Reflections on my first time at Greenbelt (Part 1: Friday – getting there)

Introduction

This year, I attended the Greenbelt festival for the first time in my life. It was the first time I had chosen to go to any kind of festival, let alone a specifically christian one. Well, I say specifically christian. It is certainly christian in ethos, but it is by no means exclusive. There was a fair smattering of secular material on offer as well as offerings from other religions.

I had intended to just give a gist of each talk and what I did each day, though I confess I got a bit carried away with writing and didn’t have time to edit it down. So it’s a bit of a blow-by-blow account (particularly Friday), but I hope you find it helpful to read. It may be an interesting experiment to see if the key points percolated through.

Friday

I arrived at Kettering station after an uneventful journey and set about going for my hotel. I knew the approximate route, but wanted to do some checking along the way. The landmarks that were most useful were in fact the churches. I could tell straight away that the town had quite a diverse christian ethos. The first shop I came across was a small christian book store and what seemed to be the town centre was populated by a church group in purple t-shirts that had a slogan something along the lines of “[Bible for life week]” while they had a PA system set up playing some fairly cheesy worship tunes that I probably hadn’t heard for the better part of 15 years.

I found a Quaker meeting house, the Salvation Army and a more conformist church (I think it was St Andrews, but I didn’t check the sign too closely). The trouble was, the road signs were all a bit funny. The most common direction was ‘All Other Routes’ which wasn’t all that helpful. I was aiming for the Rockingham Road and I thought I was on it, but none of the junctions with the side streets had the name of the main road on it. So it was that the plain speaking Baptists came to my rescue, as I walked past Rockingham Road Baptist Church and so finally confirmed that my sense of direction was intact. One of the things I forgot to do before I left was print out street maps. I had an OS map in my pocket, but they are pretty useless in urban areas. I had bought it with the intention of navigating my way cross country from the hotel, rather than find the hotel in the first place.

I got to my room and made a quick change before heading on towards the festival. This was where I began to run into problems. I had planned to walk alongside one road to get to a village from where I could pick up a public footpath. Only it turns out that this road had small amounts of fairly fast-moving traffic on it and no pavement. So I had to make a detour and head into a residential area. I could roughly see where I needed to go, but I had to rely on my compass to make sure I was headed in the right direction. What was so absurd it was almost amusing was the fact that I ended up walking along a crescent road with no way to turn off it. So whilst I was happy that I was walking in a south-easterly direction, the road just slowly bent round and as it did so, a growing wave of panic grew within me, as the compass then told me I was heading more south than east, then slightly to the west until I did eventually get to a junction when I was walking full-west, in the complete opposite direction to that which I wished to head in.

Eventually, I found where I was, having done an extra 2.5-3 miles after missing a turning quite early on and having walked halfway through the town of Kettering. So I eventually arrived at the village of Warkton. This was quite a pretty little place, not unlike what some might conjure up in their minds if you ask them to imagine a ‘typical’ English village. Just beyond the village, though, the pavement runs out. This time, though, I was prepared for it. The road was not as busy as that which I had abandoned earlier, nor was it as conducive to quite so high a speed of vehicle. I kept to my usual walkers’ routine of staying on the right hand side of the road so as to face the oncoming traffic, only changing if there was a right hand bend so I would not be on the apex of the corner.

I arrived at the site exit, but since I was on foot, I thought “Blow it!” I’m not walking another mile down the road to get to the ‘proper’ entrance. After all, the entrances and exits were primarily devised for those who had their cars (so much for the motto of “travelling light”, eh?) with next to no thought given to pedestrians. The path was rather dusty and I passed some cars that were leaving the site, presumably because they had dropped people off and weren’t staying. Thankfully the stewards that were posted around had been provided with masks. The dust track from the main road up to the site seemed to go on forever. When I had come off the road, I had thought, “at last, we’re here”. But this seems to have been a premature idea. After about another quarter of an hour of walking, I saw other people walking along a track. Some were walking with one or two bags, others had large, rainbow-canvassed wheelbarrows.

The further I got, the greater the size of the crowd swelled, so, having traipsed for a total of nigh on ten miles by myself, I now finally started to feel as though I might be a part of something. OK, a lot of people were walking in the other direction (back to their cars, as I later found out) which somewhat spoiled the aesthetic, but the general drift towards the main site had a great sense of pilgrimage to it. It felt far more ‘together’ than the communion service on the Sunday morning.

