Some three years ago I made a fortnight visit, as an aspirant, to the Institute of the Incarnate Word's European seminary, San Vitaliano, in Montefiascone, Italy (subsequently nicknamed by me as Mount Fiasco). It was all rather surreal.
The mark of a foolhardy traveller is that he makes assumptions. When I arranged my trip with the Novice master, I only thought it necessary to give him the date of my arrival. The trains would probably be frequent, and there would almost certainly be a line of taxis at Montefiascone station to take to the seminary. It was late afternoon when I boarded the train at Roma Termini, from an obscure platform hidden a ten walk from the main concourse, and the gray, mournful sky was darkening rapidly. All seemed well, until the train departed. There was no audible announcement of what station was next, no announcement at all. At first this was merely an inconvenience, I assumed that at night each station would have an easily-readable, illuminated sign, which would inform me of where I was. Alas, I could see no indication of our location at any of the dark, dreary, rural stations we passed through. I was starting to panic - how would I know which stop to get off at? Could I afford to spend a night in Viterbo, the terminus? How would I contact the seminary without internet access? For consolation I prayed five decades of the Rosary.
Our Lady provided, and as I went about the carriage seeking assistance, I came across one of the seminarians, who happened to be returning from some business in Rome, and who spoke English! We alighted at a tiny station, where the folly of my second assumption was laid bare. There were no taxis, practically no traffic at all. Montefiascone, as the name suggests, is build upon a very steep hill above Lake Bolsena, with the medieval old town at the summit. Being impractical to make a train go up such a slope, merely to descend it again to reach Viterbo, the station is at the foot of the hill, at the extremity of the place, almost isolated. The seminarians explained they normally either walked - some feat given that the road approaching the seminary must be at about a 50 degree angle - or hitch-hiked from the station. As it was a car was sent to pick us up.
The seminary is in the old town, it is an extremely long and narrow, eighteenth century building, which had previously served as a school, My first and lasting impression were of a set of low, worn steps, with a broken statue on one side, completely in darkness, save what light came from the windows of the refectory some distance away, leading to the front door; a stone, high-ceilinged corridor, dimly illuminated by a strip-light mounted on the wall; and a clean, bright, spartan room, containing four beds, two small tables, a hard, wooden chair, and a wardrobe, that was be mine for the stay. It was extremely cold, but I was grateful for having arrived safely (and without embarrassment!).
After a hour or so it was time for Vespers, and I was lead to the chapel, which was at the other end of the building. It was rather like snakes and ladders, we ascended one staircase, only to descend another, though the general trend was upwards. The chapel had white walls, and was covered from every angle by huge, halogen lights. After the dull, antique corridors, it seemed dazzlingly bright, discombobulating even. There was a special light focussed on a large, golden monstrance on the altar. To the left of the sanctuary, in the nave, stood a life size crucifix, with a tearful, praying Madonna in front of it, both modern, but tasteful. I later learnt that one of the seminarians had made them himself, and that he was then engaged in fashioning an iconostasis for the Byzantine chapel. The pews were very high, so that one was half sitting, half standing, the way one does on the stools of hipster coffee shops. This is a pleasant change for someone like me with very long legs. The kneelers were bare wood, as seems to be the custom in Italy. Padding is clearly a wanton decadence of Northern Europe. Much to my vexation the tabernacle was outwith the sanctuary, on what traditionalists would call the Epistle side. Overall, it was a very nice chapel, I'd take over most Scottish churches any day.
During my stay there passed the Feast of St Antony of Egypt (the Great), which is today. I read the admirable biography of him by St Athanasius whilst at San Vitaliano. Sadly, I've forgotten most of it apart from the exciting or silly bits. He was a hermit, greatly devoted to acts of penance, one of which was that he did not wash for three years. Satan took the form of wild beasts and tried to frighten and attack him. He used his gentleness and erudition to urge visitors to his hermitage against the evils of Arianism. The IVE Sisters (known as the SSVM) had a house near us, and good few of their number were Egyptians, so they were invited to share their patronal feast with us.
