2010 in review

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Fresher than ever.

Crunchy numbers

A helper monkey made this abstract painting, inspired by your stats.

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2010. That’s about 4 full 747s.

 

In 2010, there were 19 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 14 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 953kb. That’s about a picture per month.

The busiest day of the year was December 22nd with 74 views. The most popular post that day was The Nativity – pro-Christian bias from Aunty or standard practice?.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, twitter.com, ycourse.com, mail.live.com, and ow.ly.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for meadowsesq, pete broadbents, “peed his pants”, peed his pants, and ball boy peed pants.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

The Nativity – pro-Christian bias from Aunty or standard practice? December 2010
1 comment

2

Tribute to the ball boy who peed his pants January 2010

3

About me January 2010
3 comments

4

Could it be my fault I’m ‘this’ busy? February 2010
5 comments

5

The Haiti earthquake and ‘where is God?’ January 2010
1 comment

What did I learn in 2010? Some surprising things made my top 20.

As 2010 sinks under the horizon it‘s time to ponder what my rich – and not so rich – experiences of the past twelve months have taught me. So here we go.

My discoveries of 2010, in no particular order, are –

1. Drying the keypad of your lap top with a hairdryer melts the keys.
2. Grandkids are wonderful – ‘Goodbye Evie-Grace and goodbye Jobe. So nice to have had you.’
3. Gordon Brown may not have been a very sunny individual.
4. When bending to tie my shoe laces it’s now worth checking if there is anything else to do while down there.
5. A Church of England Bishop can slag off God, the Trinity, the Virgin Birth and maybe even snog the Devil. But to call the first-in-line to the throne ‘Big Ears’ is a step too far.
6. Fixodent is not the same as toothpaste.
7. Don’t trust SatNav to get you to Tampa airport
8. Our embassy in Thailand uses little bits of paper to keep track of UK citizens stuck in the country during a crisis.
9. There is nothing better than good friends and the love of a good woman
10. Windsor is a much underrated town with highly overpriced car parks.
11. Americans don’t use the word ‘proud’ as in ‘sticks out a bit’ – and many of their cars don’t have a rear windscreen wiper.
12. A few inches of snow in the UK is more deadly than several feet of the white stuff in any other country.
13. Forgiveness tastes far sweeter than revenge.
14. Sky +ing a tv series and then watching the lot in a marathon session is a blast.
15. British Airways have a whole department dedicated to preventing you from spending your air miles.
16. It is sad when it takes a funeral to tell you things you really ought to have known about someone.
17. Our local curry house is not as good as it used to be.
18. When a Spanish car-parking company is caught red-handed driving your car without permission it is your fault.
19. People are at their nicest when they are trying to sell you something.
20. If you spend time thanking, helping, and encouraging others you’ll spend most of the year with a smile on your face.

That’s mine dear reader. Do you have a mo to share yours? Please.

Happy 2011.

The Nativity – pro-Christian bias from Aunty or standard practice?

Paid up God-botherers are in a joyful froth thanks to The Nativity – BBC 1’s four-parter. Yet why such ecstasy over what ought to be expected from a broadcasting company serving a cluster of nations with their heritage rooted on the good book from which the nativity story comes?

Why? First, because believers tend to have a severe allergic reaction to any hint that the broadcast media are to turn their attention to matters of faith. Coming quickly to the surface are residual memories of dismissive theologians drowning in a sea of faith and unbelief.

Second, the goal posts have moved. Christianity now has to stand in line – often some way to the back – when it comes to receiving a fair hearing. At least, that’s the perception of many of the faithful.

This time, however, things have gone differently. Though it was not planned that way. Screen writer Tony Jordan began his diligent research for The Nativity by enquiring of historians and theologians – who assured him it was all a mythtake. That it never happened. Which is how the story could have ended up – again.

But Tony had the nouse to realise that just because there are different versions of an event it doesn’t mean there was no event in the first place. Indeed, the very lack of collusion could be seen as authentication rather than the opposite.

And so it came to pass, on a television set near most of us, that the simple story of a king born in a stable, as the light of the world, came to be told. With no hint that Mary and Joseph had failed to take precautions. Or the angle Gabriel’s visit was the hallucination of a pubescent child under too much stress.

