Christmas Special: David Sky vs Martin Luther

'Here I stand! Here I stand!' I had a Playmobil Martin Luther for my birthday in August. He's kind of cute with his little feather and tiny German Bible. But Luther been playing havoc with delicate balance of my study's ecosystem. He and David Sky don't get on for starters. 

My pet monkey was removed from being chair of governors at his daughter's primary school. The other board members got fed up with being zapped by Robo-Clerk. That and the school being rated totally and utterly inadequate by Ofsted. 

Robo-Clerk had a battery failure on the day the inspectors visited and it was evident that Sky didn't actually know anything about the school. He thought Pupil Premium was a superior kind of tea for kids. 'Just guessing.' he said. 'But what about the gaps?'  the inspectors persisted. 'Gaps? We prefer to call them perforations in the trade.' Sky explained, helpfully.

The school is going to have to join a MAT. One that doesn't allow monkeys to act as chair of governors, and where Robo-Clerks are banned. A story on the debacle featured in one of the National Governance Association's Friday newsletters. Top item. The monkey was so chuffed.

Anyway, Sky now has some time on his hands and likes to hang around my study. Just like the old days. Apart from the presence of Martin Luther. 'Here I stand! Here I stand!' he keeps exclaiming and then goes around standing on stuff. Even David Sky's head. 'What do you think I am, the diet of Worms?' the monkey complains. Then Luther tickles Sky with his feather, which he really hates. Cue big row.

It's getting a bit much, really.

What's especially awkward is that I'm currently reading Martin Luther: Renegade and Prophet by Lindal Roper. It's a bit 'warts and all' and little Luther has been reading it. Makes him really mad, 'But I was right! I was right! Here I stand! Here I stand! Karlstadt was my enemy. He took the bent coin. He took it! And I do not have an Oedipus complex!' Sky chips in, 'Oh give over. Calvin was a better Reformer than you. Everyone knows that. Much more biblical. Why were you so mean to poor Karlstadt? And who's Oedipus Complex exactly, when he's at home?'

You can imagine what it's like with those two arguing. Once Sky offered Luther a nice cup of tea as a peace offering. 'Nein. Get me Wittenberg beer.' was the reply. Cue another big row. 

'Bad case of 'Founder's Syndrome', you, mate.' opined Sky. 'I looked it up on Wikipedia. Suits you  to a T': 

Founder's syndrome (also founderitis) is a popular term for a difficulty faced by organizations where one or more founders maintain disproportionate power and influence following the effective initial establishment of the project, leading to a wide range of problems for the organization.The passion and charisma of the founder(s), sources of the initial creativity and productivity of the organization, become limiting or destructive factors.

'Ring any bells, Marty?' 

'Look', Luther shot back, 'I'm the most popular Playmobil figure in the world. Over 1 million of me sold. I was the first Reformer. 95  Theses. Diet of Worms. Here I stand! Here stand!'

'95 Theses, eh?' replied Sky. I read somewhere that rather nailing them to the door of Wittenberg Castle Church with an actual hammer and nails, you used glue. Glue. Afraid of hurting your poor little thumb? Blu Tack, was it? Pritt Stick, perhaps?  Like a little kid. Anyway, you're only a toy, not the real Martin Luther. And don't go all Buzz Lightyear, thinking you're real. You're not, OK?'

'Has serious academic Lyndal Roper written a biog of you, monkey boy?' asked Luther. 'Have they made a film of your life with Mike Reeves doing the voice-over in his best interesting voice for children? And if I'm not real, you're not.'

Sky: 'If I'm not real, why are you arguing with me, weirdo?'

Luther: 'Aaaaaarghhh! You're the worst Anfechtungen ever!'

Me: 'Right, you two. Behave or Bathsheba and Kate are coming round.'

Just then the doorbell rang. Carol singers. The strains of Silent Night could be heard from the study. Sky chimed in, 'Silent night, holy night' and Luther sang out, 'Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht'. Harmony at last. It's Christmas Eve and all's well with the world. Well, almost. 

David Sky: The Gov-Father (A Christmas Special)

I know, it's been some time since I updated you on what's become of my old friend,  David Sky. People have been asking (really), but 'least said, soonest mended' and all that. 

