Loosing a pet

I come bearing sad news this morning I’m afraid, as our much-loved pet rabbit Brucie has joined the ranks in bunny heaven since I was in last. I can hardly believe that just a few months ago I was sat here talking to you about this new bun of ours – and that what should’ve been the start of a decade together has been cut so short. But what can I say, London foxes are a real menace.

Losing a pet is such a painful heart opener isn’t it? It’s been a mini crash course in loss for both our kids and, in their own way, they’ve worked through the grief cycle. Denial first, “he can’t be gone” was muttered lots early on, followed by a thorough enquiry into neighbours’ back gardens, then anger – harsh words have been fired at the culpable fox and all his kind, some real sadness (our bedtime regime now has an ‘I miss Brucie’ segment sandwiched neatly between teeth brushing and a story), with some acceptance slowly emerging.

When Bruce died, my daughter Rory stood looking out at his hutch and asked, quite sternly, “why does God even make foxes when people need pet bunnies?” Voicing that age old conundrum of why bad things happen in a world she believes has love at the heart of it.

I contemplated, for a microsecond, streamlining St Augustine’s response to this dilemma – his wonderful, bright idea that evil is the absence of good, in the same way that darkness is the absence of light. It doesn’t exist in and of itself – but rather is where the good stuff isn’t. But instead went for the less philosophical, more anatomical explanation offered-up by the handy old food chain, and foxes and rabbits respective places on it.

As with any loss, we console ourselves with the cherished memories; there’s a photo of him up on the fridge, we’ve held onto his little leash and the Santa hat we had knitted for him at Christmas – we used the name sign that used to be on his hutch to do our own little goodbye ceremony, sharing our favourite moments of him and his precious cottontail.

More recently a campaign for a (fox-resistant) puppy has materialised – its yet to receive an official response from either me or my husband Oscar! 

Contact Lens Deep Dive

I’m kicking-off today with the immediate admission that I’m going to talk about contact lenses. I know they’re not usual fodder for this part of the show but a recent trip to the opticians really did give me… pause for thought. So here we are! I’ve also gotta add that I once did write a song (back in the good-old-days of Pink Tinge, our girl band with the enforced matching baseball caps) dedicated entirely to the opticians, so this isn’t my maiden voyage when it comes to creative inspiration springing forth from some of the optic admin that comes with living in a human body. 

At this last check-up, along with the usual puff of air in both eyes, attempts at reading miniscule letters and gleaning the intel that my prescription has gotten a smidgen worse, the optician suggested that I make the switch to daily lenses. A new lens for each new day. Now I know that when Marcel Proust famously said, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes”, this isn’t exactly what he had in mind, but hearing this new advice sent my mind heading in that direction and a mental picture of making every-day worthy of a fresh, new pair of these clever plastic discs came to me.

Most of my vital life aids and treasured possessions (phone, watch, jewellery) have stuck with me for years, almost becoming part of me, with little need to attend to them or clock any gratitude for them. But here would be a staple of mine that saw nothing of my yesterday, wasn’t preoccupied with my tomorrow – its only relevance belonging to this present day, crisping up my vision so that I could do it to its best.

When my husband and I got married, the vicar told a story of a jeweller whose gold rings had to be re-spun each day, you’ll have to forgive my hazy recollection of the precious metal logistics (it was 9 years ago) but the point of his tale was to illustrate that we should pay good attention to our most important relationships, replating them daily with new gold.

So, here’s to these little prompts; contact lenses, rings and whatever else… because sometimes it’s the most ordinary of things that serve as reminders of the stuff that’s most meaningful.

Following life's signs...

I didn’t go in for resolutions this year, but I did have a few hopes – the one that aspired to an unflustered voice while getting small people out the house on-time was always gonna be a futile dream, but my aim to read more is one that’s panning out alright.

And whilst wrapped up in the worlds of some brilliant stories, I’ve re-clocked how the narrator’s all-knowing voice so often hints at what’s to come.

Signs dotted throughout a plot keep me gripped for what awaits but also ramp-up the underlying meaning of every tale; author’s shaping the path of their Mr Darcy, or my personal fave; Little Women’s Jo March.

I think art imitates life here as there’ve been many times when I’ve felt a nod of reassurance, a divine sign pointing me in, or confirming, my direction.

Like the day I found out we were expecting our daughter; my husband and I went for a random mooch around a gallery, clueless as to what was inside. In one room I found a painting of the Roman goddess of the dawn, Aurora. It was the girls’ name I was fixated on – it felt like a warm, glowing sign that I must be pregnant with our Rory. (What with a doctor for a husband I did have to back-up my supreme sign with a bit of science.)

