The Final Pack
Sep12

The Final Pack

Some people just have a knack for calm, serene organisation. Swapping a house load of stuff for a small rucksack.  ...

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Some prayers
Sep08

Some prayers

Bless to us, O God, the earth beneath our feet. Bless to us, O God, the path whereon we go. Bless to us, O God, the people whom we meet. Amen.

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The blogosphere.
Sep08

The blogosphere.

Is it a diary? Is it a rant? Is it public or should it be private? How interesting to make it? Are Ellen’s worryingly lacy and definitely unpilgrim like new polyester quick dry, non cotton M&S knickers brought today, worthy of mention? Sitting in front of my screen I realise that writing a blog post has its own unique qualities. I guess I could write in a folksy style, or sit up straight, thesaurus in hand, formally recounting our adventures. Truth be told, I think I am going to find out on my own. I have consistently eschewed following other people’s blogs, and I have a lifetime of great novel reading behind me. So many strands, so many experiences. Where to start? Boring that’s where. Some facts. I am a 51 years old father of two fledgling men who are in the process of leaving the nest, former medic and husband of Ellen. We are going to share this portion of the blogosphere. The impetus for writing these words comes from a decision made some time ago to mark the end of committed parenthood with a journey. Since this journey was specifically not a holiday, but more a statement of how we would approach the next chunk of our lives, the idea of a pilgrimage came to mind. Why reinvent the wheel? I haven’t come across any society or period in history where some sort of journeying with a higher purpose was not considered acceptable and worthy. Indian sages, Australian aboriginals, Muslims in Mecca and even Jack Kerouac all share something. Even the sanitised packaging of travel so familiar to us now, in the form of holidays, have added meanings and power. Religions seem to have cornered the market in meaningful pilgrim journeys. I knew of the three great Christian pilgrimages, Jerusalem, Rome and Santiago de Compostella. We settled on the last, all 497 miles of it, the Camino. I had heard of some of the great Indian pilgrim routes and of course I was force fed some of the Canterbury Tales at such an age that I was bound to discard them. The tales went the same way as God his book and his Son, not so much rejected but utterly irrelevant and not a little boring. Since deciding on Santiago as our destination my horizons have already grown. The route from St Jean Pied de Port in the French pyrennees to Santiago De Compostella in the North West corner of Spain is just one section of a huge network of routes all converging on the remains of St James. It appears that the subject of pilgrimages is...

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Truro Cathedral
Sep03

Truro Cathedral

This is our local parish church that doubles as a Cathederal. We walk past it most days and it dominates our bedroom window view. The swinging golden cockerel on top of the great spire greets me at dawn silently giving its view of the wind that day. By night the extravagant lights tease you with their random moment of extinction. Very occasionally they disorientate, when the fog erases the whole view leaving a lonely nothingness. To complete the sensual tour the bells peel just that little too long. Out of the surprisingly loud melee, slowly, a siren’s wail takes form, lonely and yearning, drawing me in to the stone spire....

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