The Two Moors Walking Challenge Post 9: 1st May, 2026

34 days to go.

Route: Winscombe to Weston-Super-Mare, 16.3km 10.3 miles on 28th April
Route: Winscombe to Wells, 26.8km, 16.7 miles on 29th April

Consecutive Days: The previous consecutive days' walks were to W-s-M, totalling 20.6 miles; this week's dose was 28 miles.

Toe Report: As reported last week, the gel insert seems to have contributed to extending the length I can walk before having to stop to remove my left boot and let the toe recover. On the longer walk to Wells, it began to complain just before reaching Wookey Hole, i.e. about 15 miles. So, it’s still a problem, but less so.

‘Remember, you are never lost, just temporarily disoriented’

Getting lost: Forty years ago, (yes, it really was!) I was training for the Mountain Leaders Certificate in Snowdonia. Our small group leader told us, ‘Remember, you are never lost, just temporarily disoriented’. Whether said tongue-in-cheek or seriously, he didn’t elaborate. But this week, I took a wrong turn leaving Cheddar and veered off course away from The West Mendip Way. Trespassing over some fields, I eventually found someone driving a tractor raking the path of a motocross circuit. Kindly, he got me back on a more sensible path. Above Priddy is a very tall radio mast, so, one way or another, it would have been virtually impossible to have been more than temporarily disoriented – and, I have to confess, quite enjoyable to have to find an alternative route.

Spiritual: On the day of the Wells walk, I woke up at 3am, couldn’t get back to sleep, and was on the road by 4.30am, so I was treated initially to predawn darkness, then to a glorious sunrise and lovely countryside. I may have passed a couple of people in Cheddar, but largely it was a solitary walk. The howling wind was against, blustery and strong…strong enough to overturn numerous large bins and scatter small branches. In other words, hard work and relentlessly uphill.

The word I’d use is a deep sense of satisfaction

Then I became ‘temporarily disoriented’ on the Mendips until Priddy, when weariness kicked in.

But a well-placed hotel, coffee, pain-au-chocolate, and loo, restored one’s soul, until the toe began its complaint nearing Wookey Hole. Spiritually? In retrospect, yes. The word I’d use is a deep sense of satisfaction, having reached the rather beautiful city of Wells, slumping in a chair outside a café in the warm sunshine, enjoying a flat white and a generous slice of bread pudding. I’m reminded of Saul/Paul and Elijah, both of whom were restored in spirit with food and drink.

The link between the material and the spiritual is closer than we think. In biological terms, it’s a semipermeable membrane.

The Two Moors Walking Challenge Post 8, 22nd April 2026

34 days to go

Route: Winscombe to Weston-Super-Mare, 16.3km 10.3 miles

Sights: Leaving at 6.30 with sunrise directly behind me creeping over the horizon bathed the world in that warming reddish tinge. After just over 1km, I walked into one of the cider orchards. Two fields juxtaposed: one with zero blossom; the other not only full of blossom but in the sunrise was…I dunno…glorious. As if they were all singing in harmony long, intersecting chords. No, I wasn’t five pints of cider closer to heaven – you would have had to have been there. It was like being caught up in a painting. From there, past Christon and the seemingly unending slog uphill past bluebell woods. Yesterday, three deer stood maybe 50 yards from me, motionless, as I passed. Yesterday, also, views from the ridge over the Somerset Levels and over to Hinkley Point were crystal clear and bathed in morning sunshine. Yesterday was high tide, today, further out, and a stiff walk into a strong breeze whipped up the sand. A shout out to Coffee#1 which has become my oasis at the end of the walk and a place where a flat white and cheesecake can be enjoyed, with left boot off.

Consecutive Days: The Two Moors’ Challenge starts with three consecutive days of walking, starting at Wembury beach, followed by a day off, then four consecutive days finishing in Lynton. This week’s challenge was to experience two consecutive days from Winscombe to Weston, yesterday and today, along the same 10.3 mile route

The 125 and 126 bus:

Yesterday made the 125 well in time from Weston to more or less my drive. Today, I missed the 125 by seconds, but caught the 126 ten minutes later, back by 11.30 after a 6.30 start. If yesterday’s journey was irritating due to someone opening a window and freezing us all to death, plus an Eastern European passenger who thought we’d be entertained by her tinny mobile broadcasting a conversation in her language.

Today the windows were closed, and therefore pleasantly warm; no uninvited incursions on the passengers’ hearing; a mild irritation for the first 5-10 minutes by passenger X, who insisted on eating the foulest-smelling crisps in the Universe. But all was well.

The Toe Report: Since inserting gel soles, I’ve been able to walk further without pain. Also, the pre-blister sore tops of my big toes after yesterday’s had recovered overnight and only caused minor irritation towards the end of this morning’s walk.

Spiritual: Was pondering the place for tradition, firstly as a healthy cultural unifier and secondly, as a trap, a stifling inertia when change is overdue.

The Two Moors Walking Challenge – an after Post #7b, 11th April 2026

45 days to go

Route: Wells to Cheddar to Winscombe – approx. 16.5 miles (26.5 km)I paused Strava without realising for a few miles hence 24.62 on Strava

The plan: Saturday, 11th April

1. Catch the 7.20 126 from across the road to Wells - that worked

2. Find the West Mendip Way - following an excellent website’s directions, nearly missed it, but all OK

3. Try to stay en route ‘til Cheddar, then I know the way back to Winscombe - lost touch with the route the other side of Wookey Hole, road walking instead of footpaths up to Priddy

Pace
It took 7 hours and 5 minutes with a few refuelling, loo, left boot off, and conversation stops. Walking time 4 hours 39 minutes, average pace 11.20 mins per km, or 17.27 min per km overall.

Weather
Classic April. Cool wind. Sunshine with sharp, fast-moving showers, and horizontal hail. Glad I remembered a waterproof jacket and trousers.

Stunning Views
Wells itself is beautiful. Mental note to visit soon, just to mooch about. Wide, wide views from the Mendip ridge overlooking Glastonbury and the Somerset Levels and over to Crook Peak, the Bristol Channel to Wales. Perhaps the most picturesque were the views towards Cheddar, with the blue reservoir just beyond Cheddar.

