road trip pt3: Ireland

Finally, after arm twisting myself into submission, I will do the proper road trip segment. Although in the spirit of not boring you readers with my travel plans, I’ll keep it short and sweet.

Ireland, aside from the beer, has 3 key sites that I truly want to see and experience for myself. The Giant’s Causeway, Avondale House and Oscar Wilde’s childhood home. Reasons?

i) The Causeway because it’s cool and giants made it.

ii) Avondale because I studied Parnell at school and feel he deserves a head’s up.

iii) Oscar Wilde’s home because he was a genius and it puts me in Dublin ready to live it up for any remaining time.

Of course again, I will be driving up and down the country. After the A4 experience, I will probably be feeling quite poor, so a Corsa it will be (from the reputable irish car hire). I looked at the E-Class Mercedes, but I think that’d be a tad excessive for my wife and I.

Speaking of Corsas, OPEL or VAUXHALL? Personnally I think the OPEL logo looks nicer, but I’m sure somebody can sing Vauxhall’s praises…

have you pondered the meaning of life?

Today, I was visited by some Mormons.

Well let’s cover the bases with the back story. Then we’ll deal with the visit.

Walking back from town on Thursday, I noticed two young guys who looked rather strange. They had the feel of a pair of school kids on work experience, but then, they looked just slightly too old to fit this picture. Wearing sensible shoes, black trousers, white shirts and ties with the tightened two-strap backpack seemingly quite full with something.  I left my gawking at that, crossed the road and carried on my wander. Then I notice further down the road that our routes, though slightly different, were mirroring. They were heading the same way, but ten metres or so ahead of me. They then stopped, talking to a gentlemen that was walking towards them. I then assume that they are after directions and go for the sly overtake, trying to avoid giving directional aid (especially for an area that I hardly know) I dipped my head and went for broke.

The pair by now had just finished with the other guy and had started walking again.

Then came the question, the question that threw me just enough to stutter and stop.

“Have you ever pondered the meaning of life?”

At this point experience was screaming at me. As my wife so aptly added later, if someone asks you said question, they are one of three possible people. 1) A crazy drunken homeless person after some change; 2) A psycho; 3) A religious missionary. All three are people that generally you try to avoid.

So, experience screaming, I stop, and start talking to them. Upon doing so I instantly realise I’m in trouble. There were name badges. Weirdly, I noticed that they shared the same first name. Then I realised I was being a douche, for the odds of anyone, let alone two people walking together, being called “Elder” are VERY low. A second take then confirmed the suspicions. They were missionaries. Mormon missionaries.

At this point I should have made my excuses and run to the hills. But I didn’t. Instead, I decided to hear what they had to say. Not in a “CONVERT ME NOW PEOPLE!” kind of way, but either a “can I listen and learn something?”, or “at least get a story out of it?” kind of way. So we agreed a time and bam, I had a date with some Mormons.

Religion is one of those things that sometimes surprises me. For instance, I find it really weird that religious groups have web presences. Not because I think they are archaic. Just, religion seems like something that wouldn’t need such a presence. Maybe part of me still believes that there’s no better way of self promotion than having on omnipotent higher power at the helm. Similarly, being contacted and exchanging mobile telephone numbers with a missionary provided me with a moment of surprise. I have no idea why I thought things might be different. Thinking about it now, I do have a strange reaction to the combination of technology and religion. Somehow, I always completely severed the two. Maybe part of me was expecting Elder to scratch our appointment onto a tablet. Who knows.

So they arrived, and we sat in my living room. We started with a prayer, provided by the quieter Elder of the two. This guy, well, this kid, seemed rather nervous (my wife informs me that this is because they travel in twos, where one is being trained by the other – this kid was fairly fresh in the face so I can believe that). He said his prayer with pure conviction. I can be moved by powerful speeches. Similarly, I can be shocked by emotional reactions during speech. This kid said his prayer with such care, he considered his words with such attention that impressed me. It took me by surprise too that it brought a tear to his eye. A tear. His eye. For a fairly routine set of prayer sentences, there was waterworks.

