About an Island and a dream job

The other day I was thinking deeply about my dreams. I do that sometimes - think deeply. Letting my imagination run away with me (coz no one else will) I found myself a room with a view, overlooking beautiful turquoise water with a cool breeze coming through the window and white fabric blowing gently in the wind. I think a friend’s invitation to go to a photo exhibition on Lamu at the National Museums of Kenya spurred on the imaginings. In addition, I had wanted to go to Zanzibar for Sauti za Busara this year but the coffers were empty. So there I was thinking of exotic locations rather than how am going to fill the coffers. Needles to say am still here.

Talking of dreams and water I find myself very impressed by this Kenyan who is chasing the best job in the world. Although once you call it a job I think it stops being attractive. The word “job” cheapens everything. Especially when used to describe looking after an Island, the Island being the Great Barrier Reef. And more so if your responsibilities are telling the world - through blogging friends! - what is happening on the Island. I won't mention the six figures that come with this.

Anyway Kiran, the only person from Africa to have been shortlisted for the “job”, is part of a global search for the most suited person for (that word again) by the State of Queensland in Australia.

He is among 50 candidates shortlisted from over 34,000 applications. One would think there would be at least 1 million applications, the world having a population of five Billion and all. This is after all the best ____ in the world. Just goes to show eh, mate.

The person who gets the (darn it) job will be selected from interviewing a group of 11 applicants including one with the most wild card votes. You vote on the website every 24 hours. The website is currently hosting self-made YouTube videos of the shortlisted candidates so you get to see who they are.

I also give this campaign top mark for creativity. And the website is ultra cool.

Hello, Happy....

I am back, glad to be alive. Decided to catch up with you all. Even if you don’t want me to and am forcing this stuff down your throat like an unwelcome spoonful of Cod Liver Oil!

The temptation to write about the pirate who washed up dead with loads of cash was so overwhelming but I managed to push it down (like Cod Liver Oil). Pirate drowning, too tempting.

But I did listen to Nick and Marcus play a parody (what did not happen) of the dying man’s last moments with his friend. Out of this world. The dying man last wishes included asking the Government of Kenya to “pay cash” and “not wire transfer” the ransom for MV Faina. As if. The Kenya Government is broke. And in any case I heard the foreign ministry say something about the consignment not belonging to Kenya until it actually arrived. So its Ukraine then. I am quite sure those pirates regret the day they set eyes on MV Faina (which might or might not be carrying arms meant for Kenya). But what were they thinking? Much more lucrative to target Saudi boats.

This piracy is serious business though and I don’t mean to make light of it. The thing is if I lived in Somalia I would probably take up piracy too. What’s left to do; the country fell apart and the World watched. We are reaping what we sowed. Kenya is in a bad position as a peacemaker who is supplying arms. Like the Times said, “Kenya may ultimately have to take responsibility for the tanks and keep them”. As if we need more (Soviet) arms in Africa.

….New Year.

Deck the halls

I have long suspected that I am an alien. For one thing, my mother claims that she felt no labor pains during my birth. She was knitting a sweater at the reception of a district hospital when out I popped, much to the surprise of the concerned doctor who had been worried about her lack of pain. Okay, maybe that story was not about me, it might be about another member of my family or my mother’s extended family or a friend of a friend of a friend. Surely, the fact that my mother can tell such stories proves that am not human.

I feel out of place mostly at Christmas. I try to get into the spirit. This year my sister and I tried something with initials rather than a full name, with Novida tropical as a mixer. It made me very sleepy during the five-hour drive home the next day and the rough road diversion after Salama seemed very short!

I digress. I was saying that I try to love Christmas carols and spreading of good cheer. I smile at people needlessly. I answer holiday greetings as best as I can. Alas, how can one be cheerful when you are at Nakumatt at 11pm and after spending a considerable amount of time shopping for other people, you get into a line to pay and their machines refuse to take your card? And this while everyone from top management to the shelf stacker is smiling at you and wishing you lots of merriment?

By the way, the bright light during nighttime shopping does make you feel like you are in the twilight zone. Also, I must say, it gets weirder when you bump into a middle aged mama wearing some sort of sleeping cap looking at sofas, with accompanying husband looking worried. If I could read minds, which I can since am an alien, I would say the guy is thinking, “one hundred thousand shillings, they have got to be kidding, in that fabric?”

