I have never been an easy person to get blood from,when I was younger the only place they ever seemed to get it from was my hands, but the years of sticking needles in them has left the veins scarred and now its very rare to get any from there. Most people have the best veins in their arms yet for some reason mine never have been.
So when it comes to taking blood its not easy I’ve had six different people try on one ocassion. A couple of years ago it got to point where the doctor decided to use this ultrasound machine thingy to find a good vein before trying and it actually worked there was no blindly sticking needles in. Whenever I go into hospital now I’m always quick to tell them how hard it is to get blood from me and that I’ve found the best way is with that machine. Sometimes they don’t listen though and ask if its okay to “have one try as I think I see a good vein” I know I have the right to say “no” but I dont like to cause a fuss so I always let them. I’ll admit once or twice they have managed. But more often than not they try and get nothing so they try again and again. (That was a funny “just once”)
Maybe I’m being over dramatic but after a while it can get a bit much. My arms are already covered in scars so I’d prefer not to have someone sticking needle after needle in without results because they “think” they can see one. Please just bring the ultrasound and be sure you can see one before you inflict that “sharp scratch” upon me. I don’t say it because I dont think your capable of doing your job I say it because I know myself better than you. I’ve been here before and I’d prefer to save myself from the discomfort.
So please next time I ask don’t just ask me if you can “try just once” I’m not being a difficult patient on purpose my veins just like to play hide and seek.
Sorry for the rant I’ve been in and out of hospital for the past few weeks and after all the “sharp scratches” my veins are pretty sore.
It’s awards season baby, which is the annual tradition of the Illuminati converging to award tiny gold trophies to beautiful famous people and their art.
Today we’ve got the nominations for the Golden Globes. And while it might be the most entertaining award show to watch because the guests are actually served alcohol, it might not be the most in touch with what people actually saw in the theater or on their laptops/iPads/iPhones/Amazon Fire TV Stick this year.
Overall, Get Out was snubbed, racking up only two nominations in the Best Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy category and a Best Performance in a Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy nomination for lead actor Daniel Kaluuya. That means that Jordan Peele was left out of both the Best Screenplay and Best Director categories for film. And just look at how boring the director’s category is in general:
YAWWWWWWN. No Greta Gerwig either (though she did get a Best Screenplay nomination)? No Luca Guadagnino???
The films that got the most Golden Globes love this year are The Shape of Water (yes, the one with the sexy fish man) with seven nominations, The Post (Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep-flavored cat nip for awards voters) with six nominations, and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.
As for the more surprising nominations I’d like to point out that Mariah Carey is nominated for Best Original Song for “The Star” from the animated film The Star. She’s been nominated for a Golden Globe once before for her The Prince of Egypt’s “When You Believe” also featuring Whitney Houston, which went on to win the Academy Award. Now please take a minute to think about Mariah Carey potentially performing at the Oscars, considering “The Star” might be on an Academy Awards path. Deep breaths.
Ansel Elgort, Jezebel darling, is nominated for Best Performance in a Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy, for Baby Driver. And elsewhere in the world of babies the animated movie The Boss Baby is up for Best Motion Picture, Animated. And Christopher Plummer, who you might remember was hastily cast and inserted into Ridley Scott’s All The Money In The World after Kevin Spacey initially acted in the role, is somehow up for Best Performance By an Actor in a Supporting Role in Any Motion Picture.
The television categories are less surprising, with plenty of the usual suspects like The Crown’s Claire Foy, The Handmaids Tale’s Elizabeth Moss, This Is Us’s Sterling K. Brown, and Outlander’s Caitriona Balfe nominated for Best Performances in the Drama categories, just to name a few. New shows SMILF and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel landed Best Television Series, Musical or Comedy nominations, as well as Best Performance awards in that category for both lead actresses Rachel Brosnahan and Frankie Shaw (who also created SMILF), respectively. Insecure only got one nomination, for Issa Rae’s performance, which is criminal.
And I’ll just say it, the Best Performance category for an actress in a limited television series is stressing me out:
If I left out your favorite category or you’re just dying to confirm that Jude Law was nominated for his performance in The Young Pope after being robbed at the Emmy’s (he is and he was), you can check out the full list of nominations here. Congrats Ansel Elgort!
I met her at the club where she dj’d, a place called the Key Bar. She had some friends with her and I met all of them there. They were nice people. The man in the group insisted that he and I only speak in Greek. I managed to do so only slowly, while Anastasia implored us to give it up. A short girl with an aquiline nose, a thick mess of black hair, and a hipster’s fashion and music sensibilities, she and I attempted sex the night we met, but she had gotten me too drunk and I couldn’t get it up with the condom and all. On this night I was hoping for round two, a second chance, not because I really wanted to have sex with her, but so I could redeem myself and make it so that calling what we did “sex” more accurate. She’s a busy girl, some sort of well-known journalist. Well-known for what, she didn’t tell me.
I hated the bar we were in. Too modern. More to the point, it was too loud and I coudln’t hear anyone talking. Why do they have to turn up the stereo so loud? A few of her friends left, and I saw my opportunity for the three of us to do the same. I suggested we go to a place called Rebetiki Istoria, a bar/cafe where they have live Rebetika music. Rebetika is the blues music of Greece. It’s golden age was the 1920s to the 1950s. Everybody in Greece loves Rebetika, and so they naturally obliged.
It was a long walk from Psyrri to Exarcheia, but we had much to talk about. Anastasia was interested in why I would want to be in Greece, not just because of the economy crumbling but in general. In her mind, Greece was just about the last place anyone would want to live and she regretted passing up her own opportunity to leave it. Her questions were not merely inquisitive; they had an edge to them, a sharp edge that cut me and got my attention. Her questions were imploring and critical – I at once felt an urge to answer her genuinely and an urge to curse her for her insolence. I told her many times already that I was here following my musical dreams, but whereas this would be enough for your average person, even if they didn’t think it was worth it, it wasn’t enough for her. This was her opportunity to proclaim to an outsider all of her grievances against her mother country, the place that nurtured her growth and betrayed her trust. The place that built in her a sense that maybe Greece could be a respectable country finally, and then used that same sense to beat her in the face. Perhaps there was also a humanitarian bent to her screaming. Maybe she was actually worried that I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. Certainly, I didn’t know everything before coming, but I knew it would be hard and that’s really the most important thing I needed to know. I mostly brushed her off, figuring that her business as a journalist would turn anybody into a void of negativity. Every one of Anastasia’s friends was more understanding of why I came and what I was doing even if they agreed with Anastasia’s criticisms of Greece, but she was out to prove to me that I had made a mistake.
