Guild meeting.....Fr Z, Tom Peters, Rocco Palmo.....

Michael Voris......unfortunately won't be there...but you could be!

        THE NEXT GUILD MEETING ON 15TH SEPTEMBER AT 10.30AM

The Dark Knight Rises

Christopher Nolan should learn how to end movies. The Dark Knight and Inception both have enjoyable setups before collapsing in ill-conceived third acts. The Dark Knight Rises continues this trend: an excellent first hour, middling second act, and tedious finale. Pity, as this ambitious blockbuster nearly achieves superhero greatness.

Eight years after Harvey Dent's death, Bruce Wayne lives as a recluse and Gotham is nearly crime-free. When Wayne catches burglar Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway) stealing his fingerprints, he's intrigued enough to come out of hiding. Kyle (Catwoman) is working for Bane (Tom Hardy), a hulking mercenary with ties to the League of Shadows. Bane defeats Batman and takes over Gotham, using a jerry-rigged A-bomb to impose a tyrannical regime. While Batman slowly recovers, Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) and rookie cop Blake (Joseph Gordon-Leavitt) organize resistance to Bane's regime.

The Dark Knight Rises starts off swimmingly, with a thrilling midair action scene and respectable exposition. Nolan provides humor and playfulness previously lacking in this series, especially with Catwoman on the prowl. Yet he also allows the gravity of the situation to sink in. Compared to the Joker's existential threat, Bane makes a credibly nasty villain, at least early on. Alfred's (Michael Caine) growing despair over Bruce's lifestyle adds genuine pathos.

Indeed, Bruce is the film's greatest strength. Nolan scores points showing Wayne beaten down, physically and mentally, by years of crime fighting. A fusion generator designed to "save the world" ruined him financially and falls into Bane's hands. He still can't get over Rachel and is drawn too easily to both Selina and businesswoman Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard), ignoring their obvious agendas. Then his less-than-great physical condition makes him an easy mark for Bane. This makes his redemption extremely satisfying. No longer overshadowed by villains, Nolan's Batman finally becomes compelling in his own right.

Then Nolan takes an abrupt turn into bizarre political commentary. Bane turns Gotham into a Jacobin society, with roving death squads and show trials for the rich and powerful. Co-opting French Revolution/Khmer Rouge imagery for a superhero flick is either inspired or crass. Regardless, these scenes drag on far too long, producing not suspense but frustration as we wait for Batman's inevitable return.

Predictably, later sequences amp up the action. The rumble at City Hall is fun but the chase scene is mind-numbing; we've already had two so why bother? The cast gets gypped, with Catwoman switching sides for no reason and not one, but two cringe-worthy character reveals. In the rush to a climax, certain plot elements are overlooked, like why the villains leave thousands of cops alive, with guns, after taking over the city. Batman flying a nuke into the sunset would be more effective if The Avengers hadn't come out two months ago.

Christian Bale enjoys the chance to finally show some acting range. Tom Hardy is an imposing villain (inexplicable Scots brogue and all) despite facile attempts at humanizing him. Anne Hathaway makes an agreeably sultry Catwoman, but her last-minute change of heart is unconvincing. Michael Caine finally transcends snarky sidekick shtick and becomes a poignant figure.

Nolan reassembles his stock company: not only regulars Caine, Cillian Murphy, Gary Oldman, and Morgan Freeman but Hardy, Joseph Gordon-Leavitt and Marion Cotillard from Inception return. Sadly, aside from Hardy and Caine none make much impression. Cotillard is particularly ill-served, existing solely for her "shocking" revelation. Buried deeper in the cast list are Tom Conti, Juno Temple, Matthew Modine and William Devane.

The Dark Knight Rises is another victim of Christopher Nolan Syndrome. It's fun for awhile, and I at least got a kick out of the familiar Pittsburgh locales. But at nearly three hours long it runs out of steam, resulting in another uneven outing for the Caped Crusader.

"Brick by brick" is too slow

At least, it’s too slow in Englandand Wales.

There is rather an air of defeatism in the blogosphere at present.

 The Church seems to be in ‘one step forward, two steps back' mode and that is not good.  

Of course, some will say that it’s all in the hands of Almighty God and that the Holy Spirit will act as and when it is deemed appropriate.

But that doesn’t stem the desire to get things moving, to see some real advances being made in the face of secular governments intent on destroying Faith and Family.

And, of course, when governments attack the Church it’s like a wild beast savaging a dumb animal, it is a signal for all and sundry to join in; the eroticists, humanists, atheists and the rest of the hyenas and jackals.

And who will watch the watchers? Who challenges the Bishops of England and Wales on vital matters?

Is there, I wonder, a need for a ‘society’ type of structure to organise and lobby, to promote orthodoxy and to confront both society and the wayward Bishops?

We do not have (in Englandand Wales) any form of organised and cohesive action group to take on matters of liturgical abuse, wilful actions by the Bishops or the re-evangelisation of the bulk of Catholics in the pews.

We do have individual recourse to both the Papal Nuncio and to Rome but, with the best will in the world, it’s rather like stuffing a message in a bottle and chucking it into the ocean.

You may get a response but it could take years and will undoubtedly be from the wrong person!

It is not uncharitable to describe the bulk of Catholics in England and Wales as being ignorant. It is a fact and one that should worry the Church authorities.

It is not wilful ignorance so much as institutionalised ignorance where all fundamental knowledge has been eradicated or overlooked.

Catholic bloggers live in a rather sense heightened world, we have Catholic news and information at our fingertips and, within seconds, we can view events and happenings in both the Catholic and the secular world.

But ask an average Catholic if they ever read a blog let alone a Catholic one and you will be met with a blank stare.

Ask them about the Holy Father’s Moto Proprio or what is meant by “Extraordinary Form” and you will receive more of the same.

Take this a few steps further and explain that reception of Holy Communion by hand is only available on an indult basis and you will probably be booted out of the door.

Of course, there is no particular reason why the Catholic layman or woman should read Catholic blogs but, if their only source of current Church affairs is from The Tablet and The Catholic Times…you get my drift.

In addition we have genuine corporate amnesia with regard to the changes and effects that have taken place since the early 1970s and their relationship to what went on before the Second Vatican Council.

And, of course, the bulk of Catholics have known nothing more than what they have been fed upon for the past fifty years. No one born after 1960 can have much experienced based concept of the pre Vatican II version of Catholic social and spiritual life.

So what issues would such an organisation tackle?

Here are the five main areas:-

1. Catholic Education or, rather, the lack of it
2. Re-evangelising the Faithful
3. Confronting the Bishops (unswervingly but charitably)
4. Developing Latin Mass centres
5. Social Teaching and Justice

There may be other areas and you may reasonably argue with regard to other points but this is a start.

