Good riddance 2019

Apart from an afternoon walk, we did nothing special to observe New Year's eve, apart from stay up until midnight and watch the firework displays in the city centre at Winter Wonderland and down the Bay. After such an awful year for me personally and for Britain, I felt there was no cause to celebrate, just breathe a sigh of relief it's over, hardly daring to believe that 2020 will be any better.

I spoke with Ashley, and he said that the shopping centres and clubland weren't nearly as busy after Christmas this year as in previous years. The roads have not been particularly busy, and walking in town this afternoon I too felt that there was a change. In our experience too, retail shopping is being hit hard by on-line business. People may visit shops to look at goods in the sale, but not to buy, as on-line ordering and delivery turns out to be more convenient - that is, as long as you have someone who can stay at home to receive parcel deliveries. Trading is certainly evolving, and there are bound to be more casualties among city centre shops. 

Years of effort with new improved shopping Mall developments may in the long term prove to have been a less than wise long term property investment. Attention has now shifted to building student accommodation in the city centre, and large office complexes, not all of which have clients lined up yet. The idea of new student accommodation was to free houses in residential districts around the main university buildings and return them to the mainstream housing market. It seems these are too expensive, except for rich overseas students, who may now be deterred from coming to study in post brexit Britain. 

There's talk of changing planning consent to allow conversion of student flats into proper domestic accommodation, but who for, if they're already unaffordable? It seems to be that developers and investors, over influenced by big city trends are paying to much attention to return on investment rather more quickly than is viable, either for the student market, or the millions in need of housing, and the biggest need at the moment is social housing for single people who cannot afford to get on the property ladder abut still need places to live. As ever, it's profits before people. How could this change in the coming decade, if it's been like that for centuries? I'm not optimistic about the future. The galloping climate crisis will have a severe economic impact globally. Will this awaken us to the possibility of a radical change of values and lifestyle that benefits everyone, at the eleventh hour?

Foot ache

We spent yesterday morning chatting with Katie, looking at remarkable videos of Kirra her son, performing athletically with a diablo. Kirra's partner is pregnant, which means that Katie will be a granny in the spring. She's delighted about this naturally. Her mum Jill rang and each of us spoke with her, in our case this was for the first time in decades. She left us at lunchtime with a picnic, so she could stop on the outskirts of Chepstow and make some drawings of the Severn Estuary and bridges. While she was with us, she kept checking Australian news feeds on her phone, as wild-fires continue to ravage the inland region of the state of Victoria to the north of her Melbourne home. A worrying time to be so far away.

I had another long walk later in the afternoon. My recent visit to the podiatrist dealt with painful corns in a satisfactory way, and I bought a couple of pairs of new more comfortable shoes, but when I walk more than five miles, I get unpleasant pains in the ball of my right foot, no matter what shoes I wear. I understand that ageing leads to thinning of the cushion of tissue covering the sole of my foot, and I wear strong insoles now to compensate, but this doesn't deal with what develops. I guess it may be to do with uneven gait, as a result of my open wound. It doesn't take much to create an imbalance that leads to unusual stresses somewhere, whether the knee joint or the foot. Daily walking is a real lifeline for me. I'd like to do more, and not be limited by foot pain. It's difficult to know what to do about this.

After a break I have resumed working on my short story transformed into a novel. There's not enough of interest on telly at the moment to distract me.

A special visitor from Oz

I celebrated the nine o'clock Eucharist at St Dyfrig and St Samson's again with the usual congregation of twenty this morning. On my way home, I saw Clare walking down Llandaff Road and wondered why she wasn't heading for St Catherine's. I had quite forgotten that the last Sunday of the year is one of the quarterly United Benefice services, this time at St John's. Clare had forgotten too and was walking there from St Catherine's late!

The weather was perfect for a winter walk after lunch, blue skies and sun. I saw a heron and a couple of cormorants flying up the Taff. It's the first time I've seen either of them due to several weeks of bad weather. I went out earlier than usual, as we expected a special guest to arrive for an overnight stay. 

Katie Roberts is the younger daughter of Jan and Jill Roberts, whom we got to know when I was training for ministry at St Mike's. After a few years of living in Britain, they moved to Melbourne in Australia where the girls were born. They returned to UK when I was working in St Paul's over forty years ago, and rented an empty curate's house in the Parish for a year. Their small girls were the same age as ours, and attended the same nursery school. Katie is a talented artist, who publishes photos of her work, often work in progress interestingly, on Instagram, so we've been able to take an interest in the development of her work in recent years - an added dimension to emailed correspondence!

It's nearly ten years since she last visited us, so there was a lot to catch up on. Jan died almost four years ago and Katie came over then, but wasn't able to visit. It was good to be able to talk about Jan's extraordinary life, and about their childhood sojourn in St Paul's back in 1979. While we chatted after supper she showed us photos of her son Kirra a trained circus artist, her mother Jill, and her home in Melbourne. Then she took out pencils, colours and sketchbook, and drew us both while we sat there. That was a surprise. Nobody has ever done that before! 

    

Fit for what?

Kath and Anto gave me a Samsung Fit activity tracker for Christmas. It's a digital wristband linking to mobile phone apps, a good deal more sophisticated and complex than having a simple pedometer app on my phone. I'm not so comfortable with this. Simple is best in my book. It took me ages to work out how to switch off as many off-putting notifications and exhortations as possible. The device and its apps monitor a range of activities. As well as informing me how far I've walked, which is all I want to know, they urge me to set fitness regimes and goals I'm not interested in. Perfect for health neurotics, but not for someone who is unlikely ever again to be fit enough to run a marathon, but who needs to be sure to get a sensible amount of exercise every day.

The tracker itself is small and unobtrusive, about half the width of the entry-level Casio digital watch I have worn for the past forty years. It gives me date plus time and a simple step counter, but is quite hard to strap on to my wrist as the fastening is different from any other I have encountered. One more thing to get used to. What it doesn't do, in the way the pedometer app does, is to record days past and distances covered. Does it matter? Probably not. The one remaining annoyance is the buzz it makes when it makes or breaks the Bluetooth connection with the phone. I don't need buzzes, they distract, and this could be dangerous when all my attention is required elsewhere.

Wearing it all day, I have made the interesting discovery that around the house I can walk nearly a mile a day during routine activities. I have to take this into account when going for my daily round of the park, as that five miles of proper walking exercise outdoors is what enables me to function best.  Since getting the 'flu, it's taken me a couple of hours of exercise for my head to clear, and for me to feel 'grounded', probably because getting rid of toxic traces in the blood takes so long. 

Christmas away

With bags and presents packed ready, to load, I went off to St Dyfrig and St Samson's to celebrate their one Christmas Eucharist at seven, rather than midnight yesterday evening. The same number of people attended, as are present for any Sunday Mass, just twenty. The crib, the last candle of the Advent wreath and the Christmas tree were all blessed as part of the service. Although the sermon I preached was shorter than usual, it was still a quarter past eight when I left church. By the time we'd packed the car, and drove away, it was just gone twenty to nine.

Traffic was light all the way there. We used the M50/M5/M42/M40/A46 - all motorway route, which is slightly longer, but with little traffic much quicker. We reached Kath and Anto's in Kenilworth by ten to eleven, deposited presents and some foodstuffs, and then went and checked in four our stay at the Holiday Inn at eleven, exactly on time, much to my surprise. Even more surprising to me was the fact that I drove all the way there, without stopping, and without discomfort for a change.

Our hotel room was blessed with two large comfortable double beds, one for each of us! It was a little too cramped for my liking, but contained all the necessities any short stay visitor could wish for. Also we benefited from a special offer price for a three night stay.

We joined Kath, Anto, Rhiannon, Viv and Owain for breakfast at ten, then preparations for Christmas dinner began, all perfectly timed for us to sit down and eat at half past two. It was dark by the time we'd finished the meal. We'd missed the opportunity of a walk on a fine weather afternoon, but just relaxed, and enjoyed good food, wine and conversation, present opening, then watched 'Klaus' a cartoon movie more for adults than kids about why people send letters to Father Christmas. It was a thoroughly American production, reflecting all-American values and what to my mind is New York wit and humour. I can't say I enjoyed it, but never mind.

Although I coped well with Christmas Eve travel, and have not felt physically tired, the after effects of the 'flu, have left me feeling light headed and sleepy, even though I slept well in a strange bed.

Boxing Day weather was terrible, with Kenilworth shrouded in damp low cloud for much of the day. After another family breakfast, We made our way to the Abbey Fields for the annual charity fund raising Duck Race, in which plastic ducks are dispatched down a fast moving stream, and the top six out of hundreds of sponsored entries are winners. By the time we got there, crowds of people were already leaving and making their ways back into town, so a walk to the castle was called for instead.