You spend all the cash you have left, only to discover the ATMs do not work. This pretty much means that unless you ask for rescue by Mpesa from your pals, you will be dry when its time for offering during Christmas service tomorrow. You will be eyeballing your nephew’s shillings as if they were goat ribs by then. As if the poor kid does not need them for face painting.

Man, this is all so alien. Is it Christmas on your planet?

Its the 30 here. Way after the above events took place. Or have they? Wait, I can bend time so…

There are days I feel in need of some grass

Am still recovering from the free holiday our daddy gave us after Obama became president. It threw my entire timetable because instead of the work and studying I was meant to do, I watched an entire season of Grey’s Anatomy and fell in love with Isaiah all over again. This means that I am still dreaming of being his wife even as we speak. I mean Burke’s wife. After all, I don’t know Isaiah well.

I don’t think I will ever, nor want to, recover from Obama becoming president. I fear, however, that I will not recover from the not-at-all-like Obama caliber of mine politicians and the daily news they make over here. I stopped watching news a long time ago because frankly you can’t throw up for long without requiring a new throat. All that bile. But in the past few months I have had a house guest who watches news religiously: 7pm (which thankfully I miss) on KTN and 9pm on NTV (which I reluctantly get drawn into). So I was there when the taxation for MPs fat allowances came up – AGAIN. And when the same rhetoric was spewed. What this country needs is a stronger trade union movement (Please don’t mention Mr. Bling bling Atwoli to me) and a less head’n the sand civil society.

To stay grounded as opposed to floating away on a cloud of MY Kenyan dream, as I often want to, I listen to Radio. I listen to Marcus and Nick on Classic to be exact. Those guys are so bad they are good. I was spending my TAXED salary on fuel at a petrol station that has prevailed over all attempts at going below Kshs 94/litre when I heard them talk about this guy in Meru who killed a co-worker over grass. At first I thought, “this is so tragic, I can’t laugh at this”. Until Marcus and Nick started to do this Meru accent dialogue about how the incident could have happened. I chuckled at that, it was super funny. Then Marcus/Nick go (not verbatim):

“what do you think God told the dead guy when he got to heaven”

“Am sure he told him, ati what, how did you say you died? hebu kwanza you, go stand in the corner”

I laughed out loud. See those of you who think these guys were fighting over “weed” are wrong. They were slashing grass. For cows. For their employer. When one killed the other. Over the grass. Can anything be more stupid or more tragic?

I have never done weed, but I imagine it will help me just drift away, if I ever get the impulse to fight over grass or to run for MP.

Okay so maybe no grass. How about something to lift the spirits instead and to remember Mama Africa by? Lets just pata pata.

Do it, come on and do it, touch, touch, pata pata. Yi yo mama yiyo mama, Yiyo, pata pata....

Have a good week all.

Change can happen, Yes it can!

YES IT CAN!

Yes to MDG number 7, but no to monocultures

In 2000, leaders of 191 countries signed the Millennium Declaration agreeing to end poverty by achieving the Millennium Development Goals by 2015. MDG number 7 was on the environment - the leaders committed to ensuring environmental sustainability. I would like to dedicate today's post to the advocacy groups around the world that are protesting against tree monocultures, which when they replace natural forests are impoverishing people.

Monocultures are large-scale tree plantations planted for pulp and wood. In many countries they are promoted as "planted forests" and are taking the place of native and indigenous forests. This destroys critical biodiversity, harms the environment and people who depend on native forests for their livelihoods. Opposition to plantations has been a direct result of the impacts of plantations in many countries. According to the World Rainforest Movement, tree plantations are one of the main causes of forest destruction in the tropics, eliminating the enormous carbon reservoirs that mature forests are. In the 1980s, 75% of the new tree plantations in Southern countries in the tropics were made by replacing closed natural forest that had existed there ten years earlier.

In 1992, governments agreed in Rio that the Earth's biological diversity was facing major threats. They agreed about the need for a Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) and approved it. But during that same time, large scale monoculture tree plantations were being widely promoted and were resulting in biodiversity loss and threatening to cover increasing areas in the biodiverse-rich tropical regions.

It is difficult to campaign against plantations. Planting trees is often seen as a positive thing. But I believe it should not be at the expense of native forests, watersheds, wetlands or grasslands.

Information courtesy of World Rainforest Movement

Blog action day


Today is Blog action day, a day when bloggers around the world are asked to post on an issue that affects the world. This year's blog action day is on poverty.

