Solar Acrobatics and Other Challenges

Apologies for the recent interruption to service, I’ve been experiencing some health problems and am currently undergoing repairs...

However, I was well enough to attend a presentation on Medjugorje in the Sacred Heart Church Parish Rooms, earlier this week.

I’ve been fascinated by the allegedly-supernatural events in Medjugorje since I became aware of them in the mid-1980s.

However, my interest has been tempered over the years through meeting some Medjugorje devotees who seem to have mislaid their sense of humour and their ability to handle the mildest challenge to their beliefs.

And – for me at least - Medjugorje isn’t an open and shut case, there are sufficient concerns to raise doubts in an enquirer’s mind. These concerns will presumably be investigated by the Vatican Commission, and I await their conclusions with interest.  

Nevertheless, there is one particular aspect of the Medjugorje experience that both impresses and challenges; the extent to which nature seems to cooperate with the Gospa; the sun dances, people are healed, metals mutate and the atmosphere is charged with the divine...and still it happens, in the year 2014, as it has been happening for more than 30 years now. Two people in the Parish Room testified to their own recent supernatural experiences.

A trusted friend who visited 18 months ago did not experience any solar acrobatics and she mentioned that a local priest told her that he had seen nothing himself but he thought that people only experienced such phenomena if  it was needed to boost their faith. For the record, my friend was inspired by the spiritual climate and the people, locals and pilgrims, and returned enthusiastic about the experience and spiritually renewed.    

I don’t think you can appreciate the Medjugorje effect through the mass media or even though person-to-person contact...so maybe it’s time to go on pilgrimage.  

Over the Mountains to Skye

It didn’t take us long to reach the Isle of Skye, located off the north west coast of Scotland, departing from the south coast of England. First, we drove to London Gatwick airport (30 minutes), then we flew by Easyjet to Inverness Airport (one and a half hours), finally, we hired a car and drove to Broadford on the south of the island (two and a half hours). Add on the waiting time and it was still only about seven to eight hours – not bad!   

We only planned to stay a day (two evenings) on Skye as it was a special visit to attend the funeral of my late Auntie Morag, RIP. My mother was one of ten siblings and Auntie Morag, the widow of my late Uncle Harry, RIP, was the last of that particular line of siblings and their spouses. She died at the grand old age of 98.  

Leaving Inverness, we motored across the north-west Highlands, speeding along deserted twisting roads, past bare dun-coloured moorland, occasional still lochs, remains of ancient forests and newer plantations of fir and spruce. Higher still we climbed, Sgurr Mór in the distance, over 1,000 meters high, patches of snow glistening ahead of us.

Then the road began to dip and we slowly descended the other side of the ridge. It was late Spring and the heather has not yet gained the rich purple colour that would carpet the Highlands in autumn.

However, the dull colours were a perfect foil for the brilliant yellow flowers of the gorse bushes, which grew in profuse clumps along the sides of the road.

(note to self: must clean the lens on my camera!)

All too soon we reached Kyle of Lochalsh, the mainland opposite Skye where the Skye Bridge, built just over 20 years ago, now affords easy access to the island. The view from the top of the bridge is stunning with several islands sprinkled below, sparkling grey-blue waters that stretch into the distance, the mist-wrapped bulk of Skye before us – alas, the poor driver can only manage a brief glimpse before he has to wrench his gaze back to the road.

In Skye, we drove past the Cuillin Hills, again topped with snow, as we drove to the main town, Portree, for dinner. It’s very pretty, particularly at the quiet, sleepy harbour with its pastel-coloured houses and the sturdy pier designed by the famous road and canal builder Thomas Telford a couple of hundred years ago.

 

The little town has the only secondary school on the island - which I once attended - and is the island’s cultural and business centre. The name Portree is supposedly from the Gaelic, Port Righ, the King’s Port, commemorating the visit to Skye in 1540 of King James V of Scotland.

