Double duty day

I spent yesterday lying low. Clare and Owain went shopping in town, and Owain came home with a new Samsung phone for his birthday from us. He's also inherited my treasured Toshiba Chromebook and is delighted with it, as it performs so very well compared to the early Samsung he's been using for the past couple of years. He went out to a friend's birthday party for the evening, and once I'd got my sermon ready for the morrow, I went to bed early. There was nothing I wanted to watch on telly, and I needed to put my energy into recovering.

I was up early and out of the house on my way to Splott before nine this morning., to celebrate Mass at St Saviour's Parish Church. It must be over three years since I was last there. Sadly Fr Graham was away visiting his sister for her 70th birthday. I was a bit of a disappointment, as I had looked forward to sharing the Mass with him again, for the first time since I worked for USPG thirty five years ago. Never mind, I'll be here again in August, when I cover for Fr Phelim's annual holiday. Geraint, the St Padarn's ordinand assisted at the service and again at St German's. He's thoroughly enjoying his time in this long term placement, which is pleasing to hear. And the congregations are enjoying him too.

It was delightful to return to St German's, having been unable to offer cover on a Sunday since Fr Phelim's appointment because of being away or ill. It's a place I love to share in worship, whether celebrating or praying with the people. The sun shone brightly in the sanctuary during the Eucharist. It's awesomely beautiful, and slows me right down, it seems, almost to a halt, in pure enjoyment of being in The Presence. This is surely one of those 'thin places' the Celtic mystics talk about.

Clare cooked him a vegan recipe birthday cake, which we had slices of at tea-time. I was grateful to have come through my morning's work and feel none the worse for wear. It was good to know that I can manage to do two service back to back if needed like that. This is a distinct result of my general improvement over the past month, so that I can not get up and get going earlier than at any time in the past nine months. Slowly getting my life back!

The cost of gentrification

I celebrated the Eucharist with eleven others at St John's yesterday morning. I'm following Clare wirh a developing sore throat. I felt well, nevertheless and walked six miles in the afternoon. Frustratingly, today the throat gave way to an unpleasant virus, attacking my lungs and digestive system painfully. I went to bed early after supper, and passed an unpleasant congested night of coughing and spluttering.

In today's post was a notification from the GPO about a letter to be collected from the main depot in Penarth Road, addressed to me, and requiring £2 penalty postage. No idea of who it's from. I drove to the Hadfield Road recycling centre on my way there, to drop off a couple of toxic items and an old blood pressure monitor which has been sitting in the car ready for dumping for the last six months. As I was about to leave one of the site's operatives pointed out that I had a flat tyre. Panic! Another couple of miles to drive back to Quikfit in Canton, and a stopover at the GPO en route. Also, I had timed my journey to end up at the wound clinic by three. Oh dear.

At the GPO, the letter turned out to be a waste of money, someone trying to benefit from a dedicated Freepost item to send me a scrap of paper with a message from Kath in Spanish relating to the first novel in Spanish she sent me last year.. How odd! And two quid down the drain.

I thought it would be safer to try and change the flat tyre for the spare on the GPO forecourt. I was the first time for me to tackle a tyre change on the Polo. I got luck, in that a passing stranger offered his help. As a result I was able to drive straight to the clinic and arrive fifteen minutes late, but five minutes within my time slot! Then, a short drive west up the main street to Quikfit, where a got a new tyre fitted. Having not noticed the deflation, the tyre wall was damaged, and that costs me just under fifty quid - all due to a small screw embedded in the tyre tread.

I think this is the third time in ten years that we've lost a tyre because careless builders and DIY enthusiasts working in the street have not checked for small screws in the gutters before finishing the job. Like it not, neighbours also suffer from neighbourhood gentrification, from builders noise, mess and carelessness.

I went for a walk before supper. I was still fighting against the effects of the virus, but managed just over four miles. Owain arrived to spend his birthday weekend with us. We dined al fresco at Stefano's as it was just warm enough for comfort. I wasn't feeling great, and survived the meal, but left before Owain and Clare, and took myself to bed early again. Such a shame, but with the prospect of a busy Sunday, with Masses at St Saviour's and St Germans, self preservation was vital.

  

Sale bargain Chromebook

Clare was afflicted with a sore throat and cough over the weekend, and I followed suit yesterday. It meant we both spent the day lying low, foregoing an invitation to a Friends tea Party at RWCMD, to welcome the new College Principal. Even so, I made an effort to go out and walk as usual, aiming to increase my daily distance from four to five. 

Despite the onset of the virus, I managed five and three quarter miles, down to the Bay Wetland area to take a few bird photos. I walked part of the way back from the Millennium Centre, rather than stand around waiting for a bus, then picked up a number six bus, half way along Lloyd George Avenue to Central station, and a perfectly timed 61 bus from Westgate Street. I didn't feel exhausted after, which says something good about my general state of health, as the wound continues to dry out. I just wish my surgeon could see this, as it doesn't reflect what the MRI scan of nearly two months ago reported. I still haven't heard anything. It's as if I don't exist, a repeat performance of what happened before operation number two.

I celebrated the Eucharist with five others at St Catherine's this morning. After lunch I went into town and bought a new high spec Asus C302CA Chromebook, discounted from its original £450 to £300, in the John Lewis summer sale. It is, to my mind worth paying for something with a 10-12 hour battery life, HD touch screen and superior back-lit keyboard. What's so super about Chromebooks is being able to log into your Google account, and within minutes be looking at a clone of your familiar customised display layout. Plus, the newest devices run Android apps, so those you have installed on your Android phone can also be installed, if wish, on your laptop. Dull sameness for some people maybe, but for others desirable convenience and consistency. I wish I could persuade my sister June to give Chromebook a go. There's nothing new or unfamiliar needing to be learned.

Pleased with myself for walking over six miles today. I noticed, passing by the station that a large sign saying 'BBC Wales' has been mounted on the top right hand corner of Number 3 Central Square the Beeb's new HQ, currently being kitted out and moved into by Llandaff based staff. Official opening is in September. The last time I took a picture of the building end of February, there was no sign, so when this happened is a mystery. Curiously it doesn't show up in the media coverage I have so far googled.

Chrome undersold?

