Collectee Species and How to Spot Them.

So here we go again. The highlight of any Salvationist’s calendar, the Red Shield Annual Appeal is here once more. I’ve decided this year, as an aid to new and old Collectors alike, I would put together a guide outlining the various types of people that the Collector is likely to come into contact with during the collecting period. Below is the result of 7 years worth of collecting experience. This list is by no means exhaustive and, in the name of collaborative research, I would appreciate any other species that you may have come into contact with over the years (this offer is open to Salvationist and Non-Salvationist alike – although there are many of you who have not had the Annual Appeal experience, we have all had various opportunities that have allowed us to observe the human being when faced with the dilemma of whether to give generously or not). Thank you.

The Joyful Giver
Fortunately one of the most common species of Collectee. Found in most environments, the Joyful Giver is pleasant and approachable, often expressing gratitude for the opportunity to give. A good source of refreshment and emotional nourishment for the Collector.
Favourite Saying: “Oh no – thank you”

The Absentee
The Absentee is a difficult species to find, namely because they are simply not at home. Unlike most other species, the Absentee cannot be blamed for not giving. It is usually expected in this situation for the Collector to leave an envelope and a “We Missed You” leaflet in the hope that the Absentee will send some money by post upon their return.
Favourite Saying: “I do enjoy the south of France this time of year” (NB – all Absentees can be found in the South of France)

The “Absentee”
Not to be confused with the Absentee, the “Absentee” can usually be spotted by the open windows and blaring television as well as the 3 cars in the driveway. Other tell-tale signs are the ruffling of the net curtains at the front of the house and the hushed whispers of “shut up it’s the Salvation Army”. Often the most frustrating species of Collectee, the “Absentee” divides into two main sub-categories. The Stealth-“Absentee” can be tricky to spot unless you know what you’re looking for. Those oddly shaped bulges in the front room furniture are most likely to be “Absentees” in disguise (the more experienced Stealth-“Absentee” will have fashioned full bodysuits appropriately configured to match the design of the sofa. The less experienced, on the other hand, may choose to hide beneath the cushions). Also, listen out for the very faint sound of a less experienced Stealth-“Absentee” crawling on their stomach past the front door (the more experienced can do this in complete silence).

The other sub-category is the Blatant-“Absentee” who will usually work on the assumption that the Collector is some form of socially rejected idiot. The Blatant-“Absentee” will make no attempts to act as if no one is in but will simply insist that such is the case through the letter box.
Favourite Saying: “Go away, we’re not in”

The Deliberate Absentee
Almost identical to the Absentee, only the truly experienced Collector can determine the Deliberate Absentee from its non-deliberate cousin. The Deliberate Absentee has a keen eye for the Collector and will maintain to be away from the house by the time the Collector reaches the front door. The Collector should look for signs that the Absentee has left in a hurry. The biggest giveaways are doors left unlocked, the smell of gas from an oven that has not been turned off and skid marks in the driveway that are still smoking.
Favourite Saying: “Right kids, get your coats on. We’re off to see Grandma…Because I said so that’s why”

The Reluctant Giver
A distant cousin of the Joyful Giver, the Reluctant Giver has no desire to give but will feel guilty if s/he does not. Often feeling pressure from a spouse or offspring, the Reluctant Giver will hand over the money but will rarely do so without communicating (in various levels of subtlety) the inconvenience the Collector has caused. Aspires to be an Excuse Finder.
Favourite Saying: “What? Oh. Um. (Thinks. Sighs.) Hang on a minute”

The War Vet
Often among the favourite Collectee species, the War Vet will usually be the most pleased to encounter the Collector. This species will almost always be in their 70’s or 80’s and will have vivid memories of the work of the Salvation Army during the war. Not content without sharing a story or two, the War Vet often provides a major boost to the jaded Collector who can’t remember why they’re collecting in the first place.
Favourite Saying: “Of course in those days…”

The Excuse Finder
Slightly evolved from the Reluctant Giver, this particular species isn’t so worried about feeling guilty by not giving but more concerned about looking selfish by not giving without a good reason. Will often scan the porch area under the pretence of looking for some spare change but will be using that time to think of an adequate excuse. May sometimes morph into a Reluctant Giver depending on mood or company.
Favourite Saying: “Oh. Um. Well I don’t… er…we’re just about to have…um…I gave to a charity yesterday and erm…I’ve got children and they might er…I’m a bit strapped for um…I can’t quite get to the er…you know…sorry.”

