les Davey de France

Usually May is punctuated by public holidays and long weekends. The ponts de mai. This year, however, there's a disaster. The 1st May and the 8th May are both on Sundays. That means two public holidays lost and no opportunity for a long weekend. The only saving grace is Whitsun Monday and Ascension Thursday, which are both public holidays. But even so May will be tough for us all in France this year.

Yesterday was one of those megadays. I'm sure we all have them. A day when one engagement followed another, sometimes so closely that I really couldn't see how I could avoid being very late indeed. Add in the fact that one involved travelling by car in the WORST rush hour (a misnomer if ever there was) around the WORST blockages of the ring road, then followed closely by a meeting in the middle of town where, frankly, parking a car is a huge liability... Anyway, long story short, as our transatlantic brothers so charmingly say, some creative route-finding, allowing an hour to travel 12 km/7 miles, and being able to park in the car park of a block of flats in the middle of town, and it all came together, guided by an unseen hand.

I burst out of the flat at 6:50 this morning like a ball from a cannon only to discover that it was light outside. Perfectly light. I was profoundly unnerved. This meant that anyone would be able to see me lumbering my way past the vines. Not only that, but my orange stay-safe fleece had turned from super-fluorescent to superfluous in one foul sweep. Oh well, I ran on. There was nobody about anyway and my run went well, thankfully. And the chilly start to the day made my fleece a welcome warming covering rather than a dayglo liability.

I listened over some days recently to a recording of the Messiah, on Spotify, conducted by one of the new wave of baroque conductors. You know the type. They conduct with eccentric, dance-like contortions. If you had the sound off you'd swear they were conducting Schoenberg. Guess that piece!  Pierrot Lunaire? No, it's Bach Cantata no 4, "Christ lag in Todesbanden". Their singers are just the same. They perch on stools waving their arms around while they sing baroque arias. If Purcell were alive today he'd turn in his grave. If Quixote rode into town he'd take them for windmills and tilt at them for tuppence. The whole thing has become very kinetic, very mobile. Watching a video is extremely distracting. I thought Spotify might be OK. Well it wasn't. I mean, I know the conductor in question is not British or even anglophone by birth, but why would you direct your chorus to sing "Hallelujah" as quietly as possible? Why the n...

This morning we had the immense privilege of receiving several members of the Overseas Missions Board of an evangelical denomination in Hong Kong. They came to talk about the work amongst Chinese people in Bordeaux, and more specifically about the prospect of perhaps sending a worker or workers to help the Chinese Christians here. What lovely folk! We had a very happy time exchanging about the work here and in Toulouse and about the possibilities and their hopes for the future. We parted reluctantly and we missed them immediately.

I have not spoken of my morning running sessions for a while. Oh dear. EVERY TIME I go away for a few days I have to battle to get my running back on track again. It's a nightmare! Five days in Scotland severely disrupted my routine such that when I got back out on the road I struggled gravely to get going again. Add in my weekend tummy bug and frankly... well, it was not until this morning that I began to feel that perhaps I would get back on track soon. Still. Even when it is a struggle, it is a manful struggle, and worthwhile! And these mornings are beautiful. The vines are sprouting. The vineyard is changing out of its winter charcoal corduroy into a lush green velvet. The irises have blossomed briefly. The various wildflowers are flourishing. The trees are blooming. And a wisteria hangs over a wall to greet me as I rumble viscously past.

James Hammond's birthday was the day before mine. Now I live in Bordeaux in palatial (if pokey) luxury, in the bosom of my family, with dining table, patio and every comfort known to man. Well, every comfort I could reasonably hope for, shall we say. James lives far from his family in monastic isolation in his upstairs flat in the quarter judaïque. So I arranged a surprise birthday party for him, using a surreptitious Facebook group I proposed that we do something festive on our patio involving sausages and cake. Picture my surprise when I was ejected from the group and the discussion continued. It did not need the deductive powers of Inspector Barnaby to realise that the birthday party was to have a double focus - for James and for myself. Until the tummy bug struck. And the bad back flared up. Our feeble physical form forbade us to attend. Fiddle-dee-dee. Oh well. There's always another year. Well, not always, but there's reasonable hope of another year this ...

Am I stupid or what? I just don't know what anyone could do to help me. No, seriously, I really don't. You see, I saw "Wittenberg vs. Geneva" and I thought it would be really cool to read some historical theology on Luther and Calvin and the areas of agreement and dispute between the great streams of the reformation, the Lutherans and the Reformed. Then I saw that it wasn't that, but I thought that still it would be cool to read a book from someone who had belonged to today's Reformed stream and had by conviction switched to Lutheran convictions and so would be able to explain his path. How come I didn't spot the rather giveaway title 'Bout in Seven Rounds'. This isn't an irenical testimony or an exercise in tracing historical discussion. This book is modelled on a boxing match. Well, OK, there's historical precedent for robust speech in theological discussion -  Calvin didn't always pull his punches though I think Luther could ...

