A rather bloody Sunday

Not for the first time, after a night of disturbed sleep, regrettably without the support of my trusty neck pillow, I had a copious nose bleed at 8.00am on this morning last, which took 20 minutes to stop. As on other occasions, thankfully few and far between, it left me feeling as if I had a hangover, so we ended up not going to church. Just before lunch, I went out for a walk to clear my head, and a second copious bleed started. This one took half an hour to stop, with much applied pressure from my my sister in law retired nurse who is still able to put her skills and experience to good effect.  

She strongly advised a call to A&E, and as a result, I was visited by a mobile paramedic called Luke an hour later, with an array of high tech medical gadgets at his disposal, most of which weren't needed. He decided to took me to the Heath hospital in his car, as my blood pressure as my blood pressure was higher than I've ever recorded it personally. The reception area was so crowded that several people had to sit the floor, despite a steady stream of patients being seeing through triage and into treatment rooms. Impressive, but worrying to be told that this afternoon's average wait time was four and a half hours.

Within twenty minutes I was given several blood tests, then waited three and a half hours to be examined by a medic, which is understandable given that there were fifty odd people waiting at any given time. The doctor who examined me didn’t think that either of the two lesions he could see in my left nostril justified cauterisation, and attributed the bleeds to high blood pressure and my overnight sleeping position misfortune. By this time blood in both nostrils had coagulated and bleeding had stopped, so he discharged me, and I went home by bus to the city centre, then a walk to get some fresh air. 

The long wait, and being unable to change my wound dressing for six hours was, to say the least, an uncomfortable, not a beneficial experience. I was tired and groggy, and still my nose was leaking blood slowly, so I went straight to bed and lay there wondering if worse was to follow in the night, and could I avoid waking up to more bleeding.

I admit to feeling panicky when the nose bleed seemed to difficult to stop, and once I'd seen the numbers on Luke's wizard diagnostic gizmo, I worried about the risk of a stroke. Once I had calmed down, in bed, with a modest meal inside me - I'd missed lunch entirely - I began to reflect on how the clamour of 'survival anxiety', supplanted the habitual impulse to pray in difficult situations. I think I will view some of the 'grumbling Psalms' in a different light as a result of this realisation.. It gives added weight to the need to offer to pray with people when sick or a state of distress. It's what we priests are trained to do, but being on the receiving end of what feels like a life threatening drama offers a different perspective on an everyday human experience. Thank God for hospital chaplaincy in all its forms!

  

Michaelmass birthday girl

Yesterday being her birthday, I rose early before Clare, to arrange the traditional family birthday table, with one of the last of the roses from the garden, a lit candle and all her cards on display, plus my modest gift of a National Trust cafe recipe book. After breakfast, she went off to the gym, and returned with fresh croissants and an an escargot to have with mid morning coffee.

Sister in law Ann arrived for the weekend just after midday and Kath drove down for an overnight visit, arriving at seven, just before we were due to visit Stefano's restaurant for a birthday supper. There's an all new menu there now, and we were delighted with what we ate, plus two excellent bottles of Nero d'Avolo.

Our waiter picked up that it was Clare's birthday. We'd not made any special cak arrangemetns but he came to the table at the end of the meal with a glass of flaming Zambuca to blow out, while we all joined in singing Happy Birthday. A delightful gesture.

Today being Michaelmass, I was glad of an opportunity to stand in for Fr Mark and celebrate Mass for three people at St Luke's in the morning.

This afternoon Kath drove us to Dyffryn for a pleasant sunny afternoon stroll around the grounds starting with a light lunch, followed later by tea and scones. Some of the trees have turned colour but not many. The greens just seem paler. The acer and maple trees are putting on a good show and the seasonal dahlias are flooding the beds with bright colour. A lovely outing - photos here.

In the evening, we sat and watched 'Mystery Road' together on BBC Four. It's slow moving and gives some remarkable views of the Australian Outback landscape and a plot which addresses the issue of the crystal meth plague afflicting even the remotest areas of the world. In our nightly must listen radio soap opera, the Archers, Freddy Pargiter has just been given a twelvemonth sentence in a Youth Offenders Institution for dealing in party pills. The exploration of the impact of this on his family and the community, and how people respond to it, is as just educational as any documentary. The Beeb are to be congratulated for this slice of long drawn out contemporary drama.

Back at the altar

In quick succession this morning I had a follow up blood test, and a consultation with Dr Jordan about last weekend's little medical drama. My gall bladder has resumed normal functioning now and is no longer inflamed, but I have been booked in for a scan, and an urgent follow through visit to the 'bum doctor', as we call him. Heaven knows how long the waiting list is. 

I'd rather be a patient in the true sense of what that means, than need to be a medical client as I was in Switzerland, and have to pay for treatment. OK, I probably am mean most of the time, but I believe so strongly in the values and principles of the NHS, and look forward to the election a a government which refuses on principle to privatise large sections of the health service, often in a way detrimental to users and real efficiency of service.

After the doctor's visit a short walk across the road to St Catherine's to celebrate the Eucharist, for the first time in two weeks for a congregations of four. It gave me great pleasure to be back at the altar again. With the ups and downs of my health at the moment, it feels like a gift to be able to carry on offering a little support to the ministry of my home parish.

