A brief tour...

Bronwyn is a little better, but not a whole lot. She's been in bed from Friday last week right through to today, six straight days minus trips to the doctors. She's been off work for four days so far, no so ideal when you're a locum who doesn't get paid if you don't show for work. The important thing though is getting her better. We're hoping we're starting to see signs of that now. She's never been sick like this before... and it has been tough for her. On top of feeling awful, it turns out to be really boring spending all that time in bed all day. We just thank God though that it was not something more serious, like the originally feared meningitis.

In a final flurry on Sunday night I re-submitted my most recent paper, based on the main results of my dissertation and as much as four years overdue depending on how you want to measure it. I'd first submitted it to this journal in January, and had heard back quite quickly from them with their review. It's taken me a further four months to get it back to them—less 5,000 words and with six of the nine tables deleted. I was a little surprised therefore when, before I could even blog about re-submitting it, I received a reply. The editor, recommending one final tweak: the addition of a two-sentence explanation in one section. I did so immediately, re-submitting on Monday evening using their online form, and was staggered to receive a further reply from their (US-based) editor a mere 55 minutes later. His news: the paper was accepted and had been forwarded to their publishing department! Coming later this year to a journal near you... At laaaaast!

Finally, may I wish a happy 12th annual June 31st Tour to everyone...  : )

Wheningitis

"I've just thrown up in front of 20 students. How's the tennis?” I received this txt at about 4:30pm as I left work yesterday, heading out to meet Bronwyn near the tennis stadium. We'd decided we weren't going to live in Wimbledon for another year and still not have gone along to the tournament.

Fortunately the school receptionist had given Bronwyn a special kind of bag so vomiting on the 493 bus in front of kids was just slightly less bad than it might have been. But obviously we didn't go to the tennis last night. Bronwyn also had a very sore neck, back and head, and we were concerned enough to ring NHS Direct (the 24 hour phone health service) and spoke with a nurse at about 9:30pm. She was satisfied with Bronwyn's condition but said if it got worse or didn't improve, see a doctor.

This morning Bronwyn was not better—neck perhaps a little more sore and stiff—so I arranged for her to see our GP down the road at 10:30am. With a mound of reports on the original agenda, I went to work for my only pre-booked appointment of the day—9:30am—and then got a colleague to bring me home and take both of us to the Doctor. We waited an hour to see our GP but after a 10 minute examination she recommended getting a taxi straight to the A&E department at St George's Hospital. (Interesting to see the NHS from the other side for once.)

We got a taxi—I jumped an extended queue waiting for taxis to the tennis by talking to the Marshall, and getting the reluctant cabbie to take me (instead of perhaps more lucrative tennis fans?) after police intervention—and we picked up Bronwyn again and headed to A&E.

To cut an epic story long, Bronwyn was seen by further nurses and an SHO (junior doc) and had blood tests, urine tests, throat swabs, blood pressure, temperature and heart beat monitored, and had a chest x-ray. We were at A&E for about 3.5 hours. The conclusion is that she does not have meningitis, that she has some other viral infection, and that there is no treatment required other than over-the-counter painkillers, rest, fluids, and time.

We are of course relieved that this is not more serious. While Bronwyn didn’t have some of the other common symptoms of meningitis (photophobia, red skin rash that doesn't disappear when you press a glass against it) there was genuine grounds for concern. I am glad to have her home again now.

Meanwhile, her father David may not have had any sons (other than by marriage) but his daughter sure takes after him—Bronwyn currently sees no impediment to her worship leading at our church on Sunday! Hmmm... we shall see about that.

Thank you for any prayers you say for Bronwyn this weekend.

Tennis the Menace

The plan today was to leave work, ahem, very “on time” and to head down the road here in Wimbledon to the tennis... [They owe me a lot of time, you know.] Well, it was not to be.

At this time of year the weather in our postcode is forecast three times a day, but that can't prevent what the locals regard as utterly inevitable during Wimbledon fortnight—rain. Until last Saturday we'd had a run of excellent weather but nobody was surprised when, presumably in a warm-up match, we had a deluge on Saturday.

