And prayer is more than an order of words

I think I'm getting the hang of this travelling business. K was celebrating his first Eucharist as a priest yesterday, so I thought "what the hey?" and hopped on a train to Swansea. The journey was completely uneventful, and I even managed to do some work, including reading what may be the most boring article I've ever read in my entire life on weapon-terminology in Beowulf. I was ready to chew off my own feet for entertainment by the time I was halfway through it.

Naturally, as soon as we passed over the border into Wales it started to rain. And to add to my discomfort, my mother refused to believe that I was standing outside our front door when I rang her and insisted on checking on me through the window before letting me in. But she made up for it by taking me for a curry, so all is forgiven!

The service on Wednesday evening was lovely, the choir was excellent as always (with a brave conjunction of Parry and Victoria for the anthems!), and I managed to catch up with quite a few old friends. And now I suppose I'll have to call him "Father"...

The journey back was also beset by rain, and I arrived in College to discover that some evil person had stolen my dinner from the fridge. Bloody students.

Images: Didcot station (2005); Millennium Window, St. Mary's Church, Swansea (2004)

A raid on the inarticulate

NOP World Culture Score(TM) Index Examines Global Media Habits
BBC Online discussion of NOP report

Okay, I suppose we must start by saying that the statistics used by NOP are all based on self-reported activity. But even so, shouldn't we be concerned that the UK's reported time spent reading is very near the bottom of the scale, while the reported time spent watching TV is an hour and a half more than the global average?

At first glance, this does seem worrying. 5.3 hours a week reading is less than an hour a day, while 18 hours watching TV works out at more than two and a half hours.

But what does NOP mean by 'reading'? Doesn't this in all likelihood include magazines, newspapers, trashy romance novels and thrillers? It's too easy to place reading as a pursuit way above watching TV, yet I can think of a lot of quality television programming from which I've profited far more than from reading Heat magazine whilst waiting in my local Chinese takeaway, or indulging myself with the latest John Grisham novel.

It's time we stopped blindly privileging reading as a culturally and intellectually "better" activity than watching TV or using the internet. Certainly, I wouldn't give up the hours I spend reading every day. But used properly alongside traditional literacy-based education and recreation, technology and the media can be rewarding, informative and improving.

After all, as a postcard I picked up in London pronounces, "God Almighty HATES book lerners".

We know how to work the machine

So, the great Thatcher came to visit yesterday. Why, I ask myself, does a former women’s college such as Somerville, with its proud tradition of supporting women and education, want to allow such an alumnus to darken its doorstep?

Let’s look at education. Leaving aside the milk snatching and so on, under Thatcher, secondary schools were given greater power to select pupils and parents greater power to choose schools for their children, inevitably leaving certain schools in the position of being “sink” schools. Whilst banning “political indoctrination” (such as peace studies courses) in schools, Tory education policies at the same time insisted that sex education be taught within the moral framework of the family, thus arguably using education to indoctrinate children with a particular ideal of social structures. (Thatcher’s government also introduced the notorious Section 28 of the Local Government Act, 1988, which banned schools from teaching the acceptability of homosexuality as a “pretended family relationship”) The same could be said of the introduction of the requirement for predominantly Christian acts of worship to be held regularly in schools, even those whose population was overwhelmingly non-Christian. Under Thatcher, Kenneth Baker introduced the National Curriculum, arrangements for testing and League Tables, and school inspections by OFSTED. I’ve never met a teacher who thought any of this was a particularly good idea. It stifled creativity, and introduced an unprecedented level of stress and anxiety into both teachers and pupils. Memories of even the most genial teachers turning into Attila the Hun as inspection day loomed are, I’m sure, part of the consciousness of my generation.

