Snakes Alive

 

I read in the papers that there is a real possibility that we might have snakes in our homes. Apparently with colder weathers in some countries snakes are entering houses and hiding in the loft or attic by climbing up drain pipes or even hiding in wall partitions or in cellars. They could be hiding behind furniture or anywhere warm; like behind the fridge.

So beware around the house and be on the look-put for anything out of the ordinary. Be careful when picking up clothes left lying on the bed, or a chair or on the floor; as a snake could be curled up amongst the clothes to keep warm. Snakes also like humid conditions for their skin; so be in the look-out in the bathroom, in the laundry basket, or hanging clothes like dressing gowns; you might put one on and find you're sharing it with a python.

A man found a snake in his car engine. It seems the snake crawled into the car from underneath when the car was parked and the engine still warm. When the owner switched on the engine the next morning there was an odd sound. When he opened the bonnet he found the snake had been caught in the cooling fan and had been killed.

With colder weather in some countries, many creatures are finding new living habitat in homes and offices. Especially various spiders, scorpions, snakes and insects.

As for bats ... they may be out and about at night, but where are they the rest of the time? In the wild they live mainly in caves, but if there isn't one near your house where do you think they hide? Try your loft, or your cellar, or the garage, or any other out-building. They can enter your house from any small gap under the roof tiles between the roof and the wall. They are as small as a mouse or rat and can squeeze themselves in. If you go up in the loft or attic to search for something you may well disturb a whole flock of them. If they can't all get out at once, like a crowd from a supermarket, they'll just fly around "blindly" and most likely get entangled in your hair. That's one advantage of being bald.

Have a Happy Halloween ... statistically speaking you are always nearer to a snake, scorpion, bat or rat than you think. "It's behind you!!!!"  

Family Tree Surprises

 

I have discovered another relative from my family tree search. This is Quentin Smythe-Humphrey the Third. Originally born in Melbourne in Australia. He is a distant cousin twice removed. And you can't get more distant than Australia. Every time we removed him he came back to the UK.  

He fancied himself as somewhat of an explorer always searching for something new to put his name to it. He claimed that he invented the spoon rest. You know, that contraption some people have in the kitchen for putting your spoon when cooking. There is no evidence to substantiate his claim though. 

He also discovered that when you cut down a tree and count the rings in the trunk you can tell the tree's profession - table, wardrobe, desk, bed and so on. He claimed that if a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to see it; it remains upright. 

He is also reputed to have discovered the West Pole; as opposed to the North and South Pole. One day whilst sitting on a beach in England near Liverpool he looked at the sun over the sea. Instead of the sun rising as he expected, the sun actually set slowly down on the horizon and disappeared. Obvious really, seeing he was facing West at the time. He suddenly deduced (wrongly) that the West Pole is in America, which is why people said "Go West young man!" So he took the first plane available and flew to the States in search of the West Pole.

As soon as he landed he hired a car and drove and drove in search of the illusive West Pole. Or is it elusive? What's the difference? Look both of them up in the dictionary and decide for yourself. (You learn something new every day on this Blog).

Anyway, he drove everywhere. On one occasion he drove non-stop for a whole day. Tired, he stopped and asked for directions, (which is a miracle for any man to do). He asked, "Am I 24 hours from Tulsa?" The reply was, "No; you're 48 hours from Tulsa; you've been driving in the wrong direction!"

Quentin Smythe-Humphrey the Third never found the West Pole; but he is revered in the UK for something totally different. Whilst Sir Walter Raleigh is often credited with introducing the potato to Ireland in 1589 and England it was Quentin Smythe-Humphrey the Third who introduced us to French fries and potato chips. Until then, the British cuisine consisted of "boiled meat and two veg" - potato and carrots, potato and peas, potato and parsnips, potato and potato. Sometimes it was three veg, potato, carrots and peas. But Quentin brought us fried fish and chips. A staple diet to this day. Without fried potatoes we would not have French fries, and potato chips. Thank you Quentin.

And another thing. Whilst in America Quentin discovered pizza. We did not have pizza in the UK until then. He tried pizza in the States and liked it. He tried every kind; cheese and tomatoes, with pepperoni salami, with vegetables, with ham, with tuna. He tried every kind of pizza and liked it. It is what is known as the Domino effect!

The priest and prostitute

 

ISBN-10: 150106570X 

ISBN-13: 978-1501065705

 

.