Mrs Davey has another flare-up of her back problem. I have a slight digestive upset. Oh well. These things won't last. And at least Catrin is in good shape.

Sad to see the end of this talented lady's presence with us. This song isn't very kosher, but for me it's very memorable and sums up what I appreciated about her. She seemed to like and to love people, even though she saw their funny side. You felt she counted herself among the eccentric herd she laughed and sang about.

Some friends express their republican convictions on Facebook. I'm glad they are able to freely. Perhaps the irony is not lost that Britain has had that kind of freedom longer than perhaps any country in the world. Certainly French dissidents fled to England in the past. That freedom was assured by our tradition of a monarchy that was not absolute, a king who was not above the law and who was answerable to his parliament. One reason I'm thankful for the Queen is that for me she expresses something that is at the heart of the essence of what it means to be a Christian. She was born into a role, destined for a life-long responsibility that she never chose, and she has embraced that role, shouldered that responsibility with diligence and perseverance. She has not always got everything right, but she has got that one most important thing right, to bow to God's providence, to accept his plan and purpose, to accept who you are, and to run with perseverance the race marked o...

On Thursday at 7pm I left the house taking everything I needed except the adapters for my computer and boarded the number 42 bus to connect with the no 1 for the airport. I was off to Edinburgh! I soon remembered that I had forgotten the adapters and was able to email a colleague from Swindon to bring his. The plane was on time and I was met at Edinburgh by the excellent Iain Cameron, our rep for the North of Great Britain (everything north of Watford but not including Ireland) and taken to his home near Glasgow where I was very comfortably installed. On Friday morning I was able to meet a dear friend who got their doctorate in Bordeaux and now works in Glasgow. Although my friend is Chinese, they were able to translate for the person in the coffee shop who said to me, twice, GRRRGGRRRRCCCHHHHHRRRHHHHHCCGGGRRRR. I understood nothing. Nothing. Anyway, then off to Pitlochry for the UFM Scottish Conference. I had the graveyard session, Saturday afternoon after lunch, so I considered w...

Thanks, everyone, for your kind birthday greetings.  I'm blown away to be blessed from all over the world. My birthday was just as happy as a birthday far from home can be, including:  browsing in a bookshop,  coffee in Starbucks,  guzzling Chocolate Cake and  gazing awestruck at the amazing unidentifiable products on offer in Waitrose.

So all night, off and on, I dreamt that somehow - or possibly not - I had been in the drab and dingy apartment of some language teacher and - for reasons I coud not remember - I had despatched the person by means of the forceful application of a flat-iron to the side of the head. The!s person, now defunct, I had concealed in the boot of my car to await some ingenious means of disposal. Except that even in my dream I remembered that we do not have a car. But what eluded me was whether I had actually murdered this person and concealed them in someone else's car. Problem. Even on awaking I wondered if I had actually murdered someone at some time... Then I remembered reading a news article about the macabre discovery of a woman's body in the back of a van in central Bordeaux. Phew! It wasn't me!

Perhaps by simple distraction, but yesterday when I was feeling pretty tired and shot at, on the bus into town for street evangelism, I thought, "I know... Let's find some music" I found Stravinsky's Octet for wind, and it perked me up no end. On the way home the Concerto for Orchestra, Dumbarton Oaks. Crackerjack!

Note to self: Keller in the study. Dylan in the pulpit.

I've had a bad couple weeks running. Since last Monday, really, the last time it went really well. Perhaps it's been tiredness. Who knows. But this morning I got back on track. The sunrise helped.

One night on the tiles at Catrin's Opera and I am WRECKED afterwards. Running was a big no-no yesterday. One does not simply go to bed at 1am and then go running at 6:30. But the bookshop went OK, then I came home because I needed to sit somewhere comfortable, then back into Bordeaux for the street outreach.

Well not bad. The prayer letter was sent off on Monday and is now winding its way round the many cogs of the inner workings of the mission. I need to print it off today, so if the politburo hasn't declared itself by lunchtime I'll print it anyway. I'm checked in for my flight and I have my bag ready to pack. I have enough clean shirts - I've been counting them periodically all night - and I'll also take a t-shirt or two just in case, ha ha. My bag is RhinoAir size but still fits 35 litres in, so I'm hopeful. I have to do the song sheets for Sunday and the PowerPoint for Scotland, but that shouldn't be beyond the wit of man, even this man.

Oops. Caps lock button hit by mistake... So Catrin's first year in Musicologie et Chanson Française, Jazz et Musique Actuelle is drawing to a close, and he last week has been marked by the first "Histoire de la Danse" lecture, by several exams, including the "Histoire de la Danse exam, by a concert with Freddo on Saturday and by an epic production of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht's Threepenny Opera, which translates into French as l'Opéra de Quat'sous - or Fourpenny Opera. Everything is more expensive in France. Before the production started their professor explained that in the first year of the degree in Musicology, title as before, they pile on the stress, and this includes putting on an opera in two weeks, five rehearsals. Catrin came out of the rehearsals knowing that many things were not as they should be and some of the songs were almost pulled from the show... However something happens on the night, and it was all splendid. The opera is abou...

