No Jobs, No Brains

This weekend was the annual Christian Union House Party. Believe it or not, this wasn’t in a house and, well, there wasn’t even a party in the conventional sense; instead it was a conference in Wales where we learnt more about the cross and had bags of time to spend getting to know people we’d only said hello to once out of politeness (twice if you’d forgotten that you’d already spoken to them beforehand – a common schoolboy error). If I’m honest, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to going, as the weekend also coincided with my 20th Birthday – this meant that I’d be losing my teenage status; something I am, to this minute, upset about; I no longer have the excuse to be immature (though this wont stop me don’t worry). Also, I wasn’t really in the mood to be sociable- believe it or not I’m quite an introverted person, and prefer my own company (to be fair who can blame me I am pretty *INSERT NICE WORD HERE TO BUILD UP EGO*).

With that said, I can honestly say that God really blessed me over the weekend with a plethora of good bible-based, challenging talks, and some great conversations where I actually got to know some people a bit deeper, opposed to the normal skin deep banter which is the norm. Instead of coming back tired and dejected, and came back encouraged, and well, tired (due to the total of 5 hours restless sleep in one weekend).

Apart from the talks and the worthwhile natters, one thing which really stood out was the annual North vs. South match. Coming off the back of an 14-11 routing of the North last year the South, with William “Lionhearted” Leonard at the helm were in high spirits about our chance this year. Battle cries of

“No jobs, no brains”
“you are illiterate, and illegitimate, we pay your benefits and you’re all idiots”

echoed across the valley as the South team charged across the battle field – eager to impose themselves early on the game. As the valiant men and women fell silent to fervently waiting for their opponents to appear, the ground started to shake. Out of the chalets atop the crest of the hill came swarms of Northern Monkeys. Slowly they sauntered onto the pitch, sneering foul and abusive chants not decent to post on such a pure blog. When they had finally reached the pitch there was a small horde of Northern-folk, easily outnumbering the gallant Southerners 2:1. At this point, the South were in desperate need of inspiration. Through the mist William the “Lionhearted” Leonard strides towards the Northern scum, no fear evident in his deep-set eyes. This is what followed: -

“Let me tell you a story. It’s from the Bible. A long time ago the Israelites were facing a terrible foe; the Philistines. The Philistines were giants of men, and were strong in number; nobody thought they could lose. Then, from nowhere, a young boy, David, stands up, with the help of God, to the whole army, and slays there champion Goliath with a single stone. The point of this tail is that, you may have more men, you may have better players, and you may destroy us, but throughout all this the South will stand undivided, giving their all to their final breath. If they can stand they will fight, if they can’t stand they will still fight; only when they have been maimed sufficiently will they curl up and die”.

Note- this has been slightly adapted for dramatic emphasis.

Anyway, as the game got underway it was clear to see that the South were fighting a losing battle. The sheer weight in numbers made it impossible for the South to cope, and although every player gave 210%, and sometimes 310%, the final score was 17-8. This in no way reflected the overall performances of the two teams and if I’m honest, I am proud to be South. After the game, the Northern mob disbursed as quickly as they’d arrived; relieved to have won what was really a no-contest game. The South however, rejoiced for many minutes; reliving ever goal and every save. Many photos were taken, and the annual dive-down-the-hill-on-your-stomach was achieved, not once, but twice. It really was a perfect birthday; the memories from that game will live on longer than any jibe or insult throw by a pretty Northerner.

I better leave it there, though I could go on for hours. It was a beautiful moment, a beautiful day, and a beautiful victory for the art that is football; it’s not about the winning, it’s about JOGA (play beautifully). I’ll leave you with a picture of the noble South – the real winners.

Take Care

Daniel

Through the looking glass

Note: - I’m meant to be in exam for the next hour or so, but I got bored so I left early, hopefully

Today is officially my last day of youth, and I thought it might be a good time to reflect on my life so far. Instead of looking at the highs and lows, I’m going to take a look at how God has guided and provided to me thus far. I’ve said in previous posts how I’ve felt myself change over the last couple of years at university, but there have been so many instances in my life where He has shown or protected me.

