Another transition . . .

I made an early start today because David wanted to experiment backing Chyandour from the winding hole at Giggety Wharf to its home mooring. I met him by Houndel Bridge at 7.30am and, after winding, it only took us half an hour or so to work back home. This is a vast improvement over the 3 hours that it can take to go on to Hinksford and wind there.

So, I was safely moored up by 8.15am and unloading my gear into the car for a less sedate drive home.

The transition from 3 mph to 30 mph or more is quite remarkable although, because one is cocooned in a steel box, the effect is not quite so noticeable.

Towards home . . .

Gwyn arrived in good time yesterday for us to enjoy an evening meal at The Curry Inn and then walk back to the mooring. 

This morning, she decided to have a walk around the area before driving home, so we set off in Chyandour at about 9.00am and I dropped her off at the majestic Avenue Bridge so that she could walk back on local footpaths to where she had parked the car last night.

I, meanwhile, continued on my way towards Wolverhampton. I managed to get a pump-out at Napton Narrowboats at Autherley Junction before turning out onto the Staffs & Worcester canal towards Wombourne.

There was quite a lot of traffic making its way home from the weekend festival at The Bratch; one of which was a little steam boat that I had first seen on Friday evening by Chillington Wharf. 

SB Mudlark's hull is from the 1970s, but the single cylinder steam engine is a rebuild of an 1882 engine that was originally in a Leeds and Liverpool canal launch. It really is impressive!

The rest of the journey to Wombourne was unremarkable, and I moored up at the picnic site below Bratch by about 4.00pm.

Worship and waiting . . .

Wheaton Aston church does not seem very large from the outside, but is surprisingly spacious inside. The worship this morning was a Family Communion Service, but as was said, being the start of the half-term holiday week, many of the regular families were away.

Nevertheless, it was good to be there and share in a more informal liturgy than the one we normally use.

Having got back from church I set off for Brewood. Just as I was setting off, my brother and family were approaching on their hire boat from the bridge behind me. We spoke briefly but they were planning to stop again for water (why I am not sure - they only filled up yesterday afternoon!).

I continued, and moored by Bridge 12 at Brewood at about 1.15pm. Gwyneth is due to come out for the night, and here will be a shorter walk into the village for a meal than where I was moored on the way up.

So, I will now await her arrival.

Serendipity and God-instances

On Saturday, I thought I would make an early start, and got away from the mooring about 6.20am to travel up to Wheaton Aston for fuel from a supplier that has lower prices than most. Arriving about 2 hours later, I was pleased to find no other boats waiting, and I was soon filled up and on my way. I decided that I would worship at Wheaton Aston church on Sunday so went as far as High Onn before winding and coming back to moor here at about 11.30am.

There is a lock at Wheaton Aston, and I thought it would be pleasant to meet folk there and offer to help work boats through the lock if it would help. Here was the first of two really tremendous God-instances.

About 3.45pm I had set the lock for a Viking Afloat boat arriving from the Autherley Junction direction and, as it approached, I thought I recognised the young girl sitting in the well-deck. Imagine my surprise when I realised it was one of my delightful nieces! Within a few moments her Mum appeared with windlass ready to operate the lock and nearly jumped out of her skin to see me there. My brother on the tiller similarly seemed a bit stunned.

I had not seen them for some months, and it was a temendous blessing to be able to spend a short while with them. They stopped for water here, so a cup of tea and cake soon appeared before they set off again.

The second of these events occured later in the evening when  boat went past and then, shortly after, reversed back to greet me.

It turned out that the guy steering the boat had noticed David & Joan's names on the boat and had also seen the Boaters' Christian Fellowship stickers and it had set him thinking. Apparently he and David had been students together at Durham in the late 60s!

I was able to contact David on my mobile, and they had a reminiscent chat for a while.

Two instances of serendipity like this remind me that our life journeys are often more than just the passing of time and distance. For Christian folk in particular I believe that God's purposes are served by these God-instances in ways we might not at first perceive but, in God's greater scheme of things they serve his purpose for good.

The Best Laid Plans . . .

Thursday morning was again fine and sunny, so I took the opportunity to wash off the roof of Chyandour before getting ready to set off up the Shropshire Union Canal. However, as I was getting towards the end of the cleaning task, a hired narrowboat came out of the bridge hole of the Shroppie and endeavoured to take the very tight turn northwards towards Coven.

