the spirit of Bilko

Official figures from the German government reveal that each German soldier uses 10 toilet rolls a day. When questioned about this apparent extravagance the defence minister ridiculed the idea and claimed that each soldier used only 8.8 sheets per day.

Which perhaps means they are very big sheets or very small toilet rolls.

Or more likely the real reason is the spirit of Sergeant Ernest Bilko of the MT platoon Fort Baxter USA is alive and well in some corner of the Bundeswehr. Al and me have enjoyed the 50th anniversary edition DVD of the expolits of the swindling charmer played by Phil Silvers and there can be little doubt that some stores commandant is on to a big rip off here big time. I can just smell it.

Yet what might it be? Here are a few ideas:

• selling the stuff by the metre to the Russians for use as sandpaper in their building trade because Russian sandpaper is in short supply
• exporting it to the French for wrapping paper for their latest fashions and lingerie: especially the bottom end of the market
• recycling it as newsprint: reversing the age old principle that today's newspaper is tomorrow's loo paper
• selling it on wholesale with a mark [sorry euro] up to the Minstry of Defence here since NATO decided to start the standardisation of military equipment across member states with the humble bog roll.

Perhaps you have your own scam in mind? Let me know......

Lorry Drivers

"Let's play lorry drivers grandad"

I can hear Matt now all those years ago after my father bought two tonka toys to play with when he visited his grandparents in Stacksteads where I was brought up.

It must be over twenty years ago now. They loved to play together on their hands and knees behind the settee pretending to go on long journeys from Portsmouth up the motorways and stopping off at transport cafes for meals on the way.

Ironic, poignant, the stuff even of a Hardy novel you may think given how he died.

I have often thought about it and more so this last day or so as I have been banished to the back bedroom because Teapot has a cold and there the lorry now stands on a chest of drawers.

You see it is a very special lorry. The picture of it is taken at Rosary Road because when grandad died Matt took it there as it held special memories for him of his grandad. It somehow captured part of what they meant to each other.

And now it is here and for me it carries memories of both my father and my son. It is something they touched and held, enjoyed and laughed over. You may think it would remind me of the awful accident where he died but in an odd way it has the power to transcend that with other thoughts. It wraps up in it a family tie and bond that is not erased by one night of mayhem.

We may think that memory is something almost wisp like. We try so hard not to forget and hold on. But memory is more concrete than that. It is anchored not only by photos, letters and videos but also things like this lorry which are so rich in meaning.

I shall treasure it.

Not just a missing T....

..........those of you without eagle eyes will need to enlarge this photo to see what is missing. It was taken in St Ives last month and is of Mathew's cottage.

Something jars about Mathew without the second T but that is as nothing without Matthew at all.

Where am I 13 months on? A few words in a blog run the risk of superficiality but I will run it nonetheless. So here goes:

• everything is changed and for ever
• there is always the unexpected round the corner: whether it be more tears or a knock at the door and more cake!
• I am learning slowly I have to leave alone what I cannot fix for Teapot and Mrs FLN: there are no magic words
• I feel the sufferings of others more keenly: those around me who suffer loss or pain or the threat of illness and those who make the news
• I still have 2 sons
• I still have FLN's texts on my mobile phone
• death is demonic and I have to resist a theology that tries to argue otherwise by however subtly trying to say it is part of God's purpose
• the suffering which God entered into at the cross for his Son teaches me that I only dip my toe into something He shares even if He does not explain it all
• friendships become welded and forged as never before
• it is harder to be outgoing and make the first move in a conversation with those I am not as close with
• we need more worship songs which fit the brokenness of loss and grief
• I still laugh and enjoy the things that have always been special: a day at the cricket, a meal with friends, a walk in the hills, holidays with Teapot to mention just a few
• the intensity of life: at home and at work can touch the overwhelming

what will I say another 12 month's on....?

Dreaming...

I spent a relaxing evening in good company on the Robber Button yesterday.

The pleasant rocking of the boat in the water, the conversation and food was just the thing to help me nod off to a deep sleep soon after hitting the sheets last night.

Before long I was dreaming I was the stoker on the Rubber Bottom, an enormous barge hauling an endless line of other barges loaded with baked potatoes, moving slowly from Great Hayward to Gloucester. The barge master kept shouting for more steam and that if we didn't go faster I would have to complete a book full of Su Doku puzzles before I could go off shift. He said we had to go to Belfast en route to pick up his wife and she would poke me in the eye for my pains if he was late.

The faster I tried to shovel the coal the harder it seemed until my arms and legs seemed to give up the struggle and I could move no more......

......I woke up in a cold sweat to find Tiger the cat sprawled out on the bed across my legs....