Travel Biography - Week 108

1998 Travel Takes on a New Perspective.

In preparation for this week's blog, I unexpectedly came across some old photos of my 1978 trip to the States, narrated in Weeks 17, 18, and 26 of this Biography, featuring New York. This includes a recently found photo of the road blocked with fire engines and red cars after waking up on the first morning after arrival, as narrated in Week 18. As this week's article was written on the eve of the 2024 European Football Final between England and Spain, I believe this was a good time as ever to narrate about the timeslot after the end of the 1997 Round-the-World to why I flew to New York a year later in 1998 - the latter taking Travel to a whole new perspective. To get to the point: in 1998 I flew to New York to fearfully flee the UK.

How come?

It started in the late eighties. Back then, I got acquainted among fellow churchgoers with a radical Englishman I'll call Keith. His biggest regret was that in 1966, he was abroad on holiday with his family when England won the FIFA World Cup against Germany at Wembley Stadium. Later, after joining the Army, he was discharged before his time, possibly due to incompetence. Since then, he carried a chip on his shoulder from these two incidents. As most of his other friends were graduates, this didn't bode well with his self-esteem, and as a non-graduate myself, I was an ideal target to regard as "inferior in nationality."  

By 1990, when the next World Cup tournament was drawing near, I said the natural thing, considering that my bloodline was 100% Italian, even as a British citizen - I said that I preferred to support Italy, my ancestral home. Apparently, he didn't take that too well. He clung even closer to his support of the England team, and his greatest want was to see England knock out Italy during the tournament, and afterwards, bring home the famous trophy. 

John Bull the iconic Englishman.

The British Bulldog

Keith could have been a true-to-life icon of John Bull, an overweight tradesman sitting at the table and devouring ships from a foreign naval fleet, in this case, a Dutch fleet. The photo above was taken from the cover of Jeremy Paxman's book, The English, a Portrait of a People. Lately, John Bull was replaced by the British Bulldog, drawn with exaggerated body strength, a deep, masculine voice, stoic and devoid of emotion except that of anger should a foreigner arise to challenge him. And that was how a sports reporter from The Sun newspaper depicted the England Cricket team when they won against Pakistan during the early nineties.

It was Keith and another friend, Paul, a graduate, who teased me in 1997, just before I flew out to Singapore for the Round-the-World travel adventure. Keith wanted to see me sit in a Singaporean barber shop at Changa Airport, looking sad and morose as I watched my long hair fall to the floor around me. He knew how much having long hair meant to me. Instead, I returned to Britain with my hair having grown longer throughout the ten weeks I was away. By the time the 1998 tournament drew near, I felt apprehensive. Not so much with Italy knocked out as England making it to the Final and winning.

  Fire engines and red cars, 1978 - Week 18.

At New York City, 1978 - Week 18.

The World Trade Center, 1978.

Football - Christian or another Religion?

Only this week, someone at the morning Zoom prayer meeting declared that Britain is a Christian country. I don't disagree. As England took its place in the coming Final against Spain after defeating the Netherlands, the Dutch press labelled The Three Lions as The Miracle Team utilizing lucky last-minute flukes and penalty shootouts. This has brought me back to my friend Keith. It was during the weeks leading up to one of the World Cup tournaments during the nineties that he spent a week on prayer and fasting for an England win. But after 1966, England never lifted the trophy.

Then one Saturday in 2006, I went out to buy a national newspaper, I believe, The Daily Mail. On its front page, the headline blazed, MAYBE THERE IS A GOD AFTER ALL. The headline was referring to England player Wayne Rooney. As a Forward known for his abundant goal-scoring, he was a key player in the England squad, and the nation depended on this star to bring the trophy home. But a few weeks earlier, he injured his foot, disabling him to play at any game, let alone for England. Then the news came. Rooney's foot began to recover faster than what the doctors predicted. Answered prayers from churches around the nation? God had other ideas. Even with Wayne Rooney on the field, England was knocked out by Portugal in the quarter-finals.