When you do nothing

During a stopover in Kapsabet town on a field trip, I saw a boy who needed help. He was among a group of street children talking animatedly and sharing something in their hands. He was standing a little to the side and sniffing glue. The reason I noticed him was because he was the only one sniffing glue and because his friends had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. He was deaf.

I had some time to observe him. The other children have found a way to communicate with him. It’s a form of sign language. As I sat there, in the 4x4 car we were driving, waiting for the driver to buy anti acids for his upset stomach, I tried to imagine the life of a street child who was deaf. I concluded that it must be more hellish than I could ever imagine.

When the driver got back into the car, we drove away. I looked at the boy from the side mirror. Another boy was signing to him. He was smiling. I am still thinking about him even now. Is it possible to rescue him?

When God said let there be plants, could He not leave out stinging nettle?

Answering a call of nature in a bush is a delicate affair. It is even more so, I discovered, if you are in the depths of Kenya’s moist highland forests. Here the colonial administrators cast an appreciative glance at rolling hills and deep valleys, and with a glint in their eye, situated forest stations and outposts at the top of small mountains or in secluded glades. The total effect of this is that you might not have access to a toilet when you most need it.

So it was that I had need of a bush while I was in one forest recently. Forests have very weird microclimates such that you can be freezing while driving through them, but the moment you start a brisk walk you start sweating like a pig. Or get rained on. Then you feel rather thirsty and drink your entire water ration for the day and a few minutes later, due to the drip drip of the rain, your brain suggests to your bladder that it should send out an urgent call for relief. That was I in this sort of situation.

Being in the company of other people, I whispered to one of my colleagues that I needed to visit “Uncle George” as we used to say in school.

“Me too. I will take you into that thicket,” he whispered back.

Now being a good girl, I objected to the idea of being taken into a thicket by any man who is not my kin. I mean, what would my pastor think? Luckily, I was taking photos for the trip and I had cameras with me. I grabbed the biggest and with a nod asked him to lead the way while walking in a manner to suggest that we do not like each other at all.

Like I said this is a delicate matter. You do not crouch in the bush without looking closely at the fauna and flora. Safari ants can end up in very sensitive areas!

A few steps into the thicket and my colleague goes, “Liz, you can’t do this here”. All around us we were surrounded by shoulder length stinging nettle. I had never seen it grow this tall.

My colleague suggested that I walk further on and he would keep watch. By this time, I have to tell you, my bladder was screaming. But ahead of me there was just more stinging nettle. So I stood there and held my bladder as I listened to my colleague whistle as he went on with business.

Funny enough I was able to carry on, even managing to sip a milky cup of tea while listening to the resident forester espouse the goodness of stinging nettle as a tea.

Kenya online

Kenya is awash with ways to access the internet easily. Safaricom has its bambanet and Butterfly its wireless. We no longer have to rely on office internet. When we go to cafes we are charged a shilling a minute! Restaurants and other entertainment places have began to think that having internet is a good way to attract customers. You can now use the wireless over your cup of coffee; all that’s needed is that you buy the coffee.

It’s really difficult to imagine that a couple of years ago we were on dial up connections. We had to share the phone line to make calls and access the internet. It was completely unrealistic for anyone to expect a response to an email on the same day. Now we are chatting and skyping like we have been doing this forever.

I keep wondering what we used to do without the internet.

One thing I do know is that we used to talk to each other more. The internet has changed things. It’s not unheard of for people to visit the facebook page of a friend who is seating right next to them to see what they are up to!

Thankfully there are places you can go where you can abandon laptop, phone and internet. I think these places should charge for giving people their lives back!

3 cheers for adult learning

I have gone back to school.

I took the decision to slog through another degree based on the following:

1. My first degree was a smooth ride, characterized by last minute studios and doing all nighter’s finishing up illustrations. I am under the illusion that this will not be any different.

2. I currently seem to be having the time. Or I am under the illusion that I have the time.

3. Education is good for everyone but most important for the African girl child (and African woman too).

Someone reading 3 above might be tempted to think I was brainwashed as a child to believe deeply in education. Someone might be right.

See my father was a respected educationalist. He was known throughout our small district and beyond. Our family name instantly gave one away. So everywhere we went, we were asked whether we are the children of that man who loved education, and, also loved to give it. I tell you, that instantly closes all avenues to any public mischief and any thoughts of slacking off.

