Advent Poems (Dec 24th) - You Came

I am here
You came

I am here, refusing to move
You came to meet the stubborn
I screw up, never getting it right
You came to forgive the mistakes
I don’t know what it is to live – not properly
You came to teach the hopeless

I’m here
You came

I put myself first
You came as the least
I like to look important
You came in humiliation
I keep getting lost
You came to find me

I am here
And you came

I give, predominantly according to what I am likely to get in return
You gave up everything to serve those who had nothing

I avoid spending time with those I don’t deem to be worthy of my company
You became a joke
An embarrassment
A disgrace
You sacrificed a throne of power and influence to be looked down upon by those residing in gutters
You left behind royal robes to wash the feet of fishermen

I am here
You came

I insist on comfort
On popularity
On attention
I demand my rights
I focus on what I do not have
As I “sacrifice” my ten percent

You came into this world amongst cows
Covered in blood and hay and filth
You came into the cold
To a world that rejected you to barns and sheds
Even before your birth

You came

You came to a poor family
You came to a lowly and pathetic set of guests
You came to a government that feared you
You came to a law that sought to destroy you
You came as an outlaw
You came as a child
A baby
A newborn
A foetus
You came to a dangerous world
A world that already hated you
Already despised you
A world that long before had turned its back on you
A world that would spend 30 years of its history trying to physically annihilate you
And thousands more trying to get rid of you completely
You came to that world in the most vulnerable of states

And you changed everything

I am nothing
Filling that void with worthless importance
Searching for meaning
And purpose
And love

I am here
And you came

Advent Poems (Dec 23rd) - Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year
I would like peace for all mankind.
Place it in a box and wrap it in a bow.
Make sure, this year, everyone knows
That peace on earth is achieved.
I would really love to receive
Peace and joy and harmony
And cheer and understanding for all
Make the weak feel ten feet tall.
To the poor give wealth
To the sick give health
And make the world a better place
Let earth and sky resound with grace
Let global peace be waiting for me
When I look under the Christmas tree
Dear Santa Claus I make this plea
Yours truly, lots of love, from Me -x-

…

P.S. Dear Santa
Also, please do not forget
My radio controlled Meccano set
And if it’s not too high a price
A chocolate fountain would be nice
I need, of course, some garden tools
An i-pod would be pretty cool
A drill, some socks, a model train
Some DVD’s and candy canes
And if all this weighs down your sleigh
We’ll save peace for another day
I really want world hope and love
Just not instead of other stuff
So Santa let my gifts increase
And maybe next year ask for peace.

Advent Poems (Dec 22nd) - If I Were a Turkey

To be sung to the tune of If I were a Rich Man from Fiddler on the Roof (I have attached the song so you can play it and sing along if you don't know it).

If I were a turkey
Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum
I would run away at Christmas time
If I were a turkey bird
I’d really have to work hard
Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum
Christmas day is not a festive time
If you are a big, fat turkey bird

I’d act like big fat cows or small tiny gerbils
Dogs, cats or any kind of pet
Animals that aren’t served as Christmas lunch
There would be one mad turkey just going moo
And one even madder who’s a vet
And one crazed bird who thinks he’s Captain Crunch

I’d wag my tail and purr and bark and I’d bleat and neigh
For the farm to see and hear
Anytime the farmer or wife gets near
And each loud “woof!” and “meow!” and “baaa!” and “eeaaw!”
Would land like a trumpet on the ear
As if to say “there are no turkeys here.”

If I were a turkey
Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum
I would run away at Christmas time
If I were a turkey bird
Oh sage and onion stuffing
Mix it, boil it, stir it, ball it and then stick it up my bum
Christmas day is not a festive time

If you are a big, fat turkey bird

I’d hide in sheds or trees or behind other turkeys
Inside a bush or underground
Anywhere to make sure that I wasn’t seen
I would hitch-hike my way to some exotic country
Somewhere where I could not be found
Where turkeys are treated like kings and queens

The most important men in town would come to fawn on me!

They would ask me to advise them,

Like a Mother Goose the Wise.

"If you please, Sir Turkey..."

"Pardon me, Sir Turkey..."

Posing problems that would cross my farmer's eyes.
Gobble Gooooooble
Gobble Gooooooble
Gobble Gooooooble
Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuum

And it won't make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong.

When you're there, they treat you like a god.

If I were there, I'd have the time that I lack

To sit in the sun all day and tan.
And made to feel that I stood at ten feet tall

And at Christmas they’d serve the finest of foods
And I am not on the menu plan.

And that would be the sweetest thing of all.

If I were a turkey

Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum
All day long I’d gobble gobble yum

If I were a turkey bird

I’d really have to work hard
Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble yum
There are things I never could avoid
Christmas time my neck would feel a void
That is why I’m vastly overjoyed
That I’m not a turkey bird

Advent Poems (Dec 21st) - My Last Mince Pie

I hate mince pies, mince pies suck
The chewy, slimy, sickly mess
One more pie I swear I’ll chuck
I couldn’t like those mince pies less

All month long I’ve had to munch
Each day and every night
Pies for breakfast, pies for lunch
I cannot take another bite

I’m full, I’m done, I’m going to die
My head and guts are reeling
As every chew of every pie
Gets less and less appealing

So burn and destroy all supplies
I’m sick to death of fresh mince pies

Advent Poems (Dec 20th) - Joseph Limerick

There was a young man named Joseph
Who, um…. darnit!

Advent Poems (Dec 19th) - Carol Singers (Part 4)

Sitting alone in my flat in the cold
People I loved have now left
Family and friends walked out long ago
Now I’m anxious, depressed and bereft

Everything I’ve ever believed in was false
All those I trusted told lies
There is no humanity, love has no pulse
And kindliness dwindles and dies

Today I discovered that nothing is real
Today marked the back-breaking straw
Today put an end to every ideal
Today my heart learnt to close doors

Tonight is the night that all of this ends
Tonight I escape from the pain
Tonight I respond to a world that pretends
Tonight I will crumble in vain

I slowly and cautiously get to my feet
And pray for a reason to fight
When suddenly, quietly, out from the street
Some soft voices sing “Silent Night”

I peer through my curtains and smile as I see
Ten people with mince pies and wine
They grin and they laugh as they sing out of key
Their quivering voices divine

They walk down the road and they sing outside drives
In their jubilant, Christmas time quest
I sit and I listen and keep closing my eyes
As I silently make my requests