The Copper Handler
An expert in slight of hand, the Copper Handler specialises in making a gift of 15p seem quite substantial by paying it in single pennies. This species thrives off envelope giving, preferring to unload his/her copper into an envelope in private and then return with a rather hefty package to present to the Collector. Collection boxes will occasionally throw the Copper Handler off guard but will hardly ever deter them completely. In the event of a collection box, this Collectee likes to hide their donation with their hand as it goes in. This clever trick gives the impression that many pounds worth of coins are being dropped into the box when it is, in fact, no more than the aforementioned 15p.
Favourite Saying: “Deidra, do we have any shrapnel for the Sally Army?” (NB – all Copper Handlers have a wife named Deidra)

The Instant Refuser
Never usually prepared to hear what the Collector has to say, the Instant Refuser works on instinct. S/he sees the collection box and reacts immediately, refusing to be duped by clever words. The Instant Refuser species may well be soon going into decline as there are far too few female members to keep this breed alive.
Favourite Saying: “No thanks mate, not today”

The House Sitter
A sub-species of the Excuse Finder, the House Sitter deserves a special mention for the spectacular quality of excuse that is employed upon the request for cash. The House Sitter, whilst performing the most impressive of apologetic looks will insist that they are unable to give anything as the homeowner is currently away. One can only assume, therefore, that there is a distinct language barrier between the Collector and the House Sitter. In the House Sitter’s language “Hello, I’m collecting on behalf on the Salvation Army” is loosely translated into “Hi, I’m going round door to door collecting council tax”. In such a scenario, it is usually best to apologise and then explain (slowly and using hand gestures where possible) that you’re not selling home insurance but are simply after loose change.

The Exclusive
Belonging to the Joyful Giver family, this sub-species only gives to the Salvation Army and wants you to know that they only give to the Salvation Army.
Favourite Saying: “I only give to the Salvation Army”

Schools, Jobs and Giant Dogs - Intrigued?

Ok so it's been a while. So just to keep you up to speed, this is what I've been up to the past month:

1) SWSCA. Had a great time at South Western School of Christian Arts helping Claire Brine out with the drama. Although it involved a heavy amount of pride swallowing, it was nice to be able to assist in the drama option as opposed to leading it. Claire and I do things very differently and I learnt a lot from her that week. It was also nice being able to relax and meet some new people. The kids at this school were amazing. I've never known such a close and yet completely inclusive group. The staff team were really cool as well and I had a lot of fun (incase you doubt me, here's a photo of me discovering that peppers can be used rather effectively as fake tongues - this is my impression of Gene Simmons in a sulk):

2) New Job. Woo hoo! New job. My final day at Wesley Owen is on Monday and I start my new job, working in schools with a schools youth ministry in Chelmsford on Monday week. At this point I should give a certain amount of credit to Matt White who found me the job, recommended me to the job and was even kind enough to go to my interview and answer all their questions for me (you think I'm joking). I'm looking forward to starting although I have just over a week before my first day and I still have absolutely no idea where I'm going to live. I could maybe be a little more organised than I am right now.

3) Town Show. Last weekend proved to be a really positive experience for Enfield Corps as we took part in the town show. We made a lot of good contacts and relationships were formed and we're hoping people will start coming through our doors as a result. I did, however, have to spend the weekend inside a giant dog outfit cuddling kids. Patch the Dog went down really well at the show and a lot of people wanted their photos taken (and not just little kids either. Had I known how excited teenage girls get at the sight of giant cuddly animals I'd have spent most of secondary school in costume). It's fair to say that Patch was probably the star of the show, which is fine when you're not actually in Patch the star of the show. I started off doing an hour-long parade through Enfield inside the creature (a trial not helped by my decision that it would be really funny to have a giant dog street-dancing to band marches) and by the end of it I genuinely looked like I'd just been swimming. My clothes were drenched. It was probably not my most attractive moment (although red faced, sweaty and breathless whilst crawling out of a man-sized dog does work for some). But my matyr-like sacrifice wasn't for nothing. It was a really good weekend and hopefully some seeds have been sown.

So there you go. That's been my month. I'll try and keep this better updated from now on although I'm not sure I'm going to have that much internet access once I move (and am living in the streets due to my incompetence in finding accomodation). But I'll try.

Some Kind of Relevant Title...

Sorry for the lack of posting recently. I've just come back from South Western Summer School (or SWSCA - South Western School of Christian Arts - to its friends). I will post about it soon but for now, here's a funny Whose Line clip that I found on YouTube (YouTube by the way is a flippin' goldmine for Whose Line clips - check it out).

