A Halloween Request

Please can all the Beaker Folk who have dressed up their children as Richard Dawkins please stop? "Trick or Treat" is bad enough.  "Trick or I'll stand here for an hour, telling you stories of how i said something dreadfully scathing in 1986" contravenes the Geneva Convention.

Also, the vampires in the spinney are getting grumpy. The one night of the year when somebody should surely take them seriously, and everyone is running scared of small children wearing "Michael Gove" masks. If they go back after half term wearing those, there are going to fireworks next week. Although, thinking about it, even if they don't, there will be fireworks next week. It is, after all, Guy Fawkes.

A Shocking Sermon

Some would say Charlii's method of improving sermons has gone too far.

Gidric's habit of holding on to the lectern while preaching was the problem this morning. Once he had exceeded the boredom threshold of the majority of the Beaker People, the flow of electricity should have stopped him preaching. But his muscles went into spasm, and he ended up being unable to release the lectern.

Since this meant that technically he was still preaching, but was not even saying anything, people pushed more current through him. In the end, Hnaef had to prise him off with a broom handle.

A Different Journey

Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. 

Took the midnight train going anywhere

Unfortunately the "small town" was Flitwick. And it was actually the 23:52. But the ticket inspector was very alert, and they'd barely got out of  Leagrave before she was having to accept that "anywhere" isn't a valid destination on First Capital Connect.

So technically she was fare-dodging and had to buy a single to Luton. But even people from Luton don't want to go to Luton. So she caught the next train north, but the ticket office was closed and so she ended up having to buy another penalty fare back to Flitwick.

And by the time she got back to Flitwick, all the taxis had packed up so she had to phone her dad to pick her up. So that was two penalty fares, plus her dad was grumpy all the following day and she still had to go to work in the morning.

 After that, she gave up believing. It cost far too much in train fares, and Flitwick's not so bad when you learn to live with it.

The Stages of Ministry

I was thinking about what Eileen said about the stages of the Cycle of Ministry in our little meetings. They were strange, my training / coaxing / mentoring sessions. Sometimes we would take the works of Jurgen Moltmann into the Hall of Mirrors and have a theological reflection. On others, we'd go out on our Pastoral Cycles and visit the poor, needy and sick. Then Eileen would tell them if they didn't get off their backsides and do some real work, she'd report them to the DHS. This was why the Beaker Folk never had a shortage of volunteer workers in the Beaker Bazaar - and also explains the Swine Flu Outbreak of 2009.

But Eileen used to tell me about the way the Methodist 5-year ministry tenure  system would impact the life of the congregation. For a year, she said, the new Minister would do nothing new. They would leave things as they were. Just not being the last one was normally enough, during the first year.

And then the fifth year, she said, was tidying up loose ends, making lists of what belonged to the Manse and what was personal property, and saying goodbye. They would generally leave things as they were, for the fifth year.

But it was years 2-4 when the magic would happen. New patterns of worship, the possibilities of closing down chapels where the balcony was about to fall in, removing pews, replacing the Choir and organist with a hip-hop group - all this tended to happen in years 2-4.

And oddly, said Eileen, it was in years 2-4 that the previous incumbent would start to be revered. In year 1, it was too soon. The way that Old Mr Stiles had declared in Year 2 of his time that Jumble Sales were a work of the Dark One would be remembered. The comparison with new Mrs Jones, who merely left things to go on as they always had, would be favourable to the new woman.  But by Mrs Jones's Year 3, when she had introduced Taize and was talking about Mission, suddenly Mr Stiles's Year 5 - that year of immobility, sweet regrets, way-parting and farewell services - that was all anyone could remember. This timeline kind of sums things up...

The only solution, in Eileen's view, was to break the system. You should leave at ten minutes' notice, and start out like there was nothing to learn. That way you broke the congregations' circles of dependency, and could do something new.

Well, she went out with a bang, OK. And I had my Year 1 while she was still here. So I guess I can start smashing things up and remaking them to my own - I mean God's' - satisfaction straight away. What was it Solomon's son said when they all moaned about him? Eileen gave you Turkish delight, but I will give you acid drops? Something like that. Anyway they'd better all watch out. I don't know what I'm going to change, but I'm gonna change something, That is, after all, what I'm here for.

Centuries of Woe Forecast if HS2 does not Go Ahead

A report commissioned by the Government has warned that, if the High Speed train line from London to Birmingham and some places in the North does not get built, Britain faces decades of doom.

The consequences of not ripping up the countryside to build a pointless railway line could include:

• Weekend working on branch lines for years
• Trains between London and Birmingham being not quite as fast as they could otherwise be
• Unfriendly ticket inspectors
• Leaves on the the line
• Plagues of locusts in the Clapham area
• Sky reporters on every corner, hoping to find fallen trees
• Thomas, Gordon and Henry working on the Marston Vale Line
• More empty First Class carriages in the rush hour
• Zombies roaming the East Midlands

The future of transport in Ridgmont

"It's going to be dreadful," said a Government spokesperson who would only be identified as 'David C', "Maggie built the Channel Tunnel, Blair got to invade Iraq. Gordon Brown encouraged a massive financial crisis. And what have I done? Ridden a police horse and watched Boris swanning around at the Olympics. This is my chance to do something big and pointless, and if anyone stops me, that's it - the zombies are being set loose in Nottingham."

Storm Readiness Update

We've checked we have plenty of candles ready for the approaching storm. They're all scented. In case of power cuts, at least we are all going to be very, very relaxed.

