‘Twas the week before Christmas
and, ’spite our great nous,
we Gileses aren’t festive –
we’re about to move house

There’s no tree in the window,
no goose in the fridge.
All our worldly belongings
boxed up – infra dig!

The long house-moving saga
began back in spring
when we found a new home; thought
‘we’d like to move in’.

Our offer was accepted;
our Pine Road house ‘sold’
but the purchasers pulled out –
our best-laid plans bowled.

Weeks and months then elapsed;
a new agent appointed
(much better than the last one,
their systems less disjointed).

Then while sunning ourselves
(the Italian/Swiss lakes) –
three viewings, then an offer
firmed up – no mistakes.

Found a new house in Alton
that gave us a glow.
Four bedrooms and a garden,
on the flood meadow.

We started the ‘fun’ of the
mortgage application
(as self-employed types,
not a pleasant sensation)

Tax returns and accountants,
surveys, legal mess.
‘Twas a minefield and stressful
throughout, we confess.

At times, twas so maddening –
solicitors: boo hoo!
(exchange of contracts delayed
by their Christmas do!)

After months of (to us) in-
explicable delays,
we’ve today exchanged contracts,
uttered fulsome hurrays.

Ergo we’ll be moving on
22nd December –
the shortest day of the year
and one to remember.

We look forward to welcoming
you to our new home.
But for now, ‘Happy Christmas’
marks the end of this poem.

The house move process is still proceeding at the rate of glacial flow, so we still don’t know whether we’re moving this side of Christmas or not. This is frustrating: it means lots of other things are also on hold. There are lots of boxes in the current Giles residence, but they’re neither wrapped in festive style nor positioned lovingly underneath a beautifully decorated tree. We are meeting our solicitor again tomorrow, so hope to achieve a little clarity as to what is (or is not) happening. And, more specifically, when.

That said, it’s been a busy couple of weeks even without the logistical challenge of a house move to factor in. We’ve had our first Christmas lunch of the season – at the delightful Scolfes near Eastbourne (one of our friends is at uni there, another friend’s family owns the restaurant). We’ve both been fully occupied with work (Sarah is working on the Woodland Trust’s annual review, I’m managing various international Salvation Army websites – I even had a meeting with the General last week). We’ve had lots of church meetings, we’ve more-or-less completed the Christmas present shopping, and we’ve tried to keep sane by scheduling in the odd excursion.

So yesterday we visited the National Trust house and gardens at Mottisfont, near Romsey – mainly to prevent us from tripping over the packed boxes at home. The weather was not great, but it was good to get out and enjoy some fresh air. (The pub meal afterwards at the nearby Bear and Ragged Staff was also very welcome. If you have the opportunity in the next fortnight, the yuletide pie comes highly recommended!)

Our cards are ready for posting, Giles News (with our new address details) is ready to be published… just as soon as the solicitors all manage to decide when we might be allowed to move.

Well, hello. It’s been a long time.

Somehow, Advent has crept up on us. The evenings are well past the ‘drawing in’ stage, my yearning for sprouts is strengthening and there are only two shopping days left until Christmas. (Don’t panic. The last clause merely indicates that I can only muster enthusiasm for two more visits to the shops this year. Your stamina may vary.)

I very much enjoyed playing and singing some Advent songs at church last Sunday, and watching the spectacle of two young children wafting a lighted splint vaguely in the direction of the first Advent candle. My hope that said wick would spontaneously combust before the kids was, mercifully, well founded. If it had gone wrong, though, there was a large baptismal pool in the place that would ordinarily be occupied by a liberally-festooned Christmas tree. I suspect it will be making its annual appearance next Sunday. I’ll just have to wait.

Nevertheless, I spotted the first Christmas tree of the season at Testwood Baptist Church last Tuesday on the occasion of the Seriously Funny evening with Jeff Lucas and Adrian Plass. (Please note that I am not counting the various festive accoutrements that have been present in the majority of high street stores since, seemingly, September. This accounts for at least part of my attitude in paragraph 2 above.) The Seriously Funny book was one of the things that kept us on just about the right side of sanity in Thailand, and it was marvellous to hear a further collection of musings from the pair in person. Thought-provoking, inspiring and funny. Excellent.

Advent is a time of waiting and preparation. Just as you will have almost certainly been waiting on tenterhooks for this latest epistle, we have been waiting with varying levels of patience for a number of things to get going this year. Chief among these has been our long-awaited house move, a process that we started even before Sainsbury’s put their mince pies out. Which was about mid-March, if my memory serves me right. Since then, we’ve had the joy of offers being accepted, the heartbreak of offers being withdrawn, the ‘joy’ of having to complete a tax return in record time in order to satisfy our mortgage lender (the perils of self-employment), the bafflement of solicitors who are only tentatively acknowledging the presence of the 21st century (viz an email which read ‘I will dictate a letter to my secretary which you should receive later in the week’).

It now seems that, with a trailing wind, we might just be exchanging contracts next week and moving before Christmas. Three successive Christmases, three different addresses…

Meanwhile, to help you get into the Christmas spirit, this video is an interesting insight into how the run-up to Jesus’ birth might have been if social media tools had existed. Or how about some daily Bible readings from The Salvation Army?

Happy waiting.

Photo by Sethi de Clercq

You may have seen the news about the current flooding in Thailand. Pakkret was in Rachel Harvey’s report on BBC News a few days ago.

As you might expect, we’ve been following developments quite closely. More than a third of the country is underwater. Bangkok has been the focus of much of the media attention, but in the last few hours Pakkred has received the order to evacuate as the water reached chest height. (Some might say this was a bit late…)

This from the Bangkok Post:

All districts in Nonthaburi flooded

‘The flooding in Nonthaburi province has reached a critical level, with all districts now inundated, the provincial governor said on Wednesday. Nonthaburi governor Wichian Phuttiwinyu said all six districts were now flooded. Bang Bua Thong and Pakkret districts were the worst hit. A huge amount of floodwater from neighbouring Ayutthaya and Pathum Thani provinces has been flowing into Nonthaburi since Tuesday.’

We can only imagine how flooded our old soi (street) must be, given that it only took one heavy downpour to flood the kitchen and the front yard. Our old house was about 600 metres from the river (across flat ground) and CCD’s headquarters are a similar distance (see this map).

Improvised flood defences on Soi Wat Ku, the main road past CCD. Photo by Wasan Saenwian.

Praying people, please remember our friends and former colleagues at CCD as they endeavour to look after the children (all the cars and vans seem to have been parked on the motorway flyovers for safekeeping, so evacuation is made quite tricky!) as well as looking after their own homes and families elsewhere in the Bangkok area.

If you want to find out more, some good sources of information, links and photos are @thaifloodeng and  #thaifloodeng on Twitter.

Hello. Mrs Giles here. Please make up your own train numbers for this instalment. :) The tale of the first stage of our journey can be found here if you missed it.