After an hour, I hear my bell ring
I hold my breath, hoping they’ll pass
Not wanting to show them this mess that I’m in
So I freeze as I peer through the glass

They leave and I see them try a few more
Who seem to think that it’s a con
Maybe I should have just opened the door
But when I look back they are gone

I wish I had joined them and not stayed and moped
I wish I had worked to spread cheer
But as I reflect, I am filled with the hope
That maybe I’ll see them next year

Advent Poems (Dec 18th) - Carol Singers (Part 3)

We sing for an hour then slowly head home
Heads down and feeling dejected
Ten people united in feeling alone
In not getting what was expected

The smiles have faded, the laughter has stopped
The mince pies and mulled wine have gone cold
Our mission to brighten up Christmas has flopped
I guess Christmas is getting too old

They’ve all stopped believing that people are nice
So nobody answers the door
People assume it must come at a price
That we’re scouting and asking for more

Maybe our seasonal plan was naïve
In a world that will always suspect
Perhaps it was foolishness had us believe
That carols would have an affect

Advent Poems (Dec 17th) - Carol Singers (Part 2)

Relaxing at home with a beer
These moments of calm are in danger
When suddenly what do I hear
Songs of “Away in a Manger”

I jump up to switch off the lights
So when they knock, I can ignore
But I’m too late and they catch sight
Of my frame through the glass in the door

They tell me they don’t want my money
Which instantly makes me suspect
These guys are up to something funny
Recruiting for some kind of sect

I make my excuse and they make their retreat
I can’t help a slight twinge of shame
I peer out my window and all down the street
The reactions are mostly the same

Advent Poems (Dec 16th) - Carol Singers (Part 1)

Wrapped up, gloved and excited
Traditional songbooks in hand
Ten people together, united
In our seasonal holiday plan

Tonight we are going to sing
Carol’s of Jesus’ birth
Our joyful endeavour to bring
A blessing to our bit of earth

We’re handing out free, fresh mince pies
And non-alcoholic mulled wine
To neighbours and cold passers-by
To brighten up their Christmas time

So here we stand, cold and aflame
Our songbooks out, ready to start
We silently whisper one name
As we sing from the depths of our hearts

Advent Poems (Dec 15th) - Gateway FM

This afternoon I joined Matt and Ruth in the studio for Matt's radio show with Gateway FM in the Basildon shopping centre. I was there to read some of my advent poetry but Matt decided it would be fun if he, without any prior warning, challenged me to write a poem in 45 minutes while we were on air. This is what I produced in that time (NB: there are a few references to things that were going on in the shopping centre today but for the most part, those lines that don't make sense are a result of a limited amount of time and me getting desperate) :

Sitting in the studio
Matt and Ruth are a gem
From the Basildon steeple to all of three people
It’s Christmas on Gateway FM

With music across the decades
And local news from the shops
We’re here until three. There’s a big walking tree
He’s live and not likely to stop

Ruth didn’t get the good mic
Because she turned up quite late
The gremlins were lurking, the music stopped working
But now it’s all back and it’s great

So this is my day on the radio
Let’s hope it happens again
The tinsel is glistening but no one is listening

This Christmas on Gateway FM

Advent Poems (Dec 14th) - Herod Limerick

There was an old man who was king
Who did a peculiar thing
He ordered all boys
Under two be destroyed
Just so king could then cling to his bling

Advent Poems (Dec 13th) - Shepherd Limerick

There was a young man called Phillipe
Whose job was to look after sheep
One night he looked higher
To a heavenly choir
And ran waking peeps from their sleep

Advent Poems (Dec 12th) - Advent Songs

Advent poems and advent songs
Advent rights and advent wrongs
Losing patience, gaining strength
Holding now and then at length

We pause and as we rest we toil
Bringing silence to the boil
Longing still to be connected
To something more than we expected

Making noise and celebration
In active anticipation
Working hard in quiet reflection
Waiting for divine detection

Our spirits lift and we’re aware
For what it is we must prepare
And while we wait, we scrape along
Singing joyful advent songs

Advent Poems (Dec 11th) - Radio Times

As that beautiful day approaches
And the anticipation climbs
There is always one thing that makes my heart sing
It’s the Christmas Radio Times

With all of that seasonal telly
There is only one source you can trust
It’s detailed and forthright and lasts for a fortnight
The Radio Times is a must

With all of its info on programmes and films
And its practical family guide
Through the Times I’ll be thumbing. I’ll know just what’s coming
This Christmas I’m staying inside

So bring on those holiday listings
From now to the new year’s eve chimes
No matter what’s aired, I’ll know, I’m prepared
With my Christmas Radio Times

Advent Poems (Dec 10th) - The Retailer's Christmas

Watching millions and millions peruse the shelves
In my suited up Christmas-themed store
Spending their money and losing themselves
In a world that will always want more

Oh how I love the consumers of Yule
Those wide-eyed, excited young shoppers
A young spender’s cash is a retailer’s fuel
Their notes, their coins and their coppers

I love it, I love it, the closer it gets
The last minute panic and rush
Well meaning mothers working up debts
In that purchase crazed, pre-Christmas crush

The spin and ker-ching of the roll in the till
The pile-up of notes in the bank
The wallets are emptied, the shopping bags filled
And who do we have to thank?

This wonderful season of products and things
Of marketing, posters and ads
Reminding the public what joy it can bring
To fill up your stockings with fads

Never allow the silence to stir
Drown out the peace with a cry
Spin Christmas into a spend-crazy blur
And keep them believing the lie

“The value of love is the value of cash
A man without love is a thrift
The more that one loves, the more one should dash
The more one should spend on a gift”

Force them to buy, remove their autonomy
Make Christmas spend without reason
The loss of the spirit boosts the economy
God bless the retailer’s season

Advent Poems (Dec 9th) - Wise Men Limerick

This is the tale of some men
Whose wisdom exceeded them when
They followed a star
Which took them quite far
And led them to Jesus – Amen!

