Blatant dishonesty

Just after I woke a couple of days ago I heard very loud talking in the street outside, and went to the window to see what was going on. A neighbour, from about a block away, was talking to another at the corner. He is naturally very loud so I could hear every word clearly, though had not heard the start of the conversation.
He owns a large guest house down the street, and on occasion coach-loads of tourists come to stay, though sometimes the coaches refuse to drive down the steep street so the guests have to walk down the hill. The gist of the conversation was that he had not yet erected a signboard outside as if he did he would have to start paying Council Tax on the guest house, but currently was only paying a nominal amount as a residence (Council Tax is very low here on domestic premises). He was complaining loudly about the tax rates, and was going to avoid them as long as he could.
I went down past his building today and he was outside and we started talking about a plot of cleared land opposite, which I though was going to be turned into another residence, but he said that he, and other neighbours, had cleared this to make a "leisure area" near the river, and allow for additional parking/turning (no doubt for the coaches, which have to reverse back uphill at present!). He invited me in (we are acquaintances) and he showed me round. Currently there are 18 en-suite rooms, with plans for more, and a large swimming pool almost completed, and he has a superb view over our small river.
He proudly told me that he didn't advertise much locally to keep "under the radar", but relied on external tour companies to bring guests to him. He also works as a local tour guide so has contacts with tour agencies outside the region. As well as not paying local taxes, he is not registered as a local business so pays no income tax either! This also means he is not covered by any health and safety measures, and I would also bet that he has no public liability insurance!
One of his neighbours is the Secretary for Tourism, working for the local government, and obviously is aware of the situation regarding non-payment of any taxation, but he also runs a local restaurant so benefits from this influx of tourism, and, in his opinion, any additional tourism is great for the town, so turns a blind eye.
What was ironic was that the guest house owner was complaining that he was having to fund some of the work to build the "leisure area", along with other neighbours, as the local council wasn't interested - appearing to ignore the fact that perhaps the council did not have sufficient funds if he, and others, were avoiding paying all their taxes!
I have always prided myself on my own honesty, have never, and would never, steal anything, cannot even walk out of a shop if I have been undercharged, or over-changed, would never try and evade my taxes (local or income), even if I felt they were too high (though I would protest through legal channels if I felt I was being treated unfairly in any way), and always try and be fair and honest in all my dealings, so seeing someone doing this so blatantly, and seeming so proud of the fact, really leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Boating in Norfolk - Part 4

We had a transit van we used for deliveries from our grocery store/bakery and this was great for bringing all the gear to the boat. We took the inflatable tender and engine home, and also a large fuel can which we filled on the way to the boat each time - once back in Africa we had run out of fuel on the Zambezi so took no chances now!

Our transit van, and in front my Honda 650 bike.