Although it was another overcast day, it remained warm enough to be out doors with just a jacket, and later in the day, without a pullover. A good day for walking. I did the weekly shop before lunch and after lunch a walk through the park to town along the river. I was amazed to see large several family groups of ducks, broods of six to eight growing flight plumage now, Mallards, Mergansers, gulls as all out on the water foraging, establishing their territories. I must have counted altogether about fifty new birds in half a dozen families, and few good photos out of many taken. I took my HX300 with me as well as my HX90, needing its longer range. I'm more used to it and get better photos in the long zoom range. The HX90 is just a bit lighter and smaller than its predecessor and I haven't yet got the steadiness of hand with it as I had with the old HX50.

Being grounded by my aliment here in Cardiff over the past nine months has been very frustrating for someone with euro-wanderlust like me, but being out and about in the park with a camera most days has reaped a certain rewarding satisfaction. Looking back over three seasons photographs of familiar scenes is a pleasure in its own right. I'm not a great fan of any place where mountains are distant and hardly visible. It's been a matter of coming to terms with living in an ancient flood plain with just meadows and trees. 

I'll never love my nieghbourhood environment as much as the Valleys, the Beacons, Snowdonia or our Jurassic coastline, but with the passage of time, more beautiful aspects of low lying lands reveal themselves. I suppose that's what learning to contemplate is about, watching, waiting, being open, learning to receive, to notice and appreciate.

In town I popped into John Lewis', aware that the summer sale was starting from my Friday visit. This is the time, I find, to pick up overstocked tech clearance bargains. I was disappointed not to see any Chromebooks discounted before, but today, there was an array of bargains, from entry level up to high spec ones. The prices may still be a bit high and come down later towards the end of sale time.  

Looking at the labels on the boxes, often shows they've been 'returned unwanted' - meaning, I suspect that they have been bought by people who are attracted by their good looks, but can't understand it's not the Windows machine they're used to, and don't have the patience to learn how to benefit from it. 

In my opinion, Chromebook marketing and promotion across Europe generally is poor. No attempt is made to educate potential new users in the benefits of using Chrome OS, how fast, and simple it is, how easy it is to get used to it. When you visit Currys/PC World and examine product labels for their Chromebooks on offer, you find they speak about Chromebooks having 'built-in anti-virus'. This is misleading. Chrome OS is resistant to viruses designed to exploit Windows or Mac vulnerabilities. 

A malware laden file wouldn't trigger an attack, but, forwarded to a third party, it would still be toxic. It's possible the system's Chrome browser, although generally very secure, could be compromised to deliver spam in an uncontrolled way. This can either be remedied by restarting Chrome browser, or Chromebook, or in extremis, restoring to its pristine condition by a 'Powerwash' - the equivalent of a Windows system reset. The former takes minutes, the latter can take hours. 

All too often the way Windows works gets in the user's way, with too much distracting information imposing itself on work in progress. It's possible to switch off many of the notification routines, but it's unclear how once you get started and come across new ones. Users should be given a choice from the outset to reverse the always-on default. I still live in hope of converting my sister June to Chromebook use. It would take away so many of her annoyances and anxieties about computer use.

    

A Parish day of Christian initiation

Bishop June came to preside and confirm at this morning's United Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were nine candidates altogether from our Benefice and from the Parish of Cathays, several of whom I knew who came in support of candidates, still fully active there, twenty years on from when the parish was created  at the break up of the Benefice of Central Cardiff. Once the Sunday school children and teachers arrived at the offertory, the church was just over half full, about 150 adults and children.There were seven clergy present, notably five women and two men, plus our male ordinand. It's typical of the times we're living in. Decades ago Confirmation would have been a standing room only occasion in Parish life. These days, standing room only events seem confined to large funerals of folk who die tragic deaths.

I began to get a bit fidgety towards the end of the service, as I was conscious of my time deadline fast approaching to walk to St Luke's an conduct the infant baptism I prepared for last month. It had been arranged however that church warden Beryl would there to open up and get everything ready. As it happened, she was also at the service, and gave me a lift, so we were both there by ten past twelve with time to spare.

We had an unusual congregation, as both husband and wife each had several siblings married with young children. There were three dozen adults in church and amazingly, fifteen under-fives, including several babes in arms. The kids seemed happy to potter around and enjoy the space, or sit with their parents and watch, all remarkably well behaved, and maybe used to being in church, for a change. I thoroughly enjoyed this celebration. I told the congregation about the Parish Confirmation earlier, and encouraged those who hadn't had their kids baptized to consider it. 

Unusually, most of the service leaflets, which usually get collected in afterwards, weren't discarded but taken away. Beryl wasn't bothered about this, as she thought some of them were looking a bit dog-eared. A few times, I nearly came adrift, as the printed text I was reading from was rather small and not clearly enough laid out in a decent font to make for easy reading while standing up.

After everyone left and things were tidied up, I walked home under overcast skies in the drizzle. Glad it's like this today. It would have made yesterday's lovely fete a sadder an less profitable occasion. A record sum of over £3,500 was made, thanks to hard graft and good Parish teamwork 

A church on top form

Yesterday, I was pleased to receive an email from one of the Europe diocesan administrators Emma Biaggi, enquiring if I would be free to  take on locum duties in Ankara Turkey any time soon, as the Embassy chaplaincy is going to be without a priest. Archdeacon Adele had suggested my name, in the hope that I might now be fit enough for locum duty again. But alas not yet, I had to reply. But, it's so nice to be asked!

I received an appointment letter from Llandough hospital out-patients admin this morning to telling me that the one issued on April 1st for 19th September had been cancelled, to br replaced by one on 8th August. This year. No mention of what I was told on Wednesday last by the surgeon's secretary that I was soon to be examined as a day patient 'under anaesthetic'. Immediately, I wrote a letter to the surgeon reporting this, and asking what I can expect to happen next. She told me last time we met to ignore the 19th September booking - although not to cancel yet, just in case it was needed. 

My letter won't arrive before Tuesday next. Who knows? I may hear something different by Monday. Meanwhile, the wound continues to improve and is slowly closing. That doesn't make it any less comfortable, so I have to be vigilant whenever I go to sit down, or stay seated for any length of time. I've noticed that things are more difficult Thursdays to Sundays, for the simple reason that on these evenings, I am more likely to spend time sitting and watching telly. Having Cardiff Singer of the World on all week for many hours meant that I had either to lie down and listen from afar, or else be sure to get up and move around, or stand to listen instead. But, it's been worth it. Such a wonderful week of music! And all of it from Cardiff city centre. Very proud I am.

