what is church?

church is not bricks and mortar, though it's built on a firm foundation

church is not systems and processes, though beauty is to be found in a story that passes down the ages

church is not history alone, it is the past, the present and the future

this is my church

these are my brothers and sisters.

congregation

viewed ...

a momentary lapse of reason

As I tap away at the trusty Victrola in Sunday's early morning light I reflect on the events of the week, and in particular yet another senior moment in the life of electrofried.  Please do read on if you're prone to the odd memory-lapse yourself.

This Wednesday saw me train-bound to the wild excesses of Harrogate and the Chartered Institute of Housing's annual bun-fest, accompanied by the usual trusty flotsam of office-colleagues.  We changed at York, long a favourite amongst train-spotters and photographers the world over.

The station is girded by a stunning lattice-work metalled roof of the most intricate beauty.  Fashioned into one long and sensuous curve, it's been funnelling passengers into the North-Eastern railway network since the first train departed at 5:30 am on 25 June 1877.  And it was here that I and my colleagues ventured in search of refreshment at the emporium of Master Costly Coffee.

He was sitting there in the corner when one of my colleagues spotted him.

'It's Gareth Southgate!'


Indeed it was the very same - Gareth Southgate, late of Crystal Palace, Aston Villa and Middlesbrough - player, manager, TV pundit and now Head of Elite Development at the Football Association - sipping quietly at a styrene-foamed muglet of Master Costly Coffee's finest.  As a long-standing fan of the Villa, I summoned up the courage to take but a few steps across to the corner.

Ever felt your brain go to mush ....

I extended a hand, and fatefully uttered the words,

'I've always wanted to meet Gary Linekar!'


Mr Southgate looked up somewhat quizzically, but still deigned to shake the by now trembling hand I had proffered in greeting to him earlier.

'He's a bit older than me, you know.'


A true gentleman, he humoured me for a good five minutes more in light banter, despite the fact my brain had become disconnected from my lips at the very outset of our conversation.  It quite restores one's faith in the old school of footballer.

Well, I don't know what Mr Southgate made of it all, but on my return to the fold of guffawing colleagues I realised my ill-placed words were already in the course of several texts back to the office.  Oh dear, yet another electrofried senior moment, I'm afraid.  But such is life!

so many things to say ....

season's end

It all came to an end in the sunshine ... another season over.
Pale heroes in the dim floodlit pitch, where water-spirals arc before the chanting flag pass.
We watched it all,
my son and me
and bought the pies and chips and glossy Match-day Programmes,
that promised so much more.

They paraded before us,
in pale sunshine
with their wives and children
a toddler kicks the goal.

He waved as he left the pitch early
gone
applauded.

The seats lie empty now,
just the echoing footstep of my son and me
Season's End.