AMAZON REVIEWS

 

 This is a very well written 'Who Done It'. I thoroughly enjoyed the plot, and many original lines. The one I remember most was concerning a conversation in which the old saying "If someone yells in a vacuum can it be heard?" You have to appreciate the wit of the author and also the surprise ending. It is a very enjoyable read and I definitely would recommend the author. Yep, tis a fun read. Jack Darnell

 

 A man of many talents, Victor, entertains us with a "Who Don It" in this offering! What I liked MOST about the story---the reminder to not jump to judgement based upon circumstances! Victor tells a story with a touch of tongue in cheek--always--and adds a lesson in morality and faith while weaving an intriguing tale of murder and mystery. The faithful stand by Father Ignatius, but most fall away and even call for heads to roll--reminiscent of the last days of Christ. A talented writer, Victor, has once again used the infamous Father Ignatius to keep us on the edge of our seats--while at the same time gently reminding us of important life lessons. A Great Read! LJC

An intriguing and riveting story that will keep readers interested and engaged through the entire story. Highly recommended! Martha J Orlando 

This is a great fictional book, Moubarak has a talent for writing. Catherine

 

I so much love this book! I am still reading it, have not finished, but love how the story combines adventure, faith, and suspense. The author is very talented and has crafted a wonderful story. My highest recommendation! Deacon Patrick Kearns 

AMAZON LINK HERE

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble

 

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
when I'm perfect in every way.
I can't wait to look in the mirror
cause I get better looking each day.

We live in an age where humility is seen as a weakness. Life has become ever more competitive and to succeed you must push yourself forward, take control, and beat the opposition to end on top of the world - the winner - the Victor!

History is littered with people who made it to the top - kings, rulers, emperors, dictators, military leaders, politicians and so on. They all succeeded by being strong and decisive; or so they'll have you believe. Most of them are now just milestones along the way of history and often forgotten.

The only ever lasting King and Leader of generations, the One Who changed time itself as well as humanity, is Jesus Christ. And He did it with humility and sacrifice. A rare quality these days.

People today believe that they are in control of their lives and events. But in reality they are not.

Only God controls everything everywhere. 

People just go with the flow. Whether we are world leaders, business executives or whatever ... we all go with the flow. We are like tiny ants on a leaf being carried away down the river. We think we're controlling where the leaf is sailing, but in reality we are controlling nothing and we're going with the flow. Carried away with time and events. 

Humility is not a weakness, a compromise, and cowering in fear.

The opposite is true. Humility is a strength of character. It is standing up for what we believe done the Jesus way. He did not hide in fear. He stood up for the truth but did so with gentleness and loving. Humility is caring for others more than we care for ourselves.

Humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less.

Humility is not denigrating or devaluing our self-worth. We are priceless in the eyes of God. Humility is standing up for what we believe and focussing less on ourselves and more on others.

I repeat: Humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less.

In everything we do we should think of how it will impact on others. How can we moderate our thinking, planning, and actions for the benefit of others rather than ourselves? 

In every day life, when we meet others our focus should be more on them rather than on us. How they're doing, their families, their health, their hopes and worries. We should be genuinely interested in other people rather than thinking and talking about ourselves and our achievements.

Only then can we be Christ to someone every day on our way to Paradise.

Whale of a time

 

There was a crashing noise in the kitchen whilst I was in the lounge watching Baywatch on TV. I ran to investigate and found a whale in my kitchen. It got straight through the roof and caused a real mess everywhere with broken debris, pots and pans everywhere and smashed furniture. Worst of all, it had ruined my Lancashire hotpot with potatoes, carrots, parsnips and swedes and plenty of mutton. The recipe did not call for fish and there I had a huge whale in the middle of it all.

We are over 60 miles from the sea. How did it get in my kitchen? I phoned the fire brigade but they would not come out because it was not on fire. The police said it was not on their wanted list and strictly speaking, although it was breaking and entering, it had not stolen anything. 

The Animal Rescue people turned up and said it had probably been picked up by a seagull and it proved too heavy for it after 60 miles. They could not help either because the whale was already dead.

I tried to flush it down the toilet but it was too heavy for me to carry upstairs. 

I planned to sell it to a cat food manufacturers. They declined the offer.

Does anyone out there want to buy a whale going cheap? It does bird impersonations too ... cheap ... cheep ... cheep!

English as it is spoke

 

Believe it or not, the two people above are speaking English ... or is it Scottish ... or Australian?

The English language seems to have developed and changed through time as well as geography. In the UK we say chips to mean fried sticks of potatoes, (French fries), and in the USA it means those crispy slices of potatoes which we call crisps. We say lift, you say elevator. We say petrol you say gas ... and so on.

Even in the UK, a small island just North of Europe the size of a postage stamp, we have different meanings for the same words. And different accents too. 

Up in Scotland we have different accents in Edinburgh and in Glasgow, a distance of just a few miles, (or inches if viewed on the map). 