On Sunday morning, having left Nice, we travelled first along the Mediterranean coast to the Italian border station of Ventimiglia. Mr Giles’s verdict on the Côte d’Azur? ‘All right, but not as good as Dawlish.’ (Readers of any British railway periodicals – and their wives - will know that at least one picture of a train on the Dawlish sea wall is compulsory content.)

It was at Ventimiglia station that I made one of my favourite discoveries of the trip to date: Nutella in 5kg jars! Hello!

And thence to Milan on the ninth train of our expedition. I was keen to sample Milan’s legendary coffee, so, having purchased our next set of tickets, we scoured the station building for a suitable establishment. I wasn’t disappointed. Not only was my caffe americano delicious, it came with eminently scrapbookable paper napkins with the words ‘Stazione Centrale di Milano’ on them. Excellent.

From Milan, we caught the train towards Domodossola (a double-decker one, no less), changing at Novara for Orta san Giulio. We were met at the station by a friendly taxi driver who dropped us as near to the hotel as he was permitted to drive (Orta is pedestrianised to all but a tiny amount of local traffic) and gave us walking directions in ebullient Italian, complete with much waving of arms which didn’t leave us much the wiser. We trundled off happily down a cobbled path in vaguely the right direction, whipped out the guidebook and were in the right place within five minutes. Success!

 
(Our room is behind those window boxes on the left.)

Our hotel isn’t a single building but a collection of them: a few bedrooms in a place down this alley, a few more there, reception on the main throughfare, a breakfast buffet at a cafe on the main piazza… all very civilised and friendly. And speaking of the breakfast… impressive. Breads, hams, and cheeses in abundance; cook-your-own eggs, bacon and sausages; cereals, yogurts and fruit; and, to our amusement, a dessert table. Tiramisu, anyone?

The guard regarded us quizzically. We were waiting for our train to be able to proceed from our local Medstead & Four Marks station along the single-track line to Alton. ’We don’t see many people with suitcases here,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Hopefully back here, eventually,’ I offered, immediately realising that my reply wasn’t wholly satisfactory. ‘Avignon,’ I added quickly, lest the Watercress Line volunteer thought I’d taken leave of my senses.

‘Oooh. Really?’ he asked, perking up. ‘And then on to the Italian lakes – all by train,’ I continued. He smiled. ‘I’d better check your tickets then…’

Awaiting the signal at Medstead & Four Marks

And so the first of an estimated 44 rail journeys began. If you were setting out for the Italian lakes, it’s unlikely that you would start with a ride on the Watercress Line and even less likely that you would travel via Avignon. But having free tickets for both, it made good sense to me.

Day 1 of our journey took us as far as London, where we checked in to a cheap (£9) but cheerful Travelodge near St Pancras station. After a book shop foray and surprisingly pleasant Indian dinner, an early night was required.

Day 2 began frighteningly early, in order to stock up with provisions before checking-in for our Eurostar departure. One of the joys of travelling by train is that it is permitted to travel with items such as scissors and needles, and Mrs Giles had planned to maximise this benefit by packing a mobile scrapbooking tin containing all manner of contraband that would be seized by the airport authorities if one even thought about smuggling them through. It’s also permitted to take drinks on board Eurostar, which is refreshingly sensible.

I was less than thrilled, therefore, having just purchased the day’s snacks from the station’s 24 hour Starbucks, to be told ‘you can’t take that through’. The ‘that’ in question was a mocha frappucino. ‘Why?’ I asked, with due temerity. ‘That’s the rules.’ I have yet to work out how an iced coffee and chocolate concoction is perceived to be a threat to Channel Tunnel operations, but as the next London to Avignon train is not until July 2012 I didn’t want to risk missing the service by discussing molecular structure. And more to the point, Sarah was tugging my arm gently but firmly. It is usually best to comply.

The 07:17 to Avignon about to depart

The Eurostar left on time and belted through Kent towards the tunnel portal. Last time we did this journey we got stuck sous la Manche for five hours (hence the complimentary tickets this time round), but before we knew it we had emerged into the French countryside. I must confess that I’d never really seen the point of France, as it just seemed to be a rather grottier version of Lincolnshire. But once we’d nipped around the Paris avoiding line (LGV Interconnexion East, if you prefer), the scenery improved markedly. The train manager gave us some brief bursts of commentary which helped us to get our bearings as we passed through Burgundy into Provence. It was pretty much full speed all the way, until we left the high speed lines at Lapalud, about half an hour short of our destination.

We arrived at Avignon an impressive ten minutes early, and went in search of the left luggage office. Fermé. Undeterred, we pondered the prospect of a taxi. That was until we noted that the sizable majority of those who had travelled from London with us on the 18 carriage train were now queueing with decreasing levels of patience for the five taxis that appeared to be in attendance. And then it started to precipitate.

Being British, no amount of rain was going to prevent us from visiting Pont St Bénezet – the bridge immortalised in the 15th Century children’s song. But, boy, did it try. A 20 minute paddle through a full-on thunderstorm later, and your invincible but bedraggled correspondents arrived at the historic river, resembling some loons who had waded through it themselves.

The eponymous pont

'On y danse, on y danse'

The saunter back to the station was rather more enjoyable, by dint of it being considerably drier. The remainder of the day’s travels took us still further south, by local trains via Marseille and the Côte d’Azur to Nice. Alas, the weather had become capricious again, and the fabled blue sea was more grises than azur.

Nice to see you, to see you Nice

It may have been because we were tired, it may have been because it was gloomy, but Nice - it transpires - is something of a misnomer. And our accommodation in the city, Hôtel d’Orsay, was not one of its highlights. One might summarise it as shabby chic but without being in any way chic. Plainly at some point in the 1950s, someone had stolen the hotel’s cleaning paraphernalia and the police had never solved the crime. We swiftly rechristened the establishment as Hôtel d’Awful, but in fairness had a relatively good night’s sleep.

Yesterday, as avid followers of the Twitter feed will be aware, I spent rather a long time on a train. There’s nothing unusual about that in itself, although the specific situation was quite notable to an anorak like me. As so many have asked me what on earth I was doing (in a tone of voice that suggests urgent hospitalisation should follow), I shall explain. You only have yourselves to blame…

The Docklands Light Railway is soon to open a new three-mile extension from Canning Town to Stratford International, part of the transport infrastructure that will convey millions of sports enthusiasts to the Olympic Park next summer. (But don’t worry, this blog isn’t really about that kind of exercise.) Before it is allowed to start carrying fare-paying passengers, it is obliged to run test trains and work out its procedures for handling various emergency situations. The opportunity is also taken to work out effective responses with the emergency services and voluntary agencies like the Red Cross, St John Ambulance and The Salvation Army, all of whom may also be called in to help in particular circumstances. I heard on the anorak grapevine that volunteers were required to help with this, and was intrigued.

