Urban Harvest

For the first time for absolutely ages, I went to church this morning.

I’m reminded how much I like the good people of St Luke’s and as ever tell myself I really ought to make the effort more often. If only Sunday mornings didn’t come hot on the heels of Saturday nights…

It turns out to be harvest Sunday. This always seems to be a strange festival to try and celebrate in an inner-city area so remote and disconnected from the source of the food we eat (cue rememberance of former days as a youth worker taking Longsight youths out to the Dales and being asked "...but what are sheep for?".

Attempts at harvest festival to try and forge the association between source and supermarket shelf invariably come off weakly.

We Plough the Fields and Scatter is reluctantly wheeled out for it’s annual turn and Peter is clearly disappointed that there have been no takers on last year’s request for someone to come up with lyrics more suited to the Longsight neighbourhood.

He’s got the first line sorted: "We buy our food at Asda..."

Any ideas?

The harvest theme was continued in the evening as Stewart and I head round to Phil and Sarah’s for our tea. Sarah’s church had held a Harvest Supper with a twist the night before. From what I gather there were two menus; one representing the rich world, one representing the poor. Participants entered into a lottery, which determined which meal they received.

In a fitting metaphor the rich world had prepared even more than it’s indulgent menu required and leftover roast potatoes formed a certain theme in our evening’s fare.

Phil truly is a wonder-chef – you’d be amazed what you can do with leftover tatties with a bit of imagination!