Her friend asked me what I thought of the air in Athens. I remarked that I thought it had improved since eight years ago, because I remembered the mucus in my nose turning black and this time around that wasn’t happening. He said that his job was to study the air quality in Athens and that it may actually be worse, since if you can see the pollution in your nose, then that means it’s big enough to be filtered. But if you can’t, then it may actually be entering your lungs.
All well and good, I already knew that Athens was a smoke choked city halfway on fire with anarchists, heroin addicts, and mobster politicians. In fact, that’s the only environment where Rebetika truly made any sense and I very simply was on a mission to become a part of the music I was in love with.
We arrived at the club very early, 9pm, and it was empty. Not even the band had shown up. It was only the waitress. The place was very pretty from the outside. It was an old building, blue and in an ornate, neo-classical style, which isn’t very common in Athens anymore but a little more common in Exarcheia. There is one wooden sign next to the door which says “Rebetiki Istoria” but other than that there is no trace of the existence of good times, drinking, dancing, music, or smoking within. If the police still cared to shut down places like this, they could very easily walk right by it and not see it. Within, the walls were old and stained, but continued in this ornate style, as if there would be a meeting of dignitaries or holy men, only they’d have to be from hell or something. Pictures and paintings covered the walls. Paintings depicting scenes from Rebetika songs. A man in a suit walks in on another man sleeping in his bed and takes out his pistol. His mother and his wife, presumably, try to stop him by giving him alcohol. Other pictures have guys in suits partying in hell, or partying in some tavern, or smoking on a mountain, or smoking with lots of girls, or smoking in hell. One painting depicts the Nazi Occupation. Another depicts the lost Greek homelands of Asia Minor, where my grandfather was born and where many of these musicians were from. The photos were old pictures of all the greats and all the legends of old times. All the people who basically created modern Greek music, enshrined in their own personal club, where the songs they wrote would continue to be deified by ever new generations of venerators and imitators. There were no windows. The club was obviously formerly an abode, since there were rooms that had the doors taken off to open up the space. Many small tables were crammed next to each other. The place had the smell of constant smoke, as if it would always smell like a club. Indeed, this felt like the place I was looking for.
We sat in a corner and I changed the subject. We went back into trying to teach me Greek by only speaking Greek. I forget what we were talking about. They asked me to play my bouzouki before the band showed up and so I did. I played songs until customers began to arrive and then the guy with us decided to leave. They were thoroughly impressed, not only that someone from Texas could be so interested in the music, but that they’d be so good at playing it. The waitress had overheard me playing and told the band about me after they showed up. I was called into the back room to meet them, with Anastasia giving me a not so gentle push to go and meet my dreams. Of course, there was no way of knowing if I was going to meet my dreams.
The band consisted of lively characters, casually dressed in modern attire, subdued dark colors, jeans, ribbed, tight shirts, gruff and full of cigarettes and booze. They smiled the smile of pranksters, tricksters. Someone had already taught me the word psonyara, which means a person who thinks they’re much better than they actually are. They had the smile of a psonyara, someone with attitude, people who think they’re hot shit. They looked upon me with a kind of tired, over it, been there look and quickly brushed me off – if they even noticed me. The head of the band, also the owner of the club, beckoned me to come.
I pulled out my bouzouki to start playing and the lead bouzoukist in the band reached over and snatched it from me. Everyone in the group hunched over it inspecting every last inch. They poked, prodded, placed ears over things, plucked and pulled and played a few notes.
I took a seat and played a song called “Markos the Jack-of-All-Trades”, a song where a man and a woman are arguing. She acuses him of evading his marriage vows because he’s been chasing other women. He claims he’s been too busy working all these jobs this whole time to be able to find the time to marry her. It’s the song I know the best because it was the first Rebetika song I ever learned. I used to get stoned and listen to the 78 rpm recording over and over because of it’s hypnotic, pulsing rhythm and the way the singers sound like they’re dogs barking ready to pounce, but somehow eloquently, like nobility. I escaped into the world of the song, performed the opening melody and began to sing the first line.
“Stop playing. You’re good. You’re very good. Come tomorrow evening between 9 and 9:30 to perform with us, okay?”
The “stage” was just a space cut into the wall in the next room. It had the effect of bringing the experience right to your table since they were on the same leve as everyone else. I appreciated this set-up, since you could clearly participate with the performers as they played. The next day would be my first public performance in Greece. I returned to my table and told Anastasia what happened. She became very excited for me. The band took their seats and she and I began to make out hard and solid for what seemed like ten minutes or so. This was definitely a high point in the life of any musician anywhere, to get the job and get the girl in the same night. Her lips tasted like victory, or white wine. I’m not sure since I was too drunk at this point. I don’t see the difference between victory and wine anyway.
The place was full, packed. The music was not loud, but the people were. It was very lively. The crowd was mostly young, with some people of all ages filling in the rest. There was a group of people who moved from England to some island back in the 60s to start their own school for the islanders who didn’t have one. They professed their love of Greece and Greek music when Anastasia predictably questioned their motives for deciding to live in Greece. They gestured to the lively and boisterous crowd, getting hammered and joyously yelling, singing and dancing all over the place as their reason for staying. Anastasia admitted that having fun is the one thing Greek people tend to be good at. In fact, it was the reason why she didn’t take the job offer in New York, because she knew this doesn’t exist in America. Songs about crime and living as a bohemian, with intricate melodies, stirring poetry, dark themes, high passion, driving rhythms that shake your bones; Rebetika is the siren call of Greece, if I may use a gratuitously overused Greek metaphor. In this case, it may be true though. The music I love has brought me to a Greece teetering on financial and economic ruin, a Greece on it’s way down after so many years on it’s way up. I really had no way of knowing if I was jumping into my dreams or into my ruin. The bouzouki, sqeaking it’s woody, spring loaded twang, distracted me from any thoughts of utter ruin. I had a strange sense of being at home, like everyone here could be my best friend for the night if I simply spoke with them.
Before we left, she reminded me of how evil and terrible Greek people are, that I should be careful of these people who have invited me into their band. She said they will do terrible, horrible things to me. I told her that all artists are terrible people and that she should fucking relax for god’s sake.