Tomorrow there is little hope of an early escape, but with all that extra tennis they have to squeeze in, we'll definitely be most amenable after work. Whether the weather, though...

Why blog?

I was going to call Dave on this one, and initially drafted a comment for his blog. I've decided to post at home instead and develop my thoughts a little further. For context, Dave has decided to take a break from writing his six-month-old personal blog, saying "Its [sic] hard building community when it is not reciprocated." I want to say: a few months of blogging is hardly doing the hard yards to “build community”. (But then, I don't have young kids, so theoretically my time is a little cheaper!) I wonder what Dave was expecting to have happened in this period, and what is his criteria for thinking it has failed?

Around the time I started blogging, it became really popular. I just sneak into 2002 which probably makes me just before the big boom, but the hard core bloggers started way back in 1997 or before, when it wasn't even called blogging... [Update:Hmm... maybe that blog explosion was a little earlier than I thought... Perhaps I was as much mid-explosion or even late-explosion when I started bloggin. Who knows.] Moving beyond Dave's particular situation, my suspicion is that in the last 18 months a whole lot of people have started blogging 'cause it's the new thing, without having a particular reason for doing it. Nothing wrong with that; it's just I always think if you aim for nowhere you'll probably get there.

Anyone can have a voice—but does everyone have a message? Numbers are not the big thing. For me, blogging is half a chance to express my thoughts, half a chance to send news home. Dialogue is important, but it's the writing that matters for me, at least as much as the reading. And in the end, that's why right now I feel like I'll probably keep doing this.

In the last year two friends have asked me about how to start blogging, though neither of them has done so yet. I hope they do—they're both interesting and intelligent people and I'd love to read what they have to say. You know who you are. Is it time to get started? You have friends in geeky places...

You

Philosophers don't know who you are... That's not necessarily a bad thing; you sometimes want to steer clear of those guys at a party. But consider this: even you don't know who you are. Come on, be honest now. If some guys showed up, and wanted to know where to find you, would you really know where to point them? Sure there is this skinbag full of fluids that does things (largely... hmm, partly) on your command, but let's not confuse mere physical presence for the things that are important about you. I'm not advocating the mind—body dualism of the Greek philosophers. I'm an integrationist myself: there is can be no ultimate separation between body, soul and spirit, any more than chemistry can exist without physics, or relationships without biomechanics.

I was thinking all this as I wandered from the kitchen to our bedroom, placed a slight grasp on a heavy bag and yet managed to carry it without incident back, knowing should it slip I could in any case catch it before it hit the ground. How do I know these things. How do I control my fingers with such ease and precision?

Working with people with disabilities gives me regular reminders of the need to value the things I often take for granted. And every so often, the wonder of normal human abilities will break though my haze of daily distraction. It has been said that it is humanity's capacity for boredom that enables us to develop—we rapidly habituate to the novel and incorporate it into regular life, ready for the next change. Yet our modern combination of global boredom and overwork is a trap that can take the wonder out of the smallest situations. Stop and be amazed by something today. I'm going to try to.

As for who we really are, I'm reminded of a God who says he knows himself ("I am.") and who tell us he knows us. And, amazingly, still loves us.

30ld

You are all most warmly invited to our upcoming event 30ld, a coming-of-aged celebration. If you will be in the London area on July 10th and don't have our details, you really are most welcome to join us. Just drop us a line via the RSVP on the page above...

Hope to see you all there!

Patat-poem

Last night we headed out with friends to Patatboem, billed as “A culinary concert”. “The stage is a kitchen. The concert is cooking. Tasting is the final act.” Jazz riffs mingle with industrial-scale cooking in their percussive and melodic preparation of a meal for the 184 people in the audience, who are fanned out at sloping tables around the stage. Music is not merely interspersed with the food but intermingled—a hollowed cucumber becomes half of a short-lived saxophone, while part-filled bottles of water, tuned wine glasses, and mashing, grinding and crashing are half the notes and beats of the music. A synaesthetic experience for the rest of us.