Then we also have Welsh and Irish accents as well as the many accents in England itself. Someone from Liverpool would sound totally different than from Manchester, or from Birmingham, Norfolk, Cornwall or London. In fact in London you'd find different accents depending from which part of London you come from.

Here are some Scottish words and their meaning:

You ken - you know.

Braw - excellent or pleasant.

Dreich - dreary, dull or gloomy.

Eejit – Idiot (this word is also used in Ireland).

Canny – Careful, or sometimes Clever

Dinnae – Don’t

I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug – I’ll give you a slap on the ear!

Yer bum’s oot the windae - actual translation: ‘your bottom is out of the window’; meaning You are talking rubbish, or even You’re not making any sense.

And now some Cockney London 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.

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).

Dog and bone - 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.

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!

Status Quo Ad Infinitum Cave Canem

 

Amazing how we put up with things and let them continue rather than taking action to remedy the situation. Like the tiny spider we allow to escape up the wall and let him create cobwebs everywhere which we shall have to clean afterwards. Or the squeaky door hinge that we tolerate rather than apply a tiny spot of oil to smooth over our lives. Or worse still, the use of bad grammar when speaking or writing.

I went up to the bedroom and threw out the bed; it was high time it became my room I reasoned in a fit of pique. It is MY room not the bed's room! The same applied to the bathroom and dining room. Why have we allowed our language to let furniture appropriate room space in what is in effect my house, my rooms and my space?

"With this I shall put up no longer!" I cried out of the window ensuring that I do not end a phrase with a preposition.

"To what are you referring, kind Sir?" asked a passer-by in proper grammatical English.

"To whatever the particular situation happens to apply at the time in question," I said emphatically.

At this point a flying crow off-loaded the rejects of its digestive system upon my head. 

"Get in and stop acting the fool," said my wife from the kitchen. 

I shut the window and went to the bathroom to clean myself, but alas it was there no more. It was an empty room devoid of the furnishing accoutrements which make up a bathroom. It was just a vacant empty shell where once it was a central functioning facility.

Tired and exhausted I went to the bedroom and lay on the floor.

À la recherche du temps perdu.

 

 

À la recherche du temps perdu. In Search of Lost Time 

by Marcel Proust

In his book, À la recherche du temps perdu, the writer invokes memories from the past by eating a Madeleine cake. Oddly enough, this happened to me the other day when I suddenly remembered Black Bun. It suddenly came to mind and took me back to my many visits to Scotland.

For those refined readers of mine who do not know what Black Bun is, let me explain. It is a rich Scottish fruitcake which is encased in pastry and then cooked. It is a particular delicacy up North on Hogmanay; and other celebratory occasions. You prepare the pastry first then fill it with the fruitcake ingredients and bake.

Normally the final product looks like a brick. I remember a nameless mother-in-law relative who made it so hard that I took my cake out and threw it at the ducks in the pond to eat. They threw it back at me. I threw it back in the water and eventually it broke up for them to eat. You should have heard them breaking wind all the way home. Have you ever seen a flying duck breaking wind? It leaves a trail of smoke behind it.

Anyway, such memories for some unconnected reason, took me to the day when my auntie's goldfish died. She was proud of that goldfish and always pointed it out to me when I visited her. She called him Rover. One day she went out to the shop nearby and left me at home alone. I accidentally dropped the side light into the fish tank and electrocuted Rover. I fixed the light OK and it worked properly; but Rover was never the same again. I quickly went to the kitchen where I knew she had some carrots. I sliced one all along its length and shaped it like a fish the size of Rover and put it in the tank leaning beside some water plant she had there. Then I flushed Rover down the toilet.

When she returned, I finished my tea and cake quickly and bid her goodbye. She never mentioned it to me. She probably thought he died a natural death. Drowned most probably!

Amazing how thinking of Proust led me to all these memories. I was quite well-read at school you know. The other children wrote all over me with their Biros. One day in Science lesson I meant to write on the blackboard that an octopus has eight tentacles. But I miss-spelt tentacles and the teacher was very upset and she sent me to the headmaster. He did not know how to write it either.

I remember when one day my English teacher said to me "Your grammar stinks!"

I was upset since my grandma always smelled of lavender.

I told my father what the teacher had said and he asked "Which grand-mother?"

He wrote a letter of complaint.

My teacher replied that she had never commented on, nor would she ever presume to comment on, my family's body odour!

On reading her letter my father gave me a clip round the ears and then wrote again to the teacher apologising for the misunderstanding.

On reading my father's letter the teacher gave me detention after school.

On the Saturday I went to Confession. Our church had an old fashioned confessional which was a wooden booth where the priest sat and the penitents would kneel on either side and confess through a small window.