The bike, in the photo, was only used when we had more than three of us heading to the boat - 3-person bench seat in the front of the transit.
So the following weekend everything was in place for our first proper fishing adventure - the boat was in good nick, fuel filled, bait collected (we drove past a tackle shop on the way where we could buy lug-worms, the favoured bait along this stretch of coast), and my nephew dosed with anti-seasickness pills. The weather forecast was for good conditions so we were looking forwards to our trip.
Sunday morning was clear with no mist, and little wind so we motored across Breydon Water, through Great Yarmouth harbour, and out into the North Sea again! Bearing in mind how our first trip had finished with engine problems we decided that we wouldn't go very  far this time, so dropped our anchor a hundred metres or so away from the shipping lane, and soon had our lines in. I had traded our beach-casting gear in at the tackle shop for boat fishing tackle, and Dad and I had identical Shakespeare rods, with Penn multiplier reels and 35 pound test line, with lighter tackle for Paulo, who was about 12 at the time.
Soon I was catching Flounder, some nice ones to about 3 pounds, and Dad and Paulo, on the opposite side of the boat were catching ... nothing! Dad and I even swapped places and though he did manage to catch one, I still ended up with 9 to his one! Identical tackle, identical bait, and line dropped no more than 3 metres apart!
While we were fishing we noticed some commotion in the harbour entrance about half a mile away, and a couple of tugs and rig support vessels appeared towing an oil rig out of the harbour. We were well off the shipping lane, but they seemed to be slowly heading straight towards us, giving us cause for concern. It appeared that they may simply be manoeuvring to turn the rig, though they were edging closer and closer to us, and some other small boats fishing the area, but had not yet made any signal to us of their intentions. Eventually we decided to use our discretion and raised the anchor to move further South out of the way, but, unfortunately, the fish stopped biting in the new spot so we headed home. The journey home was uneventful and back home Mum cooked us the Flounder for dinner!
That actually turned out to be our last North Sea fishing trip! We tried again on several occasions, but the mist was too thick most of the time - on one day we could not even start across Breydon Water as we couldn't see the navigation marker posts - and on another occasion we reached the harbour mouth and a large swell was coming in. We decided that once past the opening it might be OK so made a run at it, but the waves were much taller than the boat and did not seem to be much better beyond. The problem then was how to turn round and get back in!! The wave frequency was short, and we knew that we had to turn in the trough between waves, and get our prow headed back into the harbour in that short space, since being hit broadside by a wave would possibly have swamped us! Dad trusted me with the helm and we continued meeting the waves head on while waiting and hoping that we would see an opportunity to spin round - we had the power and speed, but needed enough room to make the manoeuvre. It took about 10 waves before we decided to make a run for it, and as soon as we crested one wave I revved the engine and put us in a tight turn - it worked!! We were "surfing" down a wave back towards the harbour entrance keeping our speed just right so we didn't "catch" the preceding wave, and using throttle and rudder to keep ourselves straight, when Dad said "don't look back", which, of course, I did! The wave was almost breaking over the stern of the boat! However I had learnt enough by then not to panic, but to keep my speed and direction, and soon we entered the calmer waters of the harbour. It was an incredible experience, gave us a lot of confidence in both our ability, and, especially, that of the Petite Promesse, but we decided that we didn't want to repeat that particular experiment again.
The day I used the bike (as well as Dad driving the Transit van) my girlfriend, later to be my wife, had been staying with us, so the three of them (Dad, Paulo and Ali) had travelled in the van, and I followed on the bike. When we arrived at the marina Dad discovered he had left the gate keys, which also had the ignition key!) back at home, so I turned round and raced back to collect them. Now I am not normally a speedy rider, but Sunday morning and a desire to get out on the water (we were supposed to be back home for lunch which Mum was preparing) meant I did go somewhat faster than usual and the normal 40 minute journey in the van, took me less than 40 minutes - there and back! They had the boat ready for action by the time I got back and we went and pottered around Breydon Water for a while, before mooring up again. I mentioned before that we moored stern on to the pontoon, so had to pull the boat back, using the stretch of the nylon rope, to get close enough to step onto the pontoon. Ali wanted to get ashore so Paulo pulled the rope to get the stern close, and she started stepping across, but paused halfway - one foot in the boat the other on the pontoon, and Paulo could not hold the boat for long! The inevitable happened! Splash! Ali was in the water! The boat had a short ladder at the rear and she started climbing up, but the weight of wet clothing made this difficult - and I am afraid that both Dad and I were unable to help - we were in hysterics! Eventually we did manage to get her out, but had no dry clothing for her, though I did have a lightweight cagoule and over-trousers for my bike, so she put these on and wasn't too cold. Ali was not happy at us all laughing instead of helping, and said that Mum would be more sympathetic, though we told he it was unlikely, so I followed the van home and waited for Ali to knock on the door (we didn't take house keys with us) first - Mum opened the door, took one look at the bedraggled Ali, and burst out laughing too!! It didn't do any harm to our relationship, though, and we did eventually get married!
We kept the boat for a few months after that, and did some boating on Breydon Water, but the weather prevented us from venturing out to sea again, and shortly after that pressure of work and family meant we decided to sell the boat. It had been great fun while it lasted.

Boating in Norfolk - Part 3

The following Saturday I collected the new filter, some fuel line and fittings, and the flaring tool (which he showed me how to use) from the boat builder's yard and we headed to the marina in our transit van. We arrived pretty late so didn't get much done other than heating up a prepared meal (made by my Mum) and settled down for some sleep - my Dad in the deck area, and my nephew and I in the cabin. It was a little chilly on the water, and my Dad snores loudly, so I didn't get much sleep!
Bacon and eggs for breakfast and then I got to work on the fuel line. My Dad was an accountant, and I started out as an auditor, so we didn't have much of a mechanical background - Dad was keen on DIY, as I was, though, so we had some level of manual dexterity and between us a good deal of intelligence! This was also years before the internet and "How to" videos, or online instruction manuals, but we had purchased a "How to maintain your boast" guide, which proved invaluable.We cut out the offending bottleneck in the fuel line - there was a lot of debris that had collected again where the pipe narrowed - and replaced it with pipe and filter all the same diameter. The flaring tool did its job, and pretty soon we had replaced a section of the fuel pipe, and headed out for a test run.
The boat had come with an inflatable tender with a small outboard, so we took that with us - just in case! 

Dad and Paulo in the tender - minus the outboard on this occasion

With one of us watching the fuel line for any signs of leaks, and the other steering we soon reached Breydon Water and cranked up the power. All was fine - the pick-up was better, and she accelerated smoothly. We did a thorough test, speeding up, then slowing down, turning sharply, crossing our wake to get the fuel tank shaken up so any debris would enter the fuel line, and she passed with flying colours.

