Peter seemed quite pleased with the genuine, positive comments I had made on his programme notes. If nothing else the effort to persuade the Lawleys to switch has extended my knowledge of the business as well as of human nature, which two, of course are intimately entwined. Referring to folk song Louis Armstrong is reputed to have said 'Well I never heard a horse sing', and of course, no horse ever ran a business either, nor even became a customer of one run by humans.

Tango last night was predictably lovely. Now the class is split and we are a small, relatively experienced group I feel progress will be faster. A compact class, regular post class sessions at the Faze Cafe and the 'mango' in less than a month - all these can only mean good progress in prospect. Must go to a salsa class tomorrow - the only question is whether it should be Wilson's or Carlos'. I need some inspiration for the students' sessions due to be start again on Friday.

Shall go cold calling at the shops in Radford tomorrow, armed with Tony G's questionnaire. With Bilbo. work on Friday and Monday must make best use of available time. It is both instructive and relaxing to read Dominic Sandbrook, but must now face the as yet, lesser opus of 'Paradise Delayed' and see what amendments are needed to bring it closer to the greeat storytelling standard set by Sandbrook.

Three days, three fulfilling days and evenings have passed. 'What a joy it is to dance and sing' Thus the closing line of 'Wise Children'. I was back doing both on Friday night; choir practice at Southwell and salsa at the Comfort Hotel. As before the highlight was bachata with Anna, for all that there were many other superb dancers there that night. Much of Saturday was spent reading and preparing the two addresses for Burns Night. It was lovely to hear 'Ye Banks and Braes' and 'My Love is like a red,red, rose', but I thoroughly enjoyed introducing the diners to Burns raucous and sensual side. With three clergymen present the several references to the Bible and the Kirk were, I hope, apposite.

As I write all laundry and home chores are more or less up to date and the Lawleys as fully informed as I can manage, on the savings available to them on energy and telecoms bills. Peter has a determination to appear the canny chooser of services, and his reluctance to recognise the UWDC savings has led him first, to misreading things, and thence to serial misunderstandings and obstinacy.

It's a pride thing; the same pride which obliges him to imagine himself some sort of guru or consultant on the book trade. Still, for all that, he's a good mate of long standing. If some power, to paraphrase Burns, allowed us all to see ourselves as others see us, we may be freed from many a blunder, but, respecting the unalterable, we might also suffer more than usual embarrasment. Tango tonight; but before then I must complete all the UWDC marketing chores I have listed for the day.

I had intended, yesterday afternoon, to commence this entry with 'What a difference a day makes'. At the time I had envisaged finishing the day dancing at 'The Approach'. In the event I was genuinely overcome, by 10.30pm, with tiredness, and retired to bed and fell asleep straightway. Recovery has not been quite as dramatic as I had thought.

Nevertheless, the Bilborough day, covering for Business Studies and Economics, was quite pleasant. Though I had little to do, and am expert in neither, I have, as a self employed person of long standing, and as one who reads, for pleasure, the classics in the economist's library, a modest understanding of both disciplines. This gave me confidence to answer the students' queries.

During breaks I was able to complete the reading of the 'debate' book about the Apocalyptic Jesus and forward some jottings thereon to home. Thus my ref. to Peter Lawley in this entry is comprehensively positive. His trashing of my woeful 'Jesus' chapter was followed up with his recommendation of Thomas Sheehan's itunes lectures. These lectures led to my reading four magnificent and enlightening books recommended by that prof., which will inform my revised version. That can be started in earnest tomorrow. The ambiguity of the 'Kingdom of God' references in the gospels was recognised by Schweitzer, Sheehan, Dominic Crossan and all four contributors to the Apocalyptic Jesus book. What is more the David and Solomon legends seem to have grown in a similar fashion to the Jesus myths. History is projected backwards in order that the past will fit with today's narrative. I know this now thanks to the Finkelstein and Silverman book on those two kings, also recommended by Prof. Sheehan.

