The Cat Problem. Part 2

The lack of cats round here is now causing issues.

There is a Herring Gull nest (Laurus Argentatus) on the roof of the manse.  This only presented a problem when the wind changed and its call was broadcast down the chimney, resulting in the oddest, haunting call from the living room fireplace.

Public Enemy Number One.

Unbeknown to us, there was a little bit of birds and bees action (or birds anyway) on the roof, and the result was two chicks.  One stayed up there, but the other has fallen into the garden. It's obviously taken the route that follows the slope of the various roofs, so it's not hurt itself nor fallen that far.  So now mummy or daddy seagull (how do you tell the difference?) is getting defensive, meaning that anyone that comes up the path gets dive-bombed.  You get two low swoops, then they go in for the kill. They will claw you if you get too close, or you can get about a pint of seagull poop fired at you.  Pleasant...  The safest way to cross the garden is to hold the feather duster above your head, because seabirds attack the top of animals they see as a threat.  Now the village is asking why the minister's husband feels the need  to go dusting in the garden.

Because this is a nesting bird, it's against the law for the nest to be disturbed except under special circumstances.  The paperwork required to get a nest destroyed is enormous and I'd have to get real exterminators in.  I'm certainly not allowed to take position on a grassy knoll and take careful aim, although rumour has it that there was a bit of unlawful extermination in the village last year...

Had this happened near Gerbil Towers, then my adoring feline population would have eaten the gull chick before it had time to realise that there was ground underneath the chimney.  Then there would be no reason for the seagull parents to attack the postman.  Round here, we have only seen one cat, so the chick survives for now.

There's a more serious side to this.  I believe the lack of cats is evidence of the nature of the local population.  People will take their dog on holiday, but they are more likely to leave the cat back home with a trusted neighbour.  The block of flats over the road is almost exclusively holiday let, or I believe partly owned by the local hotel, so you rarely see anyone there at the weekend.  So my advice to anyone seeking a charge is to go for a walk and count the cats.  If you don't see any then you only have a community at weekends.


The other bit of advice, from the local handyman, is you can tell how much it costs to heat a house by the size of the oil tank in the garden.  If it's bigger than most houses then the house will be freezing, need a lot of oil to heat and cost a fortune in winter.

Fifty Acts 45. Nice Service. Ugly Church.

The church I visited today looks like a nice place.  Built in the late 1700's, it stands in a prominent place in the town, amidst a graveyard that has some famous residents.  I have visited here briefly a couple of times, but never really sat and appreciated the place.  On the outside it's quite pleasant, but on the inside, it has a few issues.  Some time in the seventies, the interior was thrown at the ugly tree and it hit every branch when it came down.  The old interior was mostly ripped out, and replaced with something that would have looked cutting edge for the period, and now looks dated, and clashes with the rest of the building. Underneath long expanses of wooden panels, some original cornicing shows through in places, with the cladding round the organ and the pews all matching.  It's actually quite depressing, and I find it hard to believe that someone thought this would be a good idea.

But the service itself was very good.  I've met the minister socially on a number of occasions but never sat through one of her services.  She did the whole lot, sermon, readings, prayers and intimations herself, while I'm more used to seeing some members of the congregation having some sort of involvement.  The service actually flowed very well, and she kept a god pace throughout.  This service flowed along very nicely without the occasional interrruption that can be had when there is a change of speaker for example.

When I spoke to the minister afterwards, she told me that while the congregation are the sort of people that will happily get involved in the life of the church community, there was something about their background as mainly retired professionals that made them unwilling to be involved in worship.  It was their belief that the content and conduct of the service was wholly the responsibility of the minister.

So my lesson from today is that I need to be prepared for congregations that would prefer to sit and listen.  They are still participating, just in their own way. And I'll need to be prepared to make my voice last, as there are two services in this church each Sunday.

Only five more acts to go.  where next...?

Wildlife

Some pictures of the local residents...

All photos taken from the road, handheld with a 200mm lens.

This blog uses Cookies - and GCHQ / NSA is Watching.

The EU e-Privacy directive requires website owners to inform users that the website they are browsing uses cookies, small files that are stored on the end users computer to make the browsing of web pages easier.  Concerns about privacy meant that websites are now required to have some sort of notification, rather than relying on privacy policies buried somewhere on a website.  The result is that websites now have annoying popups informing me of cookie policies.

The thing about cookies is, in my opinion at least, nobody worried about them until the great unwashed started using the web.  Experienced users who were worried about privacy online would know how to browse in private modes, or to erase browsing history.  It's only when the general public started being stirred into a frenzy about online privacy that our politicians acted to enforce something that the majority of people haven't got a clue about anyway.  So now when I want to use a website, I've got to go through a nag screen to tell me what I knew already.