We returned for more festive food, a game of Cluedo and a game of darts. Rhiannon showed us all the photos she'd taken on her recent school trip to Florence and Milan, as a student of fashion and design technology. Kath's dance company owns a small digital projector, so it was possible to link up Rhiannon's iPhone to the device, and see them on the dining area wall. Apparently this device is also used for viewing movies on the bedroom wall from time to time. All too soon the day was over.

Waking up on St John's Day morning, we had a WhatsApp message from Owain to say that he had been compelled to leave early in haste, as it was his turn to be 'on call' at work, only he'd forgotten to bring his work phone and laptop, and had only remember this, waking up in the dead of night. He was able to get a colleague to cover for him for as long as it took him to get back to Bristol. Luckily, he had no problems with delayed trains and he was back 'on call' in Bristol by eleven. Viv also left for home before lunch, and so did we. There was a lot of slow moving traffic on the A46, as far as the M40 junction, but thereafter, it wasn't too bad all the way home, but on a slower route with a stop it took us nearly three hours.

It's worth the effort of travelling to spend a couple of days together as a family. although it never seems long enough to savour fully. It's fortunate that we enjoy each other's company, and always a sad that Rachel and Jasmine can't be with us. Snatches of Face Time exchanges aren't quite enough of a compensation. Still, Clare has booked herself a flight to Phoenix to visit Rachel in February. Before the year gets intolerably hot over there. Will I have had my last op by the time she goes, I wonder?

   

O Emmanuel

After breakfast we made an early start for home, as we were expecting the cleaners after lunch and there were errands to be done, to get ready for our Christmas festivities in Kenilworth. Clare drove back, as I was having difficulty waking up after a second long night's sleep. Another journey made without us needing to stop, which is unusual for us. Tomorrow night will be the challenge, as we'll be driving up to Kenilworth after I celebrate the Christmas Vigil Mass at St Dyfrig and Samson at the conveniently early hour of 7.00pm.

In the afternoon, I went into town and bought Clare's Christmas present. I went into the Santander branch to check our bank account and withdraw some money. The ATM user interface was quite different from ones I habitually use, and this may well have led me to a lapse of concentration, as I walked away from the machine without taking my bank card. Thankfully, one of the staff kindly asked a technician to retrieve it for me, and in five minutes I was reunited with it. I don't think I have ever done that before, but then I may well have been half asleep for much of the day. I felt better for  walk home in the dark through Bute Park.

Clare was out shopping when I got back so I had the place to myself to wrap her gifts before she arrived. After supper, I made a start on a sermon for tomorrow night, but for once, it didn't come easy. I'll have time to finish it tomorrow, once I've packed and got ready to go.

O Rex Gentium

After breakfast this morning, I walked to St Stephen's Parish Church for the Parish Eucharist. Clare and Gail decided to stay home and rehearse instead. There was a congregation of well over a hundred most people of retirement age. The Advent Liturgy was beautifully planned and executed, and a non-stipendiary priest of the parish preached an excellent sermon. So I was glad I went.

After lunch we drove to Malvern for the afternoon's rehearsal with the Carnival Band. It's decades since last visited the town, so I spent the afternoon exploring the town, and visiting the Priory, a fine 11th to 15th century building, withe best collection of ancient stained glass outside of York Minster. Malvern has a good number of distinguished public buildings and mansions from the Victorian era, suggesting that it has, and maybe still is, a place where wealthy people have chosen to settle, having made their fortunes.

We met for tea after the rehearsal at the Abbey hotel, and then walked to The Cube arts centre for the concert. It was a marvellous event with delightful folksy carol, from mediaeval to modern, delivered by the brilliant musicianship of the Carnival Band. The choir of almost thirty did well, considering how little they had by way of rehearsal. A good time was indeed had by all.

We were back in Worcester by eleven, and after the longest night and shortest day following, I was pretty tired and glad to get to bed without further delay.

O Oriens - Morning Star

This afternoon we drove to Worcester to stay with Gail over the weekend. She and Clare are singing in tomorrow night's Carnival Band Concert in Malvern. It's the first time for ages that I have driven non-stop for two hours. Somehow, I managed to get comfortable enough and didn't need to a respite. It's hard to tell really, but I think there has been a modest improvement in the condition of the wound over the past week.

On the journey, it was astonishing to see so many acres of fields flooded along the course of the river Wye and Severn. The abnormal amounts of rain over the past couple of months have left low lying landscapes waterlogged. Worcester racecourse and cricket ground are covered with at least a foot of water. 

Radio and TV are highlighting concern about climate change, documenting the rapid melting of the Greenland ice cap, and glaciers elsewhere in the world. Some of that melt-water goes up into the air and comes down as rain somewhere else in the world. Yet at the same time, there are other places that are experiencing severe drought and extreme high temperatures. We're rapidly approaching the point at which little more can be done to mitigate the worst effects of climate change. Industrialists and politicians have turned a blind eye or been in denial about the facts until it's too late. The whole world both people and environment, will have to pay the price for the past century of consumer greed.

Winter solstice today, the longest night of the year. We all went to bed early.

O Clavis David!

A cheering phone call this morning from Emma Biaggi the Euro-diocesan co-ordinator, asking me about my availability for the new year. Not forgotten! I explained the situation, and said that I could do emergency short spells if needs be in the next couple of months, before and in between medical appointments, but that I expect to be clear to undertake longer duty spells from the end of February.

Hearing from Emma prompted me to do something I've been meaning to for the past week at least, and that's writing to Bishop David Hamid about my locum availability in 2020. I was expecting to meet him at Fr Geoff's 50th anniversary celebration this coming weekend, but now won't be going, so I thought an email would be a good idea. I was delighted, by the end of the afternoon to receive a reply saying that there would be opportunities for long locums in Spain in coming months. It seems there's some movement of personnel in the wind. Nothing announced yet, so I wait with interest to see what happens.

I watched the final episode of the second series of 'The Team' tonight. It all finished predictably, but with one fatal flaw, as if a crucial linking scene had been edited out. A looted Syrian art treasure was the subject around which all eight episodes were driven, and the story was played out in a carefully integrated mix of Flemish, Danish, German, French, English and Arabic. The treasure was destined for a 'long loan', aka protective custody in a UK museum before it is smuggled out of the country by good guys with Syrian bad guys in murderous pursuit. 

In this episode the Syrian government weigh in with a request for the return of the treasure, but before this can officially happen, the treasure goes missing again in an ultimate showdown with the baddies, and then ends up in London, with all the heroes and heroines smiling and happy. Not even the slightest explanation of how this last piece of slight-of-hand happens, with political and diplomatic consequences, and the Interpol team right in the middle of it with questions to answer.

It wouldn't have taken a great deal to resolve this satisfactorily in dramatic terms. If it was ever in the story-line, it was edited out. Odd, and disappointing.

O Radix Jesse

I got to sleep late and got going too late to attend the Eucharist at St John's this morning, but I did get out to visit the wound clinic and collect some dressings to be sure I have what I need to cover the usual supply and demand chaos surrounding the holiday season.

While I was out, I realised that my wallet was missing from my jacket, and that gave me a panic, until I remembered that I'd last worn the fleece my sister gave me, and hadn't removed the wallet and put it back in its usual place. Silly small things like this can be quite upsetting. Coping over the past year has made me more of a creature of routine than ever before. I have to discipline myself to carry out everything, to make sure I don't get caught out by an unexpected change in the condition of my wound. Fatigue or concentrating on the wrong things at the wrong moment can sow minor chaos in my routinised life.

Losing keys, as I did on Monday, misplacing wallet, specs etc, are quite upsetting. Call it ageing, or forgetfulness, whatever, it's more to do with the long drawn out recovery from 'flu in my opinion. I get bursts of mental and even physical energy sometimes, and then phases of sluggishness. Not so much fatigue though, as I'm not desperate for an afternoon siesta as I was I few months back. There are some gains. I just wish I didn't have to wake another month for the pre-op surgical assessment, with no date fixed for op number four. It's a plague on my morale.

Another interesting episode of 'New Amsterdam' tonight, in which the head of A&E is taken to task for near-miss errors. The doctor in question is energetic and workaholic, and normally successful, but she's heading for burnout, and abusing prescribed medications which, it's revealed, she's taken since her teens for coping with ADHD diagnosis. She's in denial, but in a well portrayed encounter with the hospital's psychaiatrist, she acknowledges what's been driving her, and commits herself to change her behaviour. What I found interesting was how she attributed her usual work success to the fact of her ADHD condition. Not blaming it, but drawing on that source of energy to give more of herself that should reasonably be asked. She'd learned to channel that which other might regard as problematic about her. With so many youngsters these days being diagnosed with ADHD, how often I wonder do their teachers and medical specialists see the possibility to acknowledge and harness this energy for good, rather than try to contain and control it.
 

