1010

This free app should carry some sort of warning. It is not free at all. It costs you hours and hours of your life. I have downloaded then scrubbed it from my phone on 4 separate occasions. It is an OCDers dream slash nightmare.

Remember Tetris? It's just like that, but without gravity. You place blocks within a 10x10 square grid, then once a row or line of 10 is complete, it disappears. If you are smart / lucky, you can clear multiple rows or columns at once eg:

L: Orange block is placed in bottom right corner
R: Both the completed horizontal and vertical lines disappear at once. Boom!

After realising the true cost of this game I repent, screenshot my current high score*, scrub it off my phone, then a few months later I cave and download it again because:
• we are planning a long trip in the car
• I get the flu
• I kid myself I am now mature enough to make sound gaming decisions
• Some other flimsy rationale
And the whole cycle starts again.

I like tidying up actual things that you can touch and read and trip up over. I enjoy putting things away where they belong or reorganising them so the space in the room works better. This character trait is the nearest thing I have to explaining why 1010 affects me the way it does. It's like tidying up a never ending supply of pixels in the most minimalistic way possible. I have this fantastic notion that if I manage to clear the game board completely the blocks will stop appearing. Although this has actually happened twice and the blocks did not stop. This made me anxious.

And now I have the flu and have ingested many over the counter drugs and am dreaming about a constant stream of objects which need to be tidied up. It's quite exhausting. The virus is totally messing with my brain and the blocks represent real tasks that need to get done- like food shopping and updating a website and taking a shower and answering emails and reading to the kids and some other stuff I can't remember the details of, but in the dream it's really important to do them all.

Sometimes the blocks are so difficult to place I'll struggle for ages thinking I've lost in real life - then suddenly a space is there and wayhey! a whole row disappears and the game plays on. Until I wake up exhausted and sweating and coughing and reaching for the brufen before I've opened my eyes.

But it works out in the end. Both when dreaming and awake. Despite the odds - which makes me think that the block order is not random, but divinely purposed in order that a solution is always possible. Sometimes the blocks are a pure GIFT - the next one fitting in exactly the same spot I was focussed on and clearing 3 lines and 3 columns in one move. Bam! The block giver knew what was needed and gave it. Other times it's far more congested and scary and things are really tight and I think this may be the last round, but I've got to just not panic and remember that gravity has been suspended. Like bullet time in the Matrix, there's time to look around. And even a poor decision now can be overturned with the next set of blocks which will offer an alternative. The game is rigged so I win.

These life lessons are interesting, but not worth it on balance. I should scrub this game off my phone again... after the flu goes...

*16543

Distractions and dress code

We are creating a culture of distraction (Joe Kraus)

Unless I'm at the beach or away with work I pretty much live in denim. My jeans are assigned their very own drawer and I wear them in rotation to prevent jealousy in the ranks and maintain an evenness of wear and tear. Slouch, boyfriend, bootleg.... I love them all - jeans are comfy, can be accessorised up or down (mostly down) and don't show the dirt.

Like all things denim, churches come in different varieties too. And like my oldest, comfiest jeans with the hole in the left knee and enough give in the waist to be pulled on / off without undoing the zip, you get comfortable with what you know. There's an expectation and familiarity with favourite jeans. I know how they fit and find comfort in the way my phone fits in the back pocket without either digging into my bum when I sit down or threatning to tumble onto a tiled bathroom floor when I pull them below my knees.

Jeans just work, you know?

But, like wearing a bikini at the beach or a trouser suit while on conference, it's appropriate to wear something different on occasion. And it's probably good to NOT go to your own church on occasion too. Different can be good. Different can teach you what familiarity can't. Having been away from home for 5 weekends in a row and mixing with a wider selection of God-type people than I normally do, I have (re) discovered the following:

• Worship is about glorifying God, not about my preferences

• Lack of responsibility for any part of the meeting is quite liberating

• Even when most elements of a church service are not familiar, the unchanging nature and goodness of God is

• It's quite hard to offend genuine followers of Jesus who welcome honest enquiry

• If God's family can be so diverse within the limited expression of church that I can experience in my teeny tiny lifetime within a finite cross-section of Christendom, then heaven will be indescribably eclectic. (I can just about get my head around people from every tribe, tongue and nation, but talking / singing lifeforms with wings and lots of eyeballs may be a bit distracting for a while).

• I am too easily distracted

Expanding further on this final point (because it's an increasingly prevalent first world problem, plus 5 weeks away gave me lots of material), here are some of the distractions that might get in the way. There are lots more. Please feel free to add your own. The sharing of knowledge is power and all that.

