We all have a great time socialising and doing different things during the year.  If you are interested in joining in then contact the appropriate person listed by each activity.  If you want to see what we have been up to recently then check out this web page.

Do encourage your friends and neighbours to come along too, as she really is an inspirational lady who can touch the hearts of others and help them on their journey in this life.  Her website is www.deepcallethuntodeep.com for more info.  Tickets should be available to buy in the next few days so please note the date on your calendar if you wish to come.  People who will have tickets for sale are : Jill Hurley, Donna Martin, Eddy Lee, Julie Coker, Maddie Harris, Brenda Van Dungey.

If you would like to come please contact Pat Ali at St John’s or phone 07931 801190 or Lin Slocombe at St Mary’s.  Check out our other activities during the year – do come along.

Our congratulations to Gaynor, our manager, and all our staff.

Rev Colin Hopkinson ]]> http://www.langdonhills.net/church/news/ofsted-report/feed 0 http://www.langdonhills.net/church/news/our-new-community-and-youth-pastor http://www.langdonhills.net/church/news/our-new-community-and-youth-pastor#comments Sun, 29 Jan 2012 21:40:55 +0000 Perry http://www.langdonhills.net/church/?p=817 I am delighted to announce that the PCC has appointed Julian Patching as our new “Community and Youth Pastor” starting from 1st February 2012. His duties will include various pastoral and Sunday worship duties as well as setting up new youth work in the parish. There will be a short act of commissioning for Julian during our services at both churches on Sunday 5th  February.

Julian has been worshipping with us and leading and preaching for some time and I am sure you will join me in welcoming him to his new role. Please hold him in your prayers as he settles in and works out his priorities.

Rev Colin Hopkinson

Tuesday evening Lent Course 2012

Every year during Lent (the weeks leading up to Easter) we meet at St. John ’s for a short course about some aspect of our faith. (Some of our small groups will stop meeting and join together, along with others, for these weeks). This year we will be using a course called “Finding a Voice” which is inspired by the film “The King’s Speech”.  The sessions will include worship, excerpts from the film, an introductory talk and led bible based discussion in groups.

Every year during Lent (the weeks leading up to Easter) we meet at St. John ’s for a short course about some aspect of our faith.  Some of our small groups will stop meeting and join together, along with others, for these weeks.  This year we will be using a course called “Finding a Voice” which is inspired by the film “The King’s Speech”.  The sessions will include worship, excerpts from the film, an introductory talk and led bible based discussion in groups.The course will run on Tuesday evenings, 7.45pm coffee for 8.00pm start, from 28^th February to 27^th March.  It will be a real help if we know in advance if you intend to come (so we can get enough books etc) so please sign up on the lists which are available at both churches (or leave a message at the Parish Office 490400 if you are unable to sign a list).

Bigger. Better. More explosions

Happy new year, viewers. Welcome to the new, improved Off the Wall 2. There will be exposés, there will be quizzes, there will be a problem page and more zzzelebrity gossip than you can shake a bishop’s crook at. And what’s more, it’s still FREE. You can’t say that for the Sun. Get yours today.

Well I don’t know about you, but not having to write an article for January didn’t really feel like a holiday, what with keeping the aged parents out of mischief over Christmas, having the auditors in during the 2 week run up and then straight back to a full blown year end on 3/1/2012. Once Jezebel (that’s Mrs. Jericho to you) and I had finished our chores, I think about the only day I got to rest was on the bank holiday on 2 Jan. She decided that this was the day to go out into the garden to rake up a load of leaves. I did say to her I was not planning on helping as I needed  some slobbing time. Usually we’re a pretty good team when it comes to stuff like garden maintenance. She picks the leaves up and I hold the wheelie bin lid open for her. The perfect partnership. Not that day though. The trouble is, once she gets an idea to do something, she goes ahead and does it. I watched her through the window out there in the garden on her own, all done up in her winter coat and wellies, raking away to her heart’s content.

But do you suppose I felt guilty, leaving her to it? Naaaaaaaaah, not that day I never.

The rescue people said that not only are they a dead giveaway when the Witchfinder General is looking for reclusive widows to persecute, they have much more personality than colour ones, plus the licence is cheaper. She is an adult with an amazing temperament and, we think, a dog’s brain in a cat body. She came housetrained and we reckon that she considers us worthy to wait on her hand and foot. She’s had us for a fortnight now and  Catdog (that’s the new cat to you, named after the half cat half dog star of TV cartoon show Catdog) has only pulled the hall table over in the middle of the night once. I can see she’s going to be a very considerate addition to the family.

I mentioned that she’s housetrained. We have to keep her in for the first month to get her used to her new surroundings. That means the litter tray has to stay indoors too. Recent studies have shown that we start to get forgetful when we reach 45 years of age. Now I have reconciled myself to the fact that I sometimes put the kettle back in the fridge instead of the milk after making a drink, but I’m worried now. Instead of spraying the utility room with air freshener, I enhanced the room’s fragrance with a can of furniture polish last week. It’s not the fact that I picked up the wrong tin that bothers me, it’s the thought that one day I won’t have to marbles to laugh about it that’s scary.

