What the church can learn from Woolies

The above picture shows the old Woolworth's store in Stockport. Walking past it the other day left me with a distinct feeling of loss (the feeling might have been greater had I not remembered to cash in the £50 or so vouchers from a particular Aunt which had accumulated from the kid's birthdays over the last few years).

The 'glory' has departed and with a vengeance for, once upon a time, FW Woolworth was a bye word in retail innovation and profitability. So much so that in 1913 Frank Woolworth, the American founder, was able to pay cash for the Woolworth building in New York (pictured right) - the world's tallest skyscraper until 1930.

What's all this got to do with church? Precisely this. A business commentator said on Radio Four's Today the other week with reference to Woolies, 'Great name, bad business model.' In other words, Woolworths was a company people wanted to do business with, both customers and suppliers (that same week the CEO of Lego was lamenting its loss), but it had been unable to organise itself in such a way that it could operate effectively in the world of the 21st Century.

Much the same might and has been said about Blue Peter, the great British Pub,Top of the Pops, political parties etc. However, the church is different - its loss from the 'high street' of our society would be catastrophic. It would also be criminal given that, I believe, people, deep down, still want to do business with God and therefore engage with the beliefs and values we represent. All is not lost, of course, for new models and new ways of being church are developing. Now, then, is not the time to throw in the towel, but rather to explore those new models and new ways for all they are worth.

Listening out for the prophet's voice

At the start of my sabbatical I suggested that the role of a minister involves both priestly and prophetic functions, that is being one with, alongside, the people but also, at the same time, at a distance from them. This in order that one could offer a different perspective. Not different for the sake of being different, but different in the sense that God was able to speak to the people of God through you.

Now this probably sounded a little aloof and autocratic, which is possibly why it prompted one of the few comments that I have received on the blog, so let me clarify further. The role of prophet is not one that is confined to clergy! In many ways we are the least likely to exercise this ministry even though we are called to it. No, this is a role for the Christian community and particular individuals within it.

In my time I have heard a number of public 'prophecies' and, to be honest, they have been either tepid and predictable or completely barking. In a similar vein, a couple of years ago I read one on the internet posted by a local Christian ministry informing us, amongst other things, that the UK was the 'apple of the Lord's eye' and that revival was about to break out yet again. I emailed to say that I had been reading Deuteronomy that day, a section about false prophecy, and that I hoped it didn't apply to this one. Clearly it did.

However, there is such a thing, I believe, as real prophecy and it is usually either worrying or irritating or both. For example, at the start of my time in Cheadle someone called at the house to say that the story of Jesus' cursing of the barren fig tree and accompanying parable applied to St Cuthbert's and that we had only so much time to get back on track - scary. More recently, a man known to many of us who is pretty much on the margins of church life started informing me and then, later, insistently reminding me, about the possibility of a mental health project at our church - irritating. But in time the 'Its OK Club' was formed. I think I've said enough for you to get my drift and if you didn't, why not read some Old Testament prophets and discover what angular and awkward characters they could be.

What, then, does this mean in practice? That we have to make time and room for such people's voices to be heard, not least by those of us in leadership and that we have to encourage those who have the gift. After all, prophecy is the grit that might just produce the pearl.

NB above is the prophet Jeremiah in action

Why I ran the Wilmslow Half Marathon

Simon Barnes of The Times said it all on Friday with a brilliant article about the Boat Race, but with a much wider application. Enjoy.

Sport is supposed to be a sorting process, one that separates winners from losers, first-raters from second-raters, champions from also-rans. The Boat Race tells another story: 16 faces alike in distress, two crews united in the democracy of pain.

Winning is bad enough. To lose the Boat Race is perhaps the most devastating defeat in sport.

There is no consolation. There is no money for coming first, let alone second. There is no fame. The Boat Race offers nothing but the staggering drudgery of training, impossibly combined with some form of academic work, and the return to obscurity. Boat Race oarsmen pass from nonentity to nonentity through a brightly lit valley of pain.