Or how in November, I went back to my hometown of York for my friends-since-we-were-toddlers wedding. On a rainy potter of the streets my brolly collided with another, I looked up under our now shared canopy to see the face of the vicar who married Oscar and I many moons ago… A little wink from afar.

And then on our moving day when I found some school memorabilia left by the previous family – it was from a school I’d once taught at and, I soon sussed, belonged to a former student of mine.

In his daily meditations, the priest, Richard Rohr encourages a life of trust – trust that we’re “being held and guided… (that) almost everything is a kind of guidance.”

Sometimes the signs are loud, sometimes subtle… a song on the radio, a robin in the park. But it's always fun to seek and find them.

The Beginner's Mind

My eyes have recently witnessed the, not far off, miraculous as my five-year-old has finally got the hang of the simple joy that is riding a bike. What a milestone of childhood and a moment of liberation it is, travelling fast and fuss-free under your own power.

After some unsuccessful dilly-dallying in the park with her Mum and Dad, we signed her up to a course that promised quick results – and, sure enough, after a handful of sessions during which we made ourselves scarce, we returned to watch that eureka moment when she first took-off pedalling around the Scout Hall; equally as exhilarating to clap eyes on, in my opinion, as it is to be the one free-wheeling, care-free downhill.

It might’ve normally struck me how unequal it is that my kids come wide-eyed to so many new experiences, braving teachable heads and hearts whilst I’ve let at least a decade go past since adding any new life skills to the repertoire.

Except, I’d just spent a week living life as a novice, tackling snowy slopes with a pair of skis clipped to my feet. So, I could relate; recalling the jittery anticipation that loomed large as I psyched myself up for ‘beginners’ class on day 1.

Right before that trip, the priest Richard Rohr had dedicated a weeks’ worth of his daily newsletter to ‘the beginners mind’. I, in preparation, had lapped it up. But soon discovered that it's not the trying of new stuff he was endorsing (tricky enough as it is to work through each day’s to-do list) but that there’s something in the way a beginner looks at stuff, their approach, that’s praiseworthy. He wrote, “(the) Beginner’s mind is a readiness to always be in awe, to always be excited… (it’s) one’s mind before the hurts of life have made us cautious and self-protective.”

I know that adulting can zap me of the immediate delight and curiosity I see in my children; there’s an expectation that we’ve seen already rather than are ready to see anew… but that video on my phone - recorded for posterity - Rory propelling forward, wheels in motion, is a reminder for me to try to bring the humility and zest of a starter to my seen-before, done-before days.

CHALLENGE WEEK FOR OSC AND VERNON // BBC CHILDREN IN NEED

It’s a big old day for your lovely work mate Vernon as he embarks on his ultra-ultra-marathon challenge for Children in Need. Even just listening to the description of how far his legs have gotta carry him and how quickly is enough to bring me out in a sweat – so all kudos to him.

Those build-up butterflies jittering around Mr Kay and no doubt the rest of his family are being felt simultaneously in our household now; as my husband, Dr Oscar (he’s the one who dishes out the health headlines on BBC1s Morning Live) limbers up to dance, believe it or not, the Argentine tango with amazing Strictly choreographer Maria Tsiatsiani live on this Thursdays’ show, all in aid of the one-and-only Children in Need. Now ultra-ultra-marathons may be in a league several rungs up from the intense embrace and sweeping legs of the beautiful tango, at least where duration is concerned, but what both Vernon and my other half have in common this week is a significant stepping out of comfort zones.

I can’t overemphasize how testing this dance challenge will be for Oscar; he’s the man who adopted the awkward-shuffle routine on our wedding dancefloor before a quick SOS summons to everyone to join and dilute us; we once did a date-night dance class where a simple salsa step couldn’t be grasped before the lesson wrapped up. (Sending lots of luck to you, Maria!) But Dad-dancing jokes aside, Oscar’s tango trial will be especially tough due to a visual impairment he was born with, one which cannot be corrected by lenses, glasses, or surgery. Learning by looking in his training this week has proved tricky for sure!

Vernon and Oscar’s physical feats, and the many danceathons, PE and treadmill challenges before them, take that feeling of wanting to do something to make the world a bit better and act on it - not only are the rewards more than worth it for the many children who rely on the incredible work of CIN, but, I believe, that in the fun and games of the mission or the donation, we are all changed for the better too, playing our part in something bigger than ourselves.

So go well Vernon and Osc, maybe remember the words of St Catherine of Siena, “Nothing great is ever achieved without much enduring.”