Advent Poems (Dec 8th) - The Innkeeper's Limerick

There was an innkeeper named Ned
Who offered some hope when he said
You’ve taken too long
The birthing suites gone
But I know of a beautiful shed

Advent Poems (Dec 7th) - Santa

Sitting
At
Night
Thinking
All

Christmases
Lack
Any
Unusual
Saviour
Expectations

Advent Poems (Dec 6th) - My First Mince Pie

My first mince pie and I’m in heaven
The flaky, crumbly, mincemeat bliss
Give me the choice, I’d eat eleven
Sweet pastry it doesn’t get better than this

Serve it hot or serve it cold
I do not care just serve it
If someone’s selling, deem it sold
If I’m not there reserve it

Clotted/double/single cream
I’m a mince pie eating fool
I go to bed to mince pie dreams
If only it were always Yule

So stuff me full, I’ll still surmise
I’ll never tire of fresh mince pies

A Special Non-Advent Limerick

There was an old man named Andy,

Who wanted my poems to scandy.

If he thought that was bad

Well I'm really quite glad

Coz then this is really gonna wind him up

Advent Poems (Dec 5th) - Jack's Limerick

This is the story of Jack
Whose energy started to lack
See Jack was a donkey
Whose legs were quite wonky
With a pregnant girl on his back

Advent Poems (Dec 4th) - Christmas Trees

Real
Christmas
Trees
Die
Brown
Languish
Shower needles
Make mess
Have to be watered
Need to be thrown away!
Like spoilt children
They always demand attention
Insisting they be kept and tended to.
But I love real Christmas trees
They make a room smell of Christmas
They bring life to a warmly decorated lounge
They change the air, the atmosphere
They turn a neglected corner into a centre piece
They become an extra seasonal character to the family
And for this reason
I’ll always love
Real trees



Fake
Christmas
Trees
Last
Survive
Keep going
Do not change
Continue.
They are practical
Can be used year after year
They want for nothing
They effect their job effortlessly
Spending summer months in the attic
They wait for next year patiently
They do not intrude on the atmosphere
Simply offer visual stimulus for those who look
In their manufactured shades of green.
They are clean, cost effective, strong and plastic
Nothing can be more reliable than a fake Christmas tree
And for this reason
I’ll always use
Fake trees

Advent Poems (Dec 3rd) - The Christmas Lesson

They wait
Wide eyed and expectant
In a season where good things come
From the darkest places

They know
From the dull comes excitement
From frowns comes laughter
And soon those who oppressed and restricted
Will join and smile and encourage and play.

He stands
Before them and smiles
Allowing their hope to grow
Filling their hearts.
Behind their eyes he can see it
A joy unmistakable
Waiting
Shaking
Leaning forward
Ready to breakout across their faces with one word:

“Christmas!”

They smile,
They laugh,
They sigh with relief
Their brains switch off and their hearts engage
A veil dissipates
The room brightens

There will be no writing today
No marks
No assessments
No judgement
They know this subject
They do it well
This is their speciality

“What is Christmas?”

Hands shoot up,
Stretching to the ceiling
Like vines to the sun
Answers explode:
Food
Chocolates
Santa
Snow
Reindeer
Trees
Jesus
They laugh

He stops
He looks
He asks

“What about Jesus?”

They pause
They think
They consider
They discuss

The boring nativity
The children’s play
The distraction from what’s really important

Silence

They continue

They ask
They answer
They learn
They teach

The importance of a childish tale
The relevance of an old fable
The excitement of a dull story
So much knowledge to be acquired from that already known
No separation but a solid synthesis
Everything they felt
And believed
And knew
Confirmed by what has been procured

They leave
Unchanged
Unshaken
Affirmed in their faith of what is pure and perfect and real

He stays
Inspired, refreshed and challenged
He sits and he waits
Wide eyed and expectant
The only student in the class

Advent Poems (Dec 2nd) - Mary Limerick

There was a young girl named Mary
Whose encounter with God made her wary
He said she’d give birth
To the saviour of earth
I think I’d have found that quite scary

Advent Poems (Dec 1st) - Advent Calendars

I love advent – advent calendars
The chocolaty, picture based, countdown challengers
I love opening advent doors
Advent windows, advent drawers

December first and I start counting
Christmas is coming, the excitements mounting
Put up the tinsel, break out the lights
Stockings are great but you’ll get more in tights

Keep shopping, no stopping it all starts here
December the first – it’s commercial cheer
The presents, the trees, the food – it’s great
Putting off budgets and putting on weight

I’m already singing, I’m already Dancing
And Dashing and Blitzing and Donning and Prancing
It’s time to join throngs of festive scavengers
And it all starts here with advent calendars.

Contemplative Youth Ministry

I don't normally like posting quotes in my blog and I especially don't feel comfortable with quoting a book that I am only 40 pages of the way through. However, I really wanted to post the following quote of a book I'm reading now because (a) I think it's so spot on it hurts and (b) if I wait until I've finished the book...well I will probably never finish the book because I never do. Anyway, this is from Mike Yaconelli's "Contemplative Youth Ministry":

Most ministries with youth in the West are ministries of anxiety. In fact, most Christian communities don't even consider the spiritual needs of young people until there's a critical mass of anxious adults. Look behind most youth ministry programmes and you'll find pastors and church boards nervous about declining memberships, parents afraid their kids lack morals, congregations worried that the Christian faith has become irrelevant to younger generations, and the persistent frustration among adults that something ('anything!') needs to be done with 'those kids'! To be unaware of adult anxiety toward youth is often to misperceive what drives most youth ministries.

...

Young people are about energy; they have bodies they want to move, they have emotions they want to express, and they have developing relationships that are incredibly interesting and important to them. Adults - especially in a faith community - want young people to listen, to behave, to be still, to stop talking, to soothe adult fears, to fulfil mission statements and support programmes. This makes young people wary and anxious.

Confessions of a 10-Year-Old - Part 4

Monday 27th September 1993:

On Friday I went to Aaron's house and it was fun, first of all we looked at Aarons magazine and then we wathed some t.v. and had some tea. Then we played on the super nintendo and then watched the generation game.

Ok, I know this isn't my most profound (or even vaguely interesting) entry but it warrants a special mention because of my super awesome accompanying picture. Check out Blanka's deadly electric shock move from Street Fighter. One word - awesome!!

(I'm also quite proud of my depiction of Aaron's hair but I appreciate that not many people who read this blog will be able to verify that)

Once Upon a Time...

...Glyn Harries blessed the world with his music.

Once upon a time, Glyn Harries sported a rather smashing nineties haircut.

I went to see my parents last night and they showed me a Christmas card they'd been sent with this photo in it. It made me smile and I thought I would share.

In Need of a Cure

After being called out of the shower by Matt this morning for taking too long, I was prompted to reflect once again upon the fact that I'm pretty certain I have a disease. It's a condition which I've suffered with from a very young age. A severe and very specific psychological defect. You see, ladies and gentlemen, I suffer from Showerlingeristus.

