Wednesday, 30 December 2015

Father Ignatius and the Painter


Once upon a time there was an unscrupulous painter who was very interested in making extra money if he could. He often thinned down his paint with turpentine to make it go a bit further. Sadly, he got away with this for some time.

One day Father Ignatius decided to paint the outside of the Parish Hall white. He asked for several quotations and this painter’s was the lowest price quoted. As the priest was short of funds the painter in question got the job.

So he set about erecting the scaffolding and setting up the planks, and buying the paint and, yes, I am sorry to say, thinning it down with turpentine.

As the painter was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly completed, there was suddenly a horrendous clap of thunder, the sky opened, and the rain poured down washing the thinned paint from all over the Parish Hall walls, and knocking the painter clear off the scaffold to land on the lawn among the gravestones, surrounded by telltale puddles of the thinned and useless paint.

The painter realised that this was a judgement from above …

He got on his knees and cried:

“Oh God … oh God … help me … what should I do?”

And just then a thunderous voice replied:

“Repaint !!! Repaint !!! And thin no more !!!”

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Monday, 28 December 2015

I am better than you



“I’m so pious ... Always on my knees praying ... So much so that I’ve calluses on my knees the size of mountains ... Ha ha ... I fast too and go for long periods without water ... I’m alright really ... I’m a devout Christian ... Not like all those un-believers.”

“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men — robbers, evildoers, adulterers — or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” Luke 18:10-14.

Tuesday, 22 December 2015

Something For Me To Eat



It was five days before Christmas, Father Ignatius drove into the car park and was about to enter the Parish house when he noticed a man standing by the Church door. He walked up to him and the man asked: “Have you got something for me to eat?”

He was in his fifties perhaps, although he looked much older. Unshaven, wearing dirty clothes with tears down the pockets, an open shirt revealing skin that had not been washed since who knows when, and shoes with no socks.

“I’m not from around here …” said the man, “just got off the train … I hid amongst the cattle and no one saw me …” he continued with a grin revealing missing teeth.

The smell of his clothes certainly testified to the fact that he slept amongst cattle, thought the priest.

“I think you’re in need of a good warm bath …” he said without thinking, “follow me …”

He took the man into the Parish house, led him to the bathroom and filled the bath with hot water. He then brought a large plastic bag and asked him to put all his clothes inside it. “I’ll try and find you something new to wear. We’ll have to throw your old clothes away …” said the priest as he left him to it.

He then looked through his own wardrobe and found a few bits and pieces which he no longer needed; and complemented these with other items of clothing donated by parishioners for the monthly jumble/rummage sale.

Half an hour later the man was clean and dressed, minus his shoes. The priest noticed that his toe-nails had not been cut for ages. So he sat him down, went down on his hands and knees and cut his nails for him; for it was obvious the man could not even bend down and do this for himself.

He then took him to the kitchen and prepared a lovely meal of fried eggs, bacon, sausages, black pudding and fried bread. Followed with coffee and toast and marmalade.

It was getting rather dark by mid-afternoon when the man finished eating; so Father Ignatius got him in his car and drove him to the St Bernard Shelter for the Homeless at the other side of town.

On his way back Father Ignatius could not get the man out of his mind. “What a miserable place this town is …” he thought to himself, “high levels of unemployment … businesses shutting down … people losing their jobs and their homes even … I wonder how many are sleeping rough this Christmas …”

His thoughts then turned to his parishioners. “This is definitely the poorest Parish I’ve been assigned to,” he thought as he drove home, “I wonder how many of our old folk will have a miserable Christmas … sitting at home with little if anything to eat … Miss Fletcher for instance … seventy years old and all alone … and the Palmers … both in their eighties … and Mr Sanders …” and the names kept coming to mind as he drove mile after mile.

When he reached the Parish house he was determined to do something about the old folk in his congregation. He decided to invite those whom he knew to be alone and with little money to a Christmas dinner at the Church hall.

He rushed to his office and started by writing a list of people he’d invite. A few minutes later and the list ran to twenty-seven people, all elderly, all poor, all of them he knew very well would spend Christmas day alone in their homes with little to celebrate.