I walked her home. The air was cool and we were both ripped. It was a long walk that took us by a large park. We had lots of time to talk about “us” and what “we” were as a couple. She told me that her boyfriend of many years had recently dumped her because, apparently, he thinks she’s too negative. “Hmm, how could he have gotten that idea?” She told me to lay down the rules for her. She asked me, “What are the rules, so that I don’t hurt you?” I should have told her not to ask such ridiculous questions because I’d lay down some rules if I had to. Instead, I told her not to do the exact thing that I knew she was going to do. “Don’t tell me you like me and want to be with me, but then never meet up with me again.” She promised she wouldn’t and then she said that she had to go home alone. I didn’t see her again for a few weeks.
The next night when I showed up, there was no one except the owner and the waitress. There was a small stereo playing old recordings. The waitress sat smoking, dressed in all black, her curly Greek afro guided the wafting cigarette smoke to escape. The owner was sitting with his bouzouki and his whiskey. He very gentlemanly invited me in and sat me down next to him. He knew no English, and my Greek was still pretty bad so we just focused on playing music. The way it works in a Rebetika band is, whoever starts playing a song, everyone else just joins in if they know it. This is how it works during practice, while working on stage, or just hanging out. Somebody thinks of a song, and without saying anything starts playing it. At this point, nobody else is allowed to butt in and try to take over with a song they thought of. They must wait until the song is over and begin playing it immediately if they wish to play it. It’s an interesting form of etiquette. I find it both fair and liberating to have a small set of simple rules designed to keep people from playing over each other. If no one can play along with your song, then you stop and another song is selected. If no one knows the words, the song is skipped. No computers are consulted at any time. No Youtube, no online song databases. That’s all done in your private time because “the ones who wrote the songs and played other people’s songs back then had everything memorized” and that’s the level of skill and quality everyone is aiming for. The owner was impressed with my repertoire of some of the most obscure songs written by the most popular artists. I was in awe, simply because I had never been in the prescence of a bouzouki player who’s style and repertoire I respected so much, having a dearth of bouzouki players in America. His notes were harsh and present, they vibrated the air in front of my face. His age had done his skills well. His voice was in a traditional cantada style, which was a nice element. We went on like that until the lead bouzouki player showed up. The other guys in the group called him simply “the fat guy” even though by American standards he just had a large belly. The three of us played a few songs together but I had a feeling this man considered me an unwanted addition. They began to discuss the issue of me after I played a few songs for the fat guy. I didn’t understand most of it, but I think I got the gist of their argument. The fat guy was not on my side. He was coming up with excuses of why I couldn’t join. The main excuse was that my repertoire was too small. The owner insisted that I could easily learn all the songs they play if I keep coming back every day. He insisted that my style and skill was unique and good enough to be a positive addition. Yet this was unconvincing for the fat guy. At a later time, the waitress would tell me her suspicions that he was indeed blocking my access to the group because he knew I was better than him. It was a nice thing for the waitress to say to me and I choose to believe this because it is so flattering and because the guy was just generally a dick. He would stare at me while he was playing. He’d stare directly into my eyes with this look that said, “See, I’m better than you! Look what I can do, can you do this?”
Now, I’m not the kind of guy that cares to dethrone people who are that invested in their position. What would working with him have been like? I didn’t want to know.
Three other guys showed up which was a relief. They were much more lively and their styles were much more to my liking than that of the fat guy. One was young, and he expertly played some of the most difficult pieces in all of Rebetika. He was quiet and nervous but spoke English, so I got to know him best. Another was a guitarist. His strings were of nylon, which I hate. There’s no brute power in nylon. Nylon is for soft music that flitters. Rebetika is not soft music, even when it is fun, there is something terribly serious about this fun they have, as if it could be the last time they ever have fun. Nylon strings cannot convey this. Also, his style was unremarkable. But the third guy, an older gentleman, like the owner, was the king of the evening. He led us all. He took control of the entire affair and led us to a path of enrichment. He annointed us with his powerful singing voice, made me burst out laughing with some ridiculous move he pulled on the bouzouki. He was a clown, but one who could best us all at our own game. He was very fun to perform with.
Customers began to show up. It was a quiet night, it being a Sunday. The audience were silent and attentive. I had the chance to whip out a few obscure masterpieces that I save for the right moment to impress people and succeeded in doing so, but mostly I was in over my head. The fat guy was right about my small repertoire. But this was really a great honor, a night I will probably remember for a long time. When the night was over, the owner even paid me. It wasn’t much, 10 euros, but I took it as a token of appreciation, and as an endearment.
There were no girls for me on this night. But I walked out of Rebetiki Istoria with something far more important.
Senate President, Dr Bukola Saraki, yesterday visited the Minna, capital of Niger State, residence of former military President Ibrahim Babangida to hold a private meeting with the elder statesman.
During the question and answer session at a press conference on the blockade of the National Assembly by operatives of the Department of State Services (DSS), Saraki was asked if he would be vying for the highest office in the land and he did not deny having such ambition.
He, however, said at the moment, he wanted to talk about democracy, adding that he would answer the question on another day.
“We are here today about the democracy of this country, and that is what is important to me and to all of us that are here,” he said.
“I think when the time is right I will talk on your issue but today, we are talking about democracy in Nigeria, to defend the rule of law.”
Aggrieved youths from Nimba County District Four converge on the grounds of the Supreme Court of Liberia recently, calling on the high court to speedily examine ruling into electoral dispute from the district so that they can elect a lawmaker to represent the district’s interest in the House of Representatives.
Speaking to this paper, a spokesperson for the Concerned Citizens of Nimba District#4 D. Wonpue Quellian, explains that since the October 2017 elections, the Supreme Court has not examine the case, which is causing to their district not to represented in the House.
“This is causing a serious embarrassment to us as citizens, and now as you go in the District, there is serious disunity among the people; the supporters from the various sides are at the neck of each other. The youth and the elderly are at the neck of each other”, he notes.
According to him, they have been having conferences within the district and calling on the Supreme Court, but nothing has been done, adding that coming on the grounds of the Supreme Court peacefully will enable the Justices to know that they as citizens need a lawmaker to speak on their behave.
“We are consciously disturbed that in this age when our country, counties and districts are yearning for national healing and unity after a general election that divided our people along political, tribal and mostly sectional lines.” He said.
Mr. Quellian says Senator Prince Y. Johnson, who hails from Nimba, continues to make statements that are chaotic and bent on raising tension in the county.
He claims Sen. Johnson once said on Truth Breakfast Show that one of the candidates from the district will not get justice and in fact, Mr. Kargon has been declared winner.
