The Longest Day

It happened! It finally happened! Saturday was a day full of emotions. I was already full of anxiety because of Gary and his.. Garyness. The loudness, the heavy treading, the endless conversations about Pokemon. Add this to a heavily gravid chameleon who had not eaten for several days and about to burst with eggs.

Gary and HIS green friend.

Then, we spotted her. She was digging. In her wandering around for somewhere suitable to lay Ziggy had not even touched her sandpit. This was the one place in her tank that would be suitable to lay eggs but it was a shock. Suddenly, a further anxiety came over me. Would she be distressed by Gary? What if she spotted me monitoring her and abandoned her nest. Would my friend (also called Michael) understand my not showing up for his stag celebrations because my small green friend had decided to show off how fertile she could be.

Sneaking a peek at the little digger!

Ziggy kept going and going. I was unsure how long the whole process would take if I was honest. I sat by her tank peering in occasionally for around 4 hours. I even ate my dinner on my lap, worrying about how the process would go. I whatsapped Dave to tell him the day had come! There wasn't much Dave could do in Krakow but it made me feel assured there was experience to hand. He reassured me that, when night came Ziggy would keep going, long into the night, not stopping to sleep or feeling the cold when her heat lamp had long turned off.

8:25pm, 5 minutes before usual bedtime!

When 8:30pm came around and the lights went off, I made my escape to the back room and played on Playstation until about midnight, wondering what kind of adventures I had missed in Ronnie Scott's jazz bar, wondering how Dave felt about my digital worrying. I went to bed with the intention of getting up at 7:30 to monitor the situation yet again.

10:00 came and, although I hadn't seen any evidence of eggs Ziggy was beginning to fill in the hole she had made. She looked a sad shade of grey and seeing her working so hard made me feel compassion towards her. Imagining her efforts in the pitch black, laying her eggs, I felt very proud and in my heart cheered her over the next hurdle.

But I was exhausted, I was stressed, Gary had to put it politely, been trying. Thomas the Tank engine blared out from the television, Gary showed his inability to watch anything sitting down, his 15 stone frame dancing in close proximity to the vivarium. Church was an oasis of calm in all of that. I was thankful for the opportunity to meet at God's house that morning,

Tired, tired girl.

Hungry, dehydrated but back where she belongs!

I got home... and she had filled in the hole. She looked sad, tired and thirsty, and incredibly skinny but she had made it. I was surprised at how long the final preparations took. Three hours were spent smoothing over the sand, making sure no predators would twig that there were edible treasures within. 24 hours after the initial digging, she was back, under her lamp. I gave her a massive drink and some pear soaked in calcium and let her rest.

First sighting!

Of course, being me, I could not relax until I saw the eggs. I began to wonder if she laid, or had abandoned her next due to Gary's stomping, me peering behind the curtain one time too many, or an apparent unsuitability of nesting site. My fears were unfounded when the next day, me and mum did some digging. Carefully we scooped out the sand and dug to the bottom, waiting for our first glimpse at the clutch.


And what a clutch it was! Having read a few forums I was expecting around 30 eggs, maybe even 40 if Ziggy was feeling super fertile. But.. nothing could have prepared me for 68! No wonder she was a tired girl.

 It was a real roller coaster of emotions, but to witness the perseverance of my strange little friend, the reptilian instinct taking over, was an absolute joy. I don't think I'll ever forget the first clutch of eggs Ziggy laid in my care. I'm a proud step dad!

Sixty Eight!

An Unexpected Guest

Dave preparing his goodbyes.

I was sat in my friend's car about to go for our quarterly trip to McDonalds. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I, even though I was with a friend, read the message. Inside the message was a grand request that would change things forever.

I forget the wording of the message but the upthrust was this. Dave has accepted a new job in Poland and needed someone to take on his guitar and his chameleon. The guitar was not a problem, I am no stranger to musical instruments but the chameleon presented a unique challenge.

I had met Ziggy before, I was impressed by her 360 degree vision and her incredibly long tongue, but I did not imagine a world in which  I would have to welcome her into my own home.

Moving day came and went. I remember Dave coaxing Ziggy out of her tank so he could load her into a polysterene tub, ready for the half hour drive to my house. I remember being overwhelmed slightly
by all the chameleon paraphernalia I was given to aid me in the task of caring for Ziggy; The Dripper, The Humidity Sensor, The 60 Watt Bulb, The Laying Bin. It all seemed like a big task, but, I was animal fact boy at school, surely I could take care of Ziggy.

