Glasgow councillor set to zipslide across the River Clyde - here's why
The charity, located in Wishaw, is hoping to secure additional premises in the East End as it has a high number of referrals from the area.
(Image: Kevin Lalley)
Labour councillor Lalley has been supporting the charity and completed Chris's House Walk of Hope to remember those lost to suicide.
Commenting on the latest event for the cause, councillor Lalley said: 'When I saw the zipslide coming up I thought people are struggling and they are outside their comfort zone. I decided to put myself out of my comfort zone and do something I am absolutely terrified of.'
The 62-year-old said he will get over it once he is back on solid ground but many people are struggling with the 'demons in their head' and the staff at Chris's House 'are fantastic' in offering support for mental health.
Joining him for the challenge, will be founder of Chris's House Anne Rowan.
Anne established the charity in memory of her son Chris whom she lost to suicide in 2011 aged 36.
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The charity offers integrated support 24 hours a day and a calm environment for people at its centre in Wishaw.
Councillor Lalley added: 'Any donation goes a long way to help. There are many beautiful people who want some light, want the colour of life, but are struggling, let's get out of our comfort zones and help this wonderful charity.'
Donations can be made at: https://www.gofundme.com/f/slide-across-the-clyde.
More information is available on Chris's House at: https://chrisshouse.org.
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Why can't we be setting up AI companies or doing something fabulously modern?'' Instead of sending their children down the mines to 'die of pneumoconiosis and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease', they want decent, stable jobs in the communities so people don't have to move away for work. And, like Bryant himself, they want fairness. 'I think voters look for politicians who are human and that they can identify with. I'm not sure how much they care about what school they went to, but what they do care about is whether people could come and have a drink with them or not, have an open proper chat in a language that they understand.' He pauses, then clarifies he means 'a human language', rather than Welsh. This is the reflective, pensive side of Bryant. 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Just as the reader is wondering what this foray into homosexual pick-up culture could possibly have to do with Bryant's political journey, he reveals that, 'It was in the changing room at the Y that I met Peter Mandelson.' 'He knows how to talk round corners,' Bryant says when asked about his friendship with Mandelson, the maverick mastermind behind New Labour. Was he surprised when Keir Starmer picked him to be ambassador to the US? 'I texted him to congratulate him' – which we both know is not an answer. But the most outlandish juxtapositions concern Bryant's relationship with the Church of England and the realities of life as a closeted Anglican priest. The knots the Church tied itself in over homosexuality, even when so many of its own clergy were gay, is tackled with his characteristic blend of rage and humour. One paragraph describes a church dinner where 'an ordinand paraded around in a variety of ever more elaborate vestments before dressing up in leathers and a harness to go to a club' – a 'particularly favourite combination', Bryant tells me – 'while an archdeacon fondled his lover and everyone chatted about the best place to pick up a handsome Guards officer'. Two lines later Bryant recounts how a fellow student at his theological college suddenly died. 'We all knew Aids had taken him… and nobody ever uttered a word.' I ask Bryant what he makes of the Church of England now, and how far it has come since he chose to leave behind an alternative career as a vicar 34 years ago. 'One day it will just get its act together and go love is love,' he says, evoking once more the spirit of 'Ojalá'. Yet he is overwhelmingly glad to have left when he did. Had he remained a closeted clergyman, unable to enjoy a proper relationship without being terrified into secrecy, he fears he would have become 'a vicious, queeny, sharp, vindictive, unhappy, lonely, gin-and-lace vicar somewhere'. It's not an irrational fear – he saw it happen. On the prolonged appointment process for the next Archbishop of Canterbury, he notes that, while a non-political appointment, 'the irony of it is you'd be engaged in more realpolitik than the British ambassador to the United Nations' given the tensions within the global Anglican community regarding, among other things, LGBT rights. Byrant himself has never been orthodox in his Christianity. 'I quite like that the fact that our national church doesn't really believe anything too strongly. I think that's a good thing, not a bad thing.' And yet, Bryant does believe in things strongly. He believes in fairness, with childlike outrage where it is found to be warning – from the Church's stubbornness on homosexuality to the lockdown parties held in Downing Street when people were banned from attending funerals. He believes in democracy, which he calls a 'fragile flower', having seen up-close the authoritarian regimes of Franco's Spain and Pinochet's Chile. 'Every time anybody gets frustrated with democracy they say let's have a different system. That's dangerous.' Suggestions from politicians like Farage of appointing ministers from a pool of technocrats rather than elected MP horrify him: 'Oh so we're just binning democracy, are we? That's the way we're going?' And he believes in seeing the humanity in people. 'Quite often when someone gets into trouble in politics, I'll drop them a note saying I hope they're OK,' he says, the former crusading chair of the standards committee now channelling the forgiving vibe of a C of E priest – or, perhaps, the 16-year-old boy tasked with nursing an alcoholic mother unwilling or unable to escape her addiction. That's in part what the book is about: an MP's memoir that stops as soon as he actually arrives in parliament, focusing instead on the much more human story of how he got there. MPs are human, even if some might rarely seem it. Most of all, perhaps, he believes in compromise; grounded not in low expectations or apathy, but in pragmatism, and a belief that in any great institution – whether Parliament, or the Church of England – there should be room for people with differing views of how to make the world a better place. In his ideal world, he says, 'some people would waggle a tambourine and some people would waggle a thurible'. Ever the performer, he pauses for dramatic effect and then corrects himself. 'Swing a thurible. I don't think you can waggle a thurible.' [See also: Trade unionist Joe Rollin: 'Orgreave was a trap, and we fell for it'] Related
