chartwell, while at the same time, her husband, who was also on board, picks up a bladder-infecting bug. Oh, the irony of all this! Too bad that June 3rd, 2012 was the first wet day after a fairly long spell of warm Spring sunshine.

And so, the sight would draw in a crowd of devoted subjects to both banks of the river. And despite the huge numbers - a newspaper journalist was rather shocked to see all the spectators were white and British - "The Sea of White" - as he referred to them. Although we've watched it on TV in the comfort of our home, I knew my late father well enough not to be interested in the event at all.

As Prince Philip - just a few months from becoming a centenarian - remains in hospital, really, I have absolutely no issues with him. It's my view that throughout the whole of his life, the Duke served the country very well, with full devotion to his wife. Therefore I wish him a speedy recovery and still be with us when he celebrates his 100th birthday in June. As for the Queen, I think she had done a magnificent job in servitude, her loyalty to her duty has made her be without any reproach. 

But it's the system, the height of international importance behind the huge flotilla in the Thames during a cold, wet June day that had motivated many around the globe to turn on their TVs. The crowds of English people lining the banks of the river, whose shivering bodies covered with goose-pimples under a layer of sodden clothing, the forest of umbrellas, and perhaps the imaging of a hot coffee beside a roaring fireside, had failed to quell any excitement as the flotilla slowly sailed past. What is it about the British? I may ask. Indeed, I fail to recall any other country in the world putting on a show as spectacular as this Diamond Jubilee pageantry. With the Duke's bladder suffering an infection, he was quickly rushed into the private hospital to receive treatment with antibiotics. 

However, news of the Duke's admission into hospital just this week had aroused some unease among Republicans and even moderate Monarchists alike, as I read in a forum trailing a Daily Mail article on this issue. And the reason behind their discontent was that due to the high admission rate of Covid-19 patients into NHS care, there is a large number of non-Covid patients with cancer or heart problems who are at high risk of neglect, either by their GPs not around to diagnose their symptoms, or having their operations cancelled, with others not getting any treatment at all, and therefore they had already died.

And here's my point. During the Jubilee celebrations, when Prince Philip picked up an infection, he was dealt with straight away. The same applied to this week. After feeling unwell, he was immediately admitted as a non-Covid patient.  

The start of the Diamond Jubilee flotilla.*

And I speak from experience. In 2015, I had to have an aorta valve replaced, thus open-heart surgery. But had I, for some reason, suffered a serious delay and died, the terrible distress my wife would have suffered is beyond anyone's guess. Due to her neurological disability, she most likely would have either spend the rest of her life in care or with another family - unless fortunate enough to eventually remarry.

However, in more recent years, my beloved was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fortunately, not only was her illness discovered in good time but all stages of her treatment were completed in time before the pandemic struck. That means her mastectomy, her chemotherapy and her radiotherapy all came and went smoothly without any unnecessary delays. Just in time too. Her radiotherapy ended just before the March 2020 lockdown.

It was while she was an inpatient at Frimley Park Hospital, one Sunday, when Paul, one of my closest friends, said to me that had we lived a hundred years earlier, then I would have to watch my wife's cancer worsen, suffer intense pain and then die, with no known treatment available. So powerful was the statement, that I felt emotionally crushed, from which it took days for me to recover. 

I transferred such a thought to the present. What if Alex, suffering intensely in pain, had received one letter or phone call of one cancellation after another from the NHS, along with a stream of apologies and an explanation of inability to care due to a large influx of Covid patients? Then she dies, and I had to arrange a funeral. Then, just before her funeral, news comes in that Prince Philip, at 99 years old, felt slightly unwell and a doctor recommends a visit straightaway to a private hospital. Yes, how would I feel then? And how would any relative feel after the loss of a loved one to cancer, simply because no treatment was available, due to all hospital beds are taken up by Covid patients?