I told the priest all that had happened. He said "Don't speak so loud I can smell your grandmother kneeling on my other side!" Although he did not specify which grandma he could smell.

Then he gave me an extra penance for speaking loudly and for drawing attention to old peoples' body odour. Which technically I had not done because it was not me who started all this; it was my English teacher who said "Your grammar stinks!"

I think the church got this whole question of confession and absolution wrong somehow. I got a penance for my teacher's sin!

Moral: So did Jesus.

Are you one of those people who click on blue links?

DISCLAIMER - No ducks or goldfish have been harmed in the writing of this Post. This article has been written to test whether you will click on the blue link above. Go on ... you know you want to.

Percentage Belief

 

 A man named Jarius pleaded with Jesus for help because his daughter was dying. (Luke 8:40-56).

On His way to Jarius’ house, with a crowd following, there was a woman who had been ill for some time and doctors could do nothing for her. She thought: “if only I could get close enough to Jesus and touch His cloak, I’ll be healed.”

And so she did, and she was healed. Jesus felt her touching Him and said to her: “Your Faith has healed you.”

As He continued His journey a messenger came and told Jarius that his daughter was dead. “Don’t disturb Jesus any further.”

Jesus said to Jarius: “Don’t be afraid; only believe and she will be well.”

He then went to the house and raised the child from the dead.

As He was leaving that place, two blind men followed Jesus. (Matthew 9:27-31).

They begged Him to be healed.

So Jesus asked them: “Do you believe that I can heal you?”

“Yes” they answered.

Jesus touched their eyes and said: “Let it happen, then, just as you believe!”

And their sight was restored.

The common theme in these three incidents is that the individuals concerned believed in Jesus and in His power of healing.

The woman did not even have to ask Him. She believed that touching Him alone would heal her.

Jarius must have been devastated to hear of his daughter’s death; but Jesus told him to believe. He had a quick choice to make: carry on towards the house with Jesus, or send Him away. He believed in Jesus.

The two blind men were asked directly: “Do you believe that I can heal you?”

What a challenge from Jesus Himself. Do you really believe? Or are you here because you may have heard so much about me, or as a gamble that it might work, or for some other reason?

When we earnestly pray to God and ask for something; what percentage in us really believes that He can help us? Or is there that minute 1% of a doubt lurking there, at the back of our mind, making us doubt His willingness, or ability, to help?

Shakespearean Tragedy

Now not many of you know this, but I am a Shakespearean actor. I am a member of a small troupe who perform publicly at various venues far and wide.

We’re very good really. Matilda, Hilary, Gerard and I. It’s a small troupe as I said … an ensemble you might call us. We try our best to be as authentic as possible when performing our plays; or bits of plays like monologues, sonnets and so on.

Now being a perfectionist, I like to dress in full costume beforehand and rehearse my lines in front of a full length mirror. You should have seen me as Mark Anthony the other day … frightened the cat I did!

One evening I was rehearsing my lines from Hamlet. “To be or not to be … that is the question!” I said in my best English accent. “To be … or not … to be …”

For those of you who haven't read or seen Hamlet, let me explain. This is the scene where Hamlet was putting together an IKEA bed and he picks up a piece of wood marked 2A and asks whether it goes with "2B ... or not ... 2B?"

Whilst I was rehearsing that scene the cat came into the room meowing and rubbing himself against my legs. I gently pushed him away and continued, “To be … or not to be …”

But the wretched cat continued to pester me, and my rehearsal turned more into, “To meow … or not to meow … that is the purr purr, question.”

“Go away”, I said to the silly creature, “this is a monologue … not a catalogue!”

But it wouldn’t go away, so I eventually put him out in the garden just as my guests arrived.

So there we were, Matilda, Hilary, Gerard and I, enjoying a nice cup of hot lemon tea. I like to offer them lemon tea because it loosens the vocal chords you see; it was also on offer and a little cheaper at the supermarket this week.

So we were enjoying a nice cuppa and chatting away casually when the cat came in and gently placed a dead mouse at Matilda’s feet.

“Eeeeek!!!”

She screamed loudly throwing her hot tea in Gerard’s lap. He quickly awoke feeling the sudden rise in temperature in his Southern regions and accidentally kicked the small table sending teapot, sugar and Viennese biscuits flying through the air.

I like to offer Viennese biscuits because they’re so delicate … and also on offer … buy one get one free. So I got two packets.

Anyway, in the mayhem that ensued the dog suddenly awoke and rushed out of the room.

The whole evening’s events were totally disrupted and our rehearsals adjourned to a date in the very distant future.

