Introducing Ben

Moving into a house occupied by all our children at different times and only occupied by us in between jobs when we returned from Monaco means we have now become pet owners. Rachel's cat Ben-jammin' is the longest resident of all, about fourteen years, we think. Mostly he eats and sleeps now, and occasionally comes for a stroke. He doesn't mind who feeds him, but the building activity, plus Clare and I busy around the house disrupts his comfy routine, so he occasionally takes off and sleeps in someone else's garden. That's a temptation I have to resist for the next week or so.

I'm starting the pack books in my study now, and thinking I could have weeded more out in advance to give to the Churches Together Bookshop. Clare has all the rest of the shared library neatly packed and stacked. Then there's all the CDs and tapes to do. I'm daft enough to think that there will be enough time to listen through the whole of our thankfully small vinyl collection and digitize at least some of them in the coming months, before selling them on and getting rid of the record deck. It means extra bother and encumbrance as we move, and I don't know how I'm going to fit the kit into a study that will be half the size of my present one. Woe unto you who have so many possessions, as Jesus said.

Yesterday we worked over in the Meadow Street House erecting the new bike shed in bright sunshine and pleasant temperatures. It all went easily enough, including handing the doors. There was a moment of pleasant recollection, when Clare fished out for use a small handy screwdriver set which was a gift from my dear friend Valdo when he came from Switzerland to Monaco for a few days to help us get ourselves organised after our move there from Geneva, over eight years ago.


The bolts supplied for securing the doors had no screws with them, so this took hours of hassle to sort out, as almost every kind of screw we had was too large, and split the wood. My hands, arms neck and shoulders are stiff today as a result of all the contortions involved, fixing screws in the most awkward of places. All that remains to do now is to fit the roofing felt, and move the bikes over, except that mine needs a professional overhaul after a wheel change that has left me with a derailleur that doesn't quite fit as it should, and I can't figure out why.

Post, phone and email have been quiet this past working week, with only a handful of things to deal with and refer onwards. There's nothing new in this at a Vicarage. Demand on the services of a Vicar, outside of the set routines of worship, however trivial or mighty, are irregular, and can switch from drought to deluge without warning. People think clergy are always busy, and whilst there are always things to do in quite times, it's not always the case because of variability of demand. Now, for the first time time in a working life where I was always responsible for managing my own time, I don't have to feel uneasy if nothing's happening, and wonder what I should be doing next. For the coming days there's really only one thing that matters, and that's moving house. (He says guiltily slipping out another blog posting, instead of applying himself to packing.)