I woke up before dawn this morning and started listening to the radio. Exacerbated through lack of sleep, my worries about what is happening in the Middle East which is creeping ever closer to Europe are getting very troubling, especially as Russia becomes more involved and more isolated.
So I turned to your posts for solace, but even Cro's biscuit recipe couldn't sooth me. Yael's grandson's attempt at beating the Chinese at their own game - actually, someone else's game - didn't help, and by the time I got to Rachel's post I was ready for the verbal beating which she handed out to all of us before she went to work.
Years ago when I first started writing this shit, I had worked out that the blogosphere is - in the main - populated by the over 50s who use it in a vain attempt to temporarily escape the horrors of the world, and so we all come away with the impression that everyone else's lives are peaceful, creative and fulfilling compared to our own.
The ups and downs in the blogosphere usually involve factors such as whether or not your cake has risen, but occasionally someone will snap and gabble out worries and vitriol as if talking to their imaginary therapist, and the rest of us huddle together and coo gently to the troubled soul until they shut the fuck up and get on with the baking.
Being a Sunday, last night's radio had a distinctly religious feel to it, but being multi-cultural Britain, the gods in question are rarely mentioned by name.
An Anglican priest said the last prayers of the day, and he said something which actually made me wake up and think a little before going to bed.
"Fear is perverted Love".
I think that notion has some milage in it, especially if you believe that aggression is the direct result of fear.
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