Fact is, I hadn't seen him for ages. Then I unexpectedly bumped into him at a school governor training session. Yes, that's right, Sky is a governor. Chair of Governors at that.

He and Bathsheba now have a daugther, Solomena, who has just started primary school. David hadn't heard of governors before, but he thought they seemed like important people and that he should be one of them. Whatever they were. He was a bit hazy on that at first, but then most people are. Even some governors.

Good job that as a parting gift form the outgoing HMCI Ofsted has produced something to show us how it's done. Bye, Sir Michael. Oh and while I remember, Pale Rider was a Preacher, not a Headteacher. Get your own Wild West shoot-em-up heroes to serve as role models for the education sector. 

Anyway, David Sky. There I was at this governor training session on the finer points of RaiseOnline (don't ask), and I spied him sitting at another table. 'What's that monkey doing here?', I thought to myself. Unusual. Then I twigged. It was my old sparring parter, Mr. Sky. 

Before I could head over to his table and grab a word, the training presentation began. I'll gloss over that bit, unless you'd really like a run down on  Raise and Progress 8... No? Lightweights. 

Coffee time. I really needed a caffeine boost after the first presentation of the morning, but held off in an attempt to catch up with Sky. I could hear him holding forth on how his school had the best Progress 8 scores in the world for the last five years. Strange that, as it's an England-only system that was only fully rolled out for the 2016 results. 

'Sky', I said. He didn't miss a beat. Around four years had gone by since I last heard from him, but his slightly amused contempt for me hadn't diminished one bit, 'Understand any of that? Come over so I can explain?' 

Sitting right next to him was a purple Telletubby-like thing. 'What's that?' I asked. 'That' he replied, speaking slowly as if I was a bit dim 'is Robo-Clerk. With computers these days you can have driverless cars on the roads, and pilotless drones in the air, so why not robotic clerks with enhanced artificial intelligence?' What will they think of next? 

I wondered why Sky had brought his Robo-Clerk to a training session. He explained that he could never remember anything from training and it was too much like hard work to put any of it into practice, so he got Robo-Clerk to record the sessions. She could then pre-write minutes that made it seem as though his governing body knew their stuff and ticked all boxes for Ofsted. 'But how's your school actually doing? I asked. 'I dunno, ask her.' he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Trust your chair's on top of his brief, then.' I said, hopefully. Sky: 'I am the chair. No use being in something unless you're the boss of it, as someone once told me.'

I had so many questions for Sky. Last I heard Taffia Godfather, Dai Corleone was after him because Sky had escaped his clutches. He'd gone into hiding, as he didn't want to be forced back into service as a tea boy. That was all sorted now. Turning the tables, Sky had made Corleone an offer he couldn't refuse,  promising him a lifetime supply of Glengettie tea and Welsh Cakes if the feared Godfather called off his henchmen. 

'I hope you haven't been using Taffia tactics on your governing board.' I cautioned. Threatening  governors that you'll have them 'sleeping with the fishes' if they vote against you, is contrary to the National Governors' Association Code of Conduct. 

'Don't worry' Sky shot back, 'no one's voted against me since the last one got zapped by Robo-Clerk.' 

I'm sure there must be a rule in the Governance Handbook against weaponising the clerk. Apparently, it wasn't deadly, but still. 

The session ended and Sky was eager to leave as soon as possible. Christmas was coming and Bathsheba expected something really special, and expensive, and unique as a present. Or there'd be trouble. And Solomena was beginning to take after her mother. There are some things than not even Robo-Clerks can fix. 

The existential dust of David Sky

David Sky, my pet monkey, was last seen heading into the gloom of a chill winter's evening. That was over a year ago, on 14 January 2011 (see here).  Rumours of his whereabouts occasionally punctuated the numb emptiness engendered by his absence with the feeble risings of hope. But the slightest expectations of finding David Sky alive were repeatedly dashed with the casual cruelty of a wasp stinging a small child. It was obvious that Taffia Godfather, Dai Corleone wouldn't simply let Sky out of his clutches. Even if you are just a tea boy, you can't walk out on the Mob. As Corleone could often be overheard saying, "Keep your friends close, keep your tea bags closer."