Then it was that the path narrowed slightly, with a natural gap appearing in a line of trees. And through that gap one could just glimpse the fields of tents. Now it felt like I had arrived at a festival. So where to now?

I just joined in the crowd and tried to follow the greatest throng of people, hoping that they were heading in the right direction and that we weren’t just imitating a line of ants that get stuck in a giant circle of death. There was an information point handing out the pre-bought programmes. I picked mine up with a little bag that was loaded with too many leaflets and a random plastic packet of laundry liquid, before looking for the programme and a reasonable map of the site. There was a map on the back of one of the programmes, but it wasn’t terribly useful, as it only showed the locations of the venues. The campsite was only partially included and the car park was wholly absent. So in spite of being sat on a patch of grass near a numbered junction, there was no clue as to where I actually was or where I needed to go.

After a 10 minute sit down, I got up again and tried to follow the crowd, passing a tent that was advertised as being the weekend home of the Franciscans. There was a big sign a bit further down with a map on it, with the header “You are here”. At any one time, about half a dozen people were gathered by it. For a “You are here” map, though, it lacked one crucial feature: an indication on the map itself of where actually where in relation to everything else. It was just a header above the map, thus making it rather useless. It was only a careful inspection that showed two small curved walls that marked the entrance to the venues which was just behind where the sign was situated.

Jesus Arms

I wandered in and had a little exploration of the festival site. It turns out I didn’t actually go that far, as I was to find out later. But I spied out some places to eat, found the main stage and, importantly, the pop-up pub on site, the Jesus Arms. I grabbed myself a gin and parked myself on an outside bench so I could take a closer look at the programme to investigate what talks looked most interesting. While I sat there, a few friends came in but short of waving like a madman, I tried to catch their eye. I’ve never been good at subtly getting people’s attention.

The stupidest thing was that when I had checked into the hotel and moved things between my two bags, I had forgotten to put the torch I had into the backpack; it was still in the hotel. I tried to look for the Milk & Honey store which I knew to be on site but which wasn’t clearly marked on the map. It wasn’t until later that I looked at Dave Walker’s alternative map that I found it. Even then, though, they weren’t selling torches that I could use that night. So having penciled in a few ideas of things to do that evening, I just grabbed some fish n’chips (yay, how adventurous!) and head back to the hotel before it got dark.

So I left the site rather deflated on the first day. All I had achieved was picking up the programme. No talks had been attended, the first band were late. I wasn’t overly impressed with the Hummons who played in the meantime. When the Hackney Colliery Band did arrive and get on stage, they were so awful it was a good prompting to leave.

By the time I got back, I was rather limping, having walked quite some distance that day. Having been advised that it was good to bring your own loo roll, I had had to sacrifice bringing my first aid kit as there wasn’t enough room for both. In hindsight, I probably ought to have skimped on a t-shirt instead. Not only were my feet plagued with blisters up to an inch long, but having put on some weight recently, the tops of my thighs had rubbed together a lot. Someone later said that this was “chafing” though a better word for it would be “flaying” as I had actually lost a few square inches of skin and was bleeding a fair bit. So it was good that I had access to a shower to keep the wound clean, but it did make for an uncomfortable night and I dreaded having to walk back in the morning. Though at least, I now knew the right route, so I wouldn’t take an unnecessary detour.

Coming up next…

Well, that actually contained very little of the festival itself. Tomorrow, I’ll give a rundown of the activities on Saturday, which I promise will contain less walking, more talks and a few reflections on those talks.

Book Review: Professor Stewart’s Cabinet of Mathematical Curiosities by Ian Stewart

This has been my “coffee table” book for the last few months, following on from Julian Baggini’s The Pig That Wants to be Eaten. This is because it’s full of lots of little bits, with no overall narrative. It’s not quite a school exercise book, but it does have quite a lot of puzzles for you to think through, some of which require some scribbling with some pen & paper or plugging numbers into a calculator. As well as these, there are lots of little vignettes of mathematical thought which inform but require less input from the reader.

So my initial advice for any readers of this would be get a notepad and some pens and keep them nearby. Fans of recreational mathematics will find much that is familiar here, as some problems recur in just about every such ‘popular’ level book on maths, such as the problem of the bridges of Konigsberg or lots of factoids about pi.