For me, it's the system itself and not the people in it. I have no desire to wish anyone ill, whether a VIP or not. And here's the crunch. VIP means Very Important People. Or, in other words, the lives of some people are more worthy to receive attention and be treated than the lives of others. This cultural idiosyncrasy, in itself, can wind me up tightly, especially on the issue of life or death, but for others, it's something akin to honour and therefore have all rights for respect.

That was the sour news. Now for the sweet news.

The rate of Coronavirus infections is falling, and quite rapidly, too. And thanks to the vaccine rollout, further falls in the hospitalisation and deaths. Alex had the Pfizer BioNTech vaccine three weeks before I was offered the Oxford Astra-Zeneca jab. But we're both immunised, at least for now. A second jab will be on its way three months after.

Lately, it's been my desire to pray and ask God not to take account for the sin of this nation and for the rest of the world, but to show mercy, even if it means we Christians act as priests to intercede to God on the nation's behalf, just as the prophet Daniel did for Israel and for Jerusalem, in the Old Testament of the Bible (Daniel 9:1-19.) This is one of two of the greatest prayers, in my opinion, which is found in the Bible, the other being Abraham's, recorded in Genesis 18:16-33. Both are intercessory, the pleading to God for mercy to a sinful nation or city for both God's glory and for the righteous living within.

I sincerely believe that Christians across the land have prayed on behalf of the UK for mercy and now their prayers are beginning to be heard. The vaccine rollout seems to be gaining success, with target numbers met. Who knows, it may not be too long before my beloved wife will be called up to receive the next stage of her cancer treatment, to rebuild her breast. Meanwhile, my cardiac consultations and monitoring can resume on a face-to-face meeting rather than through those wretched telephone calls with which I can't even self-diagnose properly due to lack of training.

And the ending of this present lockdown. Something, I think, many are looking forward to. At least I am. But according to recent polls, especially on the YouGov website where I actually partook. To them, a large percentage of the British population feels it's too early to be released from lockdown. I find this unwillingness to regain their freedom quite astonishing, as many seem to lack faith or confidence in the vaccine. Yet it takes all to make a world - anti-vaxxers, anti-masks, anti-lockdowns, anti-this or anti-that - all making their own noise but getting nowhere. Why not simply plead to God for mercy and trust in His goodness?

 Buckingham Palace during the Diamond Jubilee

As I wrote above, I have no animosity towards Prince Philip being called in for observations and treatment. Nor do I have any issue with any member of the Royal Family. Perhaps much of this is due to the signing of the Magna Carta by King John at Runnymede, on June 15th, 1215. This agreement has taken absolute power away from the Monarch and bestowed all authority on Parliament, hence the beginning of democracy. It was quite likely that King John was a miserable weasel, abusing his power and therefore disliked by the people. I thank God that our Monarch is nothing like King John.

As for Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh, I wish him a speedy recovery and to see his 100th birthday.

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*Attempts to include a picture of The Spirit of Chartwell was blocked for security reasons.

A Wild Fling of Imagination...

A typical weekday evening. You arrive home from work, tired, and the wife brings in a mug of soothing coffee as you sink into the comfortable sofa, facing the television which is already tuned in for the day's news bulletin. Just as with us when the news is about to start. We always watch the news on the BBC, as neither of us cares about advert breaks in the middle of the broadcast. Then after the main bulletin ends, the regional news begins.

And it was during one of these regional broadcasts, during the airing of a live report when all of a sudden the report was interrupted and the anchorwoman, Sally Taylor, appeared on the screen for between five and ten seconds without her knowing about it. She was looking away from the camera and gazing seriously at something which seemed to have caught her attention. Could it have been a bug crawling up the wall or a nearby piece of furniture or equipment? Or a spider, remaining stationary at that spot throughout the whole duration of the programme, maybe even for the whole evening? Or perhaps finding a spelling error in her notes?