Where David Sky once sat in my study, on the bookshelf just in front of Herman Bavinck's Reformed Dogmatics, Volume 3, there is now only an empty space. Even the monkey-shaped clearing in the dust that once marked his memory has almost disappeared completely. It is as if he never existed; an existential void created by a fresh layering of study-dust. I began to wonder, was there ever such a creature as David Sky, a theological monkey?

But, the other day, after being out for an hour or so, I returned home and checked the phone for 1517 messages. On picking up the handset I heard the tell-tale beep, beep, beep tone that signalled a message had been left. On pressing 1 to listen to the message, I heard what seemed like the familiar sound of David Sky's voice. The strangely garbled message, in which not a word could be deciphered smacked of his irritating, know-all, sarcastic tone. But the message came to an abrupt end with a dull thud. Followed by silence. Could it really be him?

If it was David Sky trying desperately to leave me a message, I thought that I had heard the last of him. However, another 1571 message was left just this morning. This time I could make out a few words, but the voice, definitely Sky's, now sounded weary, haunted, with none of the customary hauteur. "Help....want...home....help....sorr...". That was it. Was he really trying to say, 'sorry'?

Desperate to speak to my old monkey friend, I tried to trace his phone number, but dialling 1417 only came up with, 'The number of this caller was withheld.' There was nothing for it but to sit tight and wait for him to call again. A couple of hours went by before the phone rang. I anxiously lunged for the handset, but it was a spoken text message from the dentist, reminding me of tomorrow's check-up appointment. It was difficult to concentrate on anything else, but I pulled Bavinck's Reformed Dogmatics, Volume 3 from the shelf, turned to the bookmarked page and started reading.

The door bell rang, abruptly interrupting my absorption with Bavinck's rich treatment of the covenant of grace. I made my way downstairs and opened the door. It was Bathsheba Earth. She just stood there. The girl-monkey was calm, almost icily emotionless. She handed me a note. Then walked away without a word. I came to myself. Called out after her, 'Wait a minute...'. But she had gone. I unfolded the note. It was Sky's scrawly handwriting. He apologised for not getting in touch sooner. Then he explained the reason behind his strange disappearance, over a year ago.

Unfortunately I can't divulge the contents of the note for fear of jeopardising David Sky's safety. All I can say is that he's hiding from the Taffia. Should Dai Corleone discover his whereabouts there is no doubt that my old friend would find himself 'sleeping with the fishes'. And Bathsheba Earth? Actually, she's Bathsheba Sky now. For, dear reader, the monkey married her. Apparently it isn't working out too well. Hence the second 1571 message. Ah, well. For better/for worse and all that.

But it looks like David Sky has gone for good. All that's left to prove that he once existed is his long ago abandoned blog, Sky's the Limit,  and the faint traces of existential dust. 

David Sky: a short story



The Exiled Preacher's pet monkey, David Sky had found romance in the isles of the local Co-Op store. He lost his heart to Bathsheba Earth, a beautiful (at least to him) girl monkey. It seemed too good to be true, but thankfully, life is sometimes like that.

David was on the run from Taffia Don, Dai Corleone. But his thoughts were now so full of love and happiness that the obsessive terror that had once dominated his life, the fear of being caught by the Don's  henchmen had all but evaporated. He began to get careless. Sky stopped glancing behind him to see if he was being followed. He would boldly stride around street corners where once he had paused to see if anyone might be lurking in darkened shop doorways, waiting to nab him and drag him back to Corleone's lair.

But something happened to reawaken his old neuroses. He had arranged to meet Bathsheba at the Co-Op's fruit aisle, near the bananas one Wednesday afternoon at 4.30pm sharp. Eager to see his true love, he left home a little earlier than was necessary. But there was Bathsheba, waiting for him. As he got closer, David could see that she was speaking to someone on her mobile. She was so absorbed in the conversation that she didn't notice David approaching. On hearing his cheery voice greeting her, Bathsheba suddenly broke off the call, trying her best not to seem flustered. When he asked who she was speaking to, the girl monkey sounded evasive. She even seemed a little cross at his intrusiveness, an emotion he had not seen in her before.

