My walking stick predicament

Paramedics arrived with gas normally used on birthing mums. A&E topped it up with morphine but by lunchtime my false hip had mysteriously unlocked.

"Move him out," diagnosed the doc, and I limped away a-la-Zimmer frame with doc's departing words echoing " nerve trapped, mmm maybe muscle stuff"

I graduated to a walking stick, then, ironically, off to a conference on communities that limp.

My church serves a rundown ward so I was invited to urban priority area' ponderings.

There, I had a deep, spiritual revelation: my walking-stick predicament is just like Mr. Blair's not-so-hip treatment of limping localities.

For example, I relieve my hip pain with a stick, but using it gives me neck ache.

The stick solves little and the pain resurfaces elsewhere.

It's exactly the same with Mr. B's crutch of billions for deprived communities.

Yet still they limp, and this week he had the grace to admit that his crutches of gold are not the full solution.

It's dawning on us that something greater than gold is needed.

The Bible suggests we and our communities are designed to walk trustingly with God. This, writes St. Peter, is greater than gold.

Whoops! Forgot. Mr. B. doesn't do God'. Well, what about the incoming Mr. B?

Our Gordon hails from good Methodist stock. Surely he'll know what's greater than gold.