Clare cooked one of her delicious bara brith loaves to offer for the refreshments stall at St Catherine's summer fair. It was a marvellous community social event, attracting hundreds of people out on a sunny summer afternoon, with a full range of stalls selling toys, drinks, bric-a-brac raffle tickets, with a throwing wall in a safe corner for those wanting to smash plates or win a coconut. There was a full Punch and Judy show for the kids, with scores of little ones and their parents for an audience. I reckon that most of the regular congregation members were running a stall or helping with one. The church grounds were comfortably full the entire time, and early reports indicated that a large sum of money was raised for church funds. It was a real good news event in my opinion.

When I popped into in Tesco's later, I saw a man wearing a tee-shirt declaring 'Christianity is Stupid'. I thought of St Paul's saying: "The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom." and was tempted to accost him and ask him what he made of Paul's statement. But then I thought, would he be able to make sense of this?

If his tee-shirt had read 'Brexit is stupid' he might have been attacked for this out on the street. If he wore one saying 'Islam is stupid', he might be liable to prosecution for hate crime. The fact is, Christianity is broad shouldered and tolerant in the face of its detractors, because it bears Good News about freedom, even freedom to reject and not believe when searching for meaning and truth in life. It has to be resilient, even in the face of hostility and persecution, or it ceases to be Good News for all humankind. Such an amazing mystery.

The Cardiff Singer of the World title final was broadcast in the evening, and I watched some of it. The very worthy winner was Ukrainian baritone Andrey Kimach. who distinguished himself in his performances earlier in the week, in a strong field of finalists, all worth listening to. The length of the programme meant that Inspector Montalbano was shown an hour later than usual. It was a rerun from an earlier series, with a convoluted plot, about Mafia corrupt monopolies in the construction industry. It benefited from a second viewing, even though I was quite tired by then.
  

Longest day

I walked to the wound clinic for my weekly visit, and then walked across to Splott to collect the car, which has been there nearly three weeks, in an attempt to diagnose and fix an electrical fault which left the nearside car window half shut, and the central locking system working, but in a somewhat eccentric manner. 

Our very experienced VW mechanics had no success, and took it to a specialist auto-electrical company, which also failed to diagnose the problem. The locking system works, but needs checking each time the car is opened from the passenger side, and the window is shut. We need to avoid using it for the time being, while the garage tries to source a complete functioning door mechanism from a car of the same age, going for scrap.

Passing through the city centre on my way there, I stopped to take some photos of St David's House site clearance, and got chatting to one of the workers letting lorries in an out of the site's only gate. He told me that once the rubble had been cleared to ground level and excavation to remove buried concrete foundations of the old structure were getting under way, an archaeologist had been working there to see what was still there from the Temperance Town area levelled in the sixties to make way for St David's House.

Houses were built on land freed for use when the river Taff was diverted from its course to its present location, when Brunel's navvies constructed the GWR line and Cardiff General Station. As well as tenement building foundations, iron-work and pottery shards, whole fireplaces from cellar rooms were uncovered. After Newtown, on the other side of the South Wales line from here, this was an area much settled by immigrants from Ireland or deep rural Wales. It's an era documented by photographs, in a way that the old course of the Taff, and the ruins of St Mary's and its churchyard, prior to the railway, never were.

After lunch and a much needed siesta following my 3.7 mile walk to Splott, I felt fresh enough to go out again for a few laps of Thompson's Park, to bring my day's total up to 5.4 miles. I'd like to sustain this, if not improve on it. The extra exercise this week has done me good, I know.

Hope the Heron

I celebrated the midweek Eucharist at St John's this morning, and after lunch and a siesta, went for a slightly longer walk than hitherto. I'm feeling better generally as the wound condition improves and am aiming to increase my daily target distance from around four to to at least five miles on a regular basis. The fitter I get, the less tired I get in the evenings, after all. The light summer nights are sheer delight now that the pall of cloud has lifted and we're seeing sunshine and blue skies along with nice white fluffy cumulus. 

I did a loop which took me from Llandaff Fields up to Western Avenue, then east to the other side of the big Tesco store, to the boundary path which goes south, parallel to the river Taff, and thence to Blackweir Bridge. I paused on the bridge thinking about taking a photo of a group of gulls feeding on the weir below, and a lady of a certain age said "Did you see the heron down there? She's come back"  

I hadn't yet noticed the heron, standing at the water's edge in the same familiar spot, fifty yards down from the fish ladder. A few days ago I saw it flying up the river, but failed to spot where it landed. It uses an assortment of spots to hunt from, where passing fish are most visible, as light changes during the day, but always up by the weir several hours before sunset. The last time I saw and snapped the heron was on April 1st. 

The lady also told me that it was a long time since she last saw it, and this sighting for her was a blessing. "I call her Hope", she said smiling. "My husband has just come home after open heart surgery. We had to wait so long for the operation that it was touch and go. I walk here every day, and decided to name her 'Hope' while we were waiting. So It's great to see her especially today, as she's been absent for so long" She'd noticed that I was wearing my cross, and asked why, so I explained. Perhaps that was why she shared her moment of joy and delight with me. I felt so privileged to be entrusted with a passing stranger's confidence, there on a bridge out in the open, just like that.

  

Contact resumed

As we were finishing breakfast this morning, at ten to nine, I had a phone call this morning from my surgeon's secretary, perhaps in response to the letter from my GP? Mrs Cornish wants to see me soon, for another investigation under anaesthetic, on the basis of the MRI scan result. This has turned up in their in-tray today, she said. I told her I already knew from my GP what the report said, and was very concerned about the fact that it reflects how I was nearly seven weeks ago, and not how I am now, for better or for worse. So, would it be possible to meet and discuss this before an investigation takes place, as this could affect the planned course of action. The secretary agreed to enquire about this with Mrs Cornish, and I agreed to write an account for her of how the wound condition has changed for the better in recent weeks.