How to Time Travel

Last week I took a walk down memory lane, Zoe – and went back to the landscape of my childhood; perhaps the closest thing there is to time travel.

A flood of memories was unleashed the moment I stepped out of the tube station; this time, bizarrely, not looking down at my school skirt but at my own two children. New characters gathered along the way.

We emerged onto the streets I’d strolled as a 6, 11 and 18-year-old with a head full of dreams, eagerness, and yes, occasional disappointments; the set of budding lifelong friendships, first love, first pet, first gig, cosy Christmases, and seemingly never-ending summers.

The real nostalgia stirred though not on gazing at our old house but on visiting the church and grounds my dad used to be the minister of. I plopped my son and daughter on the step he’d deliver his sermons from, they cooed over a drumkit akin to the one my sister played there, and we explored the once familiar gardens, now transformed into an outdoor prayer walk; complete with remembrance ribbons for those no longer with us, the tree of change for reflecting on those switch-ups happening in our lives and a hopeful hopscotch with a comforting promise on each stone. A sacred space for me and many others, set apart from the bustling broadway outside.

It’s often said that looking back isn’t a wise thing to do, better instead to fix our eyes to the path ahead. But last week’s visit made me think otherwise. Returning to my old stomping ground brought events and people back to life. It was a day of strengthening that connection between who I have been and who I am now.

As I stood on this native ground, I felt such gratitude to the place and people that shaped and sustained me in my formative years – and such thanks too for the story that has unfolded, and the worlds I have inhabited, ever since.

I think I might’ve accidentally indulged (we were there for a kids play session after all!) in a bit of ‘place-therapy’ Zoe, as the trip brought about a kind of emotional wholeness, I’m still enjoying basking-in today!  

Why we really did the chocolate challenge...

PAUSE FOR THOUGHT | BBC RADIO 2 BREAKFAST SHOW | 5th Aug 2020

Whilst I may have managed to resist traipsing into Gen Z territory recently, thankfully not attempting to reproduce the latest trending dance routine on the younguns social media platform of choice, one of the fads I did yield to was one that split opinion; some branded it a fascinating social experiment, others saw it – making me feel pretty bad - a gentle form of torture.

I’m talking about the chocolate challenge, or temptation challenge. The test that sees children left to their own devices, sweet treat in front of them and, crucially, with a camera rolling…  

Perhaps you were sent a clip of your grandchild, nephew or goddaughter painstakingly waiting it out in front of a bowl containing the chocolate-button-bait. Or maybe, like me, your feed was filled with parents despairing at their offspring’s lack of patience or happily sharing the glory of some impressive obedience on display.

The instruction given to the tiny participants was that they’d be allowed to have the goodies if they waited. So, I set my 2 year old up with her forbidden fruit and hit record before explaining that I was going out into the hall, would be back in a few minutes and that she needed to hold-out for my return before tucking in. 

Now, being fair and square here, I did find the whole thing simply a good bit of fun; firstly, wondering if my little girl would play ball or conk out and, of course, watching back the video - complete with bewildered expressions, suspicious gazes in my direction and a final act of defiance.

But! On reflection I reckon the reason I, and countless others, jumped on the bandwagon is that this craze somewhat satisfied the hunger we all have to really understand our kids as much as possible. With my back turned, Rory was free to do her thing – and I, cheekily, got a ringside seat.

It made me think of the words of Kahil Gibran; a man who, raised a Christian and later influenced by Islam, speaks to people of all faiths and none, when he writes: “your children are not your children, they are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself… you may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow.”

A bittersweet thought – rather like delaying the gratification of a toddler’s sugar hit!

"Love has something to do with the notion of being seen" -- Pause for Thought BBCR2, 15/07/20

The last few months will be remembered for many things but in our household what won’t go unforgotten is the insight my husband and I have had into each other’s working lives. We’ve often said how much we’d love to do a grown-up version of take your friend or spouse to work day – just to get a glimpse into what we do during our, as Dolly sung, 9-5’s.

Now, we’ve had our chance. As we’ve beavered away at our desks, we’ve had more of a sense of one another’s day-to-day realities. I’m a teacher, so from my end of the house it’s online lessons on the ethics of veganism, and my students’ ‘no homework’ excuses expertly morphing from “the dog ate it” to “my wifi went down as you set it”. My husband’s a doctor so from his; phone and video consultations with patients and prescription printouts all with a bagful of PPE to hand, ready for any in-person visits.