But, as to how it could be achieved…….that is for another post (unless anyone cares to suggest a path forward?).

That Olympics Opening Ceremony: The Message

Britain's history really starts with the industrial revolution. 

We'd rather forget about its Christian heritage before we stepped in. Don't worry, we'll deal with that.

The architects of this revolution were heroes in top hats. These were rich men. 

Prior to this Britain was built upon family life in a rural 'green and pleasant land'.

We tore this up.

We turned people into economic cogs in a massive industrial machine.

We gave the World the Beatles, the Stones, David Bowie, the NHS, the doctrine of multiculturalism and unbridled war.

We destroyed your idyll, ripped up the family and atomised the entire society.

You now know this as 'progress'.

But we gave you the internet and now you have a lot of fun, internet and can share images with your friends on your mobile phones.

We are the Freemasons.

The past, the present and the future belong to us.

Thank you.

Enjoy the games. 

The dress code.....and no exceptions

It's rigid, inflexible, but you won't get through the door unless you abide by it:

NO JEANS!.......NO T-SHIRTS!.....NO TRAINERS!


No, that's not Church silly.

It's the Orient Express, London that runs to a host of destinations....you cannot board if you are improperly dressed.

On the lookout for shabby dress

Happy anniversary!

It's been four years since starting this blog and it's still going strong! Stronger than ever in fact, since my readership has substantially increased. I appreciate your comments and discussions, keep them coming.

Two small links to celebrate:

Reader Keir brought this excellent article on Warner Bros.' history of violence to my attention. Thanks, Keir.

On a sadder note, the great character actor R.G. Armstrong passed away. He'll always be associated with his religious psycho roles for Sam Peckinpah, especially Ride the High Country and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. He did have some sympathetic roles on his CV, including a short stint on The Rifleman and a friendly rancher in El Dorado with John Wayne. I recently disocevered he was  lifelong friends with Andy Griffith, a classmate at the University of North Carolina. RIP.

I will probably see the goddamned Batman movie tonight with friends. We tried last Thursday only to have a thunderstorm knock the theater's power! Here's hoping I can wrange a free ticket out of the theaters, or else I may have to deal out some bat-justice of my own.

Amazing Grace - both of them

Last Sunday's Missa Cantata at St Benedict's Church, Sketty, Swansea was routinely much as usual.
Totally uplifting and joyous.

I could not find yesterday's Mass on Youtube,

 but here is another fine example of the Kyrie

The choir, (the Newcastle Emlyn Schola) though few in number, sang like forty angels on full amplification, thank you.

The newly refurbished church (another step closer to orthodoxy) was beautiful yet simple and the celebrant, Fr Jason Jones, sang the Mass pitch and tone perfect, but then, he is Welsh and his vocal chords are naturally engineered to fine tenor mode.

But it was the sermon given by Fr J that really made me wake up.

As I was serving on the altar, I was, along with the two other servers, behind the priest.
Now sound systems in churches do not take account of altar servers; they are all set at the top of the aisles and are pointed, of course, to the body of the church.

We poor souls on the sanctuary are left hearing only brief snatches of clear speech.

Nevertheless, straining to comprehend the homily, I did pick up the words "Grace" and "Actual" and Sanctifying".

I often harp on about modern Catholics who have forgotten the teachings of Holy Mother Church but there was I, suddenly in the same boat being reminded of two of our most vital elements that contribute to salvation.

In overall terms, as we all know, Grace is a supernatural gift of God that enables us to believe, without doubting, whatever God has revealed.

There are two types of Grace: Actual and Sanctifying.

Sanctifying grace is a supernatural gift which is a sharing in the nature of God Himself and which raises men to the supernatural order, conferring on them powers entirely above those proper to human nature.


Actual refers to Grace bestowed upon us by Almighty God in response to our prayers or actions (reception of the sacraments, acts of charity, novenas, pilgrimages, retreats etc).

Beyond that, from Father's homily, I could not go thanks to the loudspeaker system but it did jolt me into taking a fresh look at my own spiritual programme with a view to how I could increase the flow of Grace.

My main concern is just how much Grace is bestowed upon inept MCs with crumbling knee joints?

I think that merits a shedload of Grace but then, it is not up to me.

Farewell to the King

John Milius's worst directoral effort, Farewell to the King (1989) exhibits that director's worst traits. A mixture of poor plotting, macho posturing and outsized ambition, it fails on almost every level. At the center is Nick Nolte's curious performance.

American army deserter Leoroyd (Nick Nolte) flees into the jungles of Borneo. He's taken in by a tribe of headhunters he deems the "Comanches," eventually becoming their King. In the waning days of World War II, an Allied commando team led by British Captain Fairbourne (Nigel Havers) arrives, convincing Leoroyd to wage war against Japan. But at war's end, Leoroyd's kingdom finds itself at odds with the Allies, who have their own designs on Borneo.

Farewell to the King's first strike is its dearth of originality. Milius famously provided a riff on Joseph Conrad with Apocalypse Now, and King plays like a 20th Century Lord Jim. But Milius pilfers his big set pieces from cinema favorites. He cribs entire scenes from Lawrence of Arabia and The Man Who Would Be King, leading to a boring and predictable experience. In his best work, The Wind and the Lion, Milius's tongue-in-cheek approach made cliches fresh and endearing. No such luck with the stolid, self-important King, which views repetitive action and aureate grunting as a profound statement on masculinity.

King is just sloppy storytelling. Milius claims the studio cut the film and it's easy to believe. Character and plot developments receive the most tertiary treatment, with a million threads (Fairbourne's romance with an English nurse, Learoyd's conflict between pacifism and war, British imperial designs) left dangling. Even Fairbourne's growing respect for Learoyd, the main element, seems rushed. Embarrassingly purple dialogue doesn't help either. Without strategic motivation or geographic coherence the action scenes are empty shoot-'em-ups. For all the beautiful photography and Basil Pouledoris's rousing score, King never generates interest.

Nick Nolte's performance is puzzling. In some scenes he's dead perfect, utterly believable as a social outcast who's found solace in the jungle. In others, he hams it up embarrassingly, shivering, palpating and chewing scenery like Peter O'Toole on speed. Either way he's certainly more interesting than the anemic supporting cast, with even pros like Nigel Havers (A Passage to India) and James Fox (The Servant) looking bored.

Farewell to the King just doesn't work. There's the outline of a very good movie, but its execution is unremittingly poor. Perhaps the studio ruined it, or perhaps it needed a more subtle director than He-Man Milius. Either way it's a confusing disappointment.

