The (Current x Voltage) of Prayer

For those of you who've forgotten their GCSE physics I'm talking about the power of prayer.

I've just come back from a 5 day summer camp for Russian students aimed at helping them practice English and talk about spiritual issues. Our first night started badly when we discovered that none of the power sockets in the room we were using worked. We needed to plug in a laptop and projector to do the presention on friendship that I had prepared.
While someone was dispatched to find an electrician I prayed that the sockets would start working again. My prayer was quickly answered and we set up and started the evening session.

The electrician arrived about ten minutes later to find that he no job to do.

You know when you've turned into your Dad when...

According to Peter Kay this sentence finishes with ...you put aside a piece of wood specifically to stir paint with. Although funny this is not true of my dad and I have to finish this sentence with the slightly more serious ...you cry at things on film and tv. This is not to say that it's a bad thing in fact I think it's a good sign but what is surprising and perhaps slightly embarrasing is the things I cry at.

Those of you that know me well know that Doctor Who is my favourite tv programme and since its return to tv I have to employ slightly devious methods to get hold of the latest episodes here in Russia. I've just finished watching 'The Family of Blood' which is the second part of Paul Cornell's story 'Human Nature' and found myself unexpectedly in floods of tears. Not, you may imagine because of the touching scene in which the Doctor has to leave Joan but at the memorial scene right at the end of the episode where Tim has grown old and the Doctor and Martha have just been able to hop forward in time and are unchanged.

Why did I cry? I'm not sure but I think it probably has to do with the reason that I
observe Remembrance Day each year. My great-great-uncle died in the trenches of France shortly after returning from leave where he got married. He was one of many unlike the fictional Tim who didn't grow old but who fell fighting scared out of his wits by the sea of mud and guns and bombs. A man who was probably suffering from shell shock and who had already gone AWOL once. He died so that others could live.

The funny thing in all of this is that my father and I rarely cry at the same things, I've inherited his genes but I'm my own man.