Wash your hands afterwards!

Veiled chameleons come from the rain forests of Yemen and are used to humid surroundings. This means a spray first thing in the morning and another in the evening, to keep things wet and warm. A dehydrated chameleon is a sad chameleon. Every time I poked my bottle of water into the vivarium I would be met with angry hissing noises. It was in equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Feeding time was even worse, catching live cricket from a little tub, covering them in calcium and releasing them into the vivarium. I felt sorry for the little critters as they explored their new surroundings only to be sucker punched by a wet slimy tongue and crushed to death in the reptile's powerful jaws. I could hear Sir David Attenborough narrating the whole scene in his trade mark style.

For a few months things seemed to be going very smoothly. Dave enjoyed receiving updates and pictures while he settled into Poland. I began showing pictures of Ziggy to beautiful women in an attempt to appear exotic and dangerous.  I could feed her out of my hand (I got bitten once and the pain was hideous!) and the hissing had stopped. I held her in my hands on a few occasions (washing them thoroughly afterwards of course, salmonella is not ideal!) and life seemed sweet. I was enjoying the fascinating and rewarding world of keeping my colourful new friend. 

But like, all things, there was an ordeal on its way. And it is in that ordeal where we find ourselves today. Eggs. You see, chameleons lay eggs once a year. Unfertilised of course (one chameleon is enough!). Ziggy started looking a bit chubby, a tell-tale sign she was full of eggs (gravid). Recently, Ziggy has been digging on the floor, hiding in the corner and just looking ever so grumpy. Gravid chameleons also need their privacy. I have had to cover her tank so things are peaceful for her. My cat has other ideas though, so that has been rather stressful. Egg bound chameleons lose their appetites as well and  and since the crickets I released into her tank remain untouched I think she's due any day now. There's a big pot of damp sand ready for her when she's ready.. So all I can do is wait.. and that's the hardest part. It's revealed to me yet another layer of chameleon care.

So what is the moral to this story? It is amazing how many things exist that we don't know about. The whole world of chameleon keeping is full of thrills and spills. There is a vivarium in my living room that is full of stories, full of possibilities. I'm left wondering how far I could take this whole chameleon thing. Could I get another one? Could I try for some chameleon babies? Could I raise those children by hand using the latest rearing techniques. The answer to all of those questions is probably no, but it is mad to think there are people for whom keeping these weird creatures is their entire world.

 Do what you love and do it well.

To Whom Shall We Go?

As I stared at the night sky in the year's first minutes, I felt a little troubled. The juxtapositioning of New Years melancholia and a few thoughts I'd had recently created an odd cocktail. I couldn't tell if my teeth were chatting through cold or anxiety, but the thoughts I had were important. They were the first step in addressing something that had creeping in recently, an overwhelming sense of greyness. The world had lost a sense of vibrancy.

A friend gave me a Qu'ran recently and I read a few chapters of it with great interest. As I journeyed through the various claims about the nature of God I became aware that this could potentially the beginning of an episode in which I converted to Islam. A strange thought but not an impossible one. I mean, all it would take would be for a tiny fragment to capture my imagination or a curiosity that snowballed. I think it seems foolish to say it couldn't happen to anyone. People with stronger faiths than I renounce their faith. Some continue in their faith yet are able to continuously commit the biggest sins their faith tradition prohibits; matrimonial unfaithfulness, large scale monetary fraud, and of course one particular institution is rife with paedophillia in its upper ranks. To suggest that I couldn't be diverted "off course" seems a bit, well, wrong.

On New Years Eve there was a knock at the door. Jehovah's Witnesses! I gleefully answered the door to them and, in the December cold, chatted for a solid twenty minutes. We discussed all sorts of topics, the misrepresentation of Islam, the Day to Come and the nature of faith. There are plenty of things I agree with, faith wise, with the Witnesses. Of course the things we disagree on are fairly foundational to our faiths. The ineffable mystery that Jesus could be God's son yet also God himself simultaneously seemed to be a bit of a stretch for Josephine and Benjamin. Some days this almost ridiculous and seemingly logically flawed belief presents itself to me as a mystery too, but in the same way I don't understand Astrophysics, I still hold on to my belief that the Bible states Jesus is God. The chat did throw a curveball at me which prompted me to do some digging into the claim that a particular world changing prophecy came true in 1914. I even took to contacting a friend of mine, a lovely lady I used to work with who is a Witness herself to find out more.