Finally, back to the morning Zoom prayer meeting. It was announced that the Sunday evening prayer meeting held at the church would finish extra early so that the participants could arrive home in time for kick-off. Perhaps this prioritising of a football game over intercessory prayer makes me wish that our zeal for the Lord and for each other was greater than the want for national glory in a football game.

Preparing for New York and Boston Massachusetts.

Hence, by the summer of 1998, I felt an inner panic growing as the tournament grew nearer. I had to admit - I was afraid of Keith. Especially after such a wonderful Round-the-World adventure that might have stirred enough envy in him and in others for me to feel vulnerable. But this feeling of anxiety wasn't from any threat of violence. Neither Keith nor I would ever resort to fighting! Rather, I was afraid of his sense of national superiority, his gloating look, backed by relentless teasing, if England was to make it to the finals. By the time I returned, the dust would have settled.

This time, I didn't make the airline booking at Trailfinders, as I did on my previous two trips. Instead, I called at the YHA shop on Southampton Street, off the Strand, in London. This shop, at present no longer in existence, specialised in hostelling equipment, including clothing and kitchen utensils, as well as books on the Great Outdoors. The shop also featured a travel agent where flight bookings could be made as well as national and international hostel reservations. And this time, I wasn't alone, as I usually was. My friend Tim decided to come to London with me, and together we found the shop and entered.

The flight to New York from Heathrow Airport and the return from Boston to London Gatwick was offered by Virgin Airlines, with two different sites each for take-off and landing inflated the price to nearer £300 for a return ticket. I went ahead and purchased it, despite even Tim gasping at the expense. As for the hostel, a bed was reserved for me at the HI AYH New York City, with as many as 624 beds, thus the largest youth hostel in the world. Indeed, I was relieved not to stay at that seedy, bug-ridden hotel on 8th Avenue, like I did in both 1978 and 1995.

As the tournament drew near, so did tensions. As already mentioned a week previously, I was very discreetly but constantly watched by a young female teenager without becoming aware of her. So, this continued since before I took off for Singapore in 1997. However, my mind was on New York and Boston. And also in the 1998 FIFA World Cup, held in France, the host country.

However, as the football tournament progressed, England was knocked out at the Round of 16 by Argentina and didn't even make it to the quarter-finals. Damn it! I hadn't even taken off for New York, the airline tickets were fresh in my hand and still unused, and the Three Lions were already out of the tournament. Had my anxieties over Keith led me to act in vain? Did I still want to fly across the Atlantic to the Big Apple?

For a moment, I did have mixed feelings. There was a moment when I regretted buying those tickets. After all, my heart was set for a second Round-the-World adventure, landing in South Africa, Australia, and yes - California - unless there was a fresh alternative for the third stage. I had wished to keep all funding safe until I bought the airline ticket for Cape Town.

Eventually, I pulled myself together. New York and Boston with its Freedom Trail had much to offer to someone like me who wishes to educate himself further and have fun at the same time, especially with the camera. Then again, little did I know that this would be my last trip across the Atlantic ever. Also, the 9/11 disaster hadn't yet occurred. This catastrophe in 2001 would change Travel completely. It goes to show that I was very fortunate to have this window of opportunity, therefore, it was a wonderful privilege to board the transatlantic airline once again.

Approaching the Statue of Liberty, 1978.

View of Manhattan from the Statue of Liberty, 1978.

At the rooftop of the World Trade Center, 1978.

 World Trade Center, 1978 - Week 26.

The day of departure has finally arrived. This time, my neighbour didn't lift me to the station as he did the day before I took off to Singapore. Neither was there a need to spend the night in London. Since the flight was later in the day, I took a bus directly to Heathrow Airport from Bracknell. I arrived in good time to check-in.