One of the travellers was ready to pole the front end round and plunged the pole into the bank, whereupon it immediately sank some 3 feet into the soft mud - and stayed there, sticking out into the waterway at 45 degrees!

It was still there an hour later, refusing all attempts to dislodge it so, as I was ready to set off, I sidled over to see if I could help, mooring Chyandour alongside the hire boat. After a short while the sunny weather changed dramatically and we were treated to a full blown rain / hail storm for about 10 minutes; talk about getting soaked!

After the rain eased off, I decided that a bit more effort was required on the pole - effort that could only really be supplied by a boat engine! So, with a barrel hitch and frapping around the pole at one end and the rear end of Chyandour at the other, I used a rope to tug the pole out of the bank. It took a lot of muddy water churned up by the propellor and black smoke from the exhaust but, after only a few seconds, the pole began to move and was soon freed.

The good folk on the hire craft were soon on their way, as was I, albeit quite a bit later than I had intended. After filling with water, I started out for Brewood and moored at the Brewood Farm country moorings about 12.30pm.

This is a really beautiful and peaceful spot, I have decided to stay for a couple of nights.

Being of a Franciscan disposition does not mean that I don't value prayerful insights from other traditions, and I have found this prayer of St. Benedict of great value:-

Almighty God, give us wisdom to perceive you,

intelligence to understand you,

diligence to seek you,

patience to wait for you,

vision to behold you,

a heart to meditate upon you,

a life to proclaim you;

through Jesus Christ our Lord,

who lives with you and the Holy Spirit,

ons God now and for ever.

I hope you find it helpful as well.

The next few miles . . .

It was a lovely dawn and it was impossible to resist an early rise and run!

After breakfast I was able to get away about 7.30am and continue my journey towards Wolverhampton. The couple on the boat that had been moored behind me were celebrating the woman's 50th birthday today by planning for a meal in Birmingham this evening.

Now, with average timings, it takes about 14 hours to travel from Bratch to Worcester Bar (Gas Street Basin) in Birmingham, so I have no idea what time they were planning to eat tonight, or whether they will feel like it after working up the 21 locks in 2 miles from Aldersley Junction to Wolverhampton!

I stopped for a coffee break and shopping at Compton and then continued to Autherley Junction where I moored for the night at about 12.15pm. This might seem a bit early, but I was able to spend the afternoon finishing some boat-painting and cleaning.

That's about all, really, although it might be noted that the weather has turned decidedly less clement this evening and it is now hammering it down with rain.

Why do we pray?

Today I have stayed above Bratch Locks, and not done very much other than some boat cleaning and painting and, of course, quite a bit of reading.

I came across a thought-provoking bit of the book I am reading, and thought I would share it with you for your comments.

". . . man can come to the knowledge of God naturally . . . there never was a nation or a people who were without some knowledge of God. The result of this knowledge is that primitive man without any exterior prompting, as it were involuntarily, directs his gaze towards heaven, falls on his knees, and utters an incomprehensible but necessary sigh; he feels spontaneously that something is drawing him to the heights, that something unknown compels him."

There are many who would own this compulsion as something that they experience in this day and age too, and I am amongst them. But I suspect that there are many in churches of all denominations that do not yet sense this compulsion as a driving force in their lives, and they are the poorer for it.

How can we change this?

Monday . . .

Depsite the date on this posting, it actually refers to Monday. I am still playing catch-up!

Monday morning dawned fine and sunny, and I was able to get out for a run by about 6.30am. Just below Dunsley Tunnel I came across NB Ichthus moored up (Malcolm, the owner,  is another Boaters' Christian Fellowship member). He too is an early bird, and we were able to pass the time of day for a bit. One thing he did tell me was that the Stourbridge Canal was still closed after its recent stoppage, even though it was meant to have opened last week.

Back along in September last year, there had been a serious breach, and the canal had de-watered for about two miles.

The repair was completed just before Christmas, but the fist boats through discovered that the profile was too shallow at the repair site, and many had great difficulty in getting past.

So, about a month ago, the canal was closed again so that the problem could be sorted out. Sadly, that has taken longer than planned, and it is unlikely to open bfore the middle of the week. Apparently it is still leaking!

There was nothing for it but to retrace my journey of Sunday back to Wombourne. It was still raining, although not quite as heavily as the previous day, and I made good time, eventually mooring here above Bratch Locks. I will probably stay here for a second night, and move on on Wednesday.

Those interested in a fuller history etc. of The Bratch could do little better than following this link: http://www.sstaffs.gov.uk/default.aspx?page=13246

And so to the water . . .