Before doing anything else, I sat down and wrote a letter to post on my way home after church, as I was due at St Catherine's for the midweek Eucharist at eleven. It took me a good hour to write and print the letter, but I got to church in good time to celebrate with seven others, and was able to pop a copy into the GP surgery on my way there. I then walked to the Post Office to get a first class stamp and post the letter. No point in wasting any more time in getting to the next stage of treatment.

Clare was out again this morning getting herself some new glasses, so I cooked lunch for us, two big fillets of salmon some fresh broad beans and kohlrabi, which I haven't cooked before, only eaten raw, grated in a salad, so I steamed it, luckily, just the right amount to retain its firm texture. Interesting, what we get in our organic veg bag sometimes.

I was unsurprisingly sleepy after lunch, having had to get up and remove a fresh dressing last night, an hour after falling asleep. I had forgotten to shower with warm water and soap before bed. This is now more necessary than it was before, as the stuff coming out of the wound, although far less, seems to be more acidic and distresses skin in the most sensitive of areas, that it wakes me up and makes it impossible to sleep. Yet, the skin isn't inflamed or damaged, and calms down soon after a good wash, It's strange how such small details take hold of your life when you're striving to function as normally you can within the limits the ailment sets.

After a spell of deep sleep slumped in a lounge chair, and a half hour of lighter sleep in bed, I cooked a chicken and mushroom soup, and then went for my daily walk - three times around the perimeter of Thompson's Park, in the company of a goodly number of dog walkers and their charges, enjoying the sun. I had a call from Pidgeon's, about officiating at a funeral on Owain's birthday. This will take me to Coychurch Crem for the first time if my memory serves me right, but the timing means I should be back mid-afternoon. In time for a birthday tea. 

A couple of days ago, while re-purposing an old SD card, I found a few video clips I didn't know I had, taken accidentally while trying to take a photo and in the heat of the moment, never deleted. One of them was that moment at Owain's 40th birthday last year, when he'd received his cake from Rhiannon and was about to blow out the candles. I sent it to him,  but he wasn't able to view it on his phone. I'd seen it on Linux and Windows 10 computers, so he'll be able to, whenever he gets around to it.  

Once more, I spent the evening in bed with the sounds of Cardiff Singer of the World, in the background, thinking and writing. 

The sound of music

After breakfast this morning the final BBC Reith Lecture delivered by recently retired Law Lord, Jonathan Sumption. What an amazing tour de force in evidence based reasoning, from a historian who headed the British Supreme Court! He spoke about the nature of Britain's unwritten constitution, about its uniqueness as a dynamic instrument of governance, which maintains Parliament and its power to make laws for lawyers to interpret and enforcers to implement, which has functioned for a thousand years, and proved flexible enough to permit legislation to continue evolving and adapting to emerging circumstances.

Every other country has a written constitution, as nation states have come into being through wars or revolutions, making it possible to write one from scratch, or borrow. The only near revolution Britain experienced was during the 17th century, when Monarchy was abolished and Parliament for a while exercised sovereign rule. It didn't last, but the compromised was reached that Britain should have a royal head of state, uniting all citizens, governed by Parliament in a unique way. It may look antique but it exists to serve the unity of all people, 'rightly and justly governed', as the Prayer Book says. It fits the bill uniquely for us, Sumption asserts, and  may be both better than other systems and worse in detail. Nothing is perfect. What we have is a fair compromise.

He cited the difference between UK and Spain in handling regional conflicts of interest. Spain has a written constitution which defines the relationship between the state and regions like Catalunya, Galicia, Andalucia. There have been serious continuing problems regarding devolution, and the local desires for independence. In contrast, because the nature of the Union in U.K. is historic and not well defined in law, it was possible to legislate for devolution of powers to regional parliaments in Wales Scotland and Ulster, once it was clear there was sufficient demand for this to happen. There's been no chronic conflict about this, just political campaigns and debate for the most part. Perhaps such decent compromise was possible due to the painful experience of the Irish independence struggle. Britain is on the best of terms with its nearest neighbour, which has a written constitution. We are learning how to live together with our differences, though not in every sphere, sadly.

Apart from this outstanding start to the day, another domestic routine Tuesday, with Clare at her study group, me cooking lunch, doing the main weekly grocery shop afterwards, before going for a late afternoon walk around Pontcanna Fields. I spotted a family of seven ducks swimming in close formation on the river Taff. The photos I took at the extreme limit of the HX90's zoom range weren't good. The light was poor because of thick cloud cover. The auto-focus seemed a bit fooled by this, and my hand wasn't steady enough for a good result, but the photos revealed this was a family of Mergansers, the parents with five almost fully grown chicks. I saw an adult pair without chicks only last week in this vicinity. The most commonly seen ducks hereabouts are Mallards, and while I may have seen a few Mergansers over the years, I haven;t noticed them breeding before. Fascinating.

Evenings this week, Cardiff Singer of the World is being broadcast on BBC 2. It's an international music event of the highest quality, featuring great young singers of opera, oratorio and lieder. Clare is glued to the tell for a couple of hours while it's on. I can't sit comfortably for that long at the moment, so retire to bed and read, and enjoy the sound of singing coming from the front room downstairs.

Funny, this reminds me of life as a small child, growing up in a family of keen amateur musicians and singers. On the weekends, the family would gather around Mum at the piano, and Dad on the 'Cello, and my sisters would sing. Sometimes aunts and uncles would come for tea and join in the music making afterwards. If I was poorly, or too tired, I'd go to bed and lie there awake listening to it it all. Sometimes, I'd get up and sit on the stairs outside the front room, listening until I was shivering with cold. This was in the fifties, before record players and radiograms became common household items. 

Clare and I made music with out kids when they were young despite having hi-fi, records and tapes. It's no wonder they've all grown up to be performing musicians. Rhiannon does her Grade Five flute exam next week, and Jasmine has been learning saxophone in school and guitar with Rachel. It gives me great pleasure to think that this is what they have inherited down three generations of family. 

News but no news really

I rose early enough to walk to the surgery at eight to arrange an appointment later in the morning and returned later to see my GP, who had two very young looking medical students in attendance. She was able to tell me that my MRI scan had been registered on my medical record database, signed off by the consultant radiologist, a whole month after it had been done. A week later than stated by the scan operator, six weeks ago. 