The cat enjoyed the Viennese biscuits but was not too partial to the lemon tea.

I understand both Matilda and Gerard are consulting their respective lawyers.

Anyway, weeks later, after all these events died down, I landed a big part in a play that’s showing locally in town. I play the part of a mouse.

I know it’s not Shakespeare but he could have written it I suppose; if he was into pantomimes. That’s a British comedic theatre style, for those of you who don’t know.

I play one of the mice that turn into horses in the Cinderella story. I’m sure you know the story, the Fairy Godmother turns a pumpkin into a horse drawn carriage and the mice into horses. I play one of the mice.

Now as I mentioned before, I like to rehearse my lines in full costume at home in front of a full length mirror.

I realise that in Cinderella I don’t have any lines to say per se. I just stand there dressed as a mouse together with three other actors; then there’s a big bang as the Fairy Godmother waves her wand … the lights go out … and when they come on again we’ve left the stage and we’re replaced by four other actors dressed like horses.

It’s very complicated you see and requires a lot of rehearsals to get it right.

So I took my costume home and put it on. Then I stood there in front of the mirror looking like a giant mouse.

The cat came in and AHHH!!!! He was totally frightened out of his nine lives. He thought one of the many mice he has been chasing in the past had come back for revenge. He climbed madly on top of the wardrobe and would not come down … shaking to death he was.

What a turn of events. The cat who made my life hell all these years is now cowering away like a quivering jelly on top of the wardrobe.

The lazy dog usually half-asleep in front of the TV woke up suddenly upon hearing the cat’s commotion. He looked at me and decided there’s no way he’d let a giant mouse usurp his territory.

He started growling. I tried to calm him down, but he pounced toppling me onto the ground and biting me in several unmentionable places.

I’m currently recuperating in hospital. But considering playing the role of the wardrobe in our next production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

ARE YOU MISSING OUT ON SIMILAR FUNNY STORIES?

CLICK HERE TO BUY

  

KINDLE VERSION HERE

Family Tree Surprises

 

Whilst researching my family tree I have discovered another of my famous ancestors. His name was Deacon Quentin Al Fresco and he lived at the same time as Michelangelo when he painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Originally, the Pope at the time wanted the ceiling painted light blue. But Quentin Al Fresco, who considered himself an art connoisseur, hired Michelangelo to do the job and commissioned the paintings we know and love today.

At first Michelangelo was reluctant, saying that it would take too long to paint such a high ceiling needing scaffolding and ladders and lying on his back all the time. But Deacon Quentin convinced him otherwise.

He explained that he could draw the painting in pencil first and then by painting with numbers he could easily fill in the various bits with the same numbers and hey presto we would have a wonderful masterpiece hanging over our heads.

Michelangelo was not convinced especially since he suffered from vertigo; a condition he got from eating some dodgy lobsters. But Quentin Al Fresco suggested that there was no need for scaffolding and ladders. All Michelangelo had to do, is dip the paintbrush in the appropriate paint pot according to the colour indicated by the numbers and then jump high on a trampoline and fill in the bits of the drawing on the ceiling. Every time he jumped high in the air he would paint a different bit of the drawing.

Michelangelo tried it and fell off the trampoline breaking his arm.

Undeterred Quentin tried something else. He gave the masterpiece painter a brush thirty feet long and suggested he paints the ceiling by just standing solid on terra firma. The painter had difficulty dipping the brush in the paint pots. Apart from all the mess he made spilling paint everywhere, every time he tried to lower the brush into the pot, the long handle poked someone in the eye.

But Quentin was resolute and taught Michelangelo to ride a unicycle, or mono-cycle. You know ... those contraptions with one wheel, a long metal tube and a seat on top. Only this one had a tube thirty feet long. Eventually, with assistants holding on to the bike, Michelangelo managed to finish painting the Sistine Chapel. But not before he fell several times breaking a collar bone, three ribs, and a jar of vino he had in his pocket.

These days we celebrate Michelangelo for the famous painting of the Sistine Chapel; but the true hero, Quentin Al Fesco has long been forgotten.

What would you think?

 

The windmills of my mind

 

Is it my imagination or are there more and more of these wind turbines being built all over the place? Wherever I drive in the countryside I see them there in the fields like daffodils in Spring. They suddenly appear where previously they were not. We went to the beach the other day and there they were paddling in the water along with the holiday makers.

I am told that they are good for the environment. Now I am not a scientist and do not understand all that. But have you considered how much electricity is used to make those windmills go round and round? How can this be good for the environment?

They also say that these turbines emit a sound that we cannot hear and it is bad for us in the long run. So I now take just short runs to the pub and back; and drive for other journeys whatever the distance.