The newsletter of the Friends of St John's City Parish Church arrived today, bearing news of the death of another of one of the elderly faithful who have been the prayerful backbone of the church over the past fifteen years, Mary Jones was in her late eighties and still active until recently. Sadly her funeral was a few days after my return, and I didn't hear about this until today. She was always appreciative of my ministry, and any time I visited St John's she'd ask me when I was coming again, in the hope that I'd become their a locum priest. I've filled in there on occasional weekdays at short notice, but it's been left to Eddy and Sally Davies to carry the continuity of ministry during the last two interrgna, so they've been in good hands.

St John's is about to welcome its third priest in the eight years since I retired - that's as long as I served there. I hope the new priest will settle and enjoy as long and happy ministry there as I did. 

     

By Polo to Penarth

Finally this bright and breezy afternoon, we got around to taking the new car for a drive, so that Clare could familiarise herself with its workings before taking it out on her own tomorrow. We went first to Lidl's in Leckwith, then on to Penarth for a photo opportunity, a walk on the pier and an ice cream. We're very pleased with it, as its interior is spacious for a small car, with more headroom than the old Golf, and being a little higher off the ground, slightly easier to get into.

I hadn't so far read any of the car's documents, nor checked out its technical specification on-line, apart from knowing it's a 1.2cc engine. The sound of the car on the move was different from what I expected, and this aroused my curiosity. A little research disclosed that this car's engine is the three cylinder 'Blue Motion' engine, designed for lower emissions and economy. I was delighted by this on both counts. When this design was announced fourteen years ago, I hoped that one day I might own a car with such an engine. Since then, we've had two Golf Mark 2s in succession, and both served us very well. I'd forgotten my earlier aspiration, and surprised that all along this particular Polo had my name (well my initials) on it all along. I know they say 'Be careful what you wish for', but on this occasion, it couldn't be better. I'm looking forward to the day when I can sit comfortably in it for an extensive period and take it for a long drive.

In the evening, I watched ITV's current mystery drama serial 'Strangers', set in Hong Kong, which is shaping up nicely into another exploration of police, political corruption and organised crime in the former UK colony. I like the fact that it's bi-lingual, with subtitles for what I presume is Cantonese being spoken. I may have mentioned this before, but it's interesting that we live the the Parish of Canton, which not only has Cardiff's Chinese Christian church, but also a fair number of Chinese residents and children in schools, not to mention shops. Perhaps the place name was a magnet back in the days after World War One when Chinese people started to settle in Cardiff. 

It's a coincidence, however as this Canton is Canna's-town abbreviated, St Canna is supposed to have been a sixth century Breton princess who converted to Christianity. Canna is the name given to the stream which runs through the Parish. Not that it can be seen nowadays, as it's more of a storm drain nowadays, running entirely through culverts from Penhill down to Riverside Embankment where it enters the Taff, if there's ever any water. Nowadays, it's just a memory imprinted on old maps from 16th to 19th century, before the suburb developed the way it is now.

  

Gripping finale

We sat together in the congregation again at St Catherine's Parish Eucharist today. It's quite a relief not to be officiating or preaching at the moment, as mornings are when I have most discomfort and pain from my 'thorn in the flesh'. Emma presided and we had a visiting priest called Mary to preach who'd officiated here yesterday at the wedding of two parishioners one of whom she'd known since childhood. It was nice to sing the 'Salisbury' setting again, as this was what we sang at the St John's Sunday Eucharist in Montreux. Happy memories.

After lunch, I revived and walked down to Blackweir bridge for the first time since returning. It was sunny, bright and breezy. The river was a little swollen due to last week's rain, and I got photos of a pair of cormorants drying their wings. They like to hang around here when the solitary heron isn't about. A fellow birdwater stopped to chat and told me about a pair of dippers nesting in the opening of the salmon ladder the other side of the river. I must look up this species in order to have a chance of recognising them next time.

Like eleven million others, we watched the finale of 'Bodyguard' on BBC One. The tension in the last twenty minutes really made me hold my breath, waiting for the catastrophe which never came. The final unravelling of the plot in the confession made by suicide bomber, master bomb maker and electronic engineer cum artificer Nadiya, who failed to complete her mission in episode one, was a real sinister surprise. It also stretched credibility somewhat, taken at a pace, overshadowing detail of the wider criminal political conspiracy which overlapped with it. We still don't know how the bomb which killed the Home Secretary was planted under the stage or whether the senior Met Commander was in on the plot. Still, it was worth a watch from start to finish, and demonstrated that an old style cliffhanger of a serial format is still competitive in the age of bulk episode downloads on catch up. 

Best of all, a brief trailer for the fifth series of 'Line of Duty', to be rolled out in the New Year. This too had that 'unmissable' quality for a TV programme. Funny how police and political corruption are themes which play out often in modern drama - as they do in real life, in fact.

   

Claim processing

Another couple of quiet days at home resting, tending my wound, almost willing the body to finish healing this abscess. It's a slow process, yet day by day the period of painful inflammation gets just slightly less. Finally, I was able to put my mind to dealing with the medical insurance claim. I had to do it twice, because the first time, I made mistakes on the form. I'll be lucky to recover half the cost partly because of the policy excess and partly because the outlay on-over-the-counter medication and dressings was more than double what these would have cost here in Britain, and not easy to justify for the period after the doctor had signed me off. 

