Back in the 1970s compulsory TV viewing ‘in the day’ was the Morecambe and Wise Show. Who can forget their signature tune ‘Bring Me Sunshine’ accompanied by their silly dance? For the younger generation (and the uninitiated) Eric Morecambe (John Eric Bartholomew, 14 May 1926 – 28 May 1984) and Ernie Wise (Ernest Wiseman, 27 November 1925 – 21 March 1999), known as Morecambe and Wise (also Eric and Ernie), were a British comic double act, working in variety, radio, film and most successfully in television. Their partnership lasted from 1941 until Morecambe’s death in 1984. They have been described as ‘the most illustrious, and the best-loved, double-act that Britain has ever produced’. They had a series of shows that spanned over twenty years, during which time they developed and honed their act, most notably after moving to the BBC in 1968.

I found myself thinking about them … even smiling to myself as I recalled some of their hilarious sketches … during the spell of hot weather and lovely sunshine we recently enjoyed here in the UK. It took me back to our recent holiday in France in June and the lovely sunshine we enjoyed there whilst the weather back in the UK was pretty miserable. Reflecting on our time in France I found myself thinking about the number of people we came across whose prayer was essentially ‘Bring Me Sunshine’. To be honest, the reason why Julia and I go to France most years for our main holiday is in search of the sunshine. We always feel so much the better for a few weeks in the warmth and sunshine of the south of France. As a general rule we always go south of Limoges because otherwise we cannot guarantee to get the sunshine and warmth we crave, and we are rarely disappointed.

This year our holiday was earlier than we originally planned because our church in Knaphill is heavily involved in two local shows/fayres/fetes … whatever you want to call them … and we needed to be there. We also only had three weeks’ holiday in the summer for our annual visit to France … not the two/three months camping holiday we have enjoyed (during our ‘retirement years’) for the last five years or so? Although the weather forecast for France for the first three weeks of June was questionable the weather brightened up considerably more-or-less as soon as we got there. I was reminded of a story about Phillips Brooks (1835 – 1893), the saintly American Episcopal clergyman and the Rector of Boston’s Trinity Church. Apparently the local paper once reported something along the lines of: ‘The day began cloudy and overcast with a hint of rain … but about noon the Rev Philips Brooks came into town … and everything brightened up considerably!’

For the most part we enjoyed three weeks of very pleasant sunshine during our time in France. Julia would have liked it to have been somewhat hotter, but for me it was just perfect weather. It was pleasantly warm and sunny but not the kind of oppressive heat that we endured the previous year in the Camargue where between 12 noon and 4.00 p.m. you really couldn’t do anything but rest in the shade. Our main holiday was on a campsite near the medieval town of Carcassonne and during our first week there the weather was glorious. The weather forecast for our second week suggested rain, but ‘Madam’ (who ran the campsite) simply shrugged this gloomy prediction off with the words, ‘The weather here is local … and it will be fine!’ And she was absolutely right!

On our way back to the UK at the end of our three week visit to France we got into conversation at our hotel with a couple from the UK who were just beginning their holiday. We plan to ‘chase the sun’ they said, when we asked them where they were headed for. This attitude was not unusual. These were not the first people, by a long chalk, to say this kind of thing to us in the course of our holiday. When we stopped over in Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne for a couple of days on our way down to Carcassonne we met a pessimistic couple (convinced that it was going to be bad weather in France for evermore) who were already thinking of driving right through France and into Spain in search of the sunshine? Even when we were enjoying beautiful sunshine during our first week on our campsite near Carcassonne a couple of our fellow campers (believing the doom and gloom weather forecast on French TV rather than trust ‘Madam’s’ local knowledge) upped sticks and went off somewhere else ‘in search of the sun’. Out of interest we checked up on the weather in both Spain and other regions of France over the next week? Of course ‘the rain in Spain was mainly on the plain’ and most of France (apart from where we were) was under water? We ourselves did nothing? We did not ‘up sticks’ and go ‘in search of the sun’? We simply ‘stayed put’ … and let the sun come to us! And it did!

This frenetic ‘search for the sun’ mirrors the behaviour of many people in society and … let’s be honest here … in church circles?! In society many people are constantly changing jobs, careers, partners, locations, interests and activities, and so on, in search of something better, sunnier if you like? And for the most part it is to no avail. Christians also (who you would think would know better) change churches at a whim, rush form this ‘new thing’ to yet another ‘new thing’, desert previous long-term allegiances for the latest ‘trendy Christian personality’, and so on.  Sadly ‘chasing the wave’ of God’s (so-called) latest blessing does not seem to have achieved much for the majority of these ‘Christian surfers’?! In my opinion, God is far more likely to send ‘revival’ upon a people who demonstrate the genuineness of their love for, and commitment to, Jesus Christ by their steadfast, day in day out, consistency in Christian living, than by espousing a ‘fly by night’ emotional roller coaster style of Christian living?! The Bible tells us that the ‘light [of the sun] shines on the righteous, and joy on the upright in heart’ (Psalm 97:11) … not on those who are simply ‘experience seekers’. It is ‘those who wait for the Lord [who] will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary’ (Isaiah 40:31).

As we leave our hotel and head for the port at Cherbourg in order to catch our ferry back to the UK … it starts to rain! Three weeks in France enjoying the warmth and sunshine and finally it rains! ‘O look!’ says Julia, ‘It is finally raining!’ ‘No!’ I reply, ‘It is France crying because it is sorry to see us leaving?’

Bring me Sunshine, in your smile,
Bring me Laughter, all the while,
In this world where we live, there should be more happiness,
So much joy you can give, to each brand new bright tomorrow,

Make me happy, through the years,
Never bring me, any tears,
Let your arms be as warm as the sun from up above,
Bring me fun, bring me sunshine, bring me love.

Bring me Sunshine, in your eyes,
Bring me rainbows, from the skies,
Life’s too short to be spent having anything but fun,
We can be so content, if we gather little sunbeams,

Be light-hearted, all day long,
Keep me singing, happy songs,
Let your arms be as warm as the sun from up above,
Bring me fun, bring me sunshine, bring me love.

~  Sylvia Dee

Jim Binney

Julia and I are sitting in the sun by the River Lot in the beautiful medieval town of Cahors … well actually I am sitting on a bench and Julia is attempting to take my photograph, with the amazing Pont de Valentré in the background. We are supposed to be having a ‘picnic lunch’ but I am being rather ‘grumpy’. To be honest we are actually having something of a ‘domestic’ (as we call them). Not a major argument (we never have big arguments) but a little one. Julia is getting too near to edge of the river bank (she is concentrating on taking the photo and not looking where she is going) and I am afraid she might fall in? It’s not that I am bothered about Julia … she is a very good swimmer and the River Lot looks quite sedate (compared to the River Dordogne only a couple of weeks ago) … but she is using my expensive camera and she might take that with her if she does fall in?!

As we are having our ‘domestic’ and elderly French gentleman walks up to us and asks us if we are tourists? We ‘cool’ the argument immediately and tell him that indeed we are and that we love his beautiful town, and that this particular bridge is amazing. He nods appreciatively and wanders off again … but only as far as a nearby bed full of roses. He gets out his clasp knife (all the French men seem to carry one of these for cutting their bread and cheese and fruit) and cuts off a beautiful red rose which he brings back to us and gives to Julia with a little bow. ‘Be kind to one another!’ he says … and starts to walk off again. We call him back to thank him, and get into conversation. We feel somewhat contrite that he obviously noticed our ‘domestic’ and are not sure what to say to him.

Sensing our embarrassment, he explains that his wife of many years sadly died only a few days previously … at the beginning of the week. He is obviously feeling a bit lost and is probably taking his usual walk by the river (perhaps a walk they often shared) and ‘thinking about things’. Perhaps he was wondering if he had been ‘kind enough’ to his wife while she was alive? It is amazing how we think about all the things we could have done for various people when they were still alive, after they have died? I suspect, however, that he was probably very kind towards her … he strikes me as that kind of man … and wants us to be the same to each other. We wish our command of the French language was better than it is so that we could say something helpful to him in his loss. He seems to gain something, however, from the fact that we have stopped to talk with him … well, listen to him that is.

I have not forgotten this incident, or this gracious man’s advice, even though we have been back in the UK (after our holiday in France) for two weeks now. ‘Be kind to one another!’ We know the importance of this of course but it is amazing how sometimes it takes an incident such as this to drive it home to us. Of course his words are an echo of the words of the Apostle Paul to the Christians in Ephesus: ‘Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you!’ (Ephesians 4:32). Perhaps the members of the church and congregation in Ephesus at that time were embroiled in a ‘domestic’ of one sort or another themselves? It would not surprise me if this was the case. I don’t know if this man was simply quoting the Apostle, of if he had any kind of Christian faith, or whether it was just something important he wanted to share with us? Whatever the reason it was timely.

Reflecting on the ‘atmosphere’ in the UK, following the result of the recent ‘Referendum’ on whether or not to ‘Remain’ or ‘Leave’ the EU, this advice seems to be a ‘good word’ for every one of us right now. Whichever side of the debate we may be on we still need to ‘be kind to one another’. There is too much vitriol going around as a result of the decision to ‘Leave’. People on both sides are guilty of this … perhaps inevitably so in some ways given the closeness of the result … but we cannot continue in this way. We all have to accept the verdict (and I voted to ‘Remain’ by the way), make the best of it, and (with God’s help) endeavour to work together to build something solid for the future.

The Greek word that the Apostle Paul uses for ‘kind’ here in his exhortation to the Ephesians means be ‘good, pleasant, gracious, kind-hearted’. In other words something that stems from within rather than something that is simply ‘pasted on the outside’ – a ‘virtue’ rather than just a ‘value’? Having said that perhaps ‘practice makes perfect’ and we need to start by making ‘kindness’ one of our ‘core values’ in the hope that it will eventually become something we totally absorb into our being so that it becomes one of our ‘characteristic virtues’.

So … when Julia sent me out shopping the other day … I remembered the kind action and wise advice given to me in Cahors, by the River Lot, and I recalled the wise words of the Apostle Paul … and I added ‘flowers for Julia’ to the list she had given me. I didn’t buy her red roses (well, they were very expensive and you have to draw a line somewhere) but I did buy her some freesia (her very favourite)… well it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it!

Jim Binney

We are in Carcassonne, on board our boat, waiting for our cruise down the Canal du Midi to start. We are moored next to another boat that belongs to the same company but is due to go in the opposite direction. The weather is warm and sunny and we are looking forward to our cruise. There are quite a few Brits aboard both vessels and ‘Nous sommes calmes!’ The captain of our boats tells us that we will be casting off in a moment or so … they are just waiting for a few more passengers to arrive. We see a group of about 15 people walking towards our two boats. Are these the ones our captain is waiting for … or will they board the other vessel?

As they approach it becomes obvious that they are … what shall we say … ‘somewhat inebriated’?! What is worse is that they are obviously ‘Brits’? They bypass the payment desk … much to the annoyance of the French proprietors … and engage in a heated debate amongst themselves as to which of the two canal boats they are going to take. One can sense a growing feeling of apprehension amongst those of us who have already paid for our canal cruise on both boats.

They eventually choose our boat (much to the relief of those aboard the other boat). ‘Hello every body!’ shouts the self-appointed leader of this unruly group as he marches down our boat. ‘We are English!’ he shouts in a loud voice (as if we didn’t already know this), ‘Are there any English people on board this boat? Are there any Russians?’ This is a clear reference to the recent England versus Russia football match in the European Championship. We wonder if he was there (and part of the source of the trouble). Those of us who are English hide under the seats. The French passengers look on with a mixture of contempt and disgust. ‘How long is this trip going to take?’ shouts our obnoxious fellow-countryman? ‘B****r this!’ I think to myself, ‘Why am I cowering under my seat?’ ‘Two hours!’ I tell him. Julia joins in the counter attack. ‘No! Nearly three hours!’ she tells him. ‘I can’t be away from a toilet for that long’ he says. Thinking on my feet I tell him, ‘There is another canal cruise on the other side of the river … over the bridge … and it only lasts an hour!’ I vaguely remember seeing something about this … and if it is actually only a figment of my imagination I feel sure that (in the circumstances) God will forgive me? ‘That’s more like it!’ says Mr Obnoxious and leads his party back off our boat and off towards the bridge.

Both boats breathe a corporate sigh of relief. We get a round of applause … and a handshake from our captain. ‘We just want you to know’ we tell everybody, ‘that not every Brit is an idiot! Everybody agrees … and the captains of both vessels ‘cast off’ as quickly as possible! We have a very pleasant trip … our captain and our guide are both very entertaining … and by the time we return to Carcassonne there is not a ‘football hooligan’ in sight!

I am reminded of a similar incident that took place on our campsite just a couple of days previously. Our campsite has (strangely enough, because it is a marvellous campsite) been very quiet. We met a couple last Sunday who were camping at Trebes and their campsite was ‘full to busting’. Ours is quite empty. There are ‘Mr and Mrs Grimsby’ of course (we have mentioned them earlier) and another couple of Brits (in a tent) whom we have nicknamed ‘Mr and Mrs McBeardy’ because he comes (originally) from Shetland and is as bald as a coot but with a magnificent bushy red beard! We appear to be the only people who are staying here ‘long term’ so to speak. There are various ‘overnighters’ but no other people staying for any length of time. If you are reading this blog, by the way, and are into ‘camping’ (either tents, caravans, mobile homes, or lodges) do look up ‘Camping Das Pinhiers’ on the internet and come and stay here … it is a great campsite really near to Carcassonne and loads of places of interest to visit only a short drive away.

Anyway, there we are, enjoying the peace and quiet of this place, when suddenly we are invaded by several busloads of ‘football hooligans’?! There are various teams, loads of supporters, and a good number of ‘groupies’?! They fill all the vacant ‘Lodges’ … and run all over our site swearing at us in English!? We were not anticipating any problems being here in Carcassonne … miles and miles from Marseilles or Paris … so this has come as a bit of a shock. Of course, I need to point out that this has nothing whatsoever to do with the European Championship but that it is all to do with a local football competition … and that the players are all about eight to 10 years of age?! Fortunately they all leave after a couple of days … and our campsite returns to normality … just us, the ‘Grimsby’s’ and the ‘McBeardy’s’.

Today we are visiting the Abbaye de Caunes-Minervois and the Cabrespine Gouffre Geant. Amazingly the Gouffre inspires more spiritual feeling than the abbey … or perhaps not? We stop off for coffee (our daily treat) at café in Villeneuve-Minervois and get into conversation with the café owner. I ask him if our coffee is free today: ‘C’est gratuite pour les Anglais?’ He laughs and pretends not to hear what I am have just asked him. He holds his hand to his ear (with a ‘what did you just say gesture’). Knowing that France are playing today, I reply, ‘Allez les Bleus!’ (the French football team play in blue shirts). ‘Mais oui!’ he responds, and claps … but I still have to pay for the coffee!

Jim Binney

The weather is hot and sunny … just as it has been all week … and we are in a posh, new marina area, somewhere between Gruissan and Narbonne, recovering after a hectic couple of days in which we have driven up into the Montagne Noire (to visit the Four Castles at Lastours) and then to the coast near Narbonne (to visit the quaint fishing village of Gruissan). The weather forecast suggests that next week the sunshine will probably disappear behind cloud and so Julia is determined to ‘pack in’ as many visits as she can to those places on her ‘holiday visit agenda’ that require good weather for them to be seen and enjoyed at their best.

I am still laughing at the thought of yesterday’s visit to the mountain village of Lastours, and the first of our ‘Spanish experiences’ of this holiday. Of course, although we are deep in the south of France, we are still many miles from Spain … but this does not mean that Spain cannot come to us!? We have been very interested in the story of the ‘Cathars’ for a number of years now, and have visited many of the sites associated with their story, a number of which involve mountain strongholds. It is a mute point as to whether or not the Cathars were religious heretics or the first Protestants … but, nevertheless, their story is an intriguing one. Lastours is the site of four castles perched close to one another on the steep crags overlooking the small town itself. We arrive in Lastours just in time for coffee before the seemingly only restaurant closes after lunch … the English morning coffee time and the French lunch time seem to overlap somehow?! We decide not to climb up to the four castles … the path looks very steep and we have climbed up to enough of these places in the past to satisfy us for a lifetime. There are clearly lots of people up there … we can see the matchstick size figures … perhaps it is a party or group of tourists? Julia’s guidebook tells us that there is an excellent viewing point for the four castles, across the valley, which we can drive up to. We decide to do just that … and have our picnic lunch there at the same time.

We park in the large car park, pay our 4€ entrance fee (the French don’t miss a trick, do they) and walk through the woods to the view point. It provides a spectacular view of the four castles. The weather is perfect, the view is marvellous, there is a wonderful viewing platform, and a lovely shaded area with wooden seating where we can enjoy our picnic. We are the only people there … apart from four artists who are painting various views of the castles. It is idyllic. We enjoy the scene, admire the paintings, take lots of photographs, and finally sit on the wooden benches to enjoy our lunch. Suddenly we hear a lot of noise! We look round and there, bursting on to our peaceful scene, are about 50 Spanish schoolchildren?! They are all talking at once … the four or five teachers who are ‘in charge’ of them are all shouting at them at once …I suddenly realise what a jarring, guttural language Spanish is? They stampede through the shaded, wooden seating area, grabbing all the vacant seats, barging us and ‘the artists’ in the process, and proceed to unpack their own lunches. They are mostly young, early teenage girls and … ‘ladies of Spain we don’t adore you’!

Fortunately we managed to ‘enjoy’ the view, take our photos, and eat most of our lunch before the Spanish children arrived … they were obvious the group who had been up at the site of the four castles that we had seen earlier …so we make our escape. Driving home, we can see the funny side of all this … although it didn’t seem funny at the time.

We are up bright and early the next day (well bright and early for us) and ready for our trip to the coast. It is in the completely opposite direction to the Montagne Noire this time. We are off to the beautiful little fishing village of old Gruissan, near Narbonne. We are not going into the city of Narbonne itself … that is a trip planned for next week sometime … but we are going to look round the village and then spend most of the day on the beach. Part of our holiday ritual … whenever we are near the Mediterranean … involves Julia going for a swim in the sea. I am not really a ‘beach person’ but Julia is. Mr and Mrs ‘Grimsby’ (the couple who spend half the year on our campsite, you will recall) have recommended Gruissan as a good place to visit … and it turns out to be just that.

We have a coffee, and then walk up the main street towards the church and ‘fortified tower’ above the church. Julia finds some nice shops selling scarves, hats, and other ‘Julia shaped things’?! They are all ‘open’ but actually ‘closed’?! The shop keepers are all sitting outside their shops in the shade … but they refuse to sell Julia anything because they are ‘closed for lunch’ but they will be open again at 3.00 p.m. in about two hours time? We leave them to it and wander up to the church … which strangely enough is open in contrast to many of the French churches we have tried to visit. It is an unusual building, quite plain on the outside but quite beguiling on the inside. It is   strangely attractive with a lovely statue of Jesus being baptised by John the Baptist by the entrance. The church is dedicated to Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and has a huge statue of Mary ascending into heaven over the altar. There seems to be little place for God the Father, or even Jesus, in this church, and we debate once again the question of exactly who held the most heretical views at the time when the Cathars were persecuted out of existence by the Catholic Church and the King of France?

We climb up the steps by the church to the fortified tower above it, stopping to admire the small houses on the other side of the church with their lovely patios. ‘It would be nice to have one of those!’ I suggest to Julia and she agrees. We climb to the top of the fortified tower (although the tower itself turns out to be ruin) with its wonderful views over the sea, the salt flats, and surrounding countryside. We take lots of photos and then descend back down to the town. As we pass the church, and the nice little houses where we would like to live, the church clock strikes the hour. The horrendously loud noise booms out across the town … loud enough to wake the dead! We decide that perhaps we wouldn’t like to live in one of these pretty little houses after all!

We stop for a late picnic lunch in the marina area at Gruissan and then head for Gruissan-Plage with its wide expansive beach. There are quite a few people there but, even so, it is so expansive that it seems deserted. We find a nice spot on the beach and Julia goes for a swim. There a wind-surfers racing through the same area as the swimmers at colossal speed, and a guy in Iron Man boots flying up and down … I stay safely on the beach reading! After a few pleasant hours … in which I add to my healthy tan and Julia adds to her usual bright pink colour … we get ‘dressed up’ (Julia has brought her special orange dress with her) and go for a drink along the coast. We find yet another marina and wander round the various bars debating whether or not to have a cocktail … or what? We see a notice outside one restaurant offering a mixed plate of Tapas and a litre of Sangria for just 20€? We give in to temptation … even though there is no one else there apart from the waiter. We sit in the sun, overlooking the boats in the marina, watching the people pass by all dressed up in their various summer outfits. When our food arrives it is amazing … a huge plate of mixed Tapas and a huge jug of Sangria! We are sure that we have got it all wrong. ‘It must be 20€ each?’ I suggest to Julia. But even at that price it is worth it. We eventually polish off the lot. Several people passing by are so impressed with our meal that they come in to our restaurant as well. The food is brilliant … such a variety … and the Sangria is the best we have tasted for a long time. It is another taste of Spain for us … and a much better one than 50 screaming Spanish kids! Our Waiter brings the bill over. We brace ourselves for the cost! It really is only 20€ for the lot! ‘Olé!’

Jim Binney

It is all my friend Adrian Smith’s fault! Here we are in the historic, medieval town of Carcassonne in the south of France … having lunch in a restaurant in the crowded Place Marcou … and a waiter is down on one knee proposing marriage to my wife?! My French has improved considerably since the last time we were in France but I can’t quite keep up with what he is saying? I think, however, that it is something along the lines of ‘Dump the old guy and run away with me!’

It was Adrian who, when he heard we were planning to visit Carcassonne again this year, told me that we were to definitely have lunch there and make sure we had the local speciality dish – a Cassoulet of Duck and Pork and Beans. To be honest it is probably difficult to get anything else. There are loads of restaurants and they all seem to be selling various versions this particular dish. We find a really nice restaurant, with plenty of shade, a nice atmosphere, and a reasonably priced menu. The strapping young waiter, with a great line in banter, seats us at a nice table with good views, and we place our order for the famous Cassoulet … plus a couple of cold beers to be going on with … and half a Pichet of Rosé for later with our meal.

I should have known, of course, that today was going to be ‘one of those days’? When I went down to the Reception Area first thing this morning … to check the weather and the news and our emails, etc (the Reception Area is the only place where you can get a Wi-Fi signal on site) I found a copy of the Daily Mail lying around! ‘Oh! No!’ I thought, ‘Monsieur Brexit has followed us down here to Carcassonne?’ On reflection, however, I realised that it might have belonged to Mr and Mrs Grimsby. To be honest I (probably very unfairly) always thought that people in Grimsby only read the Sun newspaper? But then again if you live in Grimsby, but can afford to come and live in the south of France for six months of the year, you might well have ‘upgraded’ to the Daily Mail?

My paranoia continues when we get to the old city of Carcassonne. I haven’t seen the Writer, Peter Mayle so far this year yet (he is probably still in Provence) but I keep running into the Composer, Karl Jenkins. He (and his wife) are wandering around the various restaurants also looking for somewhere have lunch (a Cassolet?). I have my photograph taken with him! Well, actually, he is just behind me looking at the menu while I am having a coffee before our tour of the city!? He probably knows that I love his music and have every one of his CDs. Also, when we are seated in the restaurant, enjoying our beers, the people on a table just across the way keep looking at us, pointing at us, and talking about us. I suspect that they have been told that I am a famous English Rugby Player?

We have been to Carcassonne before so we don’t do the ‘walk around the walls’ again, although it is well worth doing if you are a ‘first-time’ visitor to Carcassonne. Instead we wander through the city remembering various places we enjoyed last time we were here, and visiting other places we previously missed. Caracassonne is not as crowded as usual … the poor weather, social unrest, and (I guess) the ‘football’ tournament that is soon to begin, seems to have put people off coming to France this year. Carcassonne is as beautiful and interesting as we remembered, and it is good to be back. Fortunately, the shops are just as expensive as well so Julia refrains from buying any scarves or hats … she says she will wait for a visit to the weekly local market near where we are staying.

Anyway, there we are enjoying our pre-lunch beers, in the centre of this packed restaurant, when the handsome, young waiter comes over to our table, gets down on one knee and proposes marriage to Julia? I am quite taken aback … so taken aback, in fact that I quite forget to get my camera out and take photo of the scene? How remiss of me? Everybody else in the restaurant has stopped eating, drinking, and talking … and now they are all watching the unfolding scene? Fortunately, for me, a pigeon lands next to our table at the crucial moment … and the strapping, young, handsome waiter shrieks with fright and runs away to hide in the corner of the restaurant!? Everybody in the restaurant dissolves in laughter at the sight of the waiter running away from a pigeon?

It turns out that he is afraid of birds? He tells us later that when he was a child he got locked in a chicken run by accident. Julia feels sorry for him … I think he is a ‘wimp’ … but I don’t say as much to Julia. The waiter spends the rest of the lunch hour throwing empty bottles at the pigeons (several other pigeons have come to join in the fun) to try and scare them away. A nice French couple come and sit at the table next to us. They wonder what the waiter is doing. I tell them (in French) that the restaurant has run out of duck and that the waiter is trying to kill pigeons to put in the Cassoulet. For a moment they actually believe me … before they realise that this is an ‘English joke’?! The duck, pork, and bean Cassoulet is actually wonderful. We are given huge portions and it takes us ages to eat … but it is absolutely superb!

We return to our campsite after an excellent day. We are so ‘stuffed’ that we settle for just crackers and cheese for supper. If you are ever in this part of France you must visit the old city of Carcassonne, and you must have the duck, pork, and bean Cassoulet for lunch … but do keep an eye on the waiters … or bring a pigeon or two with you!

Jim Binney

This summer I am sporting a new … new for me, that is … range of ‘Fred Perry’ sports shirts for holiday wear. Julia has decided that I am now too old (and too fat) for wearing my usual range of ‘trendy tee-shirts’ and insisted that I buy a whole new wardrobe of Fred Perry sports shirts. These kind of shirts have, of course, been in circulation for a long time. Named after the international British tennis and table-tennis player, of a bygone generation, they are made of a soft pliable material with short sleeves and a rounded collar. I have to admit that they do suit me and they are very comfortable … although I have managed to smuggle in several of my favourite tee-shirts in my case as well!

So, it is the second day of our summer holiday to France, and after a night ‘slumming it’ at a budget hotel in Le Mans (apart from a sumptuous dinner at the nearby ‘Restaurant Le Portofino’) we are now ‘living it up’ at the wonderful ‘Les Flots Bleus’ Hotel on the banks of the River Dordogne in the picturesque medieval town of Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne. This is part of Julia’s birthday celebrations (even though her birthday was in May) … like her mother my wife has somehow the ability (and the nerve) to ‘string out’ her birthday celebrations for far longer than just the actual day itself. We have been to the Dordogne several times before but never to this particular part of the region. Julia’s parents stayed in Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne several years ago and Julia has always wanted to visit here. So this year she researched the area, found this wonderful little hotel overlooking the river, made the reservation for a couple of nights stay on our way down to Carcassonne … and here we are!

We haven’t got a room actually overlooking the river (we are on a budget) but it has everything we need – a comfy bed, en-suite facilities, free wifi – and easy access to a wonderful roof terrace with amazing views. It is quite reasonably priced and we promise ourselves that we will return and this time book a room at the front overlooking the river. Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne is a beautiful, small, medieval town that really does live up to its name – ‘beautiful place on the Dordogne’. This year the views along the river are spectacular because the river is in full spate. Because of the excessive rain fall in France during the last month or so the River Dordogne is at a really high level. The river side walks are flooded and largely impassable and the bridge over the weir just down from our hotel has water crashing through it at the rate of knots just about a foot below the bridge itself. Several of the small canoes and rowing boats moored along the river are partly submerged … it is all very spectacular! At least we are not in Paris, however, where the River Seine is 6.5 metres above normal!

We decide to postpone our main exploration of the town until the next day … we settle for a rest (after our long drive here), drinks on the terrace, and dinner in the hotel restaurant. Over drinks we get into conversation with a couple who think they recognise me as a famous English rugby player. Julia finds this very amusing (as will all my friends who follow the sport of rugby)?! We have an interesting conversation, none-the-less. Dinner is ‘to die for’! It has to be one of the ‘all time great meals’ we have ever eaten. Although it is only a Thursday, the restaurant is packed … it is easy to see why. If you are the kind of person who holidays in France you have to put this hotel and its restaurant on your ‘must visit’ list! During dinner a large party of people who are having dinner at two or three tables across the restaurant start looking at us and talking animatedly about us? When we look over they wave and start taking photographs? We haven’t got a clue who they think we are … perhaps the rumour of me being a famous rugby player is doing the rounds? We look round to the table next to us to see if the people there are the ‘famous’ people these other guests are taking about … but ‘no’ it is definitely us! We get into conversation with the people on the next table as a result and they turn out to be a couple of Americans on a ‘walking tour’ of the area. On our way back to our room after dinner I stop at the table of people who were talking about us. They seem very honoured that I have taken the time to greet them … I still haven’t got a clue who they think I am but we exchange some banter and I take a photograph of them for a change … they are delighted!

The next day we tour Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne, take in all the sites and the atmosphere, stop for coffee, and visit the market … where Julia actually resists the temptation to buy a new scarf or a bag?! We decide not to eat in the hotel again that evening … you can have too much of a good thing … and settle for something ‘lighter’ at a rather nice Creperie we have found in the town. Before venturing out, however, we have a drink with our new American friends who turn out to be interesting academics and full of good conversation. We range over a whole host of topics but mainly to do with the upcoming Referendum over the EU in the UK, and the upcoming Presidential Election in the US.

We meet our new American friends for breakfast the next morning before we both leave this ‘beautiful place’. They for the next stage of their walking tour and us on the final leg of our car journey to Villemoustaussou. We have enjoyed good conversation during our time here but the one thing we haven’t done is actually introduce ourselves by name. I apologise for this and tell them ‘I am Jim, and this is Julia!’ The husband responds warmly, and introduces himself and his wife: ‘I am Fred, and this is Peri!’

Jim Binney

Queuing for the Ferry

It is 7.30 a.m. and Julia and I are in Portsmouth, in a queue of cars all waiting to board the Brittany Ferry to Cherbourg. We are off to France again for our summer holiday … only three weeks this time … rather than our usual two to three months. It is all Julia’s fault really … well Julia’s and God’s … because last autumn Julia accepted a call to become the Pastor of Knaphill Baptist Church, Woking, and returned full time to the Baptist Ministry!

Another change is that for the first time in several years we will not be taking our nice big tent and doing ‘proper camping’. True we will be going to a campsite for the main part of our holiday but this year we have ‘upgraded’ to a ‘Lodge’. This time it is my fault … at getting on for 73 I think my days of putting up a big tent (even with Julia’s help) are over. Besides, I am not sure that our car can ‘take the strain’ of being ‘loaded to the hilt’ with camping stuff any longer. And since Julia is now ‘earning’ once again we can actually afford to ‘upgrade’ to a ‘Lodge’. We are heading for ‘Campin Das Pinhiers’at a place called Villemoustaussou (or ‘fairly-long-name’ for short) near Carcassonne, where we will be staying for two weeks but with ‘stop-overs’ in the Dordogne (one the way down) and Cahors (on the way back). Despite the escalating problems between the Government and the Trade Unions in France (a national sport), the alleged shortage of petrol, the inclement weather, and the threat of ‘terrorist activity’ (linked to the European Soccer Championship), we have decide to go to France anyway. You can tell we are ‘Francophiles’!

Anyway, there we are in a queue of cars waiting for the Customs point to open so that we can hopefully ‘pass through’ without any problems and board our ferry. Immediately in front of us is a rather posh car displaying a very large and prominent sticker on the back with the words ‘Say NO to staying in the EU – Keep Britain Great!’ or words to that effect! We wonder why, if he really believes that, he is bothering to visit the Continent in the first place? Although he is British we immediately nickname him, ‘Monsieur Brexit’ because for some reason we get the impression that he is (as Del Boy would describe him) a ‘plonker’?

We ask one of the Port Attendants if we have time to grab a coffee before the barrier will be opened and the cars start to move. ‘You have got plenty of time’ he tells us ‘boarding will commence at 8.00 a.m.’ We buy our coffees from the Costa counter in the Terminal, and we eat the egg and marmalade sandwiches Julia has made for our ‘breakfast’ while sitting in the car. About ten minutes to eight Monsieur Brexit decides he would like a coffee too … and saunters off to the Terminal leaving his wife in their car. I am severely tempted, in his absence, to creep up surreptitiously and stick something over Monsieur Brexit’s car sticker to the effect ‘Vote to stay in the EU … or the Tory Party will rescind all the workers’ rights and humanitarian reforms the EU have enabled us to enjoy in the UK!’ I eventually decide against such a radical measure reliant on the common sense of the majority of us ‘Brits’ to ‘do the right thing’ on Referendum Day.

It is now 8.00 a.m. and the gates are opened and the Port Attendants start to move the now several queues of cars, in an orderly fashion, through the customs point and on to the boarding lanes. There is no sign of Monsieur Brexit? His car is blocking the way for the rest of us. His wife is now out of the car … jumping up and down in the vain hope that he will see her panicking and come rushing back! She is now on her mobile phone trying to phone him … in the vain hope that he has got his mobile phone switched on? He has got it switched one … we can hear it ringing from where we are … he has left it in the mobile phone holder on his dashboard. ‘There is always one?’ says the nice Port Attendant beckoning us round Monsieur Brexit’s car and on towards the Customs point and the ferry.

We get through Customs without any trouble (although they are more vigilant than usual this year) and drive on to the ferry. We park our car in the appropriate place and find our way up to the large lounge area. Monsieur and Madam Brexit wander into our section of the lounge area about two hours into the crossing. They are still arguing … but we are too far away to hear what they are arguing about. The weather is kind, the sea is flat, the wind is behind us, and we make good time arriving half an hour ahead of schedule at Cherbourg. We return to our car and wait for the signal to disembark. We spot Monsieur Brexit’s car … he is on his own. ‘Perhaps Madam Brexit has gone for coffee this time?’ I suggest to Julia. The signal to disembark is given and we all start to move forward towards the exit ramp in turn. Monsieur Brexit is also driving off the ferry … on his own … there is no sign of Madam Brexit at all? Perhaps she has decided to stay on board and return to the UK after all … as long as her husband stays in Europe that is!

Jim Binney

Cricket, Lovely Cricket!

Wikipedia (that well-known font of all knowledge), rather boringly, defines our national sport of Cricket as ‘a bat-and-ball game played between two teams of 11 players each on a field at the centre of which is a rectangular 22-yard-long pitch. Each team takes its turn to bat, attempting to score runs, while the other team fields. Each turn is known as an innings (used for both singular and plural). The bowler delivers the ball to the batsman who attempts to hit the ball with his bat away from the fielders so he can run to the other end of the pitch and score a run. Each batsman continues batting until he is out. The batting team continues batting until ten batsmen are out, or a specified number of overs of six balls have been bowled, at which point the teams switch roles and the fielding team comes in to bat.’

Personally, I much prefer the definition of Cricket (attributed to Arthur, Lord Bane), as explained to a foreigner: ‘You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that’s in the side that’s in goes out, and when he’s out he comes in and the next man goes in until he’s out. When they are all out, the side that’s out comes in and the side that’s been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out. When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in. There are two men called umpires who stay out all the time and they decide when the men who are in are out. When both sides have been in and all the men have been out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game!’

In professional cricket, the length of a game ranges from 20 overs (T20) per side to Test cricket played over five days. The Laws of Cricket are maintained by the International Cricket Council (ICC) and the Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) with additional Standard Playing Conditions for Test matches and One Day Internationals. The game is played by 120 million players in many countries, making it the world’s second most popular sport after association football. Cricket is generally believed to have been first played in southern England in the 16^th century. By the end of the 18^th century, it had become the national sport of England. The expansion of the British Empire led to cricket being played overseas and by the mid-19^th century the first international match was held. The game is most popular in England, Australasia, the Indian subcontinent, the West Indies and Southern Africa.

Now I am a cricket lover. I was taught the game by my late Father (also a cricket lover) who had great hopes for me playing one day for Middlesex and England?! Actually he would have preferred me to play for Kent (where he was born) but unfortunately I was born in Middlesex. My father and I used to go regularly to Ealing Common where he would set up a couple of stumps, place a pocket handkerchief on a good length, and have me bowl time and again to pitch the ball on the handkerchief and hit the stump. I was essentially a potential fast bowler in my youth – 6’ 4” tall and able to generate considerable pace even from a short run up. One of my ‘claims to fame’ is that as a 14 year-old I won a prestigious ‘Star’ award for taking 6 wickets for 0 runs whilst playing for Greenford County Grammar School against Hayes Grammar School!?  At 15 years of age I went to play for Brentham – a club in south Ealing, where Mike Brierley (who eventually became England Captain) and all the Brierleys played (I went to school with his sister by the way). You were not allowed to join a club under the age of 16 in those days (but in my case they made an exception). My burgeoning career as a cricketer was somewhat curtailed in 1960, however, when I became a Christian, and made the choice not to play on Sundays. This was not primarily because I was opposed to Sunday sport per se but because Sunday matches meant that I would not be able to attend church at all because Club Cricket Conference matches on Sundays started at around 11.00 a.m. in those days, (with travel to away games necessitating an even earlier start) and often did not finish until gone 7.00 p.m. at night. This meant that I would miss both Morning and Evening Services at church as a result. I still played on a Saturday – for the school on a Saturday morning and Brentham on a Saturday afternoon (Saturday matches didn’t start until 2.00 p.m. for some reason) – but on Sundays I chose to attend church.

Of course cricket is thoroughly Scriptural you know. It is recorded in the Bible – in the Book of Acts – that on one occasion, ‘Peter stood up with the eleven’ (Acts 2:14)!? The truth of this is confirmed by the fact that although I cannot persuade my wife, Julia, to come and watch a football match with me … she is always happy to come and watch a cricket match. This is especially true if there also happens to be a picnic involved as well! When we first met she would come and watch me play for Chobham … although she drew a line (despite being a professionally trained caterer) at being roped in with the other girlfriends, fiancées and wives to make the sandwiches for the players’ teas? When we lived in Birmingham she would come with me to watch the T20 matches at Edgbaston.

Although we have only been living here in Knaphill for about five months, I have already been roped in to become a committee member of the Knaphill Residents’ Association, and part of the organising committee for the (newly formed) Knaphill Cricket Club. Knaphill used to have a cricket team a number of years ago but it became defunct for some unaccountable reason hidden in the mystery of time. Whether or not I will actually ‘turn out’ for Knaphill remains to be seen. Unfortunately, all of our matches are scheduled for a Sunday and so I will be hard pushed to get there for a 1.00 p.m. start after church. I suppose I could always try and persuade Julia to preach a shorter sermon on those Sundays when we have a match? My fellow committee members seem keen for me to play… but whether this is because they have heard of my cricketing prowess in former years, or because they fear that they will be short of available players, or simply because they do not realise that I am nearly 73 years of age, remains to be seen. Secretly, of course, I have an ambition to be the oldest player to score a century and take all 10 wickets in a cricket match.

Our first match is on Sunday 15 May – which also happened to be Julia’s birthday – and we will be going along anyway, suitable equipped with folding chairs and picnic hamper of course. We will be playing Byfleet CC and the match will commence at 1.00 p.m. We have managed to beg, borrow, or steal some kit … although we are looking for a generous ‘sponsor’ … so it should be a ‘fun’ occasion. Do come along if you can. Our home ground is Waterers Park, Knaphill and our Web Page is www.knaphillcricket.co.uk. We have a number of fascinating fixtures already arranged, including some that incorporate BBQ’s and picnics and other activities which make for a great day out for the whole family.

The more discerning of you may ask ‘why’ I am choosing to write about cricket as a Baptist Minister? He must have an ‘ulterior motive’ some may suspect?  Where is the ‘catch’? The ‘sting in the tail’? Well, there isn’t one really. I really do like cricket. Even if you are not the ‘sporty’ type … or even if you are but think that ‘cricket’ is rather a ‘boring’ activity … I would suggest that to spend an afternoon, sitting in a deckchair, watching a game of cricket on the village green, possibly with a glass or two of something vaguely ‘alcoholic’ (or not) and a chicken leg or six (or not), with the gentle sound of bat on ball and the occasional ‘howzat’ in the background, must be one of the most relaxing things anyone can do!

I suppose that if there is any ‘ulterior motive’ in writing this blog it is to suggest that one can be a Christian, even a Christian Minister, and still be normal, nice, intelligent, interesting, fun with a certain ‘something’ about them. I get sick and tired or the misrepresentation of ‘Christians’ and ‘clergy’ in the media (with the exception of ‘Rev’ and the ‘Vicar of Dibley’ of course) as either ‘namby pambies’ or ‘weirdos’ of one kind or another.  When Julia and I first started to get involved with local stuff in Knaphill we sensed the ‘wariness’ of some people? They obviously wondered what we really like? It has been great to see how quickly we have been readily accepted by everyone – not because we have ‘toned down’ our confession of, or commitment to, Jesus Christ – but because people have seen that we are ‘authentic’, ‘genuine’, ‘human’ … and that we have a sense of humour and can laugh at ourselves!

I became a Christian as a teenager in 1960 largely through the influence of the Rev Ernest Forward, who was the Baptist Minister in my home town of Greenford in Middlesex. He seemed rather ‘posh’ to me when I first met him (I was a lad off the local council estate at the time). I went along to the Church Youth Club and I remember Ernest inviting me to play him at Table Tennis. I was rather good at Table Tennis (another of my many sporting abilities) and I thought, ‘Silly old coger … all Christians are namby pambies, especially ‘clergy’ … I will thrash him!’ It turned out that Ernest was very good. He beat me 21-3 … and I thought to myself ‘Perhaps there is something to this Christianity lark after all?’ It actually took me about 30 plus years to finally beat Ernest at Table Tennis (when he was well into his 60s) … but it didn’t take me that long to find out Ernest’s secret, and commit my own life to Jesus Christ as a result!

Postscript: I did get my own back in a sense when I had the chance to bowl to Ernest (for my Theological College) in the Spurgeon’s College vs the Old Boys Cricket Match one year. Ernest opened the batting for the Old Boys, and I opened the bowling for the College, and when I ran in at top speed to bowl the first ball of the match  … but that is another story?!

Jim Binney     

Do the Maths!

When I was at Grammar School, more than 50 years ago now, I wasn’t very good at Maths. I did manage to get a GCE ‘O’ Level in Maths, but to be honest I never really enjoyed the subject. I was (and still am) very good at ‘mental arithmetic’ – I could always see the point of being able to instantly make out if the change I was given in a shop was correct or incorrect – but I never really got into algebra and logarithms, and all that kind of stuff.

At the same time, however, I really enjoyed (and was very good at) the game of Chess. My late Father (who used to teach Maths and English in the Army) taught me both mental arithmetic (and ‘spelling’ and ‘grammar’), and how to play Chess, at an early age. At Grammar School I became the ‘school hero’ on not less than three separate occasions. The first time was when I managed to beat the Senior Maths Master at Chess (he ran the School Chess Club) when I was only in the First Year! For the record, the other two occasions were later (when I was in the Fifth Year) when a) I put the somewhat pompous Biology Master in hospital in the School V’s Staff Cricket Match (I was a ‘fast bowler’ in those days and he broke his arm trying to fend off a short ball I bowled to him), and when b) I put the rather hated Sports Master in hospital in the School V’s Staff Football Match (we came together in a fifty-fifty tackle, and I came out with the ball and he came out with a torn cartilage in his knee). Anyway … back to Chess … I captained the School Chess Team when only in my Third Year and played Number One Board in the School Team.

My brilliance at Chess, together with my uselessness at Maths, naturally came to the notice of our Head Master. He sent for me one day and, somewhat forcibly, put the following point to me: ‘Binney (they called all the boys by the surnames in those days, and only the girls by the first names) … why are you so good at Chess and so useless at Maths?’ It was at this point in the conversation that I made my first mistake of the meeting. ‘Oh that’s easy to answer, Sir,’ I replied, ‘I like Chess!’ Cue for apoplexy fit by said Head Master, turning bright red and letting off clouds of steam in the process!

Since leaving Grammar School, however, I have learned to appreciate, and value, Maths. My first job was as a trainee Mechanical Engineer (with Taylor Woodrow Construction) where the use of Maths was essential. I studied for my ONC whilst working there (on Day Release at Twickenham Technical College) and was ‘top’ in Engineering Maths (before eventually leaving Taylor Woodrow to study Theology at Spurgeon’s College in preparation for the Baptist Ministry). Strangely (I have discovered) that these two subject – Maths and Theology – are actually not that far apart!

The Apostle Paul, writing to the Christians in Rome in the 1^st Century AD, uses ‘mathematical language’ when he encourages them to see that it is really, really possible for them to forsake their old sinful way of life and live a new kind of powerful, abundant life in the power of God. He exhorts them to ‘Count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus’ (Romans 6:11). The word ‘count’ (logizomai in Greek, the language of the New Testament) that Paul uses here is a ‘mathematical word’ means ‘to reckon up’, or ‘to calculate’.  Literally we could translate it as ‘do the maths’! Write down ‘the numbers’ in their respective columns. In one column list the things that sin once used to hold you down … and in the other column list the things that Jesus Christ has done to set you free from sin and its power. In the first column list the ways in which sin was slowly but surely ‘killing you off’ … and in the other column list the ways in which God has cause you to ‘come alive’ in Christ. Then add the two columns up … subtract one from the other … and see how the ‘good news’ of the Gospel wins hands down!

The Apostle Peter advocates something very similar in his First Letter, where he exhorts and encourages the Christians to whom he is writing to always be able to ‘give a reason for the hope you have’ (1 Peter 1:21) when seeking to share the good news of the Gospel with others. The word translated here as ‘reason’ has the same root meaning (logizomai in Greek) as ‘count’ or ‘reckon’. In effect, Peter is telling us that the good news of the Gospel is perfectly ‘reasonable’, in other words it does not simply involve a ‘step of blind faith’ but it can be ‘reasoned’. It is actually ‘logical’. It all ‘adds up’ if you like. It actually ‘makes sense’ … if we bother to really think about it, think it through … if we ‘do the maths’ so to speak.

One of the great problems we face today … as we seek to understand the mystery of life … is that we repeatedly ‘leave God out of the equation’. This is a huge mistake on our part. We cannot correctly answer the ‘big questions’ – ‘Where did we come from?’ ‘Why are we here?’ ‘Where are we going?’ – if we ‘leave God out of the equation’! And yet so many of us go through the whole of life with the ‘key ingredient’ missing. Theology and Maths, Maths and Theology, are eternally linked. ‘Religion’ and ‘Science’ are not in opposition. It is the same God who is the ‘author’ of true science and true religion. The wise man or woman will always ‘do the maths’. He or she will always make sure that God is included in the equation that gives the meaning to life.

So … here I am, in the Head Master’s Office … with the Head Master having an apoplectic fit as a result of my ‘summing up’ of why (for me at that time) Chess was better than Maths! Cutting a long story short … after a heated lecture from the Head Master as to why I needed to start ‘doing the maths’ … I then made my second mistake?! ‘Binney!’ said the Head Master, ‘When are you going to change your ways?’. ‘Tomorrow, Sir!’ I replied. ‘Tomorrow?’ Tomorrow?’ the Head Master responded (having another major apoplectic fit, and turning a very dangerous colour of bright red in the process). ‘Today, boy! Today! You will start to change today!’ The Head Master was right of course … and I did start to make more of an effort from that day on.

When it comes to getting to grips with the ‘equation of life’ of life, the same is true, however. Instead of ‘putting it off until another day’ we really do need to start to ‘do the maths’ right here, right now. As the Apostle Paul exhorts us (in his Second Letter to the Corinthian Church): ‘Now is the accepted time; behold, today is the day of salvation!’ (2 Corinthians 6:2)! Don’t delay! Take the claims of Jesus Christ, and the good news of the Gospel seriously! Do the maths!

Jim Binney