Norman Davies pointed out this 'writing history backwards' phenomenon in his intro. to 'The Isles'. King Alfred can be listed as a direct forebear of Elizabeth II. Genetically, certainly this is the case. His kingdom, however, was a much smaller territory and his political power of an entirely different nature. There were many kings and chieftains in these Isles during the 9th century and Alfred was but one. David and Solomon may have had independepence from Assyria, Egypt and the Philistines, rather greater in scale than some of their neighbours, but the magnificence, the heroism, the wisdom, the musical and poetical talent expressed in the psalms and the 'global' reputation; these were the stuff of epic dreams and stories, set down in writing during the Persian occupation and, most significant of all, bound in the great work that was to become the basis of The Bible.

Before then I have to get the signature on a 'line form' for a new UWDC customer, prepare a speech to the Immortal Memory of Robert Burns, revise my Scottish dances, continue to get clued up about UWDC terms, tariffs and technicalities. There's a new guitar pupil starting tonight and also, as ever, a pile of ironing. With last week's Southwell rehearsal missed through that malady I will have to revise the dots as well.

One other piece of good news. The salsa lunchtime sessions will be required this term, so there must be plenty of dancing this weekend in preparation.

Sure this is self censored. Some things I do are too stupid even to confess to myself never mind the wider world. Recording a dismal and mediocre day may serve some purpose, if only to remind myself that not all was wasted. I have nearly finished the last 'Jesus' book, (though accidentally left it at Bilborough) and just now commenced Olly's Christmas token book by Stephen Pinker.His style skips along, unlike my Jesus chapter. At least, during an uninspiring Bilborough 'cover' day, meeting other teachers' 'coursework pressured' students I was able to write afew reformed paragraphs and read a couple of chapters. I complain sometimes about Peter but am so glad he slagged off the Jesus chapter. It is knee deep in the mud of marginal political machinations. A big sweep (with due references to sources for those who may seek detail at some stage) is what is required.

A 'phone call from John to confirm Devon dates made me realise that he may read a fast paced book on my subject for all that he detests organised (and probably disorganised) religion. He would be put off though by the clutter of that chapter as currently drafted. He also asked about my mobile tariff, which reminded me how few UWDC details I have absorbed. Of course one cannot memorise everything, but I do need a broad outline. His call also reminded me of my still rundown, convalescent state. Most days I am ready to dance at any time. Today the idea seems quite alien. I feel leaden.

Let us hope the most exceptional feature of today's post is its relative gloom. At least I got to Bilborough. On Sunday I felt so low I had anticipated writing off an entire week.

Am finally surfacing from three days of inertia, sleep and fragility. Perhaps that was real (as opposed to 'man') flu. The most strenuous activities I could manage were soup making and reading. This week will be a new beginning, especially on the writing and Utility Warehouse fronts. Tony's script for friends and colleagues I shall deploy, as well as regular attendance at COPs and the like. I believe Lorna may even trust me now. For years she has thought of me as naive and unworldly; the contretemps in Shirley's presence was a breakthrough in at least two aspects. Even Tariq's self image of omniscience has been dented a little. He has at last realised that he may know a little less about my upbringing than I do; and, even more significant, he seems to acknowledge that as someone who has never been to a Kingdom Hall nor read a single book about the Jehovah's Witnesses, his assertion that JWs are the same as all the other religions may not be sustainable.

I shall give tango a miss tonight, but should be able to make myself of genuine use to tonight's music pupils. I must, however, start going to salsa classes once more or my repertoire of moves, far from expanding, will instead, atrophy.

Talking to Tony Griffiths on the 'phone was most refreshing. I shall be more assertive henceforth with friends and family; Lorna already seems at last willing to sign up. I must resist the temptation to correct Peter Lawley's wilful misconceptions, his determination not to understand the nature and the cheap tariif of 'Broadcall', as he is at least taking the time (albeit an awful lot of time) to read and comment on 'Paradise Delayed'. His obstinate attitude could even be seen as an asset in that regard. If adjustments are made in order to get through to one of his mindset, then the potential readership could be increased.

And boy, is his mind set. It is best exemplified by his references to himself as 'working class'. Seems that sacred and venerable epithet can survive a transition to 'classless' new Labour. I do not doubt that, in his ancestry, there are some worthy (or maybe even some unworthy) proletarians. 'Prole' however, describes Peter about as well as Orthodox Polish rabbi or Devonian aristocrat describes me.