He further alleges that Senator Johnson gave US$8,000 to Cllr. Kruah to lobby for whom, he didn’t say but adds that if the allegation were true, than the senator is not doing justice to the citizens of Nimba County, stressing that the court needs to do justice to their district.
“We, like any civilized people, are animated by the idea of building a better tomorrow. This better tomorrow must be built on the principles of justice and the rule of law. Corrupt and fraud practices especially, during elections period must be aborted. No one person must see himself much bigger than the people at large”, he concludes.
The Vice President of Liberia, under the Constitution, is Deputy or Assistant President of the Nation. As such, he/she becomes President in the event of death, disability or any other inability of the President to serve in performing his/her functions.
The Vice President is bound, by law, to assist the President in the planning, coordination and cooperation in carrying out the duties of their common responsibilities – local, national and international – to the best of their abilities. Thus, the offices of the Vice President should and must be located closed to the President at the Executive Mansion national offices of the Chief Executive of the Nation, to facilitate a close, cooperative and cohesive work relationship and to achieve the best interest of the nation and people.
But, throughout the nation’s history of more than a century and half to this day, the Vice President has been, and is, banished to faraway Capitol Building, home offices of the National Legislature as “President of the Senate” where he/she has no meaningful function befitting the position of Deputy President of the nation, but to cast a tie-vote, although the Senate has a presiding officer, the President Protempore. This approach is not only demeaning, but also, that it is wasteful of useful talent, commitment, loyalty and patriotism.
Why was the Vice President or Vice Presidency of the nation so banished? For whatever reason, the banishment has outlived its usefulness for today’s liberal, progressive world of pro-democracy.
Therefore, the offices of the Vice President, or Deputy President, must be located at the Executive Mansion Offices of the Chief Executive to facilitate close, cordial, understanding, coordinative, cooperative, cohesive and mutually-respectful work relationship between President and Vice President, in the supreme interest of the Nation and People.
Google employees today took to the streets in a massive protest. At 11:10 a.m., in every time zone in which the staged walkout took place, about 40 in total, Googlers left their offices and stood with colleagues to demand change.
The group also listed several demands, including an end to forced arbitration, a commitment to end inequity, publicly disclosed sexual harassment transparency, a better process for reporting sexual misconduct, and a promotion for the company‘s Chief Diversity Officer, Randy Reyes, who should, according to the group, report directly to Google CEO Sundar Pichai.
Pichai, in an internal memo, said he was aware of the activities planned, and supported the protestors. The note, obtained first by Axios states support for the “anger and disappointment” felt by Googlers, and commits to taking “a much harder line” on inappropriate behavior. Pichai adds that he’s considering all feedback and looking for ways to “turn these ideas into action.”
The latest statement follows a similar one last week, after a bombshell New York Times report about sexual misconduct at the company. In that memo, Pichai admitted the company had a sexual harassment problem, and that it has fired 48 people over the last two years, including 13 “senior managers and above.” None received an exit package.
The Times’ report shed light on former Android lead Andy Rubin‘s departure from Google, alleging a $90 million exit package despite finding the sexual misconduct allegations against him credible. Rubin denied the claims.
Richard DeVaul, another high-level Google employee named in the report, resigned on Tuesday. DeVaul didn’t deny the allegations, but offered an apology for an “error of judgement.” His trouble stemmed from reports he informed a female engineer, Star Simpson, that he and his wife were polyamorous — in an open marriage — during a job interview. He then asked her to attend Burning Man.
Simpson accepted, attending the event with her mother. Once there, DeVaul asked her to remove her shirt and offered a back rub. She refused, but allowed him to rub her neck instead. “I didn’t have the spine or backbone to shut that down as a 24-year-old,” Simpson, now 30, told reporters.
Simpson was told weeks later that she didn’t get the job. She wasn’t offered an explanation as to why.
In 2015, another employee, Amit Singhal, a senior Vice President in charge of search, exited after an employee accused him of groping her at an off-site event attended by dozens of colleagues. Google found the claim credible, but didn’t fire Singhal. They did, however, accept his resignation and offered millions as part of an exit package.
Rubin’s case though, takes the cake. Initially it was reported that the Android lead was being investigated for a 2011 relationship with a woman who did not report to him, according to team members at the time. His trouble stemmed from the pair’s failure to report the relationship, a consensual one by all accounts, to Google‘s human resources department despite rules requiring this disclosure.
According to team members, Rubin also dated other women at the company while married to his now ex-wife, Rie.
In a civil suit filed earlier this month by Ms. Rubin, she claimed he had had numerous “owner relationships” with other women during their marriage, paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to them. “You will be happy being taken care of,” Rubin wrote in a 2015 email. “Being owned is kinda like you are my property, and I can loan you to other people.”
According to Celie O’Neil-Hart, one of the walkout’s organizers, the group has “heard publicly from [Google] leadership that they’ve heard our demands, want to meet with us, and are working toward addressing them.”
Church Planting and the Mission of the Church makes interesting reading. In some ways it would be hard to argue against the principle of church planting. As the bishops rightly say church planting has been a feature of ecclesial life throughout Christian history, and should remain so.
The largest church in my benefice was established as a ‘plant,’ or more precisely a minster, way back in 1290 by the then St. Alban’s Abbey to serve surrounding villages. St. Alban’s (according to google, so it must be correct) to Winslow is 34.9 miles. I wonder why the abbot, Roger de Norton, fancied Winslow for a ‘church plant?’ In recent times we have been trying to recapture some of the essence of what it means to be a minster or resourcing church, as a market town in a rural area.
This brings me to two of my concerns about planting, and they are geographic concerns: where are most of the plants, or grafts, to be located and what socio-economic group are they set to serve? Will plants be established in poorer, less fashionable, maybe even less urban locations?
Another concern I have about plants is the tendency to regard them as the solution, rather than as part of the solution. It is my strongly held view that traditional forms of church also require significant investment and, that such churches, particularly in market towns, can, and should be, significant engines for renewal and reform. Some of our market towns need just that little bit of impetus to push onwards and upwards, others need re-energizing so that they too can become ‘rural minsters’, for of this I am sure, the big city plants reach is limited to the urban and the suburban. I would welcome strategic initiatives to energize those parts of the church which the urban plant simply cannot reach. Indeed if we are serious about being a national church we must surely do so.