It was that kind of unintentional whoopsie which adds that little more enhancement to life, the ability to smile when all around there is no reason to smile, as each gloomy item is delivered one after another from the newsdesk. But this unintentional error made by the screen controller has set my imagination racing as I ask, "What goes on at the newsdesk during a report, especially a long one delivered by a major foreign correspondent?"

Back in the eighties and nineties, it was normal for two anchormen to sit behind the newsdesk before the BBC decided to slim down on its budget. It was the perfect set-up for my imagination to run riot. Say, for example, that the headline is about a significant Middle East incident which is threatening the already fragile peace agreement at that part of the world. And so we watch the reporter standing in the cold, speaking into the camera, when all of a sudden, we're back at the newsdesk. And as the foreign correspondent drones away at his report, the two anchormen are caught larking about, totally oblivious of being on-air. Here I can imagine the late Peter Sissons, back then a smartly-dressed anchorman in his fifties, blowing chewing gum bubbles or laughing raucously at his companion blowing up a balloon which suddenly pops, throwing the smartly-dressed colleague back startled, and upsetting the glass of water all over his own trouser leg, much to Sisson's delight.

But immediately afterwards I see no more of the tomfoolery, for the controller, realising his mistake and with much embarrassment and in fear of losing his job, instantly switches back to the report. After the report concludes, who would ever guess, by the serious look on Sisson's face as he begins to deliver the next news item, bits of thin rubber are scattered across the studio and a huge wet patch remains hidden under the desk?

But it would have been too late. Poor Alex, sitting there and wondering what was so funny as she watches me literally rolling on the floor in uncontrollable laughter. But along with the amusing thought, would have been my curiosity on how the rest of the nation would have reacted. But going by experience, the nation watching would have been divided into two main groups: the men, rolling in uncontrolled laughter, and their wives and girlfriends looking with astonishment and wondering when their opposite gender will ever learn to grow up. Surely, anyone angry or upset with such a scenario must be of a small minority.

But it's just this, the boy in the man, something I wrote about before.* A very healthy psychological trait which, I believe, distracts from the stresses and disappointments life can throw at us, the doom-and-gloom spouted at us evening after evening, accompanied with ever-climbing graphs and continual lockdowns. With the gyms, swimming pools and spa suites closed, along with theatres, cinemas, pubs, bars, coffee houses, cafes and restaurants all closed, along with non-essential shops, indeed, I need some fun distraction to get my mind off the reality - that I can go into a garden centre to buy a gnome but unable to replace my worn shoes or a much-needed shirt should the time come.

And as such, I can take a real-life experience of the South Today broadcasting error and use my imagination to create a scenario set on a breach of a private moment. But such must be genuine, a bad mistake made unintentionally by the screen controller and followed by apologies from the BBC and not a deliberate put-on as characterised by any comedy show.

I can buy this little fellow but not a pair of shoes.

And all these sorrows caused by the pandemic with the new variant of the virus, couldn't have come at the worse time of the year - the Christmas season - that time of year when my beloved suffers a low mood, and often I do too, the setting in of Seasonal Affected Disorder, or SAD, an affliction I have been suffering for many years already. In addition to all this, on New Year's Day, Facebook was covered by posters submitted by Brexiteers rejoicing in their victory against those like me who would have preferred to have remained in the EU. And so they jump in victory as if England had just won the World Cup.

And so I can thank God in a sense that we're under strict lockdowns - or else I would have witnessed street parties held by Brexiteers, with St George flags and Union Jacks, mixing in the crowd to watch the fireworks display across the river. And their mantra: We've won. You've lost. So get over it! - and such chanted even by professed Christians and church-goers too, as they celebrate with the wicked, making this whole palaver into one mighty miracle that I hadn't ditched the faith and embraced atheism, as it looks to me, the latter doesn't seem to be going around chanting such slogans while they're denouncing the Bible to embrace Darwinism.