In 'Goodbye to all That', Robert Graves recounts his introduction to class consciousness. Consigned to a fever hospital he found himself, aged c. six, for the first time in his life, amongst a 'crowd of little proletarians'. He would not have spotted the class difference himself, had not the nurses singled him out and fawned on him as 'a proper little gentleman.' Graves' father was a school inspector and hence, a member, in Graves' words, of 'the governing class'. The status of school inspectors has, if anything, risen since Edwardian days. It is Ofsted Inspectors who make or break the careers of others, who indirectly determine the price of property, and, a reflection perhaps on a desperate wish for official approval, whose advent has been cited as the cause of teachers' nervous breakdowns. Even if one's class identity is indelibly imprinted during childhood, impervious to subsequent rises and falls, then Polytechnic Principals were surely, in the fifties and sixties, part of a similarly ranked governing stratum.

The 'phone has not rung yet, so a nominal retainer plus guitar fees will be my income for today. At least I feel in reasonable condition this morning. Yesterday I awoke feeling quite faint and with a stabbing stomach pain. That did not prevent some attempts at telemarketing, a postive UWDC intro. to all the staff at the dentist when I went for a checkup and an hour's dancing towards midnight. And now a postive gloss on Peter. He passed on a recommendation from a writers' course he attended 20 years ago. 'Broaden your reading during research far beyond the subject and style in question'. John Crossan certainly drew on the literary world beyond history, sociology and theology when he described Josephus' attempts to paint himself as 'the very model of a modern Roman General'.

I must now set to a day of card distribution, a long delayed visit to Medina and the purchase of a book with Olly's Waterstone's present.

A glimmer of interest from a housing association made my 'cold calling' seem worthwhile. I decided to revise the UWDC Business Tariffs and provisions before going to town and seeing Khaled of Medina en route. At least those two short 'phoning hours blew any 'phone phobia away. Wrong people answering, mystification or total disinterest are the worst one can hear, and none is at all painful; with the calls costing nothing I have nothing to lose; there is though the possibility of long term gain.

Tony Griffiths sent a welcome circular letter to his 'team'. I enquired about Ron, amongst other points in my reply. There's a blog attached to the team website so I may well send some comments there. With Ron as my invisible, inert and totally negative 'sponsor' it's good to know there is life (and money making) in that direction, if only at a little greater distance. I look forward to any reply Tony might have time to make.

John Crossan's book is terrific. It points out the salient features of Josephus, which I had missed, drowned as I felt in a sea of violence, superstition and power struggle. Crossan attempts to create the history of Jewish anti Roman protest from the point of view of Jesus' peasant contemporaries, using written records, which by their very nature can only come from the ruling, governing and priestly classes. His initial chapter on 'peasant culture' in the 1st century
Mediterrannean could only quote letters from the Egyptian labouring classes. Literacy rate was high in Egypt and dry sand is a great preservative of papyrus.

I'll be too tired to write a paragraph plan for 'Jesus' or do much about Burns Night but will sign off now and play the guitar. Another day's Bilborough work came from Geraldine.

Am just returned, content and refreshed after a post lesson practica at the Faze Cafe in Mansfield Road. Dancers are such lovely company; such a privelege to tango with Claire, Lisa and Maria. Ella from Chile was a welcome surprise, but alas she is returning home later this week. Must salsa with her on Wednesday before she flies.

Only afew 'phone calls made this morning after cleaning and reading, but the desk is set and clear for tomorrow, unless of course I get called into Bilborough. I may yet get through to a person of influence, who can arrange a meeting and give the go ahead for their organisation to become a CFR.

I believe Gladys was sincere last night in her commendation of 'Paradise Delayed'. As an ex JW the theme has a special significance for her. I had thought my concluding chapter was horribly rambling, but Gladys thought it the highlight. I read it through today and maybe she's right. She lent me a powerful essay by Martin Amis, on a theme similar to mine; the horror of extremists who know they are right and with whom reason is impossible.

Time for another 'Jewish Peasant' chapter before bed.

