Transfiguration Sunday and opera matinee

I arrived at Llantriddyd church before any of the congregation this morning. Amazingly the church is still left open for people to visit, so I had a little time to take photos of the sixteenth century chest tomb of Sir Anthony Mansell and his wife Elizabeth, with the wall monument behind it in memory of her mother and father, John and Elizabeth Basset. It dominates the north chancel wall, eliminating the possibility of ever having choir stalls on that side. Although the reformation banished chantry priests and chapels, it couldn't eradicate the custom of burying people in church and erecting monuments that advertised their status as prominent people, so that they were difficult to forget.

The monuments of the walls are interesting, not least because of the length of the inscriptions they contain, reading fulsomely, like newspaper obituaries. Public prayer for the dead may have been suppressed, but there were always other strategies for remembering loved ones.

It's a jewel of a building, with a transfiguration scene in the East Window, a happy coincidence as this Sunday before Lent is now known as Transfiguration Sunday.

The church is still off-grid, and has but two calor gas heaters to stand close to for respite. It was cold, very cold indeed, and it took me an hour to warm up again after the service. It was nevertheless a lovely place to lead worship. The chalice I used was Elizabethan, dating back to 1876, and still in regular use. It's very similar to the one I used on a single occasion ten years ago at St John's City Parish church, when it was brought out chiefly for an exhibition of church silverware during the centenary celebrations of the city. Standing at the altar, back to the congregation in that small space, lit only by candles and weak winter sun, I felt as if time was standing still, which century was I in?

After the service I drove to St Catherines to collect Clare to go to the Riverside Market, sharing the last ten minutes of the service with her, and chatting with Fr Mark, whom I haven't seen since Christmas. He's very busy these days.

In the afternoon we met with Martin and Chris at the Millennium Centre to watch the WNO perform Mozart's 'Magic Flute'. The singing was delightful, and a good English version of the libretto made it doubly enjoyable. We know the music very well, as we have CD of the highlights, which has been played many times over, although that's in German. It was a nice change not to have to look up at the surtitles to keep up with the nuances of the tale and the music. And everybody laughs in the right place without delay. We were in the front row, as usual, and I couldn't help notice that Lothar Koenig conducted from memory with just a couple of pages of typewritten notes for reference. He really seemed to be enjoying himself, and as ever the orchestra, like the singers was on top form.

We've seen this production before, so say, inspired by Magritte's artwork. It's an amusing idea, but for me it doesn't quite work. Many of the supporting cast wear bright orange coloured overcoats, with matching umbrellas and bowler hats. The dominance of the colour orange reminds me of a certain mobile phone's branding colour, distracting me with the thought that this might be some clever form of sponsorship. In that respect, the colour distracts from the rest of the performance.

Martin and Chris came home with us for supper afterwards. It was lovely to have uninterrupted time together, just to relax, eat and chat. When we visit them at home, their place is always lively and busy with people coming and going, making demands of them both, so we treasure moments like this.