Rumour was had that we getting a priest to celebrate Mass according to some Coptic rite. All being ignorant of Oriental liturgies, we speculated as to what it would be like. The consensus was that it would be long. 'They'll take about forty minutes over every Amen, chanting a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-men', suggesting one, doing an impression of the sound one hears at the call to prayer at a mosque. Alas, we never found out. There was some last minute problem, and the Coptic priest could not attend. In lieu of his services a Roman rite, novus ordo, was celebrated in Arabic, complemented with Arabic hymns sang by the sisters. They provided us with hymn sheets with phonetic lyrics in Latin script, but only the sisters really bothered singing, which they did lustily. It was all rather surreal.
There then followed a most delightful meal, which more than made up for the liturgical disappointment. It was all Egyptian fare, savoury pastries and yoghurts, served with bitter tea the strength of diesel. I am very glad I got to experience it. That aspirancy was a useful time, both spiritually and practically, though I prefer to keep the former private and share the enjoyment of the absurdities with you.
Tuesday 17 January 2017
Sunday 15 January 2017
A quick thank you
I'm quite excited to see that people from the US, the Phillipines, and Poland have viewed this blog. Welcome, and thanks for your interest!
Books: Memories by Teffi
I finished this book last week, but I've only just got round to writing this post. Teffi was a renowned Russian satirist, and perhaps Russia's most prominent female writer. She was admired by both the Tsar and Lenin (at least for a time). Her sympathies were Leftist, and she wrote for the Bolshevik's newspaper for a time, before Lenin sacked all those who were not Party members. Her view of Bolshevism rapidly deteriorated, and she was reported to have said, 'Who will save socialism from this garbage?'
Memories is her account of her flight from Russia, a move promoted by the arrest of an actress for publicly reciting some of Teffi's work. She travelled to Kiev, then to Odessa, then to Novorossiisk, before eventually settling in Paris. The style of the book is largely satirical, pointing out the absurdities of refugee life. In this respect it is reminiscent of Dead Souls by Gogol, in which the reader is taken on a journey and presented with numerous satirical snapshots, as it were, of characters from all walks of life. This gives everything a somewhat surreal aspect, and at points makes one doubt the veracity of the autobiography; why does Gooskin seem so much like the Bard from Mayakovsky's Bedbug? Can he really have talked his way out of all these jams and scrapes?
The lightness of tone has a very disconcerting effect, since almost everyone Teffi meets or mentions in the book either ends up dead, or betraying someone or something. For example, she notes that a man who swore he would avenge his brother's murder by slaughtering seven Bolsheviks was later to be found working contentedly as a Party functionary. The lightness of tone, the cosy familiarity of the register, and the little puns and word plays, are excellently rendered in the translation. I should also say that the explanatory end notes are wonderful.
The disconcerting effect I expect is deliberate. However, occasionally light touch is dropped in favour on genuine, grim, exactitude. At the border town where they are stranded for a few days, Teffi describes hearing the sound of an unknown man being taken out a night and shot by the Bolsheviks behind the house where she was staying. The next day she saw local dogs devouring the corpse. At the end of her account, Teffi climbs the hill on the outskirts of Novorossiisk, where there stood a gallows on which her friend, the anarchist Ksenya Goldberg, had been executed by the White army. Teffi stands and tries to imagine her friend's last moments. These parts I find more emotionally powerful than the rather affected satire of the rest of the book.
That isn't to say that the satire isn't effective. There are some very funny lines, and the sense of farce amid the frightening circumstances is also good, almost existentialist. As I have said it sometimes seems a little contrived, and unnecessarily slows the narrative at some points. Like all Russian books, it has some very quotable and profound lines. My personal favourite being, 'A jokes ceases to be funny when you're living inside it. Then it becomes tragic.'
