Monday morning I took the car to NG Motors in Splott, to see if anything could be done about the broken heater. The journey to and from the garage is now much more convenient, as the route of the nearest of our buses the sixty one now stretches across town, all the way to Pengam Green in the far east of the coastal plain.
We started Shrove Tuesday with pancakes for breakfast. In the afternoon I had a bereavement visit to make in North Road Cathays, and walked there across Pontcanna Fields. I received a text message from Ashley on my way there to tell me that finally a Blackberry Motion ordered for me to replace the work phone I've had for three years had arrived, so I took the bus into town after the visit and met him in the CBS Office. It took a couple of hours to charge when I returned home, but by mid evening it was fully functional with my existing BT SIM card. It's well engineered, and runs Android. During the set up routine it installed all the apps from my personal phone, and transferred the data, which includes work account related stuff. Very slick.
Wednesday morning we had a phone call at half past eight to say that our mutual friend from Bristol days, Mike Wilson, best man at our wedding, dropped dead in their local Post Office yesterday. It's so hard to take it in, such a shock, just as I was readying myself to offer the Ash Wednesday Eucharist at St Catherine's. Apparently Mike had collapsed the previous day at home, but this was attributed to a recent change in blood pressure medication, as can happen when a GP is prescribing by what for the most part seems to be a 'trial and error' basis. If there was anything leading up to this which went un-noticed by the doctor, or undisclosed by Mike.
Lent starts with a symbolic reminder of mortality in the Ashing Ceremony. It's that time of year when I expect to be officiating at funerals, indeed, I have two next week. When it's a contemporary, with whom we've shared all the passages of life over the past fifty five years, it's a body blow. I can't help thinking - me next? There's no way of knowing, really.
Lent starts with a symbolic reminder of mortality in the Ashing Ceremony. It's that time of year when I expect to be officiating at funerals, indeed, I have two next week. When it's a contemporary, with whom we've shared all the passages of life over the past fifty five years, it's a body blow. I can't help thinking - me next? There's no way of knowing, really.
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