And such high hopes of a vaccine against this dreadful virus is diluted by news of supply shortages and tangles of red tape and bureaucracy. And so I now read that the most vulnerable of patients who had already received their first dose of the vaccine and were promised the second dose just three weeks later are now told that they must wait up to three months before they get the second jab. And I feel like tearing my hair out as I read that the making of the same vaccine in India was so efficient that their roll-out should proceed with ease. And that is a country with one of the highest population density in the world.

Thus, I can easily imagine a team of men wearing a suit and tie getting their sums disastrously wrong, and forcing our Government to change their minds over this vaccine roll-out. And the man in a suit - the archetypical Englishman whose high education, business success and resulting wealth and high social status make him the ideal icon for Brexiteers to aspire on a national level out of sheer pride, self-effort and determination. And so anyone who wished to have remained as an EU member is looked down upon with that awful, arrogant and patronising spirit which has no truck with the love, mercy and the grace of God, yet still embraced by some Christians.

Indeed, one offset is that we have left the EU with a last-minute deal which, I hope, will temper the potential dockside congestion caused by the new tariffs and paperwork which is now required for exporting and importing goods to and from the EU. And so the world turns, life must go on. As for me, any moaning done over Brexit must stop, indeed, by moaning, I cannot add a single cubit to my life, I must die exactly when appointed by God. Instead, I can pray that both Alex and I will be protected from infection.

And we can do more. That is the taking of a combined Vitamins C and D3 supplement which also include zinc, selenium and copper. Several respectable doctors on the Internet advocate the taking of Vitamin D3 as an additional supplement which they say is beneficial in keeping infection in check (but not as a cure) for all who live in the colder latitudes during the winter months. Although there may be others who disagree, personally, I feel that nothing is lost by taking them.

And so we stand and smile at the world, our faith firmly rooted in Christ, the Rock of our salvation. Okay, so it's mentally and emotionally healthy to allow the imagination to run riot, so to speak, of the incredible stupidity of formally-dressed newscasters making complete idiots of themselves when they thought nobody was watching them. Yet I know full well that this is just fantasy, with as much realism as watching Superman on the Big Screen. I enjoyed watching Superman on the Big Screen back in 1977 or 1978, but that does not mean scanning the sky every five minutes afterwards, but the movie did inspire a trip to the USA a short time later.

But as Alex and I have already agreed, it's not about the boy-in-the-man, nor Brexit or the pandemic. The whole idea of our existence is about being reconciled to God through faith in Jesus Christ. And so, despite our present circumstances, by God's grace and tender mercy, we will march on, not allowing anything to put us down but to turn to God for help and reassurance whenever we need to.

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*For my original blog about the boy-in-the-man, click here.

Have We Lost Our Mind?

 It felt so relieving when I finally lowered myself into the public swimming pool, just a few minutes down the road to where I live, for a pre-booked fifty-minute lane swim after five-week abstinence. This was just after the end of a month-long lockdown, the second one this year and one not so severe as the first one, due to the coronavirus pandemic. And just as the second lockdown ends, so freedom is partially restored, for now at least, along with the fantastic news that a new antiviral vaccine is on the cards - and a couple of remarkable statements made over the Media.

It was while this second lockdown was still in place when my wife and I both watched the drama, Small Axe on the BBC iplayer. It was not only just good drama but a true story about the opening of the Mangrove Cafe at #8 All Saints Road, in the London district of Notting Hill. Its owner, Frank Crichlow, (1932-2010) was an Afro-Caribbean immigrant who arrived from Trinidad into England on the Empire Windrush in 1948, then as a young man. 

The opening of the Mangrove, 1968.

Not long after the Mangrove Cafe opened, members of the all-white Metropolitan Police began raids of the venue, intending to close it down. Apparently, after strong resistance to keep the business running, providing an essential social haven for other blacks, and despite word getting around that Crichlow was against taking or selling illegal drugs, the police secretly planted drug packets around the cafe so they could be found and warrant an arrest. This occurred in 1984 when the owner was falsely imprisoned whilst awaiting trial but was acquitted.