So at 9 o’clock yesterday morning, I was boarding a shuttle bus at Stratford Regional station having checked-in with the DLR officials (along with 68 other participants). The bus is currently the only way to transfer between the two Stratford stations, as the surrounding land is still very much a building site – not just with Olympic paraphernalia but a huge Westfield shopping centre that is due to open next month.

The Olympic stadium taking shape

We’d been told very little about what to expect, which is normal for these kind of events. The aim is for passengers to behave as they normally would – surprised, startled, even a little panicked. We were quickly ushered into the concrete environs of the new Stratford International DLR station, which is just over the road from the mainline station. The first ‘challenge’ was that the escalators weren’t working, so the lifts were put in to frontline service.

Stratford International DLR station, waiting for 'disaster' to befall

Very shortly afterwards, a DLR train rolled in to platform 1 – with a veritable phalanx of high visibility jacket-clad DLR staff on board – and we were invited to get on and make ourselves comfortable. I found myself a prime spot at the front of the train, naturally. The safety officer overseeing proceedings walked through to outline a few dos and don’ts (‘follow all instructions given by staff’, ‘don’t touch the live rail’, that kind of thing). And then we waited.

DLR test train arriving at Stratford International platform 1

An eerily quiet Stratford International station

For reasons that never became entirely clear, it was a good hour before the first scenario of the day was acted out. Eventually, the cheery Passenger Service Agent who had evidently drawn the short straw gave the usual DLR announcement about ‘a good service operating on all lines’ and closed the doors. Then, without having actually gone anywhere, we ‘arrived’ at Stratford International, ‘where this train terminates – all change please’. So we did. It became apparent that some ‘passengers’ had been asked to leave the train prior to this, so that they could act out the roles of people waiting on the platform to join the train for its return journey to Canning Town. After a bit of getting on and off the train, someone spotted a ‘suspicious package’ and brought it to the attention of the staff. At which point, those on the train were asked to leave immediately and those on the platform were asked to evacuate.

We mooched up to ground level to see what was going to happen next. A British Transport Police officer had already made his way over from the mainline station (where presumably he had an office), and it didn’t take long for BTP’s ‘suspicious package’ team to arrive with their ‘is it a bomb or is it a packed lunch’ analysis gear. As they were prodding, poking and otherwise examining the package, we were corralled by the DLR staff and police so that anyone who might have seen anything could be questioned. For ‘safety reasons’ we were led over to the concourse of the mainline station with the promise of ‘replacement bus services’ which were being ‘arranged’. 45 minutes later, we were led back in to the station and asked to reboard the train.

British Transport Police get their 'is it a bomb?' equipment ready

Lunch followed, which was a somewhat surreal experience aboard a DLR train. However, the provided packages (which were not in any way suspicious) compared favourably to that fabled lunch on the really-should-know-better East Coast. A tasty tuna sandwich, generously-proportioned bag of cheese and onion crisps, Time Out chocolate bar, orange and surprisingly chilled bottle of water hit the spot nicely. During the break, we also had the opportunity to explore the usually out-of-bounds staff mess room at Stratford International.

Exercise 2 followed at about 12:30, which this time did involve the train moving. Usually DLR trains are computer-controlled, but for this scenario, Alan the Passenger Service Agent had had to assume the driving controls. As we entered the tunnel connecting Stratford International with Stratford Regional, the official in charge of the exercise told the driver that he should act as if he had just seen smoke in the tunnel ahead.

The ever-chirpy Alan takes the controls

The entrance to the half-mile long tunnel between Stratford's International and Regional stations

The train was duly brought to a halt, and a considerable amount of (quite enlightening) conversation took place between the PSA and the control room. Before long, it was decided that the London Fire Brigade would have to investigate, and that the power to the live rails would therefore have to be switched off. It was anticipated that the train would be left with auxiliary power, but as the supply was cut they found out the hard way that ALL the train’s lighting was rendered inoperable. It also cut the PA system, so Alan had to walk through the train with a torch to explain what was happening.

DLR train 'stranded' in the tunnel with no power

When he returned, he decided that the passengers in the front of the train (and therefore nearest the ‘smoke’) should move back to avoid unnecessary inhalation of the fumes. He then co-ordinated the process of applying circuit breakers to the tracks in the vicinity, to prevent any danger from the power inadvertently being switched back on. Once the area was made safe, the evacuation of the train proceeded with us all being counted and then walked – a carriage at a time – back along the trackside path towards the emergency staircase to ground level. We duly trudged up the steps and emerged in the middle of a construction site, much to the surprise of some workers who hastily erected some more fencing to keep us out! During this exercise, the powers-that-be had helpfully provided Alan with a man in a wheelchair and a woman with mild hysteria to cope with. Somehow, he was still smiling at the end…

Emergency signage in the tunnel

Top of the emergency staircase, in the middle of a building site

Once we’d all been counted back, we re-boarded the train in the tunnel and waited for the circuit breakers to be removed from the track and the current switched back on. It was actually pretty hot, so we were pleased when the procedures had been completed. The excitement wasn’t quite over though, as the train had to travel back the wrong way along the line in order to restore radio communication with the signalling system.

Reboarding the 'stricken' train - the circuit breakers on the track are just visible

Back at Stratford International, we were thanked for our time (with £20 vouchers, no less) and offered the opportunity to travel the entire length of the not-yet-opened line. Clearly this was far too good an offer to pass up, so I remained in my vantage point for the first ‘public’ journey through Statford Regional and the new stations at Stratford High Street, Abbey Road and Star Lane to Canning Town. Here, several DLR staff disembarked, but we continued a short distance to use the emergency crossover just south of the station, which I suspect will be a very hard piece of track to ‘do’ in normal service. Then, a non-stop run back to Stratford International, where the train terminated in platform 2 (just for track ‘completeness’).

Canning Town station's new Stratford branch platforms

It might not be everyone’s idea of a good day out, but I really enjoyed seeing (and hearing) parts of the railway system that are normally hidden from view, and found it reassuring that the train companies do try to prepare for all eventualities.

A week on from those rail journeys, I have had a response from the Chairman of the train operating company concerned…

Dear Mr Giles

Thank you for your email of the 27th July 2011, regarding our First Class complimentary food offering.  I appreciate this was written somewhat tongue in cheek, although you raise some very valid points which we need to address immediately.

After I received your email I asked my teams to investigate the issues you raised and interview the staff delivering the service. I would like to address the points raised in the order written for ease of reading.

The £25 First Class single journey certainly was good value for money for our customers. At this time we do not plan to run the same promotion, however if you are registered on our website you will receive notification of most of our up and coming offers.

Indeed, every time you board one of our trains you should be greeted by a member of our crew, the remainder of the crew will be preparing for departure to enable beverage runs to take place following departure. There is a lot of preparation involved, but a crew member should always be on hand to greet our customers. This is so important and our customers should always be welcomed on board. There was no excuse on either of the  journeys you took with us. We do currently have some issues with our newspaper suppliers at Inverness, at present the newspapers are delivered at Edinburgh where they are taken aboard. At this time newspapers should have been distributed to our customers. We are currently sourcing a new supplier in Inverness and once organised, newspapers will be available on departure from there.