And that line, I think, is the essence of the book.
Memories is her account of her flight from Russia, a move promoted by the arrest of an actress for publicly reciting some of Teffi's work. She travelled to Kiev, then to Odessa, then to Novorossiisk, before eventually settling in Paris. The style of the book is largely satirical, pointing out the absurdities of refugee life. In this respect it is reminiscent of Dead Souls by Gogol, in which the reader is taken on a journey and presented with numerous satirical snapshots, as it were, of characters from all walks of life. This gives everything a somewhat surreal aspect, and at points makes one doubt the veracity of the autobiography; why does Gooskin seem so much like the Bard from Mayakovsky's Bedbug? Can he really have talked his way out of all these jams and scrapes?
The lightness of tone has a very disconcerting effect, since almost everyone Teffi meets or mentions in the book either ends up dead, or betraying someone or something. For example, she notes that a man who swore he would avenge his brother's murder by slaughtering seven Bolsheviks was later to be found working contentedly as a Party functionary. The lightness of tone, the cosy familiarity of the register, and the little puns and word plays, are excellently rendered in the translation. I should also say that the explanatory end notes are wonderful.
The disconcerting effect I expect is deliberate. However, occasionally light touch is dropped in favour on genuine, grim, exactitude. At the border town where they are stranded for a few days, Teffi describes hearing the sound of an unknown man being taken out a night and shot by the Bolsheviks behind the house where she was staying. The next day she saw local dogs devouring the corpse. At the end of her account, Teffi climbs the hill on the outskirts of Novorossiisk, where there stood a gallows on which her friend, the anarchist Ksenya Goldberg, had been executed by the White army. Teffi stands and tries to imagine her friend's last moments. These parts I find more emotionally powerful than the rather affected satire of the rest of the book.
That isn't to say that the satire isn't effective. There are some very funny lines, and the sense of farce amid the frightening circumstances is also good, almost existentialist. As I have said it sometimes seems a little contrived, and unnecessarily slows the narrative at some points. Like all Russian books, it has some very quotable and profound lines. My personal favourite being, 'A jokes ceases to be funny when you're living inside it. Then it becomes tragic.'
And that line, I think, is the essence of the book.
Monday 9 January 2017
The Trial of Thomas Aikenhead
On Christmas Eve, on Facebook, I posted about the trial of Thomas Aikenhead for blasphemy. It is often cited as an example of religious intolerance, which, apparently, demonstrated the need for the Enlightenment. The investigation into Aikenhead was triggered by his uttering, outside the Tron Church in Edinburgh, on a chilly winter's morning, that he should rather be in Hell because at least it would be warmer there. It is often assumed that this was what Aikenhead was executed for, and that this was the whole story. Were that so, one could understand the criticism alluded above.
The case, however, was more complex.
For weeks leading up to his arrest, Aikenhead had rather developed a penchant for making loud, scandalous comments outside churches, designed to provoke his neighbours. He was goading the local ecclesiastical authorities, and his Hell comment proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back. He was arrested, and a criminal investigation investigation begun. During thi, new, more serious evidence against Aikenhead emerged, so that in the end, his original comments were not even mentioned on the indictment, which ran as follows:
"That ... the prisoner had repeatedly maintained, in conversation, that theology was a rhapsody of ill-invented nonsense, patched up partly of the moral doctrines of philosophers, and partly of poetical fictions and extravagant chimeras: That he ridiculed the holy scriptures, calling the Old Testament Ezra's fables, in profane allusion to Esop's Fables; That he railed on Christ, saying, he had learned magick in Egypt, which enabled him to perform those pranks which were called miracles: That he called the New Testament the history of the imposter Christ; That he said Moses was the better artist and the better politician; and he preferred Muhammad to Christ: That the Holy Scriptures were stuffed with such madness, nonsense, and contradictions, that he admired the stupidity of the world in being so long deluded by them: That he rejected the mystery of the Trinity as unworthy of refutation; and scoffed at the incarnation of Christ."