Also, I read somewhere that these turbines are bad for birds because they perch on the blades and fall off as it goes round. 

Some people have suggested that to improve the countryside and beaches the turbines should be built inside caves instead of open spaces. An idea worth trying.

Anyway, the fact is they are building them everywhere. The other day I got up at night and found they built one in our bathroom. I was desperate to go and there it was blocking my way in. By the time I ran to the other room downstairs it was (almost) too late. Another team of engineers were building one there too; but I threw them out in time.

Can any of our bright and intelligent readers explain the benefits of these turbines? I am afraid that if they build so many around the world the whole planet will take off and fly somewhere else instead.

Look right ----->

 

Family Tree Surprises

 

Whilst searching my family tree I discovered some branch or other flourished in Greece. One such old ancestor is Quentin Zorba the Greek. He lived around 370 BC and worked as an assistant to a certain doctor called Hippocrates. As the name implies, he was a vet who treated hippopotamuses. Hippocrates that is, not my relative Quentin. He invented the Hippocritical Oath which promised that he'd heal any hippopotamus regardless to the danger to himself. As there were no hippos in Greece his promise was never tested. So he healed hippies instead. 

Another Greek relative I discovered also went by the same name; Quentin Bouzouki. He lived around 470 BC and knew the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. Apparently the philosopher didn't like people in general. He was always sad and melancholy, (face like a melon and body like a collie), and always cried in his beer in the pub despite Quentin's corny jokes. He was known as the "Weeping Philosopher"; especially on that day when Quentin put some lobsters in his bath-tub as a joke.

One day Heraclitus got sick with dropsy and no doctor could cure him. So he decided to cure himself by covering his body with cow manure and sitting in the sun for it to bake. This certainly did the trick. He died within a day. Which goes to prove - when you're up to your neck in **** don't sit in public for all to see.

As a sideline, and also leading to the discovery of another relative named Quentin "the writer"; I have not been able to find his surname. As you know, Homer was a Greek author living around 850 BC and is thought to have written two outstanding books called the Iliad and the Odyssey. Unfortunately, opinion is divided as to whether Homer actually wrote both works; a bit like the debate about whether Shakespeare did actually write all that he wrote. After various attempts to contact the  original publishers to find out the truth it was discovered that they'd gone out of business. However, rumours have it from my research, that Quentin was the writer and Homer the editor of these works. I tried to read them but did not understand a word. It was all Greek to me.

Money Money Money

 

I’m sure you know the story about the rich man who was told by Jesus to sell everything he had, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. (Mark 10:17-27)

The man just could not do this, and went away sad.

Jesus also says that famous saying about it being harder for a rich man to enter Heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

 What did it mean? Did Jesus refer to a gate called Needle, or was it a mountain pass which was so narrow you had to unload your camel of what it was carrying, pass the camel through, and then load it again.

It really doesn't matter. What matters is what Jesus meant in what He said to the rich man.

Jesus advised him to sell all he has and to give the money to the poor; and then to come and follow Jesus.

On hearing this the man went away very sad; he was not willing to follow the advice given.

 What would you have done?

Let’s assume God spoke to you right now, in a dream, or a vision, and you were certain it was Him speaking. Just as certain as Abraham, Moses, Noah, Mary, Joseph and many others were when God spoke to them. And God asked you to sell everything and give it to the poor, and become a missionary or a volunteer helper somewhere far off your community.

Would you be able to do it? Would you leave your spouse and family behind and follow Jesus wherever He asks you to go? Would you sell off everything you have, give up your job, leaving your children with nothing; and move on to a new life?

On reflection, perhaps we sympathise a little with the rich man. For we know not whether he had a family, friends and servants who relied on him – although we can assume he had. All these would have been left with nothing if the rich man followed Christ's advice to the letter.

Jesus was testing where the man's heart really was. What was more important to him, wealth or God? 

He certainly was not teaching against wealth in itself. Wealth creates wealth. It creates jobs and it creates the wherewithal to help others less fortunate than ourselves.

Christ condones, nay encourages, the creation of wealth in His parable about the servants given a gold coin each by their master. When he returned from his travels the master discovered that two servants managed to make their fortune increase whilst the third just didn’t bother. So he rewards the hard-working servants and punishes the other. (Luke 19:11-27).

In this story about the rich man Jesus was teaching responsible wealth. There’s nothing wrong in working hard and amassing a fortune honestly. As long as we use it responsibly. As long as we don't make wealth more important to us than God.

Those who are fortunate to have wealth should remember their responsibility to share it with others, and to help others, as best they can. This doesn’t mean sell everything and give it to the poor. It means be aware of those around you who are less fortunate than yourself; and share your good fortune with them.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) Jesus does not condemn the rich man for being wealthy; but for not even realizing, never mind caring, for a poor man starving at his gate.