A personal note

Harry Brown

We've recently been saturated with a glut of violent revenge pix: The Brave One, Edge of Darkness, Gran Torino, Taken, even a Straw Dogs remake. These films generally work best as straight genre pieces. Inject them with sociological content, and you're skating on thin moral ice. Vigilantism is fine as a cinematic fantasy. As a serious statement, it's somewhere between stupid and dangerous.

Harry Brown (2009) is both pretentious and exceedingly derivative. A cross between Death Wish and Unforgiven, it might pass as middle-brow escapism if it stuck to revenge mechanics. But director Daniel Barber insists on infusing his story with ostentatious "significance" and quarter-baked social commentary. Only Michael Caine's commendable performance makes it worthwhile.

Harry Brown (Michael Caine) is a retired ex-Royal Marine who's recently lost his wife to terminal illness. When a street gang murders his friend Len (David Brown), Harry grows frustrated with the police inability to track his killers. Inevitably, Harry acquires a firearm and goes on a rampage, while the cops pursuing him (Emily Mortimer and Charlie Creed Miles) wonder if they oughtn't let him be.

Harry Brown works best as a character study. It has an intriguing protagonist, a geriatric man of action reluctantly drawn into crime fighting. But Gary Young's script sticks mostly to familiar elements, cribbing not only the plot but entire scenes from earlier revenge opuses. When Harry brutally tortures a thug, we can't help but think of Taken. If one character's big reveal is shocking, it's only because we haven't seen them enough to care.

Harry Brown has bigger fish to fry though, echoing Death Wish's sentiments that the greatest cure to societal ills is a handgun. Barber fleetingly explores London's social disquiet, most notably when a police raid triggers a violent riot. Mostly though, it's accepted that small-time thugs are best exterminated, by private citizens if the police aren't up to the task. Again I commend Zodiac for its dressing-down of these attitudes.

Barber's pretentious direction doesn't help. The movie revels in surface gloss, artsy camera work and digital splatter, but it all feels pointless show rather than organic. The biggest set piece, where Harry buys a gun from two crooks, is so drawn out and obsessed with grimy detail it becomes absurd. It's telling that the two most effective scenes - the cell phone-shot opening detailing a gang member's initiation, the riot - are detached from the main narrative.

Michael Caine singlehandedly carries the film. Watching the star of Get Carter and The Italian Job deal death to chavs is satisfying, but his character goes deeper than that. Caine never forgets to balance his heroics with humanization: one outing ends with Harry's hospitalization for emphysema. In early scenes especially, he registers more with a wounded look or tastefully-placed tears than most. Bravo Mr. Caine.

Caine's co-stars make zero impression. The lovely Emily Mortimer (Elizabeth) barely amounts to a "caring cop" cipher. Where's Helen Mirren or Geraldine Somerville when you need them? Liam Cunningham's (The Wind That Shakes the Barley) pivotal role is similarly underdeveloped. The criminals are interchangeable scum, depriving the story of any tension.

Harry Brown is effective neither as a revenge picture nor as a statement on law and order. However, it does earn a few points for Michael Caine's sterling performance.

Would you like Pope Benedict to celebrate Mass in the Extraordinary Form?

Yes, wouldn't we all.
I am sure that, like me, you are all praying fervently for this to take place, but, in accord with the maxim "God helps those who help themselves" you may now also contribute to a petition (yes, I know, another one, but this is a really good cause).

Sooner or later, in God's good time, it will happen - here is the link to the petition site........
http://www.change.org/petitions/to-the-holy-father-pope-benedict-xvi-petition-to-celebrate-a-public-mass-according-with-the-1962-missal

But also....keep up the prayers!

Did the Bishops have a hand in the Olympic opening ceremony?

I mean, it had all the hallmarks of Eccleston Square writ large over it.
Lots of flashing lights and clouds of smoke; young maidens dancing about the place and then there was the punk rock bit....just the sort of thing that their Lordships think makes them cool and trendy (see Day for Life)

And, to cap it all, it made Britain look like it was stuck in the Industrial Revolution period, cloth caps, mufflers and clogs. Great!

Various British Governments have spent fortunes in an attempt to dispel the commonly held image of Britain as a country steeped in pea souper fogs, with citizens either wearing the aforesaid apparel or deerstalker hats wandering around streets lit by gas lamps..

That is really how many Chinese and Japanese industrialists view us, a slightly comical nation with Morris Dancers outside every pub and Little Bo Peeps herding sheep through city streets.
And now, they know it is true.

The Day of Life which takes place tomorrow was originally intended as a day to reinforce the sanctity of human life when the forces of BPAS and Dignitas are hell bent on destroying it.

Only now, it's riding on the Olympics bandwagon and the promotional image of a young girl swimming has all the depth and allure of a municipal swimming baths programme.

If you can be bothered to look at the Day for Life website you can read the blurb. And blurb it is.

The thing is, I looked for a mention of "God" or something in the spiritual vein. There was nothing, it was all totally secular as far as I could see.

If you wish to prove me wrong and can direct me to where mention is made of Almighty God, then you will win a one way ticket to Pyongyang's Hotel  Dignitas.

Meanwhile, remember that Greece was the original home of the Olympics.....and of cynics.

To the barricades! Let's storm the church!

"Latin Mass at Llandovery next Sunday d'accord?"

No, not the Church, I mean the church, the Church of Our Lady in the Welsh town of Llandovery where a seagull flying overhead is a cause for intense discussion and debate.

It is a quiet town, quite pleasing in aspect, and - it's next door to the village of Llangadog, the village of three stunning pubs all within a few feet of each other.

But it's not the pubs (no, really) it is the beautiful little church that has no parish priest and is served from its larger neighbours of Llandeilo and, somewhere else (memory is getting embarrassing).

This church has no Sunday Mass. Hmm.......my brain went into second gear when I heard that fact.
No priest, no Sunday Mass - it's ripe for a take-over.

Let's do it! St Nicolas-du-Chardonnay style.

Do you remember 1977? No? Never mind, stick with me.

That was the year that a group of French Catholic families, thoroughly fed up with the liturgical bilge that was pushed in their direction, rebelled. Yes, rebelled.

They chose a church in the centre of Gay Paree (well, just Paris really, most of it is gay these days). And they stormed it, turfing out the clerical occupants and barricading the doors.

Of course they were well stocked up with all edible things French (in France, the maxim is, if it moves eat it and, even if it doesn't move, still eat it).

So they had stocks of pate, baguettes by the ton and plenty of bottles of....Chardonnay of course! Voila!

They stayed in the church for about six weeks until the secular authorities (who have jurisdiction over church property in France), caved in and granted the church of St Nicolas to the then legit SSPX.

It remains today, an absolute bastion of Catholicism, beautiful and untouched by moronic modernist hands.