O Adonai

Now that I'm not coughing so much, and have a bit more energy, I attended the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning, but didn't join the discussion group afterwards, as I needed to got to the shops, and then return and cook a meal for us.

A parcel arrived from my sister June containing a generous sized 'fleece' jacket, which fits me well. I wore it instead of a normal jacket to go for a walk in the afternoon, and it worked well beneath my top coat.

After lunch, I completed the Christmas card mail-out job I started last week but didn't have the energy to complete, and sent the additional  list of email greetings as well. I also took the opportunity to revise our family address 'master' database, something I haven't done for years. Using a list dating back to 2010, which had been revised piecemeal since then, I went through it to remove the names of all the people who have died since then. It's quite a sobering exercise, to realise how many friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances are no longer with us. 

Some of those were in our address book well before I made the first digital copy thirty five years ago, and belong to the elders of our extended families. Now we're the elders, destined sooner or later to disappear from other people's contact lists. In the meanwhile, there's something to be said for looking back through old address books and list, to glimpse the names of people who were once part of your everyday story. People talk a lot about relationships these days of 'moving on'. Life changes direction, and relationships, both good and bad cease to have significance and fade away. Very few of them turn in to friendships or acquaintances with shared interests which persist for generations. The fact that life and work may oblige us to shift and settle in different places drives this cycle of impermanence. It's hard to see that it does us any good. 

We're very grateful to have children who still want to keep in touch with their parents and each other, and enjoy family gatherings when opportunity arises. They may not be interested in churchgoing and have more problems with religion than their parents, but celebrating Christmas together still remains a highlight of the family year. One week to go now!

O Sapientia

I didn't go to bed late, but had the idle thought that I should try out Google's dictation software app before turning in. I had an idea for another short story about the night of the St Paul's Riots to try out, and experimented with the dictation software. It was interesting to see how accurate it could be if it really understood my particular pronunciation or turn of phrase, and how inaccurate if it didn't. As I'm unused to composing and dictating at the same time, so it wasn't that satisfactory, so I corrected and saved the text, and carried on writing at a far healthier pace. 

An hour later I'd written a thousand words and stayed up far too late. This meant that I started today a good two hours earlier than usual. I'd arranged to meet Rufus for mid morning coffee, but he arrived earlier than expected, and being unable to find me a Cafe Castan, he came around the house to look for me at ten, and I was still in the bathroom! So instead of going out for coffee, we sat at the kitchen table and discussed his forthcoming move to work in Ludlow Team Ministry. Rural Ministry will be for him something new and interestingly different. It's great to see him so full of enthusiasm for it.

Creative idleness.

This 'flu has hit us both hard, but is slowly losing its force, Normally in six days I walk thirty miles. This week two and a half miles. I was worried that I'd find it difficult to get started again, but to no avail. Saturday and Sunday, three and a half miles each and no ill effects. Today back to five miles, and could have gone further.

Yesterday I celebrated Mass at St Dyfrig and St Samson's without difficulty. No terrible outbursts of coughing or snivelling, although at other times of day this was terrible. Apart from walking, I spent much of the day watching the remaining episodes of 'The Mallorca Files', which certainly improved as it went along.

Today I did the week's shopping, and in the course of doing so, gave myself a terrible fright. As I came to the checkout in Tesco's the zip on my outer jacket stuck, at the top, and I I had to perform a few contorsions to extract my wallet from an inner pocket. My house key and Tesco club card are on the same ring, and once I'd had it scanned and picked up my change, I then had to put goods, keys, change etc in the appropriate places before leaving the store. Somehow, in the confusion of not being able to get my top jacket open, I dropped the keys, and only discovered this when I was standing on the doorstep back home. 

Clare was out and not answering her 'phone, but fortunately a neighbour was in and I was able to borrow a spare key to get in the house, dump the shopping and then head back to Tesco's, hoping and praying it was the only place I'd visited where I might have dropped the keys. I was fortunate that they had been picked up and left at the Customer Service desk, so all was well in the end. I think that's the first time I have lost a set of keys since I lost a set irretrievably in July 2013 on an outing to Abergavenny with Mike and Gail. Funny how something as simple as a stuck zip can initiate a chain of events that sow chaos. 

The power of co-incidence and chance encounters is something I have found myself engaging with as I've been writing my ever evolving novel. We never quite know how anything in life is going to work out. Look carefully at what seems to be a predestined straight line through life, and in detail, it's often wavy, wobbly and almost broken. There's an inner logic to events and connections hardly visible at the time. Change is never as absolutely random as we think of it. I now have developed a full plot outline, and am finding that filling in the detail is less difficult than I thought, with new characters and incidents unexpected emerging from the depths of my imagination.

Spending a lot of time this past week in bed half asleep or awake in the dead of night seems to have given free rein to my inventiveness. I don't get up and write, but occasionally scribble down notes, which I don't use much later, as the ideas seem to prompt me to insert them in the right places as I am reading through and making an effort to spent time writing. It's decidedly odd, but enjoyable.

I wish I could write for longer, but sitting to do so for any length of time becomes uncomfortable and painful. I get so frustrated. It seems so unfair.

Unlucky for the many in my opinion

I prayed that the election wouldn't turn out as bad as I had feared, but it was so much worse than I had imagined. Britain has, like America elected a liar and an author of lies, hell bent on pursuing a British separatist policy which could cause untold damage and suffering to poor people.

In trying to be 'pastoral' to both sides of the brexit debate, the church has ended up being pastoral to nobody in particular, but preserved its place on the irrelevant periphery of society. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the fact that core moral values and judgements have been so eroded and weakened.

With such a large majority, the government will feel emboldened to resist Scottish calls for another independence referendum after the SNP won 80% of the Scottish seats. There will be trouble! This is a painful day. The only consolation is that the urban South of Wales, from Newport to Gower has stayed a Labour stronghold apart from losing Bridgend, with Monmouth and the Vale of Glamorgan staying as Tory as ever.

Is it the 'flu that's making me ache and feel drained today? Or is it a reaction to the prospect of a UK future in which my kind of view on living with justice, partnership, consultation and thoughtfulness will supplanted by sales-talk and disinformation without substance, over which I have no control?

Co-incidentally, the full moon reached its peak at 00.12, two hours after polls closed. And, it would be Friday the thirteenth today wouldn't it?
 

Election apprehension

Yesterday, I didn't feel well enough to go to Mass, but Clare drove me over the University School of Optometry in the afternoon to collect two new pairs of glasses, one for driving and one intermediate pair which are good for standing at the lectern or altar and reading text. Having posted my electoral vote last week, I had nothing else to do today. Still feeling aching and exhausted by the 'flu, the only thing I could manage to do was write a few more pages of my novel and revise other elements. I have avoided listening to the news quite as much as I usually do this week. 

The media have done the British public an immense disservice by treating the election as an English version of a Presidential election race, between Boris and Corbyn. Britain is still not being told the truth about the practicalities of 'getting brexit done'. Corbyn's political reputation has been slurred if not rendered into impotency by all the allegations of anti-semitism made against him personally. He and his inner circle thinks he's done enough and try to keep the public gaze on Labour policies instead. He's behaved with patience and dignity patiently presenting his party's offer and presenting himself as an enabler and dictator. The public isn't convinced by Labour's neutral brexit policy. It's hard to see how Labour can overcome the emotionally manipulative slogan wielding Boris. All glib charm, none of the mature profundity to be seen in Corbyn.

I dread the worst, and an grateful that I'm not feeling well enough to consider staying up to listen to the election results come in.

    

Out of the blue a dose of 'flu

I was up and out of the house in good time to celebrate the Eucharist at St Dyfrig and Samson at nine on Sunday morning. On my way home after the service I went to buy for some milk, but suddenly it became a real effort. I felt like I had been poisoned. I went straight to bed and stayed uncomfortably with aching head and back for the next forty eight hours. I don't think I've ever had a 'flu bug hit me quite so rapidly, and without the annual autumnal 'flu jab it could have been fatal.

Co-incidentally, the 1918 'flu pandemic which killed millions was mentioned in a serialised book on Radio Four this morning, recalling how people were dropping down in the streets and dying. We may be much better prepared for such nightmares nowadays, but given the ability of viruses to mutate and present a new strain from which there is neither protection nor remedy is a sobering reminder that we are never in control of our health or destiny as we might think.

At least I started to feel hungry again today and really fancied a bowl of chicken soup, but that meant going out and buying some chicken first. Clare was out all morning for a dental appointment and then lunch, so there was no alternative to fending for myself. I wrapped up well and walked to Tesco's feeling a bit wobbly, but there were no ill effects when I got back. The fresh air did me good I think.