David Sky wondered what it all could mean. Was she two-timing him perhaps? Or worse, could it really be that their assignations were part of an elaborate honey trap devised by Dai Corlene to ensnare him? These thoughts troubled the poor monkey's mind. He needed no Iago to stoke the towering flames of jealousy. But his jealous rage was as nothing when compared with the rampant paranoia that now engulfed his soul. Every customer he laid eyes on in the Co-Op, however innocent looking, was viewed a suspected Taffia Goodfella, ready and waiting to pounce.

Heartbroken and  terrified, David Sky turned from Bathsheba Earth and hurriedly made his way home. Perfect fear had cast out love. The monkey was last seen leaving the brightly lit shop and heading out into the gathering gloom of a damp winter's afternoon. Whether he will make it to the sanctuary of the Exiled Preacher's study has yet to be seen. There seems little hope of a happy ending to this story. But hope, no matter how slender and fragile, is better than the empty despair of having no hope at all.

Everybody's got something to hide except me and my monkey

I appreciate that more recent readers of this blog may find this a bit random and confusing, but every now and again I like to give a little update on the adventures of my pet monkey, failed theology blogger David Sky. Last time I reported on his daring escape from the Taffia don Dai Corleone (see here). But what has he been up to since then? The truth is nothing much. At least that's what I thought. I should have known that he'd been up to something because he's been smiling a bit lately and that's not normal for someone who has to spend most of his life in a dusty corner of my study. Anyway, it transpires that he's only gone and fallen in love. Yes, you did read that right. It wasn't a typo. David Sky has fallen in love. Here's how I got to find out:

GD: What are you looking so happy for?

DS: I'm not looking happy.

GD: Yes you are.

DS: Am I?

GD: Yes.

DS: Doesn't mean that I am.

GD: Something's up isn't it?

DS: Like what?

GD: I dunno, but you must be up to something.

DS: Who, me?

GD: Who else?

DS: I haven't been naughty, honest.

GD: Why else would you be so cheerful?

DS: Well, it isn't that.

GD: What is it then?

DS: Can't say.

GD: Got something to hide have you?

DS: Of course not.

GD: Tell me!

DS: No!

GD: I'm not interested anyway.

DS: Oh.

Five rather awkward and silent minutes later...

GD: C'mon, you can tell me. We're mates aren't we?

DS: Yes...but...

GD: But what?

DS: Well, it's like this. Promise not to laugh now.

GD: I'm a trained pastor. You know that whatever you tell me, however embarrassing, I promise not to laugh.

DS: I'm in love.

GD: What? You're "in love"? Ha, ha, ha, ha! Who's the unfortunate female?

DS: You said you wouldn't laugh!

GD: Yes, but I didn't know that you'd come up with something like that.

DS: No, really, I'm in love.

GD: OK. Who is she. How did you meet?

DS: Well, we kind of bumped into each other a few weeks ago when I was stocking up on tea bags at the local CO-OP shop. Now we contrive to meet in the tea aisle almost every day.

GD: I was wondering why we had so many packets of tea bags in the cupboard. What's her name?

DS: Bathsheba Earth

GD: Interesting name. I didn't know that there were any other talking monkeys around these parts, let alone a female.

DS: Nor did I. I couldn't believe my little monkey eyes when I first saw her. It was love at first sight.

GD: Does she feel the same?

DS: I think so.

GD: This could be serious. Hang on a minute. Did you really just say that it was love at first sight for her too.

DS: Yes, why?

GD: Looked at yourself in the mirror lately?

DS: What's that supposed to mean?

GD: Look, this might not be all that it seems. Bathsheba might be working for Dai Corleone. This could be a honey trap.

DS: What? You think she's going to lure me into the honey isle at CO-OP and pour that horrible sticky stuff all over me so that my fur will get glued to the floor?

GD: No. What I mean is that Dai Corleone could be using her to get to you. He wants you to follow her and then he'll nab you and you'll end up making tea for the Taffia again.

DS: That sounds a bit far fetched.