That may sound like damning with faint praise, but there is a depth of mathematics on display here that is rather splendid. Many of the ideas are really quite profound, yet the way they are presented makes them quite accessible. A non mathematician might disagree with me, but it may be interesting to find out from others if there are areas where they get stuck.

There is a general trend for the puzzles to get a little bit more difficult later on in the book. So we are given some treats that will be unfamiliar even to those who did maths at A-level. We deal with topics ranging from geometry, number theory, topology and even some complexity is thrown in at the end.

I probably ought to add that for any sections that ask questions there are answers provided at the back of the book. Most are pretty good, though if the book does have any weaknesses, it is here, where some of the answers are given with not enough explanation. Though for recreational mathematics, one of the litmus tests has to be how well the solution to the Monty Hall problem is described and this one is very fair.

There is a follow-up book that Ian Stewart wrote, in the same vein but with a different set of problems. Given the quality of this work, I will be reading that as well, so you can look forward to seeing another review like this in a few months. For my next coffee table book, though, I will be turning to Plato and a Platypus; a book I searched for for some years but only got my hands on recently.

Book Review: Stem Cells – A Very Short Introduction by Jonathan Slack

It feels like some time since I picked up one of the Very Short Introductions (VSI). This has, I think, been sat on my shelf for over a year now, as I plucked it off the shelf of one of my local bookshops with the simple thought, “I don’t really understand much about stem cells. I read about them in the news occasionally. Maybe I ought to plug a hole in my knowledge.”

A year from having bought it, that thought has barely changed. Any time the issue of stem cells appears on the news or is discussed in terms of ethics, I have felt myself at a loss through being under-informed. So how well did Jonathan Slacks’ book do in filling in this particular family of gaps in my understanding?

We begin with the basic question of ‘what is a stem cell?’ To answer this we get a crash course in terminology. It’s worth paying attention here as most of the book is written with fluent use of this. Though, as a mathematician, one might expect me to complain that biology is often the science of obfuscation by making up complicated words for relatively simple things! Thankfully, a useful glossary is provided at the back of the book. At times, one is forced to turn to this 2-3 times per sentence so that even though this is a short introduction at a little over 110 pages, one has read some parts several times over before the linguistic spaghetti is unravelled to render a paragraph comprehensible.

Slack defines a stem cell not by any inherent characteristic, but by the potential of what it does. He is also keen to stress that stem cells do not occur naturally in the body but are instead derived from cells that do occur naturally.

It is the natural step to look then in detail at the kind of stem cells most people have heard of, embryonic stem cells. Slack goes into some detail about basic cell biology and how embryonic stem cells are created and cultivated.

From here, he looks at the next class of stem cells, which he refers to as induced pluripotent stem cells (iPS cells). These are better known as adult stem cells though Slack expresses some disdain for the term. He gives a brief guide over how they are produced, though in so doing he throws around the names of various proteins and enzymes without much detail.

The question then is, what can be done with them? This is the realm where stem cells tend to make the news as though they were some kind of miracle cure. They’re not. Many treatments he describes as ‘aspirational’ which is another way of saying ‘unproven’. Nonetheless, stem cells can and do have their uses in some treatments. He picks up on the most widely known stem cell treatment, though it’s not often known as such, bone marrow transfers. Slack also outlines other uses, such as testing drugs on particular types of cells which can’t be tested in vivo (that is, in a living patient) but can be tested in vitro (in a petri dish). An example would be using stem cells to create cells that occur in the heart and then test to see if any new drugs cause an adverse reaction in the heart.

The book does have a couple of curious features, however. The first is that Slack tries to draw a distinction between scientists and clinicians. I think this is an idiosyncratic phraseology, whereby instead of meaning “scientists” I think he means to refer to “research scientists” since, of course, clinicians are just a subgroup of scientists. The other, which is perhaps more of a failing of the book, is its diminution of ethics. By all means, it gets mentioned, but for a more well-rounded account I think the matter could have been dealt with in a slightly less dismissive manner than Slack chooses here.

In spite of the linguistic befuddlement and the downplayed ethics, I think I did learn a lot from this. As I write this on the morning of the 9th of August, I noticed a stem cell related story in the news today. This book has enabled me to better understand such stories, which as to mean that it has achieved its aim of educating.

