NO SMOKING

The following tale may well sound a little like a parable. If you have read some of my other musings, you will be aware that I will sometimes let my imagination go off on a little wander. But what I am about to describe happened for real. It was a defining moment in my life and one that I will never forget. When I look back on it, I often catch myself asking 'did that really happen?'

This really happened.

When I first started working in Sheffield, I did not have a car and used to travel on the train every weekend to see my daughters who live in West Yorkshire. The first leg of the journey was the Virgin Trains service from Sheffield to Leeds. On a Friday afternoon, this service was always extremely overcrowded and it was rarely possible to get a seat. It seemed that Virgin were more interested in profit than safety and people would pack the train, sitting or standing in corridors, their piled luggage worryingly blocking emergency exits. After a couple of weeks, I was so used to this scenario, that I never bothered looking for a seat on the train. I would just go straight to the corridor and sit myself down on the floor, usually just outside where the toilet cubicle was in case I wanted to use it.

One afternoon, there I was as usual sat in my favourite floor space. The rest of the corridor began to slowly fill up with people less familiar with the situation who had wandered up and down the train looking for a seat before eventually resigning themselves to the same fate as myself. As the train pulled away, I looked up to see who was sharing my little bit of corridor this week.

Furthest away from me at the far end was a man who I guessed was a bit younger than myself. He wore a smart off the peg suit and had removed his tie so that his pale green shirt collar was open. He was reading a copy of Esquire magazine and occasionally taking a sip of lager from a can that he managed to skilfully old in one hand at same time as using it to turn pages. Next to him were two young women in their early twenties. I assumed by their attire and luggage that they were students on a trip after a week at one of Sheffield's universities. One of them had an MP3 player and kept regularly handing one of the earphones over to her friend to share in the track she was listening to. Their faces came close together so each one could reach one of their ears with the little speaker. It was a touching show of friendship and bonding. Further along there was a young Asian lad, perhaps in his late teens. He wore clothes that one would associate with the stereotypical 'hoodie': expensive looking trainers, tracksuit bottoms and hooded top, the hood of which was currently down so that his dark shoulder length hair which could probably have done with a bit of a wash was visible. Between the Asian lad and myself was a woman who looked like she was in her late 20s. She was sat on top of a suitcase which she had propped up against the wall. She wore a hippy style big billowing brown skirt and a multi coloured woollen jumper. Friendship bracelets adorned her wrists. Her blonde hair was fashioned into dreadlocks. I was surprised to note that someone so young had reached into her handbag as soon as she settled and fetched out some knitting which she proceeded to click click with, her rhythm providing an interesting sub-beat to the sound of the train wheels bumping along the track.

The interesting part of my tale begins with the young Asian fellow, who five minutes after we left the station, proceeded to light up a cigarette, apparently oblivious to the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall behind him and the general societal trend towards dislike for the pastime. I looked at my other fellow passengers, all of whom showed signs of displeasure on their faces, but apparently not quite enough to actually say anything. So that task fell to me.

"Do you mind, mate?" I asked the young lad.

"Ay?" He replied with a not unexpected level of eloquence.

"Can you put that out please? It's no smoking on the train," I continued.

"Oh, is it? Sorry feller. I thought it was all right in the corridor," he innocently explained.

"OK, well it isn't all right," I said and indicated the no smoking sign behind him with my eyes. He turned to look.

"Oh, sorry," he said and then stubbed out his cigarette on the smooth grey wall, leaving a little black mark where he had done so. Not to waste any, he put what he had left back into the silver packet and slipped it back into his tracksuit pocket. The journey resumed as before, with each of the passengers described above returning to their activity of choice after the minor disturbance.

Half an our passed with little to report apart from the ticket check and the occasional visit to the toilet cubicle by a passenger who was lucky enough to have boarded before Sheffield and therefore be in obsession of seat. Then suddenly the relative peace was shattered by the unmistakable laughter of drunk blokes. I could not see them at first but was nevertheless pretty sure a couple of minutes before they hoved into view that there were some drunk blokes about to grace us with their rowdy presence. Although I do not drink any more, I have done my fair share in my youth and the happy exuberance that I could hear made me chuckle inside. They staggered through the sliding door at the end of the corridor and stumbled towards the toilet, deftly managing not to tread on anyone's toes, a feat which defied the apparent lack of coordination in the rest of their bodies. They appeared to be in their forties. Each was wearing jeans and a Celtic football shirt. The shorter of the two was balding and had shaved his hair close in a gesture of acceptance. His taller pal had dark hair brushed back in a style that might have looked a bit like Elvis, had he had used a bit more gel and refrained from running his fingers through it.