I was sorry to read you felt the table for two was not as comfortable as a table for four, although the dimensions per person are the same for both styles. In fact we do receive compliments on the spaciousness of our seating and train carriages.

I must apologise for the ride quality on the 07:55, which was poor between Edinburgh and York. Our trains undergo a safety inspection each night before they enter service and they are not allowed to enter service if they have any suspension related defects.  If a problem occurs during service then the train runs at a reduced speed until it is rectified.  Sometimes, worn track components can cause poor ride quality.  This can be to the extent that it is very noticeable, but not in fact dangerous.

Keeping the track, signalling and railway infrastructure in a well maintained condition is the responsibility of Network Rail.  If poor ride quality is experienced, Network Rail ask drivers and/ or train crew to pass on the information about where it has occurred so they can make arrangements to have it inspected and corrected if necessary. Network Rail also conduct regular scheduled inspections to ascertain track condition to ensure that it is safe for use. Our Head of Fleet will monitor the situation and has asked our staff to report any further instances to the maintenance depots where it can be investigated once the train returns.

So much work has gone into delivering such a massive change; from the refurbishment of our catering facilities, preparing different menu options, preparing new operating standards for our staff and as detailed as to how our tables should be presented. Every aspect of our service has been extensively reviewed, to ensure we get it as right as possible.  Tablecloths are not part of the table set-up, however we provide East Coast table slip mats. These should provide adequate stability to stop mugs/crockery from moving when the train is in motion.

The introduction of our First Class Quiet Coach followed extensive customer research and has so far been well received. I was alarmed to read of the manner in which our crew boarded at Newcastle. Whether they had been in the Quiet Coach or not, this behaviour is completely unacceptable. This has been addressed with the crew in question.

Unfortunately the 07:55 Inverness to King’s Cross did not have a chef on board, this was very short notice sickness and we were unable to arrange a replacement chef before departure. This impacted our staff greeting customers on board (certainly not an excuse), instead the crew went immediately on board to organise what breakfast could still be served without a chef. Please be assured that all our crew are trained to provide basic breakfast options, just not the full menu range.  With the benefit of hindsight the Crew Leader should have still made a greeter available. As the crew board the train 15 minutes prior to departure, they were unable to advise customers that a chef was not on board.

The Crew Manager responsible for the crew in question travelled back to Inverness the same day with some of your fellow travellers from your morning service. Although they too were disappointed, they were very appreciative of the crew’s efforts to offer a catering service.

The departure boards should be updated if we are unable to provide a full catering facility. As we were able to offer catering provision, albeit limited the departure boards were not updated. I do offer my apologies that the bacon/ sausage sandwiches were served on untoasted bread and were not piping hot. Due to the chef not being on board, the crew did have a more limited variety of kitchen equipment to work with, which did cause delays to the breakfast service.

You should have been offered both orange juice and apple and blackcurrant juice on the ‘Breakfast’ and ‘Mid Morning’ menu. The Crew Manager has addressed the non-delivery with our supplier. I can confirm we do not offer pineapple or apple juice on our weekday menus.  The coffee served is ground and sealed for freshness prior to delivery. It is then freshly filtered and served on board.

When choosing what alcoholic drinks would be available, we looked at previous sales to determine the most popular customer choice, I’m sorry you were disappointed with our on board wine selection.

Whilst I fully appreciate your comments regarding the power sockets not being available to the aisle seats on a table for four, due to cabling constraints this enhancement would only be considered when we are overhauling the interior of our First Class carriages. This is a good point and one which definitely will be considered when the fleet is next refurbished.

I was quite surprised you could not find a menu on the table, every service I have travelled on has a menu (with our new branding on) on each table. Having checked this after I received your email, the train in question did have menus available on each table.

Although I understand the journey between King’s Cross and Aberdeen does transgress into what would be considered to be evening meal time, it was decided that the ‘All day’ menu offer, both hot and cold options, were sufficient for our customers. With each commercial decision, we must ensure the offer we provide is viable to us as a business. Of course we need to balance this decision with the needs of our customers.  The sandwich option should have been a full sandwich garnished with crisps and salad, followed by cake or fruit if desired. This has been brought to the attention of the Crew Managers and is being addressed with all on-board crews. Your comment regarding the hot variety and portions has been noted and will be considered when we next review the menus.

We have four menu rotations a month (each Wednesday), so we can ensure variety for our regular travellers. The cakes you describe are from two different rotations and would not be available at the same time. This is the same for the Greek yoghurt on the ‘Breakfast’ menu.

I take your comment regarding the serving ‘Afternoon Tea’ on our 14:00 King’s Cross departure and this is being considered as part of an overall review, currently taking place, of the offer we provide on each service.

In conclusion, I can only say that I am sorry for the number of issues you experienced on board and cannot argue with the points you raised. There are reasons why these issues occurred, although I fully appreciate that these are of no concern to you, in fact you wanted the complimentary service advertised.  The changes to the First Class offer were the biggest we’ve ever made and inevitably we have experienced some inconsistency with the food availability as you’ve described in your letter.  We recognise that an integral part of the First Class offer is delivering a high standard of personal service, every time. As such, we have invested in a significant customer service training programme that our entire customer facing on-board team has now attended.

Your feedback is important and has been passed on to the managers of the crew involved.  Thank you once again for writing to me and allowing me to personally respond. I hope you will continue to be a valued First Class customer of East Coast.  We can do better than this (and do on a regular basis) and I hope we can prove that to you one day.

 

Your recent advertising campaign to try out East Coast’s new First Class offering for £25 seemed too good to be true, so I was initially delighted when I was able to book a round trip from London to the north of Scotland. As a connoisseur of rail travel, I was genuinely looking forward to spending a couple of days using your trains as a ‘mobile office’ while glamorous assistants attended to my every need.

Having now just completed the journeys (Kings Cross to Aberdeen on the 1400 service, 26 July; Inverness to Kings Cross on the 0755 service, 27 July), I would like to respond to your original ‘25 reasons’ email with details of my own experience.

1. Our fantastic £25 one-way fare for travel across the East Coast route

The £25 fare is undeniably good value. Are there any plans to run the promotion again? I feel that I may be able to persuade others to partake on the strength of the recommendations that follow.

2. Enjoy a genuinely warm welcome the moment you step on board

I wasn’t specifically welcomed on board either train that I used. Nor even greeted, in fact. No-one said ‘hello’ or helped me find my seat. There were no newspapers – not even an East Coast magazine – on either train. Coffee (of sorts) was served within three minutes of departing London, though, which was quite welcome.

3. Stretch out in your roomy, reclining seat and watch the beautiful East Coast scenery pass by

The table for four on the return journey was amply proportioned, but the table for two on the outward journey was surprisingly cramped for those of us who are blessed with a full complement of legs.