These peeks into each other’s worlds have been so interesting - and they’ve been widespread. I’ve loved the many memes whose gist was, “never again will we question what a stay-at-home parent does all day” or those that attempted to put into words their now visceral recognition of exactly what a teacher does.

The singer Nick Cave wrote recently about what he calls “the compassionate act of witnessing”, he said; “love has something to do with the notion of being seen.”

The importance of visibility and understanding others was never better put or lived-out than by the American activist for Children’s Rights, Marian Wright Edelman. She was the daughter of a Baptist minister who went on to become the first woman of colour to be admitted to the Mississippi Bar; her social Christianity led her to the Civil Rights Movement, organising marches with Martin Luther King in the 60’s. But what she’s best known for is the claim she made which went on to underpin a lifelong dedication to helping disadvantage kids. She said: “you can’t be what you can’t see”, in other words, young people need a full rainbow of faces to model the education routes and career paths available to them.

Marian’s optimistic view of moral progress is rooted in being seen. As this illuminating time tails off she reminds me to hold onto all the new ways of seeing 2020 has granted us.

PROVIDENCE

I recently showed one of my classes at school an article telling the true story of an adopted woman who, having spent years looking for her birth family, found her long-lost sister to be living next door. This lady had come across her sister’s name in her late father’s obituary and having never met her or seen a photograph of her, spent countless evenings searching the thousands of people with her sister’s name on social media, peering into their faces to see if they bore any resemblance to herself. But it was when a parcel for a new next-door neighbour was mistakenly delivered to her house that the penny dropped. The parcel had her sister’s name on it. She was the sibling she’d been looking for. They stayed up all night talking and reveling in the fact that they shared the same hands (just like Joey from Friends with his ‘hand-twin’).

I asked the students after we’d read it; do you believe in fate?

Some were skeptical, thinking the tale was a mere happy coincidence. Others instantly regaled me with their own stories of destiny at work; grandparents who’d had chance encounters - resulting in a blossoming of love, marriage and kids.  One family bumped into the same person the last four summers on holiday in a random bunch of locations.

I shared my own recent anecdote of discovering, on the day we moved house, that I’d taught the daughter of the previous owners and that, sweetly, my daughter was going to be sleeping in that former student’s old room. (It was a school disco snap left at the back of the wardrobe that revealed the connection.)

The writings of Sister Mary David cast some light on this sense of things being ‘meant to be’. She had a robust faith in providence, seeing these kinds of moments as divine gift. She mused that the gateway to joy is to “go towards whatever is coming; go along with these things - people, circumstances”. Her positive interpretation of life didn’t just apply to jollier moments, but held out through alternating weathers; she continued to write having being diagnosed with cancer.

Sister Mary David was a remarkable person with ideas that resonate – and that chime with the lyrics of John Lennon when he sung, “There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be...”

TECNICOLOUR JOSEPH

A couple of weeks ago I practically skipped with excitement to the Palladium here in London to see the hotly anticipated remake of Joseph and the Technicolour Dream Coat. And, there’re no staging spoilers here, but it really didn’t disappoint.

Of course this familiar story comes from the Bible and – to put it lightly – it’s an important one, as it bridges the ancestor’s stories that come before it to the Egypt experience and exodus, (think the Prince of Egypt film, for another musical hook!)

Joseph lives the most compelling and inspiring life – fine fodder for a theatrical showstopper. Out of a seemingly hopeless situation, he changes the course of history.

You’ll probably remember the big-dipper-esque plot; Joseph was the favourite of his father and his coat of many colours was essentially a debut illustration of today’s “why fit in when you were born to stand out” mantra. His overconfidence irked his brothers as he flashed his unattainable outfit-of-the-day, everyday and, crucially, his god-given gift for interpreting dreams - an ability that vitally reemerges later. To pick up the pace here, the brothers sell him to an Egyptian and he’s eventually imprisoned – yet he never loses faith and is soon able to use his dream-reading talent to hobnob with, and then massively help out, the Pharaoh.

There’s so much to take away from this Old Testament narrative. Whether that’s the power of dreams to communicate with both the divine and deeper parts of ourselves, or the presence of our destinies and how great glory can be born out of a dire situation. It’s also the perfect example of perseverance – Joseph affirms that where we are now is not always the final stop, you never know what awaits around the river-bend…

But what struck me most as I enjoyed the uplifting soundtrack that drove-home this epic tale, was the transformation of Joseph. Despite initial arrogance and his many trials faced, after traversing a bit of life he is able to forgive because his nature has done a 180: his feet have hardened and his heart has softened. And that, I think, is a U-turn worth weathering the storms for. 