Next up we had the Q&A session. I asked, they answered, and provided Biblical references to support their points. I got a chance to learn a lot about the background and the devotion / commitment these two Elders had for their religion. I had researched the faith a little, so was able to ask them some questions that could have given them a sticky time. Or so I thought. I wasn’t aiming to disturb them, or insult them. I just wanted to find out their explanation for believing some aspects of their Mormon faith.

I asked three key (I thought killer) questions.

1. I asked about the rejection of non Mormon family members within marital ceremonies.
2. I asked why the Church (required/) asked for a regular financial contribution in order for members to be allowed within the Temple.
3. I asked them about the story of Joseph Smith, and his vision, discovery and reading of the Mormon scriptures.

All of these had answers which, in my mind are quite uncomfortable and controversial for a faith promoting Christian principles. For example, the rejection of family at a celebration of union is quite shocking. I was told that the civil service is open, but for the Temple aspect, where the couple have a ceremony uniting them beyond death, only sanctified Mormons may attend. So a secret service, which effectively excommunicates family members. Joyous.

The second is quite controversial too. I was told that it is not a requirement that people contribute to the Church. However, should a Mormon wish to attend Temple meetings, they must “donate” 10% of their wealth back to the Church. Much like the Islamic Zakat, except that I don’t think that a Muslim would ever be denied access to their Mosque. (Any info here would be most appreciated.)

Finally, Joseph Smith. Many faith leaders in 1820 said that God didn’t talk to people in a prophetic way anymore. Well, says Joseph, they do. upon kneeling at a tree, he was visited by two beings, who told him he would receive a revelation of the “true” religion in a year, and in the meantime, he was not to follow any others. A year passes, and as expected, Joseph locates some scriptures buried under the same tree. But wait. Joseph can’t read. He is illiterate. How will he read and promote the scriptures? The Mormons tell me it was through a divine miracle spirited within Smith and the Urim Thummim in his headpiece. I tell you it was through Joe reading the stones through the almighty power of a rock in his hat.

That is the killer for me personally. There is not ever a point where I am going to be able to believe Joseph Smith’s story. I can’t.

Each of these questions was given a prompt, Bible researched and belittling rebuttal. They informed me politely that though I may feel that my moral principles are satisfactory, actually I am nowhere near being superb because I NEED to study, learn and develop them with the assistance of the structured and undeniably ONLY true Christian Church. (Yes, they did tell me that ALL other Christians aren’t doing it right. Quite controversial.)

Repeat to fade.

The meeting finished with a prayer again, which somewhat ironically was combined with the loud beeping of a reversing lorry outside. The Elders left, after trying to arrange a follow up meeting. I declined.

The worst part of all this?

They never answered their own question. I was left to ponder on.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

road trip pt2: irish brewery tour

After reading this post, I felt I had to first post a travel link that included beer. I’ll get around to the real road trip post for Ireland eventually, but for the moment, here’s Willbaforce’s (or Katie Hammel’s seeing as she’s done the research – see source) recommended brewery road trip for Ireland.

With Ireland being the initial choice destination, I thought it merry to suggest a tour of brewery(/ies). Obviously, for the global appeal, we have to attend the Guinness brewery in Dublin, but let’s go further. Let’s try beat the lesser travelled path.

Sample route idea.

So, let’s get the big one out of the way first. The Guinness storehouse. Here you wander solitary, in this brewing behemoth. You hear stories that the international production of Guinness is kept completely by this one place. I have my doubts, but know that it at least covers Ireland and the British Isles. It’s tasty in it’s own right. I think it’s too heavy to enjoy too much.

Moving on then, in the tasty hire car (Audi A4 from Car Hire Ireland) to Carrow. Relatively new, the Carrow Brewing Company offer a selection ranging from stout through to red ale. Certainly looks tasty.

Then on to Kilkenny, where St. Francis Abbey Brewery offers Irish Budweiser, as well as Ireland’s number one real ale, Smithwick’s.

Cork’s Kinsale Brewery offers a good mixture, and a tour provided by the master Brewer at the facility.

Finally, at Inagh is a little tidy pub / brewery set up, namely the Biddy Early Brewery. Combining both the start and finish of beer into one welcome finish for our trip. Smooth.

