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1 - 7 - 2007 Sheffield
After 18 months of living in a
jam jar we've jumped into a cauldron. In other words, we've moved out of the
campervan and into a
house! When we sold our Biggin Hill home back in January 2006, we had some
money left over and decided to look for somewhere cheap enough to
buy outright. We had been pleasantly surprised by the
atmosphere of the town of Sheffield, and impressed by the cheap houses -
particularly in the poorer south-eastern part of the city. We became
interested in a 3-bedroom neglected house in the infamous Manor Park area. It was easily the worst house we'd seen in 20 viewings:
We had
to climb over furniture and rubbish to get into rooms, the toilet and bath
were soiled and smelly and the garden was a huge but impenetrable jungle
(see aerial view, left). Locally, quite a few of the properties were
boarded-up, bored children loitered on every street corner and
there were signs of vandalism and graffiti everywhere. But we both felt up
for the challenge and strangely excited by the potential of the place. Our
offer of £65,000 was accepted.
 So here
 we were, six months later,
finally arriving in Sheffield to pick up the keys to 24 Bassett Place. We were
in for quite a shock. Firstly,
the front door had been kicked in. Secondly, the place was full of stuff! The departing owner had done absolutely nothing about
clearing the property. The rooms were in far worse a state than when we'd
viewed the house, and it was obvious that no cleaning or tidying had
happened in recent months. Rows of spent toilet
rolls in the loo, piles of  dirty clothes on the kitchen floor, unfinished
meals in the bedrooms, a bunch of empty toothpaste tubes in the bathroom... there was mess everywhere. We just looked at each other
in bewilderment! Once over the shock, I began sifting through the mountain of
stuff and temporarily sealed the broken doorway with plastic sheeting. Over
the following nights, Lucy slept in the camper and I slept in the house.
The following Sunday morning we
attended the local Quaker Meeting, then took a ride out into the beautiful
Peak District, flying the paraglider over Mam Tor near Castleton before
returning in the evening. We'd had burglars. Someone had got through our
flimsy front door and helped themselves to our bikes, the video camera and
the laptop. Thankfully, a local Community Police Officer recovered the camera and one bike.
He had noticed someone who, on seeing him, had dumped the camera bag (and
bike he was riding) and escaped.
I found the other bike the following day in some nearby undergrowth. But the
laptop had gone and it was frustrating to think of all the work it
represented: I kept catching
myself thinking of the files I'd worked on and photos we'd taken -
precious to us but worthless to the thief. Those feelings of regret and
frustration were beginning to subside, but then...!
A few days later we had kids damaging
the campervan, before kicking in the shed door and taking tools and bikes. A
few days later we had another burglary, three windows smashed and the only
things left in the house with any resale value (a drill, GPS and a computer
hard-drive) were taken. We don't have insurance so I'm definitely feeling
the loss, and feeling quite cross too.
2 - 7 - 2007 Turn
the Other Cheek?
Am ong the most unpopular of Jesus' teachings is the idea of non-retaliation.
The notion is so absurd that even Christians who claim to follow Jesus can't
stomach a teaching so contrary to their instinct. I can't blame them: Unless
a person actually observes both the futility of retaliation and the power of
non-retaliatory love, I can't imagine any rational person taking it
seriously.
But many of us have been uncomfortable
witnesses to the horror of retribution, and a few have also been privileged
to see the wonder of grace. Such people can no longer sit comfortably while
their nation engages in a "war on terror" in the Middle East. They feel
uncomfortable when the guy at the bar argues that sex offenders should be
locked up for life, or when bitterness wells
within their own hearts when they are under attack.
To these people I want to say one
thing: I need your help! Please challenge me, remind me and - most of all - encourage
me to live a life overflowing with grace.
6 - 10 - 2007 No Laptop
There has been such a long silence on this blog that friends who use it to check that I'm still alive probably think
I've died. But my absence has not been due to my demise, but the absence of a
computer. Now I'm equipped with another laptop, so hope to post regular
updates whenever I get an internet connection.