CREATIVITY & POETRY

It’s always around this time of year that my love of reading is fully resurrected. The joy of realizing that - when in holiday mode at least - I can race through the neglected pile of books and magazine cut outs resembling an unwieldy tower on my bedside table. 

I’ve recently started a two-pronged approach to reading, which has zapped that bad habit I had of starting a book, only to cast it aside when I fancied something different – and that’s to have two reads simultaneously on-the-go: that page-turning bestseller, coupled with a more learned option to pore over. Happily, embracing this bookish yin-yang balance has boosted the number of acknowledgements pages I’ve since clapped eyes on.

There are particular times in life that I turn to complementary modes of writing. The balmy, lazy days of summer suit carefree reads charting first loves and confirming comfortable conclusions, but the bigger moments – the highest highs and lowest lows; births, deaths, unions, can only be matched in words, I think, by poetry.

And it’s the work of the official poet of the 2012 London Olympics, Lemn Sissay that I’ve recently been delighting in. He believes poetry to have a sacred dimension, acting as a bridge between the physical and the spiritual - hence our leaning on it at christenings, weddings and funerals and our finding of it across all religious traditions.

One of Lemn’s most powerful poems is called, Let There Be Peace – it’s etched into the walls of Manchester and Huddersfield universities and was recited at the Manchester Together with One Voice event that marked a year since the devastating arena attack there.

It reads like the Beatitudes – the blessings in the Bible that reimagine the world as it could be. He visualizes tears evaporating to “form clouds… and fall into reservoirs of drinking water”, a time when “war correspondents become travel show presenters” and “harsh memories burst into fireworks that melt in the dark pupils of a child’s eyes.”

Not only is Lemn so inspiring as the creator of such artistic gems but he also encourages me to get my own imagination in gear.

And as the ever sage Alistair McGrath - both a theologian and a scientist - wrote, “while we should never neglect the importance of reason and understanding, we must also value the power of imagination as the gate-keeper of the human soul.”

AN ODE TO THE BOSS #Bruce

Today is the Boss’ birthday. And by ‘the boss’ I mean the ultimate boss, well – for some of us at least, Mr. Bruce Springsteen.

His music’s been a consistent motif throughout my life – I can’t let a week go by without hearing that gravelly voice and those powerful lyrics.

Like most millennial fans of his, I was brought up listening to Bruce but I soon took on the worship of my own accord - not just because my ears want to lap-up album after album but because, as he himself puts it, the best music gives you something to face the world with.

Never has this been more pronounced than when, 18 months ago, I was putting together my birthing playlist. There was no question it had to be Bruce for this major moment – a dose of life affirming Springsteen was just what the midwife ordered.

And so it was, the second the epidural was in, on he came! Over 4-hours of Bruce; kicking off with the soothing ‘Dream Baby, Dream’, concluding with - and accompanying my daughter’s earthside arrival -  ‘10th Avenue Freeze Out.’ (The 20-minute live version, I needed every minute I could get!)

Bruce is worthy of both a well-curated birthing playlist and, I think, a Pause for Thought because this master storyteller sings and shouts human hopes and fears, troubles and triumphs like no other. While most artists write about Saturday night highs, Bruce takes on our Monday to Friday grind. But when he walks out on stage, he considers it his job, he says, to manifest a sense of transcendence for him and his audience. 

Raised a Catholic, many of the Boss’ songs brim with Christian imagery, themes and language. Perhaps the most beautiful, and to return to that birth narrative of mine, are some lines from his song, ‘Living Proof’. Gazing at his tiny first-born son he tells of the sudden and redeeming realisation that at the heart of human existence lies meaning and purpose. “Like the missing words to some prayer that I could never make,” he writes, “In a world so hard and dirty so fouled and confused, Searching for a little bit of God's mercy, I found living proof.”

So happy 70th birthday to you Bruce! Thank you for starting that fire with a spark, for learning how to make your guitar talk and for leading me as I dance in the dark.

ECCENTRICITY

I can be a real sucker for an online personality test. Whether it promises to shine further light on how I think, work or communicate – they’re just a bit of fun with the potential to boost that all important self-knowledge.

The most recent one to grab my attention - and to then eat-up 6 minutes of my day - was the BBC’s ‘How eccentric are you?’ test. It kicked off with the question; what’s your favourite mode of transport? - With the options of car, bike or Besaddled Llama (!) as available answers.

It was at this early point, that my hopes of a high-ish score were dashed… I had wondered whether my brief dabbling with an 80’s esque mullet aged 14, featuring a shaved section above my left ear no less, was evidence of a masked eccentricity.  Alas no, this ill-advised hairdo of the early noughties was just not going to cut it here.