Moored on the Bure with a windmill in the distance

On the way back to the marina we did notice some steam coming from the engine compartment, and found a small water leak next to the water pump, dripping onto the exhaust. Back moored up at the marina I removed the water pump and found that the gasket was shot - I had once replaced a water pump on my car, and had seen a friend, who was a good amateur car mechanic, make a new cylinder head gasket, so during the week I went to a local marine chandlers and bought the necessary parts.
Making a new gasket was actually a lot easier than I had thought it would be, and this repair was also fully tested the following weekend. Although I am still very much a duffer when it comes to engines of any sort I do have the confidence to give it a go, and to know when to call in the experts! A lot of things on these older engines is common sense rather than technical know-how!
There followed a period of very misty weather, so much so that we couldn't get out to sea - one day we were just messing around on Breydon Water and a very thick mist blew in, so we had to very gingerly crawl back to the marina and moor up! Another occasion we were heading back into the marina when it suddenly got very windy, making steering extremely difficult. To get to our stern-on mooring we had to head forwards past the pontoons, then reverse and turn to line up to our particular spot. We had to abort our first attempt due to the wind, and as we were about to start the second attempt, lining up to head forwards, the wind started blowing a gale, and despite throwing the engine into reverse we were blown into the bank, lined with metal pilings! Fortunately we hit above the waterline, but the end of one piling gouged a six-inch long scrape, about an inch deep, in the fibreglass! We had to wait for the wind to subside before we could finally moor and inspect the damage.
During the week it was back to the chandlers for a fibreglass repair kit - resin for the gouge, and matting for the surface - and some paint, and a visit to the library to read up on fibreglass repairs! Next weekend we had to ask if we could use a different mooring, an on-line one, so we could get at the damaged hull. Our stern mooring was no good - with the bow out there was no way we could get at the damaged part, and even if we moored nose-in we were still unable to reach the bit that needed repairing. On-line was still tricky - we had to lean out to reach the repair, and, even with the stern out a bit to bring the bow in closer, it was still uncomfortable working on it. The gouge was so deep we had to build it up in layers, allowing each one to dry before the next application, so it took several hours until we were satisfied with the finish, and it was barely noticeable that there had been any damage! 
We decided that the following Sunday, weather permitting, we would head out to sea again to fish!

Boating in Norfolk - Part 2

Over the following few weeks we concentrated on getting the boat ready - checking all the equipment, familiarising ourselves with the controls, and preparing for our first fishing trip. The North Sea off Great Yarmouth can be quite rough, and morning thick sea mists quite common, and in those pre-internet days, and also before cellphones were widely used, it was not easy to determine if conditions were suitable or safe. Great Yarmouth and Gorleston are cities on opposite sides of the mouth of the River Yare (after which Yarmouth got its name!) and the road to the marina was not that far from Gorleston Pier, where the river mouth was, so we started calling in there to check on sea conditions, rather than risk the hour-plus boat trip through Yarmouth harbour just to find we could not put to sea. Clearly this didn't really work if we checked Saturday evening and then headed out the following morning, but for the first sea trip we only headed to the boat early on Saturday, and as sea conditions looked reasonable we decided to try our first sea voyage!
My nephew was with us, and he had been worrying about being seasick ever since we got the boat, not that he had ever been seasick before as far as we all knew, so he took some Dramamine before we headed out. The trip across Breydon water was uneventful, and then we slowly cruised through Great Yarmouth Harbour, the depth sounder showing we had plenty of clearance, but suddenly pinging loudly showing only about a foot of water below our hull! We immediately stopped the engine to avoid catching the prop, but the sounder had gone back to over 15 feet, and there was no sign that we should have been in shallow water as we were in the main harbour navigation channel. We decided it may have been a submerged log or other obstruction, and continued towards the harbour entrance.