4. Spread your newspaper, computer, books or magazines on the table and relax in comfort with that extra leg room

There was only just room for an average-sized laptop on the outward journey (table for two). The ride quality was poor, especially on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross between Edinburgh and York. Are you also trialling a new type of wheel on your trains? Of a pentagonal design? With no table cloths, the crockery was sliding all over the place.

5. Take time to enjoy the calm and peace of the First Class Quiet Coach

I wasn’t in the Quiet Coach for either leg, but I did observe train crew laughing and joking loudly with platform attendants about the under-staffing on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross. The crew change at Newcastle appeared to introduce characters from the cast of Fawlty Towers, one of whom was to be heard shouting ‘don’t you start, bloody woman’ from the vestibule. Sadly I didn’t hear the punchline.

6. Relax and tuck into one of our vegetarian breakfasts

Was not available on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross. Although, to be fair, I didn’t spot many people clad in hemp.

7. Opt for a hearty full English instead

Was not available on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross. Staff were very matter-of-fact about this, not especially apologetic. Although, to be fair, they were predominantly Scottish and may not have appreciated the south-of-the-border reference.

It is particularly annoying that the absence of breakfast service was not advised to passengers prior to boarding. If it had been, there would have been an opportunity to buy a half-decent breakfast on Inverness station. It is very poor customer service not to admit to serious deficiencies until after departure when this must surely have been known about. I note that the departure boards en route failed to mention any issues with the catering either.

Denying a man bacon that has been previously promised is, I’m sure you’ll agree, a discomfiting precedent and one that would be viewed dimly by, say, the European Court of Human Rights.

8. Or be virtuous and choose a healthy breakfast of Greek yoghurt with fruit compote and granola

Was not available on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross. Although, to be fair, I didn’t spot many Greeks.

9. Whatever you choose, enjoy it served to you at your seat

Due to ‘being understaffed’, there was only a choice of bacon or sausage sandwiches – and only then after a stomach-rumblingly long wait. The bread was not toasted and the filling was not remotely warm. A far cry from the feast of bacon, egg, sausage, tomato, mushroom and potato cake that had been promised. And not even hot toast available. How many staff does the breakfast service require? There didn’t seem to be a shortage of bodies.

10. Alongside a nice cold glass of fresh fruit juice

The orange juice was nice, cold and in a glass. I faintly recall apple juice (and pineapple juice?) being available before the changes to the service provision though.

11. Sip a cup of freshly-ground coffee or English Breakfast tea

Are you sure the coffee is ‘freshly ground’? It didn’t smell like it to me, and it tasted suspiciously like something that Anthony Head might have promoted before he took up vampire slaying.

12. Admire stunning East Coast scenery framed by your window

This was indeed admirable, although I’m not sure East Coast can take all the credit for that…

13. Nibble complimentary snacks and refreshments

I’ll allow ‘nibble’.

14. Indulge yourself with a complimentary glass of Sauvignon Blanc

This was available – but there used to be a whole wine list before the ‘improvements’.

15. Email your friends to tell them how great your journey is with free Wi-Fi

The wi-fi worked well, although seemed to think I was in Sweden. Aldrig åtanke! I would have been able to work profitably for the duration, had I not been so moved by my experiences that I was compelled to write this riposte.

16. Revive your laptop by hooking it up to the power socket

This worked well. Not so good if you’re sitting in the aisle seats of the tables for four, where such facilities did not appear to exist.

17. Peruse the menu and choose your complimentary lunch

There were no menus to peruse (or make paper aeroplanes with) on the 0755 Inverness – Kings Cross, despite a verbal announcement advising customers to consult them for details. The menus on the 1400 Kings Cross – Aberdeen raised high hopes in the anticipation of a proper sausage-and-mash dinner with lemon cheesecake to follow. Sadly, this proved not to be one of the trains that said ‘evening meal’ is served on, despite the journey running right through what most people would consider to be dinner time. Do you not have dinner until after 9:30pm? How do you survive?

18. Again, served to you at your seat

Not really a ‘reason’, I’d venture. If only you’d made it a £10 offer, you wouldn’t have had to conjure up so many reasons. Hindsight, eh?

19. Choose from a selection of mouth-watering sandwiches

The crew were offering two small triangles of a sandwich, which didn’t really satisfy the appetite of someone who had earlier been denied their full cooked breakfast! Someone sitting nearby had the temerity to ask for more, in a scene reminiscent of Oliver Twist. I’m not sure that I saw them again after that.

20. Or a delicious hot meal

The ‘hot meal’ on offer northbound was actually a lukewarm-ish ‘cauliflower cheese tart’ – with no discernable trace of cauliflower. It was served with a light flurry of dressed leaves, which was very disappointing. A snack – yes. A hot meal – absolutely not. Had it been served with new potatoes and French beans, for example, or a decent hunk of warm bread, it would have been far more suited to the task. Both the Aberdeen and Inverness journeys are in excess of 7 hours long – a substantial meal is a necessity.

The ‘hot meal’ offered southbound was something called beetroot risotto. The name alone was sufficient to put me off, although the person sitting opposite me was clearly of a braver disposition. It looked worse than it sounded, and my unknown companion pushed it around the plate for a while before going in search of something from the buffet car.

21. And finish your meal off with a tempting slice of cake

This was quite tasty. I’m not usually a fruit cake fan, but the spiced cake concoction was admittedly pleasant.

22. Treat yourself to one of our National Trust-inspired creations – like our handmade Nunnington Spiced Fruit Loaf

Is there an echo in here? See 21.

23. Have just one more bite of our delightful Marmalade Cake

No sign of that on either leg of my journey. Would be more appropriate for First Great Western services to/from Paddington anyway.

24. Or lick your lips at the thought of a complimentary scone oozing with strawberry jam and cream

The thought of a scone oozing with jam and cream was as close to reality as I got. Which ‘selected services’ are these mythical scones served on? It’s impossible to tell from the menu and/or the timetable. Who ‘selects’ them? I thought the 1400 departure from Kings Cross would be the ideal timing for afternoon tea… alas I was very much mistaken.

25. Immerse yourself in culture along a route that covers some of the UK’s most historic and beautiful cities

Not sure East Coast can take the credit there either, but a tantalising bit of PR spin I grant you.

In summary, as you will probably have gathered, I am not a convert to your revised First Class arrangements. The ability to order hot, freshly prepared meals in the restaurant car and from the at-seat dining service is a sad loss. The replacement offering is, if my two experiences are representative, poorly executed and inadequate.

To conclude, if you’d like me to help with your next ‘25 reasons’ campaign, my rates are very reasonable. But you must excuse me for now as I duck into Burger King on Kings Cross station. Having just got off one of your trains, I am hungry.

Never mind the News International fiasco, or the devastating famine in the Horn of Africa. Nor even the revelation that Colonel Gadaffi might be prepared to relinquish control of Libya.

We, the British public, are apparently not interested. Not when there’s a daft owl about.

