What to Wear When Jogging

Ha!  What to wear when jogging!  For some of you that's a bit like wondering what to wear when turning a pumpkin into a coach-and-four.  It's never going to happen, is it?  Well, never mind, you just sit back on your sofa and eat lard pasties while I continue with this post.

My first hint is that you wear running shoes.  Indeed, it is possible to go running in nothing but trainers, as has been ably demonstrated year on year here in Lichfield during the Buff Run.  The Buff Run used to be engaged in annually by our Choral Scholars, but currently we don't have any.  I believe some of our lay clerks have taken part in the challenge as well, round the cathedral Close in the noddy.  It is generally scheduled in the wee small hours to minimise the chance of running into the dean's wife, and to maximise the opportunity for Dutch courage.  I look forward to learning whether there's a similar tradition in Liverpool cathedral, when I myself shall be the dean's wife, poised to be shocked at the sight of naked young men.  In fact, I shall station myself at my front window with binoculars in order to be shocked properly.

Where was I?

Oh yes.  What to wear while jogging.  The second most important thing is a good sports bra.  In fact, if you have a large chest, it's a good idea to wear two sports bras one on top of the other just to tether everything, especially if you are a woman.  One of the worst problems I've hit with this not buying any new clothes malarky is in the sports bra department.  After a couple of thousand washes the elastic toughens up and is about as flexible as a steel tape measure.  My dears, the chafing!  I've started tucking a sock in the centre front under the band where it rubs raw.  How I suffer for this blog.

For outer wear I have an array of sports gear dating back some dozen years.  Most of it is black.  Much of it has magical wicking properties.  Moisture is simply wicked away! We believe that, don't we?  I also run in special running gloves with special metallic finger and thumb pads which would enable me to use an iPod if I owned one, or was stupid enough to listen to music while out running instead of being constantly on the alert for assassins lurking in the flowering currants like the highly trained martial artist I am.  Yes, I have indeed used my judo skills while out running.  I tripped over a bump in the road and executed an impressive martial arts rolling breakfall outside the cathedral school once.

My final piece of advice is that you don't wear tight lycra compression gear unless you are spectacularly fit (in both senses of the word) or have a good friend who is willing to cut you out of your shorts when you get back home from your run.

DAY 50--Clothes Parcels (ii)

Woo hoo!  I have received my first clothes parcel!  Well, perhaps one garment doesn't quite count as a parcel, but I'm delighted with it.  I was tipped off in advance by my oldest friend (we met when we were 6) that she'd be visiting and bringing a clothes parcel.  Socks, I thought.  She's read my blog and she's bought me a pack of sports socks.  How kind.  

But no!  Here's what she gave me:

That is one LOUD coat.  Roses that size are normally seen on carpets.  But then, I'm a fairly loud sort of personality.  Never knowingly understated.  It's by Ann Louise Roswald, and I think it's made of raw silk, but I can't see a care label anywhere.  Bound to be dry clean only.  On this rare occasion I shall take that seriously, as it looks hand dyed.  It's also a perfect fit, and that might well be jeopardised by flinging it in the washing machine.  

When am I going to wear it?  As it turns out, evensong this afternoon might have been a good contender.  Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester were in the cathedral for our celebration of the Queen's Accession.  A good deal of fine millinery and Ascottery was on display; as well as the usual parade of uniforms, frills, ruffles and bling that get dusted off for civic occasions.  Fortunately I was in a skirt and little tweed jacket not jeans.  But the fab new coat would have been even better.  Never mind, I shall save it.  One of my concerns at the beginning of this year was the unexpected posh do requiring an entire new outfit which I'd be unable to buy.  Now I have something in reserve.  Hoorah for clothes parcels and old friends! 

Here's the designer's website: http://www.annlouiseroswald.com/index.html

30th Lichfield Festival

Honestly, it's the Lichfield Festival, and the Close is a complete pigsty.  There are 30 of these fibreglass pigs around the city, each hand decorated by local groups and charities.  Behind this fellow (in his fetching Peter Rabbit style jacket) you can see the half-timbered Festival office, the nerve centre of the entire operation, where Festival director Fiona Stuart sits tearing her hair out.