He then started another list of what would be needed to prepare a lovely Christmas meal and to his dismay it totaled over £100.

And his dream was shattered in an instant. Where was he to find such a large sum of money? The Sunday collections hardly amounted to twenty pounds or so a week and every penny was needed for the up-keep of the church, the Parish house, the car and sundry other expenses.

He decided to stop thinking about this project. Doomed before it even started. Thankfully he had not shared his thoughts with anybody. Not his fellow priest, nor the housekeeper.

He looked at the clock and went to church to celebrate evening Mass.

The next morning there was a large brown envelope in the letter box with Father Ignatius’ name written on it in large letters. It had been hand-delivered as it did not have a stamp or postmark. Just his name in bold capitals.

He took it to his office and on opening it he found it contained £150 in bank notes.

There was nothing to signify who had sent it; but it was obviously for him as the envelope had his name clearly written on it.



He did hold his Christmas party for the old folk that year; but he never found out who sent him the money.



This happened many years ago when Father Ignatius first arrived at St Vincent Church. Since then he has held a Christmas party for the old people every year; with money donated by various rich and not so rich parishioners.
NOTE: This story is based on true facts. I have known a priest to go down on his knees to cut the toe nails of a poor person who called on his house for something to eat. And I've known another priest who got a donation of money anonimously just as he needed it to feed some poor folks in his parish.

More Father Ignatius stories can be downloaded FREE from HERE.

 MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY READERS

GOD BLESS

Saturday, 19 December 2015

Why did Jesus have to come to earth?



Another week, another Friday. Father Ignatius set out from St Vincent Church to St Joseph Catholic School to take on the Catechism class with the 15 years old.

It was always a challenge facing those youngsters, especially since he allowed a few minutes at the end of class for free discussion. They could ask anything they wanted and he promised to give them an honest answer – even if he didn’t have an answer, he promised them to say so.

A young pupil put up her hand and asked:

“Why did Jesus have to come to earth? Why didn’t God continue to speak through the prophets like Moses and all the others? And send His Commandments and messages that way? Did Jesus really have to come and die for us to be forgiven? Couldn't God just forgive us?”

“That’s an intelligent question Catherine,” replied the priest, “in fact it’s more than one question; all intelligent at that!”

The young pupil smiled proudly.

“I am not God,” said Father Ignatius, “and I cannot possibly explain what went through His mind when He sent us Jesus; or His motivation for Christ’s Virgin birth, sinless life, death and Resurrection. I know and believe that God decided to send us His Son Jesus to die for us. Yes, He could have just forgiven us, as you say. Being God, He could have done what He wishes, and still can. But I believe that He sent us Jesus, His Son ... and when Jesus was raised to Heaven He sent us the Holy Spirit, who is still with us today ... ”

He stopped for a while to clean his glasses which gained him some thinking time; then putting them back on he continued:

“Let me tell you a story I heard years ago …”

The whole class was now focused on his every word. He knew how to captivate their attention and he firmly believed that honesty, combined with his modern-day parables, would make them remember what he had to say and hopefully mold them into a lifetime founded on the Word of God.

“Once upon a time there was a farmer living in Canada where, as you know, the winters can be very cold and miserable.



“One such cold winter evening in the midst of a very violent snow storm, the farmer was in his home keeping warm by the fireside when he heard banging on the side of his house.

“What could it possibly be? He thought as he heard the continuous thump, thump, thump coming from outside?

“He ignored it at first, but as his dog was getting a little fractious by the sound the farmer put on his heavy overcoat and woolly hat and went outside to investigate.

“He struggled in the blinding snow and nearly slipped once or twice.



“As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he discovered that a flock of wild geese had lost their way in the snow storm and landed in the field near his house.

“There were literally hundreds of them. Disorientated, cold and wandering everywhere.

“They were landing heavily like an airplane with failed engines, and many of them crashed against the side of the barn.

“The farmer realized that left out in the cold they would soon perish without any shelter.



“So he opened the doors of one of his barns and hoped that they would go in for the night.

“But no ... they remained out in the cold cackling and walking around in circles rather than seek shelter in the barn.