The most-shared story on the BBC website for the last two days: a tawny member of the strigiforme species who has apparently flown at full pelt into somebody’s living room window in Cumbria.

How much money has been wasted on phone-hacking and police bribes, when all we really care about is animals doing peculiar things?

Unless, of course, the Murdoch empire has paid said owl to perform the act as a distraction tactic. In which case, the owl might not be quite as stupid as we think…

A week is a long time in politics. Last Sunday, the News of the World was Britain’s best-selling newspaper – with possibly the largest circulation of any English language journal. Today, it has been consigned to history. Inevitable, I suspect, given the number of companies who refused to place adverts to avoid sullying their own reputation. In fact, it seems that News International couldn’t even give the slots away. The Salvation Army and other major charities reportedly declined the offer of free advertising in today’s last-ever edition.

The revelations of phone hacking, allegations of police bribery and other journalistic impropriety are now well documented, and it seems likely that more dirt is yet to be ditched. We may never know precisely why the plug was pulled on the paper or exactly who knew what was going on. Nevertheless, whatever the outcome of the various investigations, News International is going to have to work very hard to regain the trust and respect of readers and advertisers.

After visiting Alton’s Food Festival yesterday, I popped in to a newsagents on my way back to the station. As I waited patiently to pay for my Coke, I overheard the chap at the head of the queue. ’Please could you cancel my Sunday Times and deliver the Sunday Telegraph from now on?’ The assistant didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I don’t want any more of my money going to Murdoch,’ the guy continued.

But it’s not just Rupert Murdoch, News International or the outgoing News of the World team who have faced pressures to push the boundaries of what might be considered acceptable. Remember the furore about the misleadingly edited BBC documentary about the Queen a couple of years ago?

Journalists exist primarily to sell newspapers or boost TV/radio ratings. It is a highly competitive business, and News International found a successful recipe – even if it was a morally and ethically dubious one. Everyone is after the next scoop or exclusive that will give their title (and career) a boost. Reporters need to be creative and resourceful in finding the best way to sniff our the story that their readers, listeners or viewers will be interested in. And it can be in the public interest, on occasion, to adopt unconventional methods to get to the truth.

There are great pressures, too, on press officers and communications teams employed by companies and charities to achieve positive media coverage. Millions of pounds are spent nationally on placing articles and features into appropriate publications and broadcasts, and to try to ameliorate negative coverage. It can be difficult to strike the right balance between a glowing corporate ‘puff’ piece and something which may be more honest but might alert a savvy journalist to a darker story lurking beneath the surface.

Integrity of communication is one of the primary reasons we left Thailand last summer – and it was a very tough call. Jesus calls us to purity and honesty in straightforward terms: ‘Simply let your “Yes” be “Yes” and your “No”, “No”; anything beyond this comes from the evil one’ (Matthew 5:37). When we’re being put in a position where that is not encouraged, the alarm bells should be ringing. And a decent journalist – of which there are lots of fine upstanding examples - can be valuable in our human quest for truth. Curiously, those who do wrong tend not to enjoy the publicity.

I’ll give the final word to Jesus’ brother James:

‘Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry,
for man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires.
Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent, and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.’

James 1:19-21

I can’t recall having done a Day In The Life type report since returning from Thailand, so here’s a run-down of Saturday’s fun and games…

Stupid o’clock Woke up. Blearily looked at clock. Remembered it was Saturday. Dozed off again.

Can’t remember o’clock Woke up again. Decided to get up this time.

9:00am Checked car over. Counted number of wheels and noted than number was easily divisible by two. Poked stick into place where oil should be. Oil was. Turned on all manner of switches and knobs, in attempt to recreate Blackpool Illuminations in automotive form. Noted that everything was chipper. Circumnavigated vehicle attempting to tap things like knowledgeable chap who knows his sump from his sprockets (neighbours were watching). Nothing appeared to be falling off, ergo car passed DIY MOT with flying colours.

9:40am Proceeded to friend Lou’s house in Alton for morning coffee. Most convivial. Managed not to spill any this time.

11:05am Drove from Alton to Wokingham, bemoaning the absence of the ‘perfect summer’s day’ that over-enthusiastic weather forecasters had been promising. Stepped up windscreen wiper speed from ‘drizzle’ to ‘light rain’.

11:20am Helicopter warning sign on approach to RAF Odiham proved to be staggeringly accurate. Low flying Chinook made an impressively loud entrance.

12:01pm Arrived at parental abode in bucolic Berkshire. Noted from trail of soft toys that niece was in residence.

12:03pm Drafted in to fix parental computer, on which Skype has petulantly decided to follow a path of non-cooperation. Auntie Sarah got to play with niece instead.

12:20pm Crisis averted. Reinstalled Skype. World back to rights.

12:30pm Rewarded with sausagemeat bap and fried onions. Hurrah for mothers!

12:37pm Offered second round of sausagemeat bap and fried onion. Could not refuse. Nom.

2:40pm Mooched off to Grays Farm pick-your-own emporium with sister, brother-in-law and niece.

2:45pm First stop: gooseberries. Introduced Imogen to the concept of picking the fruit rather than the leaves. Gooseberry studied for 2.1 seconds before being popped into inquisitive mouth. Deemed favourable.

2:46pm Gooseberries considered a great hit. Auntie Sarah’s harvesting assisted by Imogen, though feasting is the preferred order of the day.

3:00pm Moved on to raspberry canes. Fruit was largely out of toddler range, though Imogen spotted accessible fruit enthusiastically. Berries devoured.

3:30pm Discovered that strawberries are much more toddler-friendly. Then discovered sign saying ‘do not pick’. Oops.

4:00pm Found play area (Imogen), farm shop (Sarah) and free drinks (me).

4:15pm Headed off to Chez Sister in Charvil for evening meal and childhood reminiscing (to remain firmly off the record unless Mrs Giles sneaks in some inappropriate tweets, suffice to say that antics of young Gileses appeared to baffle and entertain the married-in members of the group in equal measure). Menu included fabled beef-and-ale casserole with herby dumplings; pudding consisted of meringue nests filled with aforementioned fruit and judicious splodge of cream.

10pm Home. Readied music for Sunday morning. Bed.

Readers of Giles News will be familiar with the Christmas summary of railway lines I have travelled on for the first time in the preceding twelve months. As I’ve covered all of the UK national passenger network (and most of Thailand), entries are becoming increasingly obscure – such as the carriage wash at East Ham depot. Few of the tracks are likely to be quite as short-lived as yesterday’s venture though…

As part of the annual Four Marks Village Picnic (which is more of a fête really, not much picnicking occurs), local groups put on a range of activities. The Scouts put on a barbecue, the WI have a cake stall, the Rotarians do something with rotas (although I may have made that last bit up). And our church, as the co-ordinating entity, stage a variety of sideshows. Including a miniature railway.