While waiting for it to cook, I sat and worked on my novel, structuring it into chapters to make it easier to read, at Clare's suggestion, earlier. It's a couple of weeks since I last worked on it apart from making notes for the next section. This small task helped me to spot inconsistencies in the narrative, which needed sorting. No doubt there'll be more to come.

A Riviera Travel tele-salesman rang up just after I'd eaten, hoping to tempt me into booking another cruise with a £150 per head 'returners' discount. I had to explain that I've not been able to travel for the past year and would like very much to book another river cruise as soon as the next op is out of the way, so he made a note to this effect, and promised us the discount in 2020. We're both looking forward in hope, as we're keen to travel up the Duoro and see a little of Portugal's rural hinterland slip past us in the sun. I could do with this right now!

An hour later a senior nurse practitioner who works with Mrs Cornish the surgeon called me. She'd asked him to talk to me about my letter. There's no chance of having her treat me privately. It seems she does little outside her NHS work, not having time to give to it. I'd suspected as much. She didn't speak to me personally, which is understandable. I don't doubt there are many other desperate people on her long surgical waiting list. Asking a colleague as opposed to an administrator would be an opportunity for him to ask pertinent questions that might indicate any serious worsening of my condition. As it has turned out, getting 'flu now would rule out any procedure involving anaesthetic before the end of the year, NHS or privately. 

He tried to answer some of my questions about managing the risks of waiting so long, and long term success of the operation, but reckoned that there were too many individual variables to draw up a profile of successful as opposed to unsuccessful ops. Or has the research not be done? I wondered. 

I just have to keep on waiting, stay as fit and healthy as I can, and hope to get assigned an operation date as soon after assessment day 23rd Jan, as is possible.

After an afternoon of writing I felt quite tired, so I retired to bed and watched a couple of episodes of the 'Mallorca Files'. Slowly the characters of the two principal roles is developing interestingly and the plots are little more complex, though all seem to involve crooks, celebs and entertainers, not the lives of ordinary mallorquines. Also too many people are portrayed speaking good English, and there's not enough Spanish or Mallorcan dialogue to merit subtitling, which is a pity.

   

Health, belonging and usefulness

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's this morning. After cooking lunch I went into town in search of a pair of trainers for my daily walk, from Sketchers recommended by Podiatrist Michelle Bird. They're very lightweight, and proved comfortable to wear when I put them on for a short walk around the park later in the day. Hopefully the thick sole will be kinder on my feet for longer walks.

Clare has now corrected and approved our annual Christmas newsletter, so it's ready for circulation. That's my next task to prepare. Half will go by email, the other half by post. It's a bit of an effort, so I have to be in the mood to get started and get the job done in one go.

I watched another episode of 'New Amsterdam' in the evening in which the hyper-actively zealous hospital director has to undergo chemotherapy and struggles to slow down and be tied down like a normal patient. I understand that. Keeping going as normally as possible is what I've tried to do this past year too. A remedy against feeling despair at being useless. 

In another story-line, the hospital is frequently visited by a homeless man presenting a series of ailments and injuries, some serious, others trivial or imaginary. He visits so often, he costs the charitable foundation over a million in medical bills and this is an ethical headache. They won't refuse him treatment, but that amount of money could benefit scores of patients. The Director realises that the man is most in need of a secure place to live, and rents an apartment for him to call his own, theorising that prevention is the best cure. But this isn't enough. 

He's soon back again with another trivial complaint. It's clear that he knows the entire hospital like the back of his hand. It's the one place in his life as a lonely single person where he feels cared for. He just needs to shift from being on the receiving end of community care to belong within it. He's found a role keeping company with people as a volunteer while they are undergoing chemotherapy, and helping people with directions to find places they need to visit and his life is changed.  

Jacket rescued

I finally spent time yesterday finishing off writing a letter to Mrs Cornish the surgeon expressing concern about my wound, which is behaving now as it did before the third operation, a consequence of over-granulated tissue. It can only get worse with a three month wait until the next op. It may not be life threatening but it is making my life and the family's life a misery. Although it goes against the grain, I've made up my mind to pay for her to do it at The Spire private hospital in Pontprennau to cut the delay, if there's no alternative path in the NHS. She may be unwilling nor have the time to do it in the next few weeks but I can only ask.

The arrival of the 'season of goodwill' with its inevitable round of charitable appeals prompts me into making gifts to several causes I have supported over the years, whose work is broad and stable enough to need non-targeted donations to support the work. Christian Aid, the Bible Society and USPG which I used to work for in the 1980s, and a couple of others I commit to.

It's a lot easier now each has a user friendly on-line donation platform that in former times when it was a matter of mailing a cheque. But no mater how simple, it's still a question of remembering to do it. I avoid as far as possible signing up for email news as this inevitably leads to lots of appeal messages on top of newsletters clogging up the inbox throughout the year, and I don't have time or patience to read through them all. One emailed newsletter I do enjoy receiving however is from Ty Mawr Convent. Sr Katharine SSC, The new Reverend Mother sends out a monthly one to Associates like me, reflecting of the season and its spiritual significance. She writes beautifully. Even so, I end up reading several at a time, as they can arrive when  can't give them the attention they merit.  

A couple of Saturdays ago Clare took me into town and insisted on buying me a new winter jacket, as my weight loss over the past year means that my current one is embarrassingly loose on me. We tried a couple of shops without satisfaction, and ended up returning to Slater's Menswear, where we found a generously cut Harris Tweed one which was suitable. While we were paying, I noticed the shop has a tailor's workroom attached behind, and asked if they could possibly alter my old jacket. Bring it in and let's see, was the response. Several days later I took the old jacket in and was inspected wearing it my an experienced member of staff, who inserted some pins along the sides and said that it was just about within the limits of what would be possible, as it would involve quite a size reduction!

I walked into town in the afternoon to collect the altered jacket and was delighted to find that it fitted nicely, so now I have a second lighter weight jacket which will find use in spring and autumn. When I asked how much the alteration would cost I was told, much to my surprise, that it was free of charge! It was indeed one of Slater's own branded products rather than a third party garment, and their own carry a lifetime's free alterations service. I hadn't realised this, and was much impressed. I shall return there every time I need new clothes in future.

This morning I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's celebrated by Fr Colin Wilcox, the other retired priest living in the parish. Afterwards he led us in discussion over coffee on today's Advent devotion reading from a booklet using texts from Henri Nouwen, we're all encouraged to use this month. It was a worthwhile exercise for the half dozen or so regulars who attend, I think.

After lunch, I had another rethink about my letter to Mrs Cornish, and posted a re-edited version when I went out to collect the weekly veggie bag. As the sun was going down I walked around the Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields. The air was crisp, the sky cloudless and blue. The sunset was utterly magnificent, and I got some great photos.

I watched a couple of episodes of 'The Mallorca Files' on iPlayer in the evening, a lightweight and improbable detective fiction series about island crime, investigated by an unlikely pair of working expat cops. It's more entertainment than it is drama with a message, yet another series in which gorgeously filmed landscape co-stars in the series, showcasing the place as a tourist destination, quite apart from the beaches and nightlife. Not a patch on Inspector Montalbano.

Musical evening

Before going out to do the weekly grocery shop this morning, I phoned osteomyologist Clive Taylor, aware after a long night's sleep of how much I need a physical re-tune. Fortunately I was able book an appointment to see Clive at six fifteen this evening. His day is fully booked. It would mean that I'm unable to accompany Clare to the RWCMD Friends-Connect recital this evening, but he said he'd ring if he had a cancellation earlier. I was very relieved when he called a three fifteen to say he could see me in half an hour. Thankfully his treatment room is just over ten minutes walk from here. 

I came away from the forty minute session feeling more physically balanced and relaxed than I have for a while. We had supper, then caught a bus from Cowbridge Road, just after six to get to RWCMD in good time. Buses are twice as frequent in the evening along Cowbridge Road than down Cathedral or Romilly Roads, simply because there are more services on the route. We tend habitually to go to the latter for a bus rather than the former. It's not much further away than the Llandaff Fields stop in fact. Romilly Road stop is nearest but, after the rush-hour, buses are every twenty minutes and don't always arrive when they should.

When we arrived and took our seats near the front of the auditorium, we found that the new College Principal Helena Gaunt was sitting in front of us and introduced herself before the concert started. She was appointed a year ago, but has only recently moved house to Cardiff, and is now living in Canton. Three of the four students performing in the concert were recipients of grants made by the Connect support programme to which Clare subscribes. 

A harpsichordist and a viola da gamba player had been funded to spend a week in Provence playing with an Early Music specialist, before performing in a concert there. The singer was funded to spend a week with an opera singing coach in Milan. A 'cellist joined the first two, to perform a couple of trio works by eighteenth century German and French composers I'd never heard of. Delightful playful dance music. The harpsichordist then switched to piano and played a Chopin nocturne, then we heard four very different songs and arias from the singer, with piano accompaniment.