No Pain, no Gain
I’m well aware that my feet were sore by the time I reached home, and the Two Moors walk requires lengthy walks on consecutive days. More prep required. The stop at Priddy incurred pain of a different sort. My left foot was in pain, so I sat at a pub bench. It was probably about 9.30, the pub opened at 12. The publican came over and said, ‘This is Private land’. I had passed about two or three people in an hour’s walking; there was no one around. Did he need to be so territorial? He was within his rights, I suppose, so I moved on without objecting, but it felt a bit mean. Next stop, a pouring tea from a thermos & peanut and jam sandwich stop, was by a wall out of the wind, on the high ground after Priddy. I’d pulled waterproofs on just in time about 30minutes before, as a vast black cloud emptied its hail on me…personally. So the stop enabled me to hang up the jacket and rousers on the wall to dry in the now sun and wind. After that, the wonderful Coffee at the Hub café in Cheddar, before heading home via the public loos at Axbridge and one more left boot stop on the Strawberry Line.

Spiritual
Perhaps I do have something to say. My spiritual adventures started quite young. Probably about aged 6, at least consciously. My heroes were Jesus and the Pied Piper!! Somehow, I got hold of the notion that if you pray, God answers, so I knelt by my bed one night, put my hands together as I had seen others do, and asked for a Cadillac. In the morning, no Cadillac. That was discouraging.

I mean, what goes through one’s head aged 6? I’ve since bought all the Calvin and Hobbes comics to keep in touch with my 6-year-old self.

Now, at 68, I have about five prayers that are standard, daily prayers. By Priddy, I’d worked my way through those prayers. There is a dull-routine-feel much of the time, akin to brushing one’s teeth: a good thing, but not one that often stirs the blood. Routines like this are like warm-ups, or the hors-d’oeuvre, small talk before a real connection.

Today, after the standard list had been prayed, I thought back to being 6, 7, 8…growing up as a quiet rebel. That silent rebellion had a stubborn, unhelpful streak, but I was beginning to think that this world is not a random, predetermined molecular machine wherein consciousness is pointless, morals are a figment of our imagination, and progress is a foolish delusion. Unexplained customs, traditions, etiquette, and manners, however, drove me insane with the unanswered question, ‘Why’, a characteristic of home and school life. ‘It just is’ never satisfied me…and in the person of Jesus, I felt I saw the same fierce anger, railing against blind obedience towards outward observances as enforced by the Pharisees whilst abandoning the spiritual reasons for the traditions; the heart of the matter overruled by outward conformity as true markers of acceptable behaviour.

‘Course he isn't safe, but he is good. He is not a tame lion’

I’ve been a Christian believer, now for just over 50 years. I’ve seen enough miraculous answers to prayer to overcome my 6-year-old disappointment, and have, bit by bit, discovered the truth behind various customs and traditions – the Why e.g. standing up when an older person comes into the room, or being grateful, or marriage vows and the traditional marriage ceremony…and so, outwardly, I have become quite conformist…but…subject to the call of God.

God is not bound by our traditions and customs. As CS Lewis wrote about Aslan (Jesus, if you hadn’t realised), ‘Course he isn't safe, but he is good. He is not a tame lion’ and so, on this walk, with Aslan, today, I was taken back to those early urges to follow Christ – not the Pied Piper - and learn what it is to become good but not tame. 50 years on, and I am still feeling the love of Christ pulling me closer, Cadillac or no Cadillac.

Last thermos tea & peanut jam sandwich stop

The Two Moors Walking Challenge A before-and-after Post #7a, 8th April 2026

Cheddar Gorge with Cheddar Reservoir in the distance

48 days to go

Route: Wells to Cheddar to Winscombe – approx. 16.5 miles (26.5 km)

The plan: Saturday, 11th April

1. Catch the 7.20 126 from across the road to Wells
2. Find the West Mendip Way
3. Try to stay en route ‘til Cheddar, then I know the way back to Winscombe

That’s the bare bones. An up-and-down gully and gorge route, and the potential for taking wrong turns is considerable.

Reflections:

• The limiting factor does seem to be foot pain, specifically the nerve running under the fourth toe of my left foot. So far, taking a rest every 4K, removing the boot, and waiting seems to work.

• Karrimat isn’t essential but does give a soft surface to sit on if none is available

• Flask of tea – close to essential

• Jan’s Irish fruit cake – Man o Man! This fills the slog with periodic joy!

• Not forgetting my waterproof jacket lowers the stress levels

• Earbuds & podcasts if one wishes to tune out from the gorgeous countryside

Longest Walk:

This will be the longest route so far. If I conk out in Cheddar, there are worse places to grind to a halt.

Weather forecast:

Max temp – 10oC
Max % rain – 32%
SE breeze av. 10mph

The Two Moors Walking Challenge Post #6, 31st March, 2026

Route: Winscombe to Weston Super Mare, 13.6miles (22km)

The route was a mixture of minor roads and footpaths, starting with the local fields and orchards over to Max Mill Lane, then turning right on minor roads to Christon. A stop at the old CofE church included a tremendous view across the valley to Crook Peak.

Just along the road from Christon church was a reclaimed water pump, and this painted stone was laid at its base.

Such unexpected poetic wisdom coincided with listening to R4 podcast In Out Time discussion on Keats (Ode to a Nightingale), who died aged 26 before his popularity and fame became established. An interesting coincidence.

A wrong turn above Christon wasted about 40mins, but extra miles aren’t a bad thing.

Then the long, mostly downhill stretch along an old Roman Road to Upton – a much-needed loo stop and coffee break at Weston General (!) to rest the left foot.

A sea mist rolling in partially obscured Brean Down and created a lovely, hazy picture of the curve of the bay, round to the large hotels at the far end.

The positive atmosphere among beach dog walkers and people wandering along the prom was not matched in the town centre. No one looked relaxed; I didn’t see a single smile. A general air of tension and depression. I could write about particular individuals’ strange behaviour, but would rather end on a more uplifting note.

That note belongs to the 125 bus that delivered me to my drive-in. A nice tradition to say ‘Thank you’ to bus drivers was kept.

The Two Moors Walking Challenge Post #5, 27th March, 2026

From my previous post, it was clear that I had my doubts that the ‘ol legs, fourth toe on left foot, and general weariness would prevent me walking the whole route…and place the whole preparation for the 9-day trek later in May into a box labelled ‘Dunno!’

But Strava lieth not:

• Left Down Thomas (Wembury) at 7.03 arrived in Ivybridge at 3.15pm
• 26.89km in 8 hours 8 mins (5 hours 35 mins moving) averaging 12.29 mins per km.

The disparity between moving and actual ‘elapsed’ time is explained by the 7 breaks taken at fairly regular intervals.