The parable of the fish and the penguin

There was once a fish and a penguin swimming close to one another in the Antarctic waters. The fish said to the penguin, “Everything we move in is water. It’s all around us; it’s what we breathe and is the medium which sustains us.”

The penguin replies, “It may be all around you all the time but I only come down here from time to time. I am mostly surrounded by air.”

“Nonsense!” replied the fish. “What you call air is just a type of water. Ask any fish around here and they’ll tell you that we spend our whole lives immersed in it.”

“I am not a fish,” replies the penguin. The fish eyes the penguin suspiciously.

“Maybe you’re not, but this is fish territory,”

“Fish do live here, but so do others. The sea is a diverse and rich place,” said the penguin.

“Yes. It’s a pity all you penguins are the same,” said the fish, rather tartly.

“Oh no. To the non-penguin, there may be a strong family resemblance, but there’s a fair variety amongst us too. An emperor is quite different from a rock-hopper. I’m sure if you left the water occasionally and came to live among us, you would see,” explained the penguin.

“I couldn’t possibly leave the water. It is what we live in. Why are you so opposed to water?” asked the fish.

“I’m not against water, per se,” says the penguin. “I just couldn’t stand the idea of being in it all the time. I like to dip in occasionally, get some sustenance from it and then go and live in my own environment.”

And with that, they go they separate ways. The fish dives down into the murky depths, while the penguin hops and takes a gulp of air.

Book Review: Socialism – Utopian and Scientific by Friedrich Engels

This is the third and final work in a single volume which also contains The Communist Manifesto and The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844. This work was written much later in Engels’ life, and as such represents his more mature view, having noted that his contribution to the earlier two works took place when he still relatively young.

One might be hard pressed to call it a book in its own right, as it is more of an extended pamphlet, running to a little under 70 pages long; even then the introduction takes up over a third of its entire length! For the sake of familiarity, I will choose to continue to call it a book.

So what of its content?

The lengthy introduction is largely about materialism. Specifically, it is a statement of materialism’s superiority as an idea than anything that any religion has produced. It is not an argument as such, as there is no real reasoning put forward other than an appeal to a few named philosophers (including Hobbes and Hegel). If we put that aside for a bit and look at the points Engels is trying to make, it becomes clear that his idea of religion is little matured from when he co-wrote The Communist Manifesto. It remains a caricature of (predominantly) christian belief that is asserted, but not evidenced.

Getting onto the main substance of the book, Engels looks at what he refers to as Utopian Socialism. In particular he looks at the style of socialism advocated by Robert Owen, whose influence upon socialism, communism, the early labour movements and the trade unions cannot be understated. Engels states that Owen’s motivation, that of creating a better society, is flawed, that it is utopian and that instead another model must be sought.

I’ve yet to read any of Owen’s work, though what little reading I have done around him (a little knowledge is a dangerous thing!) indicates to me that his motivations were far more similar to those that I knew when I lived and worked around the old mining towns of the north-east, whose input into my life have helped shape my socio-economic-political views. It is a socialism that is borne out of compassion, where all people are seen as and treated as equal. But Engels will have none of this.

The rest of the book is dedicated to the other half of the title: Scientific Socialism. Though this is a rather idiosyncratic use of the word ‘scientific’. It is rather dependent upon dialectic materialism, though Engels is at a loss to say what dialectic means, let alone his (and Marx’s) particular interpretation of the word. So Engels comes back to the opening The Communist Manifesto by stating that it was a great “discovery” of Marx’s is that history can be boiled down to a statement of class struggle. Opposed to the idea of all being equal, Engels maintains his view that there exists two distinct classes and that one is better than the other. That the working classes must rule and that the bourgeois must be smashed. This is not a view of socialism that I can agree with. I pointed out in my earlier review how flawed this historiography is, but its place here confirms it as one of the pillars upon which communism rests. Its unreliable analysis is one reason why I could not be a communist.

Another reason is Engels’ reliance on materialism. Again he asserts that is the right view, superior to others, but he does not engage in a critical argument, but merely assumes that he is right. Or rather, he assumes that Marx is right, as the main evidence for it seems to be in Das Kapital which, when referenced, is given all praise and no critique. There is no serious consideration for non-materialistic viewpoints, and as such there is no engagement with this. The argument, such as it, stands alone, in a vacuum. In other words, Engels urges us to adopt his point of view because there is no other. There is a place for putting forward one’s views in such a manner, as it might be impossible to take into account all relevant views, but it left me no more in favour of Engels’ flavour of socialism than I was before.

