When my mum finished secondary school, she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. The school’s careers adviser apparently passed her an A-Z book of careers and told her to pick. She got as far as Ac – Accounting – and decided, I could do that. In the UK in the…
I took the kids back to my parent’s home last week, while Rasmus was away on a training course. They still live in the house I grew up in, in a small English countryside village. Our house was nearly new when we moved in, with a smallish garden, but it had an enormous horse chestnut…
When she started hiding cash around the house in empty food tins, and forgot to throw out food that was past its sell by date, the family realised it was time. Still entirely unaware of her own limitations, my Nan nonetheless needed 24/7 care, and the hard decision was made to find an elderly…
The sound of the church bells ringing is the ever present soundtrack when I think back on my village life childhood. Our village was small enough that you could hear the bells from it’s four corners, the cheerful peal of six cascading and rising in a dozen patterns, calling us happily to church. They rang…
I grew up on fire for God. I also grew up in a church where my parents didn’t really agree with the Vicar. Sunday lunches became a regular opportunity to unpick the service moment by moment, examine the theology, question the format and style of the service. It was perhaps a little over the top….
Ten years ago I arrived in a coastal Scottish town, a cobbled-street windswept place at the end of the road. It’s full of small cottages with low doors and soaring ancient ruins – all in the same deep grey rock. The wind sweeps across the sea from Norway and the golf-pilgrims arrive from America and…
