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.