Map showing where the marina is in respect of the open sea

As we turned to port close to the harbour entrance, and got the first effects of the North Sea, my nephew pipes up that he is feeling fine, but then as we passed between the piers at either side and started hitting some small waves, he began to look a little green, and soon was being sick over the side! We asked him if he wanted us to go back, but he said he thought he would be OK, so we gunned the motor and proceeded - and the engine died! The swell in the harbour entrance was moderate, and it is important to keep your nose pointed into the waves, but without power we were helpless, though the engine immediately started again, and was fine idling and at extremely low speed, but as soon as we increased the throttle it died again. By now we had cleared the entrance and managed to get out of the navigation channel, but were not far offshore, and drifting slowly Southwards, so we dropped anchor. Once anchored we checked over the engine - well, neither of us were mechanics, but we checked the obvious things. The fuel tank was full, spark plugs clean, electrics dry, and so on. 
The motor fired up with no problem, and ran at idle, and very low revs, but that was not enough to get us back to harbour - every time we increased the revs the engine died, so we would start the engine, pull up the anchor, start moving forwards, then the engine died again so we had to drop anchor again! There was a charter fishing boat not that far away from us, and in the end we hailed it, so he came close to see what the problem was, and agreed to tow us back into the harbour. There were 6 fishermen on board who had paid for a day's fishing, and were not too pleased, but the tow only took about 20 minutes, so they didn't lose too much, though we were left just inside the harbour in private moorings, so could not remain there. The fishing captain was also the owner of a marina in Great Yarmouth, and said that if we were still there when he returned he would come and see us to offer further assistance.
In the quieter waters of the harbour we had another look at the engine, and discovered that the fuel filter (newly fitted) was quite dirty, so cleaned that as best we could, and started the engine up again. Again she fired up first time, and ran fine at idle, but as soon as we gave it some throttle it died again! We decided that we had to try and move from where we were, and with what little power we had we did manage to move further from the harbour entrance, helped by the incoming tide, and found a public mooring near the Haven Bridge. We did not have enough headway to manoeuvre under the bridge, either with the tide, or with the current once the tide changed, so decided to secure the boat and leave it for the night.
I took a taxi back to the marina to collect our Transit van, so we could go home, and Dad and Paulo secured the boat. While I was gone the fishing captain came by - on his way home as he had dropped off his customers and boat, but seen us moored on the opposite side - and offered help. Dad had a long chat with him, explaining how we had recently bought the boat, and had work done by an engineer from Belaugh, who he actually knew and recommended. He said we should contact the engineer and have him look at it, since he knew the engine, having originally fitted it too, and told us he would keep an eye on the boat, though it should be safe there anyway.
Tuesday afternoon we collected the engineer, and Dad and I headed back to Yarmouth in the car this time. The plan was that once the boat was fixed we would take it across Breydon Water to the Marina and Dad would drive to Burgh Castle to collect us. The engineer started off by trying the engine, which of course started first time, so he asked that we cast off the mooring lines and headed into the river - so far so good. He steered towards the bridge, then had to increase the throttle as the current caught us, and ... the engine died! Start up again, throttle - died! On my advice he kept the revs low and managed to get us back on the mooring. So he starts by stripping the carb, and decides it is dirt in there causing the problem, so cleans it out, checks the fuel filter, which had a bit more dirt in it, and tries the engine again. This time he revs up while still moored, and ... it dies again! The engine is getting enough fuel to start and idle, but as soon as you give it throttle there isn't enough fuel getting through - and then he checks the fuel lines, and finds that when the filter was installed the line through it is of narrower diameter than the incoming line, and the reduction in size is causing a bottleneck which has clogged up with debris from the tank! Enough fuel passes to start and idle the engine, but when power is needed the blockage is preventing sufficient fuel to pass! The filter was installed by his company! He cleans out the blockage, and tests the throttle fully, before deciding that the problem is resolved, so we head back under the bridge and towards Breydon water! The rough sea had shaken the tank up causing the debris at the bottom of the tank to pass into the fuel line.
Dad had headed back in the car to meet us and I took the controls across Breydon Water, and soon we were cruising on the plane at around 20 knots, but, while we still had a mechanic on board, I decided to open her up to see what she could do - and got her up to 32 knots! I looked across at the mechanic and he was white-knuckled holding on, but with a grin from ear to ear! When I slowed down again he said he had never been across Breydon Water before, and never travelled that fast in a powered boat, and it was awesome!!

Petite Promesse up on the plane

He did, however, advise us to replace the filter with one the same fuel line size as the rest of the system, and offered to source one for us, and would loan us the tools required to fit it ourselves (pipe flaring tool, especially), so that was our next project the following weekend!

Boating in Norfolk - Part 1

Around 1982, while we still had the family bakery and village grocery store, my Dad decided he would like to buy a boat so we could go fishing. In those far-off days Sunday trading was almost non-existent, and many small shops only opened for a half-day on Wednesday and Saturday, though we traded the full 6 days, but did remain closed on Bank Holidays - again some shops opened for half a day on these, but as we had the bakery we decided that we would remain closed, rather than start work at 04.00 for a half day of trade!
Living on the edge of the Norfolk Broads there were a lot of boat brokerages about, especially in Horning, which was a major sailing centre, so we headed there to see what was available. While in Mozambique we did have a small open speedboat we used for fishing in the Zambezi, 

Our boat on the Zambezi, with my Mum and Robbie, the dog!

but we felt we wanted something a bit more substantial. The idea was that we would leave home after work (17.30 or so) on Saturday, overnight on the boat, and then motor out to the open sea to fish on Sunday, so it needed living space for at least 4. Before looking for a boat we had researched the best place to moor it - we lived about 20 miles from the nearest coast, and a further 5 miles or so from anywhere a boat could be kept and easily access the sea. We considered the North-east Norfolk coast, but most of the marinas/harbours there were very tidal, so at times cut off from the sea, so in the end had decided on Burgh Castle Marina, close to Great Yarmouth. It meant an 8 mile run to the sea, across Breydon Water (no speed limit) followed by a slow (3 mph) trip through Great Yarmouth harbour, so would take us an hour from the marina to the North Sea.
We found a suitable boat relatively quickly - a 27 foot cruiser, powered by an inboard 1500cc BMC marine petrol engine, which would push it along at around 30 knot top speed! On the test run from the brokerage we were restricted to 8 mph on the River Bure, once clear of the 3 mph limit in the built up area, but the broker opened her up briefly to show what she could do, slowing down as we approached a bend in the river where a river police boat appeared - fortunately we were below the speed limit by then, and the officers knew the broker, too!