And wealth does not necessarily mean riches and money.

Some people are wealthy in different ways: wealthy in wisdom and knowledge, wealthy in health and stamina, wealthy in talents and so on.

Those amongst us who are well educated and knowledgeable should not look down on others haughtily and with disdain. Use your knowledge to teach others.

Those who are fortunate to be healthy should remember the sick and if possible visit them or help them as best they can.

Those with talents for music, the arts, sports or whatever should share their talents with others. Imagine the good you can achieve as a professional sportsman if you visit a school and share a few moments coaching children in whatever it is you do. Or if a musician or celebrity shared a few moments with less talented yet aspiring youngsters. That visit would be imprinted on young memories for life – and may well inspire them to do better and achieve more.

Let’s all look at ourselves deeply and discover what wealth God has given us.

Money, good health, a talent for music, painting, singing or whatever … and let’s share it for the glory of, and in thanksgiving to, God our Creator.  

Round the planet in 80 spins

 

We are told we have to save the planet. What we are saving it from I still do not know. The way we're all behaving right now suggests we should save it from ourselves.

People talk about global warming - we are burning too many things which are bad for the planet and cause its temperature to rise, and this is bad because the icebergs will melt and the seas will rise and only the strongest swimmers will survive. 

Others don't agree with this theory and believe temperatures rise and fall in a cyclical fashion and as in the past we had the ice-age we are only going through a phase and we will survive through it.

Personally, I am not clever enough to understand one argument from another. It's like the argument about the extinction of dinosaurs. Some say they all died because they could not withstand the cold temperatures of the ice-age; others say they died because they were killed by a meteorite, or asteroid which hit the earth. Although why they were all standing in the same place at the time is a mystery to me.

Now about this global warming thing. I feel it is because of candles. Can you imagine how many candles are lit at any one time in the world? In churches, in restaurants, at romantic dinner tables, in the bathroom - I mean; whoever thought of candles in the bathroom? Very dangerous if you happen to singe your hair. On birthday cakes too? Come on - admit it. How many candles are on your birthday cake each year? They all contribute to global warming.

That and cows breaking wind apparently. Cows break wind more than other creatures because they have two stomachs. It seems that all the gases coming out of cows float up to the sky and make a hole in the sky through which the sun rays get in and makes us warm.

Another reason for global warming, I am told, is deforestation. The other day I was sitting at the library reading about global warming, and a man beside me said, "“Do you realize that all the time you've been sitting here 500 square miles of rain forest have been destroyed?” So I got up and sat elsewhere. I don't want to be blamed for destroying a forest.

Yet another reason for global warming is books. Books are made of paper which comes from wood from trees. Do you realise that there are millions of books being printed in the world each year and most of them go unread? Including mine. Which is a pity because you're missing out on a good read. Just click the link to find out more. Or you can get them in Kindle formats and save on a lot of paper and trees being cut down.

Family Tree Surprises

 

It's amazing what surprises you discover when you search you family tree on-line. I have found out that one of my ancestors dates back to ancient Romans time. His name was Quentin Caesar Salad. He was called salad because of the varied and interesting amount of knowledge and accumulation of facts he had stored in a lifetime of studying. Indeed he was a sage who knew his onions. Nicknamed sage and onions stuffing.

Quentin Caesar Salad invented Roman numerals. He convinced the Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus that instead of counting his enemies as individuals it would be easier to mark on the wall a vertical line like an I for each enemy he had and then count all the Is. The idea soon caught on and Quentin was a hero. Everyone counted in Is instead of counting the items in question. 

There were Is everywhere in ancient Rome. You couldn't go anywhere without Is staring at you. Hence the saying, "walls have Is".     

All street names, days on the calendar and chariots registration numbers had the Roman numeral I for identification. Can you imagine writing the day 31 January as IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. Count them. (You did?)

The idea stopped because chariot registration numbers grew so wide with the number of IIIIIs on them that the registration plate knocked pedestrians over as the chariots rushed by. Often chariots got stuck between two trees, (sorry ... II trees), as chariots sped by.  

That's when Quentin came up with a new idea to save losing his head. 

He suggested the introduction of new symbols. When we reach the number 4 it be written as IV, 5 as V, 6 as VI and so on until 8. Then he changed his mind and decided that IX would represent 9, X for 10, XI for 11 and so on. Then he added new letters for good measure. For example L for 50, C for 100, D for 500 and M for 1000.