Anyway, the claim for £500 was mailed, recorded delivery on Saturday morning. It was raining hard and as I was determined to post it, so that it would arrive on Monday, I had to don my old waterproof mountain jacket and trousers, the first time I've used them in years, but still good to use, as long as they can be dried out in between soakings. It's been a dull damp week, and I begin to long for some blue sky and sun.

In the evening, we watched an Australian crime drama series 'Mystery Road' on BBC Four, labelled 'Aussie Noir' by the media commentariat. It's set in the blazing sunshine of the Australian outback, and the characters wear shades and big hats, so I think the hype is a bit silly. It's slow moving and it portrays a cattle ranching environment where aboriginal and immigrant communities live uneasily alongside each other, and racism is a casual and everyday occurrence. 

As is so often the case, crime writing is a medium in which all kinds of social and cultural issues get examined, in the context that produces a crime, or even crimes that are part of the mystery to be solved. I guess that's what I find engages my attention, as I try to figure out what on earth is happening in the world I inhabit, world which changes so rapidly that it's something of an effort to keep up recognising it.  

New car arrives home

Mid-morning yesterday I had to visit the GP surgery to have some blood taken to test for infections. It's never an easy experience, as even the most skilful phlebotomist can spot my veins, but has trouble getting into them. It general takes two or three goes and leaves me feeling like a pin cushion.

Then, at lunchtime I went again over to Splott on the 61 bus to pay for and collect the car. With the MOT certificate done, having insured it last night, there remained only the tax to be paid. It was not possible to do this on-line as the paper documentation of change of ownership had only just been signed, but it was possible, thanks to a bar code attached to the registration document to visit the Post Office in Splott Road, and pay for it there, knowing this would immediately be registered if I should get stopped on my way home. 

After a brief introduction to the car's layout from Phil, I took to the road and drove across town. It's the first time I've driven for seven weeks in any country, so I needed to go carefully. I wasn't pleased that the space outside our house was still occupied by a car that occupied space carelessly, so that another smaller car could squeeze in behind it, which could have been possible if this car had parked closer to the one in front of it. This often happens in our street: un-mindful parking. So I had to park a little further down, so I can't look out of the window and admire it. Here it is!

Today I had an early appointment with my regular GP Dr Jordan, and basically we reviewed all that had happened in recent weeks, and my treatment. Where we proceed from here depends on success in dealing with the abscess. My blood test result had already been logged on the practice network. Very speedy! I'll have another one next week to see if the remaining traces of infection are eliminated by the penicillin I'm currently taking. It seems that apart from this my vital signs are normally healthy, which is good news. And so on it goes, getting fully fit for purpose again.

Today is the 49th anniversary of my ordination to the Diaconate and the start of my full time public ministry. so went to the usual Thursday Eucharist at St John's to give thanks. How blessed I felt, to be one of a dozen congregation members, on the receiving end for a change, and to feel I'm back home in the Parish I call home. Afterwards, I had a chat with Emma our new priest. She expresses her delight at being in Canton enjoying the people of the three churches, and settling into a lively community and making a new home here. I'm so pleased for her and her family. On my way back, I bought one of those foam doughnut shaped rings to sit on. It'll protect my healing wound from excess pressure, and make life less uncomfortable when sitting. This really makes me feel my age!

I cooked lunch for us, then later we went out food shopping together. Clare's been laid low with a virus this past few days, so it was her first proper outing since Monday. We had nothing better to do than watch different TV programmes in the evening, me live streaming an episode of 'Vera' with an app on my tablet, something that wouldn't have been possible in this household three years ago. How times have changed!

  

Goodbye Golf

I walked to the doctor's surgery before eight yesterday to queue for a 'book on the day' appointment, and got one for ten forty with a young doctor, Dr Mullaney, who I think has joined the practice fairly recently, as she shares a consulting room with Dr Dyban, and has a name plate on the door. I gave her a summary of Friday night's little drama, and as a result, she booked me in for a blood test. Also she ordered an appointment for an ultrasound scan of my gall bladder, about which I should hear in the next few days, hopefully. It's a good idea to get as early an assessment as possible so a treatment plan can be made.

Phil of NG Motors got in touch to say that the VW Polo the garage has for sale is ready to be seen by us, now a small amount of remedial work has been done. He arranged for a couple of his mechanics to drive over with a spare charged battery to get the Golf working and drive it back to their place. It will save me lots of hassle. These guys are so kind and helpful. With a live battery plumbed in it burst into life with gusto, as it usually does. I admit I felt a small pang of regret at letting go of it. This car I've kept longer than any other I've had in fifty years of driving, and it's certainly been the best value to us, scruffy or not. Here's the Golf, taking its leave of us.

If we're happy when we've seen the Polo, Pil will MoT it and take the Golf in part exchange, rather than dispose of it or send it for scrap. I arranged to take a look today, and went over to Splott at noon today, all the way on the 61 bus. I was surprised by its good looks. Even more surprised by the fact that its number plate ends JKK - my initials. It has my name on it, evidently!

The car is twelve years old, with one owner, looked after by the garage for most of its life. It's in immaculate condition for its age, and in a stylish metallic slate grey. It only has thirty nine thousand  miles on the clock. It's a bargain at £1500 for someone like me who prefers a car that isn't internet connected, with lots of advanced technology. Having said that, it does have electric windows and central locking, I think. It has a 1.2 litre engine, so it's in a lower tax bracket and does 50mpg at 50mph. Adequate performance for me, with no need to commute to work, or drive great distances non stop any longer, and best of all, it's economical.