1st: 4km – lovely view over green fields towards Spriddlestone House. Dartmoor on the horizon
2nd: 8km – Brixton. Cuppa tea at Brixton St Mary’s church, followed by loo stop at what had been a café in the guidebook, now a new materials shop.
Toe very painful. OK after rest.
3rd. 12km - Toe again just outside Yealmpton. Longer stop at Rose and Crown. 10.30 slightly ahead of schedule.
4th 16km - Butland Wood. Was 50m away from obscured signpost. Wasted 20 mins traipsing back and forth looking at map and shapes of woods etc.
5th 21.5km Ermington – stopped by River Erme having past llamas on my left and pygmy goats on my right. Liked Ermington.
6th 25.75km Ivybridge Tennis club. Final boots off stop.
7th 26.89km The Bridge café and Watermark

Taxi back to Wembury no need for extra comment. It was a joy.

Spiritual?

You’d think one’s mind would slow down, enter some sort of blissful meditative state, the world and all its troubles retreating? Not the case. Maybe it would be after a few days, but navigating, physical discomfort at times, taking breaks, mind flitting from one thing to another…I can’t report a monk-like retreat. What I can say is that my musings on Luke chapter 15 grew stronger; wondering whether I have enough material, chapter headings, to put together a book, still struggling with the weakness of the Father as a less well travelled route into the parable.

Prayers and ponderings for certain situations and individuals came and went as usual.

And maybe a contentedness with what I’m now calling Phase 3.

Phase 1: settling into Winscombe and Exeter term 1. Phase 2: mostly a long list of practical work on the house and grounds + book launch. Phase 3: TJPII re-write, Dissertation poetry exploration, further practical work including erecting a shed in the back garden & planting veg in the freshly dug plot.

With Dartmoor on the horizon like a gathering grey-brown featureless tsunami

A beautiful route?

Yes! Sustained by thermos tea and fruitcake the route followed the generally well-signposted Erme-Plym trail through lovely open countryside away from all but a few roads and the sound of traffic. With Dartmoor on the horizon like a gathering grey-brown featureless tsunami.

Only one field with curious cows who all followed me for a few minutes before preferring the grass at their feet.

For me, the gentle northerly breeze, kept me cool, with temperatures hovering around 10oC I think. I deal. In May/June I will suffer and sweat more freely…but trousers rather than shorts may be wise against ticks.

The Two Moors Walking Challenge Post #4, 25th March, 2026

Today/Tomorrow: a practice walk for the first section from Wembury beach to Yealmpton (7.5 miles), then Yealmpton to Ivybridge (9 miles) and somehow back…by bus and taxi I suspect.

Today: a practice of inactivity, including writing this blog. Gusty outside. Rooks on kamikaze missions blown off course by sudden gusts. Perhaps they’re enjoying unpredictable flight? It’s high tide at 10am…I might excuse myself from a ‘writing day’ to go and watch the waves pound in on 40mph winds

Tomorrow: I think a normalish start to the day, having packed this evening. Normalish means up around 6 and a quick breakfast. If I can leave by 7, I’ll be pleased. Certainly by 8. Sixteen and a half miles is daunting. I haven’t walked more than ten for…errr…hmm…dunno.

Yealmpton: the temptation to call a halt here will be strong, I suspect. And maybe wise. Or necessary. The guide says 4 hours. So, I should arrive by late morning. Then 4.5 hours to Ivybridge. If I can get there by 5pm, I’ll be chuffed.

Days to go: 62

Spiritual: I’m in Wembury for two principal purposes. Firstly, to write. In fact, to get back to editing and re-writing The Bait Digger II. Secondly, to take a breather from the build-up to the book launch last Saturday, which was great fun.

In this ‘sigh’, this breather, I am aware of a few things on my mind: a sermon to preach later in April, Israel and Iran: as related to the parable of the prodigal son. Palestinian/Israeli poets: a potential direction for next year’s dissertation.

Lastly, I will have been in Winscombe for a year on Sunday. So it’s time to take stock.

Whether any of this occurs to me whilst walking tomorrow, who knows! I might stick the earbuds in, plod along to various podcasts, and leave my meditations for another day.

The Two Moors Walking Challenge – post #3, 25th February 2026

Was this a ‘training walk’ or simply an early morning walk that won’t hurt the prep for the Big One in late May/early June?

I’m not sure it matters. What would matter is not walking.

4th Toe, Left Foot Report

Yesterday’s walk was from home to The Crown and back, trudging through heavy mud at times in glorious sunshine. You should know that the psychosomatic effect of approx. 40 days of rain and 2 days of sun is profound. Physical health has suffered in many, and the dull days have had a hibernating effect on the inner being. Psychobabble? Maybe, but consider how you feel when the sun is up after its long exile, and you are outside…tell me your mood and sense of well-being isn’t turned up a notch?

I digress. Yesterday, after 5 minutes, I was afraid that I’d have to tell my walking partner that I’d have to stop, but the pain faded - thankfully. And today? No problem. No pain. How random.

Shute Tunnel, Shute Hill, Sidcot

This is a beautiful walk, and I was up early enough to avoid all but a few humans and well-trained dogs. It was nature and I. It was blackbirds, robins, crows and jackdaws, unidentified small singing birds balancing on the upper blackened branches, and sheep emerging from the still mist, and, unexpectedly, a few lambs already. Two black ones, and a few very muddy cream versions and their mud-infested mums. And a dead black lamb, left lifeless, lying on the muddy soil; ignored by the others.

It’s beautiful, but Shute Hill is not one that I could run up. Small steps only. Slow. Deep breaths. But the reward, not today in the mist, is a panoramic view across to Crook Peak and over to the run up The Severn towards Portishead, and a lovely view over Winscombe.

Stats

8.92km; 1hr45min; 205m gain; Av heart rate 91; Max 131; 11,302 steps

Spiritual

No comment at the mo. But we’ll go there soon, I’m sure. The pneuma (spirit) as opposed to the psyche (soul) and the soma (body)

Two Moors Challenge post #1 (b)

Walk 1: Winscombe – Axbridge – Cheddar – Axbridge – Winscombe

19th February 2026

A full Cheddar Reservoir

Later, yesterday, perhaps as a result of writing blog 1, and a favourable weather forecast the boots went on and I set off to walk to Cheddar, intending to hop on the 126 for a (free) bus ride home.

In the end, I overshot Cheddar slightly, walked back in from the east, plonked down in a café (needed the loo and to rest my left foot), before retracing my steps through Axbridge to the Strawberry Line tunnel and home.