The six-hour daytime flight to J.F. Kennedy Airport was smooth with hardly any turbulence. After landing, queuing up to pass through Passport Control, and claiming my rucksack, I went to the subway (underground railway). From the airport, I took a train to alight at 103rd Street Station - a long, pleasant ride directly to my destination from the airport without needing to change trains. Where 103rd Street intersects with Amsterdam Avenue was the hostel, a huge building. I entered to check in for my bed reservation. 

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Next Week: Life in New York.

To read about my visit to New York in 1978, click here.

To read about my visit to the World Trade Center, click here.

A Walk In The Woods...

It was just a normal morning when I browse my Facebook wall when a piece of memorabilia scrolls onto the screen. It was a photo taken from one of my online albums, World Backpacking 1 - on public view online. It's a small selection of film-based photos taken from the main physical album, titled, 1997 Travel Triathlon.

The album consists of four volumes covering Singapore, the Australian Pacific coast, and Southern California. Between them, there are 560 photos altogether, 140 pics in each volume. And those are the better quality pictures. There are more of them, rejects, often consisting of "sister photos" that is, two or more identical ones, out-of-focus snapshots or those of bad shading. They are all kept in safe storage elsewhere. In all, within the ten-week Round-the-World trip, I might have taken up to 600 photographs. The Facebook album has only 62 of the best pictures of the Australian coastline, including several taken underwater at the Great Barrier Reef.

At Low Isles, GBR, taken in 1997.

When the single underwater photo appeared unexpectedly on the laptop screen, my emotions rose, and I was consumed by a deep feeling of nostalgia. Linked to this feeling of nostalgia was my awareness of God's goodness in allowing me to see his creation firsthand, and furthermore, the availability of a cheap, single-use submersible camera which, back in 1997, was purchased for just AU$10 at a kiosk onboard the Cairns-Port Douglas catamaran.

At the same time, I was invited by a long-standing church friend of forty years, who is now in his seventies. He asked me if I would like to accompany him for a walk in the pine forest, just across the main road from where I live. During our walk, I would say, for the better part of an hour, our talk included our world travel tales.

He travelled further than I did, as his story included a working trip to South Africa and entry into New Zealand, the one pair of islands I couldn't reach on my 1997 RTW trip due to both insufficient funds and the shortage of time. His visit to Australia took in Perth, on the West Coast, Sydney, on the Pacific Coast, and the Great Barrier Reef of Queensland's glory. However, unlike me who travelled alone, his trip to Australia was with his wife to meet with one of his family members who, I believe, lives there permanently.

Like me, he too swam or snorkelled at the Reef, although at a different site from where I snorkelled. He wore a full wetsuit during his dive, as he admitted his awareness of the presence of "stingers." I knew that he was referring to the lethal and dreaded Box Jellyfish or Sea Wasp.

When I visited the Reef in 1997, it was in the weeks between late May and June, their "winter" - although the weather was certainly hot and dry. The Sea Wasp is, fortunately, a short-lived seasonal marine creature, spawning in November and dying around April, that is, during their summer. Therefore, unlike my friend who had to wear a full-body wetsuit, I was able to snorkel in just shorts and a shirt, the latter to lessen the chance of sunburn on my back as I checked out the corals directly beneath. The fact that I already knew of the stinger's demise was due to a study I made at a Cairns backpacker's hostel, where I was staying before moving on, before boarding the catamaran.

Although picture postcards of the Great Barrier Reef, along with books, magazines and television documentaries, always showing the submerged biosystem in bright colours and in crystal-clear waters, giving the impression of an underwater paradise. However, when I was there, the water was always slightly cloudy, hence my own photography doesn't quite match those from the pro's camera. And it was anything but an underwater paradise! At night, any coral polyps too close to their neighbour tend to fight over territory rights. Also at night, sharks can locate small fish hiding in rock crevices and pry them out. Other fish guard their territories whilst some preditors swarm the reef, looking for a meal. Other potential prey stays on constant guard or has developed incredible body defences. Meanwhile, the majority of both fertilized coral and fish eggs floating in the currents, along with their hatchlings, will eventually be eaten.