The place was rather busy with early-season tourists, mainly Europeans but also Americans and a substantial number of Asians. In fact, there were queues for tables at several of the restaurants. Sadly, my curry-influenced mussel sauce drowned the flavour of the shellfish while the salmon steak managed to be both overdone and underdone in parts. Maybe the town’s culinary reputation is why King James never came back after 1540...    

The funeral was held in a small church in the north of the island, a place of small crofts, scattered white houses and wandering sheep. It overlooked the blue Minch and in the distance the grey outline of the islands of the Outer Hebrides. Despite a forecast of showers or constant heavy rain, the sky was filled with wispy clouds and the sun occasionally broke through - although the wind off the sea was bitterly cold.

In deference to the lack of Gaelic-speakers among the visiting mourners, the sung praise was in English; the words from the beautiful Scots Metrical Psalter of 1650, Psalms 23 and 121. The two Presenters led the singing, their voices strong, the tempo slow – very slow – lending a majesty, authority and power to the words. As usual in the Church of Scotland, we stood to sing and sat for the prayers, the eulogy and the homily.

Then, the long convoy of cars followed the hearse to the graveyard, a ten minute journey. We stood in the gusting cold wind, the words of the minister snatched from his mouth as we strained to hear. A final ‘Our Father’ and Auntie Morag was buried beside her husband, near to other MacKinnon siblings, and a couple of hundred yards away from where Flora MacDonald, saviour of Bonnie Prince Charlie, was buried 225 years ago. There is in that dust a richer dust concealed...

Afterwards we repaired to the Uig Hotel for tea, sandwiches and cake, and I met cousins I had never seen, or had last seen in infancy and could not recall - or had not seen for more than 45 years in at least one case! No wonder we lingered over the meal...then it was back to our hotel in Broadford.

 

Skye’s reputation for food was also restored that evening, We ate in a little restaurant opposite the Dunollie Hotel in Broadford. Skye is justly famous for its seafood and we enjoyed a platter of scallops, mussels, crayfish, langoustines and squid, accompanied by a glass of dry white Spanish wine and topped off by a generous helping of cranachan, a traditional Scottish desert, an alternative to trifle, made of toasted oatmeal, whipped cream, honey and raspberries.

I slept so well that when the hotel’s alarum system went off at 6am – a guest had mistakenly set it off by using a hairdryer too near the fire sensor – I didn’t mind the early rise and greeted the other befuddled guests milling around in the lobby, variously dressed in pjs under coats and other night attire...    

A couple of hours later we rose for breakfast.

 

 

Our hotel's restaurant was almost at the water's edge, facing Broadford Bay, overlooking a small pier. The tide was out and we could see the small island of Pabay a couple of miles away, once notorious in the sixteenth century as a haunt of thieves and cut-throats, now more famous for its unique geology, its stamps and the ruins of a thirteenth chapel. Then, it was time to leave...

A Different Brighton

Last Sunday I wrote about the annual March for England, the huge police presence in our town and the sudden downpours of rain that - fortunately - limited the inevitable violence.

What a difference a week makes!

Walk around Brighton with me today and see the other side of the city.

To begin with it's bright and sunny, there are blue skies and the temperature is about 15 Celsius (60F). As we leave Churchill Square car park and walk towards the seafront people are wearing a variety of clothes; many people wear short sleeves, some wear shorts, several young guys are bare-chested, proudly showing off their tattoos, but elderly folk are wrapped up in tightly-buttoned layers.

It's Spring Bank Holiday tomorrow and people are determined to enjoy themselves. Al fresco dining is the thing and the famous Regency restaurant on the sea front is busy.

Further along, the children's paddling pool is open and some hardly kids are splashing about in what must be freezing water...the wreck in the background is the remains of the old West Pier after fires and storms have taken their toll.

 

 

On Hove Lawns an elderly woman has exercised her two small dogs and is packing them in her bicycle basket for the ride home. In the background a number of large white tents announce the Foodies Festival where you can taste a variety of freshly-cooked foods, drinks and exotica while listening to live music. Only £12 for entry. No thank you.