My biggest concern is over neighborly relations. The bishop’s guidance makes it clear that good, and hospitable, relationships between the established church, and the new arrival should be the norm. In some ways this is a bit of a motherhood and apple pie statement! Of course neighbours should get on. But, I am worried about just how well some neighbours will be able to get on. I worry about this because my market town parish is set for stratospheric population growth. In many ways it looks like a planters dream; we are very, very, Middle England (but look below the surface………….)
We have worked exceptionally hard at establishing our identity. We are intentionally liturgical, choral, and sacramental. We take growth seriously both in terms of numbers and holiness. We aim to serve the wider geographic area, but without colonizing it. We are members of Inclusive Church and the Prayer Book Society. We have a significant breadth of worship and we take ‘life-events’ very seriously. I would want to be ‘jealous’ of our identity. It is an identity that we offer to the town and surrounding area. Its a purposefully missional and evangelistic identity.
‘We expect those responsible for church plants to commit themselves to work to the best of their ability in cooperation with the other churches in the local area, including the church in whose parish the new church plant is located, as an integrated part of deanery and diocesan structures. They should aim to use some of their resources to support the mission of their neighbours and expect to make regular financial contributions to the diocese, as an expression of the mutual responsibilities that are a normal part of church life.
We expect those responsible for churches neighbouring a new church plant, including the church in whose parish the new church plant is located, similarly to commit themselves to work to the best of their ability in cooperation with the new church plant or churches, to welcome them into local structures, and wherever possible to use some of their resources to help support the new church plant.’
The point is that any plant can only be located in an existing ‘(whose) parish’ and that it is the vicar of that church who has been charged with the ‘cure of souls’ in that parish. The inclusion of the relative pronoun ‘whose’ makes this clear. So here’s the problem: what does cure of souls mean and, who decides how the cure is to be exercised? Traditionally this has meant the vicar ‘in whose parish’ the parish church is located. The vicar, or parish priest, is the ‘who’ to the ‘whose.’
Now as a parish priest I am delighted that others join with me in exercising the ‘cure of souls;’ why wouldn’t I be? However, those who share in the ministry of a specific church, in a specific parish should, presumably, have a fairly common understanding of what this means and looks like in practice?
I would expect, as the Parish Priest, that anyone exercising ministry in the parish would have a similar ecclesiology and set of doctrines around the big (and contentious) issues, and I don’t think this is an unfair expectation. Mixed or even competing ecclesiologies within a bounded parish would seem to me to be highly problematic, and ultimately unworkable.
As a parish priest with responsibility for the cure of souls my hospitality is, like all hospitality, bounded. And, if you think I am being an illiberal-liberal just pause and think about whether someone of my theological ilk would be offered the freedom and hospitality of the pulpit, or a share in the ‘cure of souls,’ in a conservative evangelical church, for instance.
I would be happy for any plant, in my parish, to be ‘lower church,’ or ‘higher church’ (less likely). I would be very happy indeed to work with a pioneer minister. I would be okay with a plant, or fresh expression, being less sacramentally centered. I am not worried whether the priest responsible robes or not (although I will continue to wear vestments and, I would hope that any ordained colleagues leading public worship would wear a dog collar). But, what I would not be happy about is sharing the ‘cure of souls’ parish with a plant, graft, or fresh expression, operating from an entirely different understanding of what this means.
If a plant, fresh expression, or graft, were to be established in Winslow terms and conditions would have to apply and these would include a commitment to inclusivity with regards to gender and sexuality, alongside a broad soteriology, for these are integral to this parish priests understanding of what it means to exercise the ‘cure of souls,’ in the parish context.
I suspect my problem is that very few natural planters are as committed as I am (we are) to inclusivity as being core to their understanding of the ‘cure of souls.’ But, maybe I am wrong?
So, yes, I have a lot of sympathy with planting, but it must not be done recklessly. Planting isn’t just about mission and evangelism; it’s also about ecclesiology and doctrine. Above all its about understanding and being committed to a particular and common understanding of that most parish based concept, ‘the cure of souls.’
What’s so essential about a dog collar? I robe for sacraments, of course, including chasuble in the churches where that is the norm, but I rarely wear a dog collar, and not for Morning Prayer, including when that is a corporate Sunday service (ie ‘public worship’). As I understand it, dog collars are never mentioned in canon law, just language about being appropriately dressed. (I wear a dog collar for: funerals; meeting the Bishop; and deliverance work – I leave it to you to discern the common thread…;)
I suppose its just a preference, and not just now I am ordained. But, I think the canon (c27) does suggest that how we dress should instantly mark us out and be ‘a sign and mark of holy calling and ministry,’ but at the end of the day each to their own.
Surely the whole point of a Church Plant is to make provision for a different ecclesiology. The only other reason would be if the host church was so full that it cannot accommodate the congregation. I doubt whether this applies in many cases!
That’s an interesting point; thank you. I was using ecclesiology in the sense of being ‘theology as applied to the nature and structure of the Christian Church’ I don’t mind different worship styles. But its really the differences re doctrine that matter for me. I think intra parish consistency over what is meant and implied by the ‘cure of souls’ is the important thing.
Surely it’s a little arrogant to assume that any one church has the responsibility for the cure of souls. Shouldn’t church planting be mediated through all denominations who are missionally incarnate?
Thanks for this Steve, I think the issue is that when a priest is inducted into a parish they are given – through the liturgy – the cure of souls. In a parish context I (as a priest who has been given the cure of souls by the bishop) mind sharing it, in fact I would want to share it but there must surely be a common understanding of what this means doctrinally and implies pastorally? It works both ways round for as I said in the article I wouldn’t expect to be invited to share this responsibility in a conservative and deeply reformed parish.
It’s not simply a matter of other Anglican parishes is it? There are others out there working to share God’s love many of them in other church groups or denominations. (certainly in this town there are many more in churches than there are in CofE churches). Perhaps there needs a little more self realisation: to claim you alone have the cure of souls (your church, your denomination) is little short of arrogance. Surely we are in this together? I’m happy to share the work load even where it’s with those whose ecclesiology is very different from my own.
As i said I am happy for the work load to be shared and, of course, other denominations are entirely free to follow their own practice. As a Church of England priest, in a parish, charged by the Bishop with the cure of souls in that parish, I am happy to share with others and as I said in the article I really don’t mind whether their style of worship is lower or higher, more formal or less formal etc. I would in many ways like to work with a pioneer, but what I would be unhappy with is a plant being established whose doctrines where radically different in relation to inclusivity and soteriology (and I this presumably would work both ways). The problem is that in the C of E the cure of souls is given to a ‘who’ in ‘whose parish.’ This may be wrong, it may be arrogant even (although I don’t think so) but it is part of the way we have been established.