“He tried to shoo them in by walking behind them with his arms spread out ... but to no avail ... the geese ran everywhere except into the barn.



“He tried to persuade his sheepdog to herd them into the barn. But the dog had better ideas in mind. He raised his back leg to answer a call of nature then ran back into the house.”

The class of students laughed in unison.

“The farmer thought to himself ‘If only I could talk to these birds in their own language and explain to them that the barn will shelter them from the snow ... It’s their only way to salvation from this freezing cold …’

“Then an idea struck him.

“He opened another barn and let out his own geese in the yard. The yard was now full of his flock as well as these Canadian wild geese. All cackling away in the freezing snow.

“After a minute or so he shooed his own geese into the open barns again and to his relief the wild geese followed them to safety.”

The priest stopped to allow the story to sink into their young minds.

“You see … I think God had the same problem with us humans on earth.

“For years He spoke to us through the prophets as Catherine said when she asked her question. But did we listen … of course not. We continued in our sinful way.

“So God sent His only Son to us, as a human, so that we may see Him, hear Him and hopefully listen to Him speaking to us in our own language.

“Some of us have accepted Jesus as the Son of God and have heeded the Word of God, as spoken through Christ our Lord.

“But years later, even now, there are many who are not listening still.

“And that’s what we must remember at Christmas time. It isn’t just about the baby Jesus being born in a stable. It is more important than that. It is about the reality that God Himself visited us here on earth all those years ago.”

Thursday, 17 December 2015

What did she know?


It’s amazing how sometimes a chance remark or a word spoken in jest can lead one to think something anew or with a fresh point of view.

Father Ignatius was helping with the dismantling of the Nativity scene in church and putting away the various statues safely for use the following Christmas. One of the helpers lifted the statue of the Virgin Mary and remarked: “Look at her face. She looks sad. It’s as if she knew what was to happen to Jesus when He grew up.”

“She’s probably tired after giving birth,” replied another helper.

“No … she looks sad, not tired. Do you think she knew that Jesus would be crucified Father?”

Father Ignatius sat down on a nearby chair.

“I think we need a rest, at least I know I do …” he said.

The other helpers stopped for a while.

“It’s a good question you ask …” continued the priest, “many people have argued about the Virgin Mary over the years, and no doubt will continue to do so. Not everyone holds her in such high regards as we do. Some see her as a woman who gave birth to the Son of God, and just that.

“Many doubt her various Apparitions throughout the world.

“As for how much she knew … well that’s another matter.”

“What do you mean Father?”

The priest finished cleaning his glasses and put them on again. It was a trick he had perfected when he wanted some thinking time.

“Let’s consider Mary when the Angel Gabriel announced what is to happen. Did the Angel just tell her about the Birth of Jesus, or did he, or the Holy Spirit perhaps, also tell her of what is to happen after that?

“Was she told that Jesus would grow up to perform many miracles? That His Mission on earth was to redeem us from our sins? That He would be arrested, beaten, tortured, have a crown of thorns put on His head, made to carry His own Cross and then nailed cruelly to it until He died in agony?”

“I’m not sure … the Bible doesn’t say much about this,” said one of his listeners.

“No, the Bible doesn’t …” continued the priest, “it does not record everything. For example, we have a gap in Christ’s life from the age of twelve when He was found in the temple by His parents to the age of thirty or so when He started His Mission on earth.

“The Gospels in particular focus mainly on Christ, as they should, and don’t mention Mary or Joseph very much.”

“Well what do you think Father?” he was asked again.

“What I think is only a personal point of view.

“I doubt that God would have asked her to become the Mother of Jesus without telling her what this entailed.

“I believe the Holy Spirit would have told her what is to happen. We don’t know in how much details … we can only guess at that. And throughout her life, from the moment the Angel Gabriel visited her, she had snippets of confirmation of what is to happen.

“When she visited Elizabeth … we learn that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and confirmed ‘you are the most blessed amongst women, and blessed is the child you will bear!’

“When she presented the baby Jesus in the temple, Simeon warned her ‘and sorrow, like a sharp sword, will break your own heart.’