I have wondered what a coral reef might have looked like under a primaeval ocean surface before the Fall, assuming that, like all life on the planet, such a biosystem was created "with the appearance of age" - very much like Adam and Eve were, who looked to be in their mid-twenties or even in their early thirties to the observer, when in reality, they were only a few days old. Such a reef must have been a beautiful paradise, an incredible delight to the eye.

And for other natural beauty that I had seen with my own eyes, such powers of nature such as the trail winding through the rainforest - with its spectacular waterfalls- of the Blue Mountains National Park near Sydney, the sleeping crater of Mt Vesuvio, the active crater of Mt Etna, the thundering Niagara Falls, the Colorado River flowing through the majestic Grand Canyon, the Mangroves thriving in saltwater, a beautiful array of Traveller's Palms sprouting fan-like leaves, a mountain stream flowing from the Alps, the terrific display of stars with the Milky Way streaking across a clear tropical night sky...

 

Aso here in the United Kindom, I have always been enthralled at the Jurassic Coast Path, together with the mountainous landscapes of the Lake District National Park, and in Scotland, Loch Ness, and further north, the dramatic beauty of the vertical cliff walls of the narrow canyons, along with the sandstone stacks of Duncansby Head, all within easy reach of John O'Groats.

The lethal Box Jellyfish or Sea Wasp.

Indeed, it's through the mercy of God that after the Edenic Curse, God retained much of the natural beauty we see around us, allowing us to glorify our Creator and to thank Him for his goodness and mercy. Furthermore, I can't help but give thanks to my Redeemer for allowing me the pleasures of travel and the opportunities to see all these locations first-hand. Indeed, such was the privilege!

As such, that one Facebook picture opened wonderful memories.

While my friend and I carried on talking, it became apparent just where our focuses lay. He was more into political, cultural and current affairs both at home and overseas. He was also into the business world, as in his heyday, he ran two private enterprises. One was an agency to help young graduates find the right start in their professional careers. At the same time, he also opened The Good Book Shop, a retail outlet in the town centre specialising in Bibles and other Christian literature. 

By contrast, I am more into natural beauty and dynamism.

He was sharing with me his experience of life in apartheid South Africa before the days of Nelson Mandela and his ilk. The severance between white and non-white was so serious, that even the public conveniences had both exclusively white and non-white use, with separate entrances and rooms. He even described a footbridge crossing over a railway track. The bridge, so he tells me, had a dividing fence running along the middle. One lane was for the whites, the other for blacks.

 

The conversation had revealed such a beautiful world spoilt by the entry of sin, and the Curse, which not only turned vegetarians in the animal kingdom into carnivores but also brought in hate and division into human society, the division between races which not only blighted the history of the Deep South of the New World with negro slavery but also resulted in Apartheid in South Africa - a shocking spectacle which my friend saw and experienced first hand.

And the worst thing was - that both groups believed that both slavery and social segregation were ordained by God. Indeed, the atonement made by Jesus Christ on the cross was robbed of all its potential. For the Cross not only had slain the old man but had reconciled the new man to God and to each other, so Paul was able to write:

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for you are all one in Christ Jesus. Galatians 3:28.

Therefore, when my friend testified about an all-white church youth group excluding all coloured people. This came as a shocking surprise to hear about. This is what I don't understand: How could a church - any church - profess to acknowledge the truth of the Bible and yet exclude by force anyone whose skin colour isn't approved?

As I read in an article in yesterday's Daily Mail online, Janet Street-Porter writes that the joys of travel seemed to have vanished with this Covid pandemic. She believes that the old bulldog spirit had evaporated and the nation had turned cowardly, with most of us too scared to leave our homes.

No other article had received such a huge number of hostile comments in the forum beneath it!