How can you be given something that the “giver” has no natural right or authority to give? It all sees the very antithesis of what Jesus was looking for in building the kingdom of God not in constructing personal fiefdoms?
Well, that is a huge and deep question, thank you. All I would say is that in the C of E (which doesn’t make it right!) the individual priest is charged by the bishop to receive the care of souls…….for me its a charge I take seriously. Understanding what this means doctrinally, implies pastorally, an is enacted eccelsiologically is hugely important to me. (as I know it is to other more conservative Christians hence making sharing within a prescribed parish boundary highly problematic).
Your reply only pushes the issue one step further back. Who gives the “Bishops” their authority? And, authority will only be recognised as such by those who are prepared to sit under it.
The CofE is now a minority in terms of church attendance in the UK. £% of the population attends a service every week – in this neck of the woods, a very large town, it’s less than 1%. Any influence it has reflects historical power which, if we take things like the sermon on the mount and the Magnificat seriously, it shouldn’t have and/or it will soon have that stripped away anyway.
At a recent installation I was invited to bring a word of welcome on behalf of other local churches. This followed the Bishop giving pastoral charge of the area to the new incumbent who had a church of 30 people, who had little community impact and who hadn’t worked with the other 500 plus churchgoers in the community. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the Bishop’s blindness or weep at the lack of Kingdom thinking.
Thanks Steve. You are of course correct to locate this as a C of E issue. And, I am in the C of E, and write for the C of E, for better or for worse. Who gives the bishop the authority is as you say a contested issue. But, just a few thoughts: First, (just out of interest) another denomination share our building: the Roman Catholics. Their priest is fairly conservative and if pushed very possibly wouldn’t recognize my orders. I am certainly not allowed to receive the sacrament when I attend Mass. We also have an evangelical fellowship which at which it has been made clear that I would never be allowed to preach. So one group won’t trust me with the word and the other with the sacrament. But, they are different denominations so its their right to follow this path. But, if another C of E church were to pitch up in the parish I would expect them to have similar stances to ours. In our civic parish we are by far the largest church in terms of attendance (not that that means much) with a congregation of circa 120 most Sundays. We also undertake most of the weddings, baptisms and funerals (50 ish combined this year), schools work and services in residential homes. So our reach is significant. I wouldn’t want to share our C of E ministry with a group who excluded on the grounds of gender or sexuality. In fact I wouldn’t share ministry with them. So whilst I live with ecumenical tensions I am not prepared to live with divisions within the part of the body that I belong to.
If you are targeted by planters then it is unlikely they will wish to continue your and your parish’s approach. They will differ profoundly in many ways, they will covet your buildings and bus in sufficient supporters to launch a hostile takeover of your PCC. Know your enemy.
I think the bishop may have said, on entrusting you with the cure of souls, that it was “yours and mine”, not just yours? So the problems of having different ecclesiology and soteriology within a parish would apply also within a diocese, would they not? Or within a national church. Are you really saying that it is up to each vicar to decide for himself what the doctrines of the Church of England are within his parish? This seems to claim powers far beyond those claimed even by medieval popes.
Can it be right that babies on one side of the road are baptised but on the other side all sorts of stumbling blocks placed? Why should the citizens of Brompton face restrictions because what
If each vicar has his own doctrines where does that leave ordinary parishioners who want to know what the Church teaches? Can it be ok for people holding a particular view to be welcome in one parish but not if they live in another?
Thank you for this response. yes, I am saying that there should be broad doctrinal sympathy within an existing parish boundary. I would think it entirely wrong that one church would baptise babies, whilst another wouldn’t, one would allow women to lead (or preside) whilst the other wouldn’t, one would affirm LGBTI people as equals whilst the other wouldn’t. As I said in the article I wouldn’t expect to be welcomed to share in the ministry of a conservative evangelical parish; so surely it must work both ways?
So how do you get someone raised in/with a conservative mindset into or to stay in your church? Do you even want them there? And if you don’t, where do you send them? My mother left the parish where I was raised because the new priest laughed at her when she said she believed in a literal resurrection and then during counselling to save her marriage said that she should just get a divorce, forget marriage for life. She switched denominations. Is that what you’d prefer, as having a conservative CoE church in your area seems anathema?
The Lutherans have different synods for different mindsets in the church. That does lead to multiple and competing churches in the same geographic area, but at least the conservative and the liberal can go to a Lutheran church on Sunday and not throw silent insults at the priest for heresy. The reality is that there are different groups within the CoE. Would acknowledging them and labeling them as such on the door help?
Thank you for this. We do acknowledge our ‘progressive’ status on the door (membership of Inclusive Church). Having a ‘conservative’ church in my parish (as opposed to the broader area – where their are conservative C of E churches) would be a problem for me, in the same way that a ‘progressive’ plant / graft etc would almost certainly be a problem for a deeply reformed church. As I said in the article would I be given the freedom of the pulpit or a share in the cure of souls in a deeply conservative parish? So its also about parity and equity, as well as basic doctrine. I think in terms of our growth in number and our aspiration to grow in holiness naming our ecclesiology has helped enormously.
Consider Phlebas, by Iain M. Banks, begins with this nameless vessel on the run in the middle of a galactic war because of what it carries on-board. The cargo, however, is part of the ship itself; this ship with no name is controlled by a sentient, artificial consciousness known as a Mind, and in order for it to survive it must take refuge on the barren wasteland of Schar’s World. The Culture, an inter-galactic conglomerate of many species and races, created this Mind and wants to recover it before their enemies, the tri-pedal Idirans. Loyalties are tested, heavy casualties are sustained, and the question of who can really be good in such an insidious war is asked, but perhaps goes unanswered.
The protagonist of Consider Phlebas is Bora Horza; he is a Changer and has the ability to alter his physical shape as he so wishes. He also can build up venom in his spittle and his nails to use as weapons for self-defense (because why not, right?). Horza works alongside the Idirans in the war and he is tasked with recovering the Mind that has been marooned on Schar’s World; a dead planet that is surrounded by a barrier that keeps anyone involved in the war away out. The Idirans believe that Horza should be able to access the world and recover the Mind since he once lived there.
Horza is jettisoned from the Idiran ship during an attack and is picked up by mercenaries. He is forced to fight for a place aboard the ship and does so successfully, joining Kraiklyn’s Free Company aboard the Clear Air Turbulence or CAT. Horza intends to commandeer the CAT and take the mercenaries with him on his mission, though this is only the beginning of his journey.
