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.