50ccPilgrim.uk

I've been visiting some of the local churches, particularly the ones I've never been to before. I'm confined to the immediate area at the moment because of bike issues, but there are still beautiful places to pray ... So here's a question: what makes a place beautiful and conducive to prayer? I was thinking about this when I called in at St Peter's in Horninghold, a lovely looking little church in a picture perfect English village. The first thing that struck me going in was dilapidation. Like so many rural English churches there's problems with damp, with flaking paint, with bats (we all love bats, but their droppings - not so much), with woodwork in poor repair. It makes them feel unloved. But that's not always an accurate impression. Yes, St Peter's was in a bad way: the plaster falling from the chancel ceiling is so bad they've had to block that part of the church off and put up warning signs. But there were other, more subtle, signs ...

Oof. I went from posting four or five times a day to missing almost an entire week! It certainly took some time to readjust to being home: a day with Sally before she set off on her own trip around Ireland (she took in Dublin, Sligo, Connemara, Cork and now is with her sister's Amish community near Waterford) and, of course, much laundry ... It's been strange, going from being so mobile to becoming rooted to the spot again in Tugby. But I've been delighted to discover that the sense of soaking in prayer which became such a delight during the pilgrimage hasn't worn off. I've been praying the Jesus Prayer everywhere I go, and singing the Psalms. At home but with a pilgrim heart. A good way to be. I promised to introduce Stella, so here she is. A Sym Mio 50 in delightful chocolate brown and vanilla livery. Classic scooter lines. A visual delight. Sadly, also, not a great engine. She's had issues since the day I bought her and they've only got worse ...

Sally took this photo on Friday when she picked me up from Oakham station. I'm leaning over a little strangely because of the weight of the backpack you can barely see slung over my right shoulder. Not long after I stepped over the threshold - home. It's been a strange but good weekend. Unpacking and washing everything. Catching up on a little lost sleep from the journey home. Enjoying being with Sally again ... for a bit, at least. She left for a 10 day trip around Ireland with her sister on Saturday morning, so we were ships passing really. It's going to be a summer of travel, I think. One of my greatest fears about this pilgrimage is that it might be a wonderful spiritual experience while on the road which evaporates as soon as I get back, the kind of divine equivalent of a holiday romance. But signs are good so far that this won't be the case. The prayer continues, renewed and revitalised as I'd hoped, and shows little signs of being unwilling to roo...