DANISH CHURCHYARDS

Being a state church, as the Lutheran Church in Denmark is, has its advantages. The church is, in principle, financed by a separate tax (though non-members can opt out of this). But this is never enough, so the state provides a top-up payment. In return, the church carries out certain public functions, such as maintaining the registries of births and deaths in the parish.

One of those public functions is to manage graveyards. In order to fulfil this obligation, most parish churches employ a "graver" (a gravedigger), often on a part-time basis. Since modern Danes tend to die rather intermittently, particularly in rural areas, most of the graver's time is spent not on digging, but on gardening. When allied to a general Danish tendency towards tidiness, the result is spectacularly well-kept churchyards; well-laid out, with upright headstones and neat rows of box hedges along the weedless gravel paths. This is not always the case elsewhere in Europe. I visited my father's grave in England not long ago, and it looked a complete mess. Situated on a hillside, it was overgrown with weeds, prone to flooding and seemingly close to collapse.

It helps, I suppose, that Denmark became Lutheran in 1536. The Protestant reaction against finery in churches - few paintings, an absence of gold and marble, simple vestments - meant that more money was available for practical things such as keeping the roof from leaking and cutting the grass. In Granada recently, we visited the fantastic renaissance cathedral with its museum of gold and silver plate, and rich clothing studded with jewels. They would certainly have reflected the majesty of the Emperor Charles V and inspired awe in the congregation; but perhaps the average Andalucian peasant would, on balance, have preferred a well-tended grave for their loved ones?

Walter Blotscher

THE AUSTRALIAN ELECTION

In my blog on Lene Espersen, I said that there was no such thing as a shoo-in in politics. Julia Gillard should have taken note.

Just over two months ago, Ms Gillard was deputy leader of Australia's ruling Labor Party, and a Government Minister. Worried by falling opinion polls caused by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's decision to abandon a proposed emissions trading scheme, she organised a palace coup that dumped Mr. Rudd and installed her as party leader. From that position she automatically became the country's first woman Prime Minister. Buoyed by the subsequent blip in the polls, she called a snap general election in order to give herself a proper mandate. Facing an opposition led by the unattractive Tony Abbott, and fortified by the knowledge that Australians had not rejected a first-term government since the 1930's, she looked a shoo-in for a second term.

She was not. Lacklustre campaigns by both major blocks, and a flight of voters to the Green Party, have led to a hung Parliament for the first time since 1940. Labor has 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives, the lower house of Parliament, the Liberal/National coalition has 73, the Green Party has one, and there are 4 independents. Since the independents are former opposition members from rural outback communities, you might think that the opposition has the upper hand. However, there are good reasons why they are "former opposition members", so nothing is certain. Negotiations and horse-trading look set to continue for some time.

The last thing Australia needs at the moment is a weak Government. So whoever comes out on top this time round, it is likely that there will be a fresh general election before too long. In the meantime, we should rejoice in the fact that this election produced the country's first ever Aboriginal M.P. in the lower - and more important - house (there have previously been two in the Senate). It was a long time coming, but an important milestone nevertheless.

Walter Blotscher

NEIGHBOURS

One of the nice things about living in a rural area is that you get to know your neighbours better. There is, in principle, no reason why it should be different in cities; after all, if physical distance is the criterion, then your neighbour in a block of flats will be much nearer than ours are. However, based on my experience of living in London, I would say that it just doesn't seem to work out that way.

We live on a cul-de-sac off a cul-de-sac, on a tarmac road that turns into a track leading down to the Baltic Sea, about half a mile away. There are four houses on the other side of the road (of which one is a summer house, so the owners are not often there), but ours is the only one on this side. Nobody is closer than 200 metres.

Despite that, we know all of the people in our little cul-de-sac, and most of the people in the bigger cul-de-sac, even though that runs for almost a mile up, and over, and around, the hill. In part, that is because we exchange services. Our neighbour with horses cuts and keeps the grass in our paddock; in return, I can call on him and his tractor to help me pull out tree roots. Another neighbour has chickens, where we buy our eggs. A third is a builder, who lent me one of his small scaffolding systems when I put a new roof on the middle building in return for three bottles of red wine. A fourth has a job driving big machines that make the trenches for sewerage pipes and such like. When we had our optic fibre cable installed, he helpfully brought home one of the machines and dug the connection trench for us from the road to the house; it took about 5 minutes.

Given enough time, we would probably have got to know all of them in due course. However, what really helps the process along is the annual street dinner for the two culs-de-sac, which we hold every August. This year's took place last night up the road, with my wife standing as one of the two co-hosts. 20 people came, which was a pretty good showing. We had great food, and I had a lot of extra strong beer (one neighbour works for the local brewery). It was all very "hyggeligt", as they say in these parts.