Fabulous line-up of events again this year.  So far the chancellor and I have been to hear the Creole Choir of Cuba, making the cathedral resound with their staggering harmonies and rhythms.  The following evening it was Zic Zazou in the Lichfield Garrick theatre, playing their Heath Robinson collection of industrial-based instruments.  There's not much they can't get a tune out of, these Frenchmen.  Possibly the most moving rendition of La Vie en Rose squeezed out of a deflating balloon that I have ever heard.

Last night I was invited by Peter and Laura Tanter, who had sponsored this concert, to hear the Endellion String Quartet, with Wendy Cope.  They were performing in the cathedral's Lady Chapel, currently plain glazed, while its famous Herkenrode glass is off being restored (please give generously, see cathedral website).  This venue has quite astounding acoustics, as those afflicted by the dreaded concert hall cough (e.g. me and my mate Pauline of Netherstowe House fame) will testify.  Why do you never get a cough like that in Sainsbury's?  I missed the first movement of Haydn's String Quartet "The Bird", as I battled valiantly, eyes rolling back in my head, tears streaming.  The next piece was Wendy Cope's and Roxana Panufnik's The Audience.  Which ends with a poem about... a concert hall cough.

Tonight I'm taking our younger son to a performance of Withering Looks at the Garrick.  He did Wuthering Heights  for AS level, and needs to detox.  I'm hoping that Maggie Fox's and Sue Ryding's spoof will do the trick.

You will notice that I'm not designating any of these things  as a New Thing.  This is because I've essentially done this kind of thing already--we've been in Lichfield nearly 5 years after all--and it would be cheating.  However, I can truthfully say I have never been to a late night concert in the cathedral.  So that's my plan for this week's new thing.  Trouble is, there's too much to choose from.

The Top Secret Thing

Lichfield cathedral chapter house

You have been patient, thank you. I can now tell you the top secret thing. In fact, it turns out I could have told you ages ago, but I was not kept up to speed on the cathedral’s press releases.

The top secret new thing I did was to visit the site of an archaeological dig taking place in the cathedral chapter house. That’s not particularly top secret, of course, unless something exciting is discovered. In this case, human remains.

‘Three ancient burials have been unearthed at Lichfield Cathedral. It follows an archaeological investigation in the Chapter House by Cathedral Archaeologist Kevin Blockley. For the last 750 years, two of the skeletons have lain just below the floor of the Chapter House, which was originally built in the 1240s. The dig was in preparation for the Staffordshire Hoard Temporary Exhibition which is due to take place later this summer.’ (For a more complete description visit the BBC Stoke and Staffordshire website.)

The sensitivity here was the whole issue of ‘human remains’ and how they are to be treated. As I looked into the sandy trench that had been dug in the chapter house floor I was struck by the thought that it was more like looking at a fossil than a human being. Curiously unshocking. Dismembered corpse discovered under cathedral floor, yes. Bones, not really. After all, you could probably stick a spade in the grass anywhere round the cathedral and hit human remains.

‘Oh, look, a skeleton.’ That was about the size of it. We had a skeleton hanging in the biology lab at school. At least, I’ve always assumed it was a real one, rather than a plastic reproduction. It’s difficult to make any kind of personal connection with a skeleton, although we've all gotone, and indeed rely on it. Maybe this is all part of the sheer impossibility of imagining ourselves dead. The brain suggests some vague image of these bones sleeping under the cathedral floor, and being disturbed by the archeologist’s trowel. Oi! put that slab back. Some of us are trying to get some kip down here.

If you work in a hospital or a funeral parlour, or if you are clergy, then death is a familiar process. Dead bodies as well as bare bones are a just a fact. Of life, I was about to put. Of death, then. That’s where we’re all heading. It’s just that in our culture recently we’ve shunted it out of the home and allowed ourselves the luxury of not quite looking squarely in it.