Perhaps they were all correct in their hostility. If I had my way, I'll be heading for the airport tomorrow. But as one married to my beloved who is partially disabled and in need of a wheelchair - plus - the rules for wearing masks, the need to take a Covid test, maybe more than one test, the need to quarantine at a hotel, long, stationary queues at border control - NO THANK YOU! Yes, the joys of travel have evaporated - but this, to me, didn't start with the pandemic.

It began nearly twenty years earlier.

In 2001, actually. In this case, Tuesday, September 11th. It's better known as the 9/11 attack. I remember that day. Alex and our baby daughter were at home. I was out on my job cleaning windows. Then my attention was turned to the customer whose windows I was cleaning. I watched on the news the World Trade Center in New York City - the roof of one of its towers that I stood upon in 1978, admiring the panorama of the city with the Empire State Building at the opposite end - was going up in a black column of smoke. The tower then went down in a mountainous pile of smoke, dust and rubble. The very building I stood on almost exactly 23 years earlier! 

The 9/11 Disaster.

It's my belief that it was this which changed the joys of travel forever. For example, before 9/11, I was able to head for the airport, check-in, board the 'plane and fly across the Atlantic whenever I felt inclined, thanks to the Visa Waiver Scheme agreed by our PM Margaret Thatcher and then-President Ronald Reagan. Travelling to the States was as easy as taking a ferry to France, and I took full advantage. But now, if I want to fly to the USA, I would need to get an ESTA document (Electronic System for Travel Authorisation) something not much different from the old tourist visa of the 1970's nightmare of vigorous form-filling and bureaucracy.

Maybe, you can ask yourself: Supposing you were at the departure gate, waiting to board your flight. You look around among all the other passengers who will be on your 'plane. You then spot two Arabic-looking young men with their hoods up, whispering to each other. They too will be on your flight. How would you feel? Nothing more than a passing coincidence? Or would you feel your hair stand on end in terror? Would you stay quiet? Or would you inform the flight attendant that you don't feel at all comfortable sharing your flight with these men?

Yes, I think I know what I would do. Inform the flight assistant to have these men removed. If not, then for them to go through a thorough security check. And that includes stripping down to a thorough body search. And have their luggage in the hold checked, if not removed entirely.

Indeed, the joys of travel had changed. But not by the pandemic. 

Yet, I thank the Lord for allowing me the wonderful privilege to travel when the times were good. Now, I can sit back and enjoy virtual travel on YouTube, having experienced the reality of the real thing.

With A Posh Politician in New York.

As much of June and July basked under a prolonged heatwave, I have wondered just how many school pupils confined in their classrooms across the land had daydreamed of the beach with gently-lapping waves of the turquoise ocean giving a relaxing background rhythm to the locality. Or the splashing of the cool waters of an outdoor swimming pool with sunshine rays making constant movement on the pool floor while the air above it carries a light pungency of chlorine. Nearby, families sunbathed, children running to and fro, a beach ball flies through the air, and the teacher suddenly raises her voice, shattering the dream into a thousand irretrievable pieces.

At last August arrives, all schools have broken up, and with it, the cool wet weather of a typical British Summer, with winds whipping up the grey sea into turbulence as its large waves hits the wall supporting the esplanade. From time to time a quick shower causes a forest of umbrellas to suddenly emerge from the crowd, but despite of all this, not a single school uniform, or equivalent, can be seen among the thousands of youngsters who passes along the esplanade throughout the day. Further inland, parents rack their brains in their attempts to try to keep their offspring entertained during the school holidays while the blustery drizzle continues to decorate the outside of the window panes with tiny raindrops.

Therefore was I astounded when a photo of Conservative backbench politician Jacob Rees-Mogg appeared in the Daily Mail Online posing with his wife Helena and what appears to be his two eldest children, Peter and Mary.

Jacob with wife Helena and children Peter and Mary.