Showerlingeristus (noun) - A condition of the mind which blocks memory, anxiety and concern of external matters when the body is brought into contact with streams of steaming hot water. Those affected by Showerlingeristus will likely experience symptoms of severe punctuality deficiency, social tension and wrinkled fingertips.

Here's how it works: I wake up in the morning and find that, due to an overzealous affection towards the snooze button, I am running ever so slightly late (this might be for a meeting or a lesson or just to get into the office at a reasonable time). I spring out of my bed and set a time limit to everything. I need to pack my bag with everything I need for the day, leave it lying by the door with my coat, pick up my clothes, run into the bathroom, jump in and out of the shower, brushing my teeth and shaving while I'm in there, get out, throw my clothes on, pick up my bag and coat, and then, if all has gone according to plan, I should be able to get out the door within 15 minutes. But everything has to be quick. Ok? Ok. So go.

I grab everything I need for the day, stuff it into my bag, leave it lying by the door with my coat, pick up my clothes, run into the bathroom, get the shower gel, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush and razor ready, turn on the hot water, jump into the shower...and then it all goes wrong from there. I physically and mentally cannot have a quick shower. As soon as I step under that water, that's it. You've lost me. I could be rushing to the hospital with a cure that will save millions from an epidemic (a breakout of acute showerlingeristus for example). But as soon as I get in that shower, it all fades away. My mind drifts to all sorts of philosophical quandaries and imaginative daydreams and I completely lose track of time and awareness that I'm running late. Fortunately, it rarely becomes an issue in the Whitehouse as everyone tends to get up at different times but it's a real pain when I'm trying to get somewhere on time.

Does anyone else suffer from this debilitating illness? Is there a cure?

New Hair

What do you think?

In Which Glyn Does Some Serious Coveting and Some Serious Thinking

In Need of a Drive Transplant

So my blogging as of late has been on the slow side. And by slow I mean, of course, simply not happening. I've been blaming this on various things. Facebook has featured quite highly in my list of reasons. I was also about to name my lack of inspiration as a culprit but as I was doing so I realised that I worked in a bookstore for a year and during that time I was the Blog King (officially named at the 2006 blogspot awards in Stockholm). I am out and about so much more these days that I should have inspiration oozing from my sweat glands. But inspiration has not been oozing from my sweat glands. Sweat has been oozing from sweat glands. But no inspiration. And anyway, even without my sweaty inspiration I still have plenty of ten-year-old diary entries to regale you all with and I know how much you love those (when I say "you" I am, of course, referring to the one person who has not given up on this blog - hello Glyn. Sorry. Still no comments. Try again in 5 minutes).

So if it's not inspiration lackage that is to blame, where can I point the finger? Unfortunately, it would seem that my lacklustre blogging efforts (and by "lacklustre" I mean, of course "non-existent") is part of a much larger problem. I am suffering from drive failure. I am losing my drive. You know the way Austin Powers lost his mojo? That's kinda like how I've lost my drive. Except I'm not going to go on a time-travelling adventure to reclaim it from the hands of my arch-nemesis because, well, I can't be bothered.

I've lost drive in most things. I've lost drive in my church. I've lost drive in my writing. I've lost drive in doing a lot of the things that I really want to do. I wouldn't say that I've lost my drive in my job so much but I'm certainly starting to feel it slip. And the reason I'm losing my drive in these things. Well it's lots of reasons but I think mainly just because I'm fed up. I'm fed up with the way things are and I want to do something about it but I don't know where to begin and nothing's changing and no matter what I try to do, someone will convince me I'm wrong or naive or incapable and a lot of the time I'll convince myself that I'm wrong or naive or incapable and I don't know what I want to do or which of my hairbrained schemes to persue or where to start with any of them and I end up not working towards any of them and get really frustrated and then start using words like hairbrained and it all goes to pot.

This weekend a group of us went to Eastbourne for the youth worker's conference and while the others seemed to come away from it feeling really inspired and strengthened I came away feeling really bogged down by all the things I want to do but can't. I felt like I was hearing from a lot of great Christian youth workers who were doing great Christian youth work and that was great for them but how would I start putting that into practice. And where do I start? Do I start up the theatre company that I've wanted since I was 16? Do I spend more time fighting the traditionalism in my church? Is that even an issue worth worrying about? Do I do more detached work in my job? Do I do more assemblies in my job? Do I spend more time with fewer young people or less time with more young people? Do I work to feed myself or do I stay where I am so that I can serve no matter how frustrating and draining it gets? Do I do this or do I focus on that and how can I do it all and whinge whinge whinge whinge whinge...

And with all this confusion and fumbling around and whinging my drive has decided to take a vacation until my brain gets back into gear and I can begin to focus. I think I need to come to the realisation that "Here Lies the Man who Saved the World" will probably never appear on my gravestone.

But the reason I'm blogging now is that I feel that maybe there's an answer and as much as I hate to admit it (so I won't - not yet) I think it's an answer that I've known for a while. I've had a couple of really positive conversations over the past few days that have helped me realise that the answer to my lack of drive and general feeling of peace may well lie with something I've been putting off for the past couple of years. It's really scary but at the same time I'm feeling a certain peace and excitement about it that I haven't felt in a long while.

So I guess what I'm saying is: I need more drive and watch this space....

Just So I Don't Have a Blog Free Month

Sorry.

I know this is cheating.

Have been really busy lately.

Will try and make November a better month for blogging.

Thank you for sticking with me.

I don't deserve you.

Lots of Love

Glyn

Confessions of a 10-Year-Old - Part 3

Monday 20th September 1993:

On Friday Aaron came to my house. It was fun. We played on the megadrive first of all. Then we read some magazines. After that we had some tea. Then we played on the megadrive again and then we played on the game gear. then we watched genaration game. Theen we took Aaron back home.

Gabriel's Oboe - Ennio Morricone

My sister is a massive movie-music fan. She loves it. I can't usually watch anything with her without being told who wrote the soundtrack and being given a brief synopsis of the composer's career. Daniel (my brother) and I, in our musically uncultured manner, usually laugh and call her pretentious. So it is with a large amount of word-swallowing that I admit that I have completely fallen in love with this piece of music from The Mission. I have literally just finished watching the movie (at 1:30am) for the first time and am still up, downloading the music and finding clips on YouTube. I guess it's one of those pieces that I've aways sort of recognised from somewhere or other but never really fully appreciated till now.