What was planned to be a 5-mile walk turned into a 10 miler.

The left foot fourth toe was complaining. Had to stop every 30 mins to take boot off, let blood back into toe/nerve and set off again.

Nevertheless, the training is underway.

With the longest walk at 20 miles and walking each day, I’ll need to get the boots on regularly.

Noticed:

• Cheddar reservoir was full and looking good in the sunshine, hence photos. 

• Early signs of spring, some tiny flowers alongside early daffs and snow drops, some fresh leaves poking out.

• Blue plaques in Axbridge…a future photographic collection. Plus a public loo…Hallelujah!

The Two Moors Walking Challenge post #1

Bare Bones: Dartmoor to Exmoor, Wembury to Ivybridge to Scorriton to Chagford to Morchard Road to Yeo Mill to Withypool to Lynmouth. Approx. 115 miles

Dates: Tuesday 26th May to Wednesday 3rd June

Days to go: 96

The truth is, I’m not sure if I can do this. To help, I’ve slotted in a day-off in Chagford, so the walk is chopped up into two halves: 3 days to Chagford, followed by 4 to Lynmouth.

I have two reasons for doubting my ability to complete the challenge. First is a toe problem. Second is my failed attempt to cross the North York Moors a few summers ago.

However, with 96 days to go, I can do some prep. The problems in the North York Moors were (a) the toe (b) heatwave (c) carrying a heavy load…and realising I’m not 25 anymore. This time, I have sherpas (!) in the form of luggage transfers, so will only need to take a daysack on the hikes. That should alleviate undue pressure on neck, shoulders, back and most importantly the fourth toe on my left foot which loves to complain if it’s overworked.

But, man, am I looking forward to this! I’ve been pondering the Two Moors Challenge for a few years and last year’s few days on the Camino has given sufficient push to get it done.

I’m looking forward to the scenery, mist and fog permitting, taking photos, sharing the walk with fellow travellers as on the Camino, and maybe some friends who join in for a day or two, and the full moon that should accompany the evenings and nights. And the physical challenge. The longest day walk (given that I don’t get lost) is 22 miles. The furthest I’ve walked for probably a year is not much more than 5 miles, so I need to put that right.

And, if I may, the spiritual challenge. But more of that in subsequent posts.

Kit: My trusty leather uppers and Vibram soled walking boots are showing signs of aging. A split is developing between sole and upper leather…so…yesterday I purchased a new pair. A lighter variety, more for moors than mountains. Other than that, I think I have sufficient kit.

Today: a cold Northerly, diagonal cold rain, and a dull overcastness that has seemingly deposited itself like a beached whale, over much of the UK refusing to move on, all add together to keep me indoors, two jumpers and a scarf on, until the house decides to pay attention to the central heat.

Limits to Free Speech and the Case of Alaa Abd el-Fatah

When pro-Palestine marchers chant ‘Free Palestine from the River to the Sea’ – they are expressing opposition to the State of Israel and expressing an anti-Zionist viewpoint that calls for the elimination of Israel.

To be clear, they are proposing a one-state solution. Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis, ISIS and all other aligned forces are not seeking peace with Israel and a two-state solution. Their aim is two-fold (i) to eliminate Israel and (ii) form a one-state solution called Palestine, within which Jews would have their rights of self-determination revoked.

The unholy alliance of far-left Marxists – who oppose Israel, believing it to be a colonial outpost of capitalist America, and militant Muslims – who oppose Israel on ideological grounds, is antisemitic and, essentially, genocidal in its political vision.

Now we have the case of Alaa Abd el-Fatah, who has apologised for his hateful antisemitic and anti-British comments. Two main political parties, the Tories and Reform, have called for him to be stripped of his British citizenship and deported.

However his case is resolved, the combination of the pro-Palestinian marches, el-Fatah’s comments, the attack on the synagogue in Manchester, and the conviction of two Muslim men, Walid Saadaoui and Amar Hussein, who planned to kill as many Jewish people as they could in a gun attack in Manchester, is forcing a review of the limits of free speech and citizenship rights. The brutal killing of Jews on Bondi Beach in Australia on December 14th shows how urgent these matters are.

Free speech

Should free speech be curbed if the purpose of the message is to limit the free speech of others, for example, calling for the death of Jews or the police?

Citizenship

And should citizenship rights be withdrawn from those who are clearly promoting hatred of Britain, sedition, and the overthrow of the State

These are questions facing Britain, and, specifically, the Prime Minister, Sir Kier Starmer.

The bible tells us to pray for all those in authority. This is such a time.

Prayer is not a weak response. It is the expression of unease, grief, anger, frustration, and a longing for justice brought before the throne of God, the ultimate authority. We may kneel, or stand, or raise our hands to heaven – all are in the Bible and reflect differing humble attitudes on behalf of the person praying. We may pray in silence or raise our voices.

Prayer is not a one-way street; it’s a dual carriageway. Who put that unease in your heart to cause you to pray? We should not be surprised if God speaks. Jesus said, ‘My sheep know My voice’. Sometimes that voice can be loud, but often it’s a small, quiet voice we hear in our hearts, often accompanied by a sense of peace even in the most trying of circumstances.

He is not far off. He is near. In fact, the Bible teaches that He will be found when we seek Him with all our hearts. Let’s open our hearts and pray.

Master’s in Creative Writing Update: 11.30 on Thursday 11th December.

It’s an odd feeling and amusing.

Odd in that I’ve rarely felt so nervous as a few minutes ago, submitting two essays to Exeter University. The umbilical cord is cut. The two babes: a short story and a self-reflective essay, are winging their electronic way to my tutor’s inbox for her and a.n.other to mark and moderate.

And amusing, as, apart from a huge sense of nervous relief, my second reaction is to tap away on this ageing laptop and write about it! You’d think I’d have reached some sort of saturation point with writing!

Here’s the reality.

A sense of incredible weariness getting off the train yesterday evening. The kind of weariness that forces the surrounding world to recede into the background so far that the funniest joke or most tragic of incidents would barely register a flicker on my face.

Home, and switch into Chemistry A-Level tuition mode. Energy returning after a cuppa and toast. It seems that the brain has compartments. I’m fully awake now, enlivened not by the rules of grammar but by discussing the purpose of nucleophilic addition of hydrogen cyanide in situ to carbonyls with student A.

Bed. Slept through to 5. Up, usual routine followed by a return to the two essays. By 9, I was drowsy and crawled back into bed for an hour straight. Deep sleep.