But, back to Llandovery. Could we, I wonder, recreate the actions of the Catholic French and take over this  gem of a church and reserve it only for the Tridentine Latin Mass?

We would need a stock of provisions, some traditional Welsh fare, Caerphilly cheese, laverbread, salt marsh lamb and.....some curry sauce and chips! All along with a few barrels of good Welsh ale.

The forces of darkness could not compete against folk who had such stout reserves.

And then...we would await word from the Bishop. Maybe a letter stuck in the cleft of a stick and pronouncing:


" With the authority granted to me by our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, I hereby grant the Latin Mass lovers of Menevia, full use of the Church of Our Lady, Llandovery for the celebration of the Mass in the Extraordinary Form in perpetuity and furthermore state that no OF Mass of any kind, whether celebrated by clown priests, or accompanied by leotard clad maidens, shall ever take place in this holy House of God"

That would indeed be a case for a "huzzah" in fact, quite a few "huzzahs".

NB: A friend has kindly pointed out that the Paris Church is that of St Nicolas-du-Chardonnet...not Chardonnay.- I did, of course, just take a little poetic licence (ahem, and a few yellow pills).

A funeral and a sense of joy

Today we buried the mortal remains of Anthony Wilson, known to me and to others as "Mr Wilson".

He was old school, a real Catholic one might say. A Colonel of the Church Militant.

He did not suffer fools gladly and so I am modestly pleased to say that we were friends, albeit tentative ones; we lived some 80 miles apart and, other than a few words after Mass and the annual exchange of Christmas letters, our friendship rested on our shared love of the Latin Mass and rejection of all silly liturgical abuse.

Having been nominated to serve (default really as all others were at St Catherine's Trust boot camps or on holiday somewhere), I arrived in good time to size up the layout of the church and sanctuary.

The little Church of Our Lady in Llandovery is no architectural gem but it has a great amount of charm and an air of sanctity about it. I would like very much to be a parishioner there and to lobby for a Tridentine Latin Mass every Sunday (it has no parish priest being served on a shared basis by two other parishes).

Fr Jason Jones, Extraordinary Form Coordinator for the Diocese of Menevia, was the celebrant and the Newcastle Emlyn Schola sang the hauntingly beautiful Requiem Mass.

It was suffocatingly hot and the sanctuary small and made even smaller by the mandatory altar in the middle of it.
Fortescue went out the window, practicality ruled the day and I did not make too many blunders as the server (I think).

Fr Jones gave quite one of the most charitable and kind sermons I have ever heard and he set the scene for those unfamiliar with the EF Mass. No communion unless you were a Catholic and in a state of grace, and reception kneeling, if possible and on the tongue.

Except that, he didn't use those clumsy words, he was light of tongue and as likely to cause offence as a butterfly sunning itself on a warm Welsh country wall.

And, afterwards, we drove to the country graveyard where Mr Wilson was to be buried. I drove in my car through the sleepy town of Llandovery still in my cassock and cotta.
Anyone looking into the car might have thought that this was some new form of personalised greeting show; not so much a gorillagram as a servergram! Maybe they thought I would burst into someone's front room and let rip with the Missa de Angelis Credo.

I think that anyone over the age of 60 must feel a few twinges when standing at the mouth of a yawning grave. I certainly did today.
I kept thinking, in a few years time, or sooner,  that could be me being lowered into the depths.

And then, the graveside blessing and prayers and a sudden sense that I had witnessed something natural and beautiful; the end of an earthly life and, Deo volente, the beginning of an everlasting one.

One that was going to be beyond comparison with this life on earth - all is well, God is here; the Father receives his prodigal son, home for good.

We sang Salve Regina lustily (is there any other way?) and blessed the coffin and grave with holy water.

And then, and then........we adjourned to the pub (The Goose and Cuckoo) to do justice to Mr Wilson in a manner that he would have approved of (as would Chesterton and Belloc and, of course, Giraldus Cambrensis).

There is nothing like a funeral on a blistering hot day to work up a thirst and I wasted no time in downing a pint or two of.......Diet Coke (I was driving you see).

Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace Amen

L. Anthony Wilson, Meteorologist died 13th July 2012

What makes you happy?

The 2012 Office for National Statistics survey into 'happiness' (aka Cameron's lost the plot) tells us what makes us happy, how kind and thoughtful of them.

I really cannot begin to comprehend how a research organisation would set out to implement a survey of this kind.

Would they start with a high rise estate in Birmingham and find that a 72" colour television and a packet of chips is the summit of happiness on earth?

Manhattan or......

           .........Mass?  Mass, of course!                                 

Or, perhaps begin in Martha's Vineyard only to find that happiness comes in the form of a new Ferrari F430 Spyder and a Manhattan penthouse.

Methinks you would need a massive base across all socio economic groups to even get close to what makes us happy.

Sadly, the Catholic Faith or matters of Catholic interest do not feature in the results.

 If they had quizzed me I would have placed, in descending order, the following:-

1. A Missa Cantata

2. A Low Mass, EF, of course

3. Attending Mass with my wife, children and grandchildren

4. Fishing with my son

5. A Manhattan cocktail



Fairly undemanding you might think but, in fact, all five are hard to achieve, ergo, I must be unhappy most of the time.

Except that, I'm not. I have siblings and good Catholic friends to enjoy a pint with from time to time and life is pretty good right now.

But then, the survey highlights the fact that older people (and younger ones) are the happiest in our society.

Not exactly the sort of result that has one falling over backwards in amazement.

But then, the survey actually picks out The Orkneys as being home to some of the happiest people in the British Isles.

Apparently it's a sort of epicentre for bonhomie and laughter and Orkney folk walk around with massive grins and sparkling eyes all of the time.

The answer is, of course, clear. It's all down to the fact that the Transalpine Redemptorists have a monastic community there (on Papa Stronsay).

I must admit that living close to a monastery would rank high  in my personal happiness stakes; higher even than living across the road to the Brains Brewery, home of the R*v J***s bitter.

Of course, before the Transalpine monks alighted in The Orkneys, it was a distinctly unhappy place as you can see from the following poem on the subject..........

Bloody Orkney

This bloody town's a bloody cuss

No bloody trains, no bloody bus,

And no one cares for bloody us

In bloody Orkney.

The bloody roads are bloody bad,

The bloody folks are bloody mad,

They'd make the brightest bloody sad,

In bloody Orkney.

All bloody clouds, and bloody rains,

No bloody kerbs, no bloody drains,

The Council's got no bloody brains,

In bloody Orkney.

Everything's so bloody dear,

A bloody bob, for bloody beer,

And is it good? - no bloody fear,

In bloody Orkney.