So Lisa, I am deeply and humbly sorry and I know you will appreciate this as much as (if not far more) than I do:

Confessions of a 10-Year-Old - Part 2

Monday 13th September 1993:

On Friday when I came home from school I wathed the T.V. Knightmare was on and it was a new serise and there were new things in it. It was fun. After tea I played on the megadrive. After I played on the megadrive I had my supper. When I went to bed I dremt that I was in knightmare but it was much more fun. I didn't have a helmet on but I had to dodge lot of things which you wouldn't have to do because it would be to hard with a helmet.

Office

Confessions of a 10-Year-Old - Part 1

Long long ago, before the creation of blog, people had to find other, computerless ways to make a note of their thoughts, feelings and experiences. They would do this in something called - a diary. A diary was something whereby people would take a piece of paper (or an exercise book which was made up of lots of pieces of folded paper) and a pen (a small, handheld, thin, cylindrical object that would dispense ink through a tube) and they would use the pen to make markings and letters on the paper - something they called "handwriting". As I was rummaging through Mum and Dad's loft looking for a passport (which I never found and, as such, had to pay £108 for a new one - grrr!), I came across some diaries that I wrote when I was at primary school. Not having the means to share my thoughts and observations with the world as a child (apart from myself, my best friend Aaron and Mrs Luff - my Year 6 teacher) I thought I would use this blog, now, as a platform to share my confessions as a 10-year-old philosopher. This is the first installment:

Wednesday 8th September 1993:

In my holidays I went to Sheffield and I went to my cousins house but they were'nt there though because they were at some sort of camp. When we were there we went on load's of walks. We did at least twenty miles by the time we went to are gran's. It was fun there. My gran gave me two pounds. When we had meals my gran gave us all are favorite food. On Saturday my uncle came round. He's called Glyn to. My dad named me after him. He brought some 3-d posters but you had to see the pithures and make them stick out at you with your own eye. It's very very hard.

Once we had a lovely tea made by my gran my uncle Glyn said he was going bunji jumping the day after which was Sunday.

Pretty deep stuff uh? As my knowledge and experience expands, my wisdom and witty observations become even more profound (if you can believe that from one so young). I'll keep you posted with more installments.

In Which Glyn Ushers in a New Era of Blogging

Ceeeeelebrate Good Times - COME ON!!

Ok, admittedly I probably don't deserve any of this cake after a whole month of not blogging (something of which I am deeply ashamed) but this is to celebrate my 100th post. Yay!!

To celebrate, as well as uploading this cake, I thought I would make a list of all the challenges I have set myself over the past 100 posts regardless of whether or not I've actually achieved them. So here goes:

1) Glyn Reads

Ever the visionary, when I set up my blog, I decided to start not one, not two but three (oh yes that's right - three) different blogs. As well as the infamous "Confessions of an Innocent Man" which has been well read and loved by dozens all around the world (a statment which bore a certain degree of truth before Lucy Aitken-Read moved back to England and thus ended my internationally appreciated blog status), the eager and willing blog reader could also find the Glyn Harries anthology (containing all my finest works of sketches, poetry and other such writings) and then the Glyn Harries Book Review blog in which I would read a book and then give my opinions on said book before rating it. As such the blog reader, rather than having to read the book themselves, would simply read my review of the book and then would know what to think (this saves on the ghastly chore of formulating one's own opinion). Whilst both of these secondary blogs have not been updated as much as I had originally intended, it is the book review blog that has been the most resounding failure. With a total of two posts in which I reviewed Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis and Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code (both of which I'd read before setting the blog up and the last post being posted on the 16th April 2006) the idea soon fizzled into cyber oblivion. It would have perhaps worked better had the idea for a book review blog not coincided with the time in my life that I grew bored of reading books. So not the best of starts. Well...as you mean to go on.

2) Glynn Harris
My first challenge. I discovered a man who had taken my whole name and violated it beyond recognition. He worked as a golf instructor and tutored one of my, then, youth members. I set myself the challenge to meet this man and try to convince him that he was spelling it all wrong. Didn't happen. Didn't even come close. Didn't even start in fact. I made absolutely no attempt to get in touch with this man. I'd call it a failed attempt but there was no attempt. So I guess it's just a failed.

3) The Challenge!
Perhaps the finest moment in this blog's illustrious history. I set myself the challenge to have a lie published in a national paper. This I achieved when the nation believed that Condoleeza Rice's first name was aramaic for "love of the unknown" thanks largely to the Metro's letters page. Unfortunately, despite the success of this achievement, this challenge also, ultimately, ended in failure. Not satisfied with a mere mention in the letters page, I promised to keep going with the challenge. The challenge was going to be extended. I was going to have more. More lies. More publicity. More mischieviousnesses. Unfortunately, I realised that I had no tricks up my sleeve other than writing into the Metro letters page and promptly retired. If I'd left it alone, this could have been a brilliant success. But alas, once again my ambition far out-weighed my drive and I am left with another failure. Ho-hum.

4) Dirty Stinking Pedestrian

At last, success. On the 27th July 2006 I set myself the challenge that by 27th July 2007 I would be driving. Here is me in my Corsa as a symbol of my completion of said challenge:

(Note: For the sake of integrity, I should tell you that I am actually posing for this photo. The car was completely stationary and I was not, at the point that this photo was taken, doing anything that I could not have done one year ago - or indeed 15 years ago. You're just going to have to take my word for it - I can actually drive now).

5) Anday!

About the same time as promising to learn to drive, my friend Andy was spending his working hours commenting on other peoples blogs. These comments were usually abusive and attempted to derive something that resembled humour (Andy is, by my own admission, not funny). The most annoying thing is that old man Andy (if you're wandering how old, think of your own age and then add a few years) refused to set up his own blog so that others may comment on his life and musings. I therefore determined that I would make Sunday "Anday" and post a story about Andy every week so that the masses may know of his meanderings. This too was destined for failure. After two weekly posts in which I revealed a photo of Andy sleeping with his cat and regaled you all with the tale of Andy being caught naked with the cleaner, this feature (like so many before it) fell by the wayside. However, it wasn't a complete loss as Andy now has his very own blog which is really rather good and I would recommend it to anyone who is still reading this post (I'm guessing if you've got this far it's because you should be doing something more important and are looking for other ways to procrastinate - in that case, read Andy's blog).

6) Campaign to Boycott HMV!

