Legoland...

Throughout our lives there are some really sad days. But there are some really good days too! Here was one of the good ones, when my sister and her boyfriend and my family visited lego land. Sometimes pictures speak louder than words...

Just a handy hint if you are planning to go: don't wait until closing time to visit the shop. That's what everyone else does – and then you'll get stuck in the car park queue – which had an even longer queue than the rides! 

Flatulence For Men – the new must have fragrance.

So I was on the train the other day. It was a pleasant and serene atmosphere with everyone quietly minding their own business. As the train stopped at its various stops the carriage began to fill up and a young man decided to sit next to me. He had not long been seated when a very unfortunate smell pervaded the tranquility. It was a stinker – the kind that makes you want to throw your head out of the nearest window.

Of course everyone in the vicinity began accusing each other with suspicious, but discreet glances. For some reason I felt the need to proclaim my innocence and point out that there was a high probability that the source of the stench was sitting next to me. I refrained. Alas, he didn't and let another sample of his bowel air soundlessly escape.

That got me thinking. Why is it that there is such stigma attached to the passing of wind? It's a perfectly natural occurrence and one which one hundred percent of people participate in. I would like to tentatively propose the following theory.

It smells bad. Simple, but true. But is that enough to account for the social ostracism and humiliation that can occur when you are discovered to be the culprit? Perhaps we are genetically programmed to be repulsed by anything that smells bad. This may be part of a built-in warning system, alerting those who detect a bad odour that whatever has emitted it is 'unclean' and therefore potentially hazardous. This would account for our repulsion to things that offend our olfactory organs, such as: excrement, vomit, or rotting meat. Could it not therefore be that this same warning system equates the whiff of wind with health hazards and thus we seek to be distanced from any potential contamination?

To supplement this hypothesis, it may be helpful to approach the situation from another direction. What if the odour of flatulence was in fact pleasant? People spend considerable money on purchasing perfumes in order to appear attractive and pleasing to others. If then the digestive gases were to produce a pleasant odour would they not become an attractive quality to be celebrated, rather than a repellant which most try to suppress? Those who were particularly blessed in this area would be hailed as olfactory benefactors, spreading their sweetness wherever they go. There would be no shame or humiliation, instead when the scent was sensed, you can imagine a coy smile and acknowledgment that, 'yes indeed, it was I who has brightened your day.' In a world like that, there would be no need for excessive efforts to ensure the  delivery is silent. Instead, a rich and loud pronouncement would be met with closed eyes, smiles of anticipation and deep steady inbreathing.

Perhaps there is a food supplement that could be developed to bring this about. One can imagine it being marketed as Organic perfume or Winfume or even Parpfume. There could be different scents... his and hers, the possibilities are endless!

Camp 2012

There is a certain feeling of accomplishment when the last tent is packed away and the sun begins to set at the end of Camp. It was a good camp, with nothing too terrible going wrong. It contained all the usual ingredients: plenty of rain*, leaky tents, good food, dodgy toilets, a malfunctioning shower, wet feet, all sprinkled with a liberal helping of tiredness and garnished with the occasional sunbeam.

I was the speaker for the younger age group and had to deliver six talks in four days. I thoroughly enjoyed myself (just re-read that and think 'thoroughly' may be an exaggeration, instead, read 'sort of...') and took the children from the beginning of time, through to the Cross of Christ and then we sneaked a peak at the end of time – Jesus' return. I was rather apprehensive about how the talks would be received, but after a destroying a Nasa based inflatable globe, ruining a brand new white t-shirt and wrestling with my cross shaped jigsaw visual aid, it all seems to be worth it. For one child said to me, "The talks were brilliant" and another claimed they were "excellent." Okay, on balance another child said that they were "boring," but if at least two children thought they were brilliant, then they can't have been that bad, for which I thank God and breathe a deep sigh of relief.

So whilst my face is still glowing from the weather's best attempts to strip it of it's skin, my head hurts and I appear to ache all over, at least it seems like it was all worth it.

