One day I experienced something that I often tell people about. Not that I expect such things can be handed on as it were to anyone else. I only learn things vicariously, by doing them. Why should I expect others to pick them up simply by being told? But I reckon it is an interesting tale, . . . → Read More: The leper colony

Unlike Australian dwarf tossing, Pastor bashing is not an official sport, and I hope it never becomes one. Good grief, the poor guys have it hard enough already on poverty wages, putting up with all the foibles imaginable from their truculent congregations, without suffering slander in the press. But the institution has its down side. However . . . → Read More: Dont blame the Pastor

Maud is pouring afternoon tea for us up at the big house on the compound. The temperature is in the high seventies, Fahrenheit that is. The sun is about two meters over our heads. But all is well because Maud has cooked pastry rolls with sultanas in them. Later in life I learn these are called . . . → Read More: Martyrdom in Africa

The other day I pulled into a gas station. Now I always fill the car myself because I saw on TV how tank topping is a wasteful thing to do. But if you leave the attendants to do it, even when the nozzle stops automatically, they keep pumping until they reach the next nearest dollar. So, . . . → Read More: Existential sadness

Barry McGuire arrived at University. In the 1960s he was a prominent protest singer, friends of Janis Joplin and the Pray-for-Rosemarys-Baby crowd. Wrote this song called the Eve of Destruction that received the best publicity anyone could ever hope for. It got banned from public radio in the United States. Hence he was famous. Then he . . . → Read More: A communist kills me

It seemed fitting that the wheelbarrow I was assigned to at the church working bee was unruly. Had a flat tyre. Wobbled everywhere but couldn’t be fixed, so I was told. Pushing it along it’s protesting path was indeed purgatory. It allowed me to wallow in guilt, using this barrow. Were John Bunyan at that working . . . → Read More: Wheelbarrow purgatory