Month: August 2020

Heavy grey skies, total humidity from a rain that had only just let up, but cooler temps and good, limber legs, to the result of a 9:35 time. Again, I can’t account for the variability of timings, except to say that obviously I’m not a running machine. Morning Office, a crumpet for breakfast (limited fruit available), and a Margaret-inspired morning research project on the creator of Wondermark comics, David Malki ! Malki warrants a Wikipedia page, but I am not about to do that work just at the moment.
I was having difficulty bearing down on my James essay, so I thought I’d at least devote time and energy to something productive and edifying, so I transcribed some pages of Legends of the Jews and listened to tunes. I was deeply moved, as I have been before, at the Who’s Quadrophenia, about analysing and admiring it with Matt Pappathan in undergraduate days, about pointing out to Nate and Si Keith Moon’s and John Entwhistle’s amazing fills, of course Pete Townshend’s composition and writing, the cultural politics of Mods and Rockers; and then I listened to the first side of Hunky Dory, remembering sharing that with Pippa (and her returning the favour by identifying Margaret and me as ‘Kooks’); and all of this while Darnielle’s Master of Reality was still fresh in my memory. I suppose few of my students would imagine my thinking about them as I admit that I, one of ‘all you rock’n’rollers’, had to face the fact that I had long since grown older (I’m neither wet nor cold, but I am indeed old) — but now so many generations of undergraduates and ordinands have endured my teaching that I can no longer see the individual faces in back rows of alumnæ/i. There have been some posts online recently about the vocation of priesthood, emphasising the gravity of this calling, and I certainly sympathise with that way of thinking. I wonder, though, whether my vocation to be AKMA, imperfectly as I’ve fulfilled it, comprising the priesthood, the teaching, the rocking, the parenting and husbanding, the laughing, has not been a more frightening and demanding call.
Anyway, on a lighter note, we had takeaway curry from Majliss, and watched the last of the Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy, The World’s End, which we had not seen before.

The thunder and lightning, and primarily the rain yesterday afternoon, had helped drive the temperature down a wee bit, but it was still warm and sticky-humid for this morning’s run, and my ankles decided to ache a bit at the halfway mark. My mile was, in the end, 9:40, with which I content under the conditions. Fruit breakfast, Morning Office (delayed cos Margaret woke up earlier than usual), and some research about James and miracles. I got sidetracked, though, by reading John Darnielle’s book in the 33 1/3 series on the Black Sabbath album Master of Reality, which — once again, as in Wolf in White Van and in so many of his songs, gently unfolds the cruelty of systems designed to care for adolescent mental health. I’m not a fan of Black Sabbath or Ozzy Osborne, but the short book certainly amplifies my sympathy for those who are; and further, Darnielle focuses and intensifies my shame at the passivity and distance with which the structures of late modern capitalist cultures shrug off responsibility for the well-being of all who labour and are heavy laden with wounds to their mental health.
Margaret made a very tasty dinner of miscellaneous refrigerator veg, we finished The Deceived, and finished the evening with some QI and University Challenge (I was intrigued to learn that University Challenge is actually the progeny of the US version, College Bowl, which I used to watch avidly with my dad).

Up early in the tropical morning air, and decided early on to take an untimed, short-step, slow run for the day, allowing for a stop along the way to take a photo for Margaret. I realised in the last stretch that if I were going to aim at a slow-run day, I really ought to have taken my mile-and-a-half route, but as I was so near home, so hot and uncomfortable, there was no way I would voluntarily add another half mile to my exercise. That sort of decision must be made while I’m still fresh and foolish and not desperate.

Morning Office, hot breakfast, going back over Newman on biblical interpretation in preparation for a tutorial talk with one of my Orielenses, which talk then occupied the rest of the morning. Lunch at midday, and the afternoon spent on Wittgenstein (I wish I could make an explicit connection to the two, no three research projects I’m responsible for at the moment, but I can’t). My energy petered out toward teatime, and after a visit with a friend we ordered pizza from BBuona and watched more episodes of The Deceived (jeering at the misconduct at every turn, but curious to know how it plays out).

Did I mention that it’s perishingly humid on top of the heat wave, especially first thing in the morning? 9:27 mile. Morning Office, breakfast at Rick’s, brushing up my Newman (on the day the CoE recognises him, ill-advisedly conflicting with St Clare), taking Margaret’s MacBook in to be serviced, some Newman reading for research and teaching… Now, that’s a day well spent, isn’t it? I cooked AKMA’s Bachelor Dinner, and we watched the last episodes of La Dernière Vague before turning in.

Deep grey skies, light breezes, and oppressive humidity this morning, and although I didn’t feel any particular aches or wobbles, my mile came in at 9:31 and I think I couldn’t have done it in a minute faster.

Breakfast at Rick’s, good intentions to spend the day reading and writing, but much of the morning and early afternoon devoted to rendering Margaret’s university-issued Windows machine useable. Only one problem resisted my solving, and that one’s between M and her IT admins. Then I went to the city to return her MacBook to have the keyboard replaced, only to find that the Apple venue is closed on Mondays (!?). Home again, and some reading interspersed wtih distraction. WE dined on Margaret’s special veg-filled gluten-free crêpes, and started watching La Dernière Vague, which has us eager to continue tomorrow.