Ultimately, the book is lacking in arguing for a point. Engels relies too much on telling his readers that his points have already been proved instead of actually trying to prove them. In this sense, it is an attempt at persuasion by repetition. If you say something enough times, in uniformity, then that ingrains itself in your head. Such is the method by which shamanistic chanting, or liturgy, works.

This concludes the single volume work which contained this and the other two works of Engels noted above. In trying to educate myself as to the origins of communism, there remains one major lacuna my reading. The work reviewed here references it repeatedly, so it is to that work which I must turn next. It of course, Marx’s Das Kapital.

Trouble with blogging (and a bit of Greenbelt)

I’ve been having a trouble with blogging lately. The reduced output here has partly been a result of an increased level of work over recent months and the fact that just about every blog post I try to write seems to be hard to finish, to get right. By the time I’ve sorted out my wording, it’s already out of date. I’ve long since reconciled myself to the fact that I’m not the kind of blogger who can post a thought-through, erudite response to the latest news within 4 hours of the story breaking. I usually take a week or two to ruminate on it, look at multiple sources and check my facts.

Yet having a browse on Twitter at the weekend, I saw a comment from one user (I forget who, please claim credit if it was you) that the state of christian blogging has changed massively over the course of the last year. Reference was made to the “gatekeepers” of the christian blogosphere. Certainly, from when I began this blog nearly 4 years ago, the world of christian blogging has changed a lot. Many of the most valued voices have gone quiet. Some have quit altogether, others have reduced their output.

Speaking only for myself, I don’t think I’ve managed a decent opinion piece since this one on the EDL which is already long out of date with respect to its specific references. If I’ve not reneged on promises, I’ve certainly delayed fulfilling them. About a month ago, I began ‘an epistle to the Coffee’ in wake of their decision to allow women to become bishops. Around the same time, someone requested that I write a piece on why I refer to myself as non-denominational, though I have yet to begin that. I’ve barely managed to touch the ‘personal catechism’ series I began earlier this year. As for the ‘origins and nature of morality’, I keep looking at it and find myself unable to write a convincing sentence.

The trouble seems to be that the times at which I feel myself most able to write are those times when it is most inconvenient. I cannot write when I am work, yet if I am doing a more mundane task and my mind wanders, then all sorts of creative avenues appear before me. But when the time comes to sit at home and write, all those avenues are blocked off. It might be by a blank page in front of me. It might be by a reluctance to even turn the computer on. Yet when I am at home, the time at which thoughts flow most freely are late at night when I know I ought to be heading towards bed if I’m to function properly the next day. I write this at sentence at quarter to 11 in the evening.

I wonder if other bloggers find similar problems or if you are one of those who have scaled back in recent months whether your issues are wholly different from those I have given.

As an aside, one of the things I do plan to write about is the Greenbelt festival, which I am still intending to go to. If you have been before and would like to pass on some wisdom, then please do let me know. It’s 30 years since I last went to a christian festival. Then, I was in a cot! My plans are to stay in a hotel (booked several months ago) and walk to and from the site each day. I shall take only a few snacks with me, hoping that meals may be obtained on site at an inflated price. I shall bring waterproofs and gaiters. Have got myself an OS map of the area, though I don’t yet have a torch; should I need one for walking back from the site late at night?

And yes, I do remember that I owe Dyfed Wyn Roberts a drink after losing a bet about the Commons debate on the 2014 budget.

Book Review: Holiness and Mission by Morna Hooker and Frances Young

After finishing Paul and the Faithfulness of God, I wondered how I might follow that up in terms of my ‘religious’ reading. I had thought that I would go with something completely different and had in mind Julian of Norwich’s ‘Revelations of Divine Love‘. However, that work shall remain on my shelf for a little longer. For having bought Holiness and Mission in a sale last year, its title seemed to jump out of the concluding chapter of Wright’s work. I got the impression that instead of going for something different, I ought to take the next step in that same mode of thought.

Subtitled ‘Learning from the early church about mission in the city’ another part of my motivation for reading was to learn something about how to apply New Testament theology to my own location, having changed to city life last year.

