Monday 26 October 2009

Capital Vices or Cardinal Sins...

The Catholic Church, as only it could, initially divided sin into two types: ‘Venial Sins,' which are relatively minor and the more severe ‘Capital’ or Mortal Sins. Apparently mortal sins destroy the life of grace, and create the threat of eternal damnation unless absolved through the sacrament of Confession. Scary stuff. Ultimately both forms of sin could be forgiven by The Church; it all depended on how large a donation you make at the end of mass. Direct debits, cheques and bank transfers are also accepted means of easing the path to forgiveness I'm reliably informed.

Whilst the concept of sin is pretty easy to grasp The Church decided to also opt for a seven stroke approach just to really clarify what counts as sinful activity and ensure that at some stage we have all fallen and so must pay up or burn in damnation. I therefore have to admit that I have fallen and fallen hard. Yes, I have sinned. There is no need for Tom Hank’s Langdom to race around a Parisian art gallery or decrepit cathedral chasing an assortment of cryptic clues, battling with The Illuminate, even Opus Dei can rest easy, I will save time and admit I have been seduced by the deed considered to be the original and most serious of the deadly seven. Indeed the ultimate source from which the others arise. It is identified as a desire to be more important or attractive than others, failing to acknowledge the good work of others and excessive self love.

Superbia/Hubris/Vainglory – three names, one meaning, Pride. Just as Lucifer succumb to it, desiring to compete with God resulting in a speedy fall from heaven, I too have stumbled on the path. The penny jar next to my desk has started to quiver and turn green knowing well that it is about to vomit out it’s contents to ensure my easy passage back into the light. Whilst in Dante's Divine Comedy, the penitents were forced to walk with stone slabs bearing down on their backs in order to induce feelings of humility I have opted for a brief journey back to Cambridge for the night, a full rucksack with a lap top and charger inside strapped to me tortoise-like to serve as penance for the pride I feel over completing my fifth blog.

In the past I have succumbed to Sloth and so to combat this I have imposed deadlines, ensuring a blog gets written, edited and published in a timely fashion, creating a cathartic sense of worth even though I’m pretty sure no one is reading my ramblings. In the past I have fallen foul to these ‘deadlines’ and felt a gravitational pull towards Adams’ view in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." With this the fifth instalment of my life in and around Soho I am proud to see the virtual pages stack up. Initial hesitation has given way to enthusiasm, for now, and whilst there is little point in producing a blog and sending out my thoughts into the ethereal abyss, even if eternal damnation or an empty bank account is the end result, I am proud of what I've produced and so embrace this sin.

To keep Pride and Sloth from getting lonely Michelin starred Gluttony has at times appeared in my life and so I found my recent work-imposed trip to Manchester via the 9.42am train from Euston a bit of a squeeze. Like all things Virgin it was a tight fit. Their trains, planes and I imagine their future 'Galactic Express' promising to launch us into 2012 are all designed to fit the slimmer gentleman. Whilst maintaining the status of a man of means I am well proportioned edging towards a more ample stature. Due to the financial implications I’m not overly concerned that I won’t be comfortable on the Virgin rocket, at $200,000 a pop it’s not looking likely that I will appear on the passenger shortlist. However with a planned trajectory overlapping the Earth’s atmosphere at 70,000 feet (21,000 meters) and the sub-orbital journey it’s the short period of weightlessness which really does appeal especially after lunch.
 
Manchester was work and I can't really justify writing much more than to confirm that the most exciting part was leaving. Returning home and walking through Soho you can hear, see and unfortunately smell all seven sins on offer. Open doors with provocative signs promising somewhat optimistically 'models,' exclusive member-only clubs full of A to Z listers and their sycophants, £5 eat as much as you can Chinese buffets on every corner and Greek Street's L'Escargot pushing heart-attack inducing foie gras and gravlax de salmon for the same price of a bungalow in Surrey. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride, each supposed to strike fear into the church going masses however to an agnostic such as me they each in turn form the components of a promising night out.

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