Electrifying Preaching

I did enjoy this morning's sermon slot. I have adopted a new method of dealing with the problem of preachers who think they are better than they actually are.

It's a simple method which is based on the "X Factor", the Milgram Experiment and "Who wants to be a Millionaire". So the preacher is wired up to electrodes, and an electric current is passed through them, in direct proportion to the number of  people who press the button marked "Had enough, already". If anyone thinks the sermon's gone on quite long enough, they press the button and add their electric charge to the yoke that the preacher is carrying.

So a shock - in both senses - for Izzi today. I know for a fact she had a 30-minute sermon prepared. I also know she only actually preached 14 minutes of it, before she ran out of the Moot House, screaming. It's been a good start. I'm expecting the quality of sermons to improve in three ways - firstly because people will have to work at being more interesting, secondly because the sermons will be shortened to be on the safe side, and thirdly because the preachers will start to see their sermons as other people see them. And, as the Government like to say about electronic surveillance, anybody who isn't a boring preacher will have nothing to fear.

Black Hole Food

Meanwhile, there were some shocking events at the Beaker Whole-Food Self-Serve Salad Bar this evening.

The rules are simple - each Beaker Person can have as much salad from the counter as they can put into one of the pots and get the top on. It's a great selection of veggies - mixed beans, pickled chillis, couscous. But Rodnie decided he was going to get as much in as he possibly could, within the rules.

First up the cream-cheese-filled peppers, then he filled in with the spicy rice. Then layers of salad leaves. Then he pushed it all down and packed some more in. Then he put as much pressure on as possible, and got some beetroot in. Then he decided he fancied a little bit of shredded carrot.

It was pushing the courgette topping down that did it. Just pushed the salad pot over the edge, to the point where the salad started to collapse under its own weight. Beaker Folk started to be dragged into the gravitational field in a way that hadn't happened since Bogwulf Chapel fell into a black hole. The seafood counter hovered on the crevette horizon. It looked like we were all going to be dragged into a massive bowl of spring onions.

Thankfully at that point, fusion kicked in. Under extreme pressure, the cherry tomatoes merged into beefsteak tomatoes, and the resultant explosive release of energy caused Rodnie's pot to explode in a salad supernova. Beansprouts and mooli were driven out under the expansive energy of the collapsing tomatoes. Chaos reigned as vegetables were blasted across the Great House and into the surrounding countryside.

Eventually we reached a point of calm. There was just one, giant tomato, orbited by shredded lettuce. A kind of salad Saturn. Rodnie stood there, gravitationally locked with his face permanently pointing at the giant tomato. We're hoping to drag him away at some point. But with all those vegetables around, we reckon we're going to need a tractor beam.

Pumpkins and Prejudice

Everyone's full of excitement as the Great Pumpkin Competition reaches its climax.

The main problem with pumpkin-growing is keeping the slugs down. Since the Beaker Folk are an organic community, we have employed a variety of methods. Some used organic (i.e. useless) slug pellets. Some have electrified their plant pots. And Marston has sat up all night, every night, since April armed with a razor blade and a thermos of coffee. He's not looking well, is Marston.

Still, the fruits of their labours are now being seen. Young Keith has a 75lb pumpkin, Marston has been rewarded for all his efforts with a 94lb monster. Burton Dassett has a small butternut squash. Or, at least, that is what the rumour is.

On Thursday, the pumpkins will be converted into the traditional Punkies. Candles will be lit within them to scare off evil spirits, and we will then get to eat soup for the following six weeks. Truly, Halloween is a ghastly time of year.

Biting the Hand that Feeds You

Keep an eye out for the Vampires down in the old ruins. They're ruing the day they decided to make a few quid by setting up that "Fangs of Fear Experience" centre.

It was a great success, and they had to get extra staff in - especially because it meant they could open during the day. But under the new Government rules, the employees they took on are entitled to Stakeholder Pensions.

It's naturally made the vampires very nervous. We've asked them what they plan to do about it, but they're proving hard to pin down.

Beaker Pub Quiz - some Corrections

Dreadful chaos earlier at the Beaker Pub Quiz. I'm afraid we confused the answers to the "General Knowledge" and "Religion" rounds. So to put the record straight:

The Codex Sinaiticus is a much-loved, ancient leathery object of eastern origin, and does not have the catchphrase "Cheap as Chips".

The "barrier to Roman progress that meanders aimlessly between Lambeth and Westminster" is the River Thames. And "the best place to put Liberal Clergy" is the Church of England.

St Augustine's Confession was not to a series of murders, and Jack the Ripper did not write a popular Latin book about his conversion.

Richard the Lionheart was not the first New Labour Prime Minister. But you can all have 2 points for your answer to the question "Who launched a pointless and bloody attack on the Middle East, wrecked religious relations for centuries, and had no interest in the well-being of England?"

Although both lived in Oxford, CS Lewis never had to drive Inspector Morse home when he was drunk.

Nostradamus was a purveyor of unfathomable sayings in convoluted and incomprehensible language, and not the former Archbishop of Canterbury.

"The Oxford Movement" was not a short-lived and much-publicized outbreak of flashy frocks. And John Henry Newman was not, as far as we know, the founder of the London Fashion Week.

John the Baptist was technically an eloquent, bearded outcast who suffered a sudden drop in popularity, but Russell Brand has never lived in the Israeli desert on locusts and honey.

I have no idea whether Martin Luther really went short on soluble fibre, but constipation is not caused by a Diet of Worms.

Fred Flintstone is the sexist stereotypical cartoon from the 1950s, and not a pastor at Mars Hill Church.