"All right folks?" said the shaven short arse. "This is George. He's 40 today and life has well and truly begun, hey Georgie?" This raised a few nervous smiles from my fellow passengers.

"That's right, Dave," answered George with a relaxed slur. "And when we get to Leeds, it's going to begin some more!" said George, clearly thinking he had told a quite superb joke and seemingly oblivious to the fact that something can't begin more than once.

"Are you going in first or am I?" said Dave.

"We could go together," suggested George.

"Hey, steady on, pal! Jim warned me to watch out for you when you've had a few. You wait here and I'll be out in a tick. You can keep the crowd amused."

Dave went into the toilet and the big sliding door slowly shut. George leaned back against the wall and began to fish in his jeans pocket. He pulled out first a lighter and then a packet of Marlborough, which he began to open.

"Here we go again," I thought. Before George had the time to light his cigarette, I once again took the responsibility nobody else seemed to want.

"Hey, George," I said. "You'll have to wait 'til we get to Wakefield if you want that mate. The train normally stops their for five minutes and you can go out onto the platform. It's only another 15 minutes or so. Not in here please mate. It's no smoking." Once again I gestured with my eyes towards the sign which was on the wall behind him.

"What? Ah, bollocks! I'm gasping. How long did you say?"

"We'll be there in about 15 minutes," I answered him, double checking with my watch as I did so.

"OK, cheers, pal. You off to Leeds are you? Going out tonight? Maybe you can tag along with us. Here, have one of these," he said fishing into a carrier bag that he carried in his left hand. He pulled out a can of Stella and held it out in my direction.

"No thanks mate, some other time maybe," I said, not wanting to get into a lengthy debate at this point.

"Ah, the missus not letting you out tonight, hey?" asked George in a knowing tone.

"Something like that mate, yeh," I decided to go along with it. With that, Dave emerged from the toilet cubicle. He had used water from the sink to slick back his hair so that his Elvis look was much improved.

"He hasn't been showing us up has he?" said Dave to no one in particular as he nodded towards George. George used his hands to push himself away from the wall and then staggered into the toilet and the door slid shut once more. Dave continued with a bit of banter for a couple of minutes before George emerged and they both wandered off further down the train in the direction of the shop.

"Cheers, mate," said George to me as he left.

"Aye, cheers George," I replied. "Have a good night, fellers."

About fifteen minutes later, the train arrived into Wakefield station as predicted. An announcement came over the intercom system saying that it would be waiting on the platform for five minutes as it had arrived early. I wondered if George had remembered to take his chance somewhere further down the train. A few seconds before the alarm sounded to indicate the doors would be closing, onto the train stepped a quite extraordinary sight.

A giant of a man had to duck and turn slightly sideways as he came though the door. He looked like someone who Mike Tyson might hire as a bodyguard. He looked to be at least 7 feet tall, with shoulders that would have made Atlas envious. He wore a long black overcoat which was undone at the top to reveal a Mister T style penchant for gold chains. Gold teeth could also be seen when his lips parted slightly. He had tight afro and a black tattoo of an unrecognisable symbol on his left cheek. He came and stood against the wall directly opposite where I was sitting on the floor. I pulled in my feet to make room. There he stood, towering above me menacingly.

Then it happened. From inside his coat, he pulled out a gold cigarette case and lighter. He coolly flicked open the case and flipped a cigarette, catching it in his lips and lighting it one smooth piece of choreography.

"Oh, fuck!" I thought inside my head. But I really had no choice. If I did not stick to my guns on this one then I would not be able to look myself in the mirror.

"Excuse me mate," I said, drawing on my reserves of courage to prevent my voice from wavering. "It's no smoking on the train."

"Who says?" asked the man.

"I says, and the sign over there says," I answered him.

"And who are you?" he asked further. His voice conveyed a withering disdain.

Time seemed to slow down at that moment. I slowly drew another long breath and got onto my feet. Although I am quite a big man myself, I was still looking up at quite an angle as I looked him straight in the eye and held my gaze, unwavering. I was trying hard to show no sign of fear in my body language.