Afterwards, there was a light supper reception cum networking opportunity. I got chatting to a young woman who works for the College fund raising team. She told me she was from Ystrad Mynach, my birthplace. I can't remember when I last met another native of my home town.

A creaky Advent start

I had yesterday to myself, wrote my Sunday sermon, cooked lunch and prepared vegetables to cook later when Clare returned from Worcester, then went for a long walk. Clare then texted me to say a train strike left her stranded in Worcester so she had to return to Gail's for a second night's stay. The veggies remained ready in the pan uncooked. I prepared another portion more for myself to add to them, ready to cook for Sunday lunch.

With nothing better to I watched telly all evening. I watched the latest 'New Amsterdam' episode on catch-up, also the first two episodes of 'The Sinner' series two. Then I watched the latest episodes three and four of the same live. It's another slow moving psychological thriller figuring the reason behind a double murder committed by a thirteen year old. A New Age back-to-the-land cult with a bent for psychoanalysis features as part of the context of the story. In series one it was a Millennial Survivalist cult that featured. Curious.

Up early today to be out of the door by half past eight for two Solemn Masses, one at St Saviour's and another at St German's, as Fr Phelim is away this weekend. The parish now has two St Padarn's ordinands on placement, Geraint, now in his second year of placement in the parish is joined by Natasha, also a second year student, but she had a job related placement last year in Reading, having been employed as a CofE children's officer for the four years before then. 

It's the first time either church has had a female ordinand, and I think she's been well received. I believe she and Geraint were involved in preparing children for first Communion. Three of them received the sacrament at St German's. Tomorrow, Phelim is leading another Parish Pilgrimage to Rome and Natasha is taking part.

It was lovely to be back in that parish again, as people welcome me as a familiar friend. It was also good to be able to concelebrate again with my old friend Fr Graham Francis, who has grown weaker since we we last together at the altar, as a result of an advanced stomach cancer, but he still battles on, making sure everything is in order and done to order, using up his day's quotient of energy to do what he loves most in life, being a priest at God's altar.

When I got back from church I had a text message from Clare to say that she was on a train that was going to arrive in Cardiff at one fifteen. I started cooking the veggies, and by the time she arrived lunch was ready to serve.

The morning left me feeling pretty drained, not just because of early rising, but because I had to cope with my old neck and back problem, caused by a misaligned pelvis, itself due to the long term impact of the open wound. I must get an osteomyologist appointment to straighten me out soon! It started to develop after my third op, probably because when unconscious surgeons fix your body in a position which makes it easy for them to work on without regard for later consequences. Whole body medicine isn't practiced in this reductionist era regrettably. I have been fighting a losing battle keeping this under control how I have learned to through a succession of osteomyology treatments over the years, but there are limits to what anyone can do on their own.

I went to the St Catherine's Advent Carol service this afternoon, before going for a walk in the dark. The choir was double its normal size and made a good effort, albeit a little under-rehearsed in parts.

I watched a fascinating account of the life and work of the French painter Paul Gaugin on BBC Four before turning in for the night

  .

 

Sports ministry

I attended the Eucharist at St John's yesterday morning, and walking there noticed that I had a spring in my step, walking with less discomfort than before my podiatrist visit yesterday. In the evening I had a Eulogy to finish and a service to prepare for tomorrow, plus a sermon to write for St Saviour and St Germans on Sunday.

I had a funeral in Pidgeon's chapel just after lunch. One of the mourners approached me afterwards and expressed appreciation for the way I had taken the service. Then he told me that he was Chaplain to Cardiff City F.C. and a regional representative for the UK organisation 'Christians in Sport', we had a brief interesting conversation about his ministry among fans, players and staff alike. Apparently the UK has 750 sports chaplains. It's one of the ways in which sector ministry is exercised today, even if many chaplains are volunteers and few are paid.

Clare left the house at the same time as me for a train trip to Worcester, to stay overnight with Gail, and attend a Carnival Band rehearsal tomorrow. I had a good long walk over six miles as the sun was setting. The last sliver of the old moon was visible over a clear blue twilight horizon from Pontcanna Fields, exquisite.

A foot and eye day

After attending the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning, I made my first ever visit to a Podiatrist. Michelle Bird has a practice in Llandaff Road. along with a masseur and an osteomyologist. I've been having trouble with painful corns on the edge of my feet for a while, and finally got around to doing something about it. The problem was sorted out quickly. Michelle, was very informative about how corns develop, and what can be done to prevent them. As I walk a great deal she recommended that I get a special pair of trainers designed for the purpose. That's something I'll need to follow through with when I get an opportunity.

This afternoon I had my annual eye test at the University School of Optometry. It came just at the right time, as the pair of specs with flexible frames which I use eighty percent of the time snapped in two yesterday. It's three years since I had them made. The prescription is 'intermediate'. I could read with them at close range, at arms length (useful at the altar) and fairly sharp up to ten metres. I feel quite lost without them. My reading and computer specs just aren't as good. Hopefully, in two weeks time I will have a replacement pair, although the design won't be the same.

My vision hasn't changed very much over the past year, except the cataract in my left eye is worse in the sense that my vision is cloudier than it was, but apart from this impediment I can still see quite well with it. The cloudiness affects me most when I'm outdoors and the sun is low in the sky. Ceri. the optician who examined me, explained the anatomy of the eyeball to me, how the cloudiness is due to a suspension of protein particles in fluid which forms the interior of the lens. When particles settle and coalesce on the inner surface vision becomes increasingly obscured. I'm nowhere near that state, although I am aware there is an impaired patch in my field of vision. Ceri said I'm not seeing badly enough yet to justify an eye surgeon doing the operation. So that's that, but I will get a replacement pair of intermediate specs and a revised driving pair, for free, as there was a two for one offer on.

Dis-Appointment and Shopping disoerientation

The cleaners came early Monday, and Clare went off to the gym. After they departed, I went out, and did the week's grocery shopping, then cooked lunch.

A letter arrived in the post from the NHS, advising me of a pre-surgical assessment appointment on the 23rd January, two months from now. Mrs Cornish did warn me that it would be a three month wait before surgery when we last met, but I was slow to react, as it seems I inevitably am. Now facts are taking shape the sense of disappointment surfaces, couple with the worry the next three months are going to be a time of growing discomfort and pain, much as I had before op number three, due to over-granulation of the wound, during the long delay between appointments. The signs are it's going to happen again with another three month wait, with the prospect that a second Christmas is ruined for me. November-January, the same period of anxious waiting misery as last year. It's a scandal when I'm as fit and well and ready for the op right now. It I were prepared to pay, I could get it done. The family say I should. Perhaps for their sake I should.

I keep on thinking of snippets of information which didn't get recorded in my Sarajevo travel diary, so as well as writing a preface today, I had to return to the text and insert a few significant memories in the right place. Eventually, I thought it was fit enough to send off to Daniel, hoping that he finds this of use to give him an outsider's perspective on the aftermath of the Bosnian war.

Another twilight walk, then an evening in front of the telly to relax. but my attention is now veering back towards my long story, I'm trying to sketch out mentally the rest of his main character's journey before he goes home to die. I need to make some notes and check the timeline. It's a story which spans thirty years, plus or minus. That's the problem. I didn't start with any plan. It's just evolved that way, and that's been a fun surprise.

Yesterday, Clare told me she'd seen knee length rain-wear at a bargain price in Mountain Warehouse opposite the Castle. Just what I need. So I went into town to check this out. No, not really that long, but long enough to cover a longish jacket, and that's what matters. So now I have an olive green mack with a hood, just as my 20 year old 'standard' length one is getting leaky at the seams.

I also bought myself a pair of Ecco winter shoes. I had forgotten that the shop is now relocated for the third time in several years in the new St David's shopping centre, and searched for it on my phone. Google maps gave me the address but the mapped location was so vague as to be confusing and useless. The St David's centre store finding display panels were useless, having not been updated even though the store has been in its present locations for six months. One of the security staff was able to tell me easily enough, but didn't know the store finder device was unable to deliver the goods. The tech' is great, but only as good as those who keep the data up to date.

We joined the Fountain choir for supper at Calabrisella. I was very tired from walking around town and shopping, somewhat in pain, having sat for a long time writing earlier constructing time line annotations for my long story. After eating a big dish of penne amatriciana, I made an excuse and left to got to bed early. Enough is enough, and today I did did and a half miles worth of walking.

