Sunday In The Reign with Liz

Let's get the Jubilee business out of the way - well done Mrs Queen for lasting 60 years. There will be all sorts of parties celebrating your longevity this weekend and I understand that they are planning to send you down the river in a viking long ship which they will then set on fire, whilst they flambé you in liqueur and serve you with ice cream, very tasty.

All over the country other people, who had their names drawn in a lottery, will be flambéed too - making a chain of beacons as far as the eye can see. What a celebration. And best of all, those who get chosen for this task will be the lucky ones who don't have to watch the concert outside Buckingham Palace!


I know, I'm miserable...in fact I have been defending the Queen of late, some upstarts have been saying that we should get rid of the Royal Family and replace them, as Russia and France did. I pointed out that a fairly benign monarchy is much better than a politically minded, money grabbing criminal being in charge.

Anyhoo, I'm not here to talk about celebrating sixty years on the throne - and I have avoided all toilet jokes on purpose - I want to talk about one aspect of Mrs Queens job description...Fidei Defensor.

As head of the Church of England, our beloved Queen legitimises a state religion and no doubt over the course of this weekend she will be in and out of cathedrals and abbeys being blessed by bearded men in long robes (not Gandalf).

You see not only do we have to celebrate her long reign, we have to thank god for this gift to the nation - well some of us don't believe in god, and it gets a little irritating when we are told that all good and great things come from up above. The mighty and beneficent god that is creator of all things and whose word should be obeyed without question...resistance is futile.

The gap between faith and fact is wide and filled with bitterness as those who stand on the opposite banks shout their opposing views at each other. I don't deny the right of anyone to believe but there should be an equal right of not believing.  I do believe in some things, like pointing out what I see as inconsistencies in blind faith and belief and if any of the faithful want to point out any shortcomings in my own values - please feel free.

I was browsing Twitter yesterday and came across a post from one of those rabid religionists in the USA. For someone who is supposed to be bathed in the love of god, they displayed a great deal of hatred. They hate everything that isn't godly, saving special venom for liberals, homosexuals and President Obama. This one was also having a go at the Queen and the British, describing the whole nation as 'vile'.

The lady in question then posted about her son being diagnosed with an illness and she asked everyone to pray for his recovery - it transpired that she did not believe in medical aid as all the lad needed was the power of prayer to cure his diabetes...I would have taken the young lad into care at this point but that's just me.

I asked what was the problem with medicine and got no reply - well I didn't expect she would speak to a godless heathen from a 'vile' country.

But why do the ultra religious sometimes spurn medical aid?

As far as I can tell there is nothing in the bible that prevents the use of medicine, in fact there are passages which talk about taking the leaves from trees to use as medicine.

If they believe that god created all life, including germs and viruses, then why can't they believe that he would have created cures?

If they believe that prayer is the answer how can they not believe that the answer might be whispered by god into the ear of a scientist who then discovers a treatment for diabetes?

These are logical questions and most sensible folk, even the faithful, will have rationalised the possibility that a god who created man might have given him the wherewithal to make his own way in the world without always having to bother the creator.

You cannot get answers to these questions though, because if you question faith you are in the queue for hell. It's a bit like the queue at Tesco but you don't get club card points when you check out!

The concept of just accepting things as they are, to never question anything, well it just seems atypical of what I understand humanity to be about. We question and we search for answers and we make progress and as we look back over the course of the last sixty years, we can see that in the UK we have made great leaps forward. Mrs Queen has overseen a nation that has grown up in many ways, but I suspect that we will never shake the link between church and state, that's one thing that we all have to live with.

The number of people who go to church is falling all the time (and I think people who are so hateful in the name of god are helping the cause of the logical much more than I ever can) but the pomp and pageantry of the big state occasions, with all the religious trappings, probably secures the Church of England for a bit longer.

I suspect that the 'vile' British don't really mind if Mrs Queen goes to church or not, as long as she smiles and waves and continues to exemplify that best of all British qualities - dignity.

God bless her little cotton socks.