All with the result that the believers of the land stand amazed and grateful for what, it seems to me, ought to have been the way it was in any case.

However, there is another view – articulately expressed by the religious correspondent of The Times, Ruth Gledhill. Ruth has my great respect as a journalist. This is despite her having been a secret church visitor to a service I lead – giving the event seven for architecture but only three for spirituality. And making her assessment while opting out of the group meditation and confession, which didn’t seem to be a very fair dip of the litmus paper.

Yet, in The Times, Ruth says of The Nativity, ‘Disturbingly, it might also be one of the best evangelistic tools the Christian church could ever have hoped for’. ‘Disturbingly’? Why ‘disturbingly’ that the BBC’s telling of a great story with no negative spin should be good news for the church? After all, the opposite could only be bad news for the Church and is that what the BBC should be about?

Equally telling, in the same Times piece, comes the assertion that, if the BBC is ‘not to be open to accusations of pro-Christian bias’, it must now do something similar for other faiths and perhaps even for secularists.

Get that. The BBC fail to do a hatchet job on the Christian story and this is to be perceived as ‘pro-Christian’. Meanwhile, has Aunty ever done anything other than tug a deferential forelock in the direction of all the other great world faiths and the minor ones too come to that.

So there we have it. The churches are on cloud nine due to getting nothing more than what ought to be the case, and what any of the other world religions would get. And onlookers see this as Christianity being treated with special care.

This is almost as unbelievable as some find the nativity story itself.

Don’t blame God for Christmas

Don’t blame God for Christmas,
he only sent his son.

He didn’t make the toys that break,
the grab and grab
or take and take.

God does not cause the High Street wars;
the constant cries
for more and more.

He does not send the spend, spend, spend;
the shopping that
just never ends.

God does not will the ringing till;
the drunks that drive
or mounting bills.

Christ came to put an end to greed,
to selfishness and human need.

He came to earth by humble birth,
the light for everyone.
So don’t blame God for Christmas
he only sent his son.

© Peter Meadows

Ninety-one year old Hugh has a lesson for us all – that it’s never too late.

It was going to take something or someone a bit special to kick-start my blogging after a lull of over three months. And that something/someone was Hugh.

Hugh’s the 91-year-old father and father in law of the couple with a holiday apartment above ours in Spain. And he’s just been to visit – making the journey from the UK on his own. At his advanced years that’s an exploit in itself but it is only a fraction of the story.

Hugh is a stop at nothing character who does a mini-workout every day, including press ups. For much of the past ten years he’s been the main career of his wife who has Alzheimer’s. And he’s already planning to celebrate his 100^th birthday with a parachute jump. And my money is on him doing it.

The planned parachute adventure should be no surprise as Hugh celebrated hitting 90 with his first flying lesson. Yet he also did something to mark the occasion that seems to me to have been an even bolder step – and it’s what applied a boot to my rear end to get the blogging hat on again.

Hugh marked his 90^th birthday by changing his name. Take that in slowly.

For the previous 90 years – child, boy and man – Hugh had been ‘Basil’. Or, to many, simply ‘Bas’. But then he drew a line and made the dramatic change. From now on it was to be Hugh or nothing.

I’ve no idea how long he’d thought about ditching the old. He may even regret not doing so a decade or two sooner. But more important, how easy – how very easy –  it would have been for he who was then ‘Basil’ to shrug of his misgivings and aspirations with a ‘I’ve not got long to go anyway, so does it really matter’.

How little it would have taken to talk himself out of something that he’d probably aspired to do for a very long time anyway. But he didn’t because that’s not Hugh. Which is what really inspires me and, I hope, you.

Put simply, Hugh’s life lesson to us is ‘it is never too late to go for it’. Not even at 90. Thank you young man and here’s to your 100^th.

The rules of the house rule, ok?

I’ve lost count of how many times the response from someone hearing we raised five children has been, ‘Five!! How did you cope?’ And lost count too of how often my reply has been a wry, ‘Fairly badly.’

