Two days, laid low by an unpleasant cold, not leaving the house, keeping the shivers at bay. Nothing to do except machine minding while uploading to my MS OneDrive archive account photos taken in Spain during the past year. So many difference places and experiences, thousands of photos, several gigabytes worth, on a slow sometimes flaky connection. Still, if you've nothing else to do apart from feel poorly, it gives a sliver of purpose to useless days, when even watching telly is an effort.
Clare cooked a vegetable curry for our New Year's Eve 'St Sylvester' supper, and just before we sat down to eat, to my surprise, the worst symptoms of the cold suddenly abated, making the meal extra enjoyable. I had enough energy to watch telly afterwards, but most of the evening's offerings were of little interest, although I did dip into BBC Four's back to back repeats of programmes on the Swedish pop group Abba. I know their songs more from seeing 'Mamma Mia' on stage and on film several times, and from our kids playing them when they were young, far more than I do from being a fan at the time. I seem to have grown out of pop music when I discovered World Music, and expanded the interest in classical music acquired at home as a child.
By midnight, Clare was in bed, nursing her cold. The skies were briefly lit with fireworks. I went outside, but there was nobody about on the street to greet. Just silent parked cars with their red security lights advertising their unwelcoming status. There was no sound of partying coming from anywhere nearby. Nowadays I guess, far more go out to celebrate, either to local pubs, or to the city centre for the Calennig Nos Galan fiesta, or to a night club. Not my kind of scene.
I stood there thinking of how it was in childhood in Glen View, Ystrad Mynach, when older children or perhaps even a young collier with blackened face would knock on doors to greet people and be welcomed in with a drink and maybe a coin or two, for coming to let the New Year in. Then, there'd be at least some people out on the doorstep shouting their good wishes across to each other while they smoked a last cigarette before turning in. No cigarette for me, not even a glass of wine or a tot of spirit, to celebrate, just grateful to be on the mend again so soon.
Happily, a Eucharist in honour of the Name of Jesus was advertised for noon at St John's, a leisurely start to a Bank Holiday with all the shops except zealous convenience stores closed for business. I strolled down in good time and joined in worship with a dozen people assembled from the benefice congregations, led by Fr Phelim. Several people recognised and welcomed me warmly. Fr Phelim asked me to assist him with giving the chalice, as the regular lay assistants were absent. It's good to be home, and this is a good parish to be able to call home.
The rest of the day was a TV catch up day, having not felt up to watching much in the past week. There were two iPlayer episodes of Wallander I hadn't seen, and needed to catch before watching the last two later on in the evening. Then there was 'Despicable Me', the original movie, just as crazy funny as 'Despicable Me II' which I watched, wedged between my lovely grand daughters on Boxing Day. That's five an a half hours worth in one day. I must be crazy.
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