How old are the remains? We'd need to carbon date them to be sure. But here's an idea floated by the canon chancellor in the cathedral press release (which I was eventually shown): 'We are very excited about the prospect of exhibiting iconic items from the Staffordshire Hoard in the summer. It is an intriguing possibility that these beautiful pieces of gold and garnet Saxon jewellery will be displayed only feet above what we now know may have been a place of Saxon burial.'

Week 5 Joining a Choir

This is not the top secret new thing, (that’s still embargoed) this is just your regular new thing. Regular both in the irritating coffee shop sense of ‘standard’ and the proper sense of ‘taking place at regular intervals.’ There are several things that annoy me about coffee shops. 'Do you want any cakes or pastries with that?' Look, dumb dumb, if I wanted a muffin, I’d ask for one. After all, I mustered the courage to ask for an americano. Or do you suppose I simply hadn’t noticed the array of carbs I’ve just queued beside for 5 minutes? Gosh, cakes and pastries! Hadn’t occurred to me!

Anyway.

My new thing: joining a choir. Or more precisely, voluntarily joining a choir as an adult. I was in the choir at primary school mainly because we got to sing showy descants in assembly. We were hated by the growlers who’d been poked in the back and told to shut up. This was the 70s, of course. Poking children in the back is now frowned upon. It's gone the way of birching. Political correctness gone mad. I was also forced to sing in the Junior House Choir at grammar school for the House Music competition. We all were. Down by the Salley Gardens, miming the high notes. I can remember it word for word: ‘She [mime] me take [mime] easy, as the leaves grow in the-[mime] treeeeee.’

Banishing that memory, I made my way to the Cathedral School music room earlier tonight. On my way I met the school chaplain. ‘I assume you aren’t joining the Ladies who Lark,’ I said. ‘Not without surgery,’ he replied. There were around 30 of us, most of whom I know by sight from around the Close and in the congregation. I should also know them by name after 4 years, but I’m crap at names. I’m increasingly crap at faces these days, too. I am, however, extremely good at blagging. It’s part of the skill set of a clergy wife. Lovely larky ladies, all. Especially those, whatever they are called, who happen to be reading this post.

I unexpectedly found myself free to join this choir when my Monday judo session has closed. I went along interested to see what differences and similarities there are between singing and fighting. Here are my observations. Differences: 1. you sweat less in a choir than in a dojo, unless perhaps you are conducting. Our conductor and trainer is Cathy Lamb (one half of the Director of Music). She, of course, being a lady like the rest of us, merely glows. 2. I didn't have an opportunity to strangle anyone. Early days, mind you. 3. it costs less (a £1 donation as opposed to £5 for a judo session). Similarities. 1. warm-up exercises. 2. Familiar sense of personal incompetence. 3. Unlike Junior House Choir at Aylesbury High School for Gels in 1974, but like rolling around the floor with blokes in white pyjamas, IT WAS GREAT FUN!

Tonight we were rehearsing Psalms 150, and 23 which will be our contribution to the Psalmathon on Sat 5th Feb. We also did some work for a ‘Come and sing’ performance of HMS Pinafore on 5th March. ‘Gaily tripping, lightly skipping.’ What larks in the music room.

Walking into the Sunset

Sunset over Lichfield cathedral last Friday afternoon. The chancellor and I were taking a turn around Stowe Pool. This is not a new thing for 2011. We are forever walking round Stowe Pool. Or running round it. We run to keep fit really, (in my case, very slowly), but a nice by-product is that we intimidate people by a tactless impression of sportiness. I still find this strange. Although I've been doing judo and running for 10 years now, I still think of myself as a slob. Some kind of body dismorphia, I suppose. A bit like when you're heavily pregnant and you keep turning sideways to let people through doorways. Maybe in another 10 years I'll have got the hang of it.

There are rules concerning the New Things I'm doing in 2011, by the way. One rule is that I have to nominate the new activity in advance. I can't simply observe 'Gosh! I've never topped up the coolant in the car before--that's my new thing for the week!' Next week, I may be joining a singing group on a Monday night, as my judo session has been cancelled. You will be the first to know...

Welcome to my world

Welcome to the weird world of Anglicanism. In particular, welcome to Lichfield Cathedral Close.