Petite Promesse moored at the marina, with my Dad

We made an offer on the spot, conditional on a survey, which passed apart from a couple of minor, non-structural or mechanical, suggestions. The surveyor said it needed an electrical cut-off switch, better ventilation in the gas tank locker (for the stove and fridge), and a fuel filter - which he installed for us at his yard. We had also decided we needed a depth sounder since we were going offshore in unknown waters (to us) so he installed that as well, but felt at this stage that we would be fishing close inshore so did not worry about a radio (which I think is compulsory nowadays). Petite Promesse came with an inflatable tender with a small outboard, had a cabin with two berths, but room for two more in the rear deck area, which could be closed with an awning (as in the photo above). There was a two-burner stove and small gas fridge, and a cupboard with a Portaloo in it- though the cupboard was so small you could only use it with the door open, or take it into the main cabin for more privacy, so it didn't get uses that much!
Wroxham, considered to be the "capital" of the Broads, was only a few miles from where we lived, and has several chandlers, so we had bough life jackets, boat hook, fenders (I also bough some at a local auction), rope, and other essentials, so by the time the boat was ready we were also fully kitted out! 

We moored for a coffee break

Mum came along for the journey to Burgh Castle, where we had left our vehicle the day before so we could get home again. We had read up on the "rules of the waterways" and knew that speed limits on the Bure were very low, for bank protection, so were aware that the trip to the marina would take us at least three hours, but as we motored back through Horning there was a sailing regatta taking place - and power gives way to sail. So we had to dodge our way through the tacking yachts, keeping to the right though they were using the whole river, and also maintaining the speed limit of 3 mph at that place. It was extremely challenging, as we had to try and work out where they were going and time our forward progress between their tacks across the river, making sure we didn't go too fast and create a dangerous wash for them as well. More by luck that good fortune we got through without upsetting anyone, and got a nod of approval from the marshals!
We eventually reached Breydon Water, a large expanse of water near Great Yarmouth where three rivers meet - the Bure, we had just travelled along, joined at the North end, and the rivers Waveney and Yare, joining at the Southern end of Breydon Water, near where our marina was. Breydon Water has the "shipping channel" clearly marked as at low water there are vast areas of sticky mud exposed, and rarely a week went by when we didn't see hire boats stranded high and dry, waiting for the next high tide, who had ignored the markers! Breydon Water has no speed limit - so we opened up and crossed it rapidly at around 25 knots, with the Petite Promesse showing her pedigree! Up on the plane the ride was very smooth, and we soon arrived at the marina.
Our mooring was a stern-on one, and that proved to be our next challenge. We had to reverse in past the front mooring post, throw a rope round it that we could slip as we moved backwards, then, being careful not to go in too hard or too far, keep going until someone could jump ashore and tie us up. We had to leave just enough slack so we could pull the boat close enough for everyone to disembark, but not so much that the stern-drive would hit against the dock! The bow line had to be kept taught so as not to allow too much slack at the stern! We did have ball fenders at the rear as well, just in case
Having safely navigated our first trip we decided we needed a few more days familiarising ourselves with the boat before heading out to the open sea!

My "faith"