The bloody 'flicks' are bloody old,

The bloody seats are bloody cold,

You can't get in for bloody gold

In bloody Orkney.

The bloody dances make you smile,

The bloody band is bloody vile,

It only cramps your bloody style,

In bloody Orkney.

No bloody sport, no bloody games,

No bloody fun, the bloody dames

Won't even give their bloody names

In bloody Orkney.

Best bloody place is bloody bed,

With bloody ice on bloody head,

You might as well be bloody dead,

In bloody Orkney

                                           Hamish Blair


All I can say is, thanks be to God for Fr Michael Mary and his band of happy men.

Bishop Williamson and the savage art of backstabbing

Over the past twenty odd years, Bishop Williamson has spoken out on many subjects and, at times, there have been brief sound bites coming from him that have sounded so logical and reasonable that I have had to pinch myself back to the reality that this man is a scoundrel.

When the "excommunications" were first announced I  vividly recall his phraseology:
"They will remember the True Church when the tanks begin to roll across the border, when the fire and brimstone begins to fall, they will all remember the one true Church". 

That is a pretty fair approximation.

At the time (and it was a very dark time, for those of us in Wales it was SSPX or nothing) I thought Williamson was the voice of the turtle but, as it transpires, I was wrong.

He is the voice of the turncoat, the traitor. Yet, there is something in his style of speaking that, just for a fragment of a second, can mesmerise you and transport you to....the Lord knows where.

Hitler and Mussolini must have had this sort or oratory power; a power that could sweep you off your feet and lead you to perdition if you were not careful.

It is the sort of power that one might think of as having some more sinister force behind it.

A year or so ago I heard Bishop Williamson give a sermon at a Mass in Wimbledon and quietly walked out afterwards, it was repugnant to remain in the same room as the man.

And now, this Bishop has turned against his Superior, his leader of twenty one years standing. Here is a video of the Bishop in Hamlet like mode, apparently talking to himself.........

Do not be fooled by this apparent off the cuff soliloquy, it is carefully crafted, even to the extent of being filmed in simple kitchen like surroundings ("He's a straightforward fellow with the common touch" is the tack he's on).

This clip displays the Bishop at his very cinematic best: calm, slightly worried and saddened at the crack in the SSPX foundations and then.....he does the Brutus on a good and saintly man, Bishop Fellay.

I know that Bishop Fellay can be slow to take action against his own but it is truly time that he upturns the glass on Bishop Williamson and boots him out of the door. H/T to Fr Z.

ON ANOTHER NOTE: Could I please ask for your prayers for Fr Patrick Keenan ODC., who is being operated upon for cancer. Fr Keenan now resides in Dublin but, some years ago, in Somerset, he received my wife into the Church for which I will be eternally grateful.

Olympic Satirical Pics

Looks like London is a no-go area for something like 6 weeks. For an event billed as something that will bring money, business and investment to the capital, I wonder how that will work out for those who are not gigantic global corporations. Economically, socially and in other areas (like the roads and areas of London which have been closed down), I'm beginning to wonder if the fallout from these Olympics could be quite considerable indeed.

Avalanche of books hits Pembrokeshire

Great Scott! I am overwhelmed with the kindness of people who responded to my call for guidance in choosing a few books for holiday reading.......the response has been so overwhelming that I do not know where to begin......so perhaps I should start by saying "Thank you all".

Don Camillo featured high on people's recommendations but, I may not have informed you, Dear Readers, that I hold a place in The Guinness Book of Records for the person who has read the Guareschi series cover to cover non stop for the past fifty years (I started very young).

Fathers Abberton and EF Pastor came up with some interesting ones, I am especially intrigued by the western novel from Fr A, many thanks.

Mack, Ttony, Seaninn, Anagnostis, Dylan Parry and Nancy L  came up with enough ideas to provide me with a good Christmas as well as summer holiday list, again, profuse thanks.

But the gold medal has to go to Seaninn for suggesting "The Dog", I have gone ahead and ordered it from Amazon, the silver medal goes to Fr Abberton for recommending St Agnes' Stand and the bronze (I'm getting into Olympic mode) goes to Anagnostis for his "Fludd" - sounds most intriguing.

Breadgirl made a very astute comment regarding the differences in book choices made by men and women; they've just got to be different.
 I think this is very true but cannot really fathom why it should be so. Most of my favourite authors are male, make of that what you will.

But, the diamond encrusted medal has to go to my Antipodean son who found a literary treasure somewhere south of Alice Springs and is sending it to me post haste.

Got to be a mystery read but, knowing Matthew, it will surprise and delight.

Help needed...what is your favourite book?

Holidays are looming and I need to build up a stock of reading matter to restore some sanity after a hard couple of years since we had a complete break.

           Please speak up if you have any suggestions

I am in need of inspiration and where else would I turn to for help except to you my dear fiends friends?

Now please don't go off half cock and lumber me with the Summae Theologicae, I need to coax my brain into some form of activity not detonate a nuclear warhead in it.

So what am I after?

Here is my specification:

Fiction, modern day, some aspects of the Catholic Faith OK but also some pace and excitement (but nothing by Dan Brown if you get my drift). I have already laid my hands on two novels by Shusaku Endo (The Samurai and Silence) and am hoping that they will cut the mustard.

Any further suggestions (polite ones) will be most gratefully received and I shall sip a glass of Raki in your honour (d**n! Now you know where I'm going).

We started out as sheep but now we’re chickens

I have some experience with both sheep and chickens and can quite see why Our Lord chose to use sheep as a means of analogising us.

Penance for the sheep

We need a shepherd to give us direction, we are easily scattered, we are preyed upon by wolves and we need a regular shearing and an antiseptic dip to rid us of our dirty fleeces and unwelcome parasites.

It is a great analogy and, if you read Jay Boyd’s latest post (which you must do if you are a Catholic living in Wales or one that has to travel far to Mass) you will also find that there is a military aspect attached to sheep.

But, if Our Lord walked the earth today, would he employ the same analogy?

Today, His faithful are only loosely bound together as a flock (a collective noun applicable to both animals).

We wander in various directions and, despite being given some mighty powerful leadership, we just don’t seem capable of taking it in, of recognising a directive when it comes.

Sheep don’t do that, they follow the steer of the shepherd’s crook.

Chickens do precisely that. No matter how one tries to herd them they individually scatter and do their own thing.

Chickens also fail to recognise safety when it is their in front of their noses beaks.

Leave a safe and fox free shed open to them and they will roost on a low down branch, the equivalent of a foxy Walmart or Tescos.

Give them a warm, dark nest box wherein to lay their eggs and they will avoid it like the plague pox and lay their eggs in full view of marauding magpies and squirrels.