 So much has happened that I really don't know what to say or where
to start! Rozanne moved in in August. We'd met her at the Quakers not long
after arriving in Sheffield and she'd needed a place to live. A few weeks
later my friend Simon came up from Brighton to live with us, and we became
four. It has been so good for me to have these guys living with us -
Lucy and Roz are similar in many ways and have become quite close. I have
enjoyed her friendship as much as her articulate conversation and perpetual
self-analysis! Simon too has been a great help. Within a week of his
arrival, I was wondering how I'd ever managed without him! He has been my
brother, my teacher, an excellent peacekeeper and an invaluable friend and I
have depended on him hugely. Before he came, he and his wife Isobel had made
the brave decision to go wherever God was leading them - even if those
places took them apart. The result was that Isobel went to live in Lewis and
Simon came to live in Sheffield.
On his last trip south to see Isobel,
Simon felt that she was suffering as a result of their separation and that he needed
to stay down South and support her. Meanwhile Rozanne has met Steve, fallen
madly in love and is keen to move in with him, so it looks like it's back to the two of us again!
6 - 10 - 2007 Finding
Our Feet
Right now I'm enjoying a lovely break from our daily
routine. Roz got us all a flight to visit her sister in Spain (see photos) and I'm
currently sitting on Javier and Jasmine's settee in Pontedeume trying to
think what to write. (At this point Rozanne hijacks computer as Ash's
usually relentless mind has gone mysteriously blank!).
Desde los ojos de Rosa - From
the eyes of Roz
We've been in Spain for about 5 days. It got off to a rocky start with mine
and Ash's ideologies on ethics clashing a bit. After a day or two of talking
and yoga, it feels like we're getting somewhere and really learning
something about ourselves and each other. It seems an odd way to spend
holiday in Spain however it is really exciting to get to the core of your
mates and also dare to bare your deepest truths. I hope to go back to
Sheffield transformed somewhat from the heated debates and beach-side
chestnut picking....well its still Spain even if it is October...
Hello! Well that told you, didn't it?!
I entitled this piece "Finding Our Feet", because I wanted to explain how
we'd (kind of) settled in to Sheffield. Getting to know the place and people
is taking time, but I can now list a number of Sheffield people who have become
true friends.
Abundance. Lucy
responded to a message on Freecycle and a few days later we jo ined a gang of
wonderful people engaged in fruit picking in and around Sheffield. Their aim
is to raise awareness of the abundance of fruit growing all around us at
this time of year. It's been such fun shaking pears and apples out of the
trees, standing underneath with a tarpaulin and loading all that beautiful
fruit into the car. The
Abundance Project is coordinated by Anne-Marie (pictured with Steve),
and she arranges for the harvested fruit to be freely
distributed to various groups and charities, or from a cart in
local shopping centres.
Neighbours. Most of the people
in our close are elderly, and have lived here for most of their lives. Our
next door neighbours are Frank and Pam, and Frank's best friend Brian lives
the other side. Their gruff northern charm is quite endearing
and the old folk in general seem to have a peaceful and uncomplaining
attitude to life. Our house borders Sky Edge
Fields, a large recreational area with great views
of the city. These fields are the territory of the local
youth, and we have met a whole bunch of colourful young people. The little
children tend to disappear when the older ones arrive. Most of the boys
above about 10 years old (and girls for that matter) have quite a tough
exterior. I guess this is pretty essential for survival as their social
environment is far from ideal, but it has been encouraging to see a softer
side emerging from time to time in some of the "difficult" kids we've got to
know.
Church. The Sheffield
Quaker meeting has been a regular source of encouragement and a useful haven of
rest. The local Anglican vicar ("Reverend Chris" to the local kids)
has become a good friend, helping us in so many pract ical ways and just
being there when I needed a sympathetic ear. In the last couple of weeks
we've touched base with a church called CROWDEDHOUSE, and found people with
a similar heart to ours. We've been feeling the need to be better connected
to local organisations, churches and individuals who could help us (and we
them) to live from the heart and I think this connection might really grow.