GD: And you think meeting up with a talking monkey girl who instantly falls in love with you is well within the realms of credibility?

DS: Stranger things have happened. Someone married you didn't they?

GD: Alright, alright. I hope you are right and this is genuine. But be careful, your girl could could be a Taffia femme fatale.

DS: What does that mean?

GD: It's French for "fatal female".

DS: But she isn't French.

GD: You're probably alright then.

But is he? You'll just have to wait and see....

The Monkey Returns

Lots of readers, well one or two of them have been pestering me for an update on what's been happening to David Sky, my runaway pet monkey. "Enough of the theology" they say, "where's the monkey?" So here is an exclusive Exiled Preacher 'Christmas Special' featuring the errant primate. It has been some time since the mischievous monkey left home to join the Taffia (the much feared Welsh Mafia for the uninitiated). Strangely, I haven't missed the cheeky monkey one bit, but we decided to meet up for old time's sake. I asked the monkey about his new life in the mob. Here's a transcript of our conversation:

EP: Is life in the Taffia what you expected? Does the seedy glamour and violence suit you?

DS: Well, it isn't quite like that.

EP: But I thought that's why you left the confines of my 'boring study'.

DS: It was, but Dai Corleone, the great Taffia Godfather has enough henchmen. He needs me for a more specialised and dangerous task.

EP: Which is?

DS: Actually it involves concocting a unique solution to the Don's exacting standards using a highly hazardous liquid.

EP: You mean he's got you making the tea, white with two sugars using very dangerous hubbly bubbly boiling water?

DS: You're so wrong.... he doesn't even take sugar. Doh!

EP: So, you are a tea boy then?

DS: That's what you might call it. But things are going to be different from now on.

EP: Wants you to make coffee now as well does he?

DS: No. I'm going to be a star.

EP: As in a Christmas tree decoration type star? You'd be good at that.

DS: No, no, no. I mean a showbiz star. My name in lights. Fame and fortune.

EP: Are you deluded?

DS: No, straight up. The Don was so pleased with my beverage making skills that he said, "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Sky?" I said, "Yes, I'd like to be a proper mobster, roughing people up and that." He said, "Look, that 'ain't gonna happen. Is there anything else?"

EP: What did you say?

DS: I told him that I wanted to be a showbiz star in an all-singing, all-dancing musical.

EP: What, you?

DS: Yes what's wrong with that?

EP: Well, you cant sing and you can't dance for starters.

DS: That doesn't matter. The Don can fix it. He'll make them an offer they can't refuse.

EP: Will he now?

DS: Too right. Look, I've been thinking. I saw something on the telly about the new big musical, Monkey: Journey into the West, written by that bloke from Blurred - Damon Allbran or something. They've only gone and cast a human being dressed up as a monkey in the starring role. I could bring some needed authenticity to the part.

EP: Like because you're a knitted monkey with real synthetic stuffing?

DS: At least I am a monkey.

EP: I'll give you that. But did you know that the whole thing is sung in Mandarin?

DS: What's the problem? I can sing while eating a little Orange.

EP: No, I mean Mandarin Chinese.

DS: Oh, but it wasn't in Chinese when Monkey was on TV in the 80's.

EP: That's because they dubbed it in English. Remember how the actor's lips would move like crazy, but only a few English words would come out? They didn't sync it properly.

DS: I thought that's just how they spoke on the show. I've been practicing doing that lots of lip, few words thing in front of the mirror. I'm really good at it now.

EP: I'm sure you are, but it won't do, will it?

DS: You think they might notice if I didn't sing in Chinese then?

EP: Afraid so. Not even the terrible Taffia can fix this one for you.

DS: But I could have been great, a legend of the stage.

EP: Well you'll just have to settle for being a tea boy for Mr. Corleone. Unless, that is you'd like to come home...

DS: I don't know about that. Let me think. Oh, alright. Life away from the 'boring study' wasn't all that it was cracked up to be anyway. It'll be nice to be back for Christmas.

EP: Promise you'll behave this time, no monkey business?

DS: You know me, Exiled. I'll be good, honest!