I transferred ownership of the Golf to the garage, and will take ownership of the Polo when I return tomorrow to with the money to complete the exchange. I only sat in the car, to make sure, as Clare insisted, that it was big and comfortable enough for me to sit in and drive. At full stretch I'd take someone with legs three inches longer than mine.

Mission accomplished, I returned home via the city centre, on the 'clockwise' city centre circle number one bus, making the same mistake as last time, as it went a time consuming roundabout way back to the centre, from thence I caught the usual 61. I can't yet identify where to pick it up over in Splott. Next time I must try the anti-clockwise circle bus instead.

Back home, after a very late lunch, I modified my Aviva car insurance policy to cover the new car, using the excellent  MyAviva app on my tablet. The change only cost me seven quid, which was most pleasing. The rest of day, I lay low, watching catch up episodes of NCIS on My5.

Day of rest

Gail accompanied Clare and I to the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning. It was lovely to be welcomed back so warmly, as it was also to relax and worship in the congregation. I accompanied Gail to Cardiff Central station after the service, in good time for her return train to Worcester, then returned for lunch. We didn't go out for our usual Sunday afternoon walk but siesta'd instead, as we both felt tired. While I lay on the bed I listened to choral evensong on the radio. Rest is good for my recovery I hope. Each day brings small improvements as the course of penicillin continues. It seems, from checking, that my blood pressure is reducing to what the medics consider 'normal', which is unexpected. Perhaps it's I have nothing to do but relax and get well again at the moment. 

In the evening, we watched the fifth episode of 'Bodyguard'. It's clear a multi-layered conspiracy is afoot in the storyline, but there are few clues so far about the author and extent of it. Next week is the final episode, when all will be revealed - unless much is revealed though not all, to pave the way for a series two. There's been quite a lot of this in TV movies these past few years. It's disappointing not to have plot closure. Another series with the same scenario and dramatis personae would be fine but a completely rounded conclusion to the story is, to my mind, preferable.

  

A prophetic opera

Well, I got through the night without being too much bothered by pain or nausea, and was able to eat carefully at breakfast and lunch. I lay low most of the way until it was time to go to the Millennium Centre for the opera. Gail slept long and sweetly in our new bed and said it was the most relaxed night's sleep she'd had for ages.

Clare and Gail went down to Cardiff Bay early for a walk around and something to eat before the performance. It started and six thirty, and I timed my arrival for si, which meant I was able to buy a sandwich and a drink from Sainsbury's and eat them outside before entering the Millennium Centre.

'War and Peace' adapted from Tolstoy's novel, was written by Prokofiev around 1940, when Stalin and Hitler we still allies and Russia hadn't invaded. It's a prophetic work of art, as well as a patriotic celebration of heroic Russian resistance to foreign aggression. What was true for Napoleon's time turned out to be true for Hitler's time also. Both underestimated the courage and endurance of ordinary people as well as, or in spite of their leaders. I wonder if Prokofiev was musically giving voice to misgivings among the Russian people about the alliance between Stalin and Hitler?

In the opening scene, Tolstoy himself is portrayed, writing on stage, while the characters in his mind appear and move or dance about the stage. Such an effective narrative device. There are some fine choral episodes and apart from this a great deal of recitative, thankfully well rendered in good English translation. Curiously, there are fewer notable set piece solos, duets or or ensemble pieces.

The choral work and many individual singers as well as the principal parts were superbly sung. The movement of the 80+ singers and dancers on stage was a wonder to behold. Behind the stage was a large screen on to which still and moving images were projected, and the chorus turned to the screen on times and interacted with what was being shown. The first act was set in peace time, the second was set during and after Napoleon's invasion and defeat. Clever use was made of old movie footage of battle scenes from a period piece movie. Very effective indeed. It was powerfully and confidently executed in every sense from start to finish. What an opening night!

Being seated for the best part of three and a half hours took its toll on my gluteus maximus, and the last half hour was quite uncomfortable as I was unable to move around. I was none the worse for wear by the time we got home, however. As the performance finished late, the last number six Bay Car bus had gone, but thankfully there was a Stagecoach X8 bus going through the city centre a few minutes after we reached to stop. It's reprehensible that there seems to be no co-ordination between Cardiff Bus and the Millennium Centre, when it comes to extra late finishing times. I had a moan about this on Twitter since then.

A tale of the Unexpected

How good to have a lie-in on my first morning at home! A new luxury single bed was delivered just before my return. We need somewhere to take refuge in these days for when one or other of us has a restless night, or works late, and doesn't want to  disturb the other. Mostly that's me. Good sleep, and plenty of it, is more of a priority these days, we both find. Gratification must be delayed however, as Gail, our late friend Mike's wife arrived at lunchtime to stay with us for tomorrow night's WNO performance of Prokofiev's 'War and Peace'. She'll be the first to try out the bed.