Not that this is the kind of exchange anyone would actually keep a tally of. No more than that my answer was accurate. Sure there were moments of parental failure to stand alongside Gordon Brown’s red faced bigotgate disaster. But mostly – and thanks to having a great tag-team wife—it wasn’t that bad.

I was reminded today of one of the reasons why we did better than we might have expected. While clearing out a spare draw in our garage I discovered a copy of our set of house rules – discovered on the internet somewhere and displayed on the wall outside the kitchen. Simple stuff, but essential when there is even one offspring to incorporate into daily life.

Though called ‘rules’, our kids knew they were simply ‘how we’d like to do stuff round here’. And not of the same order as the classic ‘Trespassers will be shot’. And they were really simple things like –

1. If you open it, close it
2. If you turn it on, turn it off
3. If you unlock it, lock it
4. If you break it, repair it – or at least own up
5. If you can’t fix it, call in someone who can
6. If you borrow it, return it
7. If you use it, take care of it
8. If you make a mess, clean it up
9. If you move it, put it back
10. If it belongs to somebody else and you want to use it, get permission
11. If you don’t know how to operate it, leave it alone
12. If it doesn’t concern you, don’t mess with it

As I said, simple stuff. To which we added one overarching rule of the house – ‘No Hitting’.

Looking back it seemed to work, though not because our five took time to check our 12/13 Commandments before launching out into any activity. I wish! But because we’d given the classic ‘do unto others’ some practical expression they could get their heads round.

Though I have often wondered what their own rules would have been. From experience, top would have been – ‘If you break it, hide it’. And somewhere in there, ‘If a tree catches fire in the park, don’t let anyone know it was you with the matches’.

But that’s another story.

Sometimes the best choices are the hardest

I didn’t write what follows – but wish I had.

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students shared a story  that would never be forgotten. He told them . . . .

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys he knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ I knew most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team. But as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognising that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates. And everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first!

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

B y the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third!

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

We all have opportunities every single day to make selfless and surprising choices. Just suppose we set out to make every day a Shay day.

A mangled key pad can be a real eye-opener

There is a massive difference between sympathy and empathy. In the former you are an onlooker offering pity. In the latter you are a fellow traveller able to contribute informed understanding. And for at least a week – what will no doubt prove to be a very frustrating week – I have become an empathiser with those who live every day of their lives with a physical disability.

Hold your sympathy. Let me make clear I have not become physically disabled for a short-term spell. Nothing worse has happened than I’ve been enough of a klutz to drop something heavy on my laptop key board and done some serious damage.

Nothing life-changing there you’d think. After all it is only the S D and Z that are now no more than bits of rubber, and an A and X that sometimes work and sometimes mock me by refusing to. And life will be back to normal in a week’s time when I get things fixed.

But already it has given me a fresh insight in to what daily life must be like for those who have a body that doesn’t respond exactly the way it is intended to do.

Now everything in my keyboard-driven existence, where I spend so much of my time, is erratic and frustrating. No key stroke can be taken for granted. New strategies and tactics are needed to deliver what I’d done as reflex in the past (that ‘x’ in ‘reflex’ just took six tries).

Things that had been easy-peasy now take much longer and need more mental effort. And just when I think I have it nailed I find I haven’t.

As a result, I am full of a fresh admiration for those who live with the reality of this in real life 24/7 – like the kid in the wheel chair getting his hair cut next to me yesterday, who never stopped smiling.

And then there’s another thought. I’m about to take an eleven and a half hour flight when I’ll need to use my laptop. And endure puzzled glances from fellow passengers over my gaptoothed Dell. I can feel the shame rising already. So how must it feel for those who, every day, are the constant object of observation and scrutiny as the result of being different and less ‘perfect’ than the rest of us?

Sure, my frustration with a damaged keyboard is a pathetic comparison to those who so bravely bash on through life with limbs and nerves that don’t behave. But, feeble though the comparison is, it has been a very welcome reminder.

So here we go through gritted teeth – S D A Z X. Time for a strong cup of coffee.

When all else fails try failure – it’s much underrated

Failure gets a bad press – that’s how I see it.