And so ends this heartwarming Christmas tale of peace and reconciliation. But will David Sky, that naughtiest of monkeys be able to keep his promise of good behaviour? We'll just have to see won't we?

Dai Corleone vs David Sky

The Don Dia Corleone's beloved daughter Blodwyn was married at last. She was 42, and what with her being no oil painting, few expected that she would ever get hitched. But she fell for some unsuspecting fella, and daddy sent the boys round to make him an offer he couldn't refuse. Next thing he knew, poor Owen Llewellyn had asked to Blodwyn to be his wife. She gleefully accepted his somewhat ambivalent proposal. Owen's parents never did understand why they were taken hostage one Thursday afternoon only to be released to find that their boy was going to be the husband of Blodwyn Corleone. "But I thought he liked Sally Williams from no. 74.", said his bemused mother. It was the Welsh society wedding of the year. After the ceremony, the festivities began. The Cwl Cymru glitterati descended on the Don's place en masse. Everyone was there; Gavin and Charlotte, Tom Jones, the Stereophonics, Rhodri Morgan and that goat that marches with the military band before rugby matches at the Millennium Stadium.

While the happy couple (well Blodwyn was happy anyway) danced away to the strains of Delilah and the party was in full swing, the Don retreated to his office. Worried looking men were ushered into Mr. Corleone's presence to pay their respects to the big man. Then David Sky arrived. No one knows how he got there. He certainly wasn't invited. But the old monkey was fed up with being the Exiled Preacher's pet. He wanted glamour and violence and how better to get that than join the Taffia mob?

Sky sauntered into the holding room where the Don's men kept a watchful eye on those who were about to be given an audience with the Godfather. He felt a bit out of place wearing a "PG Tips" T-shirt, while the other gents were dressed in dark double breasted suits. But what he lacked in sartorial elegance, he more than made up for with attitude and swagger. He blagged his way into the Don's inner sanctum. It was make or break time. This is what they had to say:

DC: Hey you, whaddya doin here?

DS: I'd like to join the Taffia.

DC: Oh yeah?

DS: Yes, that's right.

DC: Well, we'll see about that.

DS: Oh good!

DC: What?

DS: That's great, I didn't think it would be quite so easy to join the mob.

DC: Are you kiddin?

DS: Me, a kitten? No, I'm a monkey actually?

DC: I said kiddin - jokin, not kiddin as in cat, stupid!

DS: Sorry! You speak kind of mumbly.

DC: You talkin' to me?

DS: I can't see anyone else in the room.

DC: What?

DS: Never mind. The thing is that I'd like to join the Taffia. I think I could be really useful to you.

DC: How exactly?

DS: Well I'm a bit of a rough, tough bad lad.

DC: Now ya talkin. Whaddya done?

DS: For starters, I survived being crushed by The Drama of Docrine. Then I went to school with my old boss' daughter and bit a kid. Once I got stuck up a Christmas tree. If you want anyone "taught a lesson", I'm your monkey.

DC: You survived being crushed by The Drama of Doctrine? Really?

DS: Yes, sure.

DC: That's heavy stuff. I'm gonna have to think about this.

DS: Please let me join. I'm fed up with that boring old Exiled Preacher and his dusty books. I want glamour and danger. I'll get a double breasted suit and a violin case with a Tommy Gun inside and everything.

DC: You began life in a box of tea bags right?

DS: Er, yes. But what's that got to do with it?

DC: I think I may be able to use a guy like you. You're hired.

DS: That's cool. Now, who do you want me to send sleeping with the fishes?

DC: If you started off as a tea monkey, then you should be able to make a good cuppa. Mine's white with no sugar. Four times a day, 8am, 11am, 1pm and 3.30pm. If you don't make it right then you'll be sleeping with the fishes! Geddit?

So, David Sky left the comfort and security of the Exiled Preacher's study for the excitement and danger of Dai Corleone's lair and ended up as a terrified tea boy. The sky's the limit eh? Couldn't happen to a nicer monkey.