I’ve probably picked the wrong moment to launch this blog. This is cathedral summertime. The choir is on holiday, the Lichfield Festival has just finished, everything has gone quiet. Apart from the cathedral clock, which still chimes every quarter, day and night. In our first week here I must have heard every last ding-dong, and was sure I’d never get used to it. But you do, of course. Now if I’m away from home I feel adrift when I wake in the night—where am I? what time is it?

So, the choral year has ended. It will begin again in September, roughly following the English academic year. The church year, however, operates on a different calendar—from Advent Sunday (at the end of November) to Last Sunday before Advent. How many calendars do I inhabit these days? The tax year, the calendar year, the choral year, the church year, the academic year. Calendar overload. Maybe this is why I sometimes feel adrift in the decades as well.

Lichfield is in Staffordshire. That’s ‘North’ to Londoners, ‘South’ to Geordies, and ‘bang in the middle of the country’ to anyone looking at a map. People tend not to have heard of Lichfield. It floats around, gets located in Leicestershire or Norwich. In former centuries Staffordshire was part of the old Kingdom of Mercia, and is currently best known as Land of the Staffordshire Hoard (or the Lichfield Loot as we prefer to call it round here). The Dean was all for having the entire cathedral floor up to see what we could find. We discovered an Anglo-Saxon stone angel under the nave a few years back, possibly part of St Chad’s tomb chest. The angel is displayed int he cathedral chapter house, alongside the Chad Gospel. This is an illuminated Anglo-Saxon manuscript, older than the Book of Kells. (How can people not have heard of Lichfield?)

This blog is my unofficial take on the Close. Here’s how it was today: I went out on my usual run this morning, more slowly that usual, after Saturday’s Lichfield Cathedral Dash (more on this in my next posting). Big lorries had drawn up on the paved area at the West front ready to cart off sound equipment and staging after the Festival. The wine tent was being dismantled. Putting up the wine tent is an ancient Lichfield rain-making ceremony. It ensures that the entire ten days of the Festival will be wash-out. Somebody seems to have cocked up this year, tangled some guy ropes, maybe—there were a couple of dry days.

As I rounded the fenced-off East end, dust from the masons’ site drifted like smoke. I could hear hammering and the whine of stone cutting machinery. Blocks of different sized pinkish sandstone lay in piles waiting to be crafted. The Lady Chapel, currently bristling with scaffolding, is shrink-wrapped in white plastic while essential renovation work goes on.

I headed off the Close along Reeve Lane towards Stowe Pool. New broods of ducklings bobbed among the lily pads, and baby coots screeched. On the far side of the pool stands St Chad's church, with St Chad's Well. St Chad himself used to walk this route. It was humid and bright and windy. Sunlight came blinding off the ripples. I plodded on, past Minster Pool (which used to be the Bishop’s fish pond in days of yore), then headed into Beacon Park, (undergoing renovation as well), and from there, back onto the Close via the road entrance. This is a three mile route. My husband, who has GPS on his iPhone, informs me that it's only 2.9 miles, actually. Normal people refer to this as 'a three mile run', however.

In medieval times the Close was heavily fortified. There would have been a gatehouse where cars now drive in and out. At the bottom of our garden lies the old dry moat, where Cromwell’s soldiers tried to break in when the cathedral was under siege in the Civil War. The cathedral with its three spires stands on an island of grass. A road loops round, like a running track, and buildings from different eras line the sides of the Close.

When I reached our house I sat on the wall in the hot sun, face a glamorous shade of tomato, feeling that life was good. Running defrags the mind. So does brisk walking. Worries are a cloud of gnats. If you keep moving they can't settle on you. There is also something important about sticking to the same route. I have run and walked those three miles alone and in company, in all weathers, in all frames of mind. This consoles me, somehow. I feel echoes of the same thing in the round of the church year, in going week after week to choral evensong. It accumulates associations and resonances. There is also that sense of being part of something bigger than yourself, of walking in pathways carved out by generations of feet, paths that will still be there when we are long gone.

For more about the Lichfield Cathedral, visit http://lichfield-cathedral.org/

To get a feel of the city of Lichfield, visit http://thelichfieldblog.co.uk/