• Unfamiliarity with whole thing

Stupid stuff that regular attenders take for granted can make a visitor feel like an observer rather than a participant. Is there a dress code? What's the order of the service? What expectations or limitations are there that are different to what I'm used to - not because God is limiting or expecting anything necessarily, but the culture within a church is shaped by encouraging / normalising certain things. Or not. Also, under normal circumstances I can plan a sneaky coffee / pee break according to what's coming up next, but as a newbie this is not possible. 

• Feeling conspicuous as a visitor

Especially as several members of our extended family belong here and as such, lots of people already know who I am and some want to speak to me afterwards and I can't remember ANY of their names. That's a fair bit of pressure if you think about it too much. So I don't.

• Arrive late and end up sitting at the front
Rookie mistake. Visiting AND sitting at the front? Forget the bikini- you might as well be naked.

• Worship songs are from a bygone era
This awakens childhood memories, both good and bad, of services dominated by counting the ceiling tiles, doodling flower patterns on the notice sheet and trying to make one packet of wine gums last the whole sermon.

• The worship material contains lyrics which raise theological ponderings

Hmmm - Do I believe in singing to Mary? And if not then is the polite response to sing anyway, not sing at all or just mouth the words? That last one seems like a lie really, so I don't.

• Songs presented in a different style than whe one I am accustomed to 
I shall build my church and it shall involve drum and bass or one of those little church karaoke machines or an 80's electric organ or re-worded Abba lyrics or one man and his acoustic guitar. Oh yes.

• Songs presented by the tone deaf a musician of lower ability
But that's Ok - Make a joyful noise to the Lord. Even if you're at the front. With a mic. And singing in a different key to everyone else in the room. That's absolutely fine.

• No words on the screen for whole songs at a time

Did Windows decide to update just before we got started? Or was this one chosen at the last minute and the techie can't type it in fast enough? Or maybe he's asleep, slumped over the desk at the back. Sometimes it's because the song actually finished a while ago, but the musicians are engaged in free worship between themselves and the first 3 rows. Either way, regular guys here know what's going on but newbie's mind is wandering now...

• And I'm feeling anxious that all the roller blinds down one wall are at different lengths. And the one behind the speaker is squint...
I am not obsessive. I am not obsessive. I am not obsessive.

• Working / hovering at back of big top with radio and ear piece so I can instruct the stewards on when to open which doors or help the medics reach anyone having a panic attack, if required.
So now I'm being paid to be distracted. How do pastors get through a Sunday morning with all these balls in the air?

• Those nearby messing around / not singing / chatting to each other

OK - this affects both home and away games. Rightly or wrongly I am distracted by the behaviour of others. We can help each other to connect with God or make it more difficult for them. Our willingness / unwillingness to engage with what's going on impacts those around us.

• There are no kids in this church and therefore no kids session. And I've brought 2 of mine today. Including the fidgeter.
Oh dear. As the minutes tick by they are increasingly bored and restless. One of them is blowing spit bubbles. I can't work out if it's more distracting to allow this to continue or to ask her to stop. I let it continue as I'm kind of mesmerised by them. Some take ages to pop.

• There IS a kids session (Yay!!) and even though it happens next door, there's colouring in and games at the back of the room from the start.
And kids can access it whenever they want. And they are. No one has to sit with a parent if they don't want to. Kids older than mine are chattering loudly and colouring in and my youngest is distracted herself as she wants to join them. So now I'm distracted because she is.

Missing my church family. I've been in unfamiliar clothes too long and need my jeans with the hole in the knee. (But good to know the bikini still fits).

Communication

Post lunch time. We ate in the garden today because it was so gloriously HOT. Table outside has been cleared but kitchen is still a work in progress. Suddenly realise everyone has left me washing up.

Me: Hey - what's going on?
(All 3 of them turn round with lollies in their hands)
E: Madi said that you said we could have ice pops when we'd cleared the table!
Me: No - I said when we'd cleared up. Like in here as well.
E (Scowling at Madi and picking up dishcloth): Get it right or you get people into trouble!
Me: Babe - It's fine. She misunderstood, that's all.
E: But now you're annoyed at me because I wasn't given proper information!
Me: I'm not annoyed with you - I'm correcting you because I'm allowed to do that - and you're annoyed at being corrected.
E: (Thinks about this) I'm... not annoyed.
Me: Great - You want to tell your face?

The ordinary everynight

The Night Watchmen are whiling away the small hours of the night passing out hi-vi to pilgrims on their way out The Gate and repeating the phrases '....keep to the right please.... Quiet in the village.... Single file... Thanks very much...'

The Field is our haven and The Gate its sole point of exit and entry. We are simultaneously haemorrhaging and being transfused with pilgrims and the medics are unable to do a thing. The volume of hi-vi in the big green box fluctuates as the ebb and flow continues throughout the night, deeply disturbing Hamish who wishes all hi-vi to remain in the box at all times and not be draped over the edges. His OCD is amusing to the rest of us and we purposely leave reflective yellow material hanging over the edges. Hehehe...