Emmaus. On one of our visits to
Brighton last year we visited
Emmaus in Hove.
I was really impressed with the whole concept. Almost as soon as we got to
Sheffield we heard that an
Emmaus
in Sheffield was in the process of being set up, so we got in touch. An old steelworks is being converted into
an Emmaus furniture shop with eventual accommodation for about 25 people. It is great
being actively involved as everything starts to take shape. I feel really rewarded
and have enjoyed the company of the staff, volunteers and builders working there.
29 - 11 - 2007 Crisis for
Whom?
I have just been watching a CNN news report on the first annual fall
in US house prices in 20 years. The 1% drop was entitled
"The Housing Crisis", and the concern by the experts was that the drop
could herald a devastating new trend - a fall that would destabilise the
market. But how on earth can they call this a crisis?
I guess landlords and money lenders
would love house price inflation to continue through the roof indefinitely.
So a drop in profit must be rather disappointing for those at the top of the
financial food chain. But for their prey, such a drop can be a life-saving
reprieve.
The borrowers who line the banker's
pocket, the tenants on which a landlord's profits depend; these are
the ones who groan while their master gorges himself, yet rejoice when a
morsel accidentally falls from his table.
30 - 11 -
2007 Wave Over Bradwell
I had a thrilling flight from Bradwell the other day - my first real
experience of wave. A couple of years back Lucy (with less than an hour's
experience) had unwittingly climbed out in wave over Devil's Dyke (picture
left). Back then she'd been the only pilot out front enough to catch the
wave as it developed, and within 20 minutes strengthening wind at ground
level
had forced the other 20 or so pilots to land and watch jealously as she
soared 400m above the hill for over an hour - doubling her flying hours!
On arrival at Bradwell there were a few paragliders in the air
scratching in weak ridge lift and occasionally turning in scratchy thermals.
Lucy said she didn't feel like flying and would stay in the camper. As I
unpacked the air was clear and cold, with high lenticulars far to the north. By the
time I was ready for launch, one pilot was 300 metres above the rest. Keen
to find the thermal he must have caught I took off and started searching.
The air was far from smooth and after my usual five
minutes adapting from terrestrial mode ("yikes!") to flying mode ("woohoo!")
I was enjoying the challenge of utilising any scraps of lift I could find. I got the
camera out, but it was too rough to fly one-handed, so I put it away.
20 minutes later, I'd lost contact with a weak thermal at
about 130m ATO and was pushing forward and losing height. The descent turned
into a
gentle climb and all turbulence ceased. Within 5 minutes I was at 440m
traversing a
silky smooth band of wave lift that stretched as far south as I dared to
fly. I turned and flew north until I could see the campervan again and found
myself wondering if Lucy could see me. Still climbing steadily, I had been
too excited to notice that I was getting really cold. I let go of the brakes and
tucked my numb hands in my jacket and kicked my legs for a while until some
circulation returned. The view was
beautiful and I got the camera out again - only to find I'd left it on after
getting it out earlier and
now the batteries were flat! Argh!
The GPS showed that my groundspeed into wind was now
almost zero. I needed to lose height urgently, so thought I'd drift downwind
a little to get out of the wave lift. A foolish error. The lift was less,
but I was 300m further downwind and my best windward speed was now a negative 2km/h . I used full bar for the first time in my life, and began to descend
with a few km/h of forward groundspeed, Once safely in range of the landing
field (and with 150m to spare) I got the camera out again. I swapped the
batteries with those in my vario (quite a mission with freezing fingers) and
got off a couple of shots before hitting the rough stuff at 130m. I landed
with a whoop of exuberance, packed up and ran to the camper to warm up and to tell Lucy that she wasn't
the only one of us who'd experienced wave! |