An Original Glyn-Joke.

Last week, at summer school, I was waking up one morning and was just in that place where you're half awake and half asleep when suddenly my brain thought of this brilliant joke. I've tried it out on a few people and received mixed reactions. Let me know what you think:

(By the way, you have to imagine that I'm saying it and that my delivery is hilarious)

The other day a man attacked me with an aromatic candle. I was absolutely incensed.

And Afterwards...

So Summer School 2006 has been and gone. Here are 10 of my highlights (in no particular order):

1) Drama. It's really easy at this point (when it's all done and dusted) to look at drama through rose tinted glasses. It went really well. The final showing on the Saturday was really well received and the guys who took part (about 32 in all - 10 more than we were expecting) said that they'd enjoyed the week. All in all, it was a resounding success. But the truth is, it was really hard work and proved to be quite emotionally draining. Kirsty and I spent most of the week on edge as we never knew how the next rehearsal was going to be received or how we were going to keep over 30 teenagers interested for a week. But we managed to pull it off and they all did really really well.

2) Watching the lecture room fall apart around us. It started out as quite a funny little moment when Liz Northwood and a group of teenage girls wound up sitting on the floor during the welcoming meeting due to half a row of chairs collapsing beneath them. But after a week of seeing chairs and desks and barriers falling to pieces every time a 12-year-old girl walked passed, we started to question the architectural integrity of the building. There were approximately 3 secure seats left for the final celebration on Saturday.

3) My Cell Group. Christina and I had an amazing cell this year and it was incredible hearing 14/15 year old teenagers being completely open about worship and listening to God. Really positive.

4) Hair Growth. I greatly enjoyed seeing how long I could get away with allowing my facial hair to grow and observing the developments that took place on my chin. For those of you who are wandering what it looked like, imagine a beard - nothing like that.

5) Prayers. I had the opportunity to lead the prayer session on the Thursday evening and after a long day of smelly nervous wind I got through it and seemed to get a positive response.

6) The Jack Plug. I think an ongoing highlight for me was watching the confused look on people's faces when Matt W showed them the big prop he'd made for the final celebration and asked them to guess what it was. This highlight was only beaten by the even more confused looks when he told them what it was and they still couldn't work it out. I'd show you a picture at this point but Blogger has decided once again to not let me. Just imagine a silver asparagus on a plinth and you're pretty close to Matt's jack plug.

7) Grippage. Another great year for Grippage. The sport that tests your body and your mind. Your strength and your agility. Your detemination and your table navigation. For those of you who don't know, Grippage involves making your way around a table without touching the ground. Only the strong of heart have achieved it.

8) Worship Support. Andy and V had a great team this year and it was awsome seeing all the work that had gone into the mulitmedia side of things. Some really funny films and one presentation in particular that was very powerful.

9) Mates. Really good staff team this year and it was a truly joyful experience to be able to have a laugh with some top-notch friends.

10) And Afterwards... At the final celebration, Matt stood up and spoke from Joel 2:28 which says:

And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophecy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.

Just something about the phrase "And afterward" caught my imagination. It's always bugged me that events like Summer School and Roots and Spring Harvest can so easily get left behind after we leave. People get caught up in the atmosphere and it's great but we don't get to take the lights or the band or the great speakers or the hordes of like-minded people home with us. So what are we left with?

I guess what I'm saying is, the success of an event such as Summer School shouldn't really be measured by what happened during but rather by what happens afterward. Are teenagers taking the message back to their Corps? Will this division have changed in the long run as a result of lessons learnt in the passed week? Will the Salvation Army have grown? Will the church? Are the youth in Essex now listening more attentively to God? These are questions we should be asking throughout the year till we get to the next Summer School.

So how was Summer School 2006? Ask me in 12 months.

Anday Night Reflection.

For those of you who were eagerly awaiting the weekly news on Andy last Sunday, I am sorry but, due to my being at Summer School, I was unable to get to a computer. The good news is I spent the week with Andy which means that there is plenty to tell. However, I think that for the benefit of this post I will need to turn away from the school as Andy's highlight of the week seems to have come from the one day he left the campus to be a part of his sister-in-law's wedding:

Now I could mention the fact that he lost his trousers so had to spend the day in his shirt, jacket, bow tie and blue jeans but I think I'm going to go straight for the When the Cleaner Saw Andy Naked story as it has more dramatic and narrative weight.

