Well, here’s the thing. There is no Friday Fix today.
Not because the world is short of songs with something to say. Not because the connection between a well-chosen lyric and the deeper things of life has dried up. But simply because nobody sent one in. The inbox sits there, quiet as a country church on a Tuesday afternoon.
And we’re not judging. Honestly.
But we are about to launch a whole summer season of One Hit Wonders — those gloriously brief musical gems that appeared in the charts, said their piece, and were never quite heard from again. One magnificent moment. One song that somehow said everything.
The trouble is, a season needs submissions. And submissions need you.
So here’s our gentle, entirely non-desperate appeal: dig back through your musical memory. What’s the one-hit wonder that’s stuck with you? The one that came on the radio and made you turn it up? The one that, when you think about it, might just have something to say about faith, or hope, or what it means to be human?
To get the creative juices flowing, we’re sharing a link to BBC Radio 2’s show on the UK’s best-selling One Hit Wonders — it’s not brand new, but it’s a wonderful trip down memory lane, and who knows what it might shake loose.
My recent reflections have often been about how lately it feels like I’ve been swimming in some pretty deep, heavy waters against the tide. So today, I thought I would give the despair a well-deserved day off. Instead, I thought I’d focus on the pure joy of savouring the moment. And to help us do that, I thought I’d take a little step back into 1966 and this classic from Cliff Richard and The Shadows.
Your recollections of this track are probably of a bright, relentlessly cheerful piece of vintage sixties pop. It’s the kind of tune that is definitely of its time. But if you peel back that upbeat tempo and actually look at what the song is saying, it has the perfect message for our busy modern minds.
The song starts with that feeling of isolation:
When the world in which you live in Gets a bit too much to bear And you need someone to lean on When you look, there’s no one there
Tell me about it, Cliff. And then it goes on to talk about the world closing in on you:
When you’re walking in the city And you’re feeling rather small And the people on the sidewalk Seem to form a solid wall
Back then, that solid wall closing in on you was probably more literal – brick, mortar, and bustling crowds. Today, I think our solid wall is usually digital—the endless scrolling, the furious commentary on our screens, and the crushing weight of opinions we didn’t ask for.
If we don’t actively and intentionally claim our own peace, the noise of the world will claim it for us. Making the most of a quiet moment seems more of a challenge to make space for. In a world that demands our constant attention, making time for peace and joy is probably what you could call an act of radical defiance. As Julian Cope once sang, it’s a way of saying ‘World, shut your mouth!’
We have a lovely, long bank holiday weekend stretching out ahead of us – with cracking weather promised apparently. It can be easy to treat these extra days as time to catch up on chores, run errands (usually to the tip), or, dare I say, spend an extra twelve hours staring at our phones.
This weekend, I wonder if I could challenge you to do something different. I wonder if you could practice a little bit of radical defiance. You don’t need to buy a train ticket to some dramatic coast or countryside to do this though. I think that ‘the country’ is more a state of mind. It’s any neutral ground where you are completely safe from the noise—and surely the absolute best place to find that is in nature.
There is a profound spiritual peace waiting for us outdoors. When human spaces feel fractured and heavy, stepping into creation reminds us that there is a wider, divine reality at work. Nature has a beautiful way of grounding us because it doesn’t have anxieties like we do. A forest doesn’t care about arguments. A stream doesn’t worry if it has done the ‘right’ thing. The grass grows, the trees reach upwards, and the breeze blows exactly as God designed them to do.
When we quieten our minds in green spaces, we aren’t just escaping; we are opening our hearts. We are making room to hear that “still, small voice” that so easily gets drowned out by the digital roar of our world. For a moment or two, we can tell ourselves that while we might feel powerless to fix the world, we can rest safely in the hands of the One who holds it all.
So, pack up a flask of tea, find a patch of green, and go reclaim your piece of the country.
Have a peaceful, wonderfully defiant Bank Holiday weekend.
This summer, the Friday Fix is celebrating one-hit wonders — those songs that blazed into our lives, lodged themselves deep in our hearts, and somehow never left, even if the artists largely did. You know the one. It appears on the radio or playlist, and you’re immediately 15 again, or standing in a kitchen you haven’t stood in for decades, or remembering a summer that felt like it would last forever.
We want to hear about yours. What’s the song that got away — and what does it say to you about faith, life, or the human longing for something more?
Send us a short reflection pairing your one-hit wonder with a moment of theological insight, and we’ll share it with the Friday Fix community. All musical tastes welcome — guilty pleasures especially encouraged. Drop us a line at fridayfixmail@gmail.com and let your one hit wonder have its moment yet again.