There it is. Now if only I had the money to start it tomorrow…

Well. Even if I don’t, it’s written down now, so my wife will eventually bear the strain of me tasting beer after beer. After beer. After beer…

poetic inspiration

Ignorance

Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge – for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions -
And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.

Philip Larkin

Published: Faber and Faber Limited, London 1964

…

I enjoy Larkin’s poems. The subtle mockery of pretty much the rest of the world can be seen to be quite cynical, but I personally believe that its refreshing to see someone comment so directly on topics that recur year on year, decade on decade. I wonder what his impression on the current expenses debacle would be? Or more so, the state of the British nation?

I’m sure him and Betjeman would have had a field day.

…

Thinking back through poetry that I’ve read, the majority of them were spoon fed to me by English teachers: Blake, Sassoon, Owen and Larkin all were part of my curriculum, but it wasn’t really until University that I recognised how darn beautiful or provocative their works were. I obviously had the “studied” interpretation of them, recognising their significance and meaning, but in real terms, in terms of sheer enjoyment, it wasn’t until later that I started to truly ascertain their calibre.

I will always remember my English teachers. As far as classically traditional English teacher quirkiness goes, these guys took the prize then performed a three act cabaret with it. And three class acts they were. Mr Fitton, Mrs Dodd and Mr Leighton (the last name may not be wholly accurate, I was 14 and now I can’t remember). Each had their own unique style of lunacy that just perfectly fit their specialism.

Mr Fitton was eccentrically enthusiastic about two things. Pike fishing and literature. Oh and phallus’. So three then. He used to perform literature with such gusto that your body literally shook with terror as he read “The Tyger“, or laugh out loud to his beration of Ian McEwan’s homosexual stalker feast of a book that is Enduring Love. He used to play a comically competitive version of hangman / pictionary with us sometimes which he would call “Knobheads and Y-Fronts”, where the aim of the game was to have your “knobhead” or “Y-front” grow the largest erection by the end of the quiz; one point equalled to a centimetre of phallic growth. In a classroom full of teenage boys, this stuff was top drawer comedy (and learning).

Mrs Dodd was a Canadian English teacher. In a tiny British Grammar School. Lord only knows how she ended up at our school, but my, having her was fantastic. She was full of sayings that you’d never hear in English speech, rather they frequented the troughs of North American toilet mouths. She used words like “britches” with malice and intent. She once commented on the fact I was quiet by saying that “It’s because he’s an axe murderer in the making. ALWAYS watch the quiet ones people”. “Snooze ya lose” came out a few times. She was the first to introduce me to her husband’s (and many males) pocket checker – the “testicles, spectacles, wallet, watch” law of pocket checking (which I follow to this very day).

Mr Leighton was a whole other level of crazy. This guy was by far one of the most inspirational people I have ever had the privilege to meet. He had a charisma that could probably lead to a kind of domination that Hitler only dreamed about. He had worked and seen it all. Waste disposal, journalism, sales, you name it, he’d been there screaming at people. He used to read levelly, then where it was due, give it gusto. He also used to do this stood right behind people so they’d jump when he did it.

I’ll always remember the fateful day that one of my classmates had copied his homework from someone in our class. Rather than deal with the issue quietly, Mr Leighton started the lesson by telling us all he wanted to tell us a story about two little rabbits, who had been given some homework to do. He then wound out a ten minute story on how one lazy rabbit copied the others without changing a single thing, making it crystal clear that he had done so. All the time he was telling this story, he was slowing creeping towards the culprits, so that as he reached his crescendo, he was between the two of them, in perfect position to shout seven kinds of shock into them. Which of course, is what followed the story.

He was a great teacher. He animated us into reading aloud with passion, which made reading in class so much more interesting and memorably worthwhile.

…

Praise to poets, writers and English teachers the world over.

wordles

This used to be a page, but I got tired of seeing it there. So it’s now another updater-post. So there.

After seeing this used somewhere else, here’s some Wordles that I’ve created. Ho, there’s something special about some randomly assimilated words. Click on them, and it’ll take you to bigger versions of their mastery.

Here’s some taken from the blog post scribbled words:

Here’s some of my tweets combined:

I’ll add more if I make some tasty treats.

Oh, all Wordles are copyright licensed .

Make sure you credit http://www.wordle.net/ if you dabble.