In the following hour, awake again, finishing touches made before hitting the Submit button and…nervous relief.

Of course, relief is short-lived. I now have a Poetry Collection and a Self-Reflective Essay to submit before its deadline a week tomorrow.

But it’s time to collapse and watch some daytime TV with coffee and dark chocolate

But it’s time to collapse and watch some daytime TV with coffee, dark chocolate, ignoring all claims on my time. Christmas cards and messages…in the In-tray. The mould on the wall upstairs…can grow happily for an hour or so before chemical warfare is unleashed. Shaving? Nah.

That 5K run? Jog on.

MA Creative Writing, Exeter University The Other Module: Prose Week 4: Disaster – bad day at the office

Came away from today befuddled, feeling like a literary dwarf compared with fellow students, and rather downbeat…but that wasn’t the disaster.

I knew I’d be walking into a room of students and staff with heads far fuller than mine with English literature. Although that can leave one daunted, that’s exactly why I’m here…to wear L plates and learn from others.

No, the disaster was simple.

A third of the class uploads work each week. ‘Homework’ for the rest of us is to write critical reviews on their posted work, ready to share our perspectives verbally in the second half of the workshop.

The upload is to an online animal called Padlet. The disaster, as I found out after the lecture, was that I had failed to scroll Padlet right and so missed all but one of the offerings, was lost, had nothing to say, and wanted the earth to open up and swallow hard.

It’s one thing to be in awe of others’ relative ability, but combine that with simple incompetence: that’s my definition of a bad day at the office.

Home now. Sanctuary. Safe space. Last week’s pieces printed out, ready for me to write critiques and catch up in the morning…AND get on with this week’s assignment.

Live and learn, eh? We press on.

Sinatra, where are you when I need you?

Each time I find myself
Flat on my face
I pick myself up and get
Back in the race
That's life

A Tabernacles Trilogy 3. Yom Kippur/Manchester/Hostages

I am well aware that I am writing this blog post just a day short of when Jews around the world celebrate Tabernacles, or Sukkot.

This year, as the world holds its breath over Hamas’s response to the Peace Plan on the negotiating table, and as Jewish eyes are blurred with tears not only with hope but grief, Sukkot 2025 could mark real change in Gaza, Israel, and the whole of the Middle East.

Hope, because no one wants war, conflict, destruction, grief, and hopelessness to set up more than a temporary home in the human heart. And hope, for Israeli’s, that the remaining hostages, alive or dead, will be returned during Sukkot. And hope for some Gazans at least that they can wake up very soon from the nightmare that has been Hamas’s regime.

Grief? Of course. The murderous attack on Yom Kippur in Manchester has chilled the bones of not only Jews but also horrified Britons who have had to clear Jewish blood and the blood of the attacker from their streets; blood spilt days before a credible peace plan might bring the horror of the Israel-Hamas war to a close.

Tabernacles, one of the three main Jewish feasts that Jews were commanded to attend each year, and, therefore, which Jesus would have attended many times, is the final feast in the calendar.

It is no surprise then that many bible commentators link Tabernacles prophetically, despite its evident purpose as a reminder of the temporary tents (tabernacles) that the Jews had to erect in the desert en route from Egypt to the Promised Land, to the end of the world and the final judgement (Rev 21v3).

My comment here is not that this is incorrect, but it falls short of the relevance of Tabernacles in this age and its prophetic significance to the church.

Just as William Seymour and others rediscovered the fulfilment of Pentecost to the church in preaching and receiving the baptism of the Spirit…hence the Pentecostal churches and the Charismatic movement in the 20th Century…so we are on the brink of a rediscovery, this time of Tabernacles.

1. Jesus as a mobile tabernacle
2. Christians as mobile tabernacles
3. Church as mobile tabernacles

Jesus
‘The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we beheld His glory’ John 1v14
‘Jesus said “destroy this temple and I will raise it up after three days”…but He was speaking of the temple of His body’ John 2v19-22
‘the Father in Me does the works’ John 14v11

Christians - individually
‘If anyone loves Me…My father will love him and we will come and make our home with him…the Spirit…will be in you’ John 14v17, 23
‘Do you not know your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?’ 1 Cor 6v19
‘You are the temple of the living God’ 2Cor6v16

Church
‘You are…a building being fitted together and growing into a holy temple…a dwelling place of God in the Spirit’ Eph 2v21,22
‘We know that if our earthly house, this tabernacle, is destroyed, we have a building from God, not built with hands, eternal in the heavens’ 2 Cor 5v1

The question facing us is: What are the implications for our church experience of the Feast of Tabernacles?

The clue comes from the simple ceremony conducted by Jews from tomorrow onwards for a week. They will meet in specially erected booths, the roofs loosely covered with palm branches and the like, and they meet under these roofs with holes to eat and drink, say prayers, and sing hymns. The holes in the roof mean that it is open to heaven.

It is a picture of the church gathering, the ekklesia (those called by Christ, not a human organisation) bathed in God’s presence (the light through the holes). It is not for one week in the year, but a picture of the potential reality of any church, at any time, anywhere.

Those believers who know the church is the temple of the living God will come with expectation and faith, not simply in a future fulfilment à la Revelation 21v3 ‘Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them and they shall be His people…’ but an expectation and living faith in God’s presence now.

If Tabernacles 2025 is to be remembered as the time when the hostages were returned and the dreadful war in Gaza is brought to a close, the world will breathe a great collective sigh of relief

New Testament churches are places where the kingdom of God has already broken in, where the presence of God is normal, and where each believer is functioning as a priest and a king in training…learning, for example, to only do what they see the Father doing. It is a holy place. It is a place where, metaphorically, man removes his shoes, God is there, and the church moves as He moves. It is an awesome place. We become like Moses before the burning bush, where all our doubts, all our fears, all our past sin has been dealt with to such an extent that referring to our ‘old man’ or our ‘old creation’ is irrelevant…we grow in our understanding that God is fellowshipping with churches full of new creations in Christ. Moses lost his arguments with God at the burning bush, ‘I can’t speak’, or ‘I’m afraid’. It’s a place where we lose all our arguments with God. A holy place.

It is now 7pm on Sunday, 5th October 2025.

Jews around the world will be celebrating Tabernacles from sunset tomorrow, 24 hours from now.

If Tabernacles 2025 is to be remembered as the time when the hostages were returned and the dreadful war in Gaza is brought to a close, the world will breathe a great collective sigh of relief. The rebuilding of broken lives, broken homes, broken politics, broken hopes, and broken dreams can begin.

