Saturday, 20 September 2008

Grateful grace

Firstly thanks to the many nice people who've left comments. Thanks too to those established writers who've written to me privately not wanting to damage their reputation by publicly associating themselves with this blog. I share your concerns and will respect your privacy. Secondly, or, this being Stamford Hill, second of all, thanks to the millions who've yet to discover this site and so the pressure to continue has been manageable whereas if pleas were coming in by fax, email, post and phone not to mention a demonstration on my doorstep as if this were a threatened cemetery in Eastern Europe I would have barely been able to cope.
 
As things are it feels more like a neglected cemetery in North London which it being one of our own we can tolerate foxes devouring corpses so as to prove that we have nothing against the welfare of animals and all the fuss about circling poor chickens above our heads is no more than fabrication by those who seek nothing less than our total annihilation and to prevent us from building lofts for as it is written in the scriptures 'How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, thou front dormers O Israel. As thy extensions are spread forth, as concreted gardens besides thy ceramic floor tiles, as thy Previas which thou hath parked under the trees that Hackney hath refused to cut down or prune.'

That was a long sentence. No question about that. But I am now sitting here and gambling with myself whether I shall be able to pull myself out of bed tomorrow morning for Selichos or whether I should give in and go to a midnight service and enjoy a Sunday lie-in instead. I think I shall gamble on the morning and if I don't make it I shall have the benefit of having retired early and slept in which is the good of both worlds as they say. But there is a third world, meaning the world to come, which is of course not a 'third world' but to the contrary is promised to beat anything the first world has to offer, and sleeping in won't earn me rewards over there. Yet they also say a bed in the hand...

It's this time of the year when we count up our sins and indulge in telling God what a hoary bunch we are and wonder aloud what on earth made him choose us. Yet choose us he apparently did and so we beg his forgiveness which apparently he likes being done at the hour the milkman does his rounds. God does move in mysterious way though I doubt on a milk float.

My sin is that I started a blog and have written nowhere near enough and so I shall make no resolutions since they will only cement my absence from the blogosphere. I will merely say that I shall endeavour to make a more regular appearance and hope the year will give me tickles of sufficient intensity to cause me to laugh out loud on these pages.

And the entire nation shall say Amen!