The other co-host will be leaving our little society, since he is getting divorced and has had to sell his house, the oldest in our village. But we were able to welcome two newcomers to the area. And on 1 October, the new owners of the house will arrive, fresh from 5 years in Australia. I'll probably get to know them before long.

Walter Blotscher

SILVICULTURE IN AUGUST

It is the time of year for some serious work with a chainsaw. Our house is next to a wood, the first part of which is on our property. The whole wood is a conservation area, which means we are allowed to prune and trim within it, but not to go completely amok. The problem is that the wood itself does not understand words like conservation area, boundary or demarcation, and so steadily advances towards the house in the form of fast-growing sycamore trees.

Hence the need for defence in the form of my trusty Husqvarna. Having put in a brand new chain, I have this week cut the wood back to where it was when we arrived in 2002. Any thin trees or branches are dumped on the compost heap as a way of putting pressure on the Mole Army. Thicker stems (the rule of thumb is wider than a man's arm) are set to one side for future chopping and use in the wood-fired stove. When the ground is fully cleared, I will set up my wife's brand-new wooden washing line contraption, which will make her happy.

Most people around here tend to do their chainsaw work in deepest winter. I do some then as well. But I also tend to have a go in summer, since it is easier to pick out the trees that take the most light, when they are in full bloom.

I like messing around with trees. Cutting away so that the bigger trees get more light and room to grow. Right beside the house is a huge beech tree, which must be more than 300 years old. That's a serious tree.

Walter Blotscher

WHAT WE EAT

I visited an interesting factory the other day. It makes just one product, meat protein, which is then used in a host of other food items. The plant is situated in the middle of nowhere in the north of Denmark, and employs around 70 people. There is only one other factory of its kind in the country.

The protein is made from two inputs; porcine bone meal (i.e. minced up pig bones) and porcine skin. Being Denmark, with lots of piggies, there is ample raw material around. That raw material is then boiled, diced, milled, dried, blended and packed, before being sent off in large bags to sausage makers and their ilk. The building was a mass of pipes, conveyors, hoppers, silos, pumps, washing facilities, grinders, weighing machines and extractors. And hanging over everything was a funny sort of smell, part pig, part disinfectant, part washing-up liquid.

It was, at the same time, both fascinating and repellant. Fascinating because of its size and complexity, repellant as you dimly become aware of one of the things that goes into a large proportion of your food. When I told my 16-year old (and vegetarian) daughter about it, I could see a look of revulsion cross her face. As for me, I think it will be some time before I eat another sausage.

Walter Blotscher

THE TUDORS

There was more of the Tudors on the tele this evening. Cate Blanchett starring in the sequel to Elizabeth, this time as the mature - though still virgin - queen of 1585, the year of the Spanish Armada.

I am not sure that it was historically 100% accurate. But it gave a good introduction to the issues involved; the religious and political rivalry with Spain, the threat from Catholicism, what to do with Mary, Queen of Scots, the difficulties of being an unmarried queen when monarchies require an heir, and the close shave before the Armada is eventually destroyed (mainly through bad weather). Plus the costumes and scenery were great.

As an Englishman in a multinational family, I got a little lump in the throat when we won. It's just a pity we are not as good as the Spanish at football.

Walter Blotscher

AID TO PAKISTAN

The floods resulting from this year's extraordinary monsoon rains in Pakistan have caused a humanitarian tragedy. According to the U.N., more than 17 million people are affected, more than a million homes have been destroyed. A fifth of the country is under water, and likely to remain that way for some time. Diseases such as diarrhoea and cholera will spread, snakes will be an ever-present danger.

The long-term effects will probably be greater than either the tsunami in South East Asia or the earthquake in Haiti. Why is it, therefore, that the rich world's response to the floods, especially that of the general public, is not as enthusiastic as it was then?

Part of it is due to current economic problems, there is simply not as much money around. However, the real answer, I believe, lies in Pakistan itself. Rightly or wrongly, the country has come to be perceived as "unfriendly". A supporter of the Taliban in Afghanistan, a haven to radical Islamists, the scene of foreign flag-burnings, a dangerous nuclear power, an oppressor of women. Why give money to these sorts of things?

It is of course both true and a truism to say that most of the people affected by the floods have nothing to do with any of these things; they have merely tried to get on with improving their - pretty impoverished - lives, and have now lost what little they have. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the feelings in the West any less true. In politics, perception matters; a lot. Denmark's stock in the world plummetted when one of its newspapers published cartoons offensive to Muslims, in vain did it say that it was a question of free speech. The current reluctance is the same phenomenon in reverse.

When the floods have abated - as they eventually will - I hope that this is the lesson that Governments take to heart, both Pakistan's and those outside. Dialogue and understanding are vital if this planet is to survive the future. After all, if forecasts of climate change are right, then every country is potentially vulnerable to a natural disaster requiring the help of others.

Walter Blotscher