"I am someone who doesn't want to breathe in your cigarette smoke," I answered. We continued to stare. It was truly primeval. I held fast and did not flinch. To my overwhelming relief, after what felt like minutes in my mind, I noticed his shoulders relax and I knew that it was over. He smiled, showing just how many gold teeth he had and then went into the toilet cubicle and threw his lit cigarette into the toilet where it went out with a sizzle. He said nothing more. He just returned, still smiling. I remained standing, knowing we would soon be at Leeds station where I was to alight.

As I walked through the station towards the exit, I felt a tap on my back and turned to see the suited Esquire magazine chap who had been on the train standing there.

"I just wanted to say something, mate," he said to me. I raised my eyebrows invitingly. "That, mate, was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. I wanted to say something to the first feller, but you beat me to it. I'm kind of glad you did!"

"Ha ha! Yeh. It did get a bit hairy at the end there. But once I had started ...."

"Seriously, mate. I just had to say something to you. You were magnificent. I wish I had half your bottle." He held out his hand to shake mine and I obliged with a smile before we both went our separate ways. I hadn't really thought about it too much up until that point. It just happened. But I paused and thought and in that moment I knew I had become a different man. Before I did not know I had that kind of courage. Before I did not know that I had the power to be magnificent.



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MOO!

You can hear the following song sung by Walter the Sofa Elf by clicking here.



I have a jolly bovine chum,
Her name is Happy Cow
And it's to her I often come
If I have had a row.

When I'm feeling in a rage
Or I am feeling blue,
I come and see the bovine sage
She knows just what to do.

Happy Cow says, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
It cheers me up so much.
Happy Cow says, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
She has the happy touch.

One day I wasn't quite myself,
Not quite sound as a pound,
Concerned about my mental health,
My bovine pal came round.

She sat me down on the settee
And gave me apple pie,
Then stood herself in front of me
And looked me in the eye

And Happy Cow said, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
Just for a little while.
Happy Cow said, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
I soon began to smile.

So if you're ever out of sorts,
One thing I recommend:
Gather your unhappy thoughts
And go and see my friend.

She has the time for everyone.
She will not hesitate.
Soon your troubles will be gone
And you'll be feeling great.

As Happy Cow says, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
Your cares will drift away
When Happy Cow says, "Moo, moo, moo, moo."
You'll face a bright new day!





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LEPRECHAUN

It was the evening of St Patrick's Day. All the way from the Emerald Isle had come Seamus the Leprechaun, who Walter informed me was some kind of distant cousin. With him he brought gold aplenty from the pot at the end of the rainbow, a glint in his eye and taste for some night life.

"Come on Walter ya feckin' eedjit! You caan't go aan loike dis!" said Seamus to his little relative. "Ya haven't washed for days. You haven't changed your clothes. To be frank, you smell. This place is such a mess. Peanuts, pen lids, two pence pieces, unidentifiable fluff and flicked bogies everywhere."

"Yeh, yeh," sighed Walter. "I'll clear it up tomorrow."

"Aaaaah, Jeeeesus, will y'ever snap out of it, now? It's Paddy's noight. Remember? That's what oi came over here for. We should be plaaaastered boi now and foighting arf a couple of young nymphs so we can concentrate on the very impaartant matter of drinkin' even more heavily."

"Yeh, OK Seamus," said Walter. "I'm just a bit tired that's all."

"A bit toired you say? You've done nothing but sit in dat chair and whinge loik an owld woman with arthritis since oi got here. For feck's sake man. What is the matter with ya?"

"Just a woman that's all," Walter finally confessed.

"A WOMAN!! Jeeesus. Hello? Is dat you in dere, Walter? A woman? Since when were you ever affected boy a woman?"

"F**k off, Seamus. She's different."

"Different is she? How's dat den? She have t'ree breasts or something?"

Walter sat up in his chair for the first time in a long time, apathy giving way to anger. Seamus sensed he was getting a reaction and pressed on with his questioning.

"Not t'ree breasts? What was it den, me little pal, was she really a feller?"

With that Walter leapt from his chair and grabbing Seamus by the throat, he shoved him backwards, eyes wide and blazing with anger. Seamus raised his eyebrows and his hands in a gesture of appeasement and then spoke with what voice he could muster with his throat held.

"Dat's it, Walter, you get angry now. Dat's it pal. Take a shot if ya want to. Come on Walter. Come back to us."

Walter listened to Seamus' words as if he was standing at the other side of the room. His rage had temporarily removed him from 'himself' and it felt like he was watching the scene as a spectator. Slowly, as the words sank in, Walter felt himself shifitng back into his body. He could see Seamus' face in front of him and he slowly released his grip, then fell to his knees and began to sob.

