Who would have thought that seeing The Producers could be a spiritually enlightening experience? A show that mercilessly pokes fun at every conceivable minority group still somehow manages to leave the audience with genuine joy, rather than mere cheap laughs. The sublime one-liners certainly help, (“Can I take your hat? Your coats? Your swastikas?”) but ultimately, The Producers is a story of redemption. When we first encounter Max Bialystock, he is a mess; a selfish, lecherous, swindling failure. As for Leo Bloom, he is timid, subservient and awkward, an accountant who aspires improbably to producing a Broadway musical. But through their friendship, both men are changed and ultimately redeemed. Their duet “’Til Him” makes it clear that this relationship has transformed them both. Of course, they must both serve a prison sentence for their dishonesty, and there is never a guarantee that all will live happily ever after (the surreal ending to Blazing Saddles shows that anything is possible in a Mel Brooks script). However, the curtain comes down with Bialystock and Bloom walking, together, into the sunset and a golden future of hit musicals. Redeemed through relationship. What a wonderful illustration of how a man can be transformed through a relationship with his creator.

Ffald-y-Brenin feels like the edge of the world. It’s miles of disorientating Welsh country road from anywhere, you can see nothing but fields from here, as far as the horizon, and the silence has an almost physical weight. The perfect place to come on retreat. My hostess encourages me “Be sure to go out to the cross, while you’re here. God’s doing some powerful things there.” Quite a recommendation. So, I make my way out. At the top of a rocky slope, out of sight of the buildings, is a six-foot tall, plain, wooden cross. As soon as I see it, I wonder why I’m there. I think back to my nightmarish journey. It feels like a pilgrimage, and I’m here for the same reason as any pilgrim - to seek God. The cross resembles a signpost, pointing left, right and up, and I realise that God actually is all around me, in the silent, panoramic view, stretching away on every side. I drove for six hours to get here, to discover God was actually all around me back in London. The irony. I can picture God with a wry smile on his face. I turn to leave, but I know I’m not leaving alone.

I love the idea of child sponsorship. It’s the practicalities I struggle with. The problem comes when, usually driven by guilt at not being in touch with Jair for months on end, the time comes to write to him. I begin with enthusiasm. I great him heartily and ask after his family. I then come to a grinding halt. What on earth am I supposed to say to a five year-old Peruvian boy? I decide to tell him a bit about my hobbies. I like sport. He’ll relate to that. So, I begin to tell Jair about the amusingly hopeless football team I play for, only to run into more problems. I think of my football boots, most likely made by sweat-shop labourers, somewhere in the far-east. Ooh. Guilt. I think of the lusciously green football pitches we play on, the branch of McDonalds we repair to after home games, the cars we all drive home afterwards. It’s the same game the world over, but I can’t help thinking we’re playing to different rules. Best change the subject. So I throw in a Bible verse, tell him I’m praying for him, and sign off. Lucky he’s still too young to read, really.

This cafe is beautiful, and it’s where a lot of Greenbelt business gets done, a lot of Greenbelt chat is chattered, a lot of Greenbelt dreams are dreamed. Now regular customer Pip points me to an article in the Society Guardian detailing the dilemma facing this wonderful jewel at the heart of London, the New Piccadilly , facing closure after the landlords announced their intention to increase the annual rent from £51,000 to £75,000.

Thankfully the New Piccadilly’s owner, Lorenzo “Lolly” Marioni, is fighting it (demanding a rent tribunal). Hopefully the Twentieth Century Society will put some weight behind it, because English Heritage are being no help at all. Viva New Piccadilly!

…seems a long time off yet. I’m in the midst of bringing Advent services into being, and planning for Christmas. Tomorrow I give version two of one of my Greenbelt talks from 05 here in Cambridge, reminding me of last Greenbelt which still seems like yesterday.
Yet on my desk is correspondence and forward plans for Greenbelt 06. I’m looking forward to it already, and giving some back-burner thought to the shape of talks and panels and the like.

Have you booked your space yet? I’d be fascinated to know how far in advance other people plan their Greenbelt.