On the way home we visited a local fair, where after winning a zebra and having the obligatory ride on the dodgems, I found myself sharing a ride that must have been called The Intestinator. It had the usual elements of the platform rotating and going up and down, while the pod we were sitting in was spinning. The real kicker was the guys running it, though, who through miracles of basic physics were able to calmly wander round the platform while it was rotating, flicking our modules to give them extra spin. Just when you thought you'd obtained maximum speed, that you'd be coming to a quiet part now, and that they'd gone away, they would spin you still faster till you were doing about 4 Gs, your neck was dialling a chiropractor, and blacking out seemed a reasonable lifestyle choice. After a while I tired of screaming and so did a haka at the top of my voice instead, though over the noise only my pod-mate could hear me. Ahh, to be young and have all your serious injuries ahead of you...

And lest you think the day was all fun, we also went out seeking Sky and watched the All Blacks vaporise and inhale the English rugby team in what the BBC charitably called New Zealand's 36-3 “rout” of England. Also helped said friend above spend oodles of electronic cash in a digital camera online shopping expedition. Oh yes, and in a fit of balancing productivity, cut my bloated ("tedious") 13,000 word manuscript down to below 8,000 and counting, no doubt to the ultimate relief of co-authors, editor and reviews. Vivat academia!

Running on fumes

At some point I should refuel those sleep tanks, but for now we're running on fumes so that our Prague photo album can go online instead! Just the thing to do into the night, especially when getting up early tomorrow to watch the All Blacks deconstruct England... Anyway, both the Prague and Rome albums are images-only for now, though captions will eventually be added [when you least expect it, or your money back].

Had a nice talk to my parents in Melbourne this evening. Ahh... nothing like family.

Roaming in my dreams

Worked on one talk Monday night, but had homegroup Tuesday so ended up finishing my presentations for today's training day at 1am last night. Training day was well received despite my five hours sleep, and despite a series of significant technical hitches. (Including that since we last used that lecure theatre, someone stole the rack-mounted video player!) Am 'zausted.

Your update for today is our Rome photo album, now online. Enjoy!

Salt and pepper

"Salt and pepper” may be fine when mentioned in a culinary conversation, but may be less appreciated when raised in other discussions. Seems I'm starting to do some personal season-ing. ("Distinguished"—bah!) In related news, a future post will detail an upcoming event in July, when I can get the related webpage up...

The end of the week should see some further detail added to the Rome trip information already uploaded, and the addition of a few photographs. Right now though I've two half-hour presentations to write for Thursday. Good night, all.

When in Roma

As serious students of both sociology and practical wisdom, we felt it was important to understand and where possible follow the old saying... What did we learn about what to do, “When in Roma..."? Delayed coverage follows of our last few days in the Eternal City.

Eat, drink, and be Mario

I've said nothing of food. When you visit another country, there's a certain obligation to mostly eat local cuisine. Authentic, like. Occasionally elsewhere we've allowed ourselves to have a meal or two of something more familiar... like Italian.

Needless to say, in Rome we ate Italian.

A view, adieu, a door

We may be ageing but we remain young enough to save €2 by walking the entire 520 steps up the dome at St Peter's, rather than getting a lift to about half-way. The stairs were less cramped than the duomo we climbed at Florence last year, though the final stages had some Dali-esque vertical curves. The view—well worth the climb, not least to see “Jesus and the boys” (as I liked to call them) up close.

When early Christians in Rome bid farewell to this life (often with assistance, unfortunately) they were often buried in the catacombs. After a series of missed bus connections and stops we finally found ourselves there, just in time for the complementary tour. It was advertised as being in English, but was in fact delivered in Australian, by a friendly if perhaps somewhat under-informed priest. We walked only a tiny fraction of the 20kms of tunnels but were able to see first century inscriptions on marble coverings of the wall alcoves that contained the bodies. Five hundred thousand Christians are buried there.