And if you happen to be watching the Boat Race with the wrong sort of person, say a would-be intellectual smartarse or a girlygirl without sensible shoes, you know what follows: “Why do they do it? Why? What on earth's the point?” One answer - if you don't know, I can't tell you.

But let's look a bit farther. Most of us who read the sports pages will be sympathetic to the view that there is a point in rowing yourself stupid and feeling agonies you never thought possible. But all the same, what is it?

It's not a bloke thing. I remember, years ago, standing at the finish of the Devizes to Westminster canoe race, an event that makes the Boat Race look like a paddle round the Serpentine. It's 125 miles, takes 20 hours if you're good and if you're less good the agony lasts a great deal longer. Men and women take part and I met woman after woman leaving her slight boat with extreme difficulty and saying: “Never again!”

“The first time it's a challenge to complete the run,” one contestant told me. “You don't even consider doing it twice. Then around Christmas you say to yourself, 'The old DW is coming up again...'” And they're back again, and they paddle again and they finish again, and they step from their boats and what do they say? You've guessed it.

So here are some of the things that bring a person to an extreme event like the DW, like the Boat Race - bearing in mind that women have a Boat Race, too, and it hurts just as much and they don't even get an audience.

Beauty

Rowing feels good. Each stroke contains a beautiful, stretchy moment when, as you withdraw your blade, the boat glides on. It's as if you get more for your effort than you put in. Most sports are in some senses lovely to do: to kick a ball, to run, to ride a horse or a bicycle - these are things people do for the simple pleasure of it. Being very good indeed at such things makes them feel better.

Pain

Your smartarse and your girlygirl will look at the rictus of agony on the faces of the dying oarsmen and sneer: “They must be masochists.” This is a shorthand term we use without much thought, meaning someone whose wiring is wrong, someone who finds pleasure in things a normal person would find intensely disagreeable. But pain proves you have done something. Pain tells you that you have done the best you could. Pain tells you that you have pushed your limits and probably shifted them a bit. Pain is a validation.

Team

Some social anthropologists explain that the English love sport because it is a social facilitator. We use it to get over our awkwardness and relate to other human beings. It's an excuse for intimacy. While I would reject a lot of this (see beauty, especially), it is certainly true that for many people, being part of a team is a supreme experience.

If you share an experience of great intensity, you have links with that person for as long as you both live. A chance meeting with old members of the Tewin Irregulars is not a trivial matter to me. Sharing big matters is a powerful thing. I remember, a few months ago, sharing an evening of quite extraordinary euphoria with a group of strangers after an incredibly close encounter with bears. Sport unites.

Competition

Sport gives you someone to beat. It gives you a simple and irrefutable reason for doing something. In order to be part of us, you need a them. It is a concept that brings life down to a brutal and glorious simplicity. Sport divides.

Elitism

To take on something a little out of the ordinary is to promote yourself. You do something special and you are a little bit more remarkable. You have taken the road less travelled by; and that makes you slightly special. People will run the marathon for that reason. No one runs the London Marathon for charity. Rather, charity is the beneficiary of the urge to be a little special. Raising a lot of money for a good cause by running a very long way - it's an incredibly potent combination.

Addiction

As you push the beauties of doing the thing to a higher level, so you find a new kind of beauty. In rowing, in running, in endurance riding, you find a self-hypnosis, a meditation, a way of stepping beyond yourself that is as near as we get to meditation in the West. It is not purely a matter of endorphins, either. It is the setting aside of self, the ultimate simplification, in which you do not take on a task, you become that task.

Ambition

When you do something that matters to you, you want to do it better. If you run for exercise, you want to improve your time. If you cook, you want the next meal to be the best. If you watch birds, you want to improve your field skills. The desire to do things a little better is part of the pleasure of doing them. You want to go beyond your own boundaries, and as you do so, you are inspired by the thought that you can do still more. You find twitchers who want to see every bird in the world, you get athletes who want to set world records. If you are good at rowing, you want to row still better. A great event, and better, a victory in that event, is a peg on which such ambitions can be hung.