And, if you want to rid them of fleas and parasites, that’s when the feathers really fly. There’s nothing of the compliant ovine about a chicken.

Definitely one of the Knightsbridge variety

And, finally, there’s the pecking order. 

Oh dear, they are so like us it’s embarrassing. 

There’s the charismatic chicken who like to strut and crow, the Knightsbridge version, so aloof and particular, the liberal breed ready to peck pick on any of its neighbours and the odd one or two more traditionally inclined who are kind to all, easy to manage and highly productive in their output (aherm).

When it comes to having any sort of backbone, it’s the woollies that win every time.

 Chickens aren’t called chicken for nothing you know.

Even when the shepherd flockmaster arrives to feed them they scatter as if the all the foxes of Christendom are about to gobble them up.

So much like us Catholics today who fail to see the hand that feeds us is the guiding hand and that we should be as one and follow without question.

We refuse to comply with the intelligent and choose only the crass and the ignorant paths; we refuse good shelter and food in favour of unseen dangers, we are preoccupied with self rather than authority.

And, we fail to see that if we do that we are no more than headless sheep, of no use to man nor beast nor…….God?

"Common humanity is the one thing you can't have": Lawrence of Arabia's Balcony Scene

I've already posted about the new restoration of Lawrence of Arabia. As its release date approaches, more information is slowly trickling out about the Blu-Ray. Besides its supposedly flawless image quality and exorbitant list price ($96 USD!!!), it does have one additional feature of great interest: the restoration of the film's most famous deleted scene.

A crucial sequence in the film (dubbed the "seduction" scene by David Lean) has Lawrence returning to General Allenby's HQ after his rape at Deraa. Hoping to be "an ordinary man," he encounters Feisal, who reveals the existence of the Sykes-Picot Agreement. A disgusted Lawrence attempts to resign, only to be goaded back into the field by Allenby. The end of this scene can be viewed here.

Most of this scene was missing from earlier prints of the movie. In 1989, Robert Harris released his famous restoration, which added some 20 minutes to the existing version, including this scene. However, due to poor image and sound quality, the beginning of this sequence could not be restored. Even dubbing Jack Hawkins' dialogue with actor Charles Gray proved insufficient, and the scene could only be restored in part.

I'll reproduce the missing dialogue below. Most sites claim it begins after Allenby's "Tell me what happened," but they ignore the brief scene between Dryden and Bentley ("It's a little clash of temprament that's going on in there"). Regardless (from Reel.com):

MEDIUM SHOT: The terrace outside Allenby's office. Lawrence is seated in a chair. Allenby's leaning against a pillow, his bottom on the terrace railing.
ALLENBY : … Yes. Well, you've had a glimpse of the pit.
LAWRENCE: No, a glimpse of sanity. [Hard.] And I'm not going back.
[There is a short pause. Lawrence's eyes are on the general's epaulettes. Allenby notices and begins to unbutton his jacket.]
ALLENBY: You won't go mad, Lawrence. [Quite indifferently] You've got an iron mind.
LAWRENCE: Oh, no. [But he is pleased]
ALLENBY: Oh, yes. And here's another thing. When you ask for your "common humanity" you're crying for the moon. Common humanity's the one thing you can't have.
LAWRENCE: There's nothing else.
ALLENBY: There is, for one man every hundred years or so.
LAWRENCE: [Skeptical, but we can just see the poison starting to work] Me?
ALLENBY: [Taking off his jacket] Yes, I think so. [Regarding himself with the jacket] Isn't that funny? I feel quite naked. And that's the difference. I'm a leader because someone pins crowns on me. You're a leader … [Shrugs] … because God made you one, I suppose. There's nothing you can do about it.
[Allenby sits. Lawrence looks at him suspiciously, but feeling flattered and longing to accept the paternal embrace that seems to be offered.]
ALLENBY: You write poems, don't you?
LAWRENCE: Yes.
ALLENBY: Any good?
LAWRENCE: No. Bad.
ALLENBY: [Sympathetically] Hard luck.
LAWRENCE: It's not a matter of luck.
ALLENBY: 'Course it is. I grow dahlias myself.
[Allenby takes out photo of his house and his son. He peers at it, pointing to a patch of cabbage-like flowers in the background.]
ALLENBY: I've got good soil, good compost. I buy good plants. And I'm a conscientious gardener. But I don't have the luck to be a good one. So … [Grinning] I'm a gardening sort of general. Most generals are. But there have been poet generals. Xenophon was one. Hannibal … Nelson was the last. I think you're another.
LAWRENCE: [Skeptical, wearing a tremulous smile] Nelson and me? [He is asking Allenby to be merciful.]
ALLENBY: Yes.
LAWRENCE: That's an extraordinary thing to say to a man.
ALLENBY: Not to an extraordinary man it isn't.
LAWRENCE: [Thrusting it away] No, no.
ALLENBY: [Matter-of-fact] You must know it.
LAWRENCE: [Almost desperately] No!

Because of contractual obligations the scene won't be added to the actual film. Rather, the Blu-Ray will provide it as a special feature. Still, given my ambivalence to post-hoc restorations, I can hardly complain.

Lean and Robert Bolt considered this scene crucial to the movie, excising it only with great reluctance. Bolt supposedly considered it the best thing he ever wrote. Its historical value is unquestioned, but the scene would also add welcome character depth.

The scene shows Lawrence at his lowest ebb, shamed by his experience at Deraa and disgusted over British perfidy. Nonetheless, his egomania remains scarcely restrained. The scene shows Lawrence trying desperately to resist Allenby's advances, knowing from their first meeting that flattery is Lawrene's Achilles heel. His need for a father figure in Allenby makes the "seduction" more powerful. Unable to further maintain his false humility, Lawrence gives in, ending the scene on an even more grandiose note: "The best of them won't come for money... they'll come for ME!"

More interesting still is its characterization of Allenby. In the existing film Allenby is fairly two-dimensional, a skilled general who manipulates Lawrence for military purposes, with a smidgen of guilt masked by duty ("thank God I'm a soldier!"). This scene certainly develops his manipulative side even further. Even so, we get a small glimpse of Allenby the man: he takes off his uniform, discusses his family and hobbies, and shows himself a vulnerable human being. Other scenes only hint at this mixture of guilt and insecurity, a career soldier who recognizes Lawrence's unorthodox skill and resents it. Its deletion inarguably hurts the character and Jack Hawkins' performance.

