bisect the sects

Update: I initially refrained from mentioning the other vile belief of these people, that women are less human than men, on the grounds that quite a number of Anglican dioceses across the world have female priests and deacons, and some have bishops, and I didn't want to be any more open to charges of generalisation than I already am. However, reading further about the defecting (defective?) group, they are also ambivalent-opposed to ordaining women. Oh, and I liked that in response to Williams' comment about their legitimacy, being self-selected, they responded that they are selected by god. hee hee. But scary, so not funny.
~
After many years of talking about it, the scriptural purists/anointed bigots in the Anglican church have finally done it, and struck out on a righteous path toward spiritual rebirth and the (multiple) repression of gayness. They won't formally call it a schism, for the most practical and material of reasons (division of the churches etc), but they will no longer accept the authority of that most confused of loving, little-bit-liberal archbishops Rowan Williams.

The Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans (or Nambla) is sick of the anti-Christian tendencies of their ex-fellows in USA and Canada (and England). These heretics have too long been allowing that gay people are capable of forgiving God his slanders and staying part of the CofE club despite the option of leaving to join a nice non-judgemental corps like the Quakers. As the Telegraph commentator points to, it might be easier for the less indecent-minded Anglicans if these pure souls simply left, instead of hanging around to make (even more!) protracted trouble for the leaders. But faced with a highly fertile Islamic enemy, splits in the Church may be seen as weakness... what to do?

Of course, my two pennies-worth are not usually taken on board by archbishops (or any bishops), but I suggest these folk make union with the Roman Catholic church. They can surely leave aside their childish standoff about whether the wine becomes blood and whether Mary is a deserving object of superstition - return to the original, Henry VIII Anglicanism - and enjoy enthusiastically accepting the need to do away with intrinsic moral evils. (Except when these occur within the church, in which case the acceptance should be a little more low key.)

Some sort of prisoner swap could perhaps be negotiated, in which the Catholics who don't agree with the pope could be taken under Rowan's grizzled wing, and the Anglicans yearning for authoritarianism and sexual obsession could come under the sway of Rome. Archbishes Akinola and the Ugandan one could reach an accommodation on division of leadership roles, which given the impressive record of the Anglicans in Uganda might mean the RCC was less likely to say nothing when moral evils do in fact occur. But only some.

bits of tree left everywhere

In this dayageculture, simply being human is not enough to acknowledge one another, but some things, like extreme weather, make strangerswilling to converse.


Not me though, I was in my room, taking photos.

Latest of several, with another coming tonight. Being driven through the first of these at 80 kph on misty, branch-covered 1.5 spaced roads was remarkably soothing

Sharp Things plug

Sharp Things is made by a cheerful, engaging chap named Matt, as well as being edited by some fine fellows from Leytonstone (or Lancaster). The second series starts on Tuesday, including in a few weeks a thirty-second story by yours truly, a demisemiquaver of delight missable only in its brevity.

Sharp Things is back!

Sharp Things is a podcast series for rethinkdaily featuring short stories by new writers. It begins on Tuesday 1st July and will run for two weeks.

You can subscribe via iTunes, add the rethinkdaily application on FaceBook, or listen through the website: www.rethinkdaily.co.uk.

Tune in to hear stories from Sion Scott-Wilson, Tania Hershman, Peter Ward, Liam Tullberg, Dave Pickering, Heather Taylor, Jenny Adamthwaite, Mac Dunlop, Peter Brown, Dan Scott, Chris Grollman, David Gaffney, Daniel Gent and Holly Howitt.

Bring everyone you know!

lightening

- the mix, as the dark sugar nestles into the welcoming butter, and beating fluffs the consistency

- the sky (the buildings, the kitchen counter), with the second night of the pressburg storm season under way

- my mood, as the quirk-pop maestros struggle to stay in time

- my chances of sleeping, with all said sugar in the bowl i'm licking

hiking clears the head

A few pictures from our lovely long hike on Saturday

The sun was viscious

But here it was about 15 degrees cooler

Discovering our mistake.

Still going at sunset...

The folk running this little thirst-stop were SO drunk, which somehow made their Slovak easier for me to understand. Never has a pint of Kofola been so welcome.

big ideas

This is very exciting, arguably also for people not headed for life as a statistician... It's worth a few minutes of your time, I would say.

Dobry, Charlie, dobry.

So, Pavla is Lacko, I am Ferko and Ilona is Jarko, after the dobermans (a year and a half old and forty kilos each!) owned by the Bulgarian who rents Miroslav a room for ten pounds a month. He was selling the Big Issue ("Nota Bene") and I think Ilona initially got a good vibe from him. Our soups and beers were very tasty, so we invited him to join us.

Eventually he believed we weren't playing some cruel joke, and again eventually he stopped being overly grateful. German at home and Russian at school, and smatterings of Spanish, Italian, English and French with the other tenants of the Bulgarian landlord. German at home was a sign of high status, before the communists got rid of that sort of thing. Born 5.6 kilos, and a crooked spine because of it, and apparently the name of my pouch is a forget-me-not (nezábudka, from his leatherworking days). And beautiful women, dogs called Socrates and a lot more besides.

Once he reached the dobermans, he was totally relaxed, and speaking as he would in any normal situation. At this point, him being a Slovak and 49, there was a good chance of the gypsies and the Hungarians coming up (like the way bile comes up), and that's the test - insincere humouring or challenging it. But he was such a thoroughly good, balanced and open-minded bloke that that test didn't arise.

When it was time to go, we said a completely normal goodbye. Having had a comically melodramatic and reverent hello which was quite embarassing, this was maybe the nicest part. Bratislava is a small place, so I'm sure we will see him again. I kind of hope he doesn't bring the dogs, though.