The regular activity that continues throughout the night means many things to us. The flow of pyjammied pilgrims diffusing through the boundary of The Field and What Lies Beyond is:

a) Our solemn duty and privilege to oversee. We Night Watchmen cannot and will not rest until all pilgrims are safely back within the fold where they belong. We shall not desert our post at The Big Black Gate while any of our number are unaccounted for in the wild uncharted territory of Little Walsingham.

b) A welcome distraction and opportunity to engage with a wider range of people than is customary between the hours of 10 and 8. Many of them stumble past us in animal print onesies, incapable of speech, but the pool of faces with which we can exchange friendly greetings has widened significantly tonight.

c) ... yet ANOTHER interruption to the current game of Skitgubbe which was imported into our lives only a few days ago and the most addictive thing on the face of the earth. Well maybe- I've never done crack so can't say for definite.

As an obsessive collector of stickers, stamps, key rings and rubbers in childhood, my adult obsessions are not benign. I have the ability to sacrifice sleep and not feed my children when consumed by a decorating or craft project. I can watch 4 episodes of Once Upon A Time back to back with no pee break. I have an overwhelming need to store items where they belong AT ALL TIMES and get far too excited when IKEA being out a new storage range. Thus I have never tried crack. I am genetically primed for addiction.

Hmmm- but Skitgubbe flew in right under the radar and is now lodged at the forefront of my mind begging attention and draining hours and hours and HOURS of my life.

Which as a Night Watchman, has proven to be a good thing.

Thank you Joel. 

For IKEA and now for Skitgubbe.

The Fallen Watchman

07.59 hrs sees the conclusion of the 97th game of Skitgubbe and the arrival of day steward Mark to relive us from our post. Gleefully we leave the newly buntified steward's tent and make our way to Bev and Mike's for bacon butties, a warm brew and the knowledge that bath and bed await. We split company, bonded by the sharing of stories and secrets throughout the long hours of duty, the short but enthusiastic Imsotiredifeelaweebitdrunk dancing on the gate at the arrival of dawn and the knowledge that tonight we get to do this all over again. Dear God- life is sweet and I'm grateful for it.

Bath and bedtime pass without incident and soon I am enveloped in sleep.

I awaken feeling totally and utterly refreshed. Twice now I have arisen after a night watchman's shift in this manner. Why does my body never embrace 07.00 hrs in this way? Because I was BORN for this life- that is why! To face the cold and hostile night, brave and unslumbering in the company of fellow outstanding individuals: We are The Night Watchmen.

It is a calling of the highest order, setting us apart from others and demanding so much- but the sacrifice is worth it, so feel no sorrow for us. The safety of all pilgrims who camp within the The Field with The Big Black Gate, the camaraderie within our team and the treasure awaiting us in heaven are thanks enough.

I pick up my phone to check the time, already wondering what's for dinner. It's Wednesday, I think. Lasagne, Pie, Sweet and Sour, (Blank) then fish or chicken. What is today's (Blank) dinner again? I'll find out soon enough. Yawning, I look at my screen...


11:40hrs?!? Noooooo... It cannot be. Quick! Phone down. Eyes closed and resume foetal position. That's it. Let's pretend this little glitch did not happen. There we go. Just sink into the pillow of unconscious rest and...
No.
No.
No.

No thinking about dinner. Think not of the rained off procession. Think no more of Mr Cross' granny blanket or Skitgubbe or muddy roads or the separation of church and state and the consequences for society - just SLEEEEEEP.

Now.
That's an order Watchman.
C'mon dammit- just stop THINKING. It's not that hard.

Except it is.
And now that I've started, it's hard to switch it off.
My brain's woken up my stomach and now I'm hungry. My body is betraying me.

I get up and wedge a towel at the top of the bedroom door, then fold another one along the bottom of the door to block out the little slivers of light which have suddenly overtaken hunger as the primary cause of my wakefulness. I take a pillow off Jo's bed and rest it on the floor against the curtains, blocking out a little more light there too.

Right- no excuses. You're not hungry. Bed. Eyes closed. Snuggle down. Go to your dolphin channel. End of.

After an hour I get up and make a brew and write this report, baring my soul and my failure to my fellow watchmen. And the greatest distraction whizzing around my head? Not the separation of church and state or the grass to mud ratio of roadways on The Field, but my laundry currently languishing in Greg's washing machine. I could be hanging it up right now. For the first time in days it is not raining and we are dangerously low on clean underwear.

