And that, right there, is what we really mean when we say, “Allahu akbar!”
Counterintuitively, I work harder in Ramadan while fasting than at any other time of the year. Even so, I think I’ll call it a day now.
The worst part about gardening is getting rid of all the rubbish, but I’m getting there.
Having also struggled through education myself, I ought to be our son’s greatest advocate.
At this juncture, my parents were despairing at me too, as my teachers predicted I was about to fail all of my GCSEs.
That I didn’t and actually did moderately well in the final exams should position me well to encourage our son to keep trying.
But, instead, I find myself admitting this is all my fault. If I had a greater intellect, surely that would have impacted his early years development.
Indeed, had I myself tried harder, I would have had the means to pay for a private education for our kids, giving them a head start. Paying a fortune for tuition at this late stage seems fruitless, though we continue regardless.
Given my own experience of education, I ought to be able to say to our son, “I know exactly what you are going through.” For I do, intimately.
I should be able to tell him what worked for me. That if he works hard now, he can turn his fortunes around. But, in truth, I still have doubts success was all mine.
Having experienced the death of a grandparent in the midst of both my GCSEs and A-Levels, I’ve always quietly assumed I benefitted from some kind of adjustment marking as a result of bereavement.
How else could a failing student prove everyone wrong? The hope is that hard work paid off in the final months of school and college, for that’s the advice I proffer to a son who has nearly already given up.
My life could be a salutary warning to our kids. But, alas, they did not witness the difficult years in that first decade after graduation when I brought in a meagre income from demeaning casual jobs.
All they have ever seen is stability, which suggests that growing up is easy. The cost of living will be a shock to the system when they go out into the world.
One of our children gets it. The other, not at all. One works extremely hard, the other not hard at all. One has aspirations. The other: he’s like me.
From an early age, I was so convinced I was destined to failure that I aspired to nothing of any significance until it was already too late.
All of this, I try to spin positively, pointing to the success of my siblings and peers, regret my great inspiration.
“You can do it,” I tell our son, hopefully. And I think he can. For I once walked in his shoes, believing it hopeless, and yet somehow managed to prove everyone — including myself — wrong.
“You can do it,” I’ll keep on saying. Though that’s hardly the advocacy he deserves. I should have served these children better.
It turns out I’m not alone in wondering.
Why does YouTube keep recommending me right-winger videos even when I’m watching apolitical content?
Who knew Cat Stevens was singing about mowing the lawn? It’s true, the first cut is the deepest.
As you can see, I’m thoroughly enjoying my gardening leave. Beats sitting at a computer all day long.
Maybe it’s best to do what you love as a hobby after all, and leave work in its own container. Onwards…
Out driving today, taking a countryside route to avoid roadworks, I was reminded it’s exactly twenty years since we first discovered our little market town.
We might attribute this discovery to angels, too, for it wasn’t on our radar at all. We were actually en route to view a property in Aylesbury, when I took a sudden and unexpected diversion through woodland.
At my side, my wife looked at me perplexed as I weaved my Ford Fiesta down winding country lanes until we finally arrived in the charming old town, pausing momentarily by a well-kept allotment and ancient cottages.
The rest is history. We eventually made it to our appointment in Aylesbury, but our heart was no longer in it, all of a sudden intrigued by the hamlet we’d discovered in the meeting of four valleys. Home, now, twenty years.
Everyone is saying King Charles is not a good Christian for inviting Muslims to break their Ramadan fast at Windsor Castle.
But is that really so? For anyone who had been to church on a Sunday would regularly have listened to the Sermon of the Mount, in which Jesus is reported to have said:
You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.
This is a call to extend love and forgiveness even to those who may have wronged you, much less upstanding citizens who just happen to observe a different faith.
How disappointing these teachings must be for the rabble suddenly professing a nationalist religion. How does it escape so many that faith is meant to challenge and reform us?
Oh good, YouTube’s algorithm has once more decided to serve me Alt-Reality content this evening.
First, True English Patriots are livid that King Charles III is a secret Muslim convert, making him a traitor who must abdicate immediately.
Second, the United Kingdom is set on course for civil war within the next five years. The culprit? Multiculturalism, of course, which has led to societal fragmentation and weakened national identity.
Third, some blokes dressed in salwar kameeze had a barbecue in their back garden yesterday, undermining the security of the entire nation. How dare they?
Must reset the algorithm. Flawless Cleaning. New Yorkshire Workshop. Rag’n’bone Brown. DIY Perks. Kris Harbour. Dave2D. Let me get my sanity back.
Lovely afternoon for a walk across the valley.