On the other hand, the scene's excision makes sense. The existing Jersualem sequence is wonderfully economical. Bolt works a remarakble amount of character and plot exposition into a relatively brief, quick-paced sequence: Lawrence's inner turmoil, his growing stature, continuing outsider status ("Lays it on a bit thick, doesn't he?") even as his legend grows, not to mention British betrayal of the Arabs. The longer version also shows Bolt as playwright more than screenwriter, producing overtly florid, theatrical dialogue. Adding it would arguably hurt the pacing and make things drag. In a film as long as Lawrence, this is a reasonable concern.

Bolt's original script shows tantalizing remnants of further scenes. The extant scene with Allenby and Brighton discussing Lawrence's reports is longer, with Allenby all but expressing jealousy of Lawrence's fame and accomplishments: "(His reports are) not lies, poems." One fascinating sequence in an earlier draft, partly reproduced in Sabine Prufer's The Individual at the Crossroads: The Works of Robert Bolt, details a conversation between Lawrence and Auda abu Tayi immediately after the capture of Aqaba. However, I doubt these scenes are available, let alone filmed in the latter's case.

Of course, we won't know for sure until October 4th (the theatrical release) or November 13th (the Blu-Ray). Either way, it's one more reason to be excited about the restoration.

UPDATE, 11/19/2012: A 45 second clip can be viewed here. The whole scene on the collector's edition Blu-Ray is listed at around 7 minutes 30 seconds.

My main observation is that Lean and Robert Harris's concerns about voice matching are correct. Charles Gray doesn't sound a thing like Jack Hawkins in this clip. Strange considering Gray provides a closer vocal match in other sequences.

When I procure the Blu-Ray I'll report on the entire scene. Needless to say I'm as intrigued as ever after seeing this clip.

A video clip that all liberal Catholics should view

Not hard. Very straightforward - why not do as the Holy Father wishes you to and receive Holy Communion kneeling and on the tongue - even at Ordinary Form Masses?

State Employed Thug Found Not Guilty

Courtesy of the BBC

'Ian Tomlinson timeline:

1 April 2009: Ian Tomlinson is caught up in a G20 protest. He collapses in the street and dies.

4 April: Police say post-mortem examination show he died of "natural causes".

7 April: Video footage emerges of Mr Tomlinson being pushed to the ground by police officer

April 2009: Further post-mortem tests find cause of death was abdominal bleeding, caused by blow

22 July: Prosecutors say there will be no charges as there is no agreement on death cause

3 May 2011: Inquest verdict of unlawful killing

20 June 2011: PC Simon Harwood charged with manslaughter after review of inquest evidence

18 June 2012: PC Harwood goes on trial at Southwark Crown Court

19 July 2012: PC Harwood found not guilty Timeline: Ian Tomlinson's death'.

Message to British public: The police can kill you and be let off. So don't try anything on. We're not here to protect you. We're here to protect the powerful and the powerful will protect us.

Twelve questions to ask your Protestant friends

There are so many issues concerning the Protestant faiths that it is hard to know where to start.

Was it Archbishop of Canterbury................(Michael Ramsey or Geoffrey Fisher) who was honest enough to state, in the 1960s, "We have no doctrine other than that handed down to us by Rome."

 Dr Ian Paisley might have a few words to say on that topic.

But, so many non Catholic friends seem to live in a glass bubble where all that has gone before is forgotten and all that is to come is ignored.

So here are my twelve questions, you may well have others you wish to add:-

1. When did your church last canonize a saint?

2. Why have you covered up that fine holy water font? (on visiting a pre Reformation Church)

3. Why have those effigies of Catholic nobility had their features hacked off?

4. Did you know that St David was a Catholic? (this for my non Catholic Welsh friends)

5. What does your church believe in precisely?

6. Why do you speak of "Jesus" and "Mary" as if they were your next door neighbours?

7. When Our Lord and His followers were all male, what is the case for female ministers?

8. Did you know that England and Wales were once Catholic countries?

9. If there is both heaven and hell....what is the procedure for gaining access to the former?

10. When was your church founded - and by whom?

11. Did you know that there have been circa 86 Catholic Archbishops of
      Canterbury and 34 Protestant ones?
      
12. Why on earth don't you convert to the one true Faith?

Our Blessed Lady Will Destroy the Masonic Reign of Terror

Fr Paul Kramer is worth listening to, no matter what people say about him and the messengers of Our Lady of Fatima. I think he is right that we are not far from WW3 and it looks like either China agree with him near totally or the State TV station enacts its various fantasies about global destruction out in their sports commercials. Chill out, China! It was only a football tournament and you weren't even taking part!
 
Some people find Fr Paul a bit scary but I'd take him over the guy below...Love the bit where the psycho Mason says, 'Well, that was quite an overview!' Yes, it was, thanks for that! If the video below is a fake, then its an impressive fake. He's got those really frightening eyes down to a tee.

Bizarre and Frankly Disturbing IOC Animation

Recently the IOC released this animation to promote the Olympics. Anyone would think the IOC have obtained the Third Secret of Fatima. I find it disturbing for its symbolism on many levels. The animation opens withe the masonic 'one eye' symbolism gracing the dollar bill, various corporations and institutions and now the Olympics imagery and its irritating one-eyed mascots. Firstly, whatever you think of Parliament, Big Ben is for us a symbol of national sovereignty and heritage, the rule of law and democracy. The five rings of the Olympics, representing the continents of the World are here represented as giants of the Earth - an elite described at the end of the promotion as 'The Best of Us'. Who are the 'Best of Us'? The Olympic athletes themselves or the corrupt officials organising this corrupt, supranational, pagan tour de farce?

The foot of the Olympic giant, presumably representing Europe dressed in blue, smashes into Big Ben and destroys a known monument to national sovereignty. A London bus is present at the point at which the blue foot destroys Big Ben, reminding the viewer of the 7/7 bombings. The revolving 'light' tower is in the background as the gap betwen London, Italy (represented by the Colosseum) and Greece (represented by the Acropolis) gets closer. A bright green vehicle that looks like it is made of uranium emerges from what looks like a London Underground tunnel on its way to God alone knows where. Hopefully not a stadium. All of the continents are pulled in - roped in, indeed - to form one cemented world. There is no 'choice' here. Nor is this is celebration of different cultures or individual sporting achievement. There don't appear to be too many people in that World. The Olympic giant of America is in garb redolent of both an ice-skater and a heavy SWAT commander and when he is 'on the pull' above his body are choppers surveying the citizens below as if to represent some kind of dark era of martial law. The woman in one continent appears to be almost thrusting the rope inside her while the other woman evades a private jet that flies past her, again with a look of sexual ecstacy on her face.