* I have to confess that the rain on the first night was soooooo bad that I didn't sleep. At all. So the next night I waited for everyone to go to bed before snucking into my car and driving home, to have what can only be described (and I'm borrowing an adjective popular with the kids at camp) as  'epic'. But shhhhh, don't tell anyone :)

Eurovision song contest 2012

There's nothing like it – the Eurovision song context makes me weep with laughter. For those who take it all very seriously, then musically it's a little depressing. But if you like cheesy euro pop and view it as a bit of a comedy – then tune in, sit back and enjoy. I'm seriously considering hosting a Eurovision Song Contest party this year :)

Engelbert Humperdinck

Buranovskiye Babushki

It's due to take place on 26 May and this year's contest is looking like it will prove to be a corker. Not only have we, the good old UK, dug deep into our cultural heritage to pull out a 76 year old Engelbert Humperdinck, but Russia have dug even deeper and found the Buranovskiye Babushki, with their rather amusingly entitled track, 'Party for everybody' – which is surely not one to miss! I can hardly wait...

From the frying pan, into the fire...

A few days ago, in an act of rash kindness, I offered to cook for our evening meal. This seemed like it should be a straightforward exercise. Firstly, I found a sausage casserole recipe on the BBC Good Food website. Secondly, I nipped down to Sainbury's and purchased the necessary ingredients. Thirdly, I began the preparation. Now, when I cook, I like to have everything ready and to hand in order to ensure a smooth culinary experience. To this end I usually also follow the recipe to the letter.

On this occasion, on health grounds, I decided to depart from the instructions and instead of frying the sausages and bacon, to grill them. Everything seemed to be going so well. I began to gently fry the onions and garlic whilst the meat was grilling. Unfortunately, what I hadn't accounted for was the combined build-up of excessive fat in the grill pan. This fat eventually decided that it had had enough and began to smoke rather violently, causing the smoke alarm to trigger. As one does in such a circumstance, I began running around opening all the windows and doors. It was at this point that my wife rang the doorbell, loaded down with bags and children. It was also at this point that the fat decided to raise the stakes and burst into flames.

I threw open the front door and ran back to the oven, which by now had quite an impressive plume of flames spewing from the front and back of the over - some of which were at least two foot high. This rather shattered my calm cooking demeanour and I must confess that I was beginning to sweat. I turned off the gas and pulled out the grill pan, unfortunately this message of cessation wasn't passed along to the fat, which was burning away with not a little vigour. From the hallway, my wife decided this would be an appropriate time to point out that the smoke alarm was going off and to enquire as to what I was doing about it. I retorted, quite calmly I think, given the circumstances, that the oven was on fire. However, she didn't seem to grasp severity of the situation and began requesting that the battery be removed from the smoke alarm. I thought it best to defer this request and continue my efforts to put out the blaze. But what to do? All the gas was turned off, but the flames were still very much present. With the addition of numerous beads of sweat, any pretence of the situation being under control was rather lost.

Meanwhile, my two daughters were really rather excited by all the commotion. My wife, having finally understood that there was indeed a fire, attempted to control their enthusiasm and keep them safe. Feeling rather foolish, I began to try and blow out the flames. Perhaps not the best approach, but it was done in the heat of the moment. Thankfully the fat began to burn itself out and combined with my huffing and puffing the flames subsided. I was rather impressed with my wife's laid back approach to it all – I suspect this is because she never actually saw just how engulfing the flames had been.

The Sausage casserole itself was actually rather good. Although, note to self: Next time, empty the fat from the bacon before starting to grill the sausages. Also, if using Bart's Hot Chilli powder, only use half a teaspoon full as it was a little bit too hot, for when I was eating it I found myself sweating for the second time that night.

How to avoid conflict

In an article I am reading in preparation for a certain up-and-coming exam, I came across some proverbs from a variety of different cultures on conflict avoidance. Here's a small selection...*

• Of the thirty-six ways of handling a conflict situation, running away is the best. (China)
• Money softens a dispute like water softens clay. (Nigeria)
• A good silence is better than a bad dispute. (Russia)
• It is best to let an offence repeat itself three times. The first may be an accident, the second a mistake, only the third is likely to be intentional. (Kongo)
• All is never said. (Ibo)
• In playing chess, there is no infallible way of winning, but there is an infallible way of not losing – that is not to play chess. (China)
• If a quarrel gets too hot for you, pretend it is a game. (Hausa) 

* From A Scott Moreau, Gary R Corwin & Gary B McGee, Introducing World Mission: a Biblical, Historical and Practical Survey, (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004) 275; cited from Augsburger 1992, 223-35.

So sweet.

As my six year old daughter scaled my legs and jumped into my arms, she exclaimed, ‘You’re the best dad ever!’ This was after I’d spent most of the day writing an essay. Kids are so forgiving.