After a wild and varied week last week (fly to Wales, funeral, fly home, Pat's operation, Bible Study, sermon prep, etc. stuff like that) this week is going to be different. This week is largely about the UFM Scottish Conference, so I have to: 1) write a prayer letter and get it approved by the UFM politburo 2) send it out 3) plan out a 50 minute presentation for just after lunch for the UFM ScotConf 4) do the powerpoint that will go with 5) check in for my flight with RhinoAir 6) work out how to squeeze everything into the small bag RhinoAir allow you in the cabin because it is 50€ to add a bag in the hold. 7) add events to Facebook for Bordeaux Church on Thursday and Bordeaux Church at Dan 8) send out the emails for Bordeaux Church on Thursday and Bordeaux Church at Dan 9) prepare the song sheets for Sunday 10) get to the airport in time for the flight to beautiful Edinburgh in bonnie Scotland!

The weather was OK. Mild, wet, April weather. The former rains. The birds were giving it all they had to encourage me. The town hall had repaired the verges of Deep Street, my vine-side running track, and they had even put up a little marker "17K", ready for the Bordeaux Marathon this evening. I had my route planned out. My basic 2K up to the Pape Clément traffic lights and back, augmented by circuits of Fisherman's Street and Monteil Square, each circuit adding another kilometre. And the desire was certainly there. I had been looking forward to this run since coming home on Wednesday.  Early meetings on Thursday and Friday had prevented me running, so the desire had been growing. And I like to think that in my own way, to the limit of my capacity, I, too, took all that was in my possession and devoted it, consecrated it, ladled it out in great dollops. But the result was poor. I ran slowly and laboriously. My time was not good. But what of it! I got out the...

Pat went into the operating room to have her sebaceous cyst removed about 45 minutes ago. They'll call me to go and get her when she's in the recovery room.

In the course of two full days in the UK I consumed: a Cornish pasty (lamb and mint) a packet of prawn cocktail flavour crisps a small cod accompanied by the European chips mountain a packet of salt and vinegar flavour crisps a bacon roll with brown sauce, which I asked for in French at Reading station a packet of cheese and onion crisps some very good beef stew - the one healthy moment! a packet of chocolate-coated raisins three (3) bottles of water two americanos one cappuccino It's hardly healthy eating, is it. The three packets of crisps were eaten in quick succession, too. Still, I'm back to porage, apples, oranges and cheese.

Bordeaux has two main rainy periods each year. The period known as the former rains runs from early January to late June and is characterised by heavy rain mixed with high winds. This period is quickly followed by the latter rains, which last from early July to late December. These latter rains are marked by thunderstorms, some of which can be very blustery.

poor Mrs Davey is suffering from pain in her hip and so has had to stop running.

The gardeners came to cut the grass around our block of flats. And - joy of joys - they cut our little patch of grass, too! That's wonderful! It means we don't have to buy and store a mower!

Well I can barely believe it. The planes landed on time, or were early. The trains all ran on time. The bus from Cardiff city centre to my sister's house was easy to find and ran directly. The funeral went well and it was good to see my sisters and my cousins - though I have sadly lost all my aunts. Then coming home the trains were on time and the plane was not full and the journey was easy and we arrived at Mérignac 1/2 hour early - where I caught bus 1, then bus 42 and got dropped off at the front door. Feeling grateful!

So yesterday again we were full to bursting with some notable folks absent - brave-hearted Michaël got the extra chairs down from the corridor.  It was good to preach the renewal of all things from the raising of Lazarus and John's seven signs. Great hope! Then this morning a fine run - my first km was in record time. I knew I was running well, but I was really pleased with the time. It was just kicking the threshold of crossing from jogging to running. Give me a couple of months and maybe I'll decide to do that 10k! Then I slowed down deliberately and finished my circuits of the vines. Beautiful with the thorn bushes in flower, the birds blasting out their territorial arias and the sun peeping through the clouds. Now get ready to fly off to South Wales for my brother-in-law's funeral. Do I iron my white shirt before rolling it up and squashing it into my cabin bag or not bother? I'm going to end up looking like a badly upholstered old sofa anyway. Oh dear. Chocks...

The theme for the Colloque this year was "The loss and recovery of joy in Christian ministry". It wasn't the theme that attracted me to Lyon, but the opportunity to catch up with friends from all over the francophonie, and to make new friends, of course. I travelled there and back by coach, by Starshipper. It's the same company that took us to San Sebastian the other month. I looked first at the train - it takes a very long time indeed and costs a fortune. I considered flying - Easyjet go there but the plane leaves at 7:30 in the morning and there's no practical way to get to the airport for 6:30, so it was the coach. The coach has its advantages. You have space. You can read, listen to music, doze, watch the scenery. We passed through the region of the volcanoes where there was still snow on the ground, calling at Périgueux, Brive, a motorway services where there was a Flunch where we could eat, Clermont-Ferrand, where the trams are some dark colour I can...