Self-knowledge

There is a strange attraction in the idea of testing yourself. You really don't know whether or not you will pass. You want to be the sort of great person who doesn't break, but in order to find out, you have to put yourself to the test.

Anti-death

All these matters come down to this last. All the guff about dreams and challenges and honour and glory come down to this: the seeking out and accepting of an opportunity to live more intensely. It's about being alive, about knowing you're alive, about celebrating being alive. Look at the losers in their agony - they look as if they're dying, they feel as if they're dying, but they have never been more alive. So don't sneer. Don't pity. Envy.

I'll leave you with a tale told by Sir Michael Parkinson: “We were sitting together watching the World Cup on television and Holland were awarded a penalty. The taker scored but was ordered to retake it because of a technical offence. As he placed the ball on the spot looking nervous, the commentator said: 'Who would want to be in his shoes at the moment?' 'Oh, I would,' said George Best. 'Oh, I bloody would.'”

NB If we're looking slightly jaded its because this was taken after the finish and we'd had to squeeze into the MX5

Tell me a bit about yourself?

John Drane in The McDonaldisation of the Church - the third of his books I have read this Sabbatical - describes how he often ask people he meets to say a bit about themselves. The response, from Westerners at least, is almost always couched in terms of work and other 'externals' and never, normally, in terms of relationships, beliefs, values and the like.

This got me thinking. How would I describe myself? Vicar, Padre, owner of an MX5, climber, runner, lover of red wine. Or would it be father, husband, friend, Christ follower, pilgrim etc. How shallow so many of the former self-references appear, resting as they do on the surface and in no sense probing the depth of the person that is Mike Newman.

Perhaps I, we should learn to be more open and more reflective?

The church's greatest strength - the capacity for renewal

This Sunday I visited Firwood Church in Oldham which, I suspect, is typical of a whole breed of new, though not necessarily 'emerging' churches. I say not emerging because, when you probe beneath the surface a little, and you find a very traditional theology.

Various things stood out from the couple of hours or so I spent there:

* direction and purpose - there is obviously an effective leadership team
* community and belonging - the church has been in existence only a few years and everybody clearly feels themselves to be a stakeholder
* humanity and humour - no silly traditions or rituals to get in the way of normality
* commitment to evangelism - Firwood runs two PHUD outreach teams (Proclaiming His Undying Love)which talk to and pray for people in the town centre on Saturday mornings plus a range of other intiatives. We don't exist to be a club, but to witness to Jesus Christ and win disciples for him was the message that came over loud and clear.
* preaching and teaching - perhaps an over-commitment here as sermons typically last ONE HOUR. Doubtless OK when the Pastor is preaching, not so OK as this week when it is the Youth Pastor. A lovely manner and some good illustrations, but otherwise many tangents and significant rambling, albeit on a tricky passage (Psalm 127)
* involvement of a sizeable body of youth drawn in by, for example, football held after church on a Sunday evening.
* sensitive engagement with the local Muslim community - no demonising going on here
* the effective use of new technologies e.g. video projector, website, vodcasting etc. (the latter is like podcasting but with video - I had to guess :-) )
* most impressive of all was the fact that here in what appeared to be a fairly run down part of Oldham a church was prospering by doing traditional church, albeit with a contemporary edge, very well. But isn't what the church had always done. 2000 years old and still in business.

The picture that says it all about Tough Guy (and friendship)

This one just in. Myself and best mate Simon grinding it out in the desperate last stages to the toughest ever Tough Guy. Yohimbe!

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbours house

Broad is the way that leads to destruction and narrows is the way that leads to eternal life so the Good Book says. Well here we are living in Cherington Road which, for those who don't know, is situated just off Broadway, one of the premier addresses in Cheadle and very nice it is too. Now I now how the 5% live.