After tea this afternoon, I started having stomach cramps, however, and these became increasingly intense until I vomited violently shortly before supper, and the pain didn't subside. I wondered if this was a reaction to the penicillin I started taking last night. Clare rang NHS Direct, and I was quizzed by the triage call handler, who thought I should be seen as soon as possible. He give us the number of the Out of Hours medical centre at the old Cardiff Royal Infirmary building in Longcross Street. I then had to be interviewed again by their call handler, and repeat my story, before being given an appointment at 21.30. As our car battery is dead there was no alternative but to call a taxi. Given that it's Friday evening, we were fortunate that one arrived in ten minutes and delivered me there with ten minutes to spare.

Although I was feeling quite rough and a little dizzy with shock, I was dealt with very kindly by a taxi driver, who could have been Afghan, Kurd or Pakistani. I told him I'd just returned from abroad and he told me he'd just returned from the Hajj. We swapped pilgrimage stories from then on, and marvelled at how good people can be to each other when hearts and minds are focussed on God. His prayer time alert went off just as we arrived, so he was able to pause for this before continuing his night shift. A comforting surprise in what could have been otherwise a distressing ride.     

I was examined by a doctor whose accent suggested she was Polish. Again she asked for my recent story in detail - apparently there's no integrated system for passing on information taken down by the two call handlers to the doctor. But, at least it gives one an opportunity to recall all the details in the correct order, which may help, I suppose. She found a swelling like a golf ball beneath by right rib cage, symptomatic of an inflamed gall bladder. Her information system is linked to the GP network, so that record will be available to the King's Road surgery team by the time I show up for another 'book on the day appointment on Monday morning.

By this time, the cramps were reducing, but not the nausea. I was offered an anti-inflammatory and a pain killer as well as an anti-nausea medication, but took only the latter, as I knew I had adequate supplies at home, and how to manage them to reduce symptoms. I didn't feel like taking a taxi home. In any case it can be both difficult and extra costly to get one from the city centre on a Friday night, as demand is so high. In any case, I needed a walk to calm me down and clear my head, now I had an idea of what needs dealing with. I eventually took a 17 bus from outside the Holiday Inn, on the other side of city centre, and walked home from Canton Cross. Before bed I had a good chat with sister in law Ann, who'd been so helpful when it came to managing pain back in Montreux.

It seems I now have to aim at a diet as free as possible of dairy products unless they are very low fat. I'm quite used to this as Clare eats very little dairy products. She tries and buys all the alternatives available in our local health food shops and I already find them acceptable. But, I will greatly miss full fat cheeses and thick Greek yoghourt, amongst other things. The inflammation crisis may well have been precipitated by an excess of cheese and eggs in the food I ate before and during travel. It's not the first time I've had niggles in my right side over nearly forty years, but previously this was oddly attributed to high stress levels at work. Over the last year or so the amount of cheese and eggs I have eaten has reduced somewhat. I've felt satisfied eating less of them, rather than by an issue with digestion. The body has its own way of knowing what it needs more or less of.

Who knows where this little episode will lead me next? Just as well my diary is pretty empty, and I have no travel commitments in view for the rest of the year.

  

Home journey

After about six hours broken sleep, I rose at 05.15. This gave me just enough time to treat my wound, sort out a travel first aid kit to go in my cabin rucksack with my breakfast sarnies, take the remaining rubbish out to the communal bins, bag up things to be collected for washing, then get myself across the road for the 06.23 S2 stopping train to Montreux gare. The 06.47 from there got me to Geneva airport at 07.59. Unlike when Clare travelled early last week, there were no crowds and no queues. I dropped off my bag and passed through into the departure lounge in a record 15 minutes from the train, which gave me a two and a half hour wait to boarding. This meant standing most of the time, as the hard seats available weren't designed for comfort. The train and plane seats were also quite firm, so getting comfortable meant bracing myself for support.

I had to wait for the airport bus and for a train at Temple Meads (which was delayed 5 minutes) and then got on a 61 bus home with enough time to drop off my bags at home and walk to the doctors. On Romilly Crescent, however, there was a 200m queue of stationary traffic, so I begged the driver to let me off in between stops, and walked straight to the surgery pulling my case and got there in good time. I came away with a week's course of penicillin to take, and a supplement to my existing blood pressure medication to try out. Inevitably, the surgery reading take was high, given the time I'd been travelling and the associated stress, so I'll wait and see how my readings are this week, while the antibiotic medication gets to work on what remains of the abscess.

Apart from unpacking and eating a meal, the remainder of the day was spent resting. The journey really took it out of me, so just relaxing at home after the stress of the past few weeks is a blessing.  I'm glad that me diary is empty for the weeks ahead.
   

Final locum duties

I celebrated the midweek BCP Communion service at St John's for the last time this morning. Geoff with Poppy his golden retriever and Bethany-Ann plus her little daughter were there. Monica drove down from Les Avants to join us, and make her farewells. She's been so supportive of the Tuesday Bible discussion group over the past five years, as have Geoff and Joy.

Then I sent off my end of stay report to the Archdeacon and the diocesan office, and set addressed myself to tidying up and packing. With a 06.23 train to catch tomorrow morning, I need everything to be ready to go before I sleep.

Once I was satisfied with my efforts, I took the bus into town to get my train ticket for tomorrow, and as I had two hour ticket I returned to Territet and took the Funi to Glion, for a final overview of the lake on a sunny day. I conversed in German with a couple of visitors on the ascent, and was able to direct them to the lovely terrace garden overlooking the lake, belonging to the Hotel Righi Vaudois, for one of the best views, looking towards Vevey. It surprises me that this most neglected of languages that I once learned comes back to me enough to make myself understood.