And so, the daydreams began again. After months of being worn down, by both their never-say-die attitude to ministry and my ability to get caught up in things, I finally join the Witnesses. Half of my family refuses to speak to me again after their efforts to dissuade me fall on deaf ears. I leave my church. Perhaps to those I leave behind, my new found faith looks like a moral failure. Some may even see it as a grand deception, as if my Christian faith was a massive act and I was never really "a true believer" to begin with. Some stick by me though, while not necessarily being thrilled with my choice, continuing to be friends and being there for me.

So how would I fare as a Witness? Would my social anxiety prevent me from knocking on doors and proclaiming the Good News. Would I be at peace with the niche I had found in the world and pull off life with the Watchtower with relative ease. Would I find the deep inner realm of organisation's underbelly  to be sinister and long for a way out, feeling trapped and manipulated? 

From the stories I've read the latter seems like the obvious choice. Yet, despite that, the idea of spending 18 months in, what some can only describe as a cult, while everyone in the real world worries to despair is an exciting thought. There's a lot in there. Imagine seeing the world with fresh eyes, all things exciting again. The things you previously held to be true turn out to be wrong. Its scary but the world becomes a much bigger place. The prescription changes and everything changes hue. That's radically exciting. Plus, I once saw a young woman knocking on doors once who was breathtakingly beautiful, perhaps I would get the opportunity to be be politely rejected by her!

However, my eventful and eventual redemption provides for a sweet tale too. A teary hug from my pastor as I'm welcomed back to the fold, a renewed clarity of thought now that things have changed once again, opening my first birthday presents after what would be known as "the wilderness years" Essentially, my daydreams are weird expressions of a desire to be in a narrative where I feel loved, be it by friends and family or new relationships made through entering a new circle. I also long to see the world with wide eyed wonder. That's what everyone wants right?

As I pondered these things while I watched the fireworks this incident from the life of Christ, recorded in the Gospel of John came to mind.

John 6:67-69

“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve.

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”

To whom shall I go? There are times when I feel like I'm in a cult. Times when I wonder if my faith is the result of Christians taking advantage of me when I was vulnerable and going through a rough patch, But, honestly, what life is there beyond following Jesus? Living for Jesus already puts me in a narrative where I am loved way more than I could ever imagine, by God himself. Wow. Half the time I don't feel loved, and a lot of the time The Christian Life is not glamorous but despite that, I still hold on. Jesus is real and he is King.

As for seeing the world with wide eyed wonder, I'll admit the world has greyed substantially from when my faith was new and colourful. But beneath the grime of life, church rotas and bad perspectives on things, the world is still vibrant as ever, directed by an even more vibrant King.  There are still opportunities for learning and adventure. Plenty of Easter eggs hidden in this world that can only be appreciated if you and God find them together. I'm going to have to fight for this wonder. But I won't get there by doing more for me, but by depending on God. But I can't complain I'm not getting calls if I'm not listening for the phone. I'm going to have to pray and study the Bible diligently to find it, because once I begin to see God with a renewed sense of wonder, everything else will change too.

The Fault in Our Star Wars

I was 11 years old when I had my appendix out. The year was 2001, so at this point there were only four Star Wars movies but a fifth was on the horizon. I received the diagnosis of appendicitus at about 6:30pm on a Tuesday 5^th March. I remember the trip to the hospital as every speed bump bought about a sharp pain to my abdomen. Six hours in A&E later, a surgeon named Alex said that 12:30am was no time to be doing operations and the procedure had to wait until the following morning. Flash forward twelve and a half hours and the whole thing was a success. Life without an appendix had just begun! I remember everything about the whole misadventure, from diagnosis to discharge, vividly.

There are some childhood memories I have where I am unsure wether I remember them at all. One of my earliest “memories” is playing in a paddling pool on the patio with Emma. I was about two and a half. I don't know if I actually remember this or wether I simply remember the dozens of photos of that particular day. Memory is a strange thing.