"I f**king love her, mate, that's all," he managed to get out between big sobs. "I f**king LOVE her."

Seamus put his hand on the back of Walter's shoulders and gave them a rub.

"Oi know ya do, Walt, Oi know you do. Gary told me all about it. But ya need to get it out, pal. Ya can't go bottlin' it up loike dat. Here, take a swig o' dis," Seamus handed Walter a thimble full of Guinness. "Come on, pal. We need to get you out on the town. We need the old Walter back. What time is Gary coming over?"

No sooner did Seamus speak, when in walked Gary with three rather beautiful flower fairies accompanying him.

"Girls, meet Seamus all the way over from Ireland," Gary introduced them. "Seamus, this is Rosie, Tulip and Violet, some old 'friends' of Walter."

Seamus took each of the pretty fairies in turn by the hand and kissed their wrists with a charming flourish which made them giggle and smile knowingly at one another. The girls then turned their attention to Walter, who was a very sorry sight compared to when any of them had seen him before.

"Walter's been a bit off-colour ladies," Seamus quickly said, "But you're feeling a bit better now, aren't you pal? Go get yourself washed, Walt, and Gary and I will keep these t'ree warm for ya." The three fairies giggled again at Seamus' brash forwardness.

As Walter wandered off to scrub up for the night out, Seamus used his blarney to keep the others entertained.

"Gary, did oi ever tell ya 'bout the god dey used to worship in Ireland in the old days?"

"I'm sorry, the what? The god, did you say? But I thought you said that ...."

"Now now, Gary, never moind 'bout what oi said. Oi'll tell you a tale about the old days, when loife was much simpler. Dis is one me mammy used to tell me when oi was knee high to a grasshopper."

"You're knee high to a grasshopper now, Seamus."

"Aaaah, yes, dis was a baby grasshopper. Anyways. In dem days, the ancestors used to worship a god called Lugh. A moighty warrior, he carried a spear and sling and had a magical hound as his companion."

Seamus' lyrical Irish brogue and flamboyant enthusiasm for the tale immediately had the four listeners gripped.



"Now the old folks used to pray to Lugh in toimes of trouble, when food was scarce or illness struck. Dey drew on his strength to get t'rough dese difficult toimes. Instead of building a place of worship as we do now, dey would use caves and raise a shroine to Lugh inside dem. They called these Lugh holes."

Gary looked at the three fairies momentarily, their gazes seemed transfixed on Seamus' face, waiting for him to carry on the story.

"But slowly these caves came to be neglected and the people started to forget about Lugh. Toimes were good and dey had no need for prayin'. The shrines became dusty and cobwebbed, the pictures painted on the walls faded.

"Then one terrible year the harvest failed and a harsh winter came. Food was scarce and the pain of hunger gnawed at the bellies of even the richest family. People's thoughts began to turn to their god once again. But it had been so long. They could hardly remember the customs.

"They prayed in their home, pleading to Lugh for help. But it was no use. Women watched as their children got sick through lack of nourishment. Then one day from out of nowhere there arrived an old man. Wizened and grey, he nevertheless walked upright through the streets calling to all that could to follow him. A crowd gathered behind him and it grew as he walked on, leading them out into the countryside until they came to a cave.

" 'You need to clean the shroines,' said the man. 'Lugh cannot hear your prayers. He needs his Lugh Holes cleaning out.' "

With that, Gary spat out a bit of the Guinness that he was drinking and the three fairies looked at each other in turn, before laughing out loud at the sudden realisation that Seamus really was spinning a yarn. Then Walter strolled back in with a swagger that Gary had not seen in weeks.

"Fellers," he said. "I'm back! Tulip, give us a kiss." He grabbed her gently by the arm and pulled her towards him, kissing her with apparent passion and then holding her by the waist to keep her close. The other two fairies looked momentarily disappointed, then turned their attentions back to Seamus. Gary sighed an all too familiar sigh.

Some time later, the magnificent six arrived at the Three Toadstool Hostelry which was had been carved out of a huge treestump many years before. The place was run by the legendary Dave the Magic Barman, a fellow renowned for his legendary lock ins and ever bendable ear.

"WALTERRRRRRRRRRR!!!" Dave boomed as the group stumbled through the door. "Long time no see, mate! How've you been? Here, let me fix you a special while you introduce me to your chums. Gary I know, watcha Gary, you finally got him out then did you?"