I have never considered myself to be very religious - I was born into an Anglican (Church of England) family, and christened, but we were not regular church goers. My Mother was born in Denmark, and, though I am not certain, I think belonged to the Evangelical Lutheran Christian Church (the commonest one in Denmark), but later naturalised as British following her marriage to my Father. I don't think my grandparents, who we lived with until I was about 4, were churchgoers, either, though I am not sure if that was because my grandfather was an invalid (gassed in the Great War) and couldn't get out and about much.
Around 1963 my primary school teacher invited me to join our local church choir, and we had practice on a Thursday, and then sang at the main service on Sunday, as well as at occasional weddings on Saturday - I do not recall my parents ever attending (it was only a short walk from home) and I was not doing it for any spiritual reason.
I do not recall many family "church" occasions growing up, certainly not until we lived in Mozambique in the late 60's and an Anglican vicar used to come to the sugar estate we lived on at Christmas and hold a service in a private home for a small group of ex-pats - Catholicism was the main religion there. I went to boarding school in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and the Anglican Chapel was a main part of daily life - we had a short morning service every day, singing practice on Saturday, and had to attend either the morning or evening services (but could, of course, attend both if we wanted) on Sunday. Attendance was compulsory, and there was punishment for any who were caught "bunking" off.
I was never "confirmed", not through choice, but the subject never came up and I never enquired into it, and it never concerned me that I couldn't attend communion, as it was not that big a deal for me.
After school I went to university in South Africa and occasionally on a Sunday, with some friends, we would attend a service at the closest Anglican church - not always the same one - but I cannot recall doing it because of any religious fervour, but simply because it seemed acceptable and something to do on a Sunday. Towards the end of my first year there were some demonstrations in Cape Town, resulting in the police charging the demonstrators, and even chasing them into an Anglican church, something they would never have done had it been a Dutch Reformed Church, the principal one of South Africa - and this created a ripple of dissent throughout the country, mainly in the universities, with peaceful protests being held outside the campuses. The government decided to clamp down and imposed a "riotous assemblies" act, making it illegal for more than 3 people to gather in one place! The demonstrators got round this by "marching" to church on Sunday, and the whole tenor of the services became political, with sermons condemning the government. This bothered me and my friends - a lot! We felt that the church had been usurped and was being used as a political, not a spiritual, tool, and we stopped attending. I think it was around this time that I started questioning my faith, and whether I really believed in the church and what it stood for, and whether I even believed in the existence of God.
I had studied Divinity at school, and even have an "O" level in it! We had briefly touched on comparative religions, and it appeared to me that almost all religions were really closely related, in that they all had one supreme deity (or God), though some of the interpretations of the "will of God" varied wildly. I started thinking about the fact that many wars had, in fact, been "Holy" wars, fought over religion and religious beliefs - "My God is better than your God!", when in fact they were one and the same. People were still fighting over religion, fighting over something that represented tolerance, acceptance of others, turning the other cheek. and even loving your fellow men. It suddenly made no sense to me.
I also found it extremely difficult to come to terms with the "heavenly Father", who was supposedly so powerful, as after all he had created this earth we lived on, allowing people to suffer from floods, earthquakes, tempests, and so on - all natural disasters, not man-made, so surely must have been created by "Him"? Many of those who suffered were the poorest souls on earth, living in areas most susceptible to these natural disasters, and the richest nations were able to cope better with these tribulations. Someone I mentioned this to said that they were "sinners" being punished, but that implies that poor people eking out a living, in the only place they can live, in the path of a hurricane must be more evil than those who live in "safe" cities? You are less of a sinner because you can buy a strong house in a city that doesn't suffer natural disasters? I am sorry, but that doesn't sit well with me. Also how can a religion that preaches forgiveness, tolerance, and love, and tells us that God loves us all and will forgive us all, justify so much suffering? Where is the love and forgiveness?
I got married in an Anglican church (my ex-wife was brought up Catholic), and my daughter was christened in a church, and we, as a family, occasionally attended church, usually regularly at Easter and Christmas, but occasionally at other times too - and especially during a period when my daughter attended a group called Praise Kids (sort of an extension of Sunday School) who used to perform at some services. By now the services had become less formal, and were more "happy clappy" with regular shouts of "hallelujah", and this turned me off even more - towards the end of the service we were supposed to mingle in the pews and "hug a friend", which I found uncomfortable. So it was with some relief when she outgrew Praise Kids! We still, as a family, attended Easter and Christmas services, but I always felt it was more out of a sense of moral obligation to the small community we lived in (we lived in that area for almost 30 years - and my ex still lives there).
My landlady here in Peru claims to be a Christian, but not "religious" - she (a qualified psychologist who used to lecture at university) claims there is a difference between being a Christian and being religious, and does not attend a conventional church. Her favourite farewell is "Blessings", and her conversation is sprinkled with references to the favours bestowed upon us by God. She is aware that I consider myself to be an agnostic, and appears to accept this, as I think, secretly, she believes I will convert to a fully fledged believer one day - however she cannot tolerate homosexuality (there was a programme on local TV one day and she harped on about that being a deadly sin for days afterwards!), and will not accept that we evolved from animals, or that the human being is actually part of the "animal" kingdom. I asked her once, when she was going on about the sin of homosexuality, about the Bible's take on tolerance, and the fact that many passages therein are open to different interpretation, and she simply replied that on the subject of homosexuality Christianity was very clear, and it was a mortal sin! I couldn't believe how an intelligent woman could be so closed-minded about many things, and accept the Bible's teachings (at least those that she liked!) as being the absolute truth!
As things stand I have not been to church for approaching 15 years, and the last time I went (to a service in Peterborough Cathedral) it was a memorial service for a friend. I certainly do not consider myself to be an atheist, but rather an agnostic - I find it difficult to accept the existence of anything that is not provable. OK, Christianity - the belief in God and Christ - is a fact, but the existence of God cannot be proved. That is where "faith" comes in - the blind belief that there must be something pulling all our strings, and this is where my faith founders, as I cannot accept that without some sort of concrete evidence, and people telling me "I have seen God" or "God spoke to me" is not enough, at least not for me. My sister once said to me that I must be so afraid of dying if I didn't believe in God, as what did I think would happen to me in the "afterlife" - I laughed, which upset her even more, as I do not believe in that either, and told her that as far as I was concerned when my physical body dies then that is the end of me, and so I was not bothered about any "life after death", which was a contradiction in itself. The existence of a "soul" is another of those nebulous beliefs that cannot be proven, so once I am gone then I am gone forever!
I have no doubt that belief in a supreme being, in a God (whatever denomination or religion he belongs too), does help many people, and gives them comfort, but I have always felt that I do not need that crutch, that I will face the world on my own, and overcome whatever challenges I face (or be overwhelmed by them!), but that I will not blame my failings on any external force - no "Why me, Lord?" for me!

