My weekend at Portsmouth was absolutely boring. First off, it was some kind of church conference meeting, so I got a whole bunch of pastors and important church workers sitting around in an auditorium congratulating themselves on increasing church membership, planting more churches, etc. etc. Which in itself is great, don't get me wrong. It's good to hear that the church is growing and that people are being converted and that church leaders are doing a great job...it just isn't my cup of tea. If there's one thing I learnt from my weekend, it was that I don't think I'm made for working for the church. Going for conferences like that will kill me.
Pat, bless her heart, realised I was bored out of my wits and gave me Saturday afternoon off to wander around Portsmouth by myself. I loved it. Been too social lately and to be able to walk around a strange place by myself, where nobody knows me, where every corner I turn I see something new was a fantastic experience. I really felt revived, after beeing surrounded by familiar people and faces 24/7 for the last few weeks, it was great to be by myself.
Unfortunately, Portsmouth wasn't a terribly scenic place....the harbourside was alright, nothing special and the whole area was too industrial for me. The only highlight was probably Charles Dickens' birthplace, but the main problem is....I DON'T LIKE CHARLES DICKENS. And I'm saying this not because of who he is, but coz I just don't understand what's so great about his books! I've read books with far better imagery, language and plots....his stories are just too.....convenient.