"It was Seamus did that as it happened Dave," answered Gary. "This is Seamus, Walter's cousin from over the water. Seamus, meet Dave the Magic Barman:
Whenever you are feeling down, forlorn or a little blue,
Come see Magic Dave, he will tell you what to do.
He serves the greatest beer in town. There's darts and pool as well.
The duke box still costs 20 pence and plays Bat Out Of Hell.
When it comes to closing time, Dave rings his little bell.
Everyone ignores it and Dave says 'ah, what the hell?' "

Gary had made the rhyme up himself and this was the first time anyone had heard it. Every one looked at him in astonishment, used to him being the quiet one.

"Did you write that Gary?" said Walter.

"Yeh," had nothing better to do lately what with you not coming out.

"That's pretty good, mate," Walter congratulated him. "Has it got a tune?"

"Nah, not yet," admitted Gary.

"That was really good, Gary," said Rosie, suddenly turning her body from Seamus so that she faced Gary.

"Ah, nah it's just a laugh, really, nothing special," Gary blushed a little and was unable to look her in the eye.

"No really, Gary. I really liked it," continued Rosie. "Maybe you could write one for me some time?"

"A ha, um, yeh, really?" said Gary and at last he managed to look up from his shoes to catch her smiling beautifully at him. Gary smiled a shy smile back and felt a shiver of pleasure go up his back.

"Go and sit yourselves round a table, folks, I'll bring your drinks over," said Dave. Walter went and stood in front of the duke box while the other five sat themselves around a big oak table. Rosie sat close to Gary, her thigh touching against his under the table and making his pulse race. She nudged him a little and gave him another smile as the drinks came over. Then Walter joined them as Fields of Athenry rang from the duke box speakers in honour of Seamus and St Patrick.



The night went from strength to strength with the little group playing some drinking games specially designed by Seamus to make sure that the girls got slightly drunker than the boys. They sung along to more Irish classics. The Town I Loved So Well, Dirty Old Town, Danny Boy and The Irish Rover to name but a few. Gary was astonished to find that Rosie had returned from a trip to the toilet and sat herself down on his lap. He struggled not to get aroused but if anything, she seemed to be encouraging it! He had never had such a night and then his bliss was shattered when in walked Jason the Motorbike Elf and a group of his mates. Standing by Jason's side was Tallina Breeze.

Walter did not see her straight away as he was facing away from the door. But he noticed Gary's face drop and he stopped fondling Tulip for a moment and turned to see who was there.

His gaze fell instantly on Tallina and she stared back. Both were equally shocked and the moment lasted for what seemed like minutes to them. It was as if someone had turned down the volume on the music and the rest of the room went out of focus. For those few moments as Walter stared, he could only see Tallina. He could hear her breath, though the duke box played loud. He could feel her though they were yards apart.

Then the spell was broken as Jason grabbed Tallina roughly by the arm and pulled her towards the bar. Tulip put her arm round Walter's shoulder and tried to pull him back towards her. Walter shrugged her off and stood up.

"Easy there mate," said Gary as he stood up to block Walter's path to where Jason and Tallina had gone. Dave the Magic Barman sensed trouble and told the member of Jason's entourage that had gone to order the drinks that they were closing. Despite his protest that it wasn't even eleven yet, Dave was insistent. The message was passed onto Jason who gave Dave a dirty look before pulling Tallina towards the door and beckoning his mates to follow."

"Come on, Babe," he said to Tallina, once again grabbing her arm roughly. "There's plenty of drink left back at my place. Would have drank more of it last night but you insisted on having your wicked way with me so early." As he said these words, Jason gave Walter a withering look and opened the door. Walter looked at Tallina but this time she would not return his gaze. She looked slightly sad, as if ashamed and then they were gone, leaving a great evening shattered.

Walter was numb and couldn't speak. He sat open mouthed, staring into his drink. Dave switched off the duke box and came from behind the bar to sit in front of him. He brought a bottle of whiskey and four tumblers with him and then poured one out for each of the elves and himself. It was a long time before Walter spoke again.

"Why?" he eventually managed. "What does she see in him? Why him? She said she was breaking up with me because she was frightened of losing me and couldn't handle it. He's the biggest f**king shagabout in town! Different woman for every night of the week. He's just using her."

"To be fair, Walt, that is what you used to be like as well," Gary reminded him.