Sadly, the rain is blighting the celebration of the reign and the country will have to rein in its enthusiasm or perhaps not!

The 'vile' British will always come out on top because we will just....

1977 - 1978

Greetings fellow travellers, hope the sunshine isn't too much of a shock for you all?

The title of our lesson today is pretty much self explanatory, it is a reflection of one year in the life of the Guru, and that year is a period that ran from mid 1977 to mid 1978.

Don't fret pet, I'm not going to go through the whole year - it is just that recent events have had me recalling those years when I was a teenage Guru and this period was quite an important time in many ways.

It was a little over a week ago that I attended the concert that I reported in my last blog and of course one of the main attractions of that concert was the music of John Williams, specifically the music of Star Wars.

Star Wars was released across the US in May 1977, here in the UK we had to wait until December but in the meantime Meco released the Star Wars theme as a disco track and I must admit it was played an awful lot in our 5th Form Common Room during breaks and the lunch hour.

I can't recall how many times I actually went to see the film after it was released but it was enough to qualify me as a fan, and as I was already a Trekkie this only added to my geek status.

I will never tire of watching the films (Episodes 4-6 of course) and the music is never off my playlist - both the disco version and the original soundtrack version.

1977 was a great year, not only did we have Star Wars and Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, there was also Saturday Night Fever, A Bridge Too Far and The Spy Who Loved Me.

The music of that era was to my liking - never really understood why the music of the 1970's is thought so bad. OK, we had David Soul and Leo Sayer but then we also had Fleetwood Mac, Abba, Stevie Wonder, and all the great dance tracks from the likes of Thelma Houston, The Village People and Donna Summer.

Punk was really getting started - I didn't join that party because I was not angry at anything - I was living a very contented life and so my musical taste reflected that.

Although the film of Saturday Night Fever didn't appear in the UK until the beginning of 1978, we had been hearing the soundtrack on the radio for sometime and I really did love that soundtrack because again it fitted my mood...I should admit that eventually I even bought a pair of white shoes which were proudly worn on the dance floor at various venues including Cinderella Rockerfella's in Lincoln.

Luckily Mrs B was not present at these occasions and I do wonder what she would have thought as I danced myself dizzy.

These were great times to be a teenager, and I suppose the death of Donna Summer and Robin Gibb have brought these memories to the forefront of my mind - adding to the great memories of the films we queued, and queued to see.

I'm glad I was born when I was and where I was, I had a very happy childhood and I was exposed to some great cultural influences - and how wonderful that the brightness of those times is captured forever in film and on disc and in our hearts.

Meco - Star Wars

Donna Summer - I Feel Love

Night Fever - The Bee Gees

Where's The Orchestra?

Forgive me, my children, for I have sinned. It has been some time since my last confession.

I was politely informed yesterday that I was neglecting my little flock so I return to the keyboard in the hope that I have not lost my touch.

A mixed bag of thoughts today held together by a tenuous link which you will have to try and spot for yourself.

I have been living the bachelor life for a few days as Mrs B is required elsewhere, and as yet I have not resorted to fish finger sandwiches as my only source of sustenance. Although tonight I will be savouring the delights of a Sainsbury's own brand Balti curry with a smattering of samosas as an aperitif.

You will please take note that the curry is not from Tesco - well I tend to avoid the place if not accompanied by Mrs B, as I am liable to say something politically incorrect to the staff...and the troglodytes.

The terror of Tesco aside, it was still bad enough standing in a short queue at Sainsbury's and hearing the checkout girl go through the checklist of statements that they are trained to deliver - the first being "sorry to keep you waiting".

"I've not been waiting, I've been queueing and there is a difference" came my rather barbed reply.

The girl looked up and almost swallowed her chewing gum. She then said, without the slightest hint of irony whatsoever, "sorry you've had to queue".

I decided to carry on being mean and said, "but I love to queue, it's why I come to supermarkets and may I say the quality of your queue is first class at the side of some I have been in".

I waited for the flash of inspiration to brighten her glazed eyes, but she simply lowered them back to her duties and intoned "do you need a bag today". (It was so deadpan it didn't even deserve a question mark).