At our next destination, had we had to use the front door we might not have entered at all. From the other side though the building is far less imposing. We heard singing. A peek—some priests. We hung back, but another couple entered unopposed. We stepped in. We found that we were right at the front of the church. A couple of hundred priests, singing. Hmm, Saturday evening—we'd seen a conference was starting tomorrow—a practice, perhaps? A Cardinal spotted—a row of Cardinals? Liturgy in Italian—a voluminous response. Step around a pillar. Hundreds in the congregation... hundreds... Further investigations revealed this was an ordination service, that this basilica was indeed the official seat of the Pope in Rome, not St Peter's (his “local"). We sat for a time, then slipped out. Meanwhile, while their bodies lie elsewhere, the heads of St Peter and St Paul remain in this church. May they rest in peace.

A bird in the hand

Admittedly, we didn't check his schedule, but then to be fair he didn't check with us either. And you know what they say: “A bird in the hand is worth touring with Bush."

So it was that we returned to St Peter's this morning to climb the dome, only to find that the dome had been closed for the entire day for “security reasons”. It seems to me there are two possible explanations:

1. Security scare prompted by discovery of a “cache” of foreign (Swiss?) weapons nearby.
2. President Bush's one-day visit to Rome.

Thwarted in our plans, we headed to the Colosseum. (I believe named after the queue required to enter the facility.) They had helpful signs saying “20 minutes from this point", which were only underestimates of about 80%. We think this was due on that particular day to their requirement for exact change—something not advertised prior to arrival at the front of the queue.

The Colosseum is something of an engineering marvel, and included pulley and trapdoor systems to enable gladiators, weapons, and wild animals to appear directly into the middle of the arena. Dead(ly) clever! Finishing there, wandered surrounding ruins before heading to the Pantheon—free! (Incorrectly...) Convinced Bronwyn that taking a couple of buses would be faster than walking there. When bus number one was stopped by police some distance from our destination we realised our error. Streets were closed and traffic disrupted as apparently 10,000 police and security staff were deployed around the city for Bush's visit and the accompanying “Pace” (peace) marches through the central city.

While St Peter's basilica has the largest masonry dome in the world, Michelangelo designed it ensuring that the Pantheon remained the widest, at 1m greater diameter. He did this apparently to honour the ancient Romans who had first figured out how to build such an architectural wonder. That it still stands today, 2200 years later, is testament to the fact that they got it right. A beautiful building inside, with colourful frescoes and mosaics from antiquity. Outside unfortunately bears the scars of scavenging at the highest level... A large bronze facing above the entrance was melted down by Bernini, at the Pontiff's direction, to complete an installation over St Peter's tomb in his basilica.

Secure in our hope

I have no objection to the increased security that has become a part of life since September 11. I can understand the need to x-ray bags and pass visitors through metal detectors when entering St Peter's basilica. But when the guard says to me that I can either throw my Swiss Army Cybertool in the bin, or I can leave... well.

At the time it seemed too far back to the hotel, but I wasn't going to just throw my precious tool away. So a cunning plan was hatched. Hide the knife somewhere near St Peter's, inside a screwed up piece of paper disguised to look like rubbish. Make our visit, return to pick up the knife, depart victorious. The plan executed, knife secreted under a column nearby on Piazza San Petro. Toured St Peter's, the Vatican museums, and the Sistine Chapel.

I write this blog entry on that piece of paper. As you can see, there is no knife. Perhaps I will be smarter next time.

London—Roma

We flew out of “London” Stanstead for the first time, trusting our legroom to budget carrier Ryan Air. Never has an airport been more optimistically named, as even a quick glance at a map indicates that this airport is much closer to Cambridge than London. However, a multi-coach ticket for transport at both ends was reasonable and hassle-free.

Our hotel (more a pensione) was just a few minutes walk from the coach stop, quirky but fine and reasonably-priced by Roma standards.