At the same time as webmasters are required to infom users of privacy policy, it turns out that our entire browsing history has being getting covertly watched as part of a US based project to prevent terrorism.  And because all this information is shared, GCHQ in Britain may or may not be party to this information as well.  And politicians on both sides of the pond, when questioned about this policy, the attitude is "meh."  So what.  It's for your own good.  The politicians don't seem to have a problem with wholesale privacy breaches.  If we could attach a generator to the body of Eric Blair, we could power the whole country from him spinning in his grave.

So, if you are concerned about privacy on this blog, don't use it.  There may be cookies, and even if there are, who cares, because Big Brother is watching anyway.

Fifty Acts 44. Homeward bound.

Today I had thought about visiting potential placement minister A at church B but instead went to my home church C where I found minister A sitting at the end of pew D of church C on a bit of study leave.  So we passed the time of day, discussing church projects relating to alzheimers. 

It's been ages since I've sat through an ordinary Sunday service at Lane End, so it was good to see the usual faces.  And I've got another idea for a children's address which involves two funnels and 100 foot of garden hose.  While effective in it's message, I'm just not entirely sure how it's going to work when it's on the hospital radio later.

It was afterwards the the conversation got a bit surreal.  I was having a brew with a huddle of little old ladies who were discussing the health of Prince Philip, when the subject of the Queen's coronation celebration came up.  "What i want to know..." asked one lady, "...is how all those old men managed to sit through that service without needing a leak.  Did they all have a bag or something?"  I did note that they would have been forbidden to use the umbrella stand as it is currently the asparagus season.

The conversation then descended, or ascended, into:

•  a graphic account of why peas and colostomy bags can have explosive results.
• The tale of a local lady who was on the throne when a builder stuck a pressure hose up the main sewer.
• The importance to fighter pilots of ensuring you do not mix up your oxygen pipe and your relief tube.
• The necessity of bagging urine and other matter during the Apollo 13 flight, for fear of causing course alterations.
• The legend of someone who was in an aircraft loo when severe turbulence struck, causing them to be covered in blue toilet liquid (amongst other things...)

I'm only taking credit for the Apollo story.

You've got to love the little old ladies!

Fifty Acts 43 Communion in three parts.

Coming from the central belt, Communion is something carried out four times a year on set Sundays, so i was keen to see how it's done elsewhere.

On Friday I went along to see preparation for Communion, which was to take place on the coming Sunday.  What I was expecting was a group of Elders discussing who will carry the bread, who will carry the wine etc.  What I wasn't expecting was a formal, public act of worship.

Communion is taken very seriously up here, so much so that when Commuion Sunday rolls round, church attendance actually drops, as the adherents decide not to attend.  While I understand that nowadays they are welcome, traditionally you had to be a full member to be at the top table, so only full members will turn out.

Communion weekend starts on the Friday with a short service which is intended as a start to the weekend.  The Sunday commences with the session being convened before the service, and while nobody appeared to have been turned away, it is my understanding that traditionally if you hadn't been at the Friday service, or if there was some other questionable stain on your character, then you would be barred from receiving Communion.  Nobody at the door asked for proof of my moral or spiritual fibre.  This is probably a good thing.  Finally, Sunday evening had another service to bring the weekend to a close.

In amongst the tradition, there was certainly a reverence for the occasion, from members and adherents alike.  Should there be more ceremony around Communion?  Or more reverence? Certainly there's a lot to be taken in about the importance the congregation places in the Sacraments. 

Interesting indeed.

They Call Me "Dances with Kittens"

Mrs G and I are in the far north.  I used to think Aviemore was a long way from my house, yet, once we got to Aviemore, we realised we were only half way to our destination.  Now we're here, in an enormous building that has the word "Manse" as part of its postal address, and yet something is missing.

I am blessed with a special power.  I am actually a deity to felids.  Whereas the Egyptians worshiped the cat, the cats appear to worship me.  I can talk to cats, wild and domestic.  A thoughtful stare, or a nonchalant glance, with a subtle turn of the head is all it takes for me to win over my subjects.  Once I learned how to bond with a cat, then it was only a matter of time before I realised that I was supreme ruler of all who will purr contentedly.

Yet, here's what's missing... There are no cats.  I've been through this village from end to end, and I've yet to see a cat.  Dogs yes, cats, no.  Where are they?  I don't know.  I've got the whole summer to investigate.

If I find that my subjects are being oppressed then I may have to do something nasty to the oppressor.  Perhaps I'll leave them a half dead mouse, or cough up a hairball.

In the meantime, I've spotted a ball of wool to play with.