I had never thought of 'The Mediterranean' as having been, let alone being, a cultural unity even in Roman days, but John Crossan makes a good case for it; a socety, or rather a collection of societies where family honour and patronage, until very recent 'globalised' times have counted for more than central govts. and their laws. He uses sociological studies of rural Spain in the 1950s as a means of introducing the reader to the Palestine of Jesus' childhood.

The principle of taxation, in historical terms, has only recently been inverted. For millennia it was a means whereby the landed would extract the tribute to sustain them in wealth and power. No wonder Marx and Engels' proposal, in the manifesto of 1848, to levy a progressive tax on income to finance universal elementary education, appeared at the time as revolutionary.

Peter Lawley is providing me, as ever, with a challenge to my skills in communication. His wish to seem 'ahead of the game' requires patience and diplomacy. He has an armoury of ready made objections to all sorts of things, but often fails to understand his 'enemy' before he voices his doubts. When I mentioned my 'book' c. 2 years ago he straightway reminded me that trashing Marxism was now old hat. It took some time to explain that my work was not on that theme, but on likening Marxism, and indeed many branches of socialism, to Christian Apocalyptic. At least he is now reading it and beginning to understand what it's about.

In his Christmas programme notes, he assaulted the 'misconception' that Christmas arose as a celebration of the birth of Jesus, not realising, it seems, that the Christian/Pagan fusion was common knowledge. And as for trashing the 'Christmas Hit' genre per se in an introduction to a concert where a Christmas Hit was promoted as a highlight, that can only be evidence of a warrior in a desperate search for an enemy. Some old lefties became greens when the cause was so obviously lost and the CPGB consigned to history, but Peter has not sought a home there. For some reason he remains in the Labour Party.

His initial assumption that the Utility Warehouse depended upon 'churning' for its commercial success, can thus be seen in that light; he needs the comfort of a protestor's vocabulary.
Churning was a popular (and justified) description of stockbrokers' practice in pre internet and Big Bang' days when access to financial markets was a closed shop. Brokers depended upon regular buying and selling to collect any commission. They would thus generate trading for its own sake regardless of benefit to their clients. The UWDC model is the antithesis, and success for all depends on stability. It would have helped if Peter had understood the etymology of churning, but he had acquired this 'weapon' anyway and saw, he thought, a chance to use it.

I now have the task of explaining that 'Broadcall' is not the bum deal of his immediate misconception, but sale or no, it's all good practice and, as with his comments on PD thus far, it is all most instructive. On that last at least he has taken the time and trouble to read and comment, and much of my revision will be based on his remarks. Thanks Peter.

Even at my advanced age the ligaments between my knuckles respond to the stretching jazz chord exercises, just as my biceps and chest respond, albeit very gradually, to the daily modest pumping of iron. Last dancing was Wednesday night and the next is tomorrow. What a long wait, but I look forward to a chat with Roger and Gladys at the new pub on Mapperley top when I've signed off.

Good Night.

John has just 'phoned and offerred accommodation during tango mango week. Must e.mail Wim and cancel soon. Diana Rigg, this week's Speccie diarist finds the notion of blogging inconceivable. When the world knows all about you, anonymity must seem like heaven; when, as in my case, anonymity is the norm, recognition is a bonus.

Last night's late Christmas Party chez Julie's friends was quite joyful. It was interesting to see how the chorale reacted to the boozy and boisterous, but quite charming, rugger types from Ilkeston. Richard, the dutiful and rather earnest organ scholar, showed himself to be quite the showman as well as a flamboyant and inventive accompanist. He is equally at home in party mood as he is with conducting the cerebral, delicate and sacred anthems and psalms.

Every UWDC prospect is a challenge and I am learning to view each as an opportunity to learn more. Every time I try to sort out the needs of a new client my knowledge of the diversity of provision increases, as does my understanding of the range of individual attitudes. Some will do all the sums and scrutinize every chart. Others will take my assurances as read.

I have read all the gospels afresh and am resolved to highlight, in my JC chapter, the significance of a Divine plan that must be fulfilled, and the inevitable End of Days which is part of that plan. Whatever or whoever the 'real' Jesus was, the Day of Judgement looms large in the established gospels.