It was tough to be average in my home. My high school used to send report cards to parents by post while we were on holiday. We had no idea what they contained. I would watch as my father grunted through reports. Then he would look up and say, “Your class teacher thinks you can do better”. And then he would leave things at that. Psychological torture - the world armies have nothing on my dad. “You can do better” came to be the one thing I hated about school.

Fortunately, there is none of that when you are grown up. You might, from time to time, tell yourself that you can do better. But you know you really don’t mean it. And if you do mean it, you know you can ignore your own advice. Yes, am all for adult learning.

Kenenisa can be beaten

If there was a mantra that Kenyans were chanting on Saturday, it was that Kenenisa Bekele of Ethiopia can be beaten in the 5000m track event during the Olympics. You see, like his forerunner Haile GebreSelassie, Kenenisa has become a real nightmare for Kenyans.

Unfortunately the mantra didn’t work and the Ethiopian took the Olympic gold for 5000m. After watching him do this, I had to wholeheartedly agree with the KBC TV commentators who aptly summed this race by saying, “we are lucky to be living in the age of Kenenisa”. Americans might have their Phelps, but Africa has its own heroes.

Talking of victories, records and heroes, Kenya bagged a total of 14 medals. This was the most successful Olympics ever for Kenya. To top it all, two young women brought home the first ever gold medals won by Kenyan women since Kenya started participating in the Olympics. Proving that there is a first for everything.

Photo: Pamela Jelimo, courtesy of E A Standard online

In the 800m where our own Wilfred Bungei finally took the gold, another first was made. After 50 years of the Olympics, Sudan’s Ismail Ahmed Ismail came second to take silver. And it was a close race. Another Kenyan was third.

Can Kenenisa be beaten? We live in hope.

Where is your victory, death?

Someone wisely said to me yesterday that everyday we are writing our eulogies.

It had me thinking about what mine is saying.

During the past few weeks three people I know have passed on. Two were very ill, one died in an accident.

While speaking about the life of one of them, I was impressed by how she had touched people’s lives through her cheerful personality. People had beautiful things to say about her. Near the end, her illness took a heavy toll on her. But she never lost her good cheer. Doctors would constantly be surprised by her as she sat up and said a happy hello. When people went to see her, she would end up encouraging them, asking those who broke down not to cry. People spoke about the small but meaningful things she did. She was a great example of a life well lived.

A Bible verse often quoted at funeral services says, “Death where is your sting, death where is your victory?” It speaks to me in this way; death is not the point, life is.

Live yours well.

Superstitious minds

“Why was that man giving you a hard time about your age?” the sea captain asked me.

“Happens all the time” said I.

“Excuse me, is it okay if we exchange seats?” a young Kenyan student asks the sea captain.

The sea captain doesn’t mind.

We are in a plane seating in a row; myself at the window seat, the sea captain next to me and the Kenyan student two seats away, the aisle between them.

Earlier on we had all met at the check in counter for the airline we are using. The “hard time” the sea captain is referring to was the man at the counter refusing to believe my age; I appear younger than the number stated on my passport. He takes rather long with me, flirting with me. I am patient with him. The sea captain, standing in line at the next row, takes it all in. The Kenyan student smiles at me and waves from the third row; we don’t know each other yet but he is just happy to see a black face.

Back in the plane the sea captain says to our Kenyan student, “I am a sea captain. You should never exchange seats in a plane or in any vessel that’s a ‘she’ – its bad luck”. The student and I look at each other and smile at him, thinking he is joking . “Everything will be fine” says the student.

A few minutes later he is proven wrong.

Ground security has come to ask a man to disembark. There is a heated exchange as the man refuses to leave. Airline people come to talk to him; they smile and plead with him. The conversation is not in English but I have the advantage of translations from both the sea captain and the student. I gather that the man is not a security threat but someone traveling in his party is pregnant and the airline doesn’t want to take responsibility for any emergencies. The man refuses to leave because of the inconvenience it will cause. He demands a guarantee that he and his party – all who are very silent during the exchange – will be accommodated, transported home the next day and given medical attention. He wants this guarantee in writing from someone high up in the airline. This is not possible; the offices are back at the airport building and we are on the runway.

More people come to plead with him. The ground security threatens to de-board all of us and forcibly remove him. I am thinking that if this was in the movies we would have been surrounded by gun totting security personnel by now and probably be on CNN.

Finally he agrees to leave. He gets up with his party - of nine - and leaves the plane.