After church on Sunday, I prepared to set off on Chyandour on the Staffs and Worcester Canal towards Stourport, planning to turn off at Stourton onto the Stourbridge Canal.

Now, this is the first time that I have set off on the boat when it has been pouring with rain - there has to be a first time for everything, I suppose - and it does not make journeying alone the most easy of activities. I have got quite used to operating locks by myself, but they become quite significantly more dangerous when everything is slippery with rain.

Hinksford Lock was the scene of my misfortune, when my windlass slipped off a shortened lock winding stub and clouted me on the forehead above my left eye. Blood everywhere! I have to be so thankful that it did not hit a couple of millimetres lower, when it would have smashed my spectacles and maybe worse.

It is even more difficult to operate locks and steer narrowboats when one is holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to one's eyebrow in an effort to staunch the flow!

The flow eventually eased and I reached the junction without further major incident. I had decided to go slightly past it and use a mooring at Stewponey Wharf for the night, which made it easier for Gwyn to come over and bring a few things that I had forgotten, and also some sticking plasters!

That little problem . . .

Remember that dead computer?

Well, some of the bits to rebuild it were awaiting me when I returned from Hilfield - but not all of them!

However, after a trip to a courier's warehouse early on Saturday morning and a delivery from Royal Mail a while later, the project could begin.

Now, anyone who has done this will already be aware that it does not always go smoothly - this was to be no different. However, after a few hiccoughs, the hardware bit was complete.

Onwards and upwards - the operating system follows.

By late Saturday evening that too was installed. So, after I get back from my retreat week on Chyandour, I shall begin the time-consuming task of re-installing all the other software.

A Surprise in the Dorset Countryside

Firstly an apology. This should have been written and posted last week after I arrived home from Hilfield.

But, you know how it is, when you are back in your own environment 

all sorts of other things clamour for attention - and usually get it!

Hidden in a copse of trees at Hilfield is

The Secret Garden. 

Once you have followed the path through the edge of the copse, you are transported into a world of colour and fragrance. 

I can show you some of the colours, but I do not have the technology to share the fragrances.

Walking in the tree-surrounded garden is like be transported into a parallel world - but there is time to enjoy what you see and smell, and not rush on to the next item on the agenda. God's creation is all around, and he is to be praised.

To God the Father, who created the world;

To God the Son, who redeemed the world;

To God the Holy Spirit, who sustains the world;

Be all praise and glory, now and for ever.

Observations . . .

This is the first time that I have been to a retreat like this, in which the participants are invited to live alongside the Brothers and join in the everyday life of the Friary.

So, there are no special talks, no periods of wandering around the grounds in holy silence, and no compelling reason to be other than your normal self!

The obvious difference is that of a disciplined approach to setting aside times for prayer, both corporate and individual.

When the bell rings you stop doing what you are doing, repair to Chapel, pray, and then get on with what you were doing once again. Simple really. Why does it not seem like that when I am at home?

This is a rhetorical question to which I do know the answer - I would like to put it into practice a bit more. We shall see!

The task asigned to me and three others for today was to assist in the library, ensuring that the books on the shelves are where they should be according to the catalogue. It soon became apparent that many of the people who put books back on the shelves have never learnt their alphabet or number sequences when they were at school!

Still, we did get most of it finished before evening prayer; there remains only one section to complete tomorrow.

Immediate or Important?

The last two days have again highlighted the difference between these.

Coming back home, even if not into the business of parish life, brings its own change of pace - from the leisurely, time-allowed sense of retreat into the busy-ness of modern living.

Gremlins in the computer have finally forced me to retire it after spending a good few hours trying to persuade it that it was a very inconvenient time for it to die! (Classification - immediate.)

A highlight of the weekend was the warmth of welcome received from folk at St. Benedict Biscop in Wombourne where I decided to worship on Sunday morning. Three different folk came to greet me in my seat before the service began, and several others chatted with me over coffee afterwards. (Classification - important.)

I have found that using the Jesus Prayer as suggested in the book I am reading does make a difference, but it is so, so easy to convince oneself that it is enough. It isn't. (Classification - important.)

So, I have come away on the second part of the retreat / pilgrimage, and am now peacefully ensconced at Hilfield Friary in Dorset. The retreat does not have any particular focus, other than on living alongside the Brothers for a few days, and joining in the life of the community. (Classification - important.)