Must return to Medina Stores soon. The man at the checkout, obviously of managerial status took an uncommon interest in my UWDC business card. I need some rice and coriander so shall return there tomorrow with a 'What's it all About?' DVD. That could provide a vast opening. Meanwhile I am plodding through the list of local charities from the yellow pages and e.mailing and 'phoning. What a gallimaufry of causes there is. Cochlear implants, Leicestershire primate support, Posh Pussy refuge, dyspraxia help, all requiring funds; some surely would benefit from becoming CFRs.

Those 'Salvador' chords are beginning to flow. Once I have completed all major inversions and scales I shall attempt the progression exercises. Have booked accom. for the tango mango; a shared chalet advertised as a venue for 'Holistic, organic, vegetarian holidays'. I have always taken 'all of me' on hols; that's holistic. I have never ceased to be an organism on holiday; that's organic; I'll only be having toast and cereal at the base so the veg. bit is irrelevant.

St. Luke is full of apocalyptic, fulfilment of prophecy, End of Days verses to an extent I had not realised. Must sign off now and go to Megan's to practise some songs for tomorrow.

I had not expected any work from Bilborough this week but a day and a half have already materialised. Monday provided an opportunity to share with a class my enthusiasm for 'Wise Children'. Strangely I was alone; maybe it is a generation thing. I was gripped straightway, on first reading, by all the familiar references to old songs, by the way the story chimed with my own fragmentary experience of an entertainment 'career' as well as memories of the Palace Theatre at Westcliff and the Pier Pavilion. Max Miller and the British Empire have no resonance with 16 year olds.

I felt quite confident at Monday's tango lesson; not because my repertoire of moves is multiplying; it is not, the increments are slow. I really am beginning to lead with the 'heart'; I keep my right hand 'proud' of my partner's shoulderblade and am never now tempted to try and steer with arm pressure.

There is an open few days ahead which must not be dissipated. Guitar, UWDC marketing, the Jesus chapter, recruiting of pupils; all must be advanced, so I'll cease blogging and head for Arnold both for shopping and card distribution.

The promise outlined in my last entry seems to have borne fruit. I have a signature from a new UWDC prospect, but afew details are outstanding. Singular, individual needs are always instructive; I must never regard them as an impediment. The lunch, tea, stopover and breakfast at the Lawleys were magnificent and the milonga last night was quite beautiful. I am fully revived after a refreshing siesta. This last followed Epiphany at Southwell and a buffet lunch at Anne's.

Jean must be great at her jobs, both psycho. and CAB. She is calm and understanding and has a terrific sense of humour. She knows her own mind, but I doubt she could be surprised, still less knocked off balance, by meeting minds many worlds away from her own.

Trad. roast lunch is a rare treat for me, and boy was I royally treated chez Lawleys. Peter is right about the erratic nature of 'Paradise Delayed'. That all this Biblical stuff is beyond his ken is, for me, an advantage. If I have failed to communicate clearly to him (and failed I have in more than one area) then that first draft needs much reshaping, direction and clarification.

I shall concentrate on the absurdity of the notion of a sacred text per se. At present that is in the book, but is not a driving theme. It must be as prominent as the recurrence of the 'Paradise Lost - degradation - violent crisis and purge - Paradise Regained' predetermined sequence of world history that is the basis of all the credos in the book.

I look forward to increasing my tango vocab. but it was fulfilling last night to dance but simply with Alison, Maria, Rosemary, Tracey, Sam, Lisa and Katya. On the dance floor my anxiety about money, or indeed anything else, evaporates. Without dancing, tension, destructive tension, could only build; no wonder my fortnight's absence from the dance floor had a depressing effect.

Katya has more reason than me to feel wound up. Without a residence permit she cannot pursue her research fellowship at Nottingham University; but she cannot return to Hamburg to tie up essential loose ends with her research team colleagues as that would deny her any eligibility to gain rights of UK residence. Frustration dissipates on the dance floor. Neither of us is expert at the Milonga, but we were very together, with both each other and with the music.