The first few days were carnage with a great deal or sorting out to do. Beds to assemble, boxes to unpack, networks to install and the like. Now, after two weeks, we have reached the equilibrium point after which, if I'm honest, few meaningful improvements will be made.

There are great practical benefits to being here, not least that two of the kids now have their own rooms (the two boys still share), we have more room to manouevre / get away from each other when we need the space and we have appreciably more storage (though being rented means that you can't install shelves or the like)

On the debit side, large houses can be remote and lonely houses, though the people we have met on the road have been very friendly. It is also strange to be so far from church. OK enough during a Sabbatical, but too distant for day to day operations from which you feel disconnected. That's without the hassle of finding a parking place in Stockport Road on a Sunday, though the family usually walks.

Lastly, what about the vexed issue of clergy housing as a concept? There is no doubt that, on the one hand, it is a great perk - though if you don't own another property that has to be weighed against the need to prepare for retirement in some way or other and the costs pertaining to this - for large families which, of course, this provision encourages this is a real boon. On the other hand, the great danger is that as one's accomodation gets larger more luxurious - have you seen the Vicarage at Bramhall?! - one becomes increasingly distanced from the lives of normal people or at least the majority of them. This distance re-inforced the image of the clergy as somehow 'diffferent' and that, in my opinion, cannot be a good thing especially when the difference is in wealth and status.

How to square the circle? I'm not sure. Doesn't the Good Book say something about snakes and doves?

In this sign conquer - the ministry of the Padre

What a strange title the Padre's cap badge carries - the words given by Constantine to his soldiers at the battle of - the point at which, according to many, the decline of the Christian church began with its replacement by Christendom. Just one of many paradoxes and ambiguities than an Army Chaplain has to face.

In the course of my Sabbatical I have kept the Padre-ing going albeit at an ambient level. Having said that, a Burns Night, a ski trip, a visit to soldiers on Ops, a baptism, a funeral, a pastoral visit and a few cups of tea on an have all given me pause for thought.

Here are my interim conclusions on what is involved in the ministry of the Padre

Its is spiritual - in the face of death and the other challenges of life, the Padre is there to act as a witness to God's love and strength by his or her deeds as well as, when appropriate, his or her words.

It is moral - in view of the nature of the military task, which frequently involves difficult and marginal judgements made in a split second, the Padre along with the Commander and others, provides a framework and reference point by which correct and appropriate decisions can hopefully be made.

It is pastoral - in view of the peculiarly social nature of the organisation, with people living, sleeping and fighting together 24/7 sometimes for long periods, the demands made by operational tours, the problems related to any group of - mainly - young men etc etc. the vital importance of a listening, sympathetic and reliable ear is obvious. It is what makes the title 'Padre', first used during the Peninsular War, such an appropriate one.

It is practical - in view of the hostile and difficult environment in which soldiers frequently operate, often with many home comforts absent and with the chain of command taken up with more 'important' matters, the Padre has the time and maybe resources to provide that little something extra that makes a difference.

It is relational - everybody from the lowly recruit to the highest ranking officer needs sympathy and friendship. Many positions can be very lonely indeed. The Padre, uniquely positioned as he or she is, can provide that support, at least in part.


(The picture shows me taking my first ever field service - at very short notice - in Germany back in 2004)

For more information on the work of the chaplain albeit from a naval angle check out this link to a recent Times article
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/court_and_social/article5903716.ece

Weaving the nets

Although it is not, strictly, exegesis, Frost and Hirsch in 'The Shape of Things to Come' provide an interesting slant on Matthew 4.19 and pars - 'I will make you fishers of men'. They ask what proportion of a fisherman's time would have been spent actually fishing and what proportion repairing the nets? Surprisingly, rather a lot on the latter, the illustrative point being how much time we Christians spend building genuine relationships with those who are not believers? The answer, when it comes to clergy and church leaders in particular, is often shockingly little. These authors also remind us that fishing was a collaborative activity and not an individualistic one, though that is not the way that we have typically been conditioned to think about evangelism.