A gross of COVID days, not yet quite a half year, and governments (NZ and others nobly excepted) still faff about like blind squirrels looking for nuts.
This morning, deep grey and near-100% humid, cool, and I took the extra half-mile run untimed. I stopped for photos of flowers to send Margaret; I stretched out a bit on the last hundred metres; but mostly I took the pace very slowly, with short steps, forward on my feet, and trying to keep my breathing steady. Morning Office, hot breakfast, Morning Worship on Radio Four, Mass at St Mary Magdalen, and home for a leisurely afternoon finishing up Greyzone. Margaret made pizza for dinner, we took part in a group Zoom chat of bloggers from the dawn of the Web, and then Nate and Laura checked in for an evening video call, so we had a great day of connecting.

Happy St Dominic’s Day!

A normal morning, if hot and humid, and my limber limbs carried me to a mile time of 9:35. Morning Office, pancakes for breakfast!, odds and ends and reading, a grocery trip, and then Margaret proposed a GreyZone binge. We followed through on that, taking breaks for dinner and for a chat with Pippa, until bedtime.

My feet have been bearing a lot for the past four days, so I thought I’d give my heels (at least) a wee break by taking a run with shorter steps, making my ankles do more work and shifting impact forward to the balls of my feet. As such, I took the longer 1.5 mile route and didn’t time myself. The run was entirely satisfactory, and I had enough energy in the tank to put on a wee push in the last hundred metres or so. Morning Office, some fruit (and a Margaret-made smoothie!), some encouraging feedback relative to my book project, and the rest of the day spent reading for research on James and miracles. We ordered dinner from the Coconut Tree, and watched several episodes of The Grey Zone, a welcome change to the recent dry spell of unsuspenseful suspense dramas. Then to bed, where we were kept awake by a midnight power cut….

warm, humid air and wobbly knees (that resent having done so much walking in the past several days) put a damper on my pace for the morning mile; I came in at 9:45. After some consultation and deliberation, Margaret and I decided to make a spontaneous trip to Worcester (a site of historic despicable anti-Judaism instituted in the thirteenth century, with a Jewish community restored only in 1941, and then dissolved again in the 1970s) to visit and photograph the cathedral there. We caught the 10:45 train with minutes to spare, spent several hours exploring the accessible areas — sadly excluding some attractive possibilities, but thankfully including many handsome windows and memorials, and the lovely chapel ceiling.

We caught the train back to Oxford with pinpoint timing, and returned home where we dined on pizza from BBuona. The sauce was excellent, rich and tomato-y (but did not set off my allergy, thank heaven) and watched the concluding half of Air Force One Is Down, which was mercifully only a two-part feature. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen a compelling series; COVID casts a long shadow.

I reverted to my usual mile this morning, to beneficial effect (on my feet and time, at least); the overcast day brought humidity almost to the point of dampness, and a headwind on the Iffley Road hindered my progress just when I had most energy to burn. So 9:43 is not a time for me to crow about, but in the context of the most I’ve walked over a three-day span in months, and a head wind, I’m not worried.

Breakfast at Rick’s, a stroll in the Botanic Garden (photos to come), and an afternoon of more photo-editing and -sorting, mostly. We took curry from Majliss to Mark and Mel, and spent the evening with them.

My time of 16:21 would be shockingly poor if not for the facts that (a) it marks my extension of my running course to a mile and a half, and (b) I wasn’t pushing for time, but just running slowly and steadily. Morning Office, some fruit, holi-stay breakfast at Rick’s, some errands in the city centre (I finally purchased this summer’s straw hat), a meander to ascertain that Leon is actually closed, and an increasingly slow crawl back home with feet that were busily remembering the extra half mile they had already run this morning. I spent the residue of the afternoon doing some housework, and sorting photos from my digital files. Margaret prepared stuffed peppers for dinner, and we watched the first episode of The Deceived (having been misled into thinking the whole series was available), then switching to Air Force One Is Down for a thriller we could watch to the end before September.

Every fibre in my legs — bum, thighs, knees, calves, ankles — protested this morning after my slightly-longer run, itself after two days off, ao the otherwise fine conditions resulted only in a 9:50 mile. Morning Office, fruit breakfast, some Legends, a leisurely walk to the Isis Farmhouse for lunch, the end of 2012, a delicious comfort-food potato salad dinner, and The King of Thieves.

What happened to days 135 and 136? Friday, Margaret and I got up at the crack of dawn — before dawn cracked, really — and made our way to Arundel, where Margaret waited to be picked up by our friend Emily and I caught a cab to St Mary’s Church, Slindon, where I preached a homily for the wedding of friends and former students (one of the very few weddings that will have taken place this summer, coming as it has between the relaxation of the lockdown and the reimposition of restrictions on weddings and receptions). That done, I skulked back to the comfortable Arundel Park Hotel, fell into a dozy afternoon nap, then feasted on a curry Margaret brought from a local restaurant.

Yesterday we made our leisurely way back to Oxford. Margaret spent most of the local part of our day with a friend, and I caught up on the many things that have been going on in our absence. Leftovers for dinner, and slept like a log once again.

This morning, having missed two days of running, I decided to take a day without a timed run, but to stretch out the length of my run. I changed up my route, ran at a very moderate pace (not trying for any speed at all), and extended the length to a bit more than a mile and a half. Morning Office, Morning Worship on Radio Four, hot breakfast, Mass at St Stephen’s House, a grocery trip, some housework (koff, koff, looking for my mislaid Kindle), various diversions, pizza for dinner, and we started re-watching 2012 to feed Margaret’s pop-apocalyptic fascination, but Nate and Laura called, so we chatted with them for a while and then turned in.