Mojo

I have good news and I have bad news - or bad news and bad news depending on your point of view:

The Curate is back, but I can't find my Mojo!

I have just returned from a fortnight in Jerusalem studying at the International School for Holocaust Studies, and since my return have shivered and frankly, lied a lot. I left Tel Aviv on a day when its temperature peaked at 41 degrees, and now languish in my corner of middle-England that is petrified under the oppressive temperatures scaling the dizzy heights of -1! 

Yeah, baby, yeah! I said I had lied a lot and I know you have scanned down to this point to find out how. Well, my lovely friends and family, upon my return, have asked: 'Did you have a good time?'. I say 'yes, thanks, it was a wonderful experience - a real opportunity'. I lied. The real answer is 'the experience was life-changing and valuable, but my heart was ripped out and sacrificed on the altar of ideological genocides; I have seen things that will give me nightmares for the years (and already have); but otherwise great, thanks'!

I am not complaining, for as a man I am unaccustomed to such a thing as that - but I returned to this blog from the other one I have been doing wondering how on earth I could be The Vernacular Curate again. Suddenly [for me, even if not for you] this stuff seems grotesquely trite and facile (and quite unlike the levitous Lesley's Journo-Blog) - hey ho!

With all this in mind, a dear friend (a reader - and good morning to you, for you will know who you are, Brother) stopped me yesterday and thanked me for this eyewash - a kindness for which I am deeply grateful. 

So, kids - I am back, but I seem to be devoid of me Mojo, Man. I deign to write this in the shadow of so much death and evil as this for me is living, and living is what I have to do. Life is the gift I am granted and if someone somewhere smiles or is glad to have visited this site, I have done some good in a world where we need every little bit of it we can.