Perhaps with a remarkable adult resemblance of the classic Beano comic character, Walter the Softy, the spectacle-wearing lad who has always been a contemporary of Dennis the Menace and Gnasher, here poses the politician with part of his family at the lookout of the Empire State Building in New York during their Summer vacation.   

Just as I stood at exactly the same spot twenty years earlier in 1998, just a few months before meeting my future wife Alex. However, Rees-Mogg's New York is somewhat different to the New York of my day. What I saw back then, as I faced south towards Downtown, were the original twin towers of the World Trade Center. These were skyscrapers resembling gigantic cigarette lighters which dominated the skyline, especially from the area of the Hudson River surrounding the Statue of Liberty. I have a mix of both gladness and regret when it comes to the World Trade Center. Gladness that I visited the rooftop observation deck on the South Tower back in 1978, but regretting not visiting the same location twenty years later in 1998. Instead, I decided on the Empire State Building, one venue I had never set foot on before then. Indeed, if only I had bothered to re-visit the World Trade Center in 1998 in addition to the Empire State Building. It would have been a way of saying a final goodbye before the 9/11 disaster in the year 2001.

Instead, what Jacob Rees-Mogg saw close to the same location was the new version of the World Trade Center, a single skyscraper of the same height as the original towers. However, if our present set of circumstances is anything to go by, from now on it remains unlikely that I would ever set foot again in New York, or for that matter, at any overseas destination, for the rest of our lives. Alex's health would not be able to take it and the resulting strain would be too much, ruining both our holiday or getaway.

Yet I can't help look at the above photograph with amazement. What I have read, it was around thirty degrees Celsius on that day, yet father and son are both dressed up in suit and tie - and it was neither a business or school trip, but a summer vacation. I'll be honest here, I have wondered what went through the boy's mind when the family arose for breakfast at their hotel. I can think of one of two types of tongue-in-cheek conversation having taken place that morning:

Dennis, Gnasher and Walter

Conversation A

Helena: Good morning. A new day of our summer holiday! I have been checking on the Internet, and there is a Six Flags Theme Park with Fun Fair, including spinners and gutsy roller-coasters, about a ninety minute drive from here, on the road to Philadelphia. Or there is a beach, accessible from here on the subway. What do you think?

Peter (eldest son): Fun Fair? Ugh, such money-wasting venues are for commoners, plebs with no education or culture. No, I'm not interested in these stupid spinners or roller coasters! Nor the beach either, coming to think of it! What an insult to my English upbringing such suggestions are!

Jacob (taking his wife aside then whispers): Darling, are you out of your mind?

Helena (vigorously shaking her head and whispers): Shh! Not in front of the children.

Helena (re-entering the bedroom): Where would you like to visit instead?

Peter: There is the Basilica of St Patrick, the main Roman Catholic church of New York. Please, Mum, I want to go there to admire its architecture. Then there is the Church of the Trinity in Wall Street. Not to forget St Peter's Roman Catholic Church, and if we still have any time left, there is St Thomas C. of E. to admire as well.

Mary (daughter): Peter is right. I don't care for those trashy parks either. I'm a girl of class.

Peter: And I want to wear my shirt and tie. Even if it's hot outside, I want to visit these churches with respect.

Jacob: My mind is made up. I would like to go up the Empire State Building, and if there is time, we'll visit some of the churches Peter had suggested, leaving the rest of them for tomorrow.

Helena, Peter, Mary, in unison: That is a brilliant idea!

Jacob: Dress up, and you Peter, put on your tie. We must be the best representatives of our country.

Conversation B

Peter: Dad! Dad! Last night, just before going to bed, I found the Six Flags Theme Park, which is about ninety minutes drive away. It looks exciting. Spinners and gutsy roller coasters! Can we go?

Jacob: No, absolutely not! Those venues are for commoners who have no more sense than that of mere indulgence.