So, to cut a long story short, on the day of his sister-in-law's wedding, the cleaner saw Andy naked.

I would expand but unfortunately time has beaten me and I must go. I'm at another Summer school over the next two Sundays so I will be unable to put this story into context for a while but on the 3rd September, all will be revealed (it certainly was for the cleaner).

(Alternatively, you might find that Andy has commented his explanation below)

All My Best Work is the Result of Procrastination!

Summer school is just around the corner. I still have quite a bit of work to do in preparation and I only have two more days to do it in. So naturally I spent my time this evening wandering what I would look like if I were a centaur.

The answer? Like this:

Sunday is Anday...

As mentioned in my previous post, one of my very good friends, Andy, is one of those annoying people who logs onto other peoples blogs and leaves comments (sometimes complimentary, sometimes insulting, often in an unsuccessful attempt to be funny) without having his own blog so that others may repay the gesture. He will happily read the personal and revealing anecdotes of others and give his two cents worth (hello Andy?! We're not even American) but will he provide his own anecdotes? Will he let the world know who he is? Will he leave himself in that same vulnerable position so that others may comment on his life? Noooooo!

Well no more. I'm doing it for him. From now on, Sunday is Anday. Every Sunday, I will be providing you all with regular updates, stories, pictures and rumours surrounding the life of Andrew Hill. Enjoy.

Week one: Here is Andy sleeping with a cat.

Dirty Stinking Pedestrian!

As I arrived home at one o'clock in the morning after a near 3 hour journey from Colchester with £13 less in my bank account following the purchase of what must have been an extremely rare and sought after train ticket, a thought resurfaced in my mind that has nagged me for the better part of 6 years:

I need to learn to drive - NOW!

I am sick and tired of relying on public transport and the lifts of friends to get me about.

I'm fed up of spending half a day transporting myself 10 minutes down the road.

I've had enough of being the guy who puts everyone out because they have to pick him up or drop him off or spend months trying to get rid of the stains after he spilt his milkshake in the backseat.

But most of all: I'm 23. I can't drive. THAT'S NOT COOL!!

So I'm going to learn. My previous method of continually watching repeated episodes of Top Gear until the ability to drive became ingrained into my psyche has clearly failed. I will have to learn the same as everyone else.

My amazing and physically attractive friends Andy and Verity (for those who don't know, Andy is the guy who goes round commenting on everyone elses blog without bothering to start his own) have given me a great head start with a total of 6 driving lessons for my birthday. So I'm going to start there and then this time next year I'll be behind the wheel of some run down second-hand escort and loving it.

My friends, the challenge has been set: By 27th July 2007, Glyn will drive.

I Was Reading This Bit - I Swear!

On my way to work this morning, I stumbled across a copy of yesterday's Sun newspaper. Except it wasn't a complete copy, just the third page. And as I was looking down at it, something caught my eye (I know what you're thinking - Oh yeah? I bet a couple of things caught his eye. Ay? Ay? - well grow up). What caught my eye was a 50-year-old, fully uniformed, female salvationist holding a collection box. And as I figured this was probably the only time I would see a 50-year-old, fully uniformed, female salvationist holding a collection box on page 3 of the Sun, I quickly picked up the page and read through the article in an attempt to ascertain what in blue blazes she was doing there. It turns out that the Sun has got the hump because the Salvation Army will no longer sell copies of their newspaper in the Sally Army shops at British forces' bases in Germany. British soldiers are accusing the SA of being old fashioned and prudish. One Lance Corporal said: "This is an out-of-date decision by people who aren't in the real world". It seems that no one (including the Canon David Meara for crying out loud) can understand why the Salvation Army is now refusing to sell soft-porn.

What I don't understand, though, is why we were selling it in the first place. It seems to tie in with the morally corrupting attitude (an attitude which the Sun thrives off of) that if enough people like it, then it can't be that bad. After all, it's only a pair of breasts. In this day and age, what's the big deal? And I'm disappointed that the Salvation Army in Germany seems to have adopted this attitude as it's the opposite that is the very thing that the Salvation Army stand for. If people can't understand why the Army won't sell the Sun then people don't understand the Army. And if the Army is selling newspapers like the Sun and conforming to the world's opinions then the Army doesn't seem to understand the Army. We were established as a group of eccentrics who were willing to look ridiculous in order to stand against the moral indecencies of society. Now it seems we've become a much weaker and more harmless organisation who have indecisively changed their minds on something they used to think was ok and who are now just hoping to keep a low profile until it all blows over.