  

A free Sunday

With no liturgical duties to perform today, I walked to the Cathedral for the 11.00am Sung Eucharist, a pleasure to be on the receiving end in the congregation. It had a distinctly early 20th century appeal to it, with an organ Mass and 'Tantum Ergo' anthem by Louis Vierne, the renowned blind organist of Notre Dame de Paris from 1900-1937. Area Dean of Cardiff, Stewart Lisk was Canon in residence and he preached well on the theme of Christ the King, engagingly name dropping the fact that he'd been in college with the new Emperor of Japan into the sermon, while talking about royal vesture and role and the person inhabiting them. A sermon he alone could preach, I thought!

He greeted me outside afterwards, saying "If I'd known you were free, I could have found you work to do in my parish today!" I protested that it was one of my few free Sundays apart from holidays and that I'm starting to need them to let my soul catch up.

Apart from a good long walk as it was getting dark, I spent the day finishing transcribing my Bosnia Journal. Some of the notes I made needed unpacking for intelligibility. It's now over seven thousand words, much to my surprise, and needed quite a bit of work to make the narrative style consistent. It needs a preface to explain how it all happened, as will my other occasional travel journals when I come to transcribe them - there's Jamaica, Mongolia, Syria, Jordan and Jerusalem/Palestine to come.

I feel I want to bother, so that the photos I took can have some real context. Also as legacy documents for my offspring's children and their children, who might one day decide to see what the world was like in day. I think that's how many wartime diaries began, only to be lost for many decades in dusty attics before being rediscovered. It's a bit different nowadays.
   

Project milestone reached

Apart from taking a funeral at St Catherine's at lunchtime yesterday, I spent most of the day writing, with an afternoon break for an interrupted five mile walk, to re-charge my brain. The exercise, both of transcribing and adding in explanatory detail is quite demanding, as in places my journal is  thin on detail, as it was written at the end of each day's activity while I was in Sarajevo.

When I'd had enough, I stopped watched the previous and current episodes of 'New Amsterdam' on More Four. It continues to sustain interest with its complex medical procedures, some difficult ethical decisions, and the evolving personal relationships between dramatis personae. 

Much the same was true of today, with another uninterrupted five mile walk and watching a couple of episodes of Series Two of 'The Team' On More Four to punctuate the day. By late afternoon I finished the transcription job, and felt a great deal of relief. It's not finished. There are vital corrections, and probably additions as well, as I'm finding memories of the time surfacing, which didn't get noticed and noted then even though they were and still are important aspects of the story to be told.

'The Team' is most enjoyable. It's a crimmie about an international group of detectives working on the same frontier crossing case. The cast is different from Series One. Team members are from Belgium, Denmark and Germany. It's about a mass murder in Jutland with Islamist terrorism, antiquities theft and people trafficking all in the mixture. What I appreciate is the way different languages are brought in - Danish, Flemish, German, English, Arabic and French.

It's well subtitled and not confusing, but it lends a special quality to the drama. The detectives often use suitably accented English between them and sometimes with subjects being interrogated. Arabic conversations between people caught up in the crisis also occur, but the speakers use either English or French to relate to the police, since they are Syrian refugees or settlers. Both ex-colonial languages are still used in Syria. It's very well done.

Thankfully, no sermon to write this evening, as I have no assignments for tomorrow. I'm quite glad of a respite, I've done a lot of extra jobs this past year with little time off. Our Oxwich Bay holiday told me that I'm in need of refreshment. If only I could take a few quiet weeks seaside retreat in Malaga. It's impossible to plan anything until I hear about my next surgical appointment. I don't know when that will be. It could be several months before I get treated. This is really beginning to bother me. I increasingly feel like a hostage awaiting release pending negotiations out of their control.

Transcription under way at last

Several times this week I've hunted high and low for an exercise book in which I wrote a daily record of my trip to Sarajevo in 1997. Finally this morning I found it, and started to transcribe and elaborate on some of the notes I made, which presume rather a lot on any reader other than me. This is going to be quite a job, but an interesting one.

End of the morning, I walked into town to meet Daniel for coffee and lunch, at the Waterloo Gardens Tea Room cafe and restaurant in the Wyndham Arcade. It gave me an opportunity to learn more about his research work on the untold story of the Gorazde siege in 1994 during the Bosnian war. I was amazed at the extent of the research he's done, and the breadth of understanding he already has of a complex of a three sided power struggle between Serbs Croats and Bosnian Muslims with geopolitical and organised crime overtones as well. 

It was an intense and stimulating conversation which brought to mind much I had forgotten about those years of conflict, as well as things I didn't learn about at the time. Daniel is looking for financial backing to make a long movie in twenty episodes in order to tell the story fully from every angle. He certainly has the material, as the real life events are as complex if not more so than any fictional block busting saga. As Daniel himself said, worse than 'Game of Thrones'.

After we parted company, I walked around the shops for a while, then returned home and spent the rest of the day and much of the evening writing up my travel journal. It's quite hard work, as I can't always decipher quickly me own handwriting. I don't think I've looked at this since the time I wrote it back in November 1997, twenty two years ago. How time flies!

November turning points

Yesterday, I finished the job of making and bottling that third batch of crab apple jelly. Four and a half large jars and two small ones. Clare said it was the best lot I've made so far. 

It was heavily overcast and rainy, until early evening, so I was glad to have cooking as well as jam making to do. before getting out for a walk in the dark when the rain finally abated. 

Today was similarly domestic, though I attended the Eucharist at St Catherine's in the morning. The urge to continue my long story has weakened in the past few days, so I'm giving it a rest, not even tinkering with it at the moment, just mulling over ideas about its next change of direction. It's been so dark in the afternoon that I haven't bothered to take a camera out with me since Monday. I hate the long nights of late autumn and winter months. It's a struggle not to turn in on myself entirely. 

Even so, this time of year has often been an important one for me. I made my first ever retreat at the end of November 1963, and this was a life changing experience for me at many levels, even before I realised I had a vocation to ministry. My trips to East Germany and Sarajevo were both in November, and my sabbatical in Jerusalem at the end of 2000 ran through November into mid-December. It's also been a productive time for writing poetry and theological reflections too. But I still prefer those long hours of daylight and milder weather.

A fruitful day in several ways

Clare went off to the gym before I got up. My first task after breakfast this morning was to process and edit yesterday's videos, upload them to my Google Drive and send a link to Anna. Then, I found a link to my Sarajevo photos and sent it to Daniel when I arranged to meet him, Thursday this week. I started cooking lunch early and it was nearly ready by the time Clare returned. Afterwards I did the week's main grocery shopping, then we went out for a walk together.

Taking my usual route, I showed Clare where I'd collected the crab apples for making two lots of jelly. The higher fruit on the two trees still hasn't fallen. I found a long stick and with it we were able to hook and bring down some higher branches heavily laden and pick their fruit. We returned home with another load of nearly three pounds weight to clean and cook. We hadn't intended do this when we went out. Somehow we just spurred each other into action. The cooked fruit mash is hung in a straining bag overnight. I think the crab apples picked have produced about a litre of juice. Jelly making tomorrow.

An interesting new detective series started on BBC Two this evening, called 'Vienna Blood'. It's set in 1906, the era when Sigmund Freud was teaching in Vienna and publishing his work. A young medical student does a placement with a detective working on a murder case, and using what he has learned from Dr Freud's lectures starts to develop profiles on both the victim and the murderer. This is the birth of forensic psychiatry. Is this really how it happened, I wonder? It well portrays the open anti-semitism of the city in that era, and the frightful way in which mentally sick people were dealt with, including  ECT therapy trending in those days. A three parter, based on novel I understand.

A Bosnian Welsh connection and Leonardo celebrated

Two services to take this morning St Dyfrig & St Samson's at nine and St Catherine's at ten thirty. Thankfully the journey between the two on a Sunday morning is six minutes. I'd have had longer in between them if I'd succeeded in writing a shorter sermon, and I did take a couple of hours to concentrate it by ten percent, but twenty percent would have been better. Editing for conciseness is a skill I have learned over the years, but with some subjects it's difficult, although there was another reason for not leaving St Dyfrig & St Samson's on time.

A young man called Daniel who normally serves at St Mary's comes and stands in as MC when Julian the regular MC is away on business. He was there last week as well. As we were getting ready for the service, one of the others in the sanctuary party asked Daniel when he was next due to go out to Bosnia again. Interesting, I thought, and asked what took him there. His answer was surprising. He leads a script writing team with a film making project, which is working on a story from the time of the Balkan war in the 1990s. 

The town of Gorazde was besieged by the Bosnian Serb army in 1995 after becoming a Bosnian Muslim refugee safe haven, as happened in Srebrenica. In the latter, the UN peacekeeping force surrendered the town to the Serbs and over 8,000 people were massacred. Weeks earlier the Serb forces had taken UN peacekeepers hostage in Gorazde, but couldn't take the town as a contingent of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, part of the UN force wasn't captured and fought back, saving the town from the same fate as Srebrenca. The story isn't so well known, but is certainly worth telling. After the service, I told Daniel about my visit to Sarajevo in November 1997, and expressed interest in his project, so we're going to meet for coffee and a chat later this week. And that nearly made me late.