But it was in 1970, after several failed attempts to raid the cafe, that Crichlow and eight others organised a demonstration to protest against police brutality. The march was well-attended by a large crowd of Afro-Caribbeans and they stood outside several police stations to make their protest. This led to the trial of the Mangrove Nine at the Old Bailey around a year later in 1971.

The Police Sergeant who led the raids stood in the box and at the start of the trial and with a Bible in his hands, swore an oath to always tell the truth "the truth and nothing but the truth". However, throughout the trial, he riddled his testimonies with lies and then covering them up with his declaration for his love and support for the British Empire with its national and racial superiority. However, with the forceful and persuasive questioning of Crichlow, along with one or two others of the Nine, the sergeant was unable to verify his testimony with any substantial evidence and was ordered by the judge to stand down, and all nine defendants were eventually acquitted by the jury. However, the judge himself rebuked both parties of racial hatred after the conclusion of the trial.

The Mangrove Cafe eventually closed down in 1992. But the institutional racism among the British Police Force continues to simmer, even if apparently underground.

Then came the murder of Stephen Lawrence while he was waiting at a bus stop in the London district of Eltham, April 22nd, 1993. It was a deliberate attack by a gang of five belligerent white thugs on an up-and-coming black student architect from Plumstead who was accompanying a friend as the two waited for the bus to arrive to take them home after an evening out. The conviction of these five was never verified due to "lack of evidence" and the five were photographed as they arrogantly walked out of the Court, wearing suits and ties, back into freedom.

It was over ten years after the death of Stephen Lawrence that a BBC Panorama reporter, Mark Daly, spent seven months training as a police officer at the Stockport Division of the Greater Manchester Police in 2003 after then Home Secretary Jack Straw established the MacPherson Report in 1997, resulting in that the police officers in the Stephen Lawrence case were institutionally racist. What Daly has seen and heard had sickened him. Casual office conversation often was about their prejudice against blacks, their hatred of them, and referring to them as monkeys and therefore should go back to their own (backward) country.

One issue seems to become clear, and that is the parallelism between the attitude of the British Police, whose officers are almost universally caucasian and have sympathy for the former British Empire and its invasion and subjugation of foreign lands whose indigenous inhabitants were black or Asian - and the worldview of the German Nazis who had Jews, blacks, those having physical or mental disabilities, and others who were considered inferior, slaughtered in the Holocaust, simply due to their "evolutionary disadvantage" to their superior Aryan race and therefore looked upon as unfit to survive. And also considering that the non-caucasian living in the Caribbean, including Trinidad, were descendants of African slaves of the Middle Passage into which the white English imperialists had dipped their hands into black profits.

Never mind that the white plantation owner of the 1800s New World was legally able to copulate with a female slave to produce a mulatto offspring, and that has happened far more frequently than sleeping with their own white wives, and the latter only to produce a male heir - the African slave was considered a sub-human, down to the level of a mere animal, a stronger worldview than even Charles Darwin himself would at first have ever considered, yet had never entered their minds that such easy interbreeding negates any idea of physical, mental, or genetic inferiority of the female slave.

Cotton Slaves in American Deep South.

And so the world turns. Technology advances. Computers are invented, followed by the Internet. And with it, we can communicate by typing on a keyboard, press "send" and the recipient would receive the message instantly. Indeed, if it wasn't for the rapid growth of Amazon and other parcel deliveries, the Post Office would have long gone out of business. As technology advances by leaps and bounds, so in Medicine, new methods of treatment are invented, including keyhole surgery replacing conventional methods, along with the discovery of new drugs and the research done on new vaccines.

And so, with the breakout of a new virus from China, the Covid-19 advances around the world, thanks mainly to middle-class long-haul flight passengers, along with public school students skiing on the Italian Alps and holiday-making at the heavily-infested Lombardy region of Northern Italy. Britain gets infected, a three-month lockdown is implemented, and all town and city centres become ghost towns. And in laboratories around the world, scientists are busy in their attempts to find a vaccine to combat this new virus. And this includes those at Oxford.

