Funeral for a Cousin

I drove to Barry Friday morning in good time for my cousin Gareth's funeral at St Mary's Parish Church. As a former church warden and head sacristan, it was done just the way he would have wanted it done for any faithful congregation member under his care. Apart from the dozen or so relatives, the church was filled with parishioners, old friends and colleagues. Fr Ben Andrews celebrated a solemn requiem Mass and was joined by his predecessor Fr John Hughes, a former server colleague now a priest Fr Chris Seaton, and myself. 

The newest English translation of the ancient Roman Canon of the Mass was used as the Eucharistic prayer. I'd never seen it before let alone spoken it aloud in prayer, and I stumbled through the section very kindly assigned to me, the 'Memento Mori Domine'. I'd have preferred the old modern translation, or even the mock Tudor English of the English Missal version. No wonder some Roman Catholics hate and resent this latest change, the poetic quality of the original is undermined by the awkward Latinate nature of the language used, alien to native English speakers. Why adopt something manifestly bad? I don't get it.

I couldn't stay long as I was due to drive to Kenilworth and pick up Rhiannon from school to bring her back to Cardiff for half term. Inevitably, leaving the funeral made me late, but Kath and Anto were home ahead of me, and able to collect her from friends who looked after when school finished.  

This morning, I took Rhiannon to her youth theatre workshop at Warwick Arts centre, then navigated my way, using a Blackerry app, to the nearest Tesco supermarket, where I was able to buy myself some new underwear and a new belt after several uncomfortable unsupported days. My twelve year old leather belt, bought on our first Corsica visit finally broke beyond repair this week. It was the first opportunity I've had to get a replacement.

After lunch we drove to Cardiff and by tea time, Rhiannon was organising a big tea party of an assortment of small soft toys - dogs, cats, rabbits, bears, even a bird. A touch of paradise? 

This week's episode of Inspector Montalbano was good. I noticed the women that seduce him are brunettes, often bad girls, whereas Livia, his fiancee and Ingrid his loyal close friend, are both blondes. You might be tempted to think it's like the black hats/white hats of cowboy movies, unless you take into account the fact that his long dead mother was brunette. Fascinating, as Mr Spock would say.