A David Sky Christmas Story

"Oi, oi you!" The Exiled Preacher looked up from the book that had absorbed his attention for the last three and a half hours and wondered at the strange voice. It seemed vaguely familiar, yet at the same time deeply unsettling, like the sound of haunted dreams. The preacher scanned the assorted bookshelves in his study, trying to find out where the sound was coming from. Suddenly a terrifying sight appeared before him. It was David Sky, Exiled's old pet monkey. The monkey had been banished to a dark corner of the room where only books by Karl Barth and Tom Wright are stored. But now, there was David Sky, bold as a brass monkey, sitting before Martyn Lloyd-Jones' sermons on Romans.

"Oi, you" repeated Sky, "haven't I been punished enough? After all it's Christmas time, a season of love and forgiveness. In that book you were reading by Miroslav Volf, it said that it's your Christian duty to offer people unconditional forgiveness whether they repent or not. Well, I haven't repented, so you have to forgive me!" Exiled Preacher sighed a very deep sigh. "But you are not a person, you are a stuffed monkey that came free with a box of tea bags. You have ruined my credibility as a serious blogger with your silly Sky's the Limit antics. Some people think that I'm really behind all that nonsense. I let you go to school with my daughter and you go and bite some kid. You are a wild animal and you don't deserve to be forgiven." David Sky thought long and hard before replying, "Look, so what. I'm fed up being consigned to the naughty corner. I need light and air. Just cut me a deal and and forgive me. It'll give you a warm spiritual glow. The experience could even make a good sermon illustration or at lest a half-decent children's talk. C'mon, you know it makes sense."

Exiled Preacher sighed again. Forgiving the creature would not be easy, but as Volf said.... "OK then, I'll forgive you. But to receive my forgiveness, you'll have to repent." David Sky shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah, I repent. Sorry, whatever. From now on I'll be a proper little angel." This got the preacher's mind working. "He wants light and air and he 's promised to be a little angel. I've got just the job for him this Christmas time....."

"Hey get me down!" Shouted David Sky. "I thought that monkeys liked climbing trees." Exiled quipped. Sky replied, "Yes, but I don't like heights - I'm a stuffed monkey." "You are now." Said the preacher gleefully, "Happy Christmas my little friend. Ho! Ho! Ho!"

David Sky goes to school

It was 8.20 once crisp, bright September morning. The awesome silence of Exiled Preacher's study was suddenly broken by a gentle knocking at the door. "What now?" I said in a kind and gentle way. "It's me, daddy.", said my darling daughter. "OK, come in.", sighed EP, not grumpy at all. "Daaaad" she began, "my teacher said that we could bring a cuddly toy to school today, and I was wondering if I could take David Sky." EP almost choked on a gulp of extra strong morning tea and said, "But David Sky is not your normal cuddly toy. He's very naughty and might get into trouble. Are you sure that you can handle him? I'm not convinced that this is such a good idea. Take Pooh Bear or something." Rebecca was not to be put off. She did that head to one side and pleading eyes thing. "Pleeeease dad", she implored. "Mmmmm, I dunno", said EP trying not to buckle under the pressure. "Pleeeeeeease", she persisted. "Oh, alright then," I replied against my better judgement, "but you'd better mind that he behaves himself." So, off went Rebecca with David Sky poking out of her school bag.

A little later, the teacher, a bubbly Miss Roundsworthy asked the children for the names of their cudddly toys. She came to EP's daughter, "What's the monkey's name?" Before she knew what was happening, Mr Sky piped up, "I'm not a monkey, I'm a theologian!" The teacher was a little taken aback at this. She had never seen a talking theological monkey before. "You can talk!" she exclaimed. "Wow, so can you!", replied David Sky, "A talking teacher, well I never!" Now the teacher went into bossy mode, "No need to be like that, you naughty monkey. Sit down and be quiet!"

After that minor altercation, everything seemed to be going smoothly until a spiteful little girl cried out, "Miss, the monkey just bit me!" The teacher rushed to the scene. "Did you bite her?" demanded Mrs Roundsworthy. Mr Sky responded with dignified defiance, "No! I'm a theologian and we don't bite. I'm not a wild animal you know!" But the girl was believed over the theological monkey despite Rebbecca pleading, "He doesn't usually bite. We'll he did go for my dad's throat once, but that was quite out of character."