For a while all was well and the Romans were happy counting in this new way. Then one day, the Emperor Nero received a strange text saying – I LV CLAVDIVS – and he didn’t know whether it was a misdirected amorous message from his wife to Claudius the slave, or his wife’s new telephone number.

So in a rage the Emperor banned the use of all cell-phones from the whole of the Roman Empire.

Nothing was heard from Quentin Caesar Salad after that. Or Claudius the slave for that matter.

Invitation

 

INVITATION

PLEASE JOIN US

IN

THE NATIONAL WEEK OF PRAYER

CLICK HERE

.

Till death do us part

 

FATHER FRANCIS MAPLE

SERMON HERE

WORTH READING AND SHARING

 

Family Tree Surprise

 

Some of the most observant readers here will have noticed on the right hand side-bar the Coat of Arms of one of my ancestors dating back to medieval times. His name was Richard the Lion Liver. Click on the Coat of Arms to learn more about him.

I hope in the next few weeks to introduce other relatives of mine as I research my family tree surprises. 

Another relative I discovered some years back is Aunt Gertrude who at the time lived in Australia. I contacted her and she came to visit us for several (long) weeks.

Whilst she was with us we also heard that our Uncle Herbert from Dundee was not well. So we decided to drive up to Scotland as a family, with Aunt Gertrude from Australia, and stay with him for a few days until he is better. The old man lives alone, and for some unknown reason he got to like Aunt Gertrude. So we decided a visit would do him the world of good.

Unfortunately, the day before we were due to set off I fell off a ladder whilst cutting a tree in the garden. Not much damage done to the tree but I twisted my ankle badly and could not drive.

So it was decided that I’d stay home, and the family with Auntie would travel by train. But she refused. She said the journey was too long for her and she’d rather not go.

This is a woman who came a thousand plus miles from Australia and yet is refusing to travel a few hundred miles to Scotland.

I tried to encourage her to no avail. I would have gladly paid for a one-way ticket to anywhere in the world to avoid being in the house alone with her but I could not shift her. The last time I was alone with her she fed me cat food!

On the day in question they all left and I was alone with Aunt Gertrude who decided to make me better. She prepared chicken soup which apparently is good for invalids.

I told her it was mid-summer and that I hated chicken soup, and besides a twisted ankle does not make one an invalid. She said it contained pearl barley which is good for you!

After I was fed the soup she suggested we pray together for me to get better.

What? I had no intention of praying with her. But she insisted.

She started with the Rosary and then a number of readings from the Bible followed by other prayers and pleadings to the Lord for my health and that of the whole family, including their safe travel there and back, and not forgetting Uncle Herbert.

To be fair, not once during the prayers did she say “cobber” or “fair dinkum” or “no worries” or any of her other Australian sayings; which no doubt pleased the Good Lord no end.

Then, to make conversation, she said she’d been to that posh department store in London on her last visit and bought something unusual to send back to a friend of hers in Adelaide.

“Oh yes …” I said feigning some interest.

“It’s a Santa Claus costume” she said, “I bought it for a friend who has been asked to be Santa at the local church fete!”

“But … it’s the middle of summer!” I mumbled with a smile.

“I know, cobber … I’ll be posting it to him on Monday … I’d like you to try it first to check the size is right. My friend is about the same size as you and well rotund round the waist too …”

She has a nice way of flattering people, I thought. Before I could say anything she’d been to her room and returned with the red costume. I tried the heavy jacket on first, and then the red trousers too, and I even put on the white beard, just to humour her. As I stood up so she could check the costume for length I accidentally stood on a stupid plastic toy which had been left on the floor.

I heard it crack underneath me and felt the pain of my twisted ankle shoot up my leg. I let out a cry as I collapsed back on the sofa.

“Dear Lord … are you OK cobber!” she cried in a panic, “don’t move fella …” she continued as I nodded that I was OK.

She went out of the room and left me alone to recover slowly from the shooting pains. About ten or so minutes later I heard voices from the front door. Two ambulance men entered the room …

Apparently, when she heard the loud crack under my foot she thought I’d broken a bone and phoned for an ambulance.

The two paramedics checked me out and said I was OK. I tried to explain why I was wearing a Santa costume and one of them said: “Don’t worry sir. We’ve been to a number of call-out situations and have seen many sights. We’ve learnt to be discreet and never ask questions!”

What exactly did he mean by that?

To make matters worse, the other ambulance man, the one who said nothing, is a Deacon at our church, and he plays golf in my club too.

I am so angry at the mad woman that I am still fuming days afterwards. The rest of the family think it is all very funny.

Auntie Gertrude said, “Lighten up cobber … if you’d lost some weight round your waist you would have seen the toy on the ground!”

EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK

 

AMAZON LINK HERE