At St Catherine's there were fifty communicants and a couple of dozen children in Sunday School to bless at Communion. Having spent time with them in the hall Mthr Frances came in with them and interviewed the children about what they'd been learning. It was such a delight to have Emma, Nick and little Ned there with newborn Eleanor, Emma's first outing apart from the doctor's, since giving birth last week. I felt truly blessed being able to bless Eleanor and say a prayer for her and Emma at the altar during Communion. There's good positive energy in the church community these days, with people responding to fresh leadership after nine month wait for a new Rector. Most cheering.

In the afternoon, Clare was singing at Insole Court with the Fountain Choir and left to rehearse right after lunch. I followed on later. It was a joint concert with the Roath Recorder Ensemble celebrating the life of Leonardo da Vinci in this 500th year anniversary of his death. It featured poetry as well as music of the period. I used my Sony HX300 to video the choir from the back of a large drawing room, filled with performers and audience. The acoustics were very good and the sound quality of the recording was far better than I expected, so it was worth doing, to provide choir director Anna with performance evaluation material.

Time for some catch-up writing after supper and then an early bed. 

Great craftsmanship - musical and artisan

I spent most of yesterday working on my ever expanding story, partly trying to work out how to bring its principal character back home from his travels, now that it's become more and more elaborate. In the evening, we walked over the the Royal Welsh College for an Opera Gala Night. All the graduate students on the opera course perform selected acts from great works, accompanied by the WNO's orchestra, conducted by Carol Rizzi, a well known and much loved musical figure not only in Cardiff but on the international operatic scene.

We were treated to a portion of Humperdink's 'Hansel and Gretel', two portions of Puccini, one from 'La Boeme' and a scene from the one act opera 'Suor Angelica', with the finale from Mozart's 'Cosi Fan Tutte, involving a dozen different singers and an opera chorus made up of students. Our seats were in the third row. The music wasn't too loud, but what was very powerful was being so close to these young opera singers, being able to see them act convincingly, and experiencing the full impact of them living their parts. So powerful, I was moved to tears. A night to remember!

Today, with the promise of fair weather, we ventured out to Brecon for the fist time in several years.
The higher mountains had snow on them after the recent rains, and the reservoirs alongside the A470 were full. The town band was playing Christmas music in a small square and people were collecting for charities. The section of the main street in the vicinity of St Mary's parish church contained two 50 metre marquees sheltering stalls selling Christmas craft goods, in addition to the Market Hall we were heading for.

We had a superb soup and sandwich lunch in the Hatter's Tea Shop, and the lamb cawl I had was the very best I have eaten anywhere. It's a family business, and the matriarch heads the cooking team. She told us that she'd learned to cook cawl from her Grandmother, who always insisted on using fresh vegetables and good quality meat. Cawl is a traditional poor peasant dish, not expecting to use the best meat, but my goodness, what a difference it makes when you do!

Clare was on a mission to visit the a stall there where she knew she could meet the artistic wood turner Bernard Dite, two of whose beautiful wooden bowls we bought from his stall at  St Fagans craft fair last summer. She wanted to buy one as a wedding present for her godson Florian, and this was the only opportunity we could be sure of, as his next St Fagan's date isn't advertised yet. She ended up buying three bowls for presents, beautiful yet practical objects. The ones we bought last summer are in daily use chez nous.

We got back home as it was getting dark, and in the evening I watched the final double episode of French crimmie 'Spiral', which came more or less to the expected conclusion, but with enough of an unfinished plot line to suggest another series. Well, I already knew Series eight was being made. In fact, it may even be aired on Canal Plus in French only now. I wonder how long we will have to wait?

Surgeon's inspection day

As Clare was working in kindergarten this morning, I chose to go by bus to Llandough Hospital for my long awaited surgical inspection. It poured down cruelly, on the fifteen minute walk to the nearest bus stop to get the 94 and 95 services which call there. I had to wait half an hour at a stop without a shelter, and it continued to rain throughout. Apparently the weather was causing schedule delays, and giving me the panics. I arrived soaking wet, rain penetrating through to my jacket beneath, half an hour early, and was pleased to discover that appointments for outpatient consultations are at the new reception area close to the entrance, so I didn't have to walk an extra third of a mile to the zone where the outpatient surgery theatres are sited.

Three others were being seen by Mrs Cornish, and I was second. She asked how I was feeling and I told her that I sensed though couldn't see the improvement, but for me the measurable sign of this is a huge reduction in medical dressing waste needing to be bagged and go out with the rubbish, at which she laughed. She inspected my wound and said she was very pleased with it. There needs to be a final operation to remove the Seton's suture, clean up and then plug the remaining holes. This again has but a fifty percent chance of success in preventing recurrence. 

Is this because the damage done by the long wait to get treatment in the first place was rather serious? But let's not go there. If this doesn't work, and a wound re-opens and leaks, there are two other plugging surgical techniques to be tried. It's not a matter of an ageing body it seems. The same can happen to someone half my age, if their condition isn't dealt with promptly.

The less than good news is that there'll be a three month wait for the final surgery. Mrs Cornish has had four operating theatre bookings cancelled for coming months due to a shortage of anaesthetists, and on top of that there's the impact of the run up to the Christmas and New Year holidays disrupting schedules as well. As they did last year, delaying the start of my treatment. It's the way things are, with inadequate NHS investment in people and services, plus poor management in some quarters. What a mess the country's in, and unfortunately us oldies living longer and failing to stay healthy add to the burden, so we must beware of complaining too loudly.

At least I know where I am now, and that makes waiting patiently less burdensome. For the most part I can cope with the residual pain and discomfort, although I still won't be able to offer to start locum duties once more, until I know when the next surgery date will be. I may be a few weeks before I am given a date. An earlier date might be possible if there was a cancellation and I was prepared to enter the lottery of a qualified duty surgeon assigned to the task, but Mrs Cornish has seen me through thus far, and that element of trust and confidence is important enough for me to be prepared to wait.

  

Christmass planned and an archive revisited

This morning, I attended the Eucharist at St Catherine's, and talked about Sunday's Eucharist, when I am standing in for Mthr Frances while she spends time with the Sunday School, and then comes in with them for a blessing at the Communion. I suggested that we bless them together.

The Parish doesn't need me to cover any services at Christmas, so I offered the Area Dean to cover services in Grangetown. He needs someone for the Christmas Vigil Mass at St Dyfrig and St Samson at 7.00pm, and that's the only service they are offering. This suits me fine, as it means we can leave after Mass immediately for Kenilworth, and have the day itself free for feasting with the family. Clare has booked us in for three nights at the Holiday Inn hotel, five minutes walk from the house. We did this two years ago, and it worked well for us.

In the evening I arranged to make a bereavement visit at the far end of the parish. It rained heavily throughout the twenty minute walk, soaking my rain clothes almost to the limit. Fortunately they dried out while I was there and the rain stopped for the walk home.

Before going to bed early, I looked through my file of poetry dating back to student days for some pieces of writing I vaguely recall doing thirty years ago following the St Paul's riots. I was looking for material to stimulate thoughts for another short story to go with the other two already written about the night of the riots. I found an untitled piece of two foolscap sheets containing a few thin recollections of observations and encounters on that night, and transcribed it into a digital file. 

The flawed and fading typescript would probably have digitised fine and then need time correcting it. I entered the text manually instead, making corrections as I went along, as there were mistakes and half formed phrases which didn't read well. I've become more critical of what I write nowadays. I was quite surprised it was more poetic and impressionistic than narrative in style. Did I improve it? I also found a scrappy handwritten version in an exercise book, so I guess the typescript was an unfinished work in progress, like so many of my earlier literary efforts.

Short commemoration

How quickly the past couple days have gone by, punctuated by spells of heavy rain with temperatures dropping to near freezing. It tends to slacken off later in the afternoon, which means going out for a walk as it's getting dark, and sometimes that can be hazardous with so many cyclists using routes through the park. Most use high intensity LED headlamps which dazzle unpleasantly. For the most part they notice walkers, though occasionally there are near-misses and outbursts of mutual cursing.

Yesterday morning, the cleaners came early. I was already up finishing breakfast, and once they left I set out early to do the week's food shopping and cook lunch, as Clare had gone to the gym. While I was standing in the Coop, the in-house network radio channel called for people to stop for a minute's Armistice Day silence. Not everyone caught the message, so some staff and customers carried on banging around. Were all the staff briefed? Some evidently didn't notice, and the radio certainly wasn't very loud. One minute? A discount offer? 

