Engraved on the palms of my hands

Here is FreeLanceNerd, (although no one knew it at that time.It was a name he adopted for his blog) We still have the photo of Teapot holding him which you can see in this pic and it sits looking at the fireplace in our dining area.

We saw his nephew Samuel,  or Sammy as I heard his mum say a few times, on Saturday and he would give FLN a fair run for his money in the smiling stakes. Funny that as Curly Al, his dad, was not quite at the races when the smiles were on.

 September approaches - the cruelest month - to ape TS Eliot. I was struck by Matthew Maynard who had given interviews last week at a memorial cricket match for his son Tom between Surrey and Glamorgan. Tom, a promising Surrey cricketer,  died in June after trying to cross a London Tube line and being hit by a train. His father now carries tattoos on his arms with words in memory of Tom.

Memories are engraved deep within us. And there are plenty I am pleased to say about FLN. There is something remarkable about the ability to bring the past into the present however imperfect that may be sometimes. I often bring those memories to mind in our church of an evening where he would come and take part and worship. We were finishing our series in the prophet Isaiah last night and I found myself turning the pages to chapter 49 where the Sovereign Lord says.

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands"

There is something deeper here than a tattoo. And for all of us for whom September is the cruelest month we are comforted immeasurably by the knowledge we are never forgotten, held always in the memory of the God.

A pair of spectacles

On this day when our most read newspaper self righteously publishes Prince Harry's photo in his birthday suit in the interests of the need to know press freedom and oh of course profit your blogger has decided on a more sombre piece.

Friday is the day the Economist drops on the welcome mat of the Tardis and one of its special features is the obituary page right at the end of the magazine. Here lives are remembered from all sorts of walks and backgrounds. Last week I read the story of Sir Bernard Lovell who died at 98 and forever linked to the Jodrell Bank radio telescope in Cheshire.

Today I read about Winnie Johnson the mother of Keith Bennett, the only child victim of Myra Hindley and Ian Brady whose body was never found on Saddleworth Moor, a wild lonely place not that far from Sir Bernard's telescope. Winnie died last week. Here is the article from the Economist, with another photo courtesy of the Sun.

http://www.economist.com/node/21560832

The last paragraph captures a haunting sadness of nearly 50 years. Although I have lost a son I can only touch the edge of the depth of the suffering and despair of this mother. I suspect Keith's remains will never be found.

A golden tardis

So the police have arrested a man for painting a post box gold in Lymington in honour of Ben Anslie the Olympic gold medal sailor who lives there. Apparently he was upset that the Royal Mail were going to paint a post box gold in Cornwall where Ben grew up but not in Lymington. Mr Smith was rewarded with a night in the cells for his pains.

Royal Mail spokesman Heulyn Gwyn Davies said: "We are extremely disappointed that someone has chosen to vandalise this particular post box."

In Doddington Lincolnshire a post box was painted bronze by fans of the British Hockey team midfielder Georgie Twigg. The Royal Mail announced they would repaint it red as soon as possible.Leave painting post boxes to our engineers said a spokesperson. 

Do I get the feeling someone is getting a bit above themselves? If the Royal Mail can afford to hire engineers to work as painters and decorators our first class stamps will soon be one pound and rising.Odd though I have not yet heard of any painting of post boxes in Yorkshire even with all those gold medals in the white rose county. You might have thought Sheffield would have an outbreak of them what with Jessica Ennis and all. All those law abiding Tykes may be? Or a shortage of gold paint? Or perhaps a little reluctance to splash out on the purchase of the odd brush?

Now where will the gold paint break out after the heroics of Mo Farah tonight? I will put the Royal Mail out of their misery right now by offering Mo's fans the chance to paint the tardis gold. And how will that look as it hurtles around the universe.

Timelord's return

There may be some inhabitants of the blogosphere wondering where Timelord has been these last few months. Has he finally succumbed to the sontarans? Did he at last meet his match at the hands of the weeping  angels?

Teapot has been so concerned at his absence that she decided to buy a SATNAV device to help track him down who knows where in the farthest outposts of the galaxy. Timelord is after all well known for his unusual sense of direction and the only intergalactic traveller who has managed to board a train intending to go to Bradford only finding himself in Leamington Spa.

It may then not seem odd the first outing for this miracle of navigation was the Wirrall but calamity. Tthe device mysteriously lost power somewhere in the region of Stoke on Trent. More evidence of Timelord's extra-terrestrial foes at work? Not one bit. As in the old rhyme;

"For want of a nail the shoe was lost.

For want of a shoe the horse was lost.

For want of a horse the rider was lost.

For want of a rider the message was lost.

For want of a message the battle was lost.

For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail."

In this case it was the want of a fuse which left the navigation all at sea and Timelord lost in the intergalactic void. And hey presto after one 30A fuse change this afternoon the SATNAV powered up, Timelord's co-ordinates were discovered and he re-materialised in time for tea.

Now who in the Tardis is going to knock the SATNAV now?