But the perishing nuisance of having to sort out the computer, and knowing that it is going to take an age to get it set up again, is going to be sitting like a crow on my shoulder. (Classification - immediate, but it must never become important!)

Here ends the first chapter . . .

Yesterday was a long day, and I had little opportunity to make an entry on this blog.

A 7.00am train from Santa Maria degli Angeli meant getting up at 5.30am to finish packing and to have a quick bite to eat before walking down to the station. The 4km walk down only took half an hour, as opposed to the 45 minutes it took uphill on the day of arrival!

The train journey back to Rome was as uneventful as that when arriving last Sunday although, because the train was a Eurostar train rather than a Regular service, the cost was now €20, as opposed to the €9.40 that so pleased me on day one. Such is life - and business!

The main station at Rome was teeming with people disgorging themselves from most of the 29 platforms - some seemed to know where they were meant to be going, others looked round them looking rather lost and forlorn; many were on the lookout for the raised umbrella of a tour guide.

I, fortunately, knew where I was heading - from platform 4 where I arrived to platform 25 from where the train to the airport was due to depart - sounds easy enough, but the vastness of the station means that it took the best part of 10 minutes to walk it - quickly!

The Leonardo Express (don't ask) transported me safely to the airport which also proved labrynthine to navigate but, having printed my own Boarding Card before leaving home, I did not have to join the seemingly endless queues at the check-in desks, and could make my way directly to departure security.

Having passed succesfully through all the required hoops, I arrived at the correct gate without about half an hour to spare, and it was whilst I was waiting that I watched a sad tale unfold in front of me.

The previous flight from this gate was heading for Kiev, and was boarding as I arrived, and soon the folk were on their way and the barrier restored. Some few minutes later a young couple laden with luggage arrived, and it became obvious that they were due to be on this flight. The woman approached the attendant at the adjacent desk and was curtly dismissed with a wave of the hand. Not even a kind word or offer of help was made. She tried speaking to various official looking people but either they were unable or unwilling to help.

I felt really sorry for them and they became more desperate as the minutes passed. By the time that they were able to persuade someone to help it was too late, and the flight left without them. I only hoped that their luggage was not on board, and that they could arrange a replacement flight as soon as possible.

My flight was instructive. I discovered that a KitKat Chunky or a Twix bar would cost me £2.00, and I could have a cup of coffee for £2.50. Such is the "benefit" of getting cheap flight tickets.

Although we took off a bit late, a following wind brought us home to Manchester on time and I was able to get to the car park and be on my way with little delay. The traffic on the M6 was typical for a Friday afternoon, but I was still home safely by 4.15pm.

It will take a little while for me process all that I have experienced this past week, but I will try to write something about it over the next, more extended, period of this sabbatical.

Indulgences?

In some ways today has been quite difficult to categorize. I went again to Lodi (Lauds) at the Basillica of St. Clare and found myself again lifted in worship by both the music and the interspersed silences.

I wanted to make one trip outside Assisi, and decided to visit the place where Francis spent the whole of Lent in 1211 - a small island in the middle of Lake Trasimeno.

The first indulgence I allowed myself was a bus down to Santa Maria degli Angeli to catch the train.

It was only about an hour's journey north to Passignano on the shores of the lake, from where a 20 minute ferry ride took me to the island of Isola Maggiore.

In Francis' day it was completely uninhabited and the community that lives there now is only about 100 strong. But, inevitably, it is geared towards tourism.

As I walked round the lake shore, there certainly was a sense of quiet, and it attracts those who have the time and skill to sit and draw or paint, rather than those (like me) who point and click!

Around the far side of the island from the present jetty is the small beach where Francis was landed from a rowing boat, and left to fend for himself. There are a number of stories that have grown up around the experiences that he had during this time, some of which may well be true. Up the hillside above the beach there is now a small chapel built over the spot where he made his primitive shelter.

There is no doubt an air of stillness about it, and I said the midday office sitting by the side of this chapel.

I have found myself drawn more and more to use Francis' prayer in all the churches I have visited, but only in the church higher up on the top of the island, was an attempt made to charge me to go in.

Apparently there are some 14th century frescoes that are worth asking tourists €3 to see. On being asked if I needed to pay to pray, the attendant quite graciously let me in; but I did get the impression that, if I had so much as looked at a wall-painting, he would have been there with his bunch of tickets!

Almost half of the shoreline walk is shut off at the moment as major renovation work is being done to the castle on that end of the island so, by the time I had climbed up over the centre of the island and back down to the jetty, there was a boat ready to return me to Passignano and then back to Assisi by train and bus.