Apart from my daily walk, and a modest amount of TV after supper, I spent several afternoon hours adding to my short story turned into a novel. It's still yielding surprises as a write. Clare wants to read it, so I have sent her a sharing link, and it's not nearly ready to print out a draft for correction.

Today, I spent even longer hours being absorbed with writing. Fortunately, I remembered early enough that it's Jasmine's birthday. She's 13 today, so I Whatsapp-ed her a happy birthday audio greeting, and after lunch had an audio reply!

I walked into town while it wasn't raining this afternoon, to inspect the latest technology offers to see if there's anything new of interest. There wasn't. The rain held off so I walked back as well, and took a few lovely sunset photos of the Taff, glowing pink with reflections off the clouds.

The bus station construction site is showing more signs of activity now, presumably laying drains and preparing to dig foundations. The last vestige of the former Saint David's House building, a solid concrete access ramp at the West end, in front of the Media Wales building is finally being rooted out, in readiness for laying the foundations of whatever is to be built on that site over the next couple of years, to complete the Central Square redevelopment. I don't know why it's taken so long to get started. It's a different company, different lease I suppose, but it may be due to the requirement to let archaeologists examine the site before work begins.

More remembering

I'm certainly not used to being out late these days. I was tired yesterday morning, and took a long time to surface, thankful that I didn't have much to do, apart from finish off my Sunday sermon. 

Last night, before turning in I exchanged birthday greetings a few hours early with Rachel in AZ. Today we spoke to her on WhatsApp as she was starting her day with Jasmine making a fuss of her.

Today is also the thirtieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall, three weeks after I was in East Berlin with my good friend Geoff Johnston and seven others from Halesowen Parish, on our way back from spending time with members of the Stefanausgemiende in Leipzig, launching our Parish twinning initiative. It was the day Erich Honecker resigned as president. 

Being there in the DDR as witnesses in the thick of such dramatic events was a life-changing experience for both of us, and for all those present during those momentous days when demonstrations in the city reached their climax and precipitated the fall of the regime. The consequence for me was the desire that emerged which led to me opening myself up the the possibilities of ministry in Europe, ending up with our move to Geneva three years later, at the same time of year.

It was again late in the afternoon before I went out to walk and there was a distinct autumnal chill in the air. Across Llandaff Fields there was a mantle of mist a couple of meters think. I enjoyed finding out the best way to take pictures that reflected the beauty of the passing moment. Soon enough it passed as the temperature dropped, leaving the chill air clean and clear.

This morning I arrived at St Dyfrig & St Samson's church at a quarter to nine to celebrate Mass for twenty adults and three small children. The Remembrance Sunday observance was made an hour early, right at the end of the service. There's a memorial at the back of the church from the 1939-46 war with a dozen parishioners' names on it. I daresay that the names from Word War One were being read a little later at St Paul's Parish church, but today I wasn't required to take a service there as well.

With the Remembrance ceremony added, we finished a little late for me to drive to St Catherine's and join Clare there, so I went home and arrived in time to watch the national ceremony on Horseguards' Parade in London, a rare opportunity for me, and special this year, as it's the centenary of the first observance of Armistice Day tomorrow.

Clare had her study group n Bristol in the afternoon, so I went out early in clear bright sunshine, with my Sony Alpha 68, before she left, to make up for a week of walking just around sunset. I walked as far as Lidl's in Llandaff North along the Taff Trail, and photographed a solitary female cormorant in breeding plumage. She was on a ledge at the base of the central pillar of the road bridge over the Taff, looking lonely. Her entire front from neck to feet was as white. I don't think I've seen such an expanse of white on a breeding cormorant before. It certainly was a cormorant, to judge by the head and beak, however, I wonder why she was so far away from others, way up-river from their normal haunts?

Remembering in different ways

I went to the Eucharist at St John's yesterday morning, and spent the rest of the day writing, until it was nearly sunset, before going out for a walk. Once I get started, with new ideas and characters it's hard to stop. Perhaps I'm not confident of being able to remember where I'd got to, and picking up the threads again later. Anyway, I got a few good low light and night shots with the HX90 in Pontcanna Fields, so it was worth taking the break.

Today, an idea that's been brewing for a while about another story related to the St Paul's riots came into focus, so I dared to put my ever lengthening story writing project on hold, and see what I could produce. It was a story about one of the characters, a larger than life woman, who was confirmed at St Agnes the night of the riots. Once I started it, memories of that time, thirty nine years ago presented themselves, as I was telling the story. Four hours later, it was complete. I was pleased with the result, and so was Clare.

I also had a Sunday sermon to write in the afternoon, before getting ready to go and join two hundred and twenty veterans and serving military personnel at the 104th annual United Services Mess dinner at the Angel hotel. Just before we went on holiday, I received a call from Tony Lewis, the secretary of the Mess, and organiser of this unique affair, to ask if I would be free and willing to attend say Grace and share in the evening's ritual of Remembrance. It was something I did regularly when I was Vicar of St John's. The Mess building is in the city centre close to the church, and customarily the Vicar is Mess chaplain. I continued for a year or so after retirement until locum duties in Spain prevented me.

There's a Mess member who was retired RAF Chaplain, and he became the honorary Chaplain in my place. Being ten years older than me, it's got to the stage was he's unable to attend now due to illness, which is why Tony called to ask me. After I retired, three successive female clerics were appointed at St John's, with lots on their individual agendas to make their ministries matter to the city. As there are no Mess members among the regular congregation, this ministry was easily overlooked.

There had been an annual Mess service but attendance dwindled as parking near the church became increasingly impossible. In addition, the Mess had been a 'gentlemen only' members club for a century. Debate on admission of women members was already under way, with the growth of female service personnel, but this took seven years to reach a decision, and now the annual dinner is a mixed affair. And the conservative military social tradition of the Mess hasn't really suffered. The new normal has quickly been accepted without tantrums.

There were many people attending who welcomed me like and old friend. It was heart warming. I wrote a special table prayer for the occasion, and two people went out of their ways to express their appreciation for the thoughtful relevance of what I'd written.

The food and the service were excellent. The after dinner speaker was a front line senior General, commanding the Army's third division, also Colonel of the Royal Welch. He had some interesting things to say about partnership between British and European forces in Eastern Europe in a complex and ever evolving political situation. At every level, it was an evening I enjoyed, including the walk home along the west bank of the Taff in the dark. Just what I needed after an intense day of writing.

Need for light

I spent much of yesterday and today writing. I dropped Mthr Frances a line to remind her that I'm back and offering to cover anything she needs help with. As a result I've been asked to take a funeral in two weeks time, and a couple of weekday services also. She's getting on the treadmill of routine pastoral maintenance and picking up on things which haven't being getting the attention they deserve. She's starting on her own without a full time colleague. It must be tough. 

It was dark by the time I got out for a good long walk, hoping to take photos of the bonfire night fireworks display in the SWALEC stadium from outside in Pontcanna Fields, but it didn't start as early as I expected, and I needed to head home and dressing change and supper. In the end, it was all over by the time I'd eaten, so I just carried on writing until late.

This morning, I attended the Eucharist at St Catherine's celebrated by Mthr Frances. It's St Illtud's Day, and as she didn't know anything about one of our diocesan patron saints, she invited Clive, sacristan and head server to tell us about him. Clive did his homework very nicely and told his story in an interesting and engaging way.

I cooked lunch, and spent much of the rest of the day, writing until late. I'd intended to go out for another long walk, but apart from going to Chapter to pick up the week's veggy bag, I didn't. It was one occasion when I forgot to take a phone with me, and I nearly had to return for one, or a torch! The unit where the veggie orders are stored for collection is in a quiet corner of Chapter's courtyard. It's a badly lit area, and the unit is in shadow, so it was very difficult to read the bag labels to find out which was ours. I could really have done with that phone flashlight app. Our bag was the last for me to examine, in the furthest shaded corner! 

The phone flashlight is occasionally useful when walking at night in the park. There are many bike commuters returning from work, or students using NextBikes to get about. It's precarious for pedestrians, since the numbers of bike users in the parks has risen steeply in the last year or so. It won't be until there's a few serious collisions between cyclists and pedestrians, I suspect, that any serious attention is paid to the need for separation of pedestrian and cycle traffic on our public footpaths. I wonder what the city planners have to say about this, when there are also problems about city centre traffic management, pollution and the need for more bike lanes everywhere?

On the way back with the veggie bag, I noticed that demolition work at the back of Sussex house on Romilly Road has now flattened the 1960s annexe builtby the Council in the garden of what was once an imposing Victorian mansion when it was adapted for Social Services use. The entire site is now cordoned off by a three metre high fence made of chipboard to minimise the impact of  demolition and construction work on the neighbourhood. I'm not sure yet if we know about the fate of the 150 year old trees that line the boundary of the property, however.