I have absolutely zero interest in football, so it was a bit of an odd thing to set out to watch the first half of yesterdays' "friendly" between England and France.  I was, I have to admit, curious to see how the media circus would report it, what kind of language would be used, what gestures and symbols might arise.

There are things everyone noticed, and things hardly anyone saw, such as, stitched to the tops of each player, the logo of the UK charity Breast Cancer Care.  Long before any of the recent events, this match was due to help raise funds for the chairty, and indeed, did evidently raise tens of thousands of pounds.  Unreported, and largely unnoticed.  But it made me think.

Cancer is the collective name for a set of vile diseases and conditions that are, perversely, utterly nondsicriminatory.  Respecting no social mores, cancer can affect people of any ethnicity, nationality, sexuality, gender, religion, policitcal opinion, age, education, wealth or health.  There was something striking, to me anyway, that in the context of a football match that overtly set out to say that "we" will not be defeated by "them", a huge sum of money was raised to support a cause whose "we" will always embrace "them" because it uses a whole different set of definitions.

There is a lot that troubles me about the responses to events in France, and others have written far more eloquently about that than ever I could.   So I'm going to end with some words lifted from the Facebook page of Nicholas Adams, a theology/religion professor at the University of Birmingham:

"As the dust begins to settle in Paris, some brief practical reflections coming out of my inter-religious work (some of it in Pakistan and Indonesia).
(1) IS does not aim to make life intolerable for white Europeans. That is not a realistic goal. They aim to make life intolerable for European Muslims, by hardening white European attitudes. That is achievable, and our national presses willingly collude.
(2) Any government that responds by increasing surveillance of the general populace while cutting funds for local community policing is colluding too.
Bombers are people who are told, and believe, 'they hate us'. The single most effective way to reduce hate and the perception of hate is well funded and well trained local community policing. (That, and refusing to buy papers that fuel hate towards Muslims.)"

It's not often Leicestershire villages make it onto the national news, but today two very close to "Dibley" were named in connection with a missing teenage girl.

Ibstock and Measham, small villages in a semi-rural former mining area.  On the fringe of my former 'patch' I know them fairly well, and the Sence Valley Park was a place I wiled away many a happy hour.

Tonight these lesser known places occupy my thoughts... and I call to mind a God who notices when a sparrow falls.

Thoughts with friends, former neighbours and erstwhile colleagues at this time.

When I discovered that my essay was not only going to be included in this book, but was going to be the first chapter, I was excited and humbled and a whole range of other positive emotions.  I was then saddened to discover that, apart from my author copy, it would never be seen outside of New Zealand, because the publishing house don't do overseas sales.  Some gentle persistent nagging by the editors, and a promise by me to advertise it through any networks I could muster, have resulted in their agreeing to offer it for $30NZ including postage, which is an absolute bargain... Less than £15 for UK purchasers, and Christmas is coming... what better gift for your minister, oncologist or even yourself.

It comes with a health warning - the stories will make you cry and make you smile, and the book will make you think.  It isn't preachy, it doesn't have neat tidy answers, and not all contributors think alike.  Well worth every penny, cent or whatever currency you spend on it!

Among those of us who participate in both morning and evenig worship, there is often a surprising sense of connection between two services prepared totally independently.

Yesterday morning, we had explored the 'Mysteries of the Rosary' asking ourselves 'what kind of God' is glimpsed in the joyful, luminous, sorrowful and glorious mysteries, which are (with only a couple of exceptions) firmly rooted in scripture.

In the evening, someone was sharing with us a selection of beautiful Hebredian prayers, translated from Gaelic, that were mostly Roman Catholic in origin, and had been collected in the 19th Century as Carmina Gadelica, which can be found online here.  It was a very beautiful, relaxed evening and a much needed close to a weekend distrubed by news of human inhumanity.

So, one of those 'hmmm' moments, and a much needed 'ahhh' in the presence of the God whose embrace is safe and sure.

Having spent a large part of my adult life in the North West of England, including Manchester, and now living in Glasgow, rain is just part of everyday life.  From mizzle and drizzle to stair-rods and 'cats and dogs', bouncing and stoating, and many, many more.

I recall, and have shared many times, the occasion when I was asked to take a South African exchange student to register at the Manchester University Library.  It was raining, and he said, "so we can't go."  I looked at him, probably a very old-fashioned look, and said, "if you don't go our when it rains, you'll never go out"

After a wonderful, and uncharacteristically dry October (though it was very similar in 2009 when I arrived, and I have a thing about 6-7 year weather cycles!) it is now making up for it here, with lots of full on rain, some of almost monsoon quality!!  And I found myself recalling that even Shakespeare knew of such weather when he wrote Twelfth Night whith Feste observing (maybe metaphorically) "the rain it raineth every day"...

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain, it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, it raineth every day.

But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, it raineth every day.

A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.

As anyone who lives in the wet parts of these islands will tell you, there's no such thing as the wrong kind of weather, just the wrong kind of clothes!