I always tell people who advise me that I must open my heart and accept God that my door is always open, and that if "He" wants to come along and have a chat and a cup of coffee then "He" is most welcome!

The "joys" of apartment living!

In Brazil I own my own house - the emphasis is on "house", as it is a detached property on a 690 sq metre plot, so there is a nice garden buffer between me and my closest neighbours. There is also a street between me and the next house on two sides, and the only other adjacent house is below and to the side, so, although they extended close to the property line, not too close to be a nuisance. It means that life there is reasonably quiet, most of the time.
in Peru, however, where I spend the other 6 months each year, I have to rent. I do have certain requirements from the property I rent, apart from price being a major factor, primarily that it has secure off-road parking for my motorbike, a kitchen with a proper cooker (many rentals here are "holiday" lets so may only have a twin-burner hotplate), and include electricity, water and internet in the price. It also, obviously, must be furnished! As I only stay for 6 months I cannot negotiate my own utility bills, as minimum contracts are usually 12 months, and clearly having my own furniture is not really an option - even though renting an unfurnished place would be cheaper. I do have quite a lot of my own things which I store, along with my bike, with a friend here - kitchen utensils, bedding, towels, and so on - as the supplied equipment with apartments is usually either "old" or inadequate.
The first year I was here I was assisted in finding somewhere by the charity I was volunteering for - in the case of most volunteers the charity sets up the accommodation beforehand, but I was left to look at their selection once I arrived. I also had to make a quick decision on the only place they had found, though I had a couple more lined up myself to look at, as the landlady had someone else interested, and for the most part I am quite happy with my choice. It is only half a block from the beach on a fairly quiet street, and is a small building with only 7 apartments, but with two separate entrances, so only 3 accessed from the same side as mine.
The apartment is one bed-roomed, but quite spacious, with a small kitchen, and a large lounge-dining room and a balcony, plus access to the roof terrace, where the washing lines are. The kitchen was not very well equipped, though did have a full cooker, so I bought some of my own things, like a set of crockery and cutlery, and kitchen knives, and a lot of the general furnishings, provided bedding and towels were pretty old - the pillows were a little musty so I bought some of those too!
Most of the other apartments were occupied by short-term tenants, and though at times a little noisy, that first year was not too bad. At the end of my stay I asked if I could book again for the following year, but the landlady was reluctant to commit so far ahead in case she lost a permanent lease by accepting my booking, so asked if I would confirm closer to my arrival date in 6 months time. However by then the apartment was already taken until a month after my arrival so I had to look elsewhere.
Although there were quite a few online adverts for apartments getting a response from the advertisers was more difficult - with many not responding, and some of the email addresses bouncing back as "unknown" - so in the end I arrived the following March, booked into a hostel for a week and started apartment hunting! As it was just before Easter there was not much available, particularly for the 6 month period I required, but eventually I responded to a large advert outside a new building and they had a brand-new 3 bedroomed apartment available. It was much bigger - and more expensive - that I needed, but was beautifully appointed, if a little further from the beach, so I took it for the full 6 months. The English-speaking landlord gave me a special price based on 6 months occupancy, and a single occupancy rebate, but it was still a lot more than I had paid the previous year. One downside to this apartment was that other apartment in my floor, which was going to be the owner/landlord's apartment, was not yet finished, so there was a lot of construction noise for the next two months!
At the end of my second stay in Peru I started looking for somewhere for the following year - the apartment I was in was great, but really too expensive, so I needed something smaller and cheaper. I looked at two other one-bedroomed apartments nearby, one advertised parking available, but when I asked about it they said the parking was already  taken - by their car! The other also advertised parking, but she said is was "on-street" and safe, and also the kitchen was outside the apartment, which was essentially a large bed-sit with a bathroom and balcony, across a hallway and without a door, so easily accessible by the other apartments, though she assured me it was just for "my" apartment! I declined both of these! I contacted the landlady of the apartment I had been in the first year, and she said she could only "guarantee" availability for me if I paid a deposit in advance, which in the end I did.
So year 3 I was back in the same apartment, and found that the crockery I had bought before was almost all broken, the pillows replaced with more musty ones, and I had to replace a few more things. Apart from that I spent another agreeable year in Peru, though the neighbours seemed a little noisier. Year 4 was a similar story - I again had to replace some equipment, as the supplied things were getting more decrepit, and more pillows!! The same goes for year 5 - though two apartments were now taken by long-term foreign tenants, and there was a crazy lady in the apartment below me, who blamed me for any and all noise in the building (I am like a mouse as I am only too conscious that I am sharing a small space with others and try to keep as quiet as possible), and used to harangue me often, despite me trying to convince her that it wasn't me! Eventually the landlady had to evict here as she was fighting and swearing with everyone!
