Late sunrise. Clear sky, narrow band of cloud, colour behind the trees, but as yet, no sun. Late mornings, too. Dreams. Woke up at 9am yesterday. This is an exercise in writing 'Morning Pages', as first discovered during a seven-hour wait in Casualty (there were reasons, although I still say, it would have been humane to explain them to those of us stuck waiting, rather than leave us in ignorance) with only Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way to read. [It's not hard to find; harder to pick one link of the many.] Recommended. The book, I mean. The various other bits - don't know. There's a blog.
So if this is a Morning set of Pages , and I'm clearing my mind for later, what's on my mind is - maybe I dreamed this too? - a lengthy report on the radio, as I drove into St Mawes at lunchtime yesterday to post some letters and then walk the dog, about the government's newly published plan (sic) to "tackle obesity". We're all too fat, apparently, although I've never met the Prime Minister, and unless there's been some spectacular breach of confidentiality, he doesn't know how much I weigh (come to think of it, neither do I). But he and his chums have found time in their busy schedule to (1) determine that I'm too heavy, and (2) "take ownership" of my problem, if it exists.
I like the idea that the Opposition will now feel obbliged to come out with an argument against - obesity is good, or we should get thin more slowly than the government suggests - and I also appreciate how much easier the next election will be. Judge the government's track record on whether or not we weigh less. If I move the weighing machine next to the armchair, I can sort the whole thing during the ad break. Do it on the way, as I waddle towards the kitchen to fetch some more doughnuts.
And the resignation of the Canon from St Paul's over the protest. I note that he is now the "left-wing" canon, according to the news, and there's a gradual, unspoken over-simplifying of the whole thing into good guys and bad guys. But it's all a gift in another way, isn't it? A complex moral issue, practical one too, involving parties that have come to it with conflicting moral and/or practical "agendas" on which I think we're being invited to rush to judgement. And isn't it a magnificently symbolic spot for it all to happen? Should (could) we rush (festina lente; the word 'rush' seems to go with 'judgement' these days) to judgement on this matter, and if that's what we feel obliged to do, could (should) we find out the truth of it for ourselves?
Neat little tents. Looked like a pleasant spot to live for a while.
Sun.
So if this is a Morning set of Pages , and I'm clearing my mind for later, what's on my mind is - maybe I dreamed this too? - a lengthy report on the radio, as I drove into St Mawes at lunchtime yesterday to post some letters and then walk the dog, about the government's newly published plan (sic) to "tackle obesity". We're all too fat, apparently, although I've never met the Prime Minister, and unless there's been some spectacular breach of confidentiality, he doesn't know how much I weigh (come to think of it, neither do I). But he and his chums have found time in their busy schedule to (1) determine that I'm too heavy, and (2) "take ownership" of my problem, if it exists.
I like the idea that the Opposition will now feel obbliged to come out with an argument against - obesity is good, or we should get thin more slowly than the government suggests - and I also appreciate how much easier the next election will be. Judge the government's track record on whether or not we weigh less. If I move the weighing machine next to the armchair, I can sort the whole thing during the ad break. Do it on the way, as I waddle towards the kitchen to fetch some more doughnuts.
And the resignation of the Canon from St Paul's over the protest. I note that he is now the "left-wing" canon, according to the news, and there's a gradual, unspoken over-simplifying of the whole thing into good guys and bad guys. But it's all a gift in another way, isn't it? A complex moral issue, practical one too, involving parties that have come to it with conflicting moral and/or practical "agendas" on which I think we're being invited to rush to judgement. And isn't it a magnificently symbolic spot for it all to happen? Should (could) we rush (festina lente; the word 'rush' seems to go with 'judgement' these days) to judgement on this matter, and if that's what we feel obliged to do, could (should) we find out the truth of it for ourselves?
Neat little tents. Looked like a pleasant spot to live for a while.
Sun.