And what about women? Well, Thatcher certainly did provide us with our first female Prime Minister, proving that women could gain positions of authority and power. But what did she do for women? Over eleven years, her Cabinet was made up exclusively of men (with the brief exception of Baroness Young). She condemned working mothers, froze child benefit and put tax on tampons as a “luxury item”. Perhaps worst of all, she claimed that “The battle for women's rights has been largely won”, and yet women are still earning on average only 85% of male earnings, with women in part-time work earning 40% less than men. Only 18% of MPs are women - they make up only 9% of Tory MPs, as opposed to 23% in Labour.

“I owe nothing to Women's Lib”, she announced. This coming from a woman who became Prime Minister, when her near ancestors didn’t even have the right to vote.

So, should Somerville welcome such an old member back to the fold? Or should it rather sweep her memory under the carpet as a slightly embarrassing alumnus-gone-bad? It’s a difficult call.

Links: "Do Thatcher's words still matter?" - BBC Online; Thatcher Foundation - online texts of thousands of political documents

Images from gatheredimages

To Carthage then I came

Having finally come to the realisation that being constantly in Oxford is a mere half-a-life, I ventured this past weekend to the big city. I've always been wary of London, but I am now happy to revise my opinion and to say that a weekend with congenial company in a place which doesn't believe that a library is, in fact, a kind of temple is better than the best therapy on offer.

I must take a brief interlude at this point to recommend a pub called the Two Brewers in Clapham. It was great fun and I made some lovely acquaintances in the queue (Rich from Florida, in the unlikely event you should ever read this, you're a star - thanks for the company!) I also spent quite some time trying to persuade my (very drunk) companion that trying to speak French to French people was a bad idea, and that correcting their French could well leave us without functioning kneecaps, making the walk home a little tricky.

Saturday morning was spent at the Abbeville Village Festival. Admittedly, when I hopped spontaneously onto the train Friday evening, I was unaware that I would be roped in to helping on the Labour Party stall at the aforesaid Festival. I finally had to admit to the local MP that I had not voted Labour either locally or nationally this year, but he took this in good part. (And, though I didn't tell him this, were he my MP there is no way I would vote for anyone else - a truly charming and delightful chap!)

Sunday afternoon saw a trip to the Globe Theatre in Southwark, as my host had a meeting at the cathedral. The exhibitions are immensely interesting, but the highlight came as I was sitting waiting for the "dressing" demonstration, in which visitors are shown how an actress is dressed in Elizabethan costume for a play. Sitting there, minding my own business, I became aware that the two dressers were looking at me and whispering. Knowing that I was carrying neither explosives nor narcotics gave me a certain feeling of safety. But it turned out that they needed someone to dress and I was "just the right size", so I spent the next quarter of an hour being dressed and undressed as Ophelia - cross-garters, points and laces, corset, the works.

Thanks so much to R and J for being such charming hosts - to J for the fabulously comfy bed and the moisturiser, and to R for being guide, entertainer, friend and advisor, as always. Love you!

The Word without a word

Today, my dear friend K was ordained as a priest.

It's difficult to know quite what to do to mark the occasion. I went to Southwark cathedral, where the marvellous choir was rehearsing Stanford in C, and said a quick prayer, but apart from that was at a loss.

It's an odd feeling when someone you've known since they were an annoying teenager (though not as annoying as I was, admittedly) suddenly has this awesome responsibility for people's spiritual and emotional wellbeing. But I know he'll be wonderful.


Stained glass in Brecon Cathedral (2004)

What the thunder said

As though deliberately to gainsay my previous post, the skies of Oxford have opened up for wind, rain and thunder. Shorts and t-shirts go back to nestle in the warmth of the wardrobe, and out come the jeans and sweaters again. The Lord giveth...

The sun of the east

I came across this while browsing. Not sure quite what's going on because it's all in Japanese, but the photos are truly beautiful.

hijiri - photo album

I tried asking Babelfish for a translation of one of the captions, and it came up with: "The cloud met, it is, but the place where it sinks it is to clear up being hurrying, it went to taking."

Hmmmm.

Unreal city

The guy on the right is too horrified with life for even his whacking great moustache to hide it. Oxford gets you that way.

Good Lord, but it's hot.