The sea captain gives us a knowing look. The student laughs. "Anymore trouble, throw me off” he offers.

A woman moves to occupy the empty seats. I shiver and give the captain an uneasy smile.

East, west, home

I had a very nice post lined up about my travels, but I couldn’t get into blogger while I was on transit in Doha….. and the next day when I got to Turkey, and the day after, and the one after. Language differences you see.

Nice place by the way Doha. And it’s amazing the number of Kenyans working here. From the airport to the hotel room there were “hellos” and “how is Nairobi’ and "I miss home".

Reminds of me of a tall story I heard awhile back from this Briton. He claims he was in a jungle somewhere where they used to head hunt and a black man approached him. And he turned out to be, you guessed it, Kenyan.

Head hunting? What am I talking about? Ignore me. I am jet lagged.

Charlie, more on my travels later on. There's a story about a sea captain and why you shouldn't exchange seats on a plane waiting to be told.

The pros of staying put

I have always known that it’s hard for an African to go anywhere without having to fulfill a long list of requirements.

In the past I have quietly provided everything short of blood - and DNA - to get a visa.

I am not sure I want to struggle with the requirements for a trip I am about to make.

I have a few days within which to get a visa for the country of travel.

Some days it truly stinks to come from a third world country…..

The upside of this is that the country I will be visiting, albeit for just a few days, is said to be very beautiful. So hopefully, once I get through the rigors of immigration I shall begin to enjoy it.

Wish me luck with the visa......

Gaining perspective

My clothes are hanging; quite badly actually. I have been walking a lot the past two months. I have also had a really crappy past month or so. These things are beginning to show. Whereas I love the health benefits of walking and keeping fit, I know that stress takes a toll on me. I end up not eating, sleeping well and just feeling and looking really tired.

I think I look really bad. But apparently the opposite is true.

This week two people have told me I really look good. I had actually gone to one to cry on her shoulder, basically trying to get me some sympathy. I wanted to ask her whether she sees how bad I look. But then she started with her, "eh mama, what is your secret" and I was deflated.

I wonder whether it’s a question of perspective. I look in the mirror and see a very tired, skeletal woman with eyes that are screaming “give me a break”. But it’s not what everyone is seeing; they probably just see a very normal person.

It made me think about whether the stress of the past month has been warranted. Are there occasions where I was seeing more than is there? Was I creating the crisis I felt was there?

I wonder. Perspective. I have a lot of respect for it.

Support Generation Kenya

I haven't got a lot of time today to tell you about this exciting project, so am going to lift text right off the website and provide a link. Its a good thing; please support it. Go to the website, read about it and make nominations.

What is Generation Kenya?
This year Kenya is celebrating 45 years of independence. One of the ways GenerationKenya thought to celebrate this is by initiating a countrywide project to search for and identify Kenyans from all walks of life, born since 1963, who have contributed significantly to creating a better Kenya. The categories of selection are varied – from sport to architecture to commerce to charity. We aim to cover as comprehensively as possible, through our selection of individuals, the sort of pursuits Kenyans are undertaking.

How does it work?
We are appealing to the public through forms and digital ballots to make nominations of individuals they feel merit attention. When public voting closes the nomination forms from all the 9 provinces (the 9th being Kenyans in Diaspora) will be gathered. Our carefully selected panel of jurors will then whittle these individuals down to the final 45. The finalists will be photographed, profiled and presented in a series of exhibitions that will run in major parts of the country for all and sundry to have an insight of great Kenyan accomplishments.

Inspired to act…. addendum to riding post

I was having coffee with two friends when the following conversation took place:

Me: So I have a plot for October. We should take part in a mountain bike race. Mt Kenya.

[Stares all around]

Friend 1: Liz, you don’t ride

Friend 2: ……

Me: We will be hurtling down a mountain. Such fun… Yeah, I know but I can learn. We can learn. [to friend 2] And you are practically a pro.

Friend 2: gasp

Me: We will descend from 10,000 metres to 4,000 metres. No climbing. Si that’s good? Through farms and villages. The beaten trail. We won’t be like cutting through unchartered waters. And we will be…

Friend 2: [finally speaks] No!

Me: But you ride.

Friend 2: Yes. On even ground. It’s really hard to go downhill. The speed and the possibility of flipping over….[shakes head]

Me: It will be on that holiday in October. [to friend 1] What’s that holiday on the tenth? It's a long weekend.