A Tabernacles Trilogy 1. Our green and pleasant land.

There’s something quite magical and evocative about a warm September afternoon. The air may retain its early morning autumnal chill, the grass, which had turned brown until a week or so ago, is green once more, and leaves are beginning to fall to cover the acorns scattered on the ground.

To top it all, the fields have been invaded by hay bales, which sit peacefully, possessing a proportional beauty somehow pleasing to the eye, awaiting transport to who knows where?

Rarely do we see how they’ve formed; it’s an agricultural conjuring trick. You wake up one morning, go for a walk, and the field that not a week or so ago was knee-high in grass or wheat has been harvested and transformed into bales.

There is a certain peace in a field strewn with bales. It’s difficult to put your finger on it, but there is that ‘Ahh, all is well with the world’ feeling, even if it is not. Forget expensive therapies, find a field with haybales and breathe. The quiet, the peace, the lovely aromas, and the light tan colours have only come about after the mowing, cutting, and baling of a combine harvester. There are no screams, of course, but it’s noisy work separating the grain from the straw and the chaff.

That tearing apart of the useful from the useless or the waste is a picture of the sudden polarisation of our society.

With society at large witnessing the formation of Farage’s Reform Party situated to the right of the Conservative Party, Corbyn’s, Your Party, sitting to the left of the Labour Party, and the radical Islamists, everyday Muslims, and Palestinian supporters shouting ‘Free Palestine From the River to the Sea’, it feels as if Britain’s seams are being stretched and tested as never before.

Add to that Scottish nationalism and the ructions over leaving the EU, and we can view the past few years either as a demonstration of the robustness of our democracy or a threat to its integrity.

So, is it escapism or good sense to find a field and simply enjoy the sight of a good harvest and luxuriate in the warmth of a sunny September afternoon?

the choice between escapism and good sense is a false dichotomy

In Old Testament days, the men of Israel were commanded to travel to Jerusalem three times a year to celebrate three feasts: Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. That’s at least three weeks ‘off work’ per annum, away from work and wars, in addition to the weekly Sabbath.

There’s some wisdom in that, isn’t there?

Tabernacles, or Sukkot, as it’s also called, is right around the corner, sunset on Monday, October 6th and ends at sunset on Monday, October 13th, coinciding with harvest, the end of the agricultural year. Special ‘booths’ are constructed; it might be a plastic corrugated roof covered with palm branches and pampas grass on top to remind Jews of the temporary tents (tabernacles) they constructed on their journey through the desert to the Promised Land. Jews today meet in replica booths under the roof, to eat and drink, recite prayers, and swap news. It’s provides an occasion to remember the past but also a look into the future, as we all do when we take a break.

It is also a call to unity. Jews of all political persuasions meet under the branches, under the roof, in the booth.

I hope you can see what I’m saying?

In church, amongst Christian believers, there has been much talk and many sermons preached about Passover and Pentecost. But we have a deep spiritual need, whether we are Christians or not, to hear the message of Tabernacles, or Sukkot and to meet together under a roof with holes, somewhat open to the heavens, so that we experience a fellowship that transcends political differences and is open to God in heaven, like the light streaming through the roof; not an atheistic socialist utopia of unachievable equality and unity, or a capitalistic freedom that turns a blind eye to the losers, but a deeper note, a reverberation, the call of the Spirit of God. You know it when you hear it.

It's a call to the satisfaction of harvest, a call to completion, a call home, to feet up, to rest, for barriers to collapse, and friendship with neighbours and God to soak into work and world-weary souls.

So, the choice between escapism and good sense is a false dichotomy. To escape, to take time out, to celebrate, to worship, is time well spent; and it is good sense. There are plenty of days to attend to the affairs of the world of work and life.

Go for a drive, maybe. Find a field with hay or straw bales. Go in. See if you don’t go ‘Ahhh’ and relax to your core.

MA Creative Writing, Exeter UniversityDay 1

First lecture at Exeter University for 48 years, having arrived here with dark hair in 1977, feeling rather lost, excited, and ready to smell the Chemistry labs for the first time.

Now, the hair colour has changed, it’s always a surprise if a dark hair hits the barber’s floor, but a similar mix of trepidation and excitement at switching disciplines and attempting to absorb what I can from my lecturers and fellow students.

Day 1 was so nearly a disaster.

Firstly, the sleep parking app decided it would not communicate with my banking app. After muttering – that didn’t help – and repeating the failure two or three times, I resorted to the card option. But that required confirmation from the bank, which it gave! Now with less time to reach the platform before the train was to arrive, I had to walk back to my car, put the old-time slip on the dashboard, and trog back to the station.

Upon arrival at the platform, the electronic scoreboard announced that my train had been cancelled.

 Arghhh! With the lecture starting in 2 hours' time, I was forced to drive to Exeter (with an engine warning light on all the way and all the way back later), praying for a parking space.

There was one…one…left. I parked and walked into my lecture as if there had been zero hassles from bed to Writing Prose Workshop 1.

 15, I think in the class. 4 blokes, 11 ladies. Varying ages. Probably every decade from 20s to 70s represented. Ice breaker wasn’t too difficult, a brief bio. Then, after a sausage roll and flat white break, a wide-ranging discussion about Truth using The Salt Path as a leaping off point.

 C, opposite, a bloke, had looked at the background reading for the lecture – swine! – and was well away, having thought through the nature of truth in fiction and non-fiction. I feel as if I’m already languishing. There’s an award-winning literary student from Texas to my right who gets lost in her monologue…but respect to all who spoke up. Quite a few did. I did in fact. Nice open ethos in the room. I warmed to the lecturer.

I parked and walked into my lecture as if there had been zero hassles from bed to Writing Prose Workshop 1

 After, I walked to the timetabling room and changed my Tuesday lecture to a Wednesday.

 At the time, it made sense to put both lectures on one day instead of travelling twice a week. Upon reflection overnight, this was not the right decision as the train times leave no time on campus for trips to the library, timetabling, personal tutor, IT and so on.

So…some hassles, but so good to get underway.

A sunny and warm September day. Exeter is well known for its campus arboretum, squirrels and the like. It was, of course, swarming with energetic undergraduates, and the various coffee shops were doing a roaring trade. Although many were looking at mobiles or screens, there were a great deal of conversations going on. A good sign, I feel.

If I’m allowed to switch back to the original group, I’ll be very chuffed as I felt the lecturer was a good enabler; only saying the minimum to get everyone else thinking and participating.