This information was largely supplied by a fellow student of Aikenhead, who would become the key prosecution witness, Mungo Craig. He was both the son of a clergyman, and himself in training for the ministry. His accusations, whilst perhaps motivated by antipathy, do seem credible. Library records do show that Aikenhead had borrowed the Qu'ran, despite being n not being relevant to his course of study. Aikenhead' defence was also extremely weak. He claimed that he had not expressed the beliefs on the indict ment himself, but had been asked by Craig to explain what Islam, and others, taught. This defence is an old, hackneyed one.
There was some dubiety over what sanction Aikenhead would face. According to the 1661 Blasphemy Act the punishment was death, and according to the more recent 1691 Bladphemy Act, passed after the Glorious Revolution, the punishment was imprisonment. Did the latter act supersede the former, or did it complement it, allowing the judge a greater flexibility in punishment? The first interpretation would have spared Aikenhead the scaffold, but the jurisprudence went against him. On December 24th 1696, Aikenhead was found guilty of blasphemy by the jury, and was sentenced to death by hanging.
Aikenhead attempted to argue that he was a minor, so exempt from the death penalty. It was a desperate and futile gambit, he was at least 20 years old, not 17. The date for his execution was set for January 8th 1697. He then requested a delay. The judges asked whether this was because he required time to make prepare an appeal against his conviction, or to ready his soul for death. It was the latter, to which the judges responded that a fortnight was sufficient time for that purpose. Some appeals for clemency were rejected by the Privy Council and the General Assembly of the Kirk, which felt an example had to be made.
As opposed to the modern norm, whereby the condemned man is executed at dawn, Aikenhead was to be hanged at sundown. This caused some difficulty, as the prisoner was to be marched from the Tolbooth gaol on the Royal Mile to Leith, and the Sky was darkening quicker than expected. From the gallows Aikenhead confessed his guilt, and commended his soul to God. Accounts differ as to the sincerity of this declaration, some thought they saw contrition, and others only lip service. This was the time when gallows speeches were becoming very common, and much discussed in the public press - Aikenhead's more or less followed the standard formula. His body was buried under a mound of sand.
I am interested in why the Kirk felt the need to make an example of Aikenhead. Besides his personal and public rebellion, a reference is made by the Kirk to growing impiety in Scotland as a whole. The period of the 1690s is sometimes referred to as the 'proto-Enlightenment'. There was certainly growing interest in empiricism since Bacon, and in creating a more coherent legal system, and a few thinkers of not were beginning to emerge, such as Andrew Fletcher. Historians tend to still see this as fairly marginal, however. Perhaps the farà caused by Aikenhead's case should make us consider the importance of the 'Proto-Enlightenment' again. Or there may be a more prosaic explanation; Scotland was in the doldrums, there was extreme famine, leading to economic catastrophe, and a looming political crisis, too. Perhaps in this time of suffering people were felt to be turning away from God, rather than towards Him.
Any thoughts?
The case, however, was more complex.
For weeks leading up to his arrest, Aikenhead had rather developed a penchant for making loud, scandalous comments outside churches, designed to provoke his neighbours. He was goading the local ecclesiastical authorities, and his Hell comment proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back. He was arrested, and a criminal investigation investigation begun. During thi, new, more serious evidence against Aikenhead emerged, so that in the end, his original comments were not even mentioned on the indictment, which ran as follows:
"That ... the prisoner had repeatedly maintained, in conversation, that theology was a rhapsody of ill-invented nonsense, patched up partly of the moral doctrines of philosophers, and partly of poetical fictions and extravagant chimeras: That he ridiculed the holy scriptures, calling the Old Testament Ezra's fables, in profane allusion to Esop's Fables; That he railed on Christ, saying, he had learned magick in Egypt, which enabled him to perform those pranks which were called miracles: That he called the New Testament the history of the imposter Christ; That he said Moses was the better artist and the better politician; and he preferred Muhammad to Christ: That the Holy Scriptures were stuffed with such madness, nonsense, and contradictions, that he admired the stupidity of the world in being so long deluded by them: That he rejected the mystery of the Trinity as unworthy of refutation; and scoffed at the incarnation of Christ."