The quiz came off the back of a documentary highlighting that though the individuals who sprinkle a bit of eccentricity on the vanilla of life are idolized by us, they’re increasingly rare to find – and this is no good thing.

Because what our more basic understanding of the term ‘eccentric’ loses sight of is that the word actually describes those who are entirely original, who do not sheepishly follow the crowd; those with a strong conscience whose principles and beliefs, though sitting on the edges of society to begin with, end up steering us in new and better directions.

In his latest book, Dominion, the historian Tom Holland explains how Christianity – despite being a small, revolutionary - you might say eccentric - movement in its infancy, singlehandedly transformed the West; without it, for instance, we’d have no ‘All you need is love’ lyric. We may live in an increasingly secular society, yes, but many of our ideals remain undeniably Christian.

I’m definitely of the thinking that, much like the mullet of my youth and that poor Besaddled llama, many of life’s gems are to be found ‘out of the centre’ and that, as Greta Thunberg’s example so stunningly demonstrates; no one is too small to make a difference.

PERCEPTION / COLOURBLINDNESS | Pause for Thought | 27th June BBC R2

I felt it was my duty to share with you all this morning that it’s actually National Sunglasses Day today.

It’s a day to celebrate our beloved sunnies, so I’ve learnt, and to share the mission of UV protection. So a nice bit of a fashion balanced out with some health awareness.

Discovering this important day got me thinking…

Because all glasses, sunshine related or not, share that feature of altering the lens through which we see the world; whether that’s by giving a bit of shade when the sun has got his hat on, correcting our eyesight itself, or even tweaking our memories with a metaphorically rose-tinted pair.

As someone with relatively bad vision, (I’m about a minus-3-point-something), I’m always so grateful each morning to pop in my contact lenses or pop on my specs.

But a new type of vision enhancer came to my attention recently after seeing an ad in a local magazine, because there’s now a pair of glasses to correct colorblindness. (And I mean the real thing, not the affliction suffered by popstar Darius in the early-noughties…)

“Give the gift of colour” – the flyer read, alluring potential customers with the prospect of days and nights in all their technicolour glory.

The glasses use a new technology and, for those living with colourblindness, wearing them can be life changing; some spoke about their moods rocketing upward as they enjoyed abundant tones.

Now we’ve heard it many times before but perception really is everything. How we perceive the world (the lens we choose to wear), often rather than the reality itself creates our life experience.

When explaining his faith, C. S. Lewis famously said that he believed in God like he believed in the sun, “not because I can see it”, he said, “but because by it I can see everything else.” It was his lens.

And as Oscar Wilde wrote: “we are all in the gutter; but some of us are looking at the stars.”

So as you Zoe and the prod squad, (and any lucky listeners out there) head to Glastonbury this weekend to party in musical and muddy communion, your eyes can thoroughly revel in the stages just below those stars. (And the rest of us? Well, we’ll just have to rely on the camera lenses and microphones of the wonderful crews to beam all those highlights to our tellies and radios!)

THICK RELATIONSHIPS | Pause for Thought | 4th July | BBC R2

As we heard from Tanya yesterday, we’re in the midst of wedding season, and with it, the accompanying appetizers - hen and stag parties. One of my favourite writers Dolly Alderton mocked up a typical email from a fictional bridesmaid to the hens ahead of their ‘do’. She has this great line: “included in the money you’ve transferred will be a delicious mezze sharing platter, entitling you to one falafel, three olives and half a flatbread each.” There’s talk of threatened eviction for underachievers during game-time, laborious outfit changes and the reserving of a single chair in the club - all tables were taken. (She jests, yet we relate!)

The recent hen-do of my wonderful friend, Rosie, spectacularly swerved these typically millennial pit-falls. Perhaps we can put it down to the unpretentiousness of camping? Maybe it was our dedication to a Harry Potter theme and the omnipresence of J. K. Rowling’s wise words on hen memorabilia? “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” Or was it that sign in the loo, “live simply, laugh often, love freely”?

The book I’m struggling to put down at the moment has some light to shine. It’s by journalist and commentator David Brooks. His theory is that there are two mountains we can climb in life, the first is about defining the self and acquiring stuff, the second is about contribution and aligning your life toward some ultimate good. David encourages moving from the first, (where you tend to be ambitious, independent, living for yourself), to the second (living as a gift for others, relational and intimate). This is where real joy, as opposed to its more shallow relation, happiness, is to be found. Joy in nurturing what Brooks calls ‘thick relationships’; people who are on their second mountain are never thinly attached but instead are deeply committed, deeply rooted. This can be to a vocation, a spouse or family, a community, or a philosophy or faith.