"I was never as bad as him! And anyway, Tallina was different. She changed me. I never wanted anyone else once I met her. I f**king love her. Really f**king love her." A tear began to roll down Walter's cheek. "You aren't going to tell me that Jason the F**king Motorbike Elf loves her the way I do. No f**king way. Why? Why? Dave?"

"I've seen this many times, Walter, mate. You really aren't going to like the answer very much if I tell you."

"It can't get much worse, Dave. Tell me. Tell me."

"It's pretty simple, Walter. She finds him more exciting. Maybe she found you exciting as well to begin with, but then as you just admitted yourself, you changed. Am I not somewhere near the mark here ladies?" Dave looked over at the three fairies who had respectfully kept quiet since the incident. They each gave remarkably non-committal answers.

"What can I do, Dave?" Walter asked. "I want her back, Dave. He's not good enough for her. He'll hurt her. I have to protect her from that, don't I? She's my little girl."

"I'm sorry, Walt, but in my experience you just have to sit it out. Let her find out for herself. For the record, I think you are probably right, that Jason is no good. But you have to let her learn by her own mistakes. Maybe when that happens she'll realise what she has given up."

"There must be something I can do," said Walter again, his voice trailing off as he reached the end of the sentence.

"Come on, feller," Seamus interjected. "Let's walk these lovely ladies home and get you back to the flat." So they left the pub after thanking Dave for his magical barkeeping and one by one took the fairies home. The mood was very subdued. Before Rosie went inside her house, she pressed a piece of paper into Gary's hand. For a few minutes he didn't dare open it but when he did his heart leapt to read the words 'call me' with a phone number. He felt a twinge of guilt that he felt so happy when his best mate was at such a low point.

The three tumbled into my flat and headed for the sofa, from where I heard Walter's little voice say, "Seamus, what was that you said about if I ever want to come over to Ireland?"

Next Story - Unconditional >>

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KAREN ARMSTRONG - CHARTER FOR COMPASSION

Those of you who know me well or have spent a few minutes looking at my links will realise that I am an atheist. I have been so for as long as I can remember. Since the age of about 4, the idea of there being a personal god has seemed so absurd to me that I cannot even consider it for more than a few seconds. That is not to say I wouldn't quite like to believe there is a god. I live a pretty clean, honest and good life and I think that Old Beardy would look down on me pretty favourably if he existed. However, the idea is as ridiculous to me as if someone told me there are invisible fairies dancing on my keyboard causing the frequent typing errors.

I do, however, live with a sofa elf. He is real.

I recently posted to my Facebook profile a video from the TED Talks website, featuring a speech by author Karen Armstrong following an award she received at TED.

You can see the video here.



I consider the message that Karen puts across to be a crucial one for our time and although Karen's talk is largely in the context of religion, I think the message about compassion is an extremely important one for every single member of our species to grasp, whether they feel a need for religion in their life or not.

My single overriding motivation is my daughters. I want them to grow up in a world where love is in the ascendancy. This is by no means certain in a volatile world in which resources are running out. We face a stark choice: between cooperation with all our fellow humans to find new ways to sustain the species or bitter violent struggle over the dwindling resources we use now. There cannot be the cooperation without an understanding that we are all one. People need to stop thinking about stupid petty and arbitrary divisions such as nationality or religious disagreements otherwise there will quickly be no nationalities or religions because everyone will be dead.

Every one of us has to stand up and be counted. Stand up and say 'I choose love.' Then to do something. Whatever feels natural. To foster love and friendship with other members of our species. To show small minded people that there is another way, a better way. The only way in which we can all survive.The divisions must be removed or there will be nothing left to argue over as we either completely destroy ourselves or plunge back into another Dark Age.

Other prominent authors such as Dawkins, Hitchens and Harris have suggested that doing away with religion altogether is the way forward for the Human Race if we want to survive on this planet.

However, even if I often find their arguments compelling, I don't think that is going to happen any time soon.

The essence of Karen's talk is a message that can appeal to the religious and non-religious alike. That we should stop having stupid petty squabbles about who is right and who is wrong (fun as they can be ;-) ) and find the common message that lies at the centre of all the major religions as well as non-religious moral codes.

That is compassion for all our fellow humans and The Golden Rule.

She argues that it is when religious followers move away from this common central tenet and start focusing on their differences that human ego inevitably takes them down the road to conflict, war and death.

My personal message is this: that we should always look for the things that are common between us. The things that make us 'human and humane'. Compassion for others' suffering, the love of our children and other close ones, a love of laughter, music, art, sport and dancing like an idiot.