As my header implies, this is a co-written book between two authors. How this manifests itself is that the preface and introduction are credited to both, followed by two chapters by Hooker and then two chapters by Young. The fifth chapter than alternates between the two. There is then an appendix which is taken from a Q&A session at the symposium which the two attended, from which this book sprang. That meeting was a celebration of 250 years of Methodism in the West End of London.

So let’s first look at the two chapters by Morna Hooker. She begins her study by a look at the issue of what holiness is and our call to it. This is little more than a sketch but would make a very welcome basis for a sermon. It touches on the nature of God and a summary of the gospel. That said, I wouldn’t wholly agree with the picture of the gospel that Hooker presents. While the shape is sound, I might quibble over some of the hues and shading.

So far, though, this is exegetical work. One could describe it as ‘theoretical theology’ which may enrich the intellect, informing us but not enabling us. To take it into the more practical realm Hooker then turns to the nature of cities. One might well question how closely one can take the life of cities in the first century and translate them to cities in the 21st. So while this is enlightening, there are few practical ideas that seem workable.

Picking up where Hooker left off, Frances Young takes us along a little later in church history. The emphasis here is on the Roman Empire; first how the early church operated within the empire and then looking at the legacy of Constantine. For those unfamiliar with this period of church history, then this serves as a good primer.

The real interest is in Young’s second chapter, though, entitled ‘The Challenge of Establishment’. Here, her history moves onto the figure of Constantine. Young asks many questions and prods at the answers, but remains somewhat coy about giving firm answers. Such questions include: “Was Constantine even a christian?” As one might guess from that, this is a provocative chapter. Yet it is open-ended enough that one may read it different ways depending on your background. Young notes that with Constantine, christianity took a quite different direction than it had previous to it being any kind of state religion. It was during this period that such things as iconography, liturgy and a growing interest in relics developed (not least the ‘true cross’ which was said to have been discovered by Constantine’s mother). From my nonconformist perspective, I view all of these as unhelpful elements of paganism that were unhelpful. If you doubt the damage done by an unhealthy obsession in relics, then I would recommend to you Geoffrey Hindley’s book on the Crusades. However you approach, or leave, this chapter, I would hope that you find it as stimulating as I did.

So far, the book has had very little directly to say about modern mission in 21st century cities. That said, I couldn’t help but think through some implications as I was reading and I would think that most readers would already have joined a few dots before Hooker and Young make their own connections towards the book’s conclusion.

There is much that could be analysed in great detail here, though I did think it could have been expanded and firmed up. As it stands, this seems to be the outline of a good framework of ideas, but with little flesh and muscle on it to make it move. What I noted from it in particular was the section on models of evangelism, noting that strategies that have worked in the past (with particular reference to the Methodist revival) may well not be the most suited to today’s cities. This, I think, is particularly worth heeding.

One other point caught my attention. Young made an almost throwaway line regarding her son, Arthur, about whom she has written more recently in ‘Arthur’s Call‘. She states that “he was baptized as an infant, therefore [he] belongs to Christ” (emphasis added). What surprised me was that such a functionalist view of baptism would be expressed by a Methodist, who I have always understood took a more symbolic approach. Hence it is the use of the word ‘therefore’ which I, as one who subscribes to the symbolic view, would disagree with. Though I am interested in following up on this with Young’s more recent book at some point in the future.

This section concludes with both Hooker and Young looking briefly at the topic of pluralism. They both express a welcoming attitude to pluralistic views, though Young seems a little more overly-liberal than Hooker. I couldn’t escape the idea, though, that both somewhat ignored Jesus’ maxim: “No comes to the Father except through me.”

The comments from ‘Voices in the city’ that occur at the end are intended to showcase snapshots of the views of others who live and work in cities, most notably London. Whether this then has appeal to those in other UK cities or even those further afield may be questionable. I would hope that others do pick up helpful thoughts, though I couldn’t guarantee that. In fact, the last chapter seems to detract somewhat from the rest of the book, as it is little more than a collection of paragraphs, with no overall narrative or direction.

With those few detractions noted, this little book provides the reader with some seeds for thought and a little food to help that soil grow. It is not a guide as to how mission should be done, though it does explain well the link between holiness and mission. It is not the final word in these subjects, but it is up to us to pick it up, read it, learn from it and then to work out the next steps.