The first one of these was probably the most entertaining to write down; so excuse the poetic licence and long-winded explanation – especial apologies to those who have heard it before.

Peanut Trials

Ever since birth to my mid-teens I was dangerously allergic to peanuts. This wasn’t one of your “I don’t like it so I’ll pretend to be allergic to it, so that I don’t offend anyone who cooks it” type of allergies; it was more of a “if I eat a trace, even a smidgen, my internal organs will start to shut down simultaneously until I, quite peacefully, fall into a coma which I would never wake up from”. So, naturally I was pretty cautious about what I ate, as 99% (gross exaggeration) of all household foods, as well as any other types, would say the dreaded phrase “may contain traces of nuts”. The reason why this is/was annoying is the fact that it doesn’t say that it does contain nuts, only that it might. So if I were to eat something, for example a Mars™, I’d being playing Russian roulette with my life. Sounds fun, but when it got to chickens being labelled with “may contain traces of nuts as it was alive once and might have ingested one of the farmers sons KP nuts when he wasn’t looking, therefore leaving a trace lodged in the chickens lower intestine” (that’s kind of paraphrased but you get the picture) it gets somewhat frustrating. So when I heard that THE Birmingham Hospital were willing to do the “PEANUT TRIALS” with me I was well excited; I mean there’s probably some super high-tech way of identifying the allergy receptor and zap it with a laser to stop me being on death row every mealtime. So, after my mother, father and I finally made it to an appointment, (it took us three times, as the first time the doctor had to cancel as he was in court – as a witness apparently, and the second time we wrote off the car 2 miles out of my hometown), I was devastated to find out that there were in fact no lasers or cool high tech gismos, but instead a jar of peanut butter and a HUGE hypodermic needle full of adrenaline. When I asked what the gargantuan needle the nurse said “it’s best to be prepared, whilst pulling out an oxygen mask and neck brace- she quickly assured me that these weren’t for me. When the doctor came in, some 30 minutes late, my greatest fears were realised as he explained me that the hallowed peanut trial was to feed me a small bit of nut and see what happened. Smiling weakly I was going to ask whether he was joking, but by this point he had obviously been a doctor for some time, and therefore as a consequence lost all sense of humour, so I didn’t see the point. What followed was the doctor force feeding me the smallest piece of peanut you’d ever see, me refusing to eat it, (I actually forgot how to swallow), and so he dropped it in a glass of water and made me drink it down instead. “See it wasn’t that hard was it” was the, by now exasperated, doctors reply. I’ll come and check on you every hour for the next couple to see what happens. So, every hour he came back and checked my pulse, asked if I felt “funny” (to this day I have no idea what that meant), and that I’d be able to go home soon – that was such a lie; another thing doctors aren’t very good at. Anyways, to cut a long story short everything seemed to be fine. On the final check-up, the doctor came in all smiley (obviously happy to get rid of me) and check my heart rate one last time. As he looked at the machine he chuckled to himself, and told me the machine must’ve been broken, so he took my pulse manually. The point I knew something was wrong, was when I saw his self-confident smile fade into one of fear, you know the one where the doctor realises that he might get sued. The next five minutes was mad. My bed was tilted up so that the blood rushed to my head, and several nurses crowded round me watching as my heart rate plummeted. Then the nurse grabbed that damn needle and injected it into my thigh; I’ve never felt pain like that before, and hope that I won’t have to again.

Needless to say that I lived through the ordeal; sorry to you guys who were hoping in it to end with my death so that they could say that I’ve been exaggerating again. I was told afterwards by the doctor (who looked a bit less pale now) that if I had been discharged 30 minutes earlier I wouldn’t have made it back to the hospital in time for them to give me adrenaline, and that it was still a small miracle that I pulled through as they caught it quite late. Oh, as a sub note, they did the whole thing all over again a couple of years later and I was fine.

This just shows how God really has looked after me, and must have a plan for me to do something; even if I don’t know what it is yet!

Anyways, I can’t be bothered to write anymore – last piece of teenage rebellion.

Until I next get bored.

Take Care

Daniel