It is fun to debate issues, to argue one's point of view. I do it a lot and often annoy the fictitious underground kingdom out of my friends when I do so, as some of them will probably confirm. But I try very hard not to get personal about it. It is usually just an intellectual sport for me and a very stimulating one. I maintain very good friendships with some people with strongly opposing viewpoints on a number of topics.

I maintain them because the common things that we share are so much more powerful and important to me and because their differences are what makes this life interesting.

For the sake of my daughters' and all our children's future, I hope we can all learn to celebrate our differences and cherish our common humanity before it is too late.



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JUSTICE PART 2

In my previous musing on Justice, I told of the problems I have had maintaining a regular relationship with my beautiful daughters. Tonight I have just watched a video sent to me by Gail, which moved me to tears within seconds.

You can see the video here.



In summary, Steve Moseley's daugher, Savanah-Jade, has been taken to live in Australia by her mother and her new husband. It was against the Steve and his family's wishes. The mother and her new partner promised under oath that she would let Savanah keep regular contact with her real father Steve and left a phone number and PO Box address with him.

The mobile number is now disconnected and there has been no reply to the many letters sent to the PO Box address.

Steve now has no idea where Savanah is and neither he nor any of his family has had any contact with her since September 2007.

I have not seen my daughters in just under two weeks because their mother is once again being deliberately obstructive. It is hard for me to explain just how much it hurts to be without them for that length of time. For just two weeks. If it carries on for much longer, I normally start being physically sick every day.

So you can probably imagine why the story told in the video fills me with a burning sense of injustice. I consider what the mother has done to be child abuse. I consider her decision to go to Australia in the first place to be child abuse, even if she had not broken contact.

Why do I think this? Because she has removed a fundamental human right from her own daughter. The right to be able to see her real father and paternal extended family when she chooses to. The mother has no right to remove this choice. It seems clear from the photographs in the video that Savanah loves her father and other relatives. But even if he is not the perfect father, she should still have the choice. After all, who is perfect? Putting a barrier of 9,000 miles between Savanah and that choice is very wrong in my view.

Completely cutting contact as they have done fills me with passionate anger and a strong desire to help this girl get her rights back.

If you don't have children, just think about this. When I don't see my daughters for three weeks or more, it is so painful that I start to throw up every single day. Steve has not seen his daughter since September 2007. He doesn't know if he ever will again. He is fighting hard to get a message to her, to make sure she does not grow up thinking that her daddy did not love her.

I cannot imagine how difficult that must be for him. I salute his courage and strength in fighting this injustice.

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INTERVIEW WITH A FURNITURE ELF

The following is a transcript of an interview which was aired on Squeaky FM, a commercial radio station very popular with elves, pixies, educated goblins and many other size of your little finger imaginary woodland characters. Oh, and mice and Joe Pasquale.

FROM SIDEBOARD TO SIDEKICK - THE RISE AND RISE OF A FURNITURE ELF

(Interview by Swifty Leafglider, our tiny Music Correspondent)

SWIFTY: For this week's Meet The Miniature Musician interview, our studio is graced with the presence of one of my own personal heroes. Gary the Sideboard Elf, the more enigmatic half of the Christmas sensations Walter and Gary.

SWIFTY: Good morning Gary, and may I take this opportunity to say what a personal pleasure it is to get this opportunity to meet you.

GARY: Cheers Swifty. Good to meet you too. I always like to listen to your little bit every week.

SWIFTY: No way! I'd have thought a rock star like yourself would be far too busy fighting off the nymphs!

GARY: Ah, that's more Walter's department. Or at least it was. He really hasn't been himself lately.

SWIFTY: Really? Well, I must first explain for the benefit of the listeners that I was originally expecting both of you for this interview, but Walter couldn't make it. Would you care to shed a little light on that?

GARY: Ah, yes Swifty. Believe it or not, it seems that the old dog is suffering from what can only be described as a broken heart! I've tried everything. Inviting him over to my sideboard where the bottles of spirits are plentiful. Taking him out to The Naughty Nymph Nightspot to watch a bit of fantasy fairy frolicking. Going through his incredibly little black book and calling up a few old flames to come over and join in the fun. You name it, I've tried it.

SWIFTY: Have you tried sitting him inside a steel pyramid frame while incense burns and you wave various crystals about near his head and genital organs?

GARY: Well, all right, no. I haven't tried that. We did get very drunk on the whisky a couple of times, but not that drunk.