Horza is not a clear cut hero; he is willing to deceive, and kill if need be, to attain his goal. He is torn by his conscience and doesn’t necessarily enjoy doing bad things; however, he sees them as a means to an end and will do what he deems necessary even if it leads to others being hurt or killed. This isn’t to say that he is entirely selfish or unfeeling; there are many instances where he shows empathy and care for others, but they are often overshadowed by the lengths he will go to in order to succeed in his mission.
Religion has an integral part in the narrative and themes of Consider Phlebas; there are different versions explored throughout the novel. At one point in the story, Horza is marooned and captured by a cannibalistic cult of fanatics called Eaters who worship the sky and sea; this is but a microcosm of the holy war that spans the galaxy. The monotheism of the Idirans, three legged giant alien warriors who believe in a central religion, is contrasted by the Culture’s secular civilization that gives artificial intelligence to machines. Though Horza has aligned himself with the Idirans, he doesn’t necessarily believe in their god; it is his hate of the Culture and what they stand for that determines which side of the war he has chosen; he believe they have lost their freedom because they created sentient machines that he thinks are the real minds behind the Culture.
This novel is filled with harrowing escapes and well-built tension; the sharp turns in the story are logical and don’t seem overly far-fetched. What surprised me was the amount of cursing and graphic violence that happen throughout; used appropriately depending upon the situation, this created a grittier and more realistic version of a space opera than the mental image that the genre often evokes.
Pinning down the exact genre of Consider Phlebas is more difficult than it appears; it is a tragedy in the classical sense where few survive and those who do are affected deeply. However, it is also a space opera because the story takes place on a grand scale, spanning many planets across the galaxy. Banks builds his worlds with logic and plenty of explanation to create believable and realistic settings. There is a bit of hard sci-fi in here with the explanations of spacecraft, space stations, and weaponry, but they don’t bog down the story or leave the reader to drown in jargon.
The novel reiterates the scale of the story and its place within such a large war through a section at the end which includes an epilogue and quasi-appendices. There are reasons given for the motivations of both the Culture and the Idirans during the war, as well as follow up explanations of what happened to the characters who survived after the events of the book (think of it like the ending of Animal House (1978), but with aliens).
I must admit that I had a difficult time taking notes while reading this book because it took effort to pull myself out of the story to do so; I’m not a huge fan of the cliché of being “unable to put a book down,” but this was certainly the case. Though I typically look forward to the time I set aside for reading, I would find myself thinking about the story and characters of Consider Phlebas during other parts of the day. Banks hooks the reader with his first words and pulls them into the story; he leaves no room for second guessing or thoughts of turning back. This novel is the the first novel of a series and I highly encourage any fans of science fiction to try this book; I am already looking forward to reading the next book.
Recommended for: Die-hard fans of science fiction, sticklers for realistic portrayals of lasers (you can’t see them, unlike in the Star Wars movies), those who prefer a realistic ending to a happy one, and you!
Not recommended for: Children, live-easy enemies of science fiction, people with short attention spans, people who dislike realistic science fiction, people who will point out that the previous recommendation is a bit of an oxymoron (“realistic” science fiction), or people who like happy endings.
I like the idea of lasers you can’t see! Makes sense from a sciency point of view 🙂 I LOVE space operas, so I may have to give this one a go if I can ever find it 🙂
I really enjoyed it because it fell within the genre of science fiction, but it didn’t rely on overdone tropes or plot points. Let me know if you do!
great review! my husband has just finished it and he seemed to struggle with it a little; hubby has the unfortunate problem of loving sci-fi but hating made-up-difficult-to-pronounce-names xD
Thank you! There are definitely some interesting names and difficult pronunciations in the book. My favorite ever may be Zaphod Beeblebrox from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
I’ve never read any of Banks’s science fiction, partly because I love his literary fiction so much and, despite the addition of his middle initial to try to make me think Sci-Fi Iain is a different person to Lit-Fic Iain, I’m oddly worried that I won’t enjoy it & that this will spoil my enjoyment of his other books. I’m overthinking it, I know. One day, I’ll pick up one of his Sci-Fi novels.
I haven’t read any of his literary fiction, so I can’t speak to that. That being said, I definitely aim to read more of his sci-fi and venture into his writing without the middle initial haha.
The Crow Road and The Wasp Factory are my favourites without the middle initial. I heartily recommend both.
Rice, rice, baby!! We love rice in our house. We love it so much that we own not one, but two rice cookers. When my mother was still alive, God rest her soul, she would buy me a fifty pound bag of rice every year along with my favorite soy sauce. When you have that much rice at your fingertips, you want to find different ways to cook it. I like it plain, fried, in risotto & it also makes a lovely rice pudding. For a smoother, creamier pudding use a smaller grain of rice. If you prefer your pudding with a bit more texture use a longer grain of rice.
In a medium saucepan, combine rice, water, margarine & salt. Bring to a boil. Cover & cook for 2o minutes. Do not stir! In a mixing bowl smash up the bananas with a fork. Add brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon & 1/2 cup of milk to the banana. Mix well. After rice is done cooking, pour the banana mixture over the rice & stir. Cover & simmer for an additional 20 minutes stirring occasionally. After 20 minutes remove from heat & beat in the egg. Beat for a minute & then add the other 1/2 cup of milk. Chill. Top with whipped cream & serve.
Mai really liked the rice pudding. In between every bite, she kept telling me “Thank you, Mama.” You are welcome, sweetheart.
I think I have mentioned before that my work has a monthly pizza party to celebrate all of the birthdays in that month within our company. On pizza day, they bring in a variety of different topping pizzas and a ton of desserts. Oh the desserts, oh so many delicious desserts. Ever since the last pizza party I have become obsessed with cheesecake. Not that I didn’t love it before, but now I find myself craving it all the time. Last week it was french toast with cheesecake filling and this week, it is cheesecake bars. This does not really fit into my diet, but oh well. These are super simple to make and so good.
Preheat oven to 375. Prepare cookie mix per package directions. Press 1/2 the cookie mixture into a square 8″ baking pan. In a mixing bowl, blend cream cheese, sugar & yogurt on low speed until blended and smooth. Do not overbeat. Add the egg & quickly beat in. Add the chocolate chips & stir. Pour the cheese mixture over the cookie crust. Take the remaining cookie dough & press and flatten between hands and place over the cheese mixture. Do this in pieces and spread out evenly. Bake for 40-45 minutes or until cookie is golden & is firm in the middle. Cook times will vary. Let cool before cutting and serving. They will set as they cool.