I expressed my concern that I had heard nothing from the surgeon, about when I would next be seen or operated upon, and asked (partly for the benefit of the students present) how so much time could have elapsed between the scan and its interpretation as during that time the wound condition would have changed again, for better or for worse, as happened in my case last time. Fortunately it has changed for the better, though the internal healing process is still incomplete. I could tell as much six weeks ago, but since the time of scanning, there's been even more improvement, as evidenced by the ease with which the wound can now be managed, as opposed to six weeks ago. 

The District Nurse team could corroborate that, but they are not consulted either by surgeons or GPs, and neither surgeon nor GP has checked it out since then. I declared that in my view it's bad science, not much better than magic to rely on an abstract body map without the evidence of the examining eye so many weeks later. I hope the young girls in attendance will hear what I was saying about the inadequacy of this process. 

Meanwhile, my GP promised to write to the surgeon and ask her to get in touch with me. I also learned there's still an appointment letter on the system for a September date. I received this at home around the time I went for the second operation, and was told to ignore it, as I could expect there to be more follow-up appointments before then. It's still on the system, however, and how do I know that this isn't contributing to delay on the part of some minor administrator who is unfamiliar with the case load. 

Sure, the NHS is overloaded, but so often there are alarming gaps in the accuracy of some record keeping, not to mention the patient mail-out regime, with differing information systems in place that don't automatically connect with one another, some using out of date software too.

I went into town in the afternoon, via the clinic to pick up some supplies, to visit the Co-op bank and close a Super Saver account I've had for years. It was used to deposit the content of an ISA which I cashed in, I emptied it, as it only gave minimal interest. Six months later, the last sum of minimal interest, just twenty pence, boosted the balance from zero, and I received a statement telling me so. I've intended to get around to dealing with it for goodness knows how long, four five years maybe? 

I just wanted to put the change into a charity box and put an end to this tiny waste of paper. But to do so I had to identify myself as the account holder, without an accompanying account card. Fortunately Coop bank makes this easy with a secret PIN code and memorable date, of which I'd kept a record. Mission accomplished, there was nothing else I could think of that I needed to do in town, so I returned home by bus. I had intended to walk but it started to drizzle

After supper I watched the first half hour of Cardiff's Singer of the World competition, and rather than sit for so long that I got really uncomfortable, I went to bed and read several chapters of Pablo Poveda's 'El Aprendiz', so I'm now half way through it, and pleased to find that it retains my interest, even when I have to look up or guess so many words which aren't quite in the dictionary. His trilogy is about a Spaniard but is set in today's Eastern Europe, and is bang up to date in the way it speaks of the information age and the surveillance state, in which countries East and West aren't that different from each other in the way they strive to control their citizens lives and behaviour.  

Celebrating pure mystery

No Sunday duties for me day, so we went to the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's. The service started with the Mariners' Hymn '... for those in peril on the sea', which to be fair, is trinitarian in its verse structure. I wondered if this was a tongue in cheek choice for Trinity Sunday, as some folk seem to be all at sea when it comes to speaking meaningfully about this aspect of the divine life. Having encountered the worship and spirituality of Eastern Orthodox churches in my time at University, this wasn't so much of a problem for me. The idea of the inexhaustible as well as unfathomable mystery of God appealed to me then as now.

I was fine until lunchtime, but then had an uncomfortable setback, which may be a stomach bug, which has also been afflicting Clare this past few days. At least I can't put it down to anything different that I've eaten or drunk over the past forty eight hours. So, I had an extra long siesta and forced myself to go out for an hour's walk, and went to bed after supper, as sitting down was too uncomfortable. It's disappointing, after a week of slow improvement. Like the weather, we have no control over it. At least, when I was walking up the path alongside the Taff, I glimpsed a grey heron in flight, and then a couple of dozen swifts foraging for insects at high speed in the sky at Blackweir Bridge. Cloud cover and chill may make it feel a bit like March, but these birds tell a different tale! 

I had Father's Day What'sApp messages from the children, even though they know how suspicious I am of such consumer generated fiestas. I do appreciate hearing from them, and so grateful to have had the privilege of being called 'Dad' for two thirds of my life.

Small is beautiful but can be fiddly too

I took some flower photos during a sunny spell today with my Sony HX90. It has a tiny viewfinder which extracts from the body and this is one way of switching on the camera. This has a retractable and adjustable eyepiece which is especially useful for me with a impaired left eye vision, not yet impaired enough to warrant a cataract operation. The only this is, I forgot about this feature and in attempting to look through it, smudged the screen display with my nose. In the sunlight this smudge made it impossible to view the screen which has manually adjustable brightness, whose default isn't terribly bright. So I had to go indoors and find a lens cloth before making another attempt to use it. 

This is the smallest of all the high spec long zoom pocket cameras, and the physical difference means having to re-acquire user skill. Fortunately the Sony camera menu system interface is much the same as in my other cameras. It's not the best of the bunch, but the learning carries over from one device to another. I've noticed our garden flowers are visited by several different species of bee, and decided to try and photograph them. By the time I'd worked out how to use the viewfinder, zooming in on a foraging insect, cloud covered the sun, the temperature dropped, and there were raindrops, so the bees promptly vanished from sight.   Pleasing results with flowers despite this.

Later in the afternoon, I went into town and met with Clare for a cuppa in John Lewis. Having one out ahead of me, she'd hunted down some cushions and blackout curtain lining for Owain's flat. What a devoted mother, doing her best to ensure he's comfortable at nominal cost!

We watched 'Inspector Montalbano' in the evening. Disappointingly it was an episode repeated from season ten. Only two new episodes a year, it seems, but still great to watch.

  

Life on hold

The weather is so strange for mid-June, cool, overcast, bouts of rain and wind, it's more like March and this makes me rather miserable and frustrated. I need to get out and walk for an hour a day, but hate getting wet, and not being able to take photos with my new camera. We're still without the car, as the garage hasn't been able to rectify the fault that left the nearside window half open and the central locking mechanism not working as designed, but annoyingly different. It has to go to a specialist auto electrical place to get fixed and we have no idea how long that will take, just like waiting to hear from the surgeon about the outcome of the last MRI scan.