“And when at the age of twelve His parents found Jesus in the temple He said ‘Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?’ And Mary treasured all these things in her heart.

“Yes … I believe she knew quite a lot what was to happen to Jesus.”

“Wow … no wonder she looks so sad …” exclaimed one of the helpers.

“This leads us to consider something else,” added the priest.

“Imagine you knew every detail that is to happen in your life. Every illness, sad moment and unhappiness that is to happen. And you could not change it. You had to go through it. How would you feel? Would you be able to cope with the fear and agony of knowing what is to happen to you?

“We don’t know how much Mary knew of her future and that of Jesus.

“But Jesus certainly knew what would happen to Him. Every detail from the moment of His arrest to His death. Peter’s denial, Judas’ betrayal, His disciples fleeing in fear. The agony of His torture and Crucifixion.

“Can you imagine how He must have felt as He grew up, as a teenager and young man, knowing that this day was still to come? The horror of it must have been unbearable.

“Yet He went through with it … just for us!”

They were all silent for a few moments as they considered the seriousness of what they’d just heard.

Friday, 11 December 2015

No Peace

Please allow me to quote from my book "Visions" where Jesus says: "This world cannot know peace until it learns to forgive. Forgiveness is the way to peace".

Regular readers of this Blog, (that's just you and me, the two of us), will know that I often post humourous articles and fun stories here.

I know from analysing the stats that these articles often attract new readers who came here by searching for "jokes", "fun" or other similar words and, having found me, hopefully spend some time looking at the other more serious Christian posts; and hopefully get to know Jesus through what I write.

As I look at life around me, in my locality or on a wider scale through the news media, I notice that as a human race we still have not learnt to forgive.

We may well have advanced in numerous fields such as science, technology, the arts and so on ... but we're still unable or unwilling to learn the very basics regarding mutual peaceful existance.

We've all been hurt in life at one time or other. Some more than others. The hurt runs deep and the wounds are still raw and painful. No one is immune to being hurt.

The trick is - what do we do next?

Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, if my brother keeps sinning against me, how many times do I have to forgive him? Seven times?” “No, not seven times,” answered Jesus, “but seventy times seven.” Matthew 18: 21-22

According to my calculator this adds up to 490 times. But I'm sure Jesus did not mean to limit us to that number.

How do we forgive?

True forgiveness means that we no longer hold something against the one who hurt us. No thoughts of revenge, retribution, punishment or anything like that. We just let what they have done pass away and we move on.

Someone asked me the other day – I have forgiven but cannot forget the pain and hurt caused to me. Does that mean I’ve not really forgiven?

The simple answer is:

If none of the feelings mentioned above are in our hearts – then we have truly forgiven.

Jesus asked us to forgive. Not to forget.

Of course we'll remember the hurt. The more the hurt the more we'll remember as every day something happens to remind us. This is natural.

The second trick is:

We use every remembrance of the hurt to forgive once again.

We also use every remembrance to pray for the one who hurt us. We hand that person over to God as well as the hurt itself.

You cannot possibly hate someone you are praying for.

When Jesus looks at the scars in His hands, feet and side He remembers; and forgives once again.

Tuesday, 8 December 2015

St Paul's lost litter to the maddern wold

Deer fiends,

I am riting this litter to warn you of the dangers of modern thyme.

Life is moving fast these dais. It is not as when I was round on earth. Back then life was much slower. We wear more care full, especially when talking or writing too each other. We thought carefully aboot what we said.

I used too write with a quill on parchment pepper or thick sheets of papyrus. A quill was a feather I plucked from a mongoose and sharpened its end - of the feather not the mongoose. I tipped the feather in ink and wrote slowly and carefully so as not to make any misteaks.

Now life is much faster with electronique gadgets with there prescriptive sex. You type one thing and out comes an other. Then you press send and the damage is don. What you did not mean to say has been said and the other person can get upset or very heart.

Pleese communication slowly and carefully. Do not heart each other by what you say. Be gentile with one another. I remember a fiend of mines always used to say: Sticks and stones may break my bones. But words will never heart me. And then a printing press fell on him. Ouch!

So take cake ... care.