Do you believe that dreams can be interpreted? I have some quite vivid ones at times. One weird one, if I haven’t already told you, involved me finding myself in a field of cabbages. One cabbage decided to uproot itself and start bouncing around the field much like the pumpkin in the cartoon film version of Cinderella before turning into a coach to transport the eager young maiden to the prince’s ball. The cabbage had other ideas though. As it hit the dirt one last time to my right and slightly behind me, it exploded in a shower of fireworks (there, I said there’d be more explosions, didn’t I?) and the field became a field of custard with the Black and White Minstrels performing a number stuck waist deep in the stuff. What was THAT about?

More recently I dreamt that I had to attend a hospital appointment and that Basildon University Hospital was slap bang on the border with North Korea. On the UK side was a gathering of paparazzi and on Kim Jong Un’s side was a bunch of military demonstrating to them the power of their latest laser weapon. Their plan was, once they’d perfected this technological marvel of mass destruction, was to slice Basildon University Hospital in two horizontally. They hadn’t quite got it right yet as it only tickled when they aimed the beam through our waists. In true “Do you expect me to talk, Goldfinger?” “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die,” fashion, I didn’t stick around to see it when it was filly powered.

If anyone knows what this means, I’d love to know. I dunno, Technocolour Dreamboat Joseph only had to worry about some bloke that had eaten all the pies.

So. The Olympics. Fewer than 200 days to go until the London extravaganza. Shame on the grammatically challenged newsreaders that say LESS than 200 days. I wonder how much longer Londoners will have their council tax bills loaded to help pay for all this. I was in Montreal in 2006 and was told they’d only just finished paying for their turn at hosting the games that year, 30 years after the event. And to think, they won’t even let the marathon runners anywhere near the Mile End Road, land of my birth (well not literally in the road, I was born in Mile End Hospital, Bancroft Road) for the edification of the people that are funding it. Still, what can you expect? Seb’s from Fulham.

Mind you, with the imminent collapse of the Euro seeing Standard and Poor’s AAA rating of France downgraded meaning the IMF demand more money from us which we can ill afford if we have to pay Scotland to become independent, Iran banning the sale of Barbie dolls in its shops to prevent the spread of infidel western culture and the folk north of the 48th parallel rattling their sabres because we think their latest somewhat overweight (here’s a bloke who really HAS eaten all the pies) beloved leader has a silly haircut and that their 8 foot soldier at his dad’s memorial was photoshopped, it looks like 2012 will be another apocalyptic year. But we’ve survived worse.

I’m Ben Jericho, scaremongering like it is. Have a good one.

It was a lovely 3 course meal and we were all bloated after the 2nd course of the carvery but all managed to eat dessert, some of us even managed “Syryp pudding and custard” !!

I’m quite honoured this month. I’ve been asked to write a piece about a much loved yet much maligned (in this column) member of the Hopkinson family. Sox the cat. I first saw Sox as a kitten at the rectory. I wanted to pick him up then, but I held back as he wasn’t my cat. Mind you, he wasn’t the Hopkinsons’ cat either, He was no one’s. Cats own themselves. If anything, he would have owned a Hopkinson human once he’d chosen which one he wanted. Besides, he was far too busy jumping on the furniture and being curious about everything.

As a young cat, he had a wanderlust that I think is second nature for toms. He went walkabout and wasn’t found, as I recall, for several days. Perhaps he was visiting dad at work, as he was snared near Great Berry school, which as we all know is within spitting distance of St. John’s.

He was chipped soon after, but I would still see him wandering up and down The Badgers as if he owned the road. Actually he did. Anyone who’s ever had a cat will know that whatever they put their scent on becomes theirs.

Whenever I got the chance, I’d fight Mrs. Jericho to be the one to feed him when Colin and co. went on their hols. Any other time, he wouldn’t give you the time of day, but he was all over you when he knew you were coming round to give him dinner.

He was a very affectionate cat, often shown by sinking his claws and teeth into the ankles of the one feeding him, but again cat carers will tell you that you become immune to scratches and bites if a cat allows you to live in its house. I received a couple of nips along the way, but they were never as bad as Colin said they could be. Once you learn the signals that a cat is about to sink it’s canines (shouldn’t they be called felines?) into you, you soon learn to dodge.

He was not entirely useless at keeping 105A Berry Lane rodent free. Mrs J saw the remains of numerous mice. I only ever saw one and that was intact, so it must have been a fresh kill.

To be struck down by illness at such a young age was very sad. Mrs J never thought our own cat would outlive Sox, her being so small and frail looking compared to him, but life is full of ironies like that. Some medieval philosopher once said God created cats that man may caress the tiger. I will celebrate Sox’s life by remembering what a smashing cat he was and it was a joy to have known him. RIP, tiger.

***

Colin’s recent sermon about sheep and goats was a bit scary. Apparently, come judgment day, all the sheep will separated from the goats and they’ll go to Heaven. The goats will end up frying in the eternal fire.

I suppose they have to put something in the curry, but it’s a bit rough that your final fate should be decided by an accident of birth.

***

Finally, on the subject of animals, Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, so may I wish you all the compliments of the season and I hope your Christmas isn’t a turkey.

I’m Ben Jericho, telling it like it is. See you in 2012. Juggle dem meeces Soxy.