Ummm, once again, it just didn't happen.

7) Procrastination Hall of Fame

Much like the Glyn Harries Book Reviews blog, the Procrastination Hall of Fame did not take off quite as well as I had hoped. After a single, solitary post the idea just kind of stopped dead. It's a shame because I'm still desperately in love with it. I just wasn't sure where to take it (how do you research and measure other people's procrastination?). Maybe one day I'll be inspired and driven to pick it up again and run with it (although that sounds worryingly like another failed challenge in the making) but in the mean time it just lies there, beautiful, expectant and lifeless.

So there you go. 100 posts and a rich tapestry of unachievements. I'm almost proud to have such a fine legacy of failed challenges and abandoned features. Maybe one day I'll come up with something that sticks.

Sorry it's been so long since I blogged. And sorry I've been so infrequent. August sees a Summer School and a holiday so it's shaping up to be another dry month blog-wise but I have a few new ideas up my sleeve come September (something to keep me regular as it were) so we'll see what happens.

Thanks for reading.

Before it's too Late.

Having noticed that I've only blogged thricely during this fair month of June, I thought I'd get a quick post in before July arrives.

The blog world seems to have dried up somewhat in recent weeks and months. Posts seem to be getting more and more sparse and bloggers seem less willing to share their tales and comments. I was sad to see Lloyd retire his weekly Thursday Thought as it seemed to poignantly reflect the decline in blog interest. Maybe it's the rising popularity of other web-based phenomenons such as Facebook. Maybe the novelty is wearing off. Maybe blogspot has just had its day.

Alternatively, maybe it's just me and my friends who are being lazy whilst the rest of the blogging world is alive and cyber-kicking.

Who knows?

In other news, I won an award for my blog. Yay! The coveted Mitchie Award for best blog post. Truly a great day for everyone here on the Confessions team and proof that it doesn't matter how pretentious it is to create your own awards, giving them out will always be well received. Thanks John.

Kiwi!

Possibly the saddest and most beautiful thing I have ever seen:

Now I Remember...

So last night I decided to finally get back with the programme and went and signed up for a couple of 21st century cyber necessities that I've been putting off for a while:

1) I joined facebook

2) I downloaded msn messenger

Facebook, obviously, is fairly new in the grand scheme of things but messenger is something that I don't think I've done since I was at uni. I know it's a really popular form of communication but I couldn't quite remember why I've been avoiding it for so long. Well now, at 10.45 the next morning, I remember exactly why I was so reluctant to jump on the bandwagon. Two pretty major reasons:

1) It is almost 11 o'clock. I've been in the office for a good couple of hours and all I've been doing is frantically chasing round all my facebook buddies who have added me to their friends lists and have left me messages and I've been catching up with people I haven't seen in donkey's years and I've been leaving them messages and inviting other people to add me as one of their friends and at the same time, I've been chatting to mates on msn and all the while I have got absolutely no work done. Now I am not the most productive person in the office at the best of times. Why you could put me in a room with nothing but a computer, a power drill and the andrex puppy and I'd still find the one thing to do that wasn't work. Throw facebook and msn into the mix and I'm pretty stuffed.

2) Then there's reason number 2 (and this is the big one). No sooner had I logged on to msn this morning than I got a message from a girl whose email address I didn't really recognise, asking me how I was. After a while it transpired that neither of us were totally convinced that we knew each other at all and she wasn't sure how my email address had gotten onto her account. So we typed back and forth for a while (trying to work out where we might have met) before things started getting a little weird. First of all, she was very concerned that I might be bored in my office and she wanted to know what she might be able to do to alleviate that bordom (this was coupled with a little yellow round face giving me a saucy wink). Well it was really nice of her to be so concerned but I assured her I wasn't particularly bored and actually had quite a bit to do. She then asked me if I was single. I stopped writing back at this point. Who the heck was this girl?! What kind of person says stuff like this to someone they're not sure they've ever even met? I decided to sign out before she started giving details of what it was exactly she wanted to do to me.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am staying well away from msn messenger from now on. I think I'll stick to forms of communication that don't involve me being pounced on by nymphomaniacs.

And the Rest!

So here's a video I made of the rest of our time at Wigley last weekend. Please bear in mind that:

a) This was my first attempt at editing anything and

b) Most of the footage I had of the weekend was from the music video (see last post) so a lot of it will be the same as the "Lollipop" music vid.

But other than that, I'm pretty pleased with it. Enjoy.

Mika Breaks Wigley!

Just got home from an awesome weekend spent in Wigley. Matt White, Matt Leeder, Christina, Michelle and I went to see Roland and Joan (Michelle's mum and dad) in their beautiful house up North (Christina took the opportunity to practice her Northern accent - it probably has to be heard to be believed). It was a really nice weekend and although weather conditions left many of our plans scuppered, we were still able to produce this work of absolute genius on the Sunday (credit to Matt L for his editing skills):

All in all, a pretty productive weekend methinks.

My New Phone - Sexy But Useless!

Earlier this week, I got myself a new phone. It's very attractive. It's colourful, it's slim and holding it makes me ever so slightly happier.

The problem is that, like so much in this day and age, my sexy new phone, despite being aesthetically pleasing, doesn't have a great deal going on upstairs.

Let me explain.

For the past year, I have been using this phone. It has served me reasonably well for the past 13 or so months but last weekend, it decided to up and die on me. Bit by bit, it just collapsed. Imagine a mobile phone having a stroke - it was something like that. First of all, it was just the downwards button that didn't work. Slightly annoying but I could live with it. Then the cancel button stopped working so that if I were, for example, writing a text (I can hear all those that know me scoffing but let's just imagine), and I made a mistake, I was unable to correct that mistake and would therefore have to go back to the main phone screen and start again. Then, my phone entered new realms of weirdness by allowing me to receive calls and speak to the person on the other end without allowing me to hear them. I was having to answer the phone like this:

"Hello? Hi, I know you can hear me but I'm afraid I can't hear you. This is all one way over here. I'm not entirely sure what's going on. Just some new development in my cutting edge, state of the art mobile telephone. I can walk and speak to you, I just can't hear you. I know you might be trying to say stuff now but don't bother coz I'm just getting silence through the earpiece. Maybe these new fangled things require some special attachment to enable a two-way conversation. Who knows? Anyway, if you're still there, may I recommend you phone the house phone. The number is...."

