Cast Your Cares....

A new survey out today highlights the happiest and most unhappy places in the UK.

It seems that contentment does not come with riches but with simplicity. The Outer Hebrides, Orkney and Shetland are the places to live for a happy and worthwhile life. Such out-of-the-way places point to the simple enjoyment of the outdoors, amazing scenery and a lifestyle unencumbered by over reliance on modern appliances, supermarkets, television and speed of travel.

In the same article, my own city of Peterborough sadly topped the poll for being the most anxious. Not all of the city is like that though. Come along to KingsGate Church where on an average Sunday you will find around 1,800 people who would not in the least fit into that ‘anxious’ image. With 58 different nations represented and a number of different church services to choose from, this is Positive Peterborough.

And the reason for the lack of anxiety? We know where to ‘cast our cares’!

Dangling Conversation

Thank you Miss Kerr.

Miss Kerr was my English teacher at secondary school. And she introduced me to pop music.

Ours was a 'classical' home and 'Top of the Pops' was frowned upon. So it was only as I reached senior school that I began to pay attention to the charts. My very first contact was my English lesson where we were given the lyrics and listened to 'Dangling Conversation' by Simon & Garfunkel. Not exactly leading edge rock, but a wonderful song and great lyrics.

The album it came from, 'Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme' is unbelievably 47 years old now. But good lyrics last the years.

May we never become lost in 'dangling conversations', but make every day of our lives count.

It's a still life water colour,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theatre really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.