Here is a simple fact of life…women love chocolate. We do! Men do not understand this as much. My husband would prefer a bowl of Doritos, but hand me a piece of chocolate and I am happy.
Tonight I had a craving. Why is it when ever you want candy, there is not a piece to be found, but as soon as you are on a diet, there is chocolate around every corner?
I wanted some chocolate, but I like my candy with nuts or some kind of crunch. We had chocolate chips, but I needed something more.
In a large saucepan melt the butter over low heat. Add the peanut butter. Stir for about a minute until melted. Add your chocolate chips. Stir until melted and smooth. DO NOT OVERCOOK. Once chocolate is melted add the Krispies. Mix until all of the Krispies are covered. Spoon out the mixture & fill a ball pop mold. Refrigerate until chocolate has hardened & then pop candies out of mold.
Peanut butter is one of those thing that I think that you can couple with just about anything. I have always loved peanut butter… peanut butter & jelly, peanut butter on celery, peanut butter with bananas & one of my all time favorites peanut butter & apples. If you have never tried it, it may sound strange, but it is a wonderful combination.
My daughter in one of her unusual requests, asked for an apple pie & watermelon this morning for breakfast. It got a chuckle out of me & then got me thinking, an apple pie did sound good. I decided on an apple crisp instead & while in the midst of making it, started thinking about my favorite snack. This resulted in a fruity peanut buttery treat.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl mix all dry ingredients. Add the peanut butter & melted butter. Mix well using a fork to smash the ingredients together. Do this until the mixture is crumbly & well blended.
Peel, core & slice the apples & place slices in a 9 1/2 inch round baking dish. Add the peanut butter crumble over the apples evenly. Bake for 45 minutes. Let cool slightly & serve warm topped with ice cream or cream. Enjoy!
Nutella is such a wonderful thing. I want to find the person that invented the delicious nutty spread & give them a giant kiss. It is guilty pleasure of mine. I have been known to just sit there with the jar & a spoon and indulge in the sweet treat right out of the jar. I also am a fan of the crescent roll. If you stuff a crescent with just about anything it is delicious. I am guessing I would even eat a dirty shoe if a crescent was rolled around it. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I decided to couple two of my favorite foods .
Preheat oven to 350. Unroll the sheet of crescent dough. Using a heart shaped cookie cutter, cut out crescent hearts for the top & bottom of your treats. Gather excess crescent & roll out with a rolling pin. Cut out more hearts until you have used most of the dough. Lay one heart down on an ungreased cookie sheet & generously scoop Nutella & spread in the middle following the heart shape & avoiding the edges. Place another heart over the first heart & Nutella. Pinch the edges. Do this until you use all of your dough hearts.
In a saucepan melt butter or margarine over low heat. Add brown sugar & stir until dissolved & then add hazelnuts. Make sure they are finely chopped. Mix until coated with butter & sugar.
In the middle of your formed crescent hearts, use a smaller heart cookie cutter & press in the center. Sprinkle nut mixture in the middle of the cookie cutter until in fills in the shape. Repeat with all formed crescent hearts. Bake for about 10-15 minute or until golden.
Melt chocolate in a bowl in the microwave. Heat it in 30 second intervals. Use a spoon to drizzle chocolate over your hearts & let cool.
I think it is safe to say, that most people like Rice Krispies treats. What’s not to like? They are easy to make, sweet , gooey & just so darn delicious.
My husband & I like them a bit more than the average person. If you don’t believe me, how many of you had your wedding cake made out of Rice Krispies treats?
It is a lot less messy during the cake feeding, but it hurts a lot more if you smash it into your spouse’s face.
You can imagine my excitement when I was at the checkout counter of the grocery store & saw a magazine cover featuring a Rice Krispies Christmas tree. I already had an idea for making Rice Krispies ornaments & was anxious to try them both.
I immediately took mental stock of my ingredients. All I needed was some marshmallows. Just in case you don’t stock all the ingredients for Rice Krispies treats handy, here is what you need.
2.Stir in marshmallows & food coloring until you achieve desired color. Stir until completely melted .
5.Wet your hands to keep the Rice Krispies from sticking & grab a handful & form into a triangular shape (keep hands moistened in between each formation to avoid sticking.)
A question was posed to me the other day by a fellow blogger. She asked me “What is your favorite Thanksgiving dish that you cook?” My reply was, it was actually a dessert that was my favorite thing to make. This inspired me to share this recipe with you. With the holidays coming, this is a great treat to bring to holiday parties & get togethers. They are a never fail hit. Every holiday, for more years than I can remember my family has put in a special request for me to make this super easy, ridiculously delicious & crazy addicting dessert.
While margarine is melting, line a baking sheet with aluminum foil & lay out the saltines side by side so that the edges are touching
Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until golden brown. Times will vary depending on your oven, so watch to make sure they don’t burn.
These seriously are an amazing dessert. I make tins of these during the holidays & give them as gifts. Enjoy!
Kat wanted to propose to her girlfriend Carmel and came to us for help. She knew that she wanted to propose in a way that Carmel would never forget, but needed our assistance to do this. We couldn’t wait to help and got to work straight away to come up with romantic ideas for their proposal.
Both Kat and Carmel live in London so Kat knew that the proposal had to take place here. She wanted the proposal to reflect London and a boat is a fantastic way to see the sights.
The plan was for the couple to go on a private canal tour where they could take in the scenery in a relaxing environment. Little did Carmel know what was about to happen!
As they were enjoying a glass of bubbly together they noticed a person standing at the side of the canal. As they got closer the person began to play the guitar. But this wasn’t any ordinary person; this was our amazing singer Nikki and she was singing Carmel and Kat’s ‘song’, Ellie Golding’s ‘How long will I love you’.
Just at the right moment two of our proposal planners dropped a massive banner down from the bridge in front of them which said, ‘Carmel Will You Marry Me?’
That’s when Kat got down on one knee, pulled out a gorgeous diamond ring and asked Carmel to marry her.
We also received this lovely message from Kat: “Thank you for everything, I was so happy and Carmel loved it! It was a complete surprise. Thank you so much!” They absolutely loved their proposal, so much in fact that they have asked us to plan their wedding!
If you have been inspired by this proposal and would like help planning your own magical proposal contact us at info@theproposers.co.uk or visit our website here. We have planned over 650 proposals in the last 4 years so you are in safe hands with us!