Personally, I find it difficult to reconcile the refined, well-educated English academic with the loutish, belligerent football fan who makes monkey noises at a black player from the stands. Such thinking endorsed by memories of my cardiac procedure in 2015, where many of the NHS staff at Harefield Hospital, including the consultant who operated, were foreign-born. As with last week when I attended a cardiac clinic at Wexham Park Hospital for a scan. All the staff there were foreign-born, including the doctor and receptionist alike. That does not mean, of course, that the scientists at Oxford are all foreign-born, but what I have experienced in person seem to back this idea.

Ande coming to think of it, I have been wondering whether there's an unclean spirit in the air, the same one which dwelt in the heart of Haman, the Agitite Prime Minister who ordered the slaughter of all the Jews living under the Persian King Ahasuerus around 480 BC, and featured in the Old Testament book of Esther. Could this same spirit also have influence among the Caribbean and American Deep South slave owners of the 1700s and the 1800s? Could this same entity have dwelt in the heart of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi cohorts, and at present influencing the hearts of racists, including some football fans and police officers? 

Then the Belgian firm Pfizer was given British approval for its vaccine to be rolled out, the first country in the world to do so. It was State Secretary of Education, Gavin Williamson, who cried out with excitement that Britain was "the greatest country in the world" as if referring to an Empire. I would consider his statement to be nonsense. After all, the vaccine was not made here in the UK but in Belgium, an EU country. However, to give credit, Williamson, whose parents supported Labour, and was educated in a state comprehensive school before graduating in Social Sciences at Bradford University, supported Remain at the 2016 referendum and therefore, I have doubts whether he holds any real nationalistic or neo-Nazi worldviews.

But to my mind, I don't take Williamson too seriously. With the case of Brant Shapp, a Jewish-born Secretary of Transport, he too had made a comment that anyone flying in from a country not listed in the Covid-19 "safe corridor" should quarantine for two weeks, but important businessmen, sportsmen and celebrities - people of higher value - can arrive here in the UK without the need to quarantine.

Whether he was really serious or not, I cannot say. But to differentiate between a "person of higher value" from an "ordinary" person is definitely unbiblical! And extremely unpopular among the masses. When this news appeared in The Daily Mail national newspaper, in the long comments forum trailing the article, just about everyone condemned Grant Shapps, Boris Johnson and the Tory Party altogether. Only one commenter agreed, saying that if in any business suffering a pipe burst and a plumber has to be flown in from Germany, then for him to quarantine for fourteen days from his arrival here would benefit no one, certainly not the business! But such a comment is ludicrous. There are plenty of local plumbers available who can do the work within hours of the call. And besides, is a plumber a person of extra value? I doubt that Brant Shapps had the plumber in mind.

Shapps also voted Remain in the 2016 referendum. But soon after he became a supporter of Brexit after realising that Article 50 shouldn't be dispensed with to remain in the EU. I believe that to differentiate between the value of people according to social status and this combined with Williamson's "Greatest country in the world" could throw fuel into the fire of the Bexiteer's sense of national superiority, and Neo-Nazi supporters would relish in such statements coming from Parliament.

Therefore I tend to believe that this unclean entity is more likely to find a notch among the minds of Brexiteers than of Remainers. However, after witnessing such things going back well beyond Charles Darwin, I'm beginning to ask myself, Are we losing our mind? Is this dominant theory of evolution actually robbing our brains of everything good?

To believe in the supernatural Divine Creation, to accept that since God made us and therefore loves us enough to redeem us and to atone for us through His son Jesus Christ's death and resurrection, is the antidote for all this madness. Paul the Apostle certainly never believed in racial or national superiority. In his letter to the churches in Galatia, he writes that,

You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or 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 3:26-29.

Indeed, no man's ideas can eclipse such a statement!