This information was largely supplied by a fellow student of Aikenhead, who would become the key prosecution witness, Mungo Craig. He was both the son of a clergyman, and himself in training for the ministry. His accusations, whilst perhaps motivated by antipathy, do seem credible. Library records do show that Aikenhead had borrowed the Qu'ran, despite being n not being relevant to his course of study. Aikenhead' defence was also extremely weak. He claimed that he had not expressed the beliefs on the indict ment himself, but had been asked by Craig to explain what Islam, and others, taught. This defence is an old, hackneyed one.
There was some dubiety over what sanction Aikenhead would face. According to the 1661 Blasphemy Act the punishment was death, and according to the more recent 1691 Bladphemy Act, passed after the Glorious Revolution, the punishment was imprisonment. Did the latter act supersede the former, or did it complement it, allowing the judge a greater flexibility in punishment? The first interpretation would have spared Aikenhead the scaffold, but the jurisprudence went against him. On December 24th 1696, Aikenhead was found guilty of blasphemy by the jury, and was sentenced to death by hanging.
Aikenhead attempted to argue that he was a minor, so exempt from the death penalty. It was a desperate and futile gambit, he was at least 20 years old, not 17. The date for his execution was set for January 8th 1697. He then requested a delay. The judges asked whether this was because he required time to make prepare an appeal against his conviction, or to ready his soul for death. It was the latter, to which the judges responded that a fortnight was sufficient time for that purpose. Some appeals for clemency were rejected by the Privy Council and the General Assembly of the Kirk, which felt an example had to be made.
As opposed to the modern norm, whereby the condemned man is executed at dawn, Aikenhead was to be hanged at sundown. This caused some difficulty, as the prisoner was to be marched from the Tolbooth gaol on the Royal Mile to Leith, and the Sky was darkening quicker than expected. From the gallows Aikenhead confessed his guilt, and commended his soul to God. Accounts differ as to the sincerity of this declaration, some thought they saw contrition, and others only lip service. This was the time when gallows speeches were becoming very common, and much discussed in the public press - Aikenhead's more or less followed the standard formula. His body was buried under a mound of sand.
I am interested in why the Kirk felt the need to make an example of Aikenhead. Besides his personal and public rebellion, a reference is made by the Kirk to growing impiety in Scotland as a whole. The period of the 1690s is sometimes referred to as the 'proto-Enlightenment'. There was certainly growing interest in empiricism since Bacon, and in creating a more coherent legal system, and a few thinkers of not were beginning to emerge, such as Andrew Fletcher. Historians tend to still see this as fairly marginal, however. Perhaps the farà caused by Aikenhead's case should make us consider the importance of the 'Proto-Enlightenment' again. Or there may be a more prosaic explanation; Scotland was in the doldrums, there was extreme famine, leading to economic catastrophe, and a looming political crisis, too. Perhaps in this time of suffering people were felt to be turning away from God, rather than towards Him.
Any thoughts?
Friday 6 January 2017
Thursday 5 January 2017
On Epiphany - From NLM
There is a most fascinating article on the Feast of a Epiphany over at New Liturgical Movement
I had never really understood the point of the feast, nor appreciated its erstwhile significance in the liturgical year.
"The Epiphany of Our Lord is the central feast of the Incarnation cycle, which runs from the First Sunday of Advent to Candlemas. Epiphany is not the end, but the apex of this cycle; it brings to full fruition the expectation of Advent’s “Veni, Domine.” Epiphany fulfills Christmas; Our Lord was born in the stillness of the night and manifested His birth only to a few; the Epiphany recounts Our Lord manifesting Himself, human and divine, to the whole world, from which point, His salvific mission begins.