Am I over-reacting?

Oh, and for those of you wandering how I did it, here's a pictoral guide, illustrating how a Christian man can read the articles in page 3 of The Sun without succumbing to temptation:

WARNING - THEY DON'T MEAN IT!

I will admit that since starting this blog, I've come to attribute a great deal of importance to the amount of comments I get in response to each post. To reveal my psychological connection between automatic doors and Jedi Masters and recieve a total of 9 comments is, in my opinion, a great success. I felt that I had managed to connect with people in a way I had never quite achieved before. People coming together and sharing stories and feelings that had previously remained suppressed. On the other hand, the complete lack of response to my probing questions on the subject of sex left me feeling downcast and melancholy. Maybe people weren't ready. Maybe people misunderstood. Maybe people simply didn't care.

And it hasn't stopped there:

I admit that I have been struck by jealousy at the 14 comments that have been left in response to Ben's latest post.

I have scoffed as I have noticed the big fat zeros underneath some of Matt's more recent messages.

I have danced a merry little jig in my heart when I have logged on to find a new comment has been left.

And when I have sneakily crept online during work hours to find that no one has commented in the 30 minutes since I last checked, I have died a little inside.

Yes I confess - I have probably placed far too much importance on the presence of comments.

Therefore, the recent con that I have fallen victim to, while teaching me a valuable lesson, has also caused a certain degree of pain as I have been built up only to be knocked right back down.

I logged on to my blog this evening to find (woe is me) that no one had commented on my latest post since I last checked. However, as I scrolled down I discovered (oh happy day) that a new comment had been left on the post prior to that. The comment was from a Mr Anonymous (not preferable but still, better than nowt) who said, rather generously, that he loved the idea behind my website and that he thought that it was very unique. Well that was nice. Within the whole blogging community, someone had stumbled across my humble site and thought it stood out enough to be labelled "unique". I wasn't sure exactly what he meant when he said that he loved the idea behind the website (what? The idea that I have a site in which I regularly update my friends as to what I'm up to? It's a blog.) but I figured he was probably refering to my unique and engaging prose style. All in all, if a bit confusing in places, a very nice and positive comment. And I felt a little bit better about myself for it.

But it didn't stop there.

Further down I noticed that another comment had been left in response to another post. "Well that's marvelous" I thought, "how wonderful". And I wasn't dissapointed. When I clicked on the comments, someone (another anonymous - they're probably just embarrassed at being so unrestrainably nice) said: "Hey what a great site keep up the work its excellent."

The next post: "I'm impressed with your site, very nice graphics!" I'm starting to get a little bit suspicious now. Who is this anonymous compliment merchant? Is it one person or is it many people? Should I be surprised that my complete lack of graphics has got itself a mention as being graphically advanced?

Next post: "I say briefly: Best! Useful information. Good job guys." Ok - What!?!! This one doesn't even make sense. It's as if it's been passed through the google translator. Something's going on here...

And that's when I noticed it. The tiny little blue link at the bottom of each anonymous comment that took me to (you guessed it) some cheap web-based product advertisement. The dirty stinking sychophants were only interested in one thing: themselves. They had toyed with my emotions for their own selfish gain.

I won't pretend it didn't hurt but at least I can say that I've learnt two very important lessons here. First, to enable the word verification option on my comments list (bloggers of the world I would advise you do the same - these cretins'll get ya otherwise). Secondly, I'm not going to allow my self esteem to be judged by comment quantity anymore. I am who I am and I am without comment. So there!

Do Flies Deserve Death?

OR

I've just sprayed a couple of flies and as I watched them slowly choke to death while they painfully struggled to stay in the air before crashing to the ground where they used every last ounce of strength to wriggle their dying limbs in the desperate hope that they could find a way to cling onto their futile and fading lives, I couldn't help but feel a little bit like Hitler.

I know they're only insects but is it inhumane to torture flies in this way? Is it stupidity or moral conviction that causes me to feel guilty about slowly draining the life of a house fly?

In other news, I've just finished another conversation for my script for summer school. It ties in with the first affair dialogue. See what you think. Brutally honest opinions are, as always, welcome:

The Affair #2

A Cry for Help!

Alright alright alright, so I haven't blogged for the better part of two weeks. But there's a reason for this. My brain has stopped. I have lost all creativity and imagination. I have spent the past fortnight trying to think of something interesting or funny or profound or even legible to write about but nothing has surfaced.