I fancy a balloon though, it's a much more reasonable price.

Brighton's beach is pebbly and those people admiring the ruin of the West Pier must have well-upholstered posteriors to sit for long...

Further along, there is a wedding party on the beach. They look a little over-dressed for the location but - hey, this is Brighton!

Now, this is appropriate wear for the sea off Brighton today (wet suits)...

As we head Eastwards towards Palace Pier, the beach gets increasingly busy. The restaurants, cafes, bars and shops are packed, absolutely heaving. This is what a public holiday is like in Brighton (at least for the days when the sun shines).

We pass the 'famous' Fortune of War pub. Some workmen were carrying out repairs at the pub about three weeks ago when the Victorian arches at the rear of the pub partly collapsed and the road above sagged and had to be closed. A couple of lanes are still closed and repairs to the Victorian aches in Brighton's seafront area has been estimated at tens of millions of pounds.

Of course that doesn't worry these teenagers  who are trying to paddle in the icy English Channel waters...brrrr!

Over on the Palace Pier, there are a large number of amusements, including many traditional ones like carousels...

 Dodgem cars...

 

 

Knocking down things....

Or you can slide down the Helter Skelter, visit the Horror House or try several more traditional games.

Of course, there are also many more modern ones that involve terrifying flights high in the air over open water or involve challenges like staying on a bucking mechanical bull. Or you can just chill out, sit in a deckchair and have a snooze like these folk...

Too tame? Well, on the water beside the Pier, there are several jet skis buzzing about, throwing up huge plumes of water.

On of the jet skis was having great fun in towing a red and yellow inflatable ring in which sat a guy in a wet suit - hanging on for dear life.

I was watching closely and at one stage they made a sudden turn, too sharply for the chap on the rubber ring who promptly flipped off...(and this is the moment that it happened).

That was quite enough excitement so I left the Palace Pier and began walking into town, past a quiet leafy square filled with diners...

And Brighton's army of tarot readers, fortune tellers, skull massagers, aura readers and ...

Pushing on a little further, I came across evidence that the Brighton Festival was underway...a rash of street performers, buskers and street artistes new to Brighton.

Further on, in the shadows and greenery of the Royal Pavilion Gardens, people were sleeping on the grass, enjoying picnics and just chilling...

This part of town houses the Lanes. The newer North Laines have trendy boutiques, fancy fashions, veggie burgers and veggy shoe shops, curios, art galleries and such like. Sometimes the streets are transformed into restaurants.

 

Nearer the seafront is the oldest part of town - the original Laines - with their narrow streets.

 

 

Here there tends to be more antique shops, more jewellers, the occasional fancy chololatiers, the inevitable trendy fashion shops and some occasional quirky remnants of earlier times.

 

Then, to round the day off, a quick five-minute drive to Brighton Marina, just east of the town. It's the largest marina in Europe with over 1,500 berths (I once kept a small yacht there).

 

There are many anglers still fishing although it's well after five in the afternoon now, the sun is lower in the sky and it's decidedly cooler.

 

 

What is the attraction? And what are these anglers so interested in? What has that chap caught? Whatever it is, he has been keeping it fresh in his drop net.     

 

 

A squid! Yes, it's the seventh annual All England Squid Championship. This looks like a decent size so he's measuring it up and will record the details on his competition form, hoping to win a prize. This is the best time of year to catch squid, especially when the water is crystal clear like it is today. I believe there were about 60 anglers entered in the competition and a total of 32 squid were caught, plus six cuttlefish.

 

 

It's definitely cooler now so let's head for home, past the rows and rows of boats.

 

 

 

Past the gin palaces, awaiting buyers...

 

 

Past the working boats...

 

 

Past the working bird (actually, he's having a rest at the moment but I've seen him fishing and he's pretty good!)

 

 

Well, it's been a bit of a saga today but I just wanted to say that Brighton & Hove is a great place to live, it gives a lot to pleasure to a lot of people, and when the sun comes out - why, it sparkles!