After that, piece by piece and button by button, my phone just stopped working until Tuesday morning at 09.14 the screen went blank and my ailing phone passed on. So, after an extensive mourning period, I went out Tuesday afternoon and bought myself my new phone.

Now here's the problem (and I do hope you've stuck around long enough to read this because this is the important bit). Because my old phone has died and all my numbers were saved on the phone (and yes I know I should've saved them onto my SIM card - thank you for your hindsight), I have lost all my contact details. Which is why my good looking new phone is is not a great deal of use right now.

So I write this blog to ask a favour of you all. If you have my number and feel that I should have yours, please send me a text with your name in it so that I can build my contacts back up.

Thank you.

Have Passed Test - Now Will Someone Please Teach Me to Drive!?!

So about a week and a half ago, while I was skipping back and forth within my timeline, I passed my driving test. Woo hoo! I did pretty well. First attempt and I only got four minors (four measly minors). So I've been feeling pretty good as you might imagine. Having passed my test, my job (specifically the travelling from school to school bit) is going to be one heck of a lot easier. I won't have to rely on friends, family and colleagues to cart me around the place. I am now one step closer to independence. All I need now is a car. I have passed my test and all is well.

There's one slight problem though.

It turns out that I can't actually drive.

On Monday, I was at Straight Ahead (North East London Divisional Youth Chorus to all you salvos (some choir to everyone else)) practice in Romford. The deal was that I would make my way there with Paul Leverett (the awesome bassist of the cutting edge and convention defying band Electralyte to all you Christian rock band enthusiasts (some bloke that plays bass to everyone else)) and then I'd get to drive back. Excellent. It might seem pretty trivial to all you drivers but I'd never done that trip before and I was pretty excited about it. After the practice had finished, a small group of us decided to get something to eat and Christina and I were sent out to reserve the table. She said I could drive. Yesss.

I was eager to get out fairly soon as I didn't want an audience watching me ready to make their judgments on my newly recognised driving skills. So Christina and I left as soon as we could and got in the car. The car was facing the fence, next to Paul's (you remember - the bassist) car and needed a simple reverse maneuver to slide out and get out of the carpark. Easy right?

Yeah.

I thought so too.

I got in the car, positioned the chair, did all the safety and mirror checks and started the engine. So far, so good. Just as I was getting ready to move, another car was coming towards us from my right. I'd let them go. Nope. They were going to let me go. Ok. I had a bit of an audience now but that's ok. They could watch. Let them see how someone who only got four minors in their driving test does it. Christina was next to me to support me and see me through the process. She knew from experience that reversing was not yet my forte. But that's ok. This was going to be different. I now knew the key to reversing was to always remember to look out the back window and not to try and maneuver backwards with the solitary visual aid of my rearview mirror. As long as I did this and as long as I took it nice and slowly, I was going to be fine. I would just reverse out and be on my way. So I checked all my mirrors again, shifted in my seat, made sure I had a clear view of the back window and slowly lifted my foot off the clutch.

We lurched forward.

Apparently another key to reversing is to put the car into reverse. Who'd have thought?

Ok, so I'd made a bit of a mistake and the car that was waiting for me had seen it. But that was fine. Everyone does it at some point. So I laughed it off, put the car into reverse and tried again. By this point, a few people were starting to leave the hall and enter the carpark. My audience was expanding. Ok, so here we go again. Mirrors, shift, back window, car definitely in reverse, foot off clutch. Flippin' yesssss. We were going backwards. I'd have celebrated even more had I known that this was pretty much as good as it was going to get. Keeping my eyes carefully fixed behind me, I started to turn the car. This was going well. I was nowhere near the wall. I could make a smooth turn out and leave everyone feeling suitably impressed.

"STOP!!!"

I stopped. Apparently, despite my back end being very deliberately and carefully clear of any obstacles, my front end was worryingly close to Paul's car. Christina gently warned me that I was little close (the "STOP!!!" didn't come from Christina by the way. She is, without doubt, the best person to be in the car with when you're a new driver. I'm not sure where the "STOP!!!" came from). Paul, who had by this point joined the audience and was now quite keen, for obvious reasons, to take more of an active role in the proceedings, asked (surprisingly graciously) if it would be at all possible for me to position the car so that it wasn't actually touching his before I continued to swing into his back door. "No worries" Christina reassured me, "we'll just go forward a bit and get into a better position". So I went forward a bit. But I certainly did not feel in any way that I was in a better position. I was at a really odd angle, lodged somewhere between the fence and Paul's car. Reversing would send me back into the car. Foward and I'm in a fence. Christina suggested that I reverse the other way into an emptier part of the carpark and attempt to turn round there.

"You don't want to do that mate" Jon Mitson, suddenly appearing at my window, told me I had to reverse and then swing right. So I tried that. Great. Except now I was at the other end of Paul's car inbetween that and a brick wall. Brilliant. I reversed a bit but I was too close to the wall. I pulled forward a bit but I was too close to Paul's car. I reversed a bit, trying to go right. I went forward a bit, trying to go left. Back and right. Forward and left. Back. Forward. This is not going well. The audience I was so keen to avoid had grown to accomodate most members of the Salvation Army within the UK. Thousands of people were eagerly watching me as I Austin Powered my way out of the car park. Forward. Left. Back. Right. Everyone's watching. Oh crap. I'm starting to panic. Stop watching. Forward and left. Back and... yup! It's happened. I've forgotten which way I need to steer to go in the directon I want to go. I want to go that way. Is that left? Man, I can't even remember which way that way is. What if I turn the steering wheel this way? Nope. Going in the wrong direction. I'll try turning it the other way. HOW AM I STILL GOING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!!!?! A commitee has now formed to discuss ways of getting me out of the car park. "Turn the wheel all the way round", "No - the other way", "Go forward", "Go back", "You're good, now you can go forward", "No don't you'll hit the car". STOP HELPING!!! Christina takes the steering wheel and does some weird kind of magic with it. Good, we're going in the right direction. Christina can steer. I'll just go back and forward. Back. Forward. Back. No that's forward again. The "Get the Moron Out of the Stinkin' Car Park" committee have now given up all hope of ever getting home and form a sub-committee to set up tents. Forward. Back. Forback. What?! Argh!!

So eventually I make a smooth turn out and leave everyone feeling suitably impressed. We pass Matt White who looks like he could do with sitting down and counting to ten before talking to me next (did I mention that it was his car?). So Christina and I get to Nando's but were too late to book a table so we all had to eat at Frankie and Benny's instead.