I’m convinced I caught a glimpse of the essence of Brooks’ vision in our hen weekend - relationship, community and commitment at the centre. As one of the proverbs from the Bible’s wisdom tradition affirms, “a sweet friendship refreshes the soul.”

Society might praise independence, but I believe it brings only transient happiness – lasting joy, as this brilliant author writes, “is to be enmeshed in a web of warm relationships”.

Sparking joy in life's pilgrimage

Pause for Thought | Rae Duke | The Zoe Ball Breakfast Show, BBC R2 | 2nd May 2019

Tomorrow’s a big day for me, and my husband and baby, as we’re moving house! We spent the weekend clearing out and packing up (and yep, I did try to subscribe to Marie Kondo’s de-cluttering method that involves only keeping stuff that ‘sparks joy’!)

As D-day approaches we’ve found ourselves jumping from total eagerness to be in our new home to sentimentally reflecting on the big-life-moments met and memories made in our flat: the highlights - fun parties, singsongs around the piano, bringing our daughter home from hospital, and lowlights - receiving sad news, consoling friends and burning a lasagna or three.

The hashtag #thebestisyettocome has an astonishing 1.2 million posts on one platform alone. Hopefulness - being future embracing - is a popular mindset. The Christian pastor Joel Osteen uses the design of a car to illustrate this: “you’ve got a big windshield on the front. And you’ve got a little bitty rearview mirror… because what’s happened in your past is nowhere near as important as what lies in your future.”

With moving house fostering a deeper sense of life as a pilgrimage, (my primary school self wants to burst into a verse of hymn ‘One more step along the world I go…’) I loved hearing author Paolo Coelho speak so inspiringly recently on the idea of pilgrimage not being just a physical journey, but a state of mind too.

Maybe over Easter you watched the BBC2 series, ‘Pilgrimage, The Road to Rome’ and longed for an adventure involving a rucksack, somewhere new and the chance to abandon all responsibility – and it’s amazing if you’re able to do that, but obviously popping to see the Pope as those lucky celeb pilgrims did isn’t always doable.

Paolo Coelho believes that by paying attention to seemingly minute things in life and being open to its path, it’s not just the biggies like moving house or trekking to Rome that hold the possibility for new discovery.  All of life has the potential for exciting, meaningful experience as we put one foot in front of the other, smell the roses and progress forward.

So as I drive toward our new home tomorrow morning, watching our old one disappear in my rearview mirror, I’ll try not to shed a tear but embrace this new chapter of my life’s pilgrimage. I’m sure plenty more burnt lasagnas lie ahead!

Tree Wisdom | Pause For Thought | BBC Radio 2 | 17th April 2019

Last week I went to the beautiful Kew Gardens in London and at one point I found myself listening to a tale given by one of their guides that, though actually about the growth of trees and their interaction with soil, did have a lot to say about our human growth and navigation of life.

We were filled in on what happened after the ‘great storm’ of October ’87 when Britain awoke to some pretty serious damage. 500 million trees were destroyed across the country with Kew losing nearly 700.

But one tree in particular, Turner’s Oak, provides a nugget of Wednesday Wisdom this morning. Planted back in the 18th century, this guy was well loved, and worn out by all the visitors who’d found shade and shelter under his branches (yes, lets personify the tree!) So after the epic storm, Kew staff went tentatively to check out how he was doing, only to discover that he’d been granted a whole new lease of life. 

Having been uprooted in the gales and then thumped back down again, this special woody plant had managed to find more room, water and air for its roots; the soil, after all that compacting from human pressure above, had finally been zhuzh’ed-up. As a result, the Oak grew better post storm than it ever had done in the calmer years leading up to it.

And it’s here I saw the thread of connection between the tree and us lot - because I reckon storms, though dreaded, are often the making of us. And becoming stronger when you have the right, as it were, to break down is an amazing thing indeed.

Now as we head towards Easter and remember its story of resurrection, one that as former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams put it, jolts us ‘out of the rut of what is usual and predictable’ and into ‘a new world where anything is possible’ - a smattering of the Turner’s Oak approach wouldn’t go amiss either; using life’s hiccups, whether great or small, as chance to re-root and seek out better connection with those people and things that emanate light and nourishment.

Thanks to Turner and his weathering of that ‘great storm’, tree surgeons (the greatest job title of all time) have developed a whole new method for treating trees. As the American pastor, Joel Osteen once said: “There are some things you can only learn in a storm”.