Clare went out by taxi early, to spend the morning in the University School of Optometry once again, as a volunteer patient being examined for her glaucoma by a succession of trainee optometrists. She is paid a small fee for this which she donates to the St John's Eye Hospital in Jerusalem. She gets a nice thank you email from them eventually. I'd love to take her there one of these days, when I'm fit to travel abroad again. It's one place I didn't visit when I had my nine week sabbatical in the Holy City at the end of 2000. At that time I didn't know about it, as I joined the Order of St John only when I was Vicar of St John's City Parish Church.

Rufus came for lunch and a chat, so I cooked and has everything on the table when he arrived at one, and Clare arrived shortly afterwards, perfect timing. After he left, I went to the wound clinic for my only appointment of the week, mainly to collect supplies but there still hasn't been a delivery of much needed swabs. I called into our GP surgery on Wednesday morning to see if they could help and came away with enough supplies to last until the weekend. I don't know how the District Nurse team copes when they have many more patients far worse off than I. I dread to think what'll happen post brexit.

In the evening, I got around to watching the ninth and last episode of Berlin Station on More Four, as I missed it last night. It was very good indeed, with an ingenious plot which prepares the way for a third set of episodes. It's top quality plausible topical spy fiction. I look forward to series three. The IMDB website tells me that these were already screened last year. I have no idea when they'll be shown on More Four. More waiting meanwhile. 

Midweek bargain

Wednesday morning, I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's, and we observed the Feast of St Barnabas a day late. There were just half a dozen of us present. After lunch, I walked through Bute Park into town and then walked back to the Natural Health Clinic for an acupuncture session. Despite wearing my comfy new sandals, my feet were killing me when I arrived, but after treatment the walk home was fairly pain free. It wasn't just a matter of having an hour's rest, however. I discovered on other occasions that acupuncture really stimulates kidney function, making them able to remove from the bloodstream that much more efficiently impurities that cause the soles of the feet to ache like that. I'm fortunate in that my body responds well to this kind of treatment.

Thursday morning, I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's. We learned that one of the regulars absent this week on holiday with her husband in Portugal has been taken ill with a virus, and is in hospital out there. How unfortunate, especially as they're only there a week. We prayed for her, naturally, and I sent her husband a text message. At this distance there's little more one can do.

After lunch I met Fr Phelim for coffee at Cafe Castan on Llandaff Fields, and we chatted for an hour before he went off to pick up his kids from school in Llandaff. It's lovely to see him settled and happy at St German's and St Saviour's. It's quite something, coping with two churches in a populous area where 25 years ago where would have been four clergy working full time. It's reassuring to see that he knows how to pace himself, and that lay ministry within both congregations is evolving gradually in new ways. I'm look forward to covering for him at both churches in a couple of weeks time.

Later in the afternoon, I went into town, and went to Cardiff Camera Centre to buy a Sony HX90 to replace the HX50 which died on me last December. I've waited this long as I didn't urgently need another, as I don't need the convenience of a pocket sized camera at the moment, when I'm not going far from home. At the start, I was ill enough to wonder quietly if I was going to survive, and whether there was any point in adding an unused new camera to my legacy of goods and chattels. So I haven't been into the shop since the day I went in to enquire about prices. 

I bought a factory refurbished model for two thirds of the list price. I gathered from the official refurb serial number detail on the box that this particular camera had been imported into the Norwegian market, and probably was on display, and hardly used. After a certain time span, these are returned to Sony's European distribution centre and checked to ensure they can be guaranteed as if they were new, then sold at a big discount. I paid thirty pounds less for this new improved model than I paid for a discounted HX50 five years ago. I hope it will last long enough give me another 10,000 pictures as its predecessor did.

Making space in the city centre

Monday was an unmemorable routine domestic day, quiet and uneventful. Today, I did the week's big grocery shopping and cooked, while Clare was out at her study group, then went into town in the afternoon, to take photos of the St David's House demolition site. All the remaining scaffolding has been dismantled now and if there's anything left of the ground floor shops,  at the west end, it's now masked by the blue hoarding around the site. Only the access ramp is still standing. 

The largest and most powerful of the demolition machines has gone, and the three machines which remain are either loading rubble into lorries, or being used skilfully to sort and gather together metal components from windows, ceilings and stair rails for ready for transport to the recycling depot. In the meanwhile, a levelled and cleared area at the east end of the site is receiving lorry loads of topsoil for use in landscaping the open space, while in the middle section, big drainage pipes are being laid. 

The building was stripped of internal furnishings in the first two months of the year, then the heavy machinery moved in and started gnawing the building apart at the beginning of March. In just four months the levelling of the site and initial preparations for landscaping the area will be complete. It's all happened without serious disruption to the procession of buses around the periphery of the site, and afforded some interesting if not spectacular moments for people waiting for buses to Penarth and Barry on the opposite side of Wood Street.

Pentecost fruit

Up bright and early, getting on with video processing and uploading to Google Drive. I don't know why, but several uploads failed, and they weren't big files. The network connection went down, and I had to restart the router and everything attached to it to restore functionality. The same happened last night, while we were watching Montalbano on iPlayer. The Talk Talk Freeview box,called YouView just crashed. It's the second time recently. Diagnosing this lost us time and was in part the reason why we went to bed quite so late. Is it a random hardware glitch, or a mini dropout on the part of the server, or a power spike, I wonder? Not sure I know how to diagnose this. One more time and I'll get TalkTalk on the case, as it could be the router needs replacement. 

Anyway, the uploading job was done by quarter to ten, and I was able to go off to St Catherine's to celebrate the Pentecost Parish Eucharist without unfinished business. There were forty five adults and fifteen children in church. The atmosphere was rather subdued and unenthusiastic for such a great feast, despite giving it my best efforts. I was quite tired by the time we got home afterwards and siesta'd for over two hours before going for a walk around Pontcanna Fields. A couple of late nights and early starts really has an impact on how I feel and wound comfort, strange to say. We are indeed 'fearfully and wonderfully made'.

Disappointingly, Clare picked only a handful of black currants from our garden bush, which as new and a bit more fruitful last year. We get loads of bees pollinating so why this has happened is not at all obvious. Maybe it lost flowers when vulnerable to cold and wind? Maybe it was lack of nutrients in the soil? Who knows? She cooked the new with an apple to make a mini pie filling or a pudding on its own. Will Kath's blackcurrent bush in Kenilworth will be fruitful enough to make a few pots of jam from this year as previously, I wonder? None of them up there like blackcurrant jam, but fruit from the bush Kath turns into excellent jam, and keeps as a special gift for Dad. What a kind and lovely daughter!