As we left and headed toward the car, I held the car key out to Matt in such a way so as to communicate that I didn't feel I deserved to drive the car home as had previously been agreed. I knew I'd have to insist despite all the pep talk the group would give me about getting back on the horse. I knew I would have to answer the concerned questions of "are you sure you don't want to give it a try?" by looking down at my feet and nodding my head humbly.

Well none of these things were spoken but I'm sure we were all thinking it as Matt quickly grabbed the key from my open palm and hopped in the driver's seat.

Hmm. Might be a bit too soon to start up my own chauffeuring business.

Back to the Future.

Ok so Mel was right. This whole going back in time thing was a stupid idea. There have been so many things that I've wanted to blog about which I haven't been able to because I'm in the past and then when it does get to the right point one week later, it's not such a big deal anymore. So this is me firing up the flux capacitor and travelling back to the 23rd May 2007.

It's good to be back.

This Time Last Week...Part 2

Wow. What a manic week! (Thanks John). I've had a really busy few days. And have so many stories...

(Seriously, this whole going back in time thing has flopped completely. I should have just blogged about ROOTS this time last week and been done with it - so that's what I'm going to do now)

Ok, so had a good time at ROOTS. Filled with foam fingers, big tents and, er, being in Southport. Some highlights of the weekend (in brief):

1) The music

2) The speaking

3) The dancing (I wasn't quite expecting this last one either but the rhythm got me)

I know I said I had so many stories but it's been a while now (even for someone who has gone back in time one week) and they're pretty long stories as well as numerous and I'm running out of time and quite frankly, despite the length and number, they're not overly interesting. So I'll spare you.

This time travelling has not worked out as planned.

This Time Last Week...Part 1.

Wow. What a manic week (should that sentence be finished with a question mark? It's more of an exclamation than a question but is that grammatically correct? The burden of my linguistic curiosities often weighs me down)./?/!

I've had a really busy few days. And I have so many stories. And, whilst I would quite like to do them justice, I am painfully aware that doing so could result in the boredom of many. So I have decided to set my blog back a week and spend a little time each day reflecting on the events of 7 days ago. So ladies and gentlemen, if you will permit me, allow me to take you back to Thursday 3rd May 2007 (following "permit me" directly with "allow me" seems strange. Should I have done that? Oh the questions):

I'm in the car with Matt Leeder on our way to ROOTS (I'm not sure why exactly but this always has to be spelt with capital letters) as we while away the miles talking, laughing at weird town names and working our way through a packet of Minstrels and some Haribo. Actually, looking at the time, that's not true. Scratch that.

I've just got in after having "delivered" some lessons on environmentalism at St Peter's school. I put the "delivered" in inverted commas as "delivered" probably isn't the best word to use. It was more like thinking about the lesson that I had planned whilst the four seperate year 7 classes entertained themselves with a variety of impromptu activities. Discussions of recycling, resource consumption and lifestyle choices soon gave way to the more important tasks of chatting, drawing, calling out film quotes ("my tiny nipples went to France") and experimenting with how long you can aggravate the class by spraying Lynx before someone hurls you out the window. I was reminded by one of the teachers afterwards that it's a rough school and that I shouldn't beat myself up about it but you can't help leaving things like that feeling like the worst teacher slash schoolsworker in the world (hmm, probably didn't need to spell out "slash"). I guess I just have to find better ways of engaging kids with such behavioural issues. One of the RE teachers gave me a few handy tips.

Anyway, time for ROOTS. I'm just finishing off the packing while I wait for Matt Leeder to come and pick me up. I should probably get some sweets for the journey. Hmm, wander what I'll get.

Terracotta Chinese Weeing Man.

This poem is dedicated to Andrew and Verity (Leonard) Hill for their brilliant but impotent gift:

Terracotta Chinese weeing man,
I look at you with your bowler hat and briefcase
And I ask “how can one so posh be oh so rude?”
You’re smart in part but also nude
Oh terracotta Chinese weeing man,
Will you wee for me?

How do you work terracotta Chinese weeing man?
We have tried and tried to fill you up
But over and over you disappoint.
Oh Andy and V do you like mocking me with stories of wee?
Oh terracotta Chinese weeing man,
Will you wee for me?

Terracotta Chinese weeing man,
If one should see such novelty at Southend Beach
We would surely call thee obscene.
But you are from China terracotta Chinese weeing man
So we label thee “CULTURE?”
Oh terracotta Chinese weeing man,
Will you wee for me?

Such look of surprise terracotta Chinese weeing man
It’s as if thee does not expect to wee
But why then surprise for you do not wee
No wee for thee nor me nor V
Andy you said he would work, you said he would wee
Oh terracotta Chinese weeing man,
Will you wee for me?

Terracotta Chinese weeing man,
You stand and stare and I despair
For you are naught but ornament to me
I will think of thee on the lavatory,
Doing what you could not be
Oh terracotta Chinese weeing man,
I will wee for thee.

Bummed Out at the End of an Awesome Day!

This is Glyn. Glyn is sad. You can tell because, when he's sad, he talks about himself in the third person (a kind of detachment thing I suppose). Glyn is bummed out because this evening he tried to do something that he hasn't done in a number of years - and he was unable to do it. He was never brilliant at the thing that he tried tonight when he did used to do it many years ago but he always assumed that when you knew how to do it, you'd always know and was therefore expecting to be able to do it - but he couldn't. It wasn't even that he was just rusty. He actually just could not do it. Whatever part of his brain had enabled him to do this thing in the past (for confidentiality reasons, Glyn is unable to disclose what that thing actually was) has gone completely now. Vanished. Removed completely from existence. Glyn might has well never have known how to do this thing. It was an extra sad time for Glyn because all of his friends, who had also tried the thing (and many of them had not done the thing for a number of years either) were really pleased at how well they all managed to do the thing. But it's a shame that Glyn feels this way at all because the rest of the day had been absolutely brilliant. In fact, when Glyn focusses on the day rather than the thing, I am suddenly much happier (see? back into first person). I've had an awesome day. A day involving picnics and frisbees and rounders and my first ever flip flops (thank you Chell) and friends and barbeques and home made burgers (thank you Roland) and getting lost and dancing and music and sitting out under the stars and Risk. So I guess it's not really appropriate for me to gripe about "the thing" when I've had such a great day. Maybe the above picture shouldn't be so morose then. It should have more colour. More life. More pizzazz. Something like this: