Psalm 22:1-8 (NIV)

The first of two readings that I performed as voice-overs at cession church here in Auckland tonight, for week two of our series entitled Break Of Day.

Click here to hear.

Rest of the service here.

The Stream 2011

Have spent the last three days attending The Stream - an annual teaching conference for the Wesleyan church of New Zealand, held at East City Wesleyan Church.

Umpteen seminars were led by visiting American Dr. Joel Green and Scot Dr. David McEwan. (the latter of whom I also heard speak at ECW’s service this morning) These sessions were also attended by an ever-changing congregation of Wesleyans’n’others from around New Zealand, including one of my many cell groups.

One discipline I’ve been trying to apply during sermons lately is that of taking notes. Melissa appeared to be scribbling down an entire book during each session. Over the course of the three days I seem to have just jotted maybe a dozen notes.

Here are a few of them:

"Terms like infallibility and inerrancy of scripture don’t do much for Wesleyans."

"Our beliefs about the Bible are most on parade through right actions [orthopraxis] and right hearts [orthokardia]."

[the plot of the Bible]"Creation – exodus – new exodus (in Christ) – new creation."

"The aim of scripture is to guide us in the way to Heaven."

"Is rationality a sign of humanity?"

"Is the goal a ‘Christian commonwealth’?"


The remark which hit home with me the deepest though came on Saturday night during the youth drive. When asked about Hell, David spoke of how God doesn’t compel anyone to love him, and allows them to turn away from him if they so choose.

It’s not quite the same way of expressing it as talking about people having to ‘pay’ for their sins, but I would say that it's more about the underlying choice of turning toward or away from God.

Doctor Who Live

Vorgenson: ”And still no word from the Doctor.”


Not since Sir Laurence Olivier’s Akash in Time has there been a stage show which depended so heavily upon a star whose part had been entirely pre-filmed.

Doctor Who Live toured the UK in autumn last year, featuring all the best-known monsters from the series, some of them to music.

I would even have gone to see it myself, but I knew that would be setting myself up to go see every other Who theatre production in the future, and it’s really the TV episodes that I like.

After all, just where does a live performance fit into the actual Doctor Who canon? Every night is different, so which one is the official version? Do the public – who form a part of events – actually laugh when the Diet Cybermen threaten to upgrade them, and if so why? Maybe some nights they didn’t laugh. Which was it? Heck, what does the true audience look like? For that matter, which seating layout is the real one?

All credit to Matt Smith then, for presumably shooting each of his scenes 30-odd times for each individual performance, and I gather repeating all his lines absolutely identically on every single take. Imagine how long that must have taken. “Sorry Mr Smith, but when you said cool that time, you blinked only slightly. And your hair’s growing again.”

As you know, you can’t copyright a live performance (because it’s not copyable), which is probably why they asked everyone not to film it. (because video files are copyable) But then, despite the name, this event wasn’t purely live anyway.

As well as Smith’s component, the whole night proved to be a huge clips-show of the series – a few excerpts making it in twice. Consistent with so many episodes of the most recent season, this even enables the appearance of William Hartnell in the title role, despite the minor handicap of his having been dead for 35 years. Disappointingly, neither Jon Pertwee's nor Colin Baker’s flashbacks are taken from the 1989 tour of The Ultimate Adventure. Aside from the limited amount of footage from that show available, maybe they just couldn’t decide which version was the theatrically canonical one.

The enormous applause that Tom Baker's clips got was eclipsed only by the even bigger one that Christopher Eccleston garnered, which was itself then drowned out by the shots of David Tennant. The subsequent montage of Matt Smith, uh, sustained the volume. Everybody loves Matt Smith. Well, nobody dislikes him.

McCoy got booed. :( Well. That’s just rude.

Quite how collector Vorgenson had managed to acquire these moving historical images in the first place wasn’t really covered in the version that I saw. Maybe there was a line in there about his Minimiser also boasting a Space-Time Visualiser app, however the audience’s appreciation of this sequence made sure that I didn’t ask any questions. (had I done so, I would have expected Steven Moffat's input to ensure that I immediately received some answers)


Anyway, for a show that required actual lead actor Nigel Planer to spend 90 minutes not playing any incarnation of the Doctor, it looks like they all did a pretty effective job.


When the final scene features the Doctor confronting the Daleks on stage in front of the video screen, it’s clear that the writers have thankfully sat down and tried to do this the difficult way. That and the extended length of the Doctor’s appearances make this one piece of conjuring that surely worked its magic on audiences.

Doctor: "You’re having a party – a very big party. Why wasn’t I invited, or am I already there? I’m not dancing am I?"


Still, I’m disappointed that no-one has released this on DVD yet, or I would be getting it. Goodness knows there were enough cameras present to film it, not just shooting live feed for the stage's giant video-screen, but the audience's many cameras too. And I should know because, as mentioned above, I wasn’t there.

Doctor Who Live was a somewhat accurate title, given that Doctor Who is not the name of the character, but the TV show, from which so much of this had been recorded earlier. Had they entitled it The Doctor Live then a lot of parents might have justifiably asked for their money back.

It is a tad inevitable however that Doctor Who Live now denotes a story which can only be seen on YouTube.

Well, there are enough missing episodes of Doctor Who already, without adding yet another one to the pile.


Available... oh.

(with thanks to... oh, so many enterprising strangers)

Shrek The Third

On 6th June 2007 I happened to be at the New Zealand premiere of this movie, but only because I was going into the next screen to see Hot Fuzz.

Still, the hubbub in the Newmarket foyer outside made me almost sorry that I was not a part of the Shrek fan club. It’s hard to forget the sight of a giant Shrek making his way through the crowds of excited fans.

As with earlier instalments, Shrek the Third is not so much about the story as the gags. The King is dying, and speaks of an heir whom Shrek, Sid Marty Donkey and Puss In Boots must go on a short quest to find. Along the way, all manner of insanity invades events, which is a good thing too given the constant threat of babies. (babies cripple comedies)

As expected, my viewing of this film did suffer from the previous chapter’s revoicing of some characters for the UK. When Doris (voiced by Larry King) showed up, I just wasn’t sure if this was the same character as in the previous film, simply because she wasn’t voiced by Jonathan Ross. It later turned out that despite being PAL, the New Zealand DVD contains the US version of the film, not that there’s any way to tell from the box before buying. Perhaps there was a foreign English language option that I missed?

Queen Lillian: ”What? You didn't think you inherited your fighting skills from your father?”

Not so crazy. We’re still waiting to hear who Fiona inherited her American accent from…

Also, one of the DVD extras features Merlin, but not voiced by the film’s Eric Idle. That’s Monty Python’s Eric Idle, who sadly gets no dialogue with John Cleese. Despite a fantastic cast, the actual casting is disappointingly miscalculated.

Still, as I said above, the non-stop gags smooth over everything.

Donkey: "Look out! They got a piano!"

Merlin: "Sorry, kid, I don't do that stuff anymore. How about a hug? That's the best kind of magic there is!"

Prince Charming: "You! You can't lie! So tell me puppet... where... is... Shrek?"
Pinocchio: "Uh. Hmm, well, uh, I don't know where he's not."
Prince Charming: "You're telling me you don't know where Shrek is?"
Pinocchio: "It wouldn't be inaccurate to assume that I couldn't exactly not say that it is or isn't almost partially incorrect."
Prince Charming: "So you do know where he is!"
Pinocchio: "On the contrary. I'm possibly more or less not definitely rejecting the idea that in no way with any amount of uncertainty that I undeniably do or do not know where he shouldn't probably be, if that indeed wasn't where he isn't. Even if he wasn't at where I knew he was. That'd mean I'd really have to know where he wasn't."

My favourite laugh though would have to be the gingerbread man seeing his life flashing before him. That little biscuit’s led such a full life!

(with thanks to Brett and Kristen)

(some version or other of it (good luck figuring out which) available here)

Doctor Who: Music Of The Spheres

AKA Tempo Fugitive. ;)

In the TARDIS, the lone tenth Doctor (David Tennant) is scribbling away composing a symphony, when a Graske drops in and hijacks a space portal to invade the Royal Albert Hall during the Prom.

When it comes to the canonicity of these miscellaneous sketches, I guess everyone draws the line in a different place.

In favour of this one's inclusion is that it features the official Doctor Who credits on the start, comes from the production team of the day, and isn't actually impossible within the universe(s) of the series.

Standing against it is that it's an insert in another programme, is quite short, and is just too silly. The audience at the Royal Albert Hall take the interruption to their show (presumably not a Doctor Who-themed one) so obligingly.

Me - I'm just on the side of waving it through, but mainly because the tenth Doctor's era was often written in such a throwaway manner anyway.

After so much high-profile activity recently, the Doctor and the surviving population of Earth really ought to be on speaking terms by now, as evidenced by not just the audience's recognition of him, but all the kids with Police Box and sonic screwdriver toys. The astronomical coincidence required for the wormhole to appear in those two places and times - while the Doctor is composing, and a performance is in progress - are par for the course at this point too.

I'd discount anything before or after these minutes in the actual evening, not least because they feature a Cyberman and Freema Agyeman, although they might just both be more of Martha's identical twin cousins.

Not sure what to do about the live shots of the Doctor through the portal that aren't from the portal's perspective though, other than maybe try to re-edit this. And the orchestra is out of sync… oh all right I'll stop.

If nothing else, seeing the tenth Doctor one more time is always going to be a delight, although I admit that this is the only occasion on which I've ever found him annoying. Perhaps because there is so little else going on to dilute him.

After all, a mini-episode specifically about music requires the rest of the soundtrack to be contrastingly empty of it. (the actual music of the spheres here is more of an atmosphere) Therefore for this one episode only, we can actually hear what's being said. The opening moments have such clarity to them that, on headphones at least, it really makes you feel as though you're inside the TARDIS. So that's what the new TARDIS interior sounds like - I've never heard it before. If only they would learn to mix the regular episodes this way again.

Ironic then that the Doctor's beautiful closing monologue about how great music is, should be so at odds with what makes this mini-episode stand out well.

The Doctor: "Music isn't just orchestras and pop stars and special people with albums and downloads and concerts - it's you. 'Cause the music of the spheres… is all around you. When you're on your own, just close your eyes, and you'll hear it. Music. Inside your head. 'Cause everyone's a musician. Everyone's got a song inside them. Every single one of you. Bye."

Doctor Who - season 7 review

If I were drawing a venn diagram of Doctor Who seasons and their strengths, I might create a set labelled "serious tone". I might also have another set labelled "great casting". Maybe another "well-written scripts", and still another "captivating direction".

Wherever they all overlapped, would be where I would place season seven.

It's a series like no other. Actually I'm wrong, there are other series that are like it, but none that quite recapture its achievements.

It was the series when they relaunched the show with a fresh cast, fresh concept, and even fresh colour-scheme. The following series it would lose some of these elements, gain some new ones, and begin to reclaim some of its earlier premise, but this year had a vision for the series all of its own, and it stuck to it.

Following Patrick Troughton's departure, its sense of humour was turned right down too, resulting in a run of stories which assumed that you were as intelligent as the characters.

Everything is set on Earth. Arguably only two episodes (out of 26) feature an alien monster. Stories 2-4 all revolve around the need for a bigger, more respectful worldview. (or universeview) This metaphor for real-world globalisation is a strong one, yet subtle enough not to get spelt-out.

How would you negotiate peace between different species? Or work around an actual government conspiracy? Or convince strangers both that they are about to die, and also that they should help you to escape alone? Well, these guys are trying to figure it out on the hoof too.

Special mention has to go to Caroline John as Liz Shaw. She joined at the start of this series, and left at the end of it, effectively sealing her place in Doctor Who history as one of the better-written companions. She definitely wasn't that much of a protagonist, but she was treated by the writers with much more respect than her air-headed successor Jo Grant who, um, well, didn't prove quite so able to help.

As everyone who's not a TV executive knows, retooling a successful series is always a disaster, however this season would be the exception that disproves that rule. It's even better than the last series! Maybe they should never have brought back the TARDIS.

Best. Doctor Who season. Everrr!

(in your extra terrestrial face, season six!)

Spearhead From Space
Doctor Who And The Silurians
The Ambassadors Of Death
Inferno

Doctor Who: Inferno

I enjoyed a review of another Pertwee Doctor Who adventure on YouTube a while back, which spent the ten minutes quoting production trivia and saying how great everything was.

Now I have no argument with that. Cheap and cheerful shows inevitably attract those of us who are interested in the film making process, and if the viewer actually enjoyed watching the story also, well then so much the better.

But you know what? I was a bit irritated that the guy had nothing to push back with. Surely, I thought, he should really be balancing all this praise with some, or even any, criticism?

When writing my own reviews, I've observed that I tend to have plenty of opinions about the negative aspects of a particular story, but very little to say about the good. Because, y'know, good is the way that everything is really supposed to be. Good is even the goal which the programme-makers themselves were aiming for, in all areas. When something is good, it robs me of the opportunity to suggest what I think might have been a better alternative, and I wind up with nothing to say. And what's the point of a review that has nothing to say?

Therefore, I worry that all my reviews tend to err on the side of sounding negative.

When I watch a story as excellent as Inferno, it leaves me quite literally lost for words. Let me have a quick go anyway.

It looks very bleak, which perfectly conveys the tone of the entire story. The whole seven parts feature the Doctor constantly losing ground. Even his saving Earth in the finale is at a terrible overall cost. The overcast film location work segues well into the videotaped studio scenes, which feel every bit as oppressive, and isolated.

Special mention must go to the sound on this story, which likewise never lets up the tension. There is GREAT atmos at the drilling site, which has the whole cast shouting their lines over it right through to the final episode.

I was watching the VHS release, which seamlessly includes episode five's deleted scene of Jon Pertwee's dual role as the radio announcer - another bleak moment which I find it hard to imagine the episode's original transmission without.

The story's look and sound are obviously down to the directors, Douglas Camfield and Barry Letts. When the first episode jump-cuts from a victim about to be struck, to a hammer banging a nail, we know we're watching something of quality.

Even the script pulls no punches, uncompromisingly confronting us with a Doctor who abandons the whole of an alternate planet Earth to die, whilst still appealing to its doomed inhabitants for help to save his own one.

It's not just the plot though - there's also the well-defined and well-played characters, not to mention their gem-laden dialogue.

“The safety margins are for cautious old women like Sir Keith.”

“We have no proof of an emergency situation.”

“An infinity of universes. Ergo an infinite number of choices. So free will is not an illusion after all. The pattern can be changed.”

That last line brings me onto the meagre push-backs that I can come up with. To me, an infinity of universes in which every choice is played out suggests no free will for their inhabitants, who must follow whichever alternate choice their universe is there to accommodate. Granted though, we could probably argue about this forever, but only if we were in the right universe for it.

With all the political, hierarchical and ecological challenges for our heroes to wrestle with and overcome, the inclusion of a set of green zombies seems an unnecessary embellishment, and I admit that both times I have watched this, I have not quite processed what was going on there.

There are a couple of weak effects that stand out, but only really because the rest of this epic sucked me in so effectively.

These were the film effects of the TARDIS console in episode one, which jar with the surrounding VT shots, and in the case of the Doctor's sudden materialisation was surely unnecessary. The other was the cliffhanging final shot of episode six, but even that couldn't overcome the intensity and sheer exhaustion of the preceding 24 minutes.

My only real criticisms would be the usual ones about parallel universe yarns - that there's no acknowledgement of the principle character's double, nor the realisation that in such a divergent history there really ought to be different people in these roles, but meh. Given an infinite number of universes, any scenario can play out, no matter how unlikely.

The whole thing finishes unthinkably - with the cast laughing at a joke that is actually funny! Now I ask you - in this genre, how often is that successfully achieved? It's a comfort when you bear in mind that this sadly turned out to be Liz's final scene, unless you count… come to think of it the list of her return appearances is longer than I thought.

For me, the bottom line is that it doesn't get any better than Inferno. Except for all the other greatest Doctor Who stories ever.

Somewhere out there sits another me in a universe where every Doctor Who story was this fine. He doesn't blog at all.

Except maybe on YouTube.

July To The World!

18 years ago, in the UK, I presented a jokey Chrstmas Day radio show entitled The Christmas Day Summer Special. We had people doing lots of summery outdoor things, apparently oblivious to the bitterness of winter. That was the joke.

Years later I moved to the southern hemisphere and cribbed clips of this for use on my radio demo tape, chuckling to myself that, in a climate where Christmas was reliably hot, it might sound genuine.

Last weekend however, New Zealand played the same joke right back at me.


Local joy-filled dessert shop - Quirk Dessert - were running what they called a 'Midwinter Christmas' promotion, despite it being darkest July. After all, everyone here knows that Christmas is never cold. Confused yet?

Well, you'll never guess what Quirk's owner (and friend from church) Maree had Random Dave and myself doing all Saturday morning…


Never enter this place and tell them that you feel like a pudding.

For a whole hour - dressed as Christmas puddings - Dave and I marched up and down Picton Street, spying punters who looked like potential customers, and offering our leaflets to them. In I think every instance we were greeted with smiles!

"We are Christmas puddings, and we are available to be eaten at Quirk Dessert on the corner of Wellington Street - happy Christmas!!!"


When we had exhausted the flyers, we spent the next hour standing outside the front doing whatever we could think of to attract even more attention to ourselves. Dancing, fighting, playing tennis… we did some of our best material out there. Drivers honked us, the cops kept their distance, and only one person called us freaks, but that was only the local pastor, no doubt appalled at Howick's spiralling respect for the actual religious festival. Christmas is hardly about joy, dammit.

Presently, it was time to return inside from the unChristmassy cold, change back into our civvies, and seriously reduce our waistlines. (ironic in a café that only sells desserts) I think employee Dave had some actual serving to do (I was just a volunteer), so I wished him and Maree well, and headed out to the newly renamed Countdown to get in some shopping of my own.

Along the way, I noticed that something had changed. The people who I was passing in the street. Nothing was wrong exactly, but something was missing from their countenances.

As I approached, none of them were breaking into a smile any more.

:(

Numbers 20: 1-13 (NIV)

Reading at cession church in Auckland tonight, part of our series The Amazing Race.

With thanks to Daniel.

Rest of the service here.

Taranaki, You Are Da Bomb

Does anyone else think that Egmont National Park looks like a giant cartoon bomb, complete with burning fuse?

Get Smart (2008)

In almost every instance I think remakes are a bad idea, but even I will concede that there comes a point when I can at least understand why they do them.

After all, Don Adams has hardly been available to continue playing Maxwell Smart since his sad passing in 2005.

If it were up to me, I'd call time on the character and leave the canon to spin-offs and prequels, if that, but in Hollywood, money is understandably a higher priority than creative integrity.

So, ignoring everything that has gone before, and certainly any original premises that might otherwise have got filmed instead, we wipe everything out and start all over again back at the beginning, exchanging 60 hours of comedy for just a few.

On the one hand, this footnote in the history of Get Smart is as inept as its title character. The original 30-year canon, as far as I am aware, was family entertainment. Here it gets positively bawdy in places.

99: "I'm just a woman with a dusty old uterus."

Admittedly The Nude Bomb may have seemed similarly extreme in its day.

However ignoring that as aspect of its tone, this reboot pays tribute to its predecessor so well that I have to wonder why they didn't just make this a continuation of the original history. Steve Carell doesn't so much bring a fresh interpretation to the role of Max, as do an excellent job of building upon Don Adams' version.

And all the old running jokes are here to be enjoyed again too - the shoe phone, the cone of silence, and "Would you believe…?", not to mention of course the whole walking down the corridor through all the closing doors thing.

In fact, overall I found this movie to be great fun. Those who remember the original though - ie. those to whom the title unavoidably aims this film - may well hate it.

So why not just start something completely new instead? It's arguably a little more respectful to the series than pointing at 99's uterus.

(available here.)
(with thanks to Flatmate Dave)

The Amazing Race: Entry Into The Wilderness

Sketch at church tonight, inspired by Numbers 14. Team-members: Jon, Brett, Caleb, DaNae and Rob.

Rest of the service here.

Jaded

Electronic Catch Phrase

Fig. 1: Taken in such a hurry that we forgot to include the actual game.

Another games night, this time back at its traditional home at Chris and Kylie's. (last time I was here was when I learnt Rummikub)

Catch Phrase, aka Electronic Catch Phrase, is pretty much what I call charades in electronic form. A machine tells you the phrase that you have to mime, or at least verbally allude to, and you do the rest. There are headings which you can choose from too.

Handily Random Dave and I seemed to have a bit of telepathy going on once we'd hit upon the idea of describing things in TV terms, eg. "Babylon 5 had a lot of aliens on it who were…" (ambassadors, as I recall)

My favourite instance of this though would have to be when I successfully conveyed the phrase 'martial law', by simply declaring "This town! Is now! Under…"

Don't panic.

The Politician's Guide To Dirty Tricks

Sketch wot I wrote at cession church in Auckland tonight. With thanks to Nigel.

Did-dee, did-dee, diddley-dee, powww

The Shy's Love Languages

By the grace of God, somehow, a few years ago I came to peace with my singleness.

I really don't know how it happened. Perhaps after a lifetime of no's and other closed signals, maybe somewhere inside of myself I finally just gave up trying.

I also believe that if life gives you lemons, then you should really be using them to make the best lemonade that you can.

It's funny, but although being in a relationship is generally considered to be more desirable than singleness, I hardly ever hear anyone, single or otherwise, explaining that comparison.

For example, almost every film now features at some point two characters very happily indeed becoming a couple. How many movies can you name in which a character very happily indeed becomes single? In fact, surely that would make for more original and better defined characters?

Likewise I often hear of people saying how much hard work it takes to successfully have a relationship, but I never hear anyone say how much hard work it takes to successfully be single.

I mean there's the obvious emotional stamina you have to develop. There's no-one to regularly talk to at length, no-one on hand to comfort you, and no-one to foster a sense of self-worth. Friends can do a bit of those things, but not daily. Heck, if you just need someone to hold your hand, there's no-one who you can even ask, especially if you're a guy. You're on your own, buddy.

Not to mention all the other feelings that have to go unexpressed. There's no point in writing poetry that no-one will read.

Then there are the practicalities. Couples will share household tasks, but a single has to be able to do it all. Cooking, laundry, trash, gardening, shopping, finances, negotiating with the neighbours, whatever.

And as you know, it's more expensive to be single. To have a conversation you need to pick up the telephone or travel somewhere, which requires the maintaining of a social life. And there's no going halves on the line rental, or sharing a car to save petrol. In fact in this respect, I admit that consumerism is well and truly stacked against you.

When going on holiday, a couple will effectively pay for half of a double-room each, while the single pays an additional 'single room supplement'. Couples can take-out cheaper joint insurance schemes, but not so the single. This pattern is repeated right down to the humble loaf of bread, which can be economically purchased large by the sharing couple to save money, but not by the single for whom it would go mouldy before reaching the end, so we have to buy the more expensive small one.

What's that? Children? Yes, that's right, a child is insanely expensive to bring up for the single too. Crikey, just think of their childcare fees…

However, kept quiet are all the positive things about being single. (they're kept quiet because we have no-one to tell) The best relationship in the world still subtracts time from other endeavours - time which the single still has. Freedom too - for example I could hardly live my dual-life between England and New Zealand with a long-suffering significant other in tow, unless she took a big cut to her freedom for me.

And then there are the more trivial daily things. If you live alone, then when you run out of milk, there is absolutely no responsibility whatsoever to go out to buy another carton if you don't feel like it. Nor to make the bed. You can even build that scale replica of Knight Rider out of garbage and keep it in your room, just because you feel like it.

Slowly, over a few years, I have perceived my acceptance of my relationship status as a single eclipsing 50% and building to, at time of writing, about 85%. 15% of me is still bothered about it, but not that much anymore.

In 2009 I realised that I could no longer imagine any girl being great enough that singleness would be worth giving up for her. Well of course I couldn't. The girls in my imagination are all based upon the ones in real life, who have all unanimously declined. Even the one girl who did say yes, later denied everything. I literally can no longer believe that a girl can like me in that way - I would have to deny overwhelming first-hand experience.

Five weeks ago some friends were running a six-part weekly course based around Gary Chapman's famous Five Love Languages franchise. It wasn't just about romantic love, but love for one's friends, neighbours, colleagues etc. too. It didn't seem that relevant to where I was in life, but avoiding it didn't seem right either. So, following my principle of doing something rather than nothing, along I went to hopefully learn something, and to pay my $20 course fee. (and yes, the couples enjoyed their usual discount - good for them :) )


Each evening consisted of a video presentation, followed by some sort of activity. In case you haven't come across it, Chapman's famous five love languages are:

A. Words of affirmation
B. Quality time
C. Receiving gifts
D. Acts of service
E. Physical touch

Obviously there are more than that (eg. laughter, singing, being prayed for), and obviously you can write your own successful book about the ones that you come up with, but Chapman's strategy is based around which one of the above five scores highest for you.

So on week one this consisted of a 30-question worksheet, featuring pairs of statements which we had to express a preference between, in order to isolate which love language of the five each of us tended to prefer. For example, the statements included:

I love hearing my spouse tell me he/she believes in me. (A - Words of affirmation)
I love that my spouse shows real interest in things I like to do. (B - Quality time)
I know my spouse loves me because he/she surprises me with gifts. (C - Receiving gifts)
My spouse sometimes runs errands for me, and I appreciate that. (D - Acts of service)
I can't help but touch my spouse when he/she is close by. (E - Physical touch)

I looked down the sheets. Those of us who were single were told to replace the word 'spouse' with 'important person', but that didn't help me. My problem was that I had no experience of anyone - spouse or 'important person' - doing these things for me. I went all the way through the thirty questions, but just could not answer them. I simply didn't know how things like kissing, being told I love you, being told I look good etc. felt, so I could hardly discern any preference between them.

I looked around at the other singles, younger than me, busily beavering away at their sheets. Of course they were. They knew the answers.

Lest I might sound full of self-pity, I tried not to say anything about the ink I had saved, but it just wasn't possible, no matter how evasive I was. Curse my principles of telling the truth.

Girl: "So Steve, what love language are you?"
Me: "I don't know."
Girl: "Well didn't you do the questionnaire?"
Me: "No."
Girl: "Why not?"
Me: "I didn't know what any of the answers were."
Girl: "What do you mean you didn't know what any of the answers were? You just put down whichever one you prefer."
Me: "I don't know which I prefer. I have never had any experiences with which to know which I prefer."

And then, without meaning any ill, she said it.

Girl: "How can you not have had any experiences? I'm 20 - I've had loads of experiences!"
Me: "Have you tried this cake? It's awesome. I'm going to get another piece."

And there it was. I was twice her age, but she had already had a kid and was engaged to be married for the second time.

And at that moment, my old darkness began to rake up.

The bitter darkness. The darkness from which used to emerge the world's mistaken assumptions that I was not good enough. The darkness that used to make me feel like I was God's mistake.

I wasn't feeling like that yet, but I recognised the outskirts. Obviously I said nothing. I made my excuses, left, and sat around in the rain outside Countdown supermarket with a milkshake to cheer myself up.

It had been years since the last time I had felt this way. I didn't like feeling this way again.

After much deliberation, I eventually decided to continue with week 2 of the course, but on the proviso that I could quit at any time. I think I really did it so as to not discourage the teacher by leaving. Maybe it would get better. Maybe it did, but I got worse.

The sharing on the subsequent weeks increasingly made me feel like I was the problem classmember. Whatever the question, I felt like I was always giving a miserable answer. Well, I know what I always think of that kid, and hence what to be afraid of everyone else thinking of me.

One Sunday in the middle at church, a similarly-themed series of services began entitled The Politically Incorrect Guide To Relationships. There we jokingly showed a clip of a teaching film from maybe 50 years ago, in which a young teenager prepares to ask a girl out for the first time. Well, he's nervous, afraid of what the girl will think of him. I identified with that kid, which turned out to be a mistake when everyone started laughing at him. That hurt quite badly.

So badly that the pastor actually rang me at work the next day because he'd noticed that I wasn't myself. I explained that the theme was raking up a lot of old stuff within me, and that I wanted very much to talk to someone about it, but had no-one in my life with whom I could. Now that's singleness.

That's why this is on my blog. If I don't share this story here, then no-one will ever hear it.

Tonight I made it to the end of the course. Maybe I should never even have started it. Although billed as being as much about loving your friends as that special someone, the inescapable truth is that it has been heavily romance-centred.

I'm usually quite happy about being single these days, enthusiastic even. Being single frees you of much responsibility, opens up your choices, and enables you to get on with whatever. I know it's a cliché, but if you use what it offers, then it actually does become a very precious gift. I recoil from the idea of someone expecting me to give it up for them.

But I guess my loneliness is perhaps not so much gone, as simply dormant. Fallen into disuse, after all I rarely dwell on it.

When I do, I guess I ask the question why. Why did all those old friends - without knowing each other - each feel that I was not worth finding out more about? They can't all be wrong, so I have to conclude that there is something wrong with me.

I suppose that might be easier to accept, if one person had once felt that there was something right about me.

And if I didn't sometimes meet a girl with a look of hopelessness in her eyes that I think I recognise, and want so much to comfort.

It's The Final Foodtown

Absolute Radio Advert

Recorded another quick advert today.

Hear it here.

Boy (2010 movie)

Me tonight: "The girls have decided that I am about to watch a film with them called Boy. It's going to be a long evening."


Boy is actually, or perhaps apparently, the name of the title character.

He's an 11-year-old, uh, boy, discovering who his idolised dad actually is. Or perhaps apparently is.

OK I'll stop mincing words, and indeed sentences: I spent all of this unsure whether the boy's name actually was Boy, and indeed whether or not his old man was going to turn out to be his real dad, or an imposter. I mean he seems quite untrustworthy right from his arrival, so he therefore seemed to be lying about his identity to get unchallenged access to the land.

It didn't really matter though, as I confess that I didn't follow the plot much anyway. The atmosphere throughout this was enough to make me relax and enjoy the ride, and here again I'm catching myself on yet another word. This isn't a ride, or even a journey. It's more just transportation, which through the world of a kid in New Zealand in 1984 is all you need, if you're interested in such surroundings.

It's not often that I recognise a director by their style, but midway through this I suddenly wondered if it had come from the same mind as Eagle vs. Shark, specifically at the appearance of an animated sequence. It was, and of the two, I guess this is the one that I prefer.

Great atmosphere, funny people, and something of trip back to childhood, even though I never grew up in New Zealand.

A weak title though. I would never have sat down to watch this had it not been chosen for me by girls.

(with thanks to Sara and Katie)

Pirates Of The Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

Tonight Daniel and I donned our eyepatches to go see Pirates Of The Caribbean 4, but then had to quickly remove them when we realised it was in 3D.

(2D is just a patch on 3D)

Alas, our four friends who I had seen the last two Pirates films with had not been available to join us for this fourth episode. Something to do with having kids now, I gather. Well, I can't argue with that, for a couple of reasons:

1. This is a bit violent for young kids.

2. Several of the earlier cast declined to come along for this one too.

The central anti-hero Captain Jack Sparrow did though, and appears to have been taking lessons from the same tutor as Zorro.

For in this, the lovable drunk leaps around with the ability of someone at the peak of gymnastic fitness. Perhaps he was always this light-footed and I've simply forgotten, but I'd prefer to suppose that he's been attending some classes in contrology.

Anyway I thought this was the best of the four movies so far, but this might partly be because I'm prejudiced. Early on there are some scenes set at Hampton Court Palace, where my dad used to work. Well of course I enjoyed sitting in a cinema watching that in 3D. Were those rooms sets, or was I actually looking into my dad's old workplace again? Maybe I should have paid more attention when I was younger.

The exposition here is done very well too. The story sprawls a bit, but the writers know it and take care to pause and let the characters run through what they're doing and why a second time. Sincerely, thanks for that.

There's also a missionary, who continues the series' attitude of endowing the traditionally weaker characters with intelligence and integrity. His love story with the mermaid worked quite well I thought, made easier by how innocently the mermaids are realised. In such a fantastical world, they managed to make those two fairly believable.

Unlike the last two movies, this entry is very much a stand alone episode. I obviously don't know what any future instalments contain, but this holds little connection to the previous three, and develops Captain Jack's character not a jot. Sure, he gets to talk a bit again, and we find out a little bit more about his past, but he doesn't really change in this.

As if we would want him to.

Ticket To Ride

Ticket To Ride is one of those board games that looks deceptively simple.

I mean all you have to do is build train lines from station to station across the US. Easy, right?

Well, I guess the complicated bit is that you're playing against other people.

I discovered this game at an impromptu games night held by my friends the Reynolds family. Given the high number of people who squeezed into their living room to play this and several other board games tonight, I daren't wonder what kind of numbers attend when they run an event that they'd actually planned.

Say, there could be a board game in that...

Available to play "online" (Ah! Ha! Ha...!) here.

(with thanks to Rob)

The Dragons' Den

Have spent a couple of evenings this past month driving the sound desk for a Christian competition loosely based upon the Dragons' Den TV series.

Christ-followers in the media were invited to pitch a project that would in some way advance the Christian message. The panel of dragons consisted of experienced believers from the field, who decided which pitch would win the cash injection that had been donated for the purpose by a philanthropist.

And the diversity of entrants was fascinating. A short film, a doco, a discussion show, an undersea natural history series...

It wasn't so much about who got it, as it was about encouraging Christians to turn that long-term dream of theirs into an actual plan, to learn from those who've been there, and to simply make contact with each other.

All in all it seemed to be big success, not least for the team who won!

The Ark Of The Covenant - Found!

Neighbro's episode #3 of 3

Neighbours parody at cession church in Auckland tonight. Somewhere buried in here was a message about community synergy.

Big thanks: Carmel, Jon, Scott, DaNae, Caleb and Daniel. With apologies to Brett.

Episode #1 here.
Episode #2 here.

The Gathering 2011

I've been trying to make it to The Gathering (the NZ Wesleyan-Methodist church's annual weekend retreat) each year since 2006, but somehow something has always got in the way.

This year the weekend has been cancelled due to lack of numbers. Or more accurately, the numbers are too high. Everyone has kids now, which therefore lessens their availability.

So this year, to not lose the event entirely, regional one-day conferences are being held around the country. This lunchtime I therefore headed up to the bus stop on Picton Street to finally attend one. I admit that I didn't relish the idea of navigating all the way to Papakura Wesleyan Church using only Auckland's public transport. Within a mere moment however, I had bumped into Paul, who had offered me a ride there. Well, my bus stop was right outside where he works. (or even Quirks)

After he, Kate and myself had found the location, the real time of searching began. At one point we were all broken up into our respective churches and asked to discuss questions about what we think our one does well or badly, and ways in which we could improve.

There were about eight of us there from my church (cession), which is easily enough people for me to fall quiet. I find it very hard to communicate in a crowd, because I instinctively wait for a pause in the conversation, which just never comes. At one point I began to say something at the same time as someone else, and as usual stopped to let them speak instead, to which somebody declared "Everybody! QUIET! Steve is talking!" Suddenly eight faces - all of them friends - were smiling expectantly at me.

I have no memory what my point was, just the sense that belonged there.

Neighbro's episode #2 of 3

Neighbours parody tonight at cession's church service in Auckland. Somewhere buried in here was a message about being a good neighbour.

Big thanks: Kate, Carmel, Tes, Jon, Rachel, Scott, DaNae, Caleb and Daniel. With apologies to Brett.

Episode #1 is only a footstep away here.
Episode #3 is only a footstep the other way here.

Return To Oz: Episode #7 of 7 - Return To The End Of The World

It was the final day of my journey down the east coast of Australia, and therefore also my final day this week of actually travelling.

Today, all being well, my destination would be home, also known as the room where I live in Auckland, New Zealand. However my other three travel days this week had all been fraught with stress. So, surely this last one couldn't really have any new unexpected disasters to throw at me?

As it turned out, today was also the day upon which US religious broadcaster Harold Camping had predicted that the world would end.

As my late night gave way to an early morning (5am), if Camping's date was right, then thanks to eastern Australia's time-zone I had maybe as long as 29 hours in which to get back to New Zealand, and hastily achieve all of my still-outstanding lifelong ambitions. Finish making those films, get this blog up to date, catch up with season 32 of Doctor Who, that sort of thing. What's that? Marry the girl of my dreams? Sorry but I have to prioritise here.

The day certainly got off to a surreal start. Fio gave me a lift to the station, bought my ticket with me, came over the railway bridge, and sat waiting with me on the platform.


I've said it before on this blog, but my friendship with David and Fio, whilst not an unusually close one, has become a special one to me over the years. They've been there for me whichever side of the globe that I've been on, and as such represent to me something of the faithfulness of God. Every time I bid them goodbye, I never know if I'll ever see them again, and yet here Fio and I were at yet another international parting, chatting with the lack of facial defensiveness that comes with a very early morning.

Fio spotted the train approaching, gave me a hug, and headed back across the bridge towards her car.








I've found taking pictures in Australia to be an uphill struggle, for several reasons. Firstly because my friends don't use film any more, and so therefore never have cause to look for it in shops, and so therefore now think that nowhere sells it. Secondly because those places that do still sell it (convenience stores, chemists, the same places as always have basically) do now have a narrower selection. And thirdly because, upon repeatedly running out of film, I would go over to using my phone as a backup, which like all things digital, takes many times longer to switch on, and is much more likely to fail.

Bearing that in mind (rant follows - enjoy), despite repeatedly telling me that it was fully charged this week, my phone's actual standby time has reliably proved itself to somehow be less than a day.

Now this morning on the train it was claiming that it had no power left, and automatically logging itself off. So I was turning it on again, upon which it would suddenly realise that, oh yeah, it actually did have enough power to run an entire minute-long smug video telling me its name, before a moment later claiming again that it had no power, and logging itself out once more. At which point we would go through the whole pantomime all over again, with my attempting to seize the occasional shot for the collection above.

Just what designer had judged that purchasers of this phone would be so stupid as to not notice the disparity between what the phone would say, and what it would prove? A 'smart' phone? Really? If you ask me, it's been designed by Ideos.


However despite all my internal despairing, this morning I had to remain calm. My biggest challenge still lay ahead of me. For although my New Zealand visa explicitly stated that I was allowed to re-enter the country for over another month yet, the fact remained that the lady back at Heathrow in March had seen this, and denied that it was so. According to her, today I would not be allowed back into New Zealand, even despite the written wishes of its own government.

So, trying to look as helpful and friendly as possible, I approached the lady seated behind the Qantas check-in desk. After all the hassle on my way out of New Zealand about the camping stove that hadn't been in my luggage, just what problem might this clerk be going to raise? Maybe some other query to do with camping?

Clerk: "So, do you think the world will end today?"

Whu…?

Was this an official question? Was it a new part of her flowchart, just introduced in the past week? Would she refuse me onto the flight if I wondered out loud "God knows"? Yes, as I type this now I have no end of answers that I wish I had counter-thrown her with.

"Yes, in just over three minutes and five seconds."

"Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did."

"Of course it is - which is why it doesn't matter if I smuggle on board this coughing foreign minor inside a 500ml transparent bottle."

"Never mind about that - take a look at this camping stove."

In the event I meekly went with "Um, no."

I also muttered something about "I don't think anyone will know when the world is going to end." Hmm, relevant, although admittedly still a little bit threatening with it.

As it turned out, she seemed to be distracting herself with this subject, and as she checked me in, let me know exactly what she thought of all those stupid doomsday believers that the media had told her about. Apparently they were all selling everything they had and humanely having their pets put to sleep. I wonder what she thinks of global warming?

I did manage to add "I don't think they're stupid, I just think they're letting a system make their decisions for them." But then it was all over. (I am obviously referring to the checking-in process) (whew!) I was now hurrying to get through security as quickly as possible before anything else went wrong, not least everything.

Of course now that I had left her, it was possible that her question had been in response to seeing my job title 'Missionary' on my visa, and maybe she had been looking for a slightly deeper answer. Perhaps I should have regaled her with talk about Revelation's metaphorical interpretations vs. its literal ones, and the possible intentions of the original author.

Although if I'm honest, privately, I think a part of me secretly rather liked the idea of the world ending today after all. I think on some level we all did. It would have solved so many problems. Good job I hadn't told her that!

Newspaper: Harold Camping has '300' followers. What? How few? (beat) Oh. Suddenly it all fell into place. 300 people is hardly international news, unless they're dead, or you're making fun of them. The media were never going to round such a figure down, so it had probably been rounded up, as had the number of Camping's followers who had also believed that particular aspect of his teaching. So how many human beings actually believed that the world was going to end today? Put it another way, how many were rather going to wait and see? How many had actually had a pet put to sleep? One?

Christianity, and the opinions within it, are extremely diverse. Most of the media on the other hand strives to convey things very simply. Whoever those people were, they were not as simple-minded as they were being portrayed, and neither were those of us who disagreed with them. They needed our sympathy tonight, not our scorn.

The internet was looking mean. There was a lot of ridicule for Camping's followers, including from some church leaders. That was so not the way to handle this. In the event that the world indeed didn't end, those people would be rather broken and hurting, so they needed people to reach out to them and accept them. The fragment of the church that I saw online was doing the polar opposite of this - crowing about itself being right and Camping wrong. I sincerely hope the atheists were having a bit more compassion, but again I suspect some did to some extent, and some didn't.

Which reminds me, I have to grudgingly suppose that the designer of the Ideos phone probably made a lot of good decisions too...

I got on the plane. I sat down in my window seat. I went to look out of the window. I kid you not - there was nothing there...


We sat - presumably on some tarmac - waiting to take off. I watched the whole of Are You Being Served? (sadly not the Australian version, but the BBC episode Conduct Unbecoming) Then we sat on the tarmac some more. If I were really cynical, then I would have assumed that this was because someone was rummaging through my luggage, desperately trying to find something - anything - to delay the take-off even further on account of. Or maybe we couldn't take off because New Zealand - being a couple of hours ahead - had already gone.

But, take off we presently did. There was more food, another ice cream, and disturbingly little to look at outside the window all the way back to Auckland. There we found a planet to land on (I assume it was the same one we'd left), and I at last approached Passport Control for final clearance to re-enter New Zealand.

Pleeeeease... Goddddd...

And you know what? The guy at the desk was really helpful. Pointing out that my Visa only had six weeks of validity left, he advised me that Immigration ought to be able to extend it for me. I was so impressed. I suppose this had distracted him from noticing that my passport was due to expire soon afterwards too...

Oh the world might not be ending, but thanks to that international dateline that I mentioned, the legality of my being at the edge of the map sure was.

Out in the public hall, I looked around for catholic-priest-in-training Nigel. Upon locating each other, he promptly whisked me back to Howick in record time. Outstanding.

This whole week has been a breath of fresh air, both literally and metaphorically. I guess I perhaps could have recognised earlier that this trip would turn out to be much more about seeing friends than seeing the country. For example I visited Tim for one night, but have hardly come away with a sense of Brisbane. Everybody invited me back. I hope this means that I didn't outstay my welcome anywhere.

I must admit, at the outset I'd felt somewhat apprehensive. It had been a while since I had last dropped myself into an alien environment with only my own abilities to depend upon. Sure, every time something works out I attribute it to God, and often when it doesn't I do too, but I also believe that there's a component of his letting go of me to see how I manage on my own too.

If there is a next time, then I hope to plan it in a little better detail, rather than (cough) winging it.

Thank you very much friends Tim, Andy, Ally, Fio and David.

Thank you Australia for a whole week of g'days.

And thank you also for coming on this trip with me.


Return To Oz episode #1
Return To Oz episode #2
Return To Oz episode #3
Return To Oz episode #4
Return To Oz episode #5
Return To Oz episode #6

Return To Oz: Episode #6 of 7 - Hello Again, Sydney

Scottish Dave was back in my life for another 48 hours.

Or, more accurately, I was back in his.

Q. So, what calamitous series of adventures and mayhem could possibly be waiting for us today?

A. None. Today, Dave had to work.

Fio, her son Nicholas and I therefore set off to explore Sydney on foot without him…











Next day, the four of us headed out for more walking.


My ringtone is currently set to the old Windows 3.1 "tada" fanfare, which PCs used to play upon booting up. In the above shop, I kept thinking that someone was trying to call me. It turned out they were just using an old computer in there.










So there it was - another two days packed to bursting with sights and people. As well as old friends like Kev, I also had a brief phone conversation with Mary-Ann. It's nice to make the connection with my last trip here.

I must admit, I have really enjoyed dropping in again on my Sydney 'family'. It's not just Dave, Fio, Nicholas and Kev, but the place is one which, after over six years, still feels familiar to me.

Adios, Sydney. Thank you for becoming more to me than just a one-off holiday destination.

Return To Oz episode #1
Return To Oz episode #2
Return To Oz episode #3
Return To Oz episode #4
Return To Oz episode #5
Return To Oz episode #7