  

A summer concert and a couple of weighty matters

I last used Windows Movie Maker a year ago, so I had to re-acquire from the depths of my memory the ability to use it. There may be better, cleverer and more up to date programs out there. This one dates back to Windows 7, but still works and is available to download, so I have it installed on my desktop Windows 10 workstation. As my use is so occasional, it's not worth getting acquainted with anything else, given my limited needs. It's a waste of time. Once I got back into gear with it, a batch of ten short videos to process took the morning to complete and upload. Alan had asked if I could use Dropbox. I opened an account last year, but had little need to use it. Google Drive serves most of my limited needs. In fact, the free 2GB upload limit wasn't enough to complete the job, so I had to open a second account with a different email address, for the remainder. Once these have all been accessed and downloaded by Alan, I can remove the files. They'll be kept on a USB drive for future reference.

In the evening Clare had a lift to Insole Court, the performance venue to prepare the concert with the other choir members. It was a pleasant summer evening, so walked there. This time, there was room to mount the Song HX300 on a tripod, so filming was easier and better quality. I think the sound was OK, but no doubt the critical ears of choir director Anna will have something to say about that! The concert presented an international mix of little known madrigals English, Welsh, Italian, German, Macedonian and Hungarian, challenging to sing, as I well know from listening to Clare learn words and music over the past few months.

I was press-ganged into taking ticket money at the door. There was an audience of twenty in a room which held double that amount, in the beautifully restored out-buildings of the main Insole Court mansion. How the place has changed since Rachel's wedding reception was held here 13 years ago. It was quite run down in those days, but a group of local community activists campaigned to bring it back from the brink, and everybody now benefits. 

Uploading this batch of video clips to YouTube for Anna will have to wait until tomorrow. We got back after Inspector Montalbano had started, and thanks to BBC iPlayer we were able to watch it from the start. It was late when we went to bed, but it was worth staying up for. It was a complex tale with unusual twists and surprises, full of beauty and sadness - the second time I've used that phrase this week. The episode included a delightful portrayal of Vigata's Festa di San Giorgio procession through the streets with a Spanish style trona, for the saint's image, carried by a crew of white shirted guys, who bore it on high at arms length, rather than shouldering it. That's how light it was. Or else a dramatic fictional conceit. In Spain tronas are so heavy that if they are lifted up on high it's possible only for a matter of minutes.

To add insult to injury,  the episode included the funeral of Pasquano, the irascible overweight cake eating crime scene pathologist. Four bearers handled his coffin, as if it was empty. For a corpse of his size and weight six bearers are needed, and have to shoulder and carry with care, as I have often seen, to avoid a dropping disaster or injury. It was bad acting, in the absence of borrowing a few redundant cemetery kerbstones, to give weight and authenticity to the fictional proceedings. 

   

Eurythmy in the frame again

I had a wound clinic visit this afternoon, primarily to collect supplies, as we are managing well at home without need to use a full dressing this past week or so. Unfortunately, supplies deliveries to the clinic haven't recovered from the last bank holiday. Again. This is worrying for the nursing team. In addition, nearly half of the district nursing team is off sick at the moment, and some of the regular local clinics have not been able to open, so all those patients who must have treatment are redirected to Riverside clinic, so their appointment diary is over full. I'm crossing my fingers that we don't run out before my visit, a week today.

This evening there was a Eurythmy performance by the West Midlands Stage group in the Steiner School, which Clare had been instrumental in arranging. It's a couple of years since they last visited. She was picked up early and driven there, as our car is still in the garage for repairs. I followed on the bus a little later, with my trust Sony HX300 in hand, to video the performance. As there was no suitable place to rig it on a tripod, I had to film hand-held, for an hours worth of performance time. This was taxing, but the results were fairly good considering. The performances by members of the six strong student touring group were excellent and powerful. Tomorrow, I have the task of extracting, editing and consigning to a web platform for our friends Marin and Alan Stott who run the West Midlands Eurythmy School to review and approve before publishing them to YouTube. I was pleased to have the opportunity to do this, even if it meant watching only through the camera.

We were home in good time to watch 'Berlin Station' on More Four. Broadcast time has moved from ten until eleven, which meant a late night that I didn't need, but it's too good to defer watching.

Exploring the Valleys by public transport

Yesterday, I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's, and again this morning at St John's. I had an early dental appointment in Llandaff North beforehand, and was cleaned up and ready to leave for a bus by twenty to nine. I was seen early by the dentist, and back at the bus stop across the road from the surgery by quarter past. I only had a few minutes to wait, and was back home again with time to drink another coffee before walking down to church, all within the hour. 

Sometimes, the same outing can last an hour and a half or longer, depending on time of day and frequency of buses. I always feel good when public transport works like that to my benefit. The same route, in the evening has fewer buses and none after eight fifteen, which can make it difficult for Clare returning from an evening do at school, if we without the car, as we are this week, and she can't get a lift. It's a forty minute walk home, and with sunset at nearly ten at the moment that's fine. In the winter, it's dark and miserable.

On a whim, after lunch and a siesta, I took advantage of my free bus pass and caught the 122 from Llandaff FIelds, to its destination in Tonypandy, up in Rhondda Fawr. The NAT commuter buses are small and not very comfortable, as the suspension is rigid, making for a rough ride on an assortment of winding and bumpy roads. It was an test, to see how well I could cope sitting down for a journey of more than ten minutes, and at the end of it I wasn't that tired or sore, which was pleasing. My wound condition has improved enough to make this trip worth the effort. 

I got off the bus at a point where I thought I could catch a connecting bus to Pontypridd. I walked to the nearest stop, where I noticed a legacy gents pissoir built into the wall close to the bus stop. These were a feature of every Valleys town when I was young. Early in the journey up, I notice one at the roadside in a state of neglect but this one had been restored with a new brick front fascia and stainless steel stall. I went to inspect, and wasn't quite at the bus stop when one whizzed past, ignoring my gesticulations.

