A good day off - mostly

I had most of today off and got lots of bits done, bits around the house, looking after a poorly little man (gorgeous son has had a bug for a few days, has spent some time conked out on the sofa). I also got to ride for a bit this afternoon (yesterday turned out to be too busy after all). Just an hour or so out on the bike, a quick blast to clear away the cobwebs and take some perspective time!


This evening was enjoyable but also quite hard work! It was an Art & Craft show preview at the village hall next door. There is an incredible amount of extremely high quality art, some (much) of it moving and profound. The display is on all weekend, mainly comprised of artworks by local people and was a reminder of how many gifted people there are in these villages, if not every community. As part of the evening some of us were asked to share our favourite poems, I shared two, one by Gerard Manley Hopkins and the other by John Betjeman. It was a great evening, but a lot of people wanted to talk to me, many about Church, so the idea of having a full day off fell by the wayside, one of the hazards of living and working in the same community. Tiring but fun, though.

Here's the second poem I shared, thought I would leave this with you :-)

Blame the Vicar Written by John Betjeman

When things go wrong it's rather tame To find we are ourselves to blame, It gets the trouble over quicker To go and blame things on the Vicar. The Vicar, after all, is paid To keep us bright and undismayed. The Vicar is more virtuous too Than lay folks such as me and you. He never swears, he never drinks, He never should say what he thinks. His collar is the wrong way round, And that is why he's simply bound To be the sort of person who Has nothing very much to do But take the blame for what goes wrong And sing in tune at Evensong. For what's a Vicar really for Except to cheer us up? What's more, He shouldn't ever, ever tell If there is such a place as Hell, For if there is it's certain he Will go to it as well as we. The Vicar should be all pretence And never, never give offence. To preach on Sunday is his task And lend his mower when we ask And organize our village fêtes And sing at Christmas with the waits And in his car to give us lifts And when we quarrel, heal the rifts. To keep his family alive He should industriously strive In that enormous house he gets, And he should always pay his debts, For he has quite six pounds a week, And when we're rude he should be meek And always turn the other cheek. He should be neat and nicely dressed With polished shoes and trousers pressed, For we look up to him as higher Than anyone, except the Squire.