Towards the end of year 5 the landlady informed me that there would not be any parking the following year as she was looking to rent the whole ground floor, including the parking courtyard, to the mini-market next door. Year 5 had been particularly noisy, too, not only the crazy lady below, but also a large group on the ground floor, and the young lady above me made quite a lot of noise (that I was being blamed for by crazy lady!), so I was not too disappointed that I would have to look elsewhere, and, in fact, the landlord from year 2 had a small apartment available, that I booked in advance!
The only "snag" with this apartment is that it was on the 5th floor (we would call it 4th, as the ground floor here is the 1st), and the stairs were a bit of a problem for my advancing years, but it was again very well appointed, though secure parking was a few blocks away, and had great views over the town. Unfortunately it was not going to be available this year, year 7, upon my arrival, and the only thing he had available was a 3 bedroomed apartment in a different building (owned by someone else but managed by him) which I could rent for 6 weeks until he had something smaller available after Easter. It was again going to be on the 5th floor, but was a lot more expensive, too, that I was willing to pay, and I wasn't that keen on moving during my stay, so I started looking elsewhere again.
There was a place I had ridden past often during my stays and I found an online advert for it - it looked nice, even though it was located in a campsite so I thought could be a bit noisy, so I contacted them and booked it for my 7th year stay in Peru. On arrival, however, they showed me to a completely different apartment - the one I had booked was not available, but they had others, which were open-plan bedsits, with a hotplate rather than a cooker, and were totally unacceptable. I had just spent over 30 hours travelling to Peru, including an overnight stay in Lima airport, and found myself without a place to stay! In desperation I called the landlord from the previous year and his wife said they might have something, so I caught a passing taxi and went to his building.
His wife (he was away) showed me another building they were managing, and another 3-bedroomed apartment, again fairly new and very well appointed, but again quite expensive! I could stay there for 2 weeks, but it was booked after that, though they would have an apartment in their building 10 days after that, meaning I needed to find somewhere for the intervening days! This was also a 5th floor apartment, and this year I was struggling even more with the stairs (bad knee, old motorbike injury, and bad ankle), so felt I needed to look for a lower floor solution.
I contacted my landlady from before and she told me "my" old apartment would be available 10 days after I moved out of the one I was in, but that she had something I could stay in until then. So I moved back into the building I had been in 5 times before. The mini-market move hadn't materialised so the parking was also available, and 10 days after moving into a large bedsit I was back in my "old" apartment!
Yet again the equipment was woefully inadequate, and as far as I can tell there is nothing new since my first stay here 7 years ago! So much so that I stored all her kitchen equipment (utensils, crockery, etc.) and am using all of my own, and again had to buy new pillows. She seems to have an endless supply of old, lumpy, musty pillows! The main gate to the parking is damaged too, though I have told her about it, and it is quite difficult to get the up-and-over gate to stay open so I can get the bike in and out! 3 months in and still nothing has been done about that!
This year there are only 2 apartments occupied besides mine, both long-term by young ladies, though both now have boyfriends staying - one above me, and one below me. The young lady below has a dog with her, and until the boyfriend moved in I never heard her - literally I could not tell if she was home or not, and never even heard the door - however now both doors are slammed shut on entry and exit! Similarly the people upstairs - the apartment door is slammed hard, sometimes more than once as they appear to have trouble closing it, on entry/exit, and just this morning (at 07.30) it was slammed 4 times in the space of 5 minutes! It appeared they were taking some things downstairs one flight then going back for more, and each time the door was slammed on entry/exit, which is several times a day! The door to the street is slammed by her too, and occasionally not even shut properly so the lock doesn't catch, leaving the property unsecured! I manage to close both my apartment door and the street door without resorting to slamming them, but then I have always been considerate towards others.
I really like this apartment - it is spacious, in a good location close to the beach where I take my daily walks, and has secure parking for my bike, but I just wish that fellow tenants would show as much consideration to other building users as I do. It is the only downside to living here, especially since I am now using my own belongings in the kitchen!! With only 2 months left this year till I return to Brazil my thoughts are turning to 2020, and whether I try and re-book, or see if I can find something quieter!!