I'm not sure what it was, but it didn't look much like the Christianity as I know it

Call me a theological dinosaur, but for me sound exegesis is the foundation upon which all Christian worship must be based. That doesn't mean to say that any of us will ever get it right - good enough, workmanlike, call it what you may - that will suffice. But there has to be a cogent and coherent connection between what is written in scripture, above all the Gospels, and what is taught, Sadly the church I visited today - a large, more traditional, Anglican one - was somewhat lacking in this department.

Lets start with the positives:

* a church building that was beautiful, bright and obviously well cared for
* a very creative use of liturgy
* a well structured and well led service
* nice friendly people
* even the dressing up, the genuflecting and processing around, which I don't much care for, would have been bearable had what they were intended to bear witness to been articulated properly.

No I'm sorry, Jesus cleansing the temple equals Jesus wanting to cleanse and bring God's love into our hearts will not do. It comes from theological la la land.

Enough said.

Do you think Someone's trying to tell me something?

The week before last I visited the church several times in connection with the house move and each time I picked up a job. No problem about that, but a reminder of how easy it is to be swamped by the practicalities. On the Sunday it was the Dyson that I noticed was not picking up properly - brush not working, but no simple solution like the drive band. On the Wednesday it was the lock that was broken with no one else around and both Wardens away or busy. So I called in a locksmith and had twenty keys cut (for starters!). On the Thursday it was the fire alarms that wouldn't set and then, making matters worse, the fire alarm buttons that in my confusion about the alarm system I conspired to damage. Then, finally, on the Monday, it was the neighbour whose car had been damaged by the poor installation of the builder's gates that needed some concentrated pastoral attention. D'Oh!

Limited atonement means limited Gospel

Sorry to go all theological, but this Sunday I attended an independent Baptist Church and experienced a quite different place on the theological spectrum.

I found there a great deal to admire - quite a few very normal looking people pace ones stereotype of Reformed Baptists (assuming one has one); a warm and comfortable building which must have been quite a stretch for what is relatively small congregation to purchase; several very positive points of engagement with the local community e.g. a Sunday School in an area of local deprivation a commitment to servant ministry in at least two old people's homes; a number of more traditional hymns, including one on the incarnation to the tune 'Morning has broken' which I'd never heard before but must track down; a varied and keen programme of events during the week which included a meal provided by the church's international students and, finally, a friendliness and hospitality towards the visitor, that is, me. They even had unfairly traded coffee, what more can I say?!

So what's not like to like? Well there's nothing wrong with a bit of angularity, its quite endearing these days given the 'namby pamby' climate that pervades much church life, but, on reflection what's not to like is the subtle and sometimes not so subtle insistence that they are right and everybody else is wrong. Everything appears to be sewn up and there is one point only of authority. Naturally and rightly this is the bible, but the bible as refracted through, at the level of principle, one tradition and, at the level of practice, one man, that is the man at the front leading the service and delivering the message.

Listening to the sermon, prayers and notices during the service and reading through the blurb afterwards, I gained the distinct impression that God's purpose in the world is focused more or less exclusively on the church with little room for anything or anyone else beside. And the reason? Augustine, of course, or rather Augustine as misrepresented and misunderstood by those who came later (though not, on my understanding, John Calvin). As the title makes clear, limited atonement really does means limited Gospel.

By the way, you'll have to work out the picture above for yourselves. Take a deep breath, then follow the dark line down....

Every time I throw away you take a piece of me with you... with apologies to Paul Young

Moving house has proved emotional in every sense. Leaving our home of over fifteen years and the familiar routine we have established there. Leaving the street and the people we have come to know there. Leaving the locale of the church building where you feel involved in all that is going on. Leaving the organised chaos of the old house for the disorganised chaos of the new.