I was going to blog about my birthday but all I could think to say was "Hey! It's my birthday." (I'm 23 by the way)

I was going to blog about some job prospects that have come my way but I don't actually know what they are. They sound awesome but that's pretty much all I know (sounds weird doesn't it but it's true).

I was going to blog about recent observations of the world but I couldn't think of what to write about.

My creativity has all but dried up. And that's worrying for a reason far greater than the good quality of this blog. It's worrying mostly because over the next couple of months, I'm leading the drama option at two summer schools... AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!

The London North-East school is concerning me most (I'm also doing South Western but that's later and I'm doing it with Claire Brine who we've agreed is going to be in charge so I'll let her worry about it for now - she's really good at coming up with ideas and getting me organised). It's less than three weeks away and Kirsty and I don't really know what's happening. This time two years ago, we had everything planned, were writing up activity packs and I was creating an MDF wheelbarrow with fake legs coming out of it (to date, the best prop used in a piece of theatre - ever). This time last year, we had a lot of work to do but still feeling confidant and I was spending most of my spare time creating giant papier mache body parts (also pretty cool props but not as good as the wheelbarrow).

This year however, we're starting to panic. I've had the idea of setting the scene in a restaurant where we overhear the conversations of various people as they try to fill their lives with stuff that ultimately won't satisfy them (money, sex, family, spiritual experimentation - you know, the usual). I've written a few of the conversations that I'm fairly happy with (the past two years, Kirsty and I have got the students to devise and write their own stuff but that usually involves us staying up till 3:30 in the morning finishing off scripts and stuff - we promised each other we wouldn't do it to ourselves this year) but I'm not sure where to take it once I'm done with that or how to make my point or even what point to make...

So here is my cry for help. I'm swallowing my pride and posting the conversations I've written so far. Please have a read through and let me know what you think. And then, if you have any ideas as to where I can take this, please let me know. I know this is about as far from professional as you can get but I'm desperate. Here are the conversations as they stand:

Tarot Cards

Family Guy

The Affair #1

I thank you in advance.

On a completely seperate note, my good friend John Mitchinson is trying to get sponsers for a hair cut. Those of you who know John (or have seen him from a distance in the past year or two) will know that this is something that should be encouraged whole-heartedly. But more than that, he's raising money for an excellent cause and if you can, please visit his blog and sponser. You can check it all out here.

Public Apology!

The author and administrator of this blog would like to publically declare that Matthew Geraldine White has never divulged (nor has he ever attempted to divulge) any information regarding his sex life to the disarmingly attractive Glyn Goodfella Harries. The conversation outlined below was shared as a form of banter and was taken no further than the few words mentioned in yesterday's post. For further confirmation, please speak to Mr White's wife, Mrs Christina Turnip White who overheard the comments (but doth did get the wrong end of the stick as she thought that the conversation commenced with Mr Harries' innappropriate probing into the Whites' private lives and thus spent the rest of the evening calling the right honourable Mr Harries a pervert).

Mr Harries offers his humblest apologies for any confusion or misunderstanding that may have occurred off the back of his previous comments. He would also like to answer his own previously posed question by stating that no two people should talk about sex at any time whatsoever.

Stupid for Sure but I'd do it Again.

I did this a while ago but I wanted to wait till Mike McCredie was back from his honeymoon as I figured he would appreciate this:

12 bulldog clips on the face. And just in case you need any further convincing (some thought I stuck them on with blue tac), here's the aftermath (and me trying to look hard at the same time):

Now I know it's not exactly 65 clothespegs Mike but these were bulldog clips. Those bad boys hurt.

Yes it was painful but I'm proud of what I achieved.

Let Me Sexplain...(see what I did?)

I feel I need to clarify one or two points that may have drifted astray in my last blog. I originally took the complete lack of response to my last post as a sufficient answer to the question "should we talk about sex more?". However, after having to stop Matt White from regaling me with his favourite honeymoon moments last night, it dawned on me that I might have given the wrong impression.

So allow me to clarify: I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in the personal sexcapades of my friends. If I ever have to write an article for Nuts (did I just say "sexcapades"?) then I'll get back to you but in the mean time, I really don't want to know. I was simply wandering if Christian people put too much of a taboo on sex. And I was commenting on the fact that married people and single people don't seem to talk about it that much. I've had single friends who seem perfectly comfortable talking about sex until they got married at which point they just shut up about it. Maybe it's because they think that now if they talk about sex, they'll have to reveal what they've been up to (hence Matt's assumption that he had to open the conversation last night with the words - and I quote - "on my wedding night..."). I don't think this is necessary (it's certainly not desired). I think intelligent, informed conversations on sex can take place without reverting to "what we did last night...". But then what do I know? Maybe we should just leave it alone. I'm open to suggestion. But please please please, Matt, no more anecdotes.