I’ve found myself using a phrase quite often so far this year. That phrase is ‘knock the dust (from your shoes).’ Its origins lie in the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 10. It’s one of those phrases or quotes that I turn to when I find myself caught up in heated debates or doomscrolling through Threads. It helps me step back and check myself. Take a breath and ask what’s going on here?
You may be familiar with the story in Luke 10 – it’s where Jesus sends out seventy-two disciples — in pairs, which is itself worth noting — and gives them a remarkably practical set of instructions. Find a welcoming house. Stay there. Eat what they give you. And if a town doesn’t receive you? Shake the dust from your feet and move on.
In other words, don’t get yourself embroiled in a prolonged argument. Don’t keep trying harder and harder to win people over. Just — walk away.
I find that Cast’s Walkaway, from their 1995 debut album All Change, captures something of that same spirit. It’s not an angry song. It’s not particularly sad or full of pent-up frustration. It’s underpinned with that Britpop confidence — nay, swagger — of the 1990’s but underneath it, I find there’s something wiser than it first appears. If you’ve heard all they got to say / you looked but turned away. The walking away here isn’t defeat. I think it’s discernment.
And in 2026, discernment might be one of the most countercultural things we can practise.
We live in a world engineered to keep us engaged — not productively engaged, of course, but hooked. The (doom) scroll. The ‘hot take’. The reply that definitely won’t change anyone’s mind, but somehow we can’t resist typing anyway. Comment sections on social media seem designed less for conversation and more for combat by keyboard warriors. Algorithms that have learned, very efficiently, that outrage keeps us online longer than wonder does.
Into all of that, the song says: walk away. Just like Jesus told us to do two thousand years earlier.
I think the thing to notice about the Luke 10 instruction is that it is not about having a sense of resignation. It isn’t Jesus saying don’t bother because people are useless. I think it’s something more purposeful than that — more about assessing a situation, like triaging in a hospital A&E, or a gardener knowing when soil is ready. The disciples aren’t carrying a message that diminishes if it goes unheard in one place. They carry it onwards. You’ll never lose your dreams, as Cast put it, in one of those lines that you could almost throw away until you sit with it.
There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to reach people who, right now, simply aren’t ready to hear. We’ve probably all felt it — in a family conversation that turns circular, in a social media exchange that generates more heat than light, in a world of soundbites and bots where nuance goes to die. The temptation is to try harder, speak louder, and find the persuasive argument that will finally land.
But Jesus offers us something different: permission. Permission to move on. To trust that the Spirit works in its own time, through its own means, and that our job is not to force every door but to notice which ones are opening.
Walking away, in this reading, is not apathy. It’s not giving up on people. It’s an act of faith — that the Good News is bigger than any single conversation, that it will find its moment, and that burning ourselves out helps no one.
So maybe the questions are: what dusty shoes need a shake? Where are the open doors? The receptive hearts? The places where something might actually take root?
Walk away from the noise. And walk towards life. And never lose our dreams.
This weekend in the heat of the spring sun, the lyrics “hypnotised by the beauty of it all” come to mind. Lyrics from the Hothouse Flowers song ‘Good for You,’ from their album ‘Home’.
Almost overwhelmed by the beauty of it all…
The depth of the energy that the sunlight has brought this weekend.
Not just the vibrant contrasting colours of the spring, scintillated by seed and the sparkle of sunglint, but also the strength of the tradition in the pinnacled church tower as its bells strike twelve… The god-given energy seemed to make some simple, homely treasures sparkle.
My ‘home’ is something I’ve struggled to pin a flag on. I am from Cornwall, so I might say I’m a Cornishman; the Cornish have a strong tradition and identity. But, I have ‘lived’ outside the County, in the East Midlands, for more than 30 years.
This weekend, shadows of the lingering winter seemed to be warmed by a few days of strong sun. ‘Were you there when the sun refused to shine?’ It seems I tend to suffer from an introvert’s ruminations and cognitive distortion, especially in the winter months. A recent health check suggested I was low in Vit D and Iron… that notion didn’t help my ‘perception’ of the world.
The Hot House Flowers sing;
“I’ve hoarded all experiences I’ve had
Written down all memories on a train…
And you ask me why I’m singing,
Well it is good for me, it can be good for you…”
“World is decay, life is perception”, said the ancient Greek philosopher Democritus. But this weekend’s light and warmth have definitely helped my perceptions sing, and helped me treasure some simple blessings.