To my fellow Watchmen: apologies in advance for falling asleep on duty tonight. Please don't post the photo if I'm dribbling.

Cold calling

Junk PPI calls made to a contract phone belonging to a teenager are really not going to make anyone any commission. How many insane conversations do unlucky call centre people need to have before the whole scheme is abandoned as a big fat waste of time?

Today in the UK, 47% of 12-15 year olds have a smart phone. So just under half of every junk phone call made at random to people who have not been in an accident in the last 12 months or accidentally purchased PPI ever in their lives will probably be answered by a teenager who, on average will have far more disposable time on his hands than your average call centre worker on minimum wage.

Teenagers are energetic and fun and full of imagination. As a collective, they possess the ability to think up dozens of creative ways of wasting the time of call centre people. These include:

• Agree that PPI has been mis-sold to you at some point in the past, become distraught and weep down the phone.

• Agree that PPI has been mis-sold to you at some point in the past and then become enraged and shout a lot.

• Ask call centre person how their day is going and what qualifications they got in high school.

• Pretend to speak fluent French and not understand English.

• Pretend to only speak Minion.

• Tell the cold call centre person to 'hold the line please' then mute the speaker for at least 30 seconds. Un-mute to reassure call centre person that their call is important to you and you will be available to speak shortly. Mute once more. Repeat.

• Pretend to fart down the phone.

• Try to order a pepperoni pizza.

• Ask to speak to your friend 'Ryan' at the next desk. (You know Ryan... Yes you do - Ryan! At the next desk along from you! Opposite you then... What - he's not in today then? No, he DOES work there- I spoke to him yesterday... Stop messing with me mate, I NEED to speak to him, Pleeassee!!)

• Pretend to be hit by a car mid-sentence. Have nearby friends scream and call for help.

• Pretend to be deaf and pass your phone to a mate who will adopt one of the call centre handling approaches as detailed above.

I am torn between feeling proud of my teenager's ingenuity, annoyance at the call centre company who invaded his privacy, puzzled that the whole thing was ever considered a sound business model and sympathy for Ryan - who probably did quite well in school and has targets to meet. And probably a massive wad of student debt as well.

Not cooking

For someone who finds cooking such a hassle the word cloud suggests I go on about it. Except this isn't really cooking because it involves chocolate and sweet stuff and all things delicious and bad for you.

I have been reliably informed that- and I quote: These are lush. More people need to know how to make them. Can I have one now and one in my lunchbox? (Jackson, 11)

I also wish to increase the revenue for dentists everywhere because they train forever and have to work in such cramped conditions.

1: Mars bar cake

Ingredients
• Multi pack of 6x mars bars - or Tesco / Lidl equivalent
• Small pack of digestive biscuits
• Big dob of butter - about 1/3 or a pack should do
• 2 handfuls of mini marshmallows
• Family bar of milk chocolate
• Sprinklies / grated chocolate to finish if required

Method
• Cut up mars bars into diddy pieces
• Melt butter and chuck mars bar bits in
• Mush up for 30-40 seconds then remove from heat
• Add biscuits and scrunch them up into mixture
• Transfer to greased baking tray and push down with back of spoon
• Tidy up / faff around on Facebook for half an hour
• Melt chocolate in microwave then spread on top
• Sprinkle marshmallows over it
•  (Optional) Decorate with further melted chocolate whizzed back and forth off the back of a spoon. Or rainbow sprinklies. Or edible glitter.

Notes

• With thanks to Elisa who first shared this with me (except she also uses syrup somewhere)

• Create a mint version of this by adding a ground up extra strong mint to the biscuit mixture then finish off with mint chocolate on top
• For added entertainment, make this with a child and give them the chocolatey spoon & bowl to lick clean. Then take photos when they're not looking.

2: Marshmallow cake

Ingredients

• Family pack marshmallows

• 6 toffees

• Big dob of butter

• 1/3 packet of rice crispies or cornflakes
• Sprinkles / similar to decorate

Method

• Melt butter

• Add toffees

• Add marshmallows

• When the mixture looks like clouds, add the cereal

• Mix

• Transfer to greased tray
• Decorate with sprinkles / popping candy (optional)
• Wait until cool before eating (optional - see below)

Notes

• Use chewits instead of toffee to create fruit salad, strawberry or blackcurrent varieties

• I once came very close to vomiting purely due to the overconsumption of this. I am not proud. I started nibbling it while it was still warm and hadn't even gone solid yet. Then it was just THERE in my kitchen and delicious.
• Only make if planning a social function - unless you have more self control than me

The End

Hay fever

J: I wish I could stop blowing my nose. It's just annoying!

Me: I know... It's amazing how much snot can fit up there in a confined space.

J: Maybe it's a portal to another dimension.