I just gave up - "yes please" was all I could muster.

I packed my things and walked away thinking about how lonely and isolated she seemed to be, sat there in a huge building full of people and yet disconnected from it all. The corporate beatings in the back room as they drilled the statements like 'have a nice day' into her, had left her a very sad sight indeed.

I have also this week performed a funeral ceremony for a man who chose to live away from the rest of humanity, or distance himself as far as he could from the rest of us. He died alone under the wide and starry sky and was not missed for quite some time.

Now this would at first glance strike you as a sad tale but then you must remember that he lived this way by choice.

As I stood waiting to conduct his funeral I watched the wind blowing through the trees in the grounds of the crematorium and a thought came into my head. I included this thought in the ceremony and it passed over the heads of the few who had gathered to pay their respects, pretty much without effect.

The thought was this - when we are most alone we realise that we can never be totally alone because at that point we realise we are connected to everything.

Hearing the wind in the trees made me understand how a man on his own might hear god whispering to him, if he had that sort of mindset. Others may stand and hear the wind in the trees and tune into that more natural conversation that takes place between a man and his environment. I suppose it's a sort of pantheism or a spiritual humanism as we realise that although we may place ourselves at the top of the food chain, but we are still part of the food chain.

Is this too deep? Sorry, but I feel the need to press on - very much like a sanitary towel.

On Saturday I was lucky enough to go and see the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, perhaps I should say I was lucky enough to go and hear the CBSO. It was a brilliant concert in which they played the music of John Williams, with excerpts from Jaws, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Saving Private Ryan and Schindler's List.

An orchestra is made up of about 100 players and each of them bring their individual skills to the event and as they play you can see how lost they are in their part of the process of making music.  But it only works because the sum of all the parts is greater than their individual efforts. And yet, take one of them away and what happens?

Let us consider the case of the man who plays the triangle. It always amazes me that above the swell of the strings and the strident notes of the horns you can hear that 'ting' of the triangle so clearly.

The man who lived apart, the girl on the checkout, me without Mrs B, we all have our part to play in the orchestration of the music of life and I'm going to make sure my triangle is heard.

The battle to be who we are and who we want to be - what a challenge it can be on occasion.

In a world that is trying to beat us all into submission and sit us all at the checkout of life intoning bland statements by rote, we should never miss a chance to listen to the wind in the trees. You might just hear the wind, you might hear something that only you can hear but I bet the next time you do stand and watch the trees dance to the music of life, you will hear the triangle...because that will be you.

An Innocent Man

Just when you thought I would never bother you again, here I am.

Life has been very busy here on the Hill, it is starting to calm down a little now and hopefully later this week we will return to normality - or a new state of normality at the very least.

It doesn't take much to throw the normal routine of life into chaos does it? A family illness, a mechanical issue with your car, a dispute with a large corporation over £60 being nabbed from your bank account - it all makes day to day life a little less cheery.

Then there was the weather of course, bucket loads of rain falling all over the country adding to the misery levels.

I sometimes think that if we didn't have the weather to moan about, some folk would never have a conversation!

Perhaps we should move to the substantive part of todays communiqué or Bull as I would like it to be known.

A Papal Bull is a letter from the Pope and most of them are just that....bull!

Collective muttering - 'Here we go, another swing at the Catholic Church'.

I sat and watched Darragh MacIntyre's documentary about child sex abuse in the Catholic Church last night, it made disturbing viewing.  Much of what he reported had been in the public domain for a while but the really shocking thing was the revelation that Cardinal Sean Brady, the leader of the church in Ireland, had been involved in an alleged cover up of abuse.

He had been a priest at the time, charged with investigating allegations into the conduct of Father Brendan Smyth and he took a statement from a very brave boy who outlined the levels of abuse he and others had suffered. The young boy, Brendan Boland, even provided names and addresses of other victims he was aware of, before being sworn to secrecy by Brady.

The information was never passed on nor acted upon and the abuse of the other children continued for many years.