Epiphany brings to fruition the gradual unfolding of the manifestation of Jesus Christ, the eternal Word of the Father, as God made man. The word Epiphany itself is a Greek word meaning “manifestation”; the Eastern Churches call the feast Theophany, meaning the manifestation or appearance of God. St. Paul writes to Titus (2, 11) in a passage often repeated during this season, “The grace of the saving God has appeared (‘epephane’ in Greek) to all men.” At His Nativity, the Word made flesh is manifested to the Holy Family, to shepherds, to lowly beasts of burden. At His Circumcision on the eighth day, the Word Incarnate is given the name Jesus in the temple, and He sheds His first drops of blood for our redemption. And now, He is fully revealed to the world in three ways which this feast of Epiphany celebrates simultaneously: His adoration by pagan wise men from the East; His baptism in the Jordan, at which His divinity and the Triune God are revealed, and the mission of St John the Baptist, which dominated the liturgy in Advent, is fulfilled; and His first miracle, the changing of water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana.
As such, Epiphany is one of the four principle feasts of the year, along with Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, traditionally preceded by a privileged and special vigil. (By vigil, we refer to an entire day of preparation before a major feast, not a Mass of the feast itself anticipated the evening before.) Considering the importance of the feast, it is a very strange and unfortunate phenomenon that its ancient vigil, along with its highly privileged octave, was suppressed in 1955, along with many other things."
I had never really understood the point of the feast, nor appreciated its erstwhile significance in the liturgical year.
"The Epiphany of Our Lord is the central feast of the Incarnation cycle, which runs from the First Sunday of Advent to Candlemas. Epiphany is not the end, but the apex of this cycle; it brings to full fruition the expectation of Advent’s “Veni, Domine.” Epiphany fulfills Christmas; Our Lord was born in the stillness of the night and manifested His birth only to a few; the Epiphany recounts Our Lord manifesting Himself, human and divine, to the whole world, from which point, His salvific mission begins.
Epiphany brings to fruition the gradual unfolding of the manifestation of Jesus Christ, the eternal Word of the Father, as God made man. The word Epiphany itself is a Greek word meaning “manifestation”; the Eastern Churches call the feast Theophany, meaning the manifestation or appearance of God. St. Paul writes to Titus (2, 11) in a passage often repeated during this season, “The grace of the saving God has appeared (‘epephane’ in Greek) to all men.” At His Nativity, the Word made flesh is manifested to the Holy Family, to shepherds, to lowly beasts of burden. At His Circumcision on the eighth day, the Word Incarnate is given the name Jesus in the temple, and He sheds His first drops of blood for our redemption. And now, He is fully revealed to the world in three ways which this feast of Epiphany celebrates simultaneously: His adoration by pagan wise men from the East; His baptism in the Jordan, at which His divinity and the Triune God are revealed, and the mission of St John the Baptist, which dominated the liturgy in Advent, is fulfilled; and His first miracle, the changing of water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana.
As such, Epiphany is one of the four principle feasts of the year, along with Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, traditionally preceded by a privileged and special vigil. (By vigil, we refer to an entire day of preparation before a major feast, not a Mass of the feast itself anticipated the evening before.) Considering the importance of the feast, it is a very strange and unfortunate phenomenon that its ancient vigil, along with its highly privileged octave, was suppressed in 1955, along with many other things."
I love posts like this. Hopefully this knowledge will not just be so much 'tinsel and trivia, but one day, Deo volente, may lead to the restoration of the Roman Rite.
In memoriam - Alastair McSporran
I first encountered a blog about 11 years ago. It was called 'Alastair's Heart Monitor', and had been set up by a family friend, Alastair McSporran, as means of passing the time whilst he convalesced after his heart surgery. Had he been an ordinary, run-off-the-mill lawyer, the blog would probably been a rather dull affair.