A combination of char-grilled burgers, dainty cupcakes and train driving is, clearly, impossible to resist. So when church member Chris (owner of the aforementioned railway) issued a request for help, I was first in line. Preparations began a couple of weeks ago, with a visit to the railway in situ in Chris’s garden. Driver training followed, as I’d not driven his 5-inch gauge Baby Deltic before. Despite its diminutive size, the loco is surprisingly powerful – having a windscreen wiper motor on each of four axles. Stopping the train at an exact location requires considerable practice, so I took the train for a several jaunts on the scenic route from the front door, through the side gate, past the recycling bins, along the floral borders and over the trailing points which lead to the washing-line-and-shrubbery branch before terminating on the patio. Derailments: several. Buffer collisions: two. Casualties: none.

On Saturday (while Sarah was on her way back from delighting the denizens of Salisbury with her morris dancing magic), I was in railway deconstruction mode, loading up a trailer with various track panels, sleepers, fishplates and the like. The weather, it must be said, did not look promising.

As the big day arrived on Sunday, ominous black clouds loomed dangerously. A game of football was still in progress on Four Marks rec as Sarah and I arrived to help Chris at the appointed hour. ‘It appears to be the longest game ever,’ he sighed, ‘they’ve been playing for an hour and a half and haven’t changed ends yet.’ The match continued for at least another hour as we set to unloading the trailer and beginning to lay out the track work. As the morning progressed, we were assisted by various other Davids and an Andy (thank you).

By 2pm, we’d assembled everything, tightened all the nuts and bolts, staked out a safety fence and even erected a gazebo to act as the station. Good work. Meanwhile, other members of the church were blowing up balloons and getting their own attractions ready. After a quick lunch courtesy of the Scouts and WI, we ran a couple of loaded test trains to ensure that all was in order. (It may seem like overkill, but the operating instructions for the railway – required by the insurance company – are akin to mainline standards in many respects.)

Seeing the train in action and with other attractions on the verge of readiness, children started arriving for rides – even before the official start of proceedings. How could we say no? Over the course of the afternoon, we ran almost continuous shuttles for the delighted passengers. I am pleased to say that I kept an entirely clean sheet on the buffer-kissing front. Here is Engine Driver Giles in action, with our goddaughter Naomi enjoying a ride…

The weather, miraculously, stayed dry and actually brightened up considerably during the day. Alas for the other track gricers among you, disassembly took place just after 5:30pm (and took considerably less time than construction). However, I shall be repeating my driving antics for the lucky children at Four Marks School this week. I’m not sure who is looking forward to it more – them or me!

Sunday was a day of several new experiences, starting with the opportunity to ‘publish’ some banns of marriage.

According to The Rota, I was down to lead the morning service at our church. Our vicar, wisely, was on holiday. But with three couples (including our friends Matt and Hannah) getting married in the not-too-distant future, the banns needed to be read. Mercifully, there were no objections at the critical moments – which was just as well as no-one seemed entirely sure what was supposed to happen in such circumstances. Bann-ishment, perhaps?

After church and a quick change into (very) wet weather gear, we nipped off to Middle Farm in Cheriton with our friends Lou, Ralph and Lucy. The farm had thrown open its (barn) doors as part of Open Farm Sunday. We had been lured there by the promise of a hog roast, barbecue and home made cakes along with other delights such as cider tasting, sausage-making and honey sampling. And because we like supporting our local producers. Being free influenced the decision too.

Surprisingly, given the unrelenting rain, the event was well attended. Once we’d munched our way through the foody delights, we visited the animals: sheep, cows, pigs and ducks. I was particularly smitten with Sandra, a cheeky little calf who caught my eye.

 

At 2pm, we (by which I mean humans AND cows) filed in to the high-tech milking parlour for some of the farm’s daily 5700 litres of milk to be collected. Following this, we were able to milk a virtual cow ourselves, the old-fashioned way. Sarah proved to be something of an expert at the technique. Neither of us, however, were terribly keen on partaking of the virtual calving – which appeared to involve some of the same redcurrant sauce that we’d earlier applied to our barbecue baps. A hands-on approach to artificial insemination was deftly avoided too. Sh-udder.

After a further visit to the tea-barn, we decided it was probably time to go home and dry out. But should you have any need of a banns-reader or cow-milker in the near future, you know who to call.

Readers may be aware that I have another blog where I mainly write about work-related stuff (I think it’s best I spare my potential clients the morris dancing stories).  :)

Today for a change there is a post about scrapbooking (yippee) so nip on over there if you’d like a look.

I have recently had a birthday and am now officially middle-aged. If you need proof of this assertion, here it comes: I spent said birthday at a folk festival, morris dancing and spending too long in the musical instrument shop-tent, during which I decided I would like to play the melodion, also known as a diatonic button accordian, if you prefer.

 

My husband is gently trying to talk me out of the melodion idea, primarily on the basis that I will be unable to accompany carol-singing, as most Christmas carols are in F. I’d get an instrument that plays only G and D, because I am English, and English morris dancing tunes are almost all in G. You can read more about melodions, their quirky key restrictions and national preferences for particular keys here. (If you happen to have a second hand wooden G/D melodion for sale, do let me know.)

But I digress.

We spent the weekend in the vicinity of Chippenham, installed in a very pleasant B&B in the village of Biddestone. The village is lovely – all Cotswold stone cottages. It also has two pubs, a pond and a Norman church, like another marvellous village of my acquaintance. (Hurrah.)

I had two birthday cakes: one knitted by my very clever friend Lou, and one purchased by my husband (who has not yet passed his knitting proficiency badge, though he is learning).

Here is Lou’s fabulous Knitted Cake of Wonder…

 

…and here is Mr Giles’s more edible offering.

 

I also had a few Very Pleasing Gift Items. Here I am opening one of these items (note the well-practised ‘surprised’ face). 

 

The item is a yogurt-maker, which had been on my wish list for a while. I told you I was getting old.

The rest of the weekend was taken up with delights including a trip on the Avon Valley Railway, scene of a rather pleasing pun on my part. I’m afraid a modicum of railway knowledge is required, and it’s a visual joke, so might not work all that well in writing. However, here goes. I leaned over, as if passing a item from a train window. ‘What’s this?’ I asked my unsuspecting husband. ‘A token gesture!’ (Explanation here for the confused.)

Dave’s joke of the weekend was to exclaim, a little too loudly, that his poultry-based dinner at the Biddestone Arms was ‘fowl’. This prompted a rapid check from the waitress that everything was OK, and the already quite amusing comment was elevated to the cause of uncontrollable mirth from both of us for the rest of the evening.

We also met up with our friend Darren at the festival. While I was doing this (don’t we look cheery?!)…

he was doing this…

…but we did occasionally manage to exchange tales of morris dancing merriment.

 

We are now back home and tending to our very productive garden, of which more tales of munching anon.

I had a hair cut this morning. Not a promising start to a blog post, admittedly.