Geoff and Joy invited me to have supper with them. We sat out on their terracem ate drank fine wine and talked until sunset, then we walked together with Poppy back to Territet along the promenade, before taking out leave of each other. This evening is actually the first time in a month that I've been able to sit down at a table for any length of time. Let's hope this holds good for the trip home.

    

Tree hugging daughter and chalice quest accomplished

A quiet Monday, mostly spent looking after the wound, though I did get out and walk up as far as Veytaux gare late afternoon. While I was listening to the Archers I noticed the western sky was flooded with extraordinary deep red light, as the sun headed toward the horizon. I walked down to the port and got some amazing photos with my HX50. I posted three on Instagram and immediately began to get a series of 'likes', mostly from people I didn't know. You can see the photos here

Clare shared some good news of Rachel with me. Last week she posted a photo on Instagram of herself, high up in a tree. I thought she was just out having fun. She, Kath and both their daughters have always enjoyed tree climbing, being active and athletic types, but there was more to the photo, as Clare told me. Rachel has made friends with a tree surgeon, and has done paid work experience recently. He's going to train her up to work as his assistant, and with luck she'll get a qualification that'll enable her to earn a living, and this will subsidise her poorly paid making music making. She is a real tree hugger, and happiest in the great outdoors. I'm so glad  for her, and it reduces my worry level considerably. I'm quite confident she'll be safe climbing trees, properly kitted out. This is a real lifeline for her in every sense.

I had an email from Martin, telling me about a chalice he'd sourced for St George's Malaga, and at a reasonable price. He started hunting for something suitable back in March, and I'm amazed that he continued looking after a few setbacks. It's just ideal for weekday use or house group communions, and it has an Anglican history, having been made for the new Parish of All Saints in Leeds back in the 1850s. It was a period of prosperity driven over expansion of church buildings, and it has long since disappeared, with its redundant assets being traded on eventually. It's a beautiful simple piece of work in sterling silver, very durable. And, it'll arrive just as Fr Paul Wignall starts as Chaplain of Malaga. Have started the ball rolling on this, I am delighted, and satisfied to have closure on this, thanks to my dear good friend Martin. 

Like his late mother Jane, he has an eye for valuable antiques and has participated in the legitimate trading of church silverware for for many years, helping the newly ordained to acquire sick  visiting communion sets or chalices of their own, from the vast stock of items from closed churches. Earlier this year he acquired a full army chaplain's field communion set in its original case, and in good repair, dating from World War One, when it was used in action. Its owner was killed, and somehow the set didn't find its way back to the MoD, but ended up in an attic for a century, until retrieved ina house clearance. There were letters from that period in the case, plus the document of the military commission received by the priest. What a treasure!

   

Good news in Montreux

My farewell Sunday Eucharist this morning. No more locum duty is needed here as an appointment has been made. I don't know who's coming, but the Church Wardens were delighted to make this much of an announcement at the end of the service. Mojacar, Malaga and now Montreux - three places in a row where I have been in post when a prospective Chaplain has visited and later accepted the appointment. It gives me a kind of job satisfaction, daring to think that I have been useful in a small way as part of the process that leads to another priest uprooting themselves and venturing to move to and serve in another community/country. The vacancy in Canton Benefice was filled before I left for Montreux. Thursday this week I return home, with no idea of what comes next in my ever eventful ministerial life. What an adventure!

After lunch I walked to Chateau de Chillon in the sun, annoying myself by losing an unused public transport ticket en route, having noticed it on the return trip and passing it over without realising it was what I dropped. I won't be doing much more travelling around in my final few days. I just have to lie low, rest and look after my affliction in order to be ready for a journey which may or may not be uncomfortable, as I still can't sit properly. But, so far so good.

I watched the four episode of of the BBC autumn season's popular it serial 'Bodyguard'. Yet again a Jed Mercurio story featuring Keely Hawes in which, sad to say, she doesn't make it to the end. The plot thickens however, with much villainy revealed in high places. But is the final resolution of it all going to be entirely in the hands of one lone male outsider/avenger/victim? 

Tatyana's gift

Thursday and Friday passed by uneventfully, with two surprises. When I went to lock the church on Thursday evening, I discovered on the piano near the side door into the church room a gilded 'Hodigitria' icon of Our Lady, holding up and pointing to Jesus, with a note hastily scribbled on a piece of card saying 'Thank you for a lovely wedding. From Bulgarian Tatyana'.

The couple must have been passing by car on their way back to Britain and dropped by in haste to deliver it. I didn't hear the doorbell, that's for sure.

Friday's surprise was the announcement of a new Priest in Charge for St John the Baptist City Parish Church back home. It's another Canon Sarah Jones, currently Rector of the Ross Team Ministry in Hereford diocese. Having someone with big team experience suggests to me that Bishop June may want to work on making a Central Cardiff Ministry Area grouping of Parishes even larger than the Rectorial Benefice that I inherited and Archbishop Barry saw fit to dissolve. That was another time, when central redevelopment and closing St James' were a major energy draining occupation. A part of consolidation ahead of re-grouping. If this is the plan, let's hope the new priest stays long enough to see it through.

Apart from brief bus trips into town to the shops, all I had to do was look after my wound, so slowly drying out. The swelling is almost all gone now, and one anti- inflammatory pill a day is enough to keep me almost pain free.

