An Attempt at a Personal Blogpost

Maybe it's just stats envy.  I've noticed how many other blog-writers don't concentrate on the important details of their exploding liturgy. They rarely even mention the way their services fall into chaos after badger invasions, or their problems when their entire fellowships fall into ditches.

No, instead they seem to focus on personal exploration, understanding how they relate to themselves and other people. It seems an odd way to behave to me, but clearly there's visits in it. So here goes. Ahem.

If you're like me, you often find the buzz of the modern world occasionally does your head in. Constantly being surrounded with half-wits means I lack true intellectual challenge. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. All I have to show for slightly less than half a century on the face of this planet is my parents' house, Young Keith, and a lucrative franchise fleecing the gullible spiritually unfulfilled. So it's not like I'm so comfortable in my own skin that I can disregard these more visible signs of my life-long failure.

It's at times like this that I find inner strength. Deep within, there is a secret, gentle place - a kind of safe room, if you will. It's a place I can withdraw to. Not for long periods of time, of course - after all, we must live in the real world.

In my safe place, I like to visualise all those people and situations that cause me stress. I can see them now - lined up with their smug expressions. And then there's the gormless ones that can't understand anything. I imagine Burton, trying to explain to me why I really ought to pay the right amount of tax, or the Beaker Quire trying to learn a fourth chord.

Of course, such a safe place needs some music. I normally like to imagine a Death Metal band in the corner of the room, just next to the wood-burning stove which I like to imagine using for burning books by Stanley Hauerwas.

And then, I imagine all of my problems away.

When I say imagine them away, of course, what I really mean is - I imagine chasing them away. Running screaming around my safe place with the old Slazenger V400, smacking Burton round the ankles... after five or six hours of such visualisation I find I can face the real world again.

Do you know, I feel better already, just thinking about it. I'm glad I've offered you this glimpse into my inner life. We should do this more often.