Sandwiched between last night's tango music and the salsa CDs later tonight, were Herbert Sumsion's Mass and Peter Warlock's 'On Bethlehem Down'. A joy it was to participate in that chromatic feast, especially as my voice has largely returned. The post service buffet feast at Anne's was a joy likewise. A 'tangomango' message has just now popped up so I shall now sign off and read it.

Barely a day since my last entry, but the New Year is promising. For pension purposes an unsolicited call for Utility Warehouse services means I have made an appointment with a new prospect before I had even planned to begin the year's marketing. I had time to watch the tango DVD delivered before Christmas. I noted the upright posture of the demo. man and compared it with my stooping shoulders, as caught on Njaal and Cidinha's You Tube recording of Goose Fair Night. I will bear that dreadful profile in mind when dancing at Saturday's milonga in West Bridgford.

The cold has all but gone, and salsa will start again at the Up and Down Under bar on Sunday. That will be after the morning's Epiphany Service in Southwell. My contribution to post Communion lunch at Anne's is chosen and a shopping list duly written. Before then there is a lunch date chez Lawley's; they are always great company and I look forward to hearing Peter's critique of a afew more chapters of 'PD'.

Roger and I should meet on Friday pm at the new pub in Mapperley. By then, finally, I will have finished 'The Jewish War'. All that death, starvation, disease and destruction is indigestible in all but the smallest doses. Fortunately I am merely reading about it. Next on the list will be the Gospels again, this time informed by contact with the works of Schweitzer and Sheehan. 'Impossible' chords as per Sal Salvador are beginning to sound musical after some modest, but regular, post Christmas practice. And so to: more Salvador, Sheehan's last lecture, Marek's present (Sandbrook book) and bed.

New Year's Morning

Last night at Roger's was most convivial; a refreshing relief from the arch and arsey Jonathan nonsense, of which more in a later paragraph. The panorama of garden fireworks from Bestwood, Arnold, Redhill, Sherwood and even Mapperley, to be viewed at midnight from the sloping garden, is becoming as welcome an annual tradition as Christmas at Lorna's.

Roger lives in a pleasant neighbourhood with some lovely neighbours. We made some music in the 'parlour' with Steve playing Seekers' hits from his band's old repertoire and, for the first time since we have known each other, Roger and I played some simple blues together, on guitar and clarinet.

I shall listen to some more Sheehan lectures today as I tidy the office and do the ironing. Yesterday I felt tempted to dig out a 'green' guru whereby to add a brief chapter to 'Paradise Delayed'. I had toyed with the idea in the intro. chapter but had concluded that most eco types were altogether too rational to fit the mould of my other seers. Jonathan's Ph.D. chapters, though, are the work of a writer who, in true prophet of doom fashion, believes himself to be one of an enlightened elite in a wicked world bound for destruction. We, the blind and profligate, refuse to heed his warnings of 'the Wrath to Come'.

My mother was more than content to be regarded as a wacky eccentric, a bohemian dotty old dear. Accusations of being a mental tyrant over her family, herself subservient to the diktats of a US based oligarchic multinational, she would have deflected with the wide eyed stare of a Holy Innocent. Jonathan, likewise, would be flattered were he regarded as an airy fairy hippie idealist. I have reminded him that he comes across as a supercilious, preachy doomster, receptive only to information that boosts his self image. He adopts in defence, not the wide eyed stare, but the officious and predictably pompous e.mail, declaring his wish to sever all contact. He has retreated, as I reminded him in a parting shot, to his 'postmodern eco greenhouse'.

There is a lesson there for me, (yes, I know these 'postmodern' types tell us there are no lessons to be learned from history, but we cannot learn from the present or the future; without an interpretation of the past, we would learn nothing at all; ergo 'postmodernism' or at least that aspect of a seemingly useless and nebulous concept, is ridiculous.) If and when my writing, (or dancing, singing, cooking, teaching or anything else) is derided, I must never resort to simply denigrating the critic.

And finally, a thank you to the 'anonymous' Peter Lawley for his most useful comments on my blog thus far. My 'E' will be produced and projected with near full round tone, I hope, in time for Epiphany. Only 60 pages to go in 'The Jewish War' and Josephus has concluded that, with the Temple surrounded by the Romans, and all the known world subdued by them, God must now (70 CE) reside in Italy.