Today, I walked into town and back, and walked to Territet port and the tennis club, where the Montreux Ladies Open is taking place, I was delighted with a couple of action shots I was able to take. This is the best! 

I wish I had the photo skills to highlight the ball, as it's just left the racquet, in that microsecond when the player serving is still in the air. It was sheer luck in conditions highly favourable to my Sony HX50, and it made my day.

It's Freddy Mercury's 72nd birthday, had he lived. There are two days of festive events either side of the date and the market hall has been turned into a venue for loud rock concerts. His statue on the Montreux Marché quay is bedecked with a sunflower wreath and an assortment of cards and votive offerings. It's even more of a shrine than usual, and a stream of people want to pose with it. To me it's nothing more than idol worship. Today, however is also the festival Our Lady's birthday. It's an ironic coincidence. No Eucharist for me today, but I was able to light a candle in front of Mary's icon while I said the Office of the day, thanks to Tatyana.

This evening I watched Harry There was a sequence of First World War songs in honour of the 1918 Armistice commemoration. Hearing 'Roses of Picardie' sung reminded me of being at home with the family as a child, listening to my mother playing piano and sisters singing this song. I emailed my sister June. She said she'd been singing along out loud - annoying the neighbours, she hoped for a change, instead of them annoying her. That made me smile.

It's my final Sunday tomorrow, and the announcement of the appointment of a new chaplain. That's three locum assignments in a row where this has happened to me, as I was about to leave. Amazing!
  

Reading, recuperating

There were three of us and a child for the midweek Eucharist again this morning. I spent most of the day in the house despite the weather, resting, recovering. It's slow. I have to be patient with myself. In the post was a facture for lab tests on a tissue sample taken from me, presumably to confirm what Mr Cotton diagnosed. I rang him to check if there was a report to be added to the one already given to my GP, but we got cut off in mid conversation. I was reluctant to call again in case there was a medical emergency at the other end, and emailed the surgery instead.

I took the bus into town and back to do some shopping, rather than walk as I usually do. My energy levels are reasonably good, but am cautious about over-exercising while the wound is still draining, albeit now very slowly. Having finished reading 'Girl on the Train', I'm now reading a Swedish novel written as a sequel to the late Stieg Larsson's Millennium Trilogy about modern cyber-crime, by the novelist David Lagerkranz, with the same theme employing two key characters from the original series - genius hacker Lisbeth Salander 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' and investigative journalist Mikkel Bloomquist. It's called 'The Girl in the Spider's Web'. A bit slow starting, but so far so good.

I recent years, my reading has been largely confined to on-line articles and news. To have time to be be reading novels again is unusual. It's something I attribute largely to there being so little attracting my interest on TV, despite being able to get over half a dozen UK TV channels. No chance of catch up, or box set watching out here.

Looking to the future

Just after breakfast, my phone pinged notifying me of an email from my home surgery in Pontcanna confirming an appointment with Dr Jordan a week after my return. If needs be I can change it with a 'book on the day' alternative. Clare had been there already, to hand in the surgical report and my accompanying letter. The new booking system is working amazingly well.

Although the weather has been sunny and a little warmer, I didn't venture out today, except for the Tuesday afternoon bible study in church with the same handful of faithful people, always keen to explore and ask questions. Following from Sunday's gospel about defilement coming from within, I found myself fielding questions about spiritual ailments and the nature of the demonic, and the need to resist the impulse to take revenge and seek retribution. We also explored the difference between a decision based on Judgement and on Discernment. 

As always with this particular group, we returned to the question of what should we do to make St John's more alive and attractive to newcomers? It's not just a matter of concern because of a period of decline. The life of the church is valued and seen as worth sharing. But how can opportunities be recognised and acted upon? How to discern God's moment? I pointed out that asking the right kind of questions and exploring together through study and prayer was essential. Praying together outside the liturgy, it was admitted, didn't come easily for many. It has to be shown and taught, after all. 

Much emphasis is placed in ministerial leadership today, on good management and communication skills, and helping congregations develop SMART mission plans with a clear sense of purpose, and even vision statements! I've done all this kind of stuff in the past, and am not sure really what it was worth in the development of congregations I cared for. In fact, I'm not sure how faithful this is to apostolic teaching as expressed in the Acts of the Apostles. Prayer, proclamation of the Gospel, openness too and responsiveness to the promptings of the Spirit, and discernment in an ever changing situation are, to my mind, the key themes. Talking about Vision - i.e. what you see, isn't nearly as good as seeing then acting. 

In Acts, there's plenty of spontaneity, and unplanned action. It all seems haphazard and messy, yet it turns out to be fruitful, even the setbacks encountered in mission. If any of the apostles were potential managers, it must have given them a crisis of confidence to have to respond to the promptings of the Spirit. Administration is certainly one of the gifts of the Spirit, but one among a variety of ministries of the spirit, and not the most dominant.  Discernment of the gifts of the Spirit which are there in a church community must be done together, through reflection and prayer. It takes time, this kind of 'seeing'.

I hope that the appointment of a permanent chaplain, to start in January, but whose name is not yet made public, will help. They will need to ask, maybe even pester their new priest about learning to pray together in different ways. It's not easy to admit, even though St Paul himself admitted "We don't know how to pray as we ought." All I can do is encourage them to be bold in asking.