The service provided by the attractive blonde hairdresser was efficient and friendly. All the while, we enjoyed a most enjoyable chat – flirtatious even. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I quite fancy her and I’m pretty sure it’s mutual… after all, the trim was offered free. (Before you call the Relate hotline, don’t panic… it was Sarah wielding the scissors.)

Admiring her freshly-shorn husband, Sarah decided that she too needed her hair sorting out. Curiously, she was less than enthusiastic about me reciprocating with the hedge trimmer; I have yet to hear a satisfactory explanation as to why. So, furtive phone calls were made. Hushed tones were the order of the day, presumably so that I couldn’t hear how much the exercise was costing.

A proud-looking Mrs Giles emerged from her teleconference shortly afterwards, announcing that she’d opted for the ‘cheaper’ stylist at her preferred salon. This is the point at which my eyebrows (which had not been affected by the earlier pruning) began to rise. A ‘cheaper’ stylist? What does that even mean? ‘It’s about seniority,’ explained Mrs Giles. My eyebrows continued on their journey north.

‘But, but,’ I protested. ’You don’t walk into McDonald’s and receive your meal cheaper because the server happened to have one star instead of five.’ Wisely, Mrs Giles declined to comment that she’d prefer not to eat under the glow of the Golden Arches at all.

‘You don’t pay more at the garage because the mechanic happens to be higher up the pay scale,’ I continued. In vain. ‘Well, it’s different,’ said Sarah.

Evidently.

But there was more to come.

A couple of hours before the ‘cheaper’ appointment, Mrs Giles decided that it was time to wash her hair. I adopted a very un-manly high-pitched tone. ‘Wash your hair?’ I shrieked, terrifying all the dogs in the neighbourhood. ‘You’re about to go to the hairdresser! They will wash your hair. With… product.’

‘But I can’t go like this…’ came the response, as if the reasons were plain.

Sarah has now returned, and her hair is resplendent. I think I might have slightly overdone the ‘nice hair’ routine, but you can’t be too careful. Nevertheless, I struggle to appreciate why women’s hair treatments cost at least ten times more than men’s, or why there is ‘getting ready’ to be done. Women: can you help me to understand? (Men: I’m not discriminating, but you probably don’t know either…)

Never mind all the superstitious claptrap associated with Friday 13th. Despite keeping clear of ladders and black cats (any cats), Thursday 12th was a Bad Day for the Gileses.

It started promisingly enough, with an unexpected rebate from a train company who let us down in February. Ker-ching. But by late morning, Sarah had received a phone call from the estate agent who is supposed to be selling our house. ‘Bad news’, said the office junior, without any convincing glimmer of empathy. ‘The buyer has decided to pull out.’

Our attempts to reason with our now non-buyer didn’t get very far. The decision had been made. It is, of course, the buyer’s prerogative… but how dishonourable to change one’s mind without the merest hint of suggesting that all is not well. Then, with indecent haste, our estate agent unilaterally decided to inform the agents of the house we were on the cusp of buying to appraise them of the ‘problem’. Needless to say, we had a phone call from them very shortly afterwards. The latter company, it must be said, behaved in a rather more gentlemanly manner and offered us a couple of hours to come up with a Plan B. But, like the vast majority of housebuyers, the Gileses do not have a couple of hundred thousand pounds sitting idly in a savings account just in case somebody decides to let us down.

The result? The house that we’ve been becoming very fond of and emotionally attached to for the last few weeks is now going back on the market. We have spent the best part of £1000 (solicitor fees, searches, mortgage valuations…) and for nothing. Ker-ching in the wrong direction. Back to square one. Or square minus-a-thousand.

We are, in short, distinctly miffed. And all because someone changed their mind in a byzantine system that appears to allow that without the hapless sellers having any recourse whatsoever.

You can’t have failed to hear about Osama Bin Laden’s demise unless you’ve been hiding in a cave (and, as it turns out, he wasn’t). Heading the USA’s ‘most wanted’ list for the best part of a decade, he had become truly infamous – the weirdy beardy hate figure that personified the dual evils of terrorism and religious extremism.

George ‘Dubya’ Bush’s war on terror specifically defined Bin Laden as a threat to be ‘neutralised’, along with the Al-Qaeda organisation that Bin Laden fronted. Much has been written about the horrific acts that appear to have been authorised by Bin Laden, and his incitement to ‘fellow’ Muslims to take up a ‘holy war’ against the west seems to have developed a new tranche of radical followers. Suicide bombings in the US and UK have been a shocking manifestation of this.

As the news unfolded this morning, the news channels have included much footage of jubilant Americans celebrating Bin Laden’s death. The chanting crowds outside the White House were unsettling to watch, as they apparently failed to realise that their actions were echoing the equally inappropriate scenes of Bin Laden supporters cheering the success of 9/11. Even our own prime minister, David Cameron, announced that the special forces operation would bring ‘great relief to people across the world’. I’m not so sure about that. Al-Qaeda is not just a Middle East based think tank. Someone somewhere will already be planning an act to avenge the assassination of their leader. The ‘holy war’ will, I suspect, go on. Only this time, there won’t be a frightening-but-familiar face to attribute the wrongdoing to.

The Muslim Council of Great Britain have shown great wisdom in putting out a press release today. It concludes with these words:

Al-Qaeda’s ability to sow discord and mistrust between Muslims and others has caused untold damage. We must restore our belief in human dignity and peace by ensuring that we stand firm against all forms of hatred, injustices and violence.

Amen. Peace-making is something that Christians should get wholeheartedly behind too. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ is central to Jesus’ teachings in the sermon on the mount (Matthew 5), and the theme is picked up again by his brother James: ‘Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterised by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honour’ (James 3:17-18, The Message). ‘Getting on with each other’ probably doesn’t involve gloating over deaths or celebrating other mishaps.

Before we get our wagging fingers out, we would be best advised to get our own house in order. After all, the church is not exempt from having its own extreme, unrepresentative and, frankly, mad factions. There are people who claim to be Christians yet spout the most ungodly drivel in the name of their warped faith. Those who speak with a voice that is distinctly unChristian. Anyone, for example, who adopts ‘God hates [insert people group to be persecuted here]‘ as the slogan for their ill-conceived pressure group does not speak for me – or God. God hates sin, but certainly doesn’t hate sinners. If he did, we’d all have something far worse than Al-Qaeda to fret about.

It’s been a busy weekend for Minden Rose, my morris dancing side.

Friday was my debut as we danced at the Castle of Comfort pub in Medstead.

Yesterday, I walked alone in costume through the village with my bells heralding my arrival, to the amusement of the neighbours. The team met at Four Marks station and then danced at every station on the Watercress Line (Four Marks, Alresford, Ropley and Alton), and also on the train itself.  Here are a couple of videos to prove it.

Dancing ‘Mrs Heppell’ at Alresford station:

Dancing ‘Dummer’ in the guard’s van:

This afternoon we’re dancing at Treloars school fete in Froyle from about 3.15. Do feel free to come and see, or make plans to avoid the area. :)