‘Blessings’. The word always reminds me of being a boy, about 6 years old, circa 1975. Waist-high amidst a throng of Cornish faithful, singing with gusto in the upstairs chapel of the Royal National Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen in Newlyn. “Count your blessings, name them one by one…”. The RNMDSF; fishermen’s shadows in corners, a snooker table taller than me, plaques, awards, and a sense of refuge. I recall songs about anchors, safe return, loss, toil and light. The sound of my grandmother and the colour and spirit of this song.
The Hot House Flowers sang “I’ve spent my life watching sky and sea change colour…”
It’s what we do, colours change… perhaps ‘home’ is where the heart is. But, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:21
In recent days, I’ve been on an outing to Leeds. A good chance to visit the Art Gallery, amongst other things. On my way through the city, I saw a poster with my birthday date on it in big black letters, so of course I had to pause to be nosey. It was advertising a gig by The Christians, and I felt a little pang of sadness as my birthday has passed and I didn’t get to go ☹
This band have been a fixture in my existence since the early days of theirs, and I’ve seen them, off and on, in all sorts of places. I love their sound, their perspective and the nostalgia that goes with seeing them. This whole set of thought processes led my mind to wander around their music mentally, and the first song title that popped into my head was this one –Ideal World.
A set of lyrics rang through my brain – pretty good given I can’t often remember where I’ve put my socks recently – and this was it. As clear as day:
In the ideal world We could start again Now in my real world Let’s put an end to suffering End suffering
In the ideal world We’re now free to choose Oh, in my real world We are safe to air our views
In my humble opinion, the world is far from ideal at the moment. I know some people, those who are throwing their power about like talcum powder, think their ideal world can be brought about by war, violence and downright bullying, but I think most people see the world in a far from ideal position.
War is very, very present in our minds. Alongside that comes the impact of discrimination, racism, climate change and a disproportionate distribution of wealth. All compounded by the silent acceptance of the masses.
‘Oh Jane, ‘ you cry. ‘This isn’t new. Twas ever thus!’ Maybe you’re not wrong, as long before The Christians (that’s Gary & his brother who originally made up this band) were writing about it, there was commentary aplenty. This is why, though it’s so sad. We do not learn lessons. To hear these words ring true almost 40 years after they were written is so demoralising.
We, who are people of faith, hold true to a pattern of discipleship that upholds equality and love for one another. In fact, the biblical stories around Jesus remind us that we should love God and love our neighbours as ourselves, then those stories take some very careful time to explain that everyone, regardless of where they originate, must be considered a neighbour. This is the ideal world our faith encourages us to strive for.
In the ideal world We can start again Now in my real world It matters not about the colour of your skin
If this means we have to try every day to re-write the dodgy and unacceptable story we find ourselves in, so be it.
If you can, in some small way, make today a day where you contribute to the ideal world the writer of this song envisages, and if we’re blessed, then we won’t need to revisit this FF in 20 years time.
Does Taylor Swift make you think about forgiveness? Does a Coldplay chorus sneak up on you in a moment of prayer? Does “Dancing Queen” say something profound about joy and community that you can’t quite put into words — but you’re going to try?
Then the Friday Fix wants to hear from you.
Our Friday Fix blog is where music meets the spiritual — a space for the unexpected connections, the “wait, this song is actually about grace” moments, and the guilty pleasures that turn out to be anything but guilty.
We’d love to publish your thoughts. And the good news? Your job is the easy bit.
Here’s all you need to do:
Pick a song. Any song. (Yes, even that one.)
Jot down a few thoughts about what it sparks for you spiritually — could be a sentence, could be a few paragraphs. There’s no wrong answer and no word count.
Send it to us by email. That’s it. We’ll do the rest.
We’re not looking for essays or theology degrees. We’re looking for you — your music taste, your faith, your reflections, served up however feels natural.
It’s another delve into the Friday Fix archives this week.
Life in the UK feels like we’re in a ‘waiting room’ phase – the data shows that things are okay, but it seems like we’re bracing for the impact of the conflict between the USA/Israel, and Iran. If the UK were a person, they’d probably be sitting on a park bench with a slightly cheaper takeaway coffee, enjoying the sun, but keeping one eye on their phone and the other on the clouds waiting for the next storm to roll in.
I thought David’s reflection from 2023 might help.
David writes (in 2023):
Cave writes ‘the lyrics and the vocal performance emanate from deep inside the lived experience itself’, in this instance he is writing about the Pogues classic. ‘Fairytale in New York’. Few could argue, on listening to his own composition ‘Waiting for You’, that such a description isn’t also merited.