Brady had formerly stated that if he thought any action or inaction of his had led to young people being victimised, then he would resign and yet faced with this allegation he steadfastly hangs onto power and uses weasel words to justify himself.

He claims he is an innocent man - well thank goodness his innocence is important to him, because the innocence of the children his church was supposed to care for was obviously not important at all.

Father Brendan Smyth died in prison, does that make his victims sleep easier? I doubt it.

The Catholic Church should just come out and apologise totally and without any caveats, there can be no excuse for the perpetuating of abuse by hiding the facts.

There we have it then, my little Bull. And if any of you are thinking of Tommy Steele, you must be as old as me!

Old Friends

I'm not sure about all of you but I am pretty much fed up with the rain on the roof as it goes pit-pitty-pat and if I had a kitty cat I would tell it to sit. (If you get this reference well done).

Life is very full at the minute my dears, filled with the very real ups and downs of life and so taking time to escape for a coupe of hours is even more welcome which is why last evening we ventured to the Theatre Royal in Nottingham to see a performance of Save The Last Dance.

One of Mrs B's work colleagues commented that we seem to go to the theatre an awful lot - and perhaps we do. What is wrong with that I ask?

I have a pile of tickets next to me that will see us visit local theatres for six forthcoming events as well as The Royal Albert Hall in a few weeks for The Night of 1000 Voices.

I suppose I still hanker after the thrill of appearing on stage, I did so love it. Perhaps I will find my way back again but in the meantime we invest our well earned pennies in that pile of tickets that open up the magical world of theatre and an escape from reality for a little while.

Save The Last Dance is what they might call a jukebox musical in that it is peppered with songs that were very familiar, most from the pen of Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman. Now these were names that I could not say I had heard before but you will know the songs of that I am sure: Sweets For My Sweet, Teenager In Love, Suspicion, His Latest Flame and Viva Las Vegas to cite just a few.

The show was written by Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran and has been produced by Bill Kenwright and Laurie Mansfield.

Lord Sir Bill of Kenwright is a very wise man and he has put together a show that will leave the audience with a huge grin on their face and a song on their lips as they trip through the discarded toffee wrappers and empty ice cream tubs back out into the rain.

The story is a simple one and initially I thought too simple but in the end you realise that the simplicity of girl meets boy works really well. A white girl from Luton meets a black USAF airmen whilst on holiday in Lowestoft, what follows is a sweet love story which deftly looks at the racism of an era. The events are  set in the 1960's thereby allowing the backdrop of some wonderfully evocative music.

The actors are what you might call unknowns but they deliver a fine ensemble performance with many doubling up as members of a brilliant band. The longer the show went on the louder the response from an almost packed house, singing along with all of the songs we recalled so easily. This was an audience of a certain age whose connection to the music was evident, not least displayed in the fact that the family sat in front of us had come decked out in 1960's period costume.

Not everything was perfect with the show, one of the lead actresses needs to work on her diction when singing but even worse was a character called Carlo, an ice cream seller whose father was from Naples which meant he could try out a nice cod Italian accent but then we discovered he was really from Wolverhampton.

Not to blow my own trumpet, but I have experience of being on stage and deploying the lethal comedy weapon that is a Wolverhampton accent - the actor playing Carlo, Graham Weaver, could not contain the might of this weapon and his accent drifted badly until it landed just south of Liverpool! It was horrendous but...let me try that again...BUT, when Graham Weaver sang Hushabye all was forgiven. The most beautiful singing voice - clear, strong and pitch perfect.

It was a great night in the theatre and everyone had a good singalong and we did all go home very much brighter in spite of the rhythm of the pouring rain and the vicissitudes of life.

If the show comes anywhere near you I recommend you buy a ticket.

As an aside, if you are in London please go and see Shrek:The Musical as Alastair Natkiel is playing the role of Lord Farquaad from the 27th April for one week. He will be brilliant and as he is the most famous person I know in the West End I felt it my duty to let you all share him a little.

OK, I better go and make some progress work wise but I will be singing as I go, why not join me...


Save The Last Dance