The reading list: 6 books, 3 fictions, 1 creative non-fiction, and 1 memoir.

Writing Poetry today. 9am train. Hopefully no cancellations.

The Cows of Winscombe 13th September: Cows three days running? Really?

Another unexpectedly sunny morning.

Boots on and with various disturbances in my innermost being (otherwise known as ‘things on my mind’), I set off intending to retrace a walk past the surgery and across fields to Shipham Lane. I’d even spent time searching for my glasses so I could see enough detail on an OS map to know where to find a particular footpath.

In the event my feet took me to a longer route, through Sidcot and up to the radio mast before descending to King’s Wood and on to the Strawberry Line to return home, 90 minutes later.

I did not expect to see cows.

I’ve walked this route a few times and only walked past sheep and lambs in the Spring. So it made me smile when I found some cows happily munching grass far enough away not to notice me gazing at them. The thought went through my head ‘that means I won’t be able to resist a third Cows in Winscombe blogpost’ and here we are.

Two of the uppermost ‘things on my mind’ I could name in specific terms. Better, though, to reflect on the bass notes. Most music is recognisable by its melody, the top notes, and the right hand on the piano. The left hand, which plays the bass notes, plays a background role. Without them, something’s missing, but it’s difficult to recognise the piece or the track simply from the bass alone. Two bands that buck that trend are The Police and Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

I digress.

So, it is tempting to comment on Charlie Kirk’s assassination, which was on my mind, probably like yours? And Exeter University. Also bothering me. But I won’t.

On Charlie Kirk, I will leave the floor to Barack Obama, who tweeted (if that’s still a verb?) on X:

We don’t yet know what motivated the person who shot and killed Charlie Kirk, but this kind of despicable violence has no place in our democracy. Michelle and I will be praying for Charlie’s family tonight, especially his wife Erika and their two young children.

On Exeter University, all I need to say in detail is that I’m looking forward, even though daunted, sitting at the feet of expert lecturers. It (an MA in Creative Writing) starts next week…and I still have some hoops to jump through.

What I will attempt to comment on re: Exeter is the difference between modes of communication and actual communication; the harmful drift from simplicity to false sophistication.

And, continuing a heavy theme, to articulate my concerns about suppression via polarisation as the background to Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

Well? How many of you have taken yourself off for a long walk because you’re carrying some bothersome thoughts that need some time to settle, or to emerge from the brain fog?

Hopefully, I won’t forget the cows and the countryside by the time I finish this. It was a beautiful walk. Another title I considered for this piece was ‘Beauty’. I hope I can link the above to beauty.

In recent years, the term ‘polarisation’ has become a popular term expressing deep concerns about the glue that holds societies together. In the UK, our recent flirtations with polarisation have been, I would argue, over whether to Remain or Leave the EU, and in the last two years over Israel/Gaza. In the States, the antagonism between MAGA and Antifa supporters (rarely reported in the UK) and similar left-right extremist groups and the two main political parties continues to be extremely unsettling.

Why deep concerns? Here’s my interim answer: polarisation leads to suppression.

In the UK, depending on whose company you were keeping, it was wise to keep schtum about your Brexit or Remain views, or your support for Brexit champion Boris or Remainer Cameron, or you’d be shouted down, shunned, ostracised, and vilified. (Even in churches, Christians were nervous about showing support for either side, depending on the political profile of their church, for fear of an unseemly row).

Fear of speaking out was palpable. Wisdom triumphed over Courage. The result: Suppression.

In the campaign to join the EU in 1972, arguments were put forcefully by both sides, but without rancour spilling over into societal unrest or an erosion in civil dialogue.

The glue that holds a democratic society together is free speech, freedom of association, freedom of assembly, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, and the right to a fair trial.

In conclusion, as much as I defend Charlie Kirk’s exercise of freedom of speech, I look to America to ensure that the man arrested for his assassination is given a fair trial.

Really, what is on trial is whether we want to live in a democracy or whether we will slip into fascism, either to the right or to the left. Since Mussolini, who coined the word ‘fascism’, and Hitler, we have associated ‘fascism’ with the far right, but it can be equally associated with the far left. The characteristics of fascism include dictatorial leadership, forcible suppression of opposition, and subordination of individual interests for the perceived interest of the nation or race.

Why deep concerns? Here’s my interim answer: polarisation leads to suppression

Tragically, we have witnessed democracies tumble into the fascism of Hitler’s far-right National Socialism, and then the far-left version in Communist East Germany in post-war Europe. Dictatorships that ruthlessly silenced all opposition and free speech.

Beauty? The freedoms we have taken for granted in the UK – and the West in general - are as beautiful as the air we breathe, the blue sky above, and the sweet smell of autumn. The bible says we should think on these things. It’s good advice.

Let’s just say that my experience of joining Exeter University with its sophisticated e-management of umpteen Apps, email log-ons, an avalanche of communication, and, with less than a week to go before I sit in a lecture theatre here, are the things I don’t know:

1. My timetable

2. Who my lecturers are

3. Where to go

4. The number of days per week I need to be on campus

5. Access to a personal tutor

Here’s my point.

The avalanche of communication with well-designed webpages, links to opportunities, and so on, has relegated the essential information, as above, to a lower league. I have the impression of busyness; an overworked admin staff desperately trying to keep this complex show of e-communication on the road so that, heaven forbid, it never falls beneath the presentational standards of competing institutions.

Meanwhile, I need to know the above. Really, that’s all I need to know.

This disease is not Exeter University-specific. It’s widespread. Sophistication has replaced Simplicity, with the result that priorities are obscured and lost.

Sometimes progress is an inversion of the meaning of the word.

In 1975, if I wanted a doctor’s appointment, I would travel to the surgery, take a board with a number from a hook, and wait until my number came up. Simple. No forms to fill in, no website to log on, no admin staff needed, no telephone calls. During the night, a doctor was on call. Every day. Local. Reached by a landline telephone call.

It wasn’t perfect, of course, and had to expand as Whitstable’s population grew, but simplicity has been replaced by false sophistication.

The beauty of simplicity is that it is democratic; everyone, young and old, understands how to access the information they need. False sophistication leads to a divided and unequal society where those who can navigate the sophistication become a mobile e-elite and those who struggle are discriminated against and, all too easily, fall through the cracks.

St Paul wrote the following words:

‘Finally, brothers, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue, and if there is anything praiseworthy – meditate on these things.’