Warning: This Website Contains Content that May be Considered Christian (apparently)

Today at work Andy was asked by a customer to check for a bible study (or something) that they had seen on a website called Solomons Dance(.com). He came into the office and logged onto the website to find that it was a Christian based site dedicated to the fine art of love making. The home page says this:

The bible teaches in Psalm 149:5 that sex is a form of worship. By coming together in mutual love, as married partners, we worship God, and sing unto him. It is this act of making love that is Solomon’s Dance – a dance before the Lord in the love and compassion that God himself designed into this most intimate of times .

This, as it stood, seemed fine. Sex, obviously, is a wonderful, God given gift so there should be no reason why a group of God-honouring Christians shouldn't set up some kind of web based forum discussing it. What caught our attention, however, was a link titled Intimate Products. Andy had to print off the home page and take it upstairs to the waiting customer (to see if this was the website he meant) but put me in charge of finding out what exactly these Intimate Products consisted of. I dutifully obliged. With Pauline looking over my shoulder (hiding her interest cunningly behind a series of well placed tuts) I clicked on the link to find that Intimate Products divided into four main categories: Intimate Toys, Intimate Games, Intimate Clothing and Furniture. Now many of you may be asking why I deemed it appropriate to go any further? The answer: curiosity. I know it killed the cat and all but I'm on a Christian website so I figure "how bad can it be?".

It can be bad!

The number one bestselling Intimate Toy from Solomon's Dance(.com) was..... well it was rude. I'll spare you the details suffice to say it contained the words "delights", "jelly", and "riser".

Now I appreciate that as a single Christian guy, I could be accused of being a little naive when it comes to such matters (although I should point out that all the married employees of Wesley Owen were just as shocked as I was to see these things being billed as God-honouring aids) but sometimes the Christian stance on sex baffles me.

A couple of years ago I went to see a very close and recently married friend and his wife (also now a very good friend). They were talking about the joys of being married. I was looking round their home and looking at wedding photos and videos of the honeymoon etc etc. But as soon as me and my friend (let's call him Moses) left the house to pick up lunch he turned to me and said "mate - I love sex". Now as two single guys, I had no problem talking to him about all this stuff before he was married but now he was telling me about something very personal and private and it didn't seem quite right somehow. But recently I've been thinking. Should Christians talk about sex more? Moses wasn't bragging down the pub about some fit bird he'd picked up for a night. He had just discovered something very beautiful and wanted to share that with one of his closest friends. When I recently told one of my friends (female and married - we'll call her Cordelia) about this though she was horrified at the idea. She insisted that sex was something extremely personal and shouldn't be talked about outside the relationship. And I've just been wandering, would single Christians benefit if their married friends were a little more open about sex? I have some single friends (mostly female) who are terrified at the prospect of sex and other single friends (mostly male) who are...well...frustrated. Would talking about sex more openly help or make things worse?

In a sense I agree with Cordelia. But I'd also really like to know how I should react to a Christian website that sells E-glass Touch Me Massagers.

No Neeps, No Tatties, No Job

I've just logged onto the GTTR website (the website through which I've had to do my PGCE teacher training applications) and seen that my application for a place in the Edinburgh PGDE course was unsuccessful. I'm not entirely sure how to feel about this (I literally only found out about 2 minutes ago) so maybe I'll try and break it down into some kind of public cyber therapy.

Reasons I'm Kinda Relieved:

1) It means I don't have to make a very big and very difficult decision.

2) It means I now won't suddenly find myself the length of Britain away from people I love.

3) It means I won't have to spend a year phoning John Mitchenson for Scottish-English translations (I know it's technically the same language and the accent isn't that strong but you'd be surprised how much I struggle)

Reasons I'm Kinda Peeved:

1) I took a week's holiday off, spent a total of 18 hours on a fairly uncomfortable coach and had to sleep in pee - for nothing.

2) It would have been great to do something I love and feel that I'm good at. I also would have enjoyed the challenge of setting up on my own somewhere completely far off. Scary but exciting at the same time.

3) I had to watch the England/Sweden game under the watchful gaze of Scotland.

Reasons I was Kinda Conceived:

1) Love.

2) A desire to start a family.

3) Sex.