Sure, I accept there some spectacular nose dives for which no one should take credit. I think of NASA’s project to launch a supper space probe to Mars. Who did they put on the job? The world’s biggest and best brains, that’s who.

As a result, the Mars Climate Orbiter rose majestically from Cape Canaveral on a clear December day. Nine months later its trundle though space ended by smashing headlong into the red planet’s mysterious surface.  Thus wrecking the project, denting some huge egos and wasting $300 million in one big bang.

A natural disaster? A malfunction of the equipment? Nope. Just the failure of those mega-brains to realise that one part of the team had been using English units of measurement and the other the metric system.

Pause for a moment. Capture the wonder of such an epic c#ck up and wonder. It’s an order of merit failure. The kind deserving all the nominations at the Global Failure Awards – where no one comes off looking good.

But that’s not the only kind of failure. Sure it’s a kind I like most, as it makes my lurching progress through my short span of history look somewhat less asinine. But there’s a better kind of failure out there that truly deserves an Oscar of its own.

It’s the failure that comes from ‘having a go’. That’s not a very technical term I confess. And such a concept deserves something more robust and flamboyant. But it will do for now.

Failure from ‘having a go’ is the kind of failure that leaves you richer then before and more valuable to yourself and others. The problem is, when that kind of failure becomes our experience we are likely to be so distracted by the hurt that we miss the true value of what has happened.

But when the dust has settled and the emotional bruises are hurting less, it would be good to see how this kind of good failure takes us forward.

At the very least we are now better informed. To quote former US Secretary of State, Colin Powell, “There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.” Or in the words of Benjamin Franklin the American statesman, scientist, philosopher and inventor “I didn’t fail the test, I just found 100 ways that didn’t work”.

As basket ball legend Michael Jordan pointed out, “I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. And 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life and that is why I succeed.”

For me the classic example of ‘having a go’ failure was Peter, the follower of Jesus, sinking after taking a few steps on the water.  He’d seen his Master walking over the waves and was open to having a go himself if Jesus invited him to do so.

His ‘having a go’ resulted in Peter walking further on water than anyone before or since. Sure, he didn’t make it all the way. But just think what he achieved in the process of having a go.

And to push a point, the failure that deserved no accolade at all was there in the same incident. It was the rest of the disciples safe and dry in the boat. It doesn’t take much talent or character to keep out of trouble. But, as a songwriter friend of mine sings, ‘I’d rather be lost on the ocean of life than safe in the harbour with you’.

As for my favourite failure quote it’s – “Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something.” I just wish it wasn’t from the lips of Sven Goran Eriksson.

Wayne Bridge wimp or hero?

Wayne Bridge is a wimp. That seems to be the collective opinion of all those the media have predictably been asking for an opinion. He should grimace and bear it. Take the money and kick. Have a laidback attitude and think of England.

And why not? After all, Terry’s ‘alleged’ actions with the mother of his former best friend’s alleged child were after their relationship had ended. And though the alleged John Terry didn’t actually make any alleged apology for allegedly behaving like a dog on heat in the home Wane actually owned, when it comes to footballers what would anyone expect?.

So enter the real world Wane and get a grip. That seems to be the message.

Indeed, in all the media hubbub over all this I’ve yet to find anyone with sympathy for what appears to be a good man who, for no fault of his own, has had to work out how to behave with integrity. And I wonder if that’s because the concept of integrity is a relic from the age of vinyl.  Something media commentators encounter so seldom they would not recognise it if it bit them on the buttocks.

Yet here, to his credit, is someone with the guts to stand his ground for what he believes to be right – and at great personal and professional cost. How tempting it must have been for Bridge to rationalised himself into going with the flow. He’d have been playing the hero – willing to pay the price for coming to the nation’s rescue. The headline writers would have loved it.

Yet Wane stood his ground. Anything else was going to be a bridge too far. (Sorry!)

Which leaves me wondering, in an age when the behaviour of allegedly over paid sports stars leaves so much to be desired, shouldn’t Wayne Bridge be being held up as an example to us all? Indeed, how often do we take the easy way out when we should stand firm for what we believe no matter what the personal cost?