Friend 1: [stares back]

Me: [earnestly, to friend 2] I know I can’t ride, but am willing to learn. I hear it is like riding a bicycle – you pick it right up (have used this line somewhere on this blog. A prize to anyone who finds it)

Friend 2: No that’s the other thing

Me: Yes

Friend 1: [maintains stare, I avoid eye contact]

Me: Besides it’s for a good cause. The organizers use it for forest rehabilitation and other good stuff. What a cool thing for us to do to reduce our carbon footprint, don’t you think?

Friend 2: You don’t have a bike. None of us does

Me: That’s the beauty of it. I talked to someone and I think there are some you can hire and places where we can practice. Come on. We only need to raise 7k minimum. And we can do better than that? Who wouldn’t sponsor a bunch of bumb…. Eh, And we won’t be doing it to win. Just for fun and to say we did it. We can even carry our bikes over rough areas.

Friend 1: Am not worried about winning, just loosing my life

Me: [now attacking friend 2] I thought you of all people…

Friend 2: [defensive now] There will be so many aches and pains…. Look, I will do it if you ride a horse in return

Me:….

Friend 2: Okay, do these guys have a website? I would like to check it out for myself; everything – the route, the risks…

Me: [indignant] 10to4.org. It’s called the 10to4 mountain bike race.

Friend 2: Clever.

Coffee is sipped all around.

I still don’t have a commitment from friends to do this. So, anyone?

Ibrahim Wafula: Learning to ride for freedom and opportunity

On iwafula.com, Ibrahim Wafula's website, are these profound words:

I believe that people lose faith during hard times. I hope that people can maintain faith not only during good times but also during bad times. Riding my bicycle has brought me problems at times and I could have decided to stop riding but faith kept me going. I believe that with everything, there is light and darkness.

I love those words. This may seem obvious, but life my friends requires a great deal of faith and sometimes its hard to find.

But who is Ibrahim Wafula?

I first saw his name while reading a press release from the Mt Kenya Trust, the organizers of the 10 to 4 cycling event, in 2003. Ibrahim had been placed 10^th in a race of able bodied persons - Ibrahim has one leg; he lost the other in a car accident. While being amazed at his feat at the time, I did nothing more than read his story.

Until this week when he was featured on TV and I decided to write about him. Small thing to some but I have a feeling a few people will be inspired.

What struck me the most during his interview was his liveliness and his utter belief in what he is doing. Ibrahim lost part of his right leg as a boy in Western Kenya. But fueled by the desire to do what other people do and not be restricted by his crutches, he taught himself to ride a bicycle. But he had to restore an old and rusted bicycle that his mother owned first. And then he began to ride. Apart from the bike making him free to travel and look for work, it also gave him the idea to participate in sport after witnessing his first bicycle race. It’s an idea he believed in and pursued. Since then, Ibrahim has had an impressive life and career which he speaks about on iwafula.com and which he uses to inspire other people.

Ibrahim can count at least one person who is inspired. Me.

The Vicar of Dibley.... current favorite

I like watching British comedy. One of my favorites right now is a comedy series called "the Vicar of Dibley". Its about a conservative English village that gets a boisterous female minister (babe with a bob cut and a magnificent bosom) to serve in their church. Here's a taster of the BBC's description of the Vicar: "Geraldine Granger is a woman - yes, woman - who enjoys nothing more than a good laugh and a packet of chocolate hob nobs". Laughing already? Yeah me too. Now add the rest of the description of the village characters like: "local Tory counsellor David Horton CBE, gentleman farmer and self-acknowledged pillar of the community" and you have a recipe for loads of laughter.

Lately I have enjoyed watching this comedy with my sister. I think the reason it appeals to us is that we were raised strictly Anglican (many Kenyans raised in similar backgrounds will relate). A female Vicar upsetting the way things are done in an Anglican church is already funny. But I especially like the little witticism in between - like when Geraldine has a service for animals and they sing "All things Bright and Beautiful". Or the way she sometimes carries on a conversation with the "Big Boss". And instead of being controversial, you actually end up liking Geraldine - thanks largely to the actress who plays her (Dawn French).

What I like most is that Geraldine is portrayed as committed to her calling as a Vicar, albeit while choosing very unconventional ways to be one. This reminds me that the people who raised us Anglican meant well, and while I sometimes make fun of my upbringing, it is largely responsible for the person I am today. And I think I turned out alright ;-)