Picture the Scene: 1996. I am seven years old. The Saturday afternoon ritual of going to Moonlight Movies, our local video rental shop, situated on the same roundabout as Hepworth's Fish and Chips is well established in the Bateman household. One fateful afternoon, we rented Star Wars and I was introduced to the world of Luke Skywalker and friends. I have no recollection of watching it at all. I have no memory of watching the second Star Wars film but I know for a fact that I have. Unfortunately, I never got around to renting Return of the Jedi.

Flash forward to 1999 and Star Wars: The Phantom Menace was released. I saw that one at the cinema but remember very little of the experience. However is that the video game tie in was nothing short of incredible. Sure, It had a few annoying bugs and it was actually possible to save the game whilst dying which meant if you loaded the game you would be greeted with a game over screen. As for the difficulty, it was incredibly stressful and I never got to the end. In fact, I don't know anyone who finished that game. The point being, most of my Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace knowledge, the characters, plot and setting, come from that game and not the actual film.

There were two other Star Wars films made after that but I have no emotional connection to either of them or the circumstances in which I saw them.

My friend Chris made this in 2006. I never fully understood it. That's me on the left.

Star Wars is everywhere. This reminds me of my paddling pool story from earlier. I have seen most of the films but I do not actually remember watching them. Miraculously, I have managed to cope. It is impossible to exist alongside Star Wars Fans without absorbing tidbits of trivia via osmosis. That is not enough. One cannot be a fan of Star Wars fuelled by second hand memories and hype. It is not enough to know that Admiral Gial Ackbar's most famous line is “It's a trap” without experiencing it firsthand for yourself. I've spent most of my teenage and adult life not even sure if I actually like Star Wars.

Then the new Star Wars film was announced. A lot of my friends were excited but unsurprisingly I was fairly nonplussed. In the build up to the release of The Force Awakens, I finally found time to watch Return of the Jedi this year and it was a good film. I was surprised that, despite being friends with thousands of Star Wars super fans I had no idea how “The Whole Of Star Wars” ended. Shrugs all round.

I made a conscious decision to go see The Force Awakens on my own. Being a fairly contrary fellow I figured that other people would influence my decision. I would rebel against the general consensus for the sake of controversy. I was so confident in my mind that would be the best approach, I even dreamt I saw it on my own. One can't argue with prophesy. I would pay my money, watch the major motion picture on my own, and my opinions would be pure, untainted. I didn't watch the trailer, I didn't read anything about the film, I didn't even know the names of any of the new characters. I avoided everything I could as I was determined to discover, for myself, wether I actually liked Star Wars or not.

Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens is 137 minutes long and is really good.

O Holy Night

My choir experience is finally over. It all happened last night and quite truthfully, it was incredible. Simply put, it has been an emotional roller coaster from start to finish. So, before I go into the details of the night itself let us take a trip down memory lane to figure out how I got myself into this mess in the first place.

On October the 23^rd I received a Whatsapp message from one of the worship leaders from church that simply read “Choir this year?” followed by some music note emojis and I cautiously obliged. A mixture of excitement and unease filled my being as I was not quite sure what I had let myself in for!

I turned up to the first practise not really sure what to expect. As has been mentioned the whole affair was a source of profound confusion from the very beginning.

As the weeks passed I became more and more confident with the idea of being in the choir. My family winced as I practised at home, bellowing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen at any given opportunity. Slowly but surely, I was beginning to be able to hit the notes I needed and navigate my way around the dozens of pages of sheet music that had been given to me.

Then, came the darkness. Having missed a practise session the week previous due to a preaching commitment I began to feel a little bit behind. The following Sunday, after a busy week, I found myself tired, groggy and feeling a little ill. I considered not going to practise for a second week running. I then remembered that I was unable to make the next week's practise too. I agonised about going to bed but something inside me spurred me on. I was going to be in the choir and no-one could stop me.

The King's Centre Choir 2015

Flash forward to the real thing: I was on stage, dressed in a bright red jumper (choral uniform apparently) feeling sick with nerves. Seven members of my family, who don't make a habit of going to these kind of events, came to watch, occupying a whole row right in the middle of the church. The administration elements of being in the choir overcame me as I constantly dropped my music and turned to the wrong pages. In some cases, I had managed to lose the words and had to mime a song or two. The whole thing certainly was a baffling ordeal.

