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British politics is a mess.
We have voted to leave the EU. David Cameron has resigned. Boris Johnson has vanished. The Labour party are wrestling on the floor. The Lib Dems are sitting quietly in the corner. Meanwhile, Nicola Sturgeon is performing the world’s longest eye-roll.
Yes, British politics is a hilarious mess. How can I describe it to you?
Sometimes life is just a bit overwhelming. Sometimes I just feel a bit small
Does anyone else feel like that? Every now and again?
Did you know that blog posts in January are 72% more likely to be in some way related to New Year’s Resolutions than any other topic?
Have you heard that there is an approximate 14% increase in inspirational memes on Facebook during the month?
One of my favourite things about going home for Christmas is reading the family newsletters that Mum gets sent. It’s always a joy to hear what more successful people have been doing with their year.
And this year I wanted to get a piece of the action myself.
The Mikeyra was more than just a car. It was a way of life. It touched the hearts and captured the imagination of countless men, women and children.
It taught us so much – we learned to love. We learned not to judge a book by its cover. We learned patience. We learned that if your heart is pure then no challenge is too large. We learned the importance of always having a valid RAC membership.
Sometimes, it is difficult to express yourself fully in words. So I have taken to drawing pictures to articulate some of the unfathomable depths of my soul. This particular piece of art is so deep even I don’t know what I mean.
It is a picture of David Cameron feeling awkward at a ceilidh. Jeremy Corbyn is also there, along with some other celebrity guests. I hope that you enjoy it. But more than that, I hope that it speaks deep emotional and grammatical truths to your soul.
So, the moment is upon us. A moment we all knew would arrive. But none of us wanted to face. It is time to say goodbye to the hallowed vehicle we have come to know, affectionately, as the Mikeyra.
So many memories it has given us. So many lives it has touched. So many adventures. So many words I could say. And I will. But not yet, for there are important rituals to be observed.
So in last week’s episode of ‘Mikey is suddenly and unexpectedly serious’, I suggested that our worship music is sometimes let down by its lyrics. Perhaps it’s a mistake to assume that worship leaders automatically make good songwriters. Perhaps we should encourage non-worship leaders to get involved. Perhaps more lyrical guidance should be given to aspiring songwriters.
This week, I continue that train of thought.
I like writing songs. And I’d like to think that I’m quite good at it. But that hasn’t always been the case.
I remember first being encouraged to write songs by a couple of leaders at church. I was 15, I played guitar and I led worship. The natural progression was to write my own stuff, right?
So, the British Summer appears to be upon us in all its half-hearted, muggy glory. Bumbling slowly along with all the grace of a short-sighted giant in stilettos carrying a heavy shopping basket full of insect repellant and sun cream.
Hay fever, in this repulsive train crash of an analogy, is the wart on that giant’s nose, the foul stench of dried sweat emanating from its pores, the head-lice in its sticky hair – an unwelcome parasitic stowaway gleefully making its obnoxious presence known.