The other indulgences? Well, a couple of rides on a train and a couple of rides on a boat are all a bit of an indulgence as far as I am concerned, but the whole day was very enjoyable, and that in itself can bring hidden spiritual benefit, and certainly has done for me, although it might take a bit of time to pin down exactly what.

Devotion, Determination, Discipline . . .

Today's was somewhat of a 3D experience - as though the whole picture can only be seen when the object is viewed in 

three dimensions.

I started with a walk down to San Damiano. Most of the place does not open to the public until 10.00am, but before the hordes arrived it was possible to sit in total silence in the chapel where Francis received his call from God to renounce his former life and "rebuild my church". That it was during a time of devotion to our Lord that this happened is no coincidence. When our hearts are open to God in offering ourselves devotedly, it is much more likely that we will be attuned to hear His voice, in whatever form it comes to us.

Of the rest of the complex, I was most taken with the nun's refectory. Here are the very tables at which Clare and the sisters would have sat for their meals, and entertained amongst their guests Francis and the brothers. There was a simplicity about the whole room with its stark reminders on the wall that "SILENZIO" was the order of the day!

It is here too, in the upstairs dormitory, that the place of Clare's death is marked by a cross on the wall and, always, a vase of fresh flowers on the floor where she had lain.

Like Francis, she had shown a dogged determination to escape initially the ties of her family; ties which were made in a new and fresh way later as her sister and mother joined her in the sisterhood.

From San Damiano it is downhill all the way to my next stopping place - Rivotorto. It was here in 1208 that Francis and his first companions found an old hovel which they began to use as a place in which to live. They were determined not to take advantage of anyone, especially those who were poor, so it took a lot of discipline a year or so later to vacate the hovel when an old peasant arrived one day with his donkey and told them that the hovel belonged to him.

So they upped sticks and moved on to The Porziuncula, a small broken-down church building some miles away along the valley floor.

And, today, so did I.

But I made a bit of a detour in location, time and spirit by stopping at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission Cemetery just outside Rivotorto towards Santa Maria degli Angeli.

Here lie the remains of some 949 commonwealth servicemen who lost their lives in action in the Italian campaign in 1943-44. The contrast between Francis, the man of peace, and these men of war could not be more stark here, nestled under the city on the hillside overlooking it, yet they too were devoted, determined and diciplined. They too wanted peace and, like Francis, had to risk all to attempt its achievement.

The Porziuncula became a very special place for Francis and the brothers, so much so that, as he approached his death, he asked the brothers to take him back there for his last days on earth. Like Clare, the place in the rudimentary infirmary where he died is marked always with flowers.

That The Porziuncular is still intact today is solely due to the fact that a massive basilica was built around it and its environs in the 15th century. I'm not sure what Francis and Clare would have made of all the glitz that now surrounds the memorials to their lives, but I suspect it would not have been very complimentary!

However, I hope that the many visitors will be inspired by the 3 Ds that are clear for those who are on the lookout for them, to the extent that they will endeavour to make them part of their lives for the sake of Christ too.

Francis was known for being on the lookout for unexpected and simple joys. For me that came about today at an otherwise uninspiring statue of St. Francis in a corridor connecting the basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli to the Rose Garden Chapel, where a family of doves has taken up residence in the open basket of the statue, and the mother was, with devotion, detemination and discipline sitting on her eggs.

Hopes and disappointments

"There are two gods here", said the shopkeeper, "our God and the god of money." "The church," he went on, "advocates the god of money. The people put in their €1 or €2, and it all mounts up. They want to get as many people in and out as quickly as possible. There is no time for them to stop and pray."

I can't help feeling he has a point. But it's not as simple as that. If the tourists did not come in their droves, there would be no need for his shop, and he would be without a job.

My hopes had been surely fulfilled earlier in the morning, about 6.45am to be precise, at Lodi (Lauds) in the Basilica of St. Clare. An offering of worship which was truly meaningful for me, even if I only understood the occasional "Amen"! I think it was the singing of the nuns that somehow broke across any language barrier.

After breakfast, I decided to visit first the Rocca Maggiore fortress high above the city, and that turned out to be quite magnificent. 

Then, by way of contrast, one of the less-visited churches, that of St. Stefano, a building that was already in existence when St. Francis was born. Here there was a gentle silence uninterupted by external busy-ness. It was not difficult to imagine how Francis found it to be a haven in the city. It was after this, on the way back in to Assisi, that I came across the shopkeeper quoted above.