The poignancy that Cave expresses in delivering the title lyric of this song leaves us in no doubt that true love dwells, and even grows, in the waiting space. As he sings ‘waiting for you’ we can sense that during a time of separation, love has grown. Yet, this is far more than a case of ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. The waiting is more than the bittersweet parting of lovers pining for precious time together again. This is the heartfelt passion of those whose souls are conjoined, yet who are parted.
Your soul is my anchor, I never asked to be freed
sings Cave, yet, as the line is sung, even as we sense that love has grown, we become aware that the waiting may well be in vain. In the longing is lament, and in the tangible sense of grief and sorrow which emanate from the lyric we are given an insight into the intensity of desire which lies within the waiting. A desire that risks not being fulfilled.
The truth is that for many in today’s society the act of waiting carries no risk. For the privileged, waiting simply means next day delivery! Desire is always fulfilled, and waiting is understood simply as the passage of time from one completed goal achieved towards the next. Richness is measured in the numbers of, not in the depth of, experiences.
Yet this is not the whole picture of course. The wait goes on for clean water for 771 million people across the world (https://www.wateraid.org/facts-and-statistics). 2.99 million food parcels have been given out to those who have waited in line at food banks this year in the UK (https://www.trusselltrust.org/news-and-blog/latest-stats/). 82 million refugees wait to return home or find security in a foreign land (https://www.rescue.org/topic/refugee-crisis-100-million-displaced). For these, and others, waiting is not simply a passage of time but a deep desire for security and the waiting of course does not always bear fruit. For many, life is not a journey from one peak to another but an attempt to find some even ground. A longing for a change in circumstances. A lament for what might be.
Waiting is one of the themes of the liturgical season of Advent, although it is all too often trivialised, marketed as the countdown to Christmas Day. This is far removed from the real intention of the season, or indeed from the sense of waiting portrayed in Cave’s song. In both, there is real separation, in which the waiting time is not about the passing of the minutes, hours and days between where you are and where you want to be, but rather a profound period of preoccupation with and reflection upon what could and should be. Advent is a season to desire deeply.
Therefore during Advent we should not be asking, “am I prepared for Christmas?” Rather, we should be asking ourselves, “what is it that I long for?” “What do I lament that has passed?” “What do I wait for with a fathomless yearning?” “What would make me sing, my voice quivering, with the same passion and emotion I hear in Cave’s voice?”
‘Your soul is my anchor I never asked to be freed’
To be anchored in God’s soul means that our desire is God’s desire. We wait, deeply desiring and longing for all that God longs for on this earth. ‘On earth, peace and goodwill to all’ has become a cliché of Christmas. It is the greeting of the heavenly host to the shepherds from God and as such is no cliché, but a message from the heart of the divine. This is what God desires.
‘A priest runs through the chapel, all the calendars are turning A Jesus freak on the street says He is returning Well sometimes a little bit of faith can go a long, long way Your soul is my anchor, never asked to be freed’
Too often waiting is seen as an eschatological exercise. We want a different world, restored relationships, water and food for all and peace on earth. Yet our generation seem content to accept this as a pipe dream, and our hopes are focussed instead, while ‘the calendars are turning’, to a day when He returns and all will be well! Yet waiting should never be about apathetic acceptance.
There is no acceptance in Cave’s vocal or lyric – there is only longing.
The longing and yearning of waiting cannot accept what is. To be anchored in God’s soul is to ask never to be freed from our desire to see, and do all we can to ensure, peace on earth and goodwill to all. This waiting, this longing, this yearning leads us to allow our little bit of faith to go a long, long way in action.
‘Waiting for you To return To return To return’
Jesus told a story about goats. The goats were dedicated to the King and longed for him to return. They waited to serve him, and to pander to his every need. If he was overthrown in a coup they were ready to visit him. If he was on his sick bed they would be there too. They waited in their chapels as the calendar turned. One or two of them even shouted loudly in the street that the King would return. As they waited for him to return, others waited in the queue at the Foodbanks, waited for access to clean water and were arrested and languished in prison with no visitors.
Yet, when the King returned he banished the goats from his Kingdom. They were dismayed and didn’t understand. They believed they had been faithful in waiting. The King explained that he was angry with the goats because while they had been waiting for the King to return they had done nothing to achieve the aims of his Kingdom. While they had been dreaming of a future Kingdom, they had failed to help those in their midst who were in need. To realise the kingdom in his absence.
There were sheep in this parable too. The sheep had spent their time in the King’s absence, not waiting, but acting as if the King were with them, always ready to serve those in need. On his return it was the sheep who the King welcomed into his Kingdom…
…true love dwells and even grows in the waiting space…
The Friday Fix 