This weekend I saw a street sign that reminded me of this place:

It is an unusal power station - here are no above ground cables or pylons within (I think) two miles, and it was designed to nearly-but-not-quite blend into the sky when seen from a distance (I think they architect picked the wrong day to check the colour palette!)

I have a soft spot for this place, not least as I put a lot of energy and enthusiasm into ensuring its safe operation over almost a decade.  Not everyone's chosen means of making electricity I know, and questions should go on being asked, but it's a precious place for me.

Happy memories!

So, I went to the opticians this morning, bright and early, for my annual eye test.  Becuase I have a hereditary likelihood of developing glaucoma this includes the dreaded puff of air and field vision tests.  Whilst the latter are decidely uncomfortable, it is the latter which proved problematic today.  For some inexplicable reason the equipment used does not allow you to wear your glasses nor does it account for my fairly severe myopia; as a result I literally could some some of the 'squiggles' crossing the screen not becuase my eyes are bad but becuase they were too faint.  Evidently there is machine that does account for prescription, but you have to book an appointment separately for that, so I have to go back.

Seems a tad daft to me to give you a test you can't pass because you can't see it in the first place but there you go.

Makes me wonder what other areas of (metaphorical) myopia I have that impact my field of vision...

At the end of today's service someone said to me 'I enjoyed that: I could hear every word and I could understand what you were saying.'  Given my ongoing reflections on communication and accessibility I took that as a great compliment.

You know that bit in the gospels where Peter recognises Jesus' messiahship one moment and is told 'get behind me Satan' the next?  Well I think I just had one of those!

Had a superb weekend - really interesting and stimulating; I even got 3k words of an essay draft done - then checked my emails to discover a stinging rebuke for something I'd done locally, in good faith, but perhaps, in hindsight, a tad hastily.  Never really saw myself as the Peter type, but there I go.  Ministerial egos (or mine anyway) are rather fragile so I'm now doing much self beating up!  Ah well, tis done now and I need to move on.

My good friend Julie is getting 'handshaked' at Baptist Assembly next week and so far as we know is the first person in the line up (yeay!  Though we'll miss Geoff leading off with Central :-( )  The disadvantage of her being first is that we will only just have been told we aren't allowed to cheer (and yes, we do understand the logic) so to do so would be to risk the ire of Uncle Paul - not a good idea.

So, in a moment of subversion and copying the silent monks Hallelujah chorus I have a designed a silent cheer which will find the middle course.  Simply print it off, roll up and hide under your jumper until the relevant moment then wave it silently and defiantly.  An alternative is to cheer in BSL - I'm not exactly sure how this is done, but applause involves 'jazz hands': raise your hands to shoulder height (or higher) and wiggle your fingers.

We all know that by the time it reaches LBA there will be klaxons, rattles and wonderul elderly black women in big hats shouting 'hallelujah' at the top of their voices. But we who are near the start will have to settle for silent subverison - or even behave ourselves in case the stewards have been tipped off!