The foot of another giant stops a car dead in its tracks, symbolising in some way the end of individual liberty in that continent or everywhere. At 0:44 mins, on the coastline of another continent appears to be the Twin Towers covered in red, perhaps to symbolise a blood sacrifice that was made there or a sacrifice that will be made again. The woman in red appears to be rescuing a small group of survivors in what looks to be a massive flood. The green Olympic giant, complete with aryan blond hair and blue eyes pulls the whole thing together. The animation ends with joy and fireworks presumably not because the Olympics has been a success in London, which is the scene of carnage and destruction, but because the World has been brought into complete 'unity' by the violent force of an elite group who consider themselves totally above the rest of the World. The few 'little people' represented in the animation treat these giant figures like gods who have rescued them from a World of total chaos, violence and danger. The only figures left are the Olympic giants following what appears to be a white light engulfing the scene akin to that that marks the brightness of a huge nuclear explosion. The fire thrown out in unity by the Olympic giants starts out as a three-fold firey swirl that looks rather like '666' and continues to swirl until the Olympic rings form leaving the World with 'The Best of Us'.

Impressive animation but, if I may say so, it appears to have been made in incredibly poor taste. It does, however, sum up the 'spirit of the Olympics'. Concerning also is a statement made by the co-founder of the International Society of Olympic Historians when asked by Associated Press why no public statement had yet been made as to the place of the cauldron in the Olympic stadium. His reply? "There will be a cauldron," Mallon said. "I'll betcha the cauldron will rise out of the stadium somewhere." 

And as if all that is not bizarre and disturbing enough, get a load of this creepy BBC promotion for the Olympics complete with scenes of destruction, atomic explosion, riots, police enforcement, fire, mayhem and all to the tune of a chorus of children singing the London's Burning rhyme. Er...poor taste? Somewhat. Perhaps the powers that be are trying to create more conspiracy theorists at the same time as depopulating and enslaving the World. What with the police state gathering numbers and force in London, I'm sure Dr William Oddie is not alone in considering these Olympics to already amount to a national disaster.

Spode - the Dominican dream that is now a fading memory

You may be forgiven for thinking 'china' when you hear the name Spode mentioned and, indeed, you would not be a thurible throw away in terms of context.

The one time head of the Spode family, Josiah Spode IV, (Christian name choice came hard in the Spode family) converted to Catholicism and established a Dominican Priory, Hawkesyard, near Rugeley in Staffordshire.

The house alongside the Priory was called Spode House and it eventually fell into the ownership of the Dominican Order who decided that it should be a centre for Catholic enterprise.

I use the word enterprise because that is how it appears to me.

Spode House became a hub for retreats, those wishing to study church music, theatrical groups, youth organisations, you name it and they flocked to Spode for their two or three days of rural total immersion in all things Catholic.

Taken from the Catholic Herald Archives is the following quote that sums it up very well:

"...Yet my affection is not so much for Spode House as for the idea behind it: the meeting together over a few days of Catholic men and women with common interests, specialised knowledge, hopes, causes, arid the free, open discussion of important Christian topics of the day...."

Some of the London based Dominican Fathers, most notably Fr Donald Proudman OP, gathered young Catholics from disparate walks of life and formed them into a loose knit group that became known as 'The Spodeites'. They were one of the groups that would gather at Spode for two or three weekends of the year and pray and reflect and meditate and go carousing - all in good Chestertonian fashion (although some of the more abandoned carousing was gently frowned upon by some of the priests).

Most of my six siblings went through the Spode years ahead of me and, when my turn came, just before the Second Reformation Council sat in Rome, the signs of decay were just beginning to show.

The bulk of the group came from the Haverstock Hill (naturally) area of London led by one Robert Malone. Professional actors Michael and Shirley Robbins aka Hal Dwyer ( husband and wife) were part of the gang and, generally, a good time was had by all.

As well as Fr Proudman there was the grim faced but heart of gold warden, Fr Conrad Pepler and the saintly Fr Columba Ryan.

The Spode concept was a grand one. To bring together all the parochial elements of lay Catholics and to encapsulate them in a solid framework of the faith so that the sense of Catholic identity was reinforced at the same time as inspiring and enthusing the faithful to greater efforts and zeal.

I only attended three Spode weekends and then, somehow, the life began to drain away from the retreats.....largely because the main shaker and mover in all of this was Fr Proudman who had been despatched to minister in Barbados where, shortly afterwards, he was to die, may God have mercy on his soul.

Being carried is Fr Donald Proudman OP, unusually in civvies, 

I guess because of the pre Barbados party planned for him. 

Centre is actor Michael Robbins and leading is Richard Owen

all others (bar one) unknown

My own memory of Spode is pretty dim although one incident sticks out clearly.

A group of us had (quite wrongly) broken away from the more spiritual exercises to go in search of real ale. It was the heart of a very cold, bleak winter and the river was heavily frozen over.
Having only a vague idea of the direction of the nearest pub we set off walking along the frozen river (the footpaths were deep in snow).
After what seemed like hours, we came across a local farmer taking hay to his stock.

We asked him the way to the pub which was called The Ash Tree.

He stopped and removed his cap and thoughtfully scratched his head in the fashion of all good farmers and finally said: "Why the Ash Tree is about 40 miles from here"

We were overtaken with a sudden attack of the Lot's wife syndrome.

And then we realised that something had been lost in translation......he had thought we said ESTUARY...no wonder he looked puzzled.

I now look upon the Juventutem movement as being the modern equivalent of Spode; if only a base such as Spode House was still available for all groups to join together, what a force that would be.

Maybe it is as Fr Z would say......"a brick by brick enterprise" - something for a future weekend.

The Ultimate in Fanboy Idiocy, Redux

Today is the release of the newest (and hopefully) last Bat-astrophe from Christopher Nolan. I'll probably see it eventually, because a) a good chunk of it was shot in Pittsburgh, b) a few of my friends are extras in it. My actual excitement level is slim-to-none. The fact that I've never written more about The Dark Knight than the desultory few paragraphs in the blog's early days should indicate my level of interest.

I would have let this momentous date slide without comment, except now the Nolan fanboys are crawling over each other to be the dumbest, lamest, nerdiest loser alive.

The IMDB boards are a reliable source for idiocy. Just browse through some of the thread titles here to get an idea. Of course they'll be completely different ones 15 minutes from now.

Then there's Rotten Tomatoes, where a critic who dared dislike this movie got rather vicious death threats.

Of course, a real-life tragedy has dwarfed the web chatting. At one midnight screening in Colorado, a psycho showed up and killed 14 people. My condolences to those killed in this horrible tragedy.

Of course, some IMDBers, being cretinous slugs, have decided to blame Avengers fans for this shooting.

So yeah, wake me when they bring back this guy:

I'm planning to go out this weekend with friends so probably not a lot of movie-watching in the near-future. I'll try and find something to keep you all entertained. See you in the history books, people.