Alastair was anything but ordinary.
He was probably the nearest thing to a man of letters that I've ever met. A quick glance at his 'Favourite Books' posts reveal a taste so broad that it included, Tolstoy, Dickens, Poe, Conan Doyle, Orwell, Philip K. Dick, Stephen King, John Betjeman, Charles Bukowski, Iain Banks, Hunter S. Thompson, and James Lee Burke. Prose, poetry, journalism, and essays all received attention. Drama seemed to be the only lacuna in Alastair's literary knowledge. The blog opened my eyes, as a 15 year old, to the joys of reading, and it has been a passion of mine since then.
The posts on music were no less varied, and from here, too, I have mined deep. Through the Heart Monitor I made my first acquaintance with the jazz, and reggae, genres.
In terms of sport, there was ample coverage of football and cricket. I was particularly fond of Alastair's dismissive nickname for Wayne Rooney, 'wee spud-face'.
It was not uncommon for Alastair to write about famous legal cases, and current controversies in the profession. These were done, as with almost all his pieces, with dry wit and alacrity, so that even laymen found them entertaining.
Before this starts to sound like hagiography, I will say that I didn't agree with Alastair on everything. He was a militant atheist, a devotee of Hitchens, Dawkins, and their ilk. He was also a convinced Scottish nationalist. To his credit, he was always willing to engage in debate, and to do so charitably. It is one of my regrets that I never managed to broach the subject of religion. I think that, were we able to debate now, we would have a most interesting discussion. Sadly, Alastair died of a heart attack in 2012. He had only just landed his dream job of becoming Procurator Fiscal for his home town, Campbelltown, when his health suddenly and dramatically deteriorated, forcing him into early retirement. Had he not had the heart attack, he would have died slowly and painfully from his terminal illness. Though he was not a man of faith, he bore his cross with very great dignity.
He is someone whom I will always admire, and if this blog could even be half as good as his was, I should be well pleased.
Requiescat in pace!
Alastair was anything but ordinary.
He was probably the nearest thing to a man of letters that I've ever met. A quick glance at his 'Favourite Books' posts reveal a taste so broad that it included, Tolstoy, Dickens, Poe, Conan Doyle, Orwell, Philip K. Dick, Stephen King, John Betjeman, Charles Bukowski, Iain Banks, Hunter S. Thompson, and James Lee Burke. Prose, poetry, journalism, and essays all received attention. Drama seemed to be the only lacuna in Alastair's literary knowledge. The blog opened my eyes, as a 15 year old, to the joys of reading, and it has been a passion of mine since then.
The posts on music were no less varied, and from here, too, I have mined deep. Through the Heart Monitor I made my first acquaintance with the jazz, and reggae, genres.
In terms of sport, there was ample coverage of football and cricket. I was particularly fond of Alastair's dismissive nickname for Wayne Rooney, 'wee spud-face'.
It was not uncommon for Alastair to write about famous legal cases, and current controversies in the profession. These were done, as with almost all his pieces, with dry wit and alacrity, so that even laymen found them entertaining.
Before this starts to sound like hagiography, I will say that I didn't agree with Alastair on everything. He was a militant atheist, a devotee of Hitchens, Dawkins, and their ilk. He was also a convinced Scottish nationalist. To his credit, he was always willing to engage in debate, and to do so charitably. It is one of my regrets that I never managed to broach the subject of religion. I think that, were we able to debate now, we would have a most interesting discussion. Sadly, Alastair died of a heart attack in 2012. He had only just landed his dream job of becoming Procurator Fiscal for his home town, Campbelltown, when his health suddenly and dramatically deteriorated, forcing him into early retirement. Had he not had the heart attack, he would have died slowly and painfully from his terminal illness. Though he was not a man of faith, he bore his cross with very great dignity.
He is someone whom I will always admire, and if this blog could even be half as good as his was, I should be well pleased.
Requiescat in pace!
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