I'd better stop now. My quill is getting blunt. I use it to hit the keys on this keyboard and it breaks easily. Not like the olden thymes.

Yours sin cere lee,

Sain PAuL.

Monday, 7 December 2015

The Graceful Lady

For the last three Sundays Father Ignatius noticed a new member of his congregation attending Mass and always sitting in the same place on the left of the Altar.

She was an elegantly dressed lady in her mid to late fifties. She took part in silent prayer throughout Mass and never came forward for Communion. At the end of Mass she got out of church without speaking with anyone and drove away in a nice new car. Not the sort of car you see often in St Vincent Church whose parishioners are mostly either out of work or earning a pittance in a job in the poorest town in the country.

Father Ignatius liked to wait in the car park after Mass and greet his parishioners as they came out of church. Yet he never managed to speak to this mysterious lady who always left just before the final hymn ended, and so avoided contact with him or any other parishioner.

This week however the repetitive saga would have a different outturn because Father Donald was offering Mass; so our resourceful priest decided to wait in the car park a few minutes before Mass ended and so have the opportunity to greet his mysterious new visitor.

As the elegant woman came out of church early Father Ignatius greeted her with a smile.

“Hello, I’m Father Ignatius … I don’t think we’ve met …” he said.

“Yes Father … how remiss of me …” she replied in a refined English accent, “perhaps we can meet somewhere and I’ll introduce myself …”

Father Ignatius was taken aback. He certainly did not expect such a response.

“Ehm … we can go in the Parish House” he mumbled.

“Excellent … lead on and I’ll follow” she smiled.

Minutes later they were both in the large lounge room downstairs in the Parish House. She sat on the armchair near the warm fireplace; the very chair the priest often used when watching TV or listening to his beloved classical music. He sat on the settee opposite her.

“I haven’t been attending your church for long," she started.

“You’re very welcome here …” he encouraged her.

“The truth is … I haven’t been to church for almost thirty years,” she continued, “but my husband died a month ago and I thought I’d come back …”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it …” the priest sympathized.

“Sorry that I’ve come back to church or that my husband died?” she asked teasingly, and before the priest had time to reply she smiled and went on “oh … don’t worry Father, actually I’m glad he’s dead … I’ve cursed him often enough …”

Father Ignatius knew to say nothing and let her continue.

“We married some thirty two years ago to be precise and he left me for another woman after two years of marriage. We had a young son aged one year at the time. My husband moved to another part of the country to start a new life with his new lover and I haven’t seen him since.

“He provided generously for the up-bringing of our son. He was fairly wealthy and made arrangements for moneys to be regularly credited to my bank, yet he never made contact nor visited our son since the day he left.

“My son is grown-up now and married with two children of his own. And my husband and I never divorced.

“He went to live with his girl friend, and had two other children with her although he never married her. And last month he died in a car accident.

“I heard from his solicitors that he left money for our son and for me.

“And I cursed him once again … I never forgave him for the pain he’s caused me and that’s why I’ve not been to church ever since the day our marriage broke down!”

“Well, as I said, you’re very welcome here …” Father Ignatius replied encouragingly once again.

“I know it’s wrong not to forgive Father …” she continued as calmly as before, “but I just can’t. And that’s why I haven’t been to church for a long while.

“I don’t even know why I’m back in church now … for the past three weeks at least. Perhaps I’m hoping that God will give me a ‘get out of jail free’ card,” she smiled. “You know what I mean … He’d forgive my hatred for my husband yet let me continue to hate him.”

“I doesn’t work like that …” Father Ignatius said gently.

“Yes I know Father. You’d have thought that after all these years I would have moved on … but I haven’t …” she continued lighting a cigarette.

“That’s because the hurt caused to you all those years ago has not healed. For various reasons the pain has not been given time to subside and fade away. Memories perhaps remained too vividly alive and so fuelled your anger and made the pain worse,” he explained as quietly and gently as before.

“Anyway … that’s my story,” she smiled stubbing out her just lit cigarette in the ashtray, “I may or may not continue to come to church … but it’s been nice meeting you Father. You’re a very gentle and caring person, and I appreciate your kindness.”