Reasons it can Kinda be Believed:

1) I was very late in my application. They were saying throughout the interview that the applications (mine and the four girls who were also being interviewed) weren't really in at the desired time. They said that they only had 15 places, truck loads of people applied this year, it was done on a first come, first served basis and most people apply about October-December sort of time. I kind of got the impression that the whole day was just a formality and they'd already filled the spaces.

2) When they asked me what research I'd done into the Scottish education system I realised that I hadn't even thought about it (I think I might have vaguely known something about Scotland being different with its schooling but at the time of preparing for last Tuesday I had most certainly forgotten). I blagged something about choosing Edinburgh out of a desire to gain experience of different education systems but what I was essentially saying was: "uh?"

3) Some of the other applicants there were those kinda "I will convince you that I'm the person for the job by over exaggerating how very excited I am to be here" type girls* and I just couldn't do that.

All in all, I'm alright with it. It was good experience and I feel I did well (apart from the obvious "Scotland has its own education system!?!?" blip) and I reckon that under other circumstances (i.e. had I applied earlier and known the slightest thing about Scottish schooling) I could well have got in. GTTR will now move my application on but I'm fairly certain I've missed the boat on this one. That's alright though. I can find something else to do for a year.



*For example: Course Leader: Of course you know that teaching is an extrememly demanding profession.

Applicants: (nodding understandably)

Excitagirl: You're not putting me off. I'll do the work. I'll do the extra. I love it. Let me teach. I was born to teach. Teaching's in my blood.

Course Leader: If you don't mind me asking, what will you guys do if you don't get in this year?

Applicants: (collectively) Oh I'll probably find a job, maybe try to get some classroom experience and reapply next year (only earlier, obviously).

Excitagirl: Why I'll teach of course. I'll become a classroom assistant. I'll do it for nothing. I'll learn the National Curriculum off by heart. I was born to teach. Lemme teach, lemme teach, lemme teach.

Applicants: (having left the building after the interviews) So, do you reckon you'll get it?

Excitagirl: Oh I couldn't really be bothered either way.

WHAT!?!!

I have found the most mind-boggling optical illusion I've ever seen. Usually it's the kind of thing when you look at a picture and then think that one line's longer than the other and then get told that they're the same size and you can (if you look closely enough) see that yes - line number one is, in fact, the same length as line number two. And the same rule applies to squares that look like circles, triangles that are not drawn (only implied) and so on and so forth. But then I came across this little beauty:

The question posed was this: Which is darker? Square A or square B? Now this is not a difficult question. With optical illusions you always answer the least obvious? If square A was red and square B was blue and the question reads "which is the blue square?" you would point to square A. After some careful study of the two you would come to realise that yes indeedio square A was actually the blue square and square B was in fact a shade of turquoise that was so striking that, when placed next to square A, made it look red by comparison. So when the question asks "which is darker" and square A is quite clearly the darker square then the answer can only be either square B is the darker square or both squares are exactly the same shade of grey. But in this case there is no way that square B is the same shade (or darker) than square A. No matter how hard you study it, square A is quite visibly the darker square. So what's the catch? That square A is actually red? That the darker square is actually square C which is situated under the giant green cylinder? That square A is in fact darker and optical illusions are just getting lazier.

No!

I scroll down and find (surprise surprise), both these squares are the same shade. This was quite clearly not true. I have looked at this picture for quite some time and I can assure you that that alphabetically first square is in fact a darn sight darker than the alphabetically second. Some mistake has been made here surely?

So I did a little digging. I copied the picture onto paint, sampled the colour of one and then painted a line from square B down to square A. Here is the result:

Right! So it would seem that somehow the colours match. But I still wasn't comfortable. If you look closely, it seems that the bridge from A to B seems to lighten in shade as it makes its way to the lighter grey. Maybe there's some kind of programme that won't allow it to maintain the same level of greyness. Maybe it took the wizarding software of Microsoft Paint into account when it was being designed. Probably not. But the colours still looked different to me. So I cut them out of the picture altogether:

Ah now that's clever. It was the same colour the whole time but with the fine art of Visual Trickery I was made to think that square B was distinctly lighter than square A. However, now that I have disected it and learnt how it works and discovered that they are in fact the same colour, I will now be able to see as much in the original piece right?

Wha...? But it's... STOP MESSING WITH MY HEAD!!!!

And they call ME a liar!

Ok - serious question:

How can we expect people to believe in absolute truth when everyone preaching absolute truth and insisiting they know the absolute truth disagrees on what absolute truth is?