Of course there is an 'upside' to this: a bigger house (on which see the BLOG Thou shalt not covet - forthcoming); more parking space; no urgent requests to, for example, provide IT or other support to sundry church meetings, unblock a toilet or counsel someone in distress; no homeless persons as yet - though we have supplied contact details to our most regular visitor etc etc.

The hardest thing, as implied by the title, is to relive and then relinquish so many happy memories, not least those associated with our four children.

This has been Lizzie and Joe's only home and Martha's and James's since they were two and six months respectively. James's and Joe's room still has the original decorations complete with Winnie the Pooh transfers hidden behind the bunk beds.





Through the soon to be demolished landing window it is possible to view the garden where they have spent so many happy hours, particularly before PS3 and wet summers.



Behind every now abandoned radiator and under every now removed sofa lies the fossilised evidence of what has been transacted in this home. Missiles and small toy soldiers abandoned on the battlefield. Crucial bits of Lego long searched for and items of play jewellery that once enthralled. Scooby Do birthday badges and felt tipped pens and much else besides.

Finally, hardest of all, there are the items that have to be consigned to the bin or charity shop. Yesterday, I lingered long over an Action Man watch tower James and I had made about six or seven years ago from an Amazon box and sticks collected from Abney. Should it be kept for posterity like so much else that fills our garage or should it be skipped? With a lump in my throat I opted for the latter.



What does all this mean? It means that we are mortal and that for all of us time is available in a strictly limited quantity. Intimations of this are naturally painful. It means that we are strangers in this world and long for a home that is permanent and from which we will never be asked to leave. Why not read the Letter to the Hebrews and you'll understand?

A blog about this blog

A few quick points

Firstly, the order in which you view the Blog is not necessarily the order in which it has been written as sometimes I go back to events later on having given them thought and consideration. So, if you like the Blog, why not look back over the weeks for items you may have missed.

Secondly, the blogger is caught between wanting things to look there best and so spending too much time 'gold plating' and doing things 'on the hoof' and so introducing multiple typos. Hence I often rush things out and then edit and correct later on. Please note, though, logophiles, that I am not aiming at perfection.

Thirdly, some time back I read an item by John Piper saying that all ministers should blog. At the time I felt that was to take oneself and one's role a little too seriously (on this note, the subject of a future blog will be to consider the argument that Christians, and Christian ministers in particular, have rendered the ground sterile by all our words) Better, that all Christians or maybe all people should blog is as much as it facilitates honesty and friendship as well as an archive for future thought and hopefully wiser action.

Strange goings on at Eight o'clock communion

In one of Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories, 'Silver Blaze', there occurs the mysterious case of the dog that didn't bark. My visit to church last weekend also featured a Vicar's dog that didn't bark or, in fact, do anything at all until after the service had ended when he trotted cheerfully down the aisle. It came as a surprise to me, but no one else present as this is all part of the routine. I'll leave the other strange 'going on' to the end.

As time was pressing due to the house move I had opted for an 8 o'clock service and, generally speaking, I found it helpful. Lots of silence before and during - a luxury not usually afforded to me and very appropriate for the start of Lent. The ten commandments in full. People kneeling for prayer (when was the last time you saw that?!) All this added to the atmosphere and was, I'm sure, appreciated by the twenty or so mainly elderly people present that morning.

A couple of deeper issues were framed for me. Firstly, the pros and cons of tailored services. Eight o'clock communions originally served the purpose of allowing domestic servants and those who had to work on Sunday's to get to church and for some reason have continued to serve a purpose, presumably for the reasons outlined above as well as others besides.

Secondly, the place of individualism. Not, in this context, of the more pietistical flavour as explored in the hymns, say Fanny Crosby, or the modern songs to which I have previously referred, but of a more robust and, if I'm honest, somewhat more austere and clinical flavour. Nothing wrong with either sort, I'm sure, as long as such worship forms part of a more balanced diet of more genuinely corporate worship and a lively engagement with one's Christian brothers and sisters.