But I did it. We did it. I loved it. The whole thing has meant a great deal to me as I've done things I never thought I would ever do. We sang in unison, we sang harmonies, we even sang with a live band. And people loved it! Lots of people were uplifted by it and were able to share in the joy of Christmas because of an unlikely group of singers all with different stories, backgrounds, proficiencies and abilities banded together to sing praises to Jesus. Beautiful. 

Cryptic Christmas

A colleague of mine once received a set of coat hangers as their secret Santa present. The incident is fairly famous at work as among one of the biggest secret Santa disasters.

I've been through several Secret Santas and each experience has taught me a little something about the human condition. Here are a few reflections to help you survive the festive merriment.

You Are Not That Interesting 

While we can all dream of a present that is a playful yet thoughtful reference to one of your most lovable quirks, the laws of probability states your gift giver probably won't have a relationship with you that allows them to be privy to those kinds of insights. After all, you are probably not as interesting as you consider yourself. Consumables like bath soaps, chocolates or upmarket fudge are all fairly safe bets. If you're getting these than you can assume your gift giver doesn't really know an awful lot about you, but fortunately they wish you no harm.  

It Is More Blessed To Give Than To Receive

I hooked that one straight about of the Bible, and it is kind of what Christmas is about. One year, I struck gold with my random allocation and managed to get the perfect present. The recipient loved their gift so much they posted a picture of it on Facebook and it got about 10 likes. My gift on the other hand was a little bit disappointing. I received an alcoholic beverage, which was no use to me as I average about two drinks a year.  I was so cross about the whole thing I proudly told my colleague that I had bought her the gift she loved so dearly. Just because you got someone a great gift, doesn't mean you deserve one - doing good things with a sense of entitlement is terrible and bad.

Secret Santa Is Not The Place To Try Out Your Comedic Talents

This one is fairly obvious. If someone in the office was hospitalised by a boar in October, a cuddly pig is probably not the best choice. Unless you have a great relationship with the person and you know they're cool with whatever aspect of their character you're subtly mocking steer clear of anything comedic. I've never known anyone to be upset by a box of country fudge. I am also yet to see nipple tassells go down well. Some free advice there.

Have Fun And Don't Be An Idiot

The gift you receive probably isn't a deep insight into what people think of you as a person. Because people like to receive nice gifts they also tend to avoid giving intentionally bad ones. Secret Santa is not designed to be a baffling ordeal but is designed so everyone you work with might get a present, have a laugh and enjoy Christmas a little bit more.

In case you are wondering, I received some chocolate this year, which falls into the giver probably doesn't know me very well so got me a safe gift and that is okay category. Maybe I'll get the Bulgarian Phrasebook next year....

Life in HD

Online Thesaurus Shopping

This week, I had a enthralling conversation with a colleague about a new book I had purchased. I was incredibly animated about The Usborne Junior Thesaurus. Declaring it a "game-changer" I insisted the school needed to order about 30 copies of it. The response was a bemused:

"Your head must be a wonderful place to be, Batman"

As it happens, it is.

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain is one of the most important books I have ever read. In it, she talks about how naturally quiet or introverted people tick. As it turns out, we have super reactive brains.  People who fall in this category have "rich inner personal lives" but also have trouble switching off effectively.  Always and constantly working, noticing things.  I read every single sign I see. I can listen to multiple conversations at once. I am afraid of firework displays. The best way to describe it is Life in High Definition

Sometimes these things are awesome sometimes it makes life a baffling ordeal because it is absolutely exhausting. By four o'clock today I could barely string a sentence together and it was bad news as I had to deliver a Bible story and lead an assembly style thing with the kids. My situation wasn't helped by the fact I got in at one o'clock this morning having been to see Anna Von Hausswolff perform in some hipster bar in Hackney.

But, there's a way to overcome the exhaustion caused by stimulation and that is do things you are passionate about. I was surprised at how I managed to survive the afternoon (I shouldn't be surprised as we had prayed beforehand!)

Reading a half reasonable explanation on how my brain may or may not work has helped me to look after myself. I know that if I'm feeling down for no particular reason, it may be overstimulation. I know not to do too much or face exhaustion. But switching off is incredibly hard, so I'll just write 350 words about needing to switch off rather than actually do it.

11 days until I sing in a choir.