I then set out to walk up to The Hermitage. I wanted to follow the footpath that Francis and his companions would have used, but learnt that, since the last earthquake, it has been almost impassable, and is no longer considered safe. This was a disappointment.

However, the road up the hill beckoned, and it was sunny and warm, so 3/4 hour and 4 kms later, I arrived at my destination. Here followed another disappointment. The chapels, shrines and original caves used by Francis are closed for renovation.

I was, however, able to spend some time in the surrounding woods, and it was a very peaceful place to be.

The walk back down did not take so long - but the sun had turned to pouring rain so, not having a coat with me, I got a bit wet. The weather does seem to change quite quickly, and as I reached the town the sun re-appeared, and I dried off in no time at all.

Highs and lows in hopes and expectations are a bit like the mountains and the valleys, and the sun and the rain. We can feel disappointment if our hopes are not fulfilled, or we can see them as all part of the journey that we are privileged to make in God's company.

For those that hurry by and do not notice, let us hope that they may catch a glimpse of holiness that will stop them, even momentarily, in their tracks, and help them to meet the God whom they do not yet know.

May we see Christ in others,

Be Christ to others,

That we may dwell in him, and he is us.

A day of contrasts . . .

Today has been one of contrasts.

The many who are obviously tourists with religious / spiritual connections, and the few who are here on spiritual pilgrimage, but happen to be doing it alongside many tourists.

This was most obvious in the San Damiano Chapel in The Basilica of St. Clare. Sat in the rows of pews immediately in front of the crucifix, I and one or two others were spending an extended period of time in quiet. Quite suddenly, and with little warning, the pews filled up 

and we were jostled along until each pew contained as many as it would hold. They and we sat, and after about 45 seconds they all, as if by some hidden coordination, got up and moved on to the next item of interest in their itinerary!

Some how the original sense of peace was no longer so apparent.

It was whilst praying before this crucifix, when it was in its original location in the church in San Damiano, that Francis sensed God's call that was to so dramatically change his life. His response:-

Most high and glorious God,

enlighten the darkness of my heart

and give me sound faith,

firm hope and perfect love.

Let me, Lord, have the right feelings and knowledge,

properly to carry out the task that you have given me.

Surely a prayer that we can all make daily.

The story continues . . .

The train journey from Rome to Assisi was as uneventful as the flight to Rome. As we moved north into more mountainous country the scenery became very different and quite spectacular. Much of the rail line is single track with passing places at stations, so the cuttings in the hills are deep, and sometimes the line runs through tunnels.

Arriving at Assisi, I had this stunning view of the town high on the hillside above the valley and, with the sun behind me, it was very beautiful. The walk to the town took about 45 minutes - uphill all the way - but I did want to walk it, rather than take a bus. I was glad I did, or I would not have seen the views. I wonder how many millions of folk have made a journey like this and walked this pilgrim's way?

I soon found the guest house, high up in the town, and was settled in to my room for the week.

Early this morning, I found an internet cafe, hence this entry.

The plan for today is to follow the footsteps of St. Francis around the town as he would have known it, and I may be able to post again later on. If not it will be tomorrow morning.

About Midday . . .

A very pleasant and uneventful flight, followed by a rather drab train journey finds me sat waiting for the train from Roma Termini to Assisi, which leaves in about an hour.

Very interesting to note that the 20 minute journey from the airport into Rome is charged at €11.00, whist the 2 hour journey from Rome to Assisi is but €9.40!

I think they know when they are onto a good thing!

Have started reading The Way of a Pilgrim - the story of a Russian peasant's search for God in continuous prayer. Promises to be thought provoking.

Will see if I can get such a good connection in Assis itself later.

Early in the morning on the first day . . .

The trip up to Manchester Airport was fairly uneventful - only one section of the M6 totally closed!

Never mind, it just sets the adrenalin going a bit.

As of now, I have been scanned , de-belted, de-coated and almost undressed (well, shoes off), and am sitting in the Departure Lounge waiting for the Gate Number to appear on the screen.

There are zillions of folk here for a multitude of early morning flights to the sun. (It just happens to be raining here at the moment, so it will seem a great contrast.)

Not sure if I will be able to keep this blog up in Assisi. It will depend on getting a connection somewhere.

So for now, I wish you a blessed time of worship today, and refreshment for whatever the week may bring you.

Peace and all good.