Parting and recuperating

It was a pack, tidy up and wash sheets type morning before Clare and Rhiannon departed for Geneva and their return flight to Birmingham. I went to the Quai Sante medical centre early, to collect my bill, pick up a GP referral letter for Clare to take home with her, and have a final inspection from Mr Cotton, before he discharged me. All I have to do is keep the wound clean and let it breathe. Nature will do the rest. Certainly the bill is affordable, since I received extra for the wedding blessings. It was a great relief. I should be able to recuperate two thirds of the expense after paying a premium reducing excess. 

I did some food shopping and returned to Church House within the hour, in good time a accompany Clare and Rhiannon to Montreux gare by bus for their 11.47 train. This time around, I took the cash and paid the bill. A satisfying sensation. Now I have to download an insurance claims form and hope for the best that I fill it in correctly. But that's for another day.

Clare said they had to wait 45 minutes to drop off their bags at the airport, and were glad to have got an earlier train and have enough time reach the boarding gate as the flight was being called. Later in the evening she messaged me to say she was on her way to Birmingham New Street, having met up with Kath and Anto at the airport to hand over Rhiannon. She got back home by ten, eleven hours after we parted company in Montreux. The rest of my day was spent 'in rest and quietness' reading not venturing out again, even though it was sunny all day. It's what it needed to do most. 

Up into the clouds

Yesterday evening, I had to miss out on Caroline's annual supper party, but Clare took Rhiannon and I stayed behind and spent the evening reading. Choirmaster Peter phoned to apologise. He's still off sick with pneumonia. He thought we might have no organist tomorrow, and asked me to let choir members know. I texted Clare at the party to ask her to warn choir members attending. In the event we ended up with two organists, both coming from earlier first services. There were twenty of us for the Eucharist, with one organist staying on to sing in the choir, which was nice.

After lunch we ascended to Rochers de Naye by funi and train. The sky was overcast, with unbroken cloud above 1,800m. The restaurant and terminus station is at 2045m, and was shrouded in dank mist throughout our visit. Rhiannon wasn't as disappointed as we were, however. The experience of being outdoors high up in swirling clouds exercised her imagination, thinking about vampires, and maybe reminding her of a movie set.

We walked along the ridge track to visit the Alpine Garden, unable to see more than five metres either side, but we were able to see some of the many flowers collected and growing there, in their autumnal colours. We met a family from Leipzig at the garden and chatted to them in German, they were Adventists, and probably the conversation started because I was wearing my cross. A pleasant surprise, high up on a cold damp hillside. We stayed out for three quarters of an hour, had a drink and caught the next train back. There's only so much interest to be found in the ebb and flow of clouds, seen from the inside.  

Another wedding blessing, and a new novel

Yesterday we took Rhiannon to the Chateau de Chillon. I was glad for another photo opportunity with a better camera. Back in January I took a camera but forgot to reload the memory card, so I had to use my Blackberry Q10, whose photos aren't nearly as good. It's such an interesting place. Clare and I were interested to observe how Rhiannon naturally gravitated to the interactive video screens telling aspects of the castle's story, rather than the wall and panel displays. A child of her era I suppose. We ate a late snack lunch on the terrace outside afterwards, and were amazed to see scores of tame sparrows chasing crumbs, and even occasionally trying boldly to snatch food from a person's hand. I enjoyed the walk, but it left me feeling uncomfortable and tired, so for the rest of the day, and most of today, I've been confined to the house, and managing my still draining wound.

I had to conserve energy to ensure I could carry out today's wedding blessing. It took me quite a while to make the final preparations, as I'd not really felt well enough to knuckle down and do the necessaries earlier in the week. In fact, I had to concentrate on making sure all the pieces of music I had downloaded and edited for the service would work. This proved to be a nightmare, because the wretched Google music app, and any app interface layered on top of it, refused to work with home made MP3s created using Audacity on a Windows machine. In contrast to last Saturday's wedding blessing, there were just fifteen people with the bride and groom. This made it relaxed and informal, so it was easy for me to officiant and be a digital deejay.

I don't know why an MP3 file should play on several devices and but not on every equivalent device, but I hate Google for this inconsistency. Their original 'don't be evil' policy no longer operates. Thankfully, I was able to get every type of file to play on my tablet, perhaps because its operating system is less up to date. It's hard to play music offline, now that's become the default for so many devices, and I couldn't risk staying online and streaming in an environment with a flaky connection. I succeeded, however and was able to relay music from the table to an old hifi system which sits in the church, redundant. Nobody thinks it works, but I succeeded in using it!

I knew I wouldn't feel like doing much except rest after the wedding, so Clare and Rhiannon went to Vevey on the paddle steamer without me. It was cool and overcast, but thankfully, it didn't rain, so they were able to enjoy the street market and visit the Nestle food museum, before returning with a generous supply of chocolate to take home.

Once I'd completed my sermon for tomorrow, I started to read Paula Hawkins' novel 'Girl on the Train'. It's very dense with intimate detail, drawing you right into the claustrophobic routine of suburban domestic life, too dense for my taste - although the detailed and intimate first person portrayal of an unemployed female alcoholic's domestic life offers an excellent study for anyone interested in addictive behaviour. All in all, it's an impressive portrayal of people whose lives are ruled by the lies they tell about themselves and to themselves.