SWIFTY: OK Gary, well I'm sure all the listeners will join me in saying that we hope Walter comes through this OK. I'm pleased that you could still make it. Shall we crack on with the interview?

GARY: Thanks Swifty. Sure, fire away!

SWIFTY: OK, why don't you tell us a little bit about your background?

GARY: Right you are Swifty. Well, there's a large wall painted earthy red with some framed photos of various Squeaky DJs on it. Also some kind of planning chart which appears to have nothing on it. Over to the left, there's the door out into the reception area, in front of which stands your runner Odd Job Jimbo with a smirk on his face.

SWIFTY: Ha ha! Thanks, Gary. That wasn't quite what I meant! You and Walter have quite distinct accents for example. Where do they come from?

GARY: From our mouths, Swifty.

SWIFTY: Hmmm. I can see you are going to be hard work today Gary! Let's move on and talk about your great Christmas hit, Little Donkey. What was the inspiration for your work? Does the Christmas story mean a lot to you?



GARY: Not really, Swifty. I know we are imaginary fairytale characters ourselves, but you have to draw the line somewhere! No, I was round at Walter's one day and the Big Feller asked us to do it for his daughters. It's one of their favourites apparently. 'Why not?' We thought. There was nobody as surprised as us at how successful it was.

SWIFTY: It did go down quite a storm, didn't it? At one point reaching Number 4 in the Little Donkey Charts, a position now occupied by Ricky Gervais and his team. And your version is still there at number 8!

GARY: Yeh, we were as gobsmacked as anyone to be honest. Walter loved it of course. The fame, the attention. That isn't really my thing. I prefer to keep quiet about it. I think some of the union members were a bit fed up with Walter wallowing in it too. He's a great leader. Really charismatic. But it has gone against our Socialist principles somewhat. A couple of the older members have been murmuring 'sell-out'.

SWIFTY: Sounds pretty familiar in this day and age, hey Gary? I gather you and Walter first met at Dave Rogerson's, is that right?

GARY: Yeh! Good research Jimbo! What a place that was! Walter was living in a bean bag at the time and I was shacked up in a bedside chest of drawers. We had some great times, especially when the pantomime horses used to come round. Love that crowd and Rogerson himself was a legend. A major piss-head for sure, but the good kind, you know? The kind you can really forgive if he pukes on your bean bag and doesn't bother washing the cover properly for weeks. We've all come a long way since then, but those days of adversity were what made us who we are today.

SWIFTY: You have certainly moved on to bigger and better pieces of furniture. And a music career to boot! Any plans for another single in the near future?

GARY: Well, not right now Swifty. Not with Walter going through his romantic turmoil. Pete has managed to get him to do a couple of Happy Birthday numbers, which in itself was a minor miracle, but he seems to have lost creativity in all aspects of his life at the moment. Maybe if Tallina is listening she might realise just how much she really means to him.

SWIFTY: Let's hope so Gary. I for one would love to have the opportunity to play your next single. And by the look of the e-mails that are coming in as we speak, I think the listeners would too. I'm afraid our time is nearly up. We have to go over to Lester Serious for the Squeaky News. Gary The Sideboard Elf, thank you very much for being our guest today.

GARY: No problem Swifty, it has been a pleasure. Thanks for inviting me. I'll give Walter your regards.

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HOPPING

I was out hopping at lunchtime the other week, when this bloke hopped up alongside me.

"Race you to the Town Hall," he said.

Not one to turn down a challenge, I said "O.K. But you'll have to switch to your left leg. I only do left leg hopping."

The chap agreed that would be fair and off we hopped, slaloming around pedestrians and street furniture as and when necessary. It was a close-hopped thing, but I just managed to pull ahead at the last and took the imaginary tape with a flourish. We both sat down on a bench outside the Town Hall and caught our breath.

"Well hopped, mate," he congratulated me.

"Aw, cheers," I said. "I've been putting a lot of work into my sprint finish lately".

We chatted for a little longer and you'll never guess what. Turns out the bloke is a wereflea. This might explain his penchant for hopping. Every full moon he is powerless to stop himself taking on flea form and rampaging about the neighbourhood causing untold itchiness.

The worst part of it is, he never knows exactly when he is is going to resume human form and on a couple of occasions has suddenly found himself sitting naked on top of someone's head or sharing the overstretched underpants of a very shocked victim.

Amazing what you uncover when you scratch the surface.



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