“Let me ask you something …” Father Ignatius asked just as she was about to get up, “if your husband was alive today, and he was here right now, full of genuine remorse for the hurt he has caused you all these years. If he asked you to forgive him, knowing full well that there’s nothing he can do to turn back the clock and put things right. If he genuinely and truly asked you for forgiveness; would you find it in your heart to forgive him?”

“What an interesting question …” she replied, “yes … on reflection I think I would forgive him.”

“It’s too late for him to ask your forgiveness,” said the priest, “but it’s not too late for you to forgive him.

“For your own peace of mind … and for your own sake and salvation, you must forgive him once and for all. The memories and hurt may well linger on, but with true forgiveness will come healing and in time reconciliation with Our Lord.”

“I’ll try …” she said showing emotion for the first time.

“That’s all God is asking of you. And I’ll be here to help you if you need me …” he replied.

And that’s how a wounded soul finally managed to find peace and healing. She continued to attend Mass on Sundays and had several discussions with Father Ignatius and Father Donald over a period of time to make her way back to God.

Yesterday, she went to Confession and had Communion for the first time in over thirty years.

Sunday, 6 December 2015

John's Legacy

A man wandering in the desert, dressed in clothes made of camel hair, and eating locusts and wild honey. (Mark 1:4-8).

Not exactly sartorial elegance. More of an eccentric if you ask me.

Yet this was a man with a mission.

His mission – to tell everyone about Jesus. To prepare them for His arrival.

His name – John, the Baptist. In case you confuse him with another John.

An outspoken man who feared no one in his quest to do what God had asked him. He even dared to criticize the king, and paid dearly with his life for doing so. (Mark 6:14-29).

His legacy to us?

Courage and Obedience.

Despite living in dangerous times, this man had courage to speak out and tell the world about Jesus; and dared tell the King that he was wrong.

How often are we presented with the opportunity to speak about God, about our religion and our Christianity. Do we shy away and miss a good opportunity to witness for our Lord? Or have we got a tiny fraction of John’s courage? And obedience?

Thursday, 3 December 2015

Accents and Slang

The other day a friend of mine and frequent visitor to this Blog, Lulu, mentioned English accents in one of her posts. By the way ... as I go off to a tangent ... Have you ever visited Lulu's Blog? If not, I suggest you do. You'll like what she writes there - makes more sense than what I write here. Just click on her name above and off you go. But not just yet ... finish reading my post first.

Anyway, as I was saying before I interrupted myself ... Lulu mentioned English accents; and this set me thinking. The British Isles are a relatively small area geographically, yet we have many varied and different accents to contend with.

Up in Scotland we have different accents in the Capital Edinburgh and in Glasgow, as well as in other parts of Scotland. Then we also have Welsh and Irish accents as well as the many accents in England itself. Someone from Liverpool for instance would sound totally different from a person from Manchester only a few miles away, or someone from Birmingham, Norfolk, Cornwall or London. In fact in London you'd find different accents depending from which part of London you come from.

But I wonder how many of you have heard of Cockney London Rhyming Slang?

This is a way of speaking prevalent in the East End of London whereby you use a rhyming word or phrase to mean something else totally different. So if you're ready; here is your first lesson in speaking in Cockney Rhyming Slang.

Adam and Eve - meaning "believe" - Would you Adam and Eve it? (Would you believe it?)

Apples and Pears - meaning "stairs" - He went up the apples and pears.

Barney Rubble - meaning "trouble" - He is real Barney Rubble he is!

Brahms and Liszt - meaning "pissed" (drunk) - He came out of the pub totally Brahms and Liszt.

This next one is a bit rude:

Bristol - short for a football team called Bristol City - which rhymes with titty meaning breast. So you would say - She had some large Bristols on her. Or, look at those Bristols.

Butcher's - short for butcher's hook - rhyming with and meaning "look" - Let me have a butchers at it. (Let me look at it).

Are you keeping up with me? Ok ... guess this one - Dog and bone.

Give up? It means phone.