Peter: But Dad, we're on holiday. My classmates have posted on Facebook of their trip to Chessington Theme Park. They had a lot of fun. They even got wet on a couple of water rides. Other friends of mine have posted themselves bathing in the Mediterranean. None of them wore ties, only tee-shirts and open neck Hawaii-type casuals. They were even topless on the beach. Yet we all attend the same school.

Jacob: Don't argue with me, son. Today, after visiting the Empire State Building, we will also be visiting the Basilica of St Patrick, followed by the Church of the Trinity.

Peter: Visiting churches? How boring!

Jacob: You do as you're told! Now do up your shirt button and put on your tie!

Peter: Aw, Dad. It's hot outside.

Jacob: Look, I'm wearing a tie. It's just as hot for me outside as it is for you. But we're English. We are representatives of Her Majesty the Queen in a foreign country. It's about time you starched your upper lip!

Jacob (downstairs at the breakfast table): Now let's say grace before breakfast. Dear Lord, for what we are about to receive, may to the Lord we be truly thankful. Amen.

Helena, Peter, Mary, in unison: Amen.

Jacob (to the waiter): I don't like bacon. Please remove the portion from my plate this instant and replace with two more sausages. Thank you.

The original World Trade Center, taken 1998.

Those two conversations were of course, tongue-in-cheek. But among those who voted to leave the European Union in 2016, as a politician, he has risen to prominence and popularity among his followers. As one friend wrote in Facebook, announcing Rees-Mogg as our Prime Minister-in-waiting, I should present myself to him fully dressed in suit and tie. Of course, that too was tongue-in-cheek, but I do get his gist.

But in real life, I would like to meet Jacob Ree-Mogg in person, if he isn't too snobby being at Starbucks, Costa Coffee, or even in a quiet pub. And who knows, I have a hint that he would willingly book a slot for us to meet, even if its a month, two months or later still due to his busy schedule. I have that hint that he would be happy to talk to me, despite how I might feel towards him. It is a matter of us both attending the same church. Like one of our Elders and I meeting at Starbucks approximately every three months for a good chat, including giving him advice as well as receiving edification. His humbleness as an Elder willingly meeting with a retired window cleaner old enough to be his father is worthy of commendation. But this involves attending the same church.

But with Jacob Rees-Mogg it would be most unlikely, even if our different churches are in the same town. Being a devoted Catholic, he would be as much uncomfortable in my Protestant-based church as I would be in his. As so, it remains wishful thinking.

But supposing Rees-Mogg and I did meet, facing each other at the coffee table. Would I feel any hostility towards him? Quite unlikely, but rather filled with curiosity on why England as a sovereign state is so important to him. Also I would ask him whether, once out of the EU, Britain would eventually develop a desire to convert every British Commonwealth nation back into a colony and reinstate the Empire, even if this would take up to a generation. I would be curious whether he really has feelings of xenophobia, which would also include asking whether he would sanction the closing of the Channel Tunnel. Also I'm interested whether he is devoted to supernatural Creation as recorded in Genesis, or is he a devotee of Charles Darwin. If he favours the latter, does this mean then that he believes in racial and ethnic superiority, not unlike that of the Nazis? But equally important is why does he feel the need to pray to the Virgin Mary to intercede for him if Jesus Christ has already atoned for his sins and salvation is readily available for all believers?

Furthermore, I would encourage him to quit trying to get right with God by practicing Roman Catholic customs, and believe that God has already made peace with him the day Jesus died on the Cross, was buried, and on the third day rose again from the dead. Thus atonement was made and fully completed. So there is no need for a priest to intercede. In fact, as a true believer, we are both priests, tasked with the privilege of being lights of our society, to shine as bright stars for God in this dark world.

Up to recently, Jacob Rees-Mogg has always been an obnoxious sort of person, to my mind. But lately, the more I think about him, and especially after looking at his holiday snap in New York, the more my dislike metamorphs into that of fascination and astonishment on why the English have so idolised him to the point of yearning for him to lead our country as Prime Minister.