'Come From Aways' | Pause For Thought | BBC Radio 2 | 8th April 2019

Last night was the Olivier Awards; and I adore a good musical. Even before the winners were announced, such was my belief in one new musical that I felt mentioning it this morning would quite likely tie in with its well-deserved success (subject to change depending on results!).

Come From Away tells the extraordinary true story of a small town that, in the wake of disaster, welcomed the world. In the days after 9/11, Gander in Newfoundland hosted the 7000 people (more than half the number of the town’s entire population) who had been aboard the 38 planes grounded there after the American airspace was closed. The locals called them ‘Come From Aways’…

Scrolling and typing away recently I’ve been pushed a few ads by companies providing an ancestry and genetic breakdown service - thanks to their DIY kits you can discover where in the world your DNA comes from, going back over 1000 years; its quite amazing. The ads usually feature someone who reckons they know their cultural ancestry, only to then discover that their make up is much richer than they’d ever imagined.

These fun tests aren’t just an indulgent form of self-analysis but scientifically prove something that needs constant affirmation at this moment in time; that we all have, really, ‘come from away’. No one actually belongs to a particular geographical grid reference.

One of the real Come From Aways’, Kevin has compiled some of his stranded in Gander tales into a book, ‘Channel of Peace.’ Its title echoes one of the most powerful moments in the musical when the cast sings the hymn, in various languages and from a medley of faith perspectives; Make me a Channel of your Peace. They belt; “Where there is hatred, let me sow love,” and that gem, “for it is in giving that we receive.”

Now, if ever we were looking for a model for how to live well, channeling the generosity, warmth and fun shown by the community of Gander wouldn’t be a bad place to start. Out of one of the worst days in modern history, comes a story that restores our faith in humanity and in the notion that difference need not divide us.

And Zoe I thought of you as, at the heart of the story is Beverly Bass, American Airline’s first-ever female Captain. As the first female host of the Radio 2 Breakfast Show, your experience of sitting at the helm, steering the course and making history whilst doing so will no doubt resonate! Perhaps there’s a musical in your story too?

'Pink Tinge' gets thoughtful

Broadcast on the Zoe Ball Breakfast Show, BBC Radio 2 on 28th February 2019

The excitement of having an actual Spice Girl on the show today got me thinking back to the girl group two friends and I formed back during our first year at secondary school.

We were called – don’t laugh – ‘Pink Tinge’, for the life of me I can’t remember where we got that from. We cared deeply about harmonies and dance routines, less so about plagiarism (it was a dark day indeed when one band member tried to pass-off a B-side track from a big single at the time as one of her own compositions.)

Our most cringe-worthy moment was covering The Corrs, ‘So Young’ to serenade the residents of an old people’s home my Dad was then chaplain of. Never has the lyric,  “‘cos we are so young now, we are so young, so young now” been quite so inappropriate.  

Pink Tinge is, alas, no more. But I’m ok with that.  After all, I’m older. Writing Pause for Thought scripts is now more my style as opposed to, ahem, catchy tunes. And such is the ebb and flow of life: relishing the different chapters, knowing that the full book they create is a goodun.

Sometimes I can stress that things aren’t happening at the time or pace I’d hoped. But on a good day I try to trust its timing – relishing the best bits, trotting along through the vanilla and quietly mumbling ‘this too shall pass…’ during the difficult.   

There’s some good poetic wisdom in the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible that says; “to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose… a time to plant and a time to pluck up what’s been planted… a time to weep, and a time to laugh… a time to break down, and a time to build up…’

So maybe you’re out there now starting up a band or maybe you’ve long since broken up. Perhaps, like Geri, you’re reuniting! (ladies of Pink Tinge fame, I hope you’re listening!) but may the particular life episode you’re at now be enriching the full box set that is you.

I always remember what the ever-wise Oprah said: “You can have it all. Just not all at once.”

Good Morning Britain - September 2018

I had the pleasure (!) of debating alongside Anne Widdecombe (and Piers Morgan) on Good Morning Britain this week. Pretty tough, where PM is concerned, to get a word in edgeways - and open minds - but here is the clip nonetheless.

Julian of Norwich, oh how I wish I’d used your quote (“as truly as God is our father, so truly is God our mother”) from way back in the 14th Century; would’ve put a serious spoke in the wheel of Anne Widdecombe’s, ‘its all newfangled, politically correct tripe’ argument. Ariane Grande’s lyrics could’ve been useful too.

Watch more here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1_vU7Cty9c