I spoke to her on the dog and bone. She said her dog's meat (feet) hurt her and she had an itch on her fireman's hose (nose) and a pain in her Gregory Peck (neck). She went out and crossed the frog and toad (road) to fetch her dustbin lid (kid). When he got home, her dustbin lid (kid) was Hank Marvin (starving) and wanted feeding; but he said he wanted a Jimmy Riddle (piddle = urinate) first. So he went up the apples and pears - or tables and chairs (stairs) and pointed Percy to the porcelain (pointed his man bits to the porcelain urinal or toilet). She called him down but he must have been Mutt and Jeff (deaf) at the time because he didn't answer her.

She heard him wash his hands with a bit of Bob Hope (soap) and then he had a bread and cheese (sneeze) because he was coming down with a cold. He sat in front of the custard and jelly (telly = TV) and watched the baked bean (queen) give her Christmas address to the nation.

Anyway, that's enough Cockney Rhyming Slang for now. I'll say goodbye and go to the trouble and strife (wife) in the hope that she's got a Vera Lynn (gin) ready for me.

Tara now!

Tuesday, 1 December 2015

How old is the earth?

For a long time now scientists and archaeologists and all sorts of learned people looking up at the stars and digging various places on earth for artifacts and things have been asking each other how old is the earth. Some have surmised that it is millions of years old, others have said it is older than that, give or take a day or two either side, whilst some believe the earth is really trillions of years old if not more.

Well, I can tell you with a fair degree of accuracy that the earth is 12 years old. Yes, just 12 years old. I know that my theory does not pass much scrutiny by learned scientists, or the one or two readers of this Blog who know better; but bear with me whilst I explain.

It all happened some 12 years ago whilst we were all asleep and we did not notice it. There was a major cosmic happening and the earth as we know it entered a vortex leading to a black hole with a singularity much greater than anyone could imagine. That is of course if anyone was awake to imagine it. Entering such a vortex is like going round and round with the water as it goes down the plug hole in your bath. Eventually, you too go down the plug hole with the water.

And this is what happened to earth. In doing so, it somehow rejuvenated in energy and stamina albeit not necessarily in age. So, although measurements like carbon dating, or archaeologists unearthing things dating back centuries may prove the earth existed more than 12 years ago; in energy terms it is only 12 years old. It's like giving an old coot a massive dose of vitamins and making him young and "active" much to the displeasure of his wife or girl-friend. Which reminds me; if I may be allowed to go off at a tangent for a bit: Did you know that archaeologists make the best marriage partners? The older you get the more interested they are in you.

Anyway, the earth entered this vortex leading to a black hole and came out the other end much rejuvenated and as young in stamina and energy as if it were 12 years old. And we didn't even notice it.

Why did this happen? I hear you ask.

Well it's simple really. The earth as it was then was slowing down. As you know, it turns from left to right all the time and has been doing so for ages. But like anyone who has had a life's diet of large burgers and French fries washed down with great amounts of drinks the earth was getting heavier and much slower. The turn from left to right was taking longer than the accustomed 24 hours each turn.

The earth was getting heavier because of the millions and millions of people who over the years have been born and died. Imagine as far back as the year dot how many people have been born. What happens to them when they die? They are either buried or cremated and their remains remain on earth, if you pardon the pun. Think also of all the trees and plants who have been "born" and eventually died. All these have their remains still on earth. The same for animals, birds, fish and everything else. They die, they remain on earth and new ones come along to eventually die and also remain on earth. Nothing actually leaves the planet which is getting heavier all the time.

And because it is heavier it becomes slower. Which means the sun has more time to shine on the same area as it passes slower and slower underneath it. And this my friends is what contributes to global warming.

It has nothing to do with all the other theories you've heard about regarding global warming. Not even the fact that we light so many candles in the world; at birthday parties, in churches, in restaurants, at intimate dinners or even in the bath. What's the idea of lighting candles in the bath anyway? Quite dangerous I think if you happen to singe your hair. Take it from me. Lighting candles does not lead to global warming. The earth slowing down does.

Going through the vortex at very high speeds has meant that the earth lost some (a lot) of its excess dust and is now a little lighter and its turn around speed a little more normal. For now ... We could all help it along by becoming lighter ourselves and eating less burgers and fries. And breeding less!
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