And the other strange 'going on'? The two readings were followed by... nothing, not even a two minute thought. That absence did not invalidate all else about the service, but it did leave aside one vital ingredient - an explanation and application of God's word with an encouragement to think about it and practice it. Now that really is strange!

The strategic importance of asparagus

Just returned from visiting soldiers from my Regiment, 33 Signals (V), deployed on Op Tosca an operation which represents the British Army's contribution to the UN peacekeeping force in Cyprus

This is the first ever (?) TA only deployment and is designed to relieve pressure on regular forces as well as test the mettle of the reserves. Although a benign environment, the UN buffer zone is still located between two heavily militarised areas which means that, without supervision, the current stand off could quickly escalate into something more serious. Presumably not all out war though as Turkey is, like Greece, a member of NATO and perhaps more importantly aspires to membership of the EU.

Stationed in the Ledra Palace Hotel, which was evacuated at the height of the 1974 crisis, 32 Signal Group comprises more than 20 cap badges taken from a large number of units. The lead Regiment is Scottish and based in Glasgow and is a sister Signals Regiment to 33. The hotel, in spite of having recently been kitted out by Ikea, is not in the best of states. Many rooms are in a poor condition, with toilets and showers out of operation and the extra goodies that the Army promised the boys and girls e.g. WiFi have not materialised. There are, I'm glad to say, several messes, a bar and a sizeable gym, but this a house of fun this isn't.

What of the mission itself? The Brits monitor one of three sectors, the other two being managed by the Argentinians and the Hungarians. It takes in the divided city of Nicosia and the surrounding countryside. The signs of the 1974 conflict are everywhere, not least in the city itself where streets have lain empty for nearly forty years with abandoned shops, cafeterias and even a car showroom with several delivery mileage Toyota Corollas still on display.

Only one pedestrian crossing point exists and that is recent. St Sophia's Cathedral is now a mosque with minarets added. Its the first one I've ever entered - minus shoes of course.



Greek and Turkish OP's are everywhere throughout the zone in some places almost touching and are easily identifiable by the ubiquitous flags and although there is little outright aggression, there is a great deal of petty 'tit for tat' with constant minor violations of the agreed codes with the UN somewhat hamstrung in its potential responses.

Finally, some examples of the prevailing mentality, past and present.

- most spectacularly, the Turkish flag located on the hillside opposite the town which was constructed by students painting rocks in the appropriate colours over a period of days and then turning these over all at once one night. Its even illuminated! (see pictures below - Ne mutlu Türküm diyene! is a famous quote taken from Atatük's nutuk that is widely used in any nationalistic contexts. It means: "How happy is he who can say ‘I am a Turk". In other words, 'Up yours')




















- ten brick wall where, originally, the UN a painted a line on a wall to prevent the Turks adding bricks. The only problem was that they kept removing the painted row and then adding others underneath! The answer? Place the line ten bricks down hence the name.

- a new housing development where the Greek builder had constructed what appear to be concrete bunkers at the corners and gun ports at the base. Various attempts to screen these with earth deposited by the UK monitors in the night were soon removed and so several ISO containers have been dropped there since.

- tea chest corner where a barricade had been built using, funnily enough tea chests which, when filled with concrete, can form quite an effective defence. The Turks had turned the chests with the bottom facing out and so there was no way of knowing if they were solid or not. As a result the UN ordered that they be turned around. Unfortunately, they didn't specify a timescale and so they were placed the correct way round at the rate of one per week!

And the asparagus? That grows freely in the buffer zone and is keenly sought by the local Greek population. During my visit we escorted quite a number of these out of the area. Surely, you might have thought, after thirty four years they might have come to acknowledge the buffer and the presence of the UN, but evidently not. And so it goes on.