I walked half a mile from there to Tonypandy train station, where I had a ten minute wait for a train to Cardiff, just thirty five minutes away. It cost me six quid. That ride was much more smooth and pleasant, and took half the time of the bus trip. It's interesting to compare and contrast commuting experiences like this. I suppose its effectiveness depends on how close the terminus or any stop is to your actual destination. I think I shall try out some more of the Valleys public transport routes in weeks to come.

As a teenager I used to accompany my dad by car on his work journeys visiting pits all over South Wales. That was how I first became acquainted with my home region. So this is a trip down memory lane for me. At that time the coal industry blighted the environment, but the village streets were busy with people all the time. Now the Valleys are green and beautiful again, houses are brightly painted and mostly well kept, but the everyday streets are for the most part empty, as people commute to Cardiff and the Vale for work, or stay home prisoners of the telly. The renewed beauty is shot through with sadness, and hidden poverty, due to lack of suitable local employment for the less well educated with only their physical strength and skill to sell. Thirty thousand jobs have gone. Will they ever be replaced? Especially with the UK leaving the EU?

Tonypandy was once a place where protest against poor pay and conditions by striking miners in 1910 and 1911  led to British troops being deployed to suppress dissent. Could it ever happen again? Or has the epidemic of drug abuse anaesthetised those who suffer most?


   

Communication hiccups

I was coming to the end of Morning Prayer after breakfast when the car arrived at ten to ten, to take me to Thornhill Crem this morning for my second funeral of this week, a 68 year old spinster. There were ten of us in the smaller Briwnant chapel. The brother who was next of kin asked me to choose some music which I willingly did. Then, last night his daughter rang me, anxiously asking if any music had been chosen as he'd forgotten he'd asked me. I reassured her it was taken care of and she seemed pleased about the selection I'd made.

When I arrived, the chapel attendant wasn't there. I checked the schedule sheet on his work station in the cramped side room next to the lobby where the officiating minister can also change and leave a coat. There was no mention of my music choice. I panicked a bit and asked the funeral director if he could find the attendant and sort something out asap. When he arrived, he turned over another sheet of paper, on which was written my special requests. They had been emailed through after all, by my email to the funeral director had not been acknowledged by the office staff. I must give them a gentle reminder about this, to save panicking the guy in charge of the funeral and the minister! Thankfully my choice of music was deemed appropriate and acceptable.

Clare was out for the morning, so I cooked us both lunch, followed by a clinic visit, then a siesta and a walk around Pontcanna Fields before supper. There was a noisy floodlit cricket match on at the SWALEC stadium. Clare returned from choir rehearsal to a late supper and we listened to the Archers on BBC iPlayer, both of us having missed it as we were both out. The choir gives a concert at Insole Court this coming Saturday evening. I should be singing with them, but just don't have that special energy to discipline myself for singing at the moment. That's the draining effect of living with a still open wound. And still no word of an appointment to come. Another case of déjá vu, I'm afraid.

Faulty windows - with a small 'w' for once

This morning I had to take the car to N.G. Motors in Splott to get the front passenger side window fixed. On Saturday, on the way to Penarth after the funeral, I opened it and found the electric winder had stopped working, leaving the window open a couple of inches. Nothing we tried could persuade it to shut. Annoying, as we've had rain twice since then, and needed to drape a protective bin bag over the seat to prevent it getting wet. The same thing happened with the driver's side window about six months ago. Coincidence or a design fault? Getting it fixed is urgent, arranging a slot for this at short notice isn't easy. As we don't use the car that much, and have nothing planned for this week that calls for car use, it's fine to drive it there and leave it with them to fix when they find they have time.

I walked the mile and a half back to Canton Bridge stop and caught a bus the rest of the way. It gave me an hour and a half free before being collected to go to the Vale Crem, where we were on Saturday to take today's funeral. There was a congregation of thirty, about average for a nonogenarian with just a couple of offspring and their families.

Two grand daughters and spouses were the chief mourners, arriving from Bristol. Unfortunately, they mistook the place of rendezvous with the funeral cortege. Instead Pidgeon's Funeral Home in Canton, they drove to the Care Home in Barry where Gran lived for a few years until her death. They weren't too far away from the crem, perhaps ten minutes or so, when this was conveyed to them. They arrived three minutes after the appointed hour instead of ten minutes before. As the tributes were fairly lengthy, the service was bound to be a tight fit for the slot assigned. We finished just three minutes late, and the congregation left and dispersing without delaying the next 'late' arrival.

I was home by two. Clare was out, so I cooked lunch, and had a siesta, then went for a walk before supper, and watched telly before turning in early, tired after a busy day.

  

Sunday night at the movies

For this morning's locum assignment I drove to St Isan's in Llanishen again to celebrate the Parish Eucharist with just over sixty people. After the service, preparations for a baptism service were being made, and I wondered if it was for the afternoon, and who was coming in to take the service. On my way out I went to say goodbye to the wardens, who looked puzzled and wondered why I was going. 

It seems that the christening request arrived and had been booked in since I agreed to come and take the main service some two months ago. Whoever was responsible for the arrangement hadn't thought to contact me! It's just as well I wasn't in a hurry to move on to a next engagement, as I was last time I was at St Isan's. I didn't mind at all. I was delighted to perform another baptism this Sunday, as I did last week. For so many years in my last job, and on foreign locum duty in retirement,  baptisms were a rarity. And, I wasn't at all late home for lunch!

It rained in the afternoon. A street party had been planned from lunchtime onward, but ended up as an outdoor tea-time social get-together. Clare went along, but I had a little work to do for tomorrow's funeral service. This proved to be frustrating when it came to printing material to use. The network connection wasn't functioning properly and defied re-setting. I had to switch off the router and every attached device for half an hour and then reboot. Then it started to behave again. Later I learned that there was a massive Gmail outage in the USA, and patches of slow connectivity here also in the UK. Instead of downloading a file to print from Google Drive, I had to connect a phone to the computer and extract the file attachment I received, and knew was stored there. 

Computer systems utterly dependent for error free functioning on having an internet connection are a liability. There's no guarantee this will always work as intended, no matter how many internet service providing satellites Elon Musk insists on contaminating near earth orbit with. I nearly got caught out today because the file I wanted hadn't been saved to proper computer storage belonging to me, from where it could be printed. But it was on my phone. I did print it out having transferred it from there. It may be possible to do it directly from