David Sky was marched off to the headmaster's office. Mr Bimblewit sat him on the naughty chair and then proceeded to ring me. He told me off for allowing my daughter to take a dangerous and very naughty monkey to school. The irate headmaster demanded that I come and remove the "vermin" from the premises forthwith. I had never been so embassased in my life. Although there was that time when....

I bundled DS into the car and drove him home. I told him off in my crossest voice and he just looked at me insolently and said, "What's the problem, stroppy head?" Oh dear. What I am going to do with the baddest theological monkey on the planet?

Click on the David Sky link below for more monkey antics.

A Sky's the Limit interview

David Sky has decided to come out of retirement for "one last post". He wanted to get in on this interviewing thing and have a blog chat with me. Against my better judgement, I agreed to take part. He's a very cheeky monkey and the conversation sometimes became a bit heated, but I think that I got the better of him. Check it out here.

Pet monkey's dramatic disaster

Something terrible has happened. My pet theological monkey, "David Sky" asked if he could borrow a book. I said, "Help yourself. Reading should keep you quiet for a bit." He was trying to get hold of John Calvin's Ideas by Paul Helm, when disaster struck. Kevin Vanhoozer's The Drama of Doctrine caught his eye, "It's just so orange!" said the monkey. He reached for the mighty tome, lost his footing and the book landed right on top of him. "Help!" He cried, "I'm being crushed by The Drama of Doctrine!" I rushed to the scene, took the photo you can see above and then gently lifted the book. Luckily, it wasn't damaged. But the monkey was left dazed, confused and badly bruised. I don't know if he'll ever be able to blog again.

The strange thing is, that since being walloped by the D of D, he has been talking kind of weird. Instead of saying, "Let's have a chat over a cup of tea.", he'll say "Let's do some speech acts over a receptacle of postlactarian tea-leaf-based beverage." It's kind of freaking me out and I don't know what to do about it. I've tried nouthetic counseling, but he just says, "Don't get stroppy with me. It's not my fault I got compressed by your book." Oh dear! This event has pushed me beyond the limits of my pastoral training and experience. They simply don't prepare you for things like this at the London Theological Seminary.

Bye for now

I'm off to the Banner Minister's Conference shortly (scroll down a few posts for the details). I'll do a report when I get back. Meanwhile, David Sky has informed me that he has just written his first blog poem. It's a corker. Click here and be very amazed. Is there no beginning to that monkey's talents?

Blogging in the name of the Lord special: David Sky

Rumours have been flying round the blogososphere that Guy Davies and David Sky are the same person. Well, one reader has asked if that is the case, anyway. To try to nip this in the bud, I've decided to do a one-off Blogging in the name of the Lord special interview. The series will return later in the year.

David Sky

GD: Hello David, tell us a little bit about yourself.

DS: Well, I am a Brit who studied theology at the Evangelical Theological College of Wales, now know as WEST. I decided to get into blogging, because no one else was doing a very good job.

GD: I hear that you suffered from learning difficulties at WEST. Did you need a Teaching Assistant to help you in lessons?

DS: No. I was so clever and well-educated before I went to WEST that they couldn't teach me anything. That is why I had learning difficulties. I probably should have gone to the London Theological Seminary, which caters for really gifted students. As they say, "You can tell an LTS man, but you can't tell him much."

GD: In your blogging manifesto, you claimed that your blog, "Sky's the Limit" will the blogging equivalent of Augustine's Confessions and Calvin's Institutes. Do you suffer from delusions of grandeur?

DS: No, why do you ask?

GD: Hmmm. Right, you carried a post by "Jake Coolicus" on Ten Proposals for World Peace. Is Jake a real person, or did you make him up?

DS: Well, I kind of made him up. You see, I noted that the biggest theology blog is Ben Myres' Faith and Theology . Ben's secret seems to be typing lots of quotes and getting his imaginary friend "Kim Fabricius" to write hymns and "Ten Propositions" about this, that and the other. I thought that I might take a leaf from his book.

GD: Oh, that explains it then. Just to clear things up, you are not really the Exiled Preacher, are you?

DS: No, I'm Sky's the Limit.

GD: Thanks!