The walk in the beautiful countryside near Winscombe this morning allowed me to meditate on the type of society I hope we can maintain. Personally, I hope the walk has helped me from getting too drawn into commenting on the awful assassination of Charlie Kirk, or the specific frustrations surrounding starting a Master’s at Exeter. I hope I have been able to reflect on how good and wholesome a society can be if it upholds the above-mentioned freedoms; freedoms I have more or less taken for granted, and that I want my grandchildren to enjoy without fear.

The Cows of Winscombe 12th September: Running in the Light

I hadn’t written yesterday’s Cows of Winscombe post with any intention to turn it into a series, but that may be what’s transpiring.

The day so far.

At approximately 7 a.m. I donned my ear buds and headed to The Strawberry Line, a disused railway line, for an early morning run. In fact, 7 a.m. for me is quite a late start, but I woke up later than usual.

The forecast was for rain, so I was mentally prepared for a soaking. Not a drop of rain fell. Clouds were moving slowly across the sky from the SW, but the sun shone.

Normally, I listen to a podcast to accompany my sweaty efforts; this morning, I listened to Pete Grieg addressing NC25, a Christian Conference, speaking about the Quiet Revival that has hit the headlines in recent months. It was excellent, funny (naked in a glass-sided shopping centre lift made me laugh out loud), informative, and an appropriate ‘wake-up’ message for an early morning run.

But that’s not what I want to write about.

I moved here approximately 6 months ago, and I realised I was surprised to find myself running in the same soft morning light as in March/April. Not as funny as Pete Grieg’s mishap in the lift, but it made me chuckle. ‘Of course! Doh!’ was how I reacted.

The Earth looked at ease with itself. All was well. It was like an unexpected gift

April 1st Sunrise: 6.36

October 1st Sunrise: 7.01

It doesn’t match perfectly, due to the alignment of the planet with respect to the Sun and the equator, but it’s near enough. And gorgeous.

And, as you can see, I ran past more cows. Today’s cows were illuminated in those soft sunrise rays. I felt calm. They looked calm. The Earth looked at ease with itself. All was well. It was like an unexpected gift, remember, I was expecting to be soaked through, this was like darkness into light, defeat into victory, turmoil into peace…poetically speaking.

If that’s a tad melodramatic, so be it, but I enjoyed the run, stopping every so often to pick a succulent blackberry or take a photo of the light falling on cows, a bridge, and a disused, rusting farm trailer.

For those reading this of a spiritual disposition, you will understand why this morning’s run in the light reminded me of David’s Psalm 30v5

Weeping may last for the night,
But a shout of joy comes in the morning

The Cows of Winscombe 11th September: between a bull and a field of cows

One of my normal early morning running and walking routes across fields and footpaths has an in-built risk of encountering the cows of Winscombe.

Last week, my route was blocked by four or five large Friesians standing guard by the fence, so I couldn’t clamber over…nor did I particularly want to. Or, taking a shortcut, I found myself in a field I thought was cow-empty, only to find a small group of about fifteen Guernsey cows (I think), three of whom were headbutting each other.

With about fifty yards to the exit, they started to take more of an interest in me than each other or the grass and started running in my direction, making a din, mooing and bellows. A friendly morning greeting?

This morning, upon reaching a concrete block over a stream and a standard aluminium gate, I was faced with a field with another fifteen or so cows with heavily laden udders munching their way in my direction. They seemed to be quite peaceful – no headbutting – but to get to the gate on the other side of the field would mean walking through the middle of the small herd.

I was about to turn back when I heard a very loud snort and bellow. A large bull had entered the field in which I was standing.

So, one bull behind and fifteen cows ahead. What to do?

I’d been standing at the gate watching the cows for a few minutes. One had wandered over to me to say hello and moved off peacefully, so off I went walking slowly. The fact that I’m writing this suggests, correctly, that these cows were more interested in snaffling the dewy grass and nettles from the field than bothering with me, and I made it to the gate without any trouble.

Cows are rather strange and lovely animals. There’s a mournful, ‘I’m too heavy’, look about them, a resigned acceptance of their lot, and a peculiar combination of bony outcrops and massive flesh. Joy seems to be on hold. They engage a sense of sympathy in me; I hope they get milked soon. It all looks a tad uncomfortable lolloping around with udders fit to burst, cloven hooves standing in wet, muddy fields, loaded with excessive heaviness.

I didn’t study the bull for too long.

In contrast, each cell in the bull’s body seems to be a world saturated with a longing to do something dreadful or drastic, even if it is servicing every cow within sight and over the horizon, or reminding me of my puny humanity.

The matador in me seems to have flown the country.

Why am I concerned about the BBC?

1. The BBC failed to describe the October 7th 2023 attack against unarmed civilians by Hamas as a terrorist attack, even though Hamas planned, targeted, and murdered 1,195 unarmed civilians at the Nova Music Festival and in the Be’eri kibbutz, and took 251 hostages to Gaza. When reporting the July 7/7 bombings in England, the BBC called the attackers terrorists: ‘On 7 July 2005, four terrorists bombed London's transport network, killing 52 people and injuring hundreds more’. [London 7/7 bombings: Returning to the capital 20 years on - BBC News]. And reporting 9/11; ‘On 11 September 2001, four passenger planes were hijacked by radical Islamist terrorists’ [The people who think 9/11 may have been an 'inside job' - BBC News]. This double standard has undermined the credibility of the BBC’s editorial judgement. I am concerned.

2. The BBC seeks to uphold standards of journalistic excellence. One of the foundational requisites of professional journalism is to report using reliable sources; however, the BBC has consistently reported information about the suffering in Gaza using Hamas-run Health Ministry statistics. It is inconceivable that the BBC would have entertained reporting statistics from an equivalent Nazi source in the Second World War. I am concerned that the daily diet of information passed on to the public in this manner, directly from Hamas, is influencing our ability to form a sound judgment concerning matters such as food-aid supplies, and death and injury statistics. By continuing to report Hamas’s statistics, the BBC has weakened its journalistic credibility, and I am concerned.

3. The BBC has an enviable reputation for reporting impartially and objectively – a reputation hard-won over many years. The combined effect of the above two points with respect to the terrible war between Israel and Hamas is, however, to undermine this reputation and to contribute to the public shift away from support for Israel and towards Hamas. The BBC’s double standards and use of Hamas as a reliable source are surely cause for grave concern about its editorial integrity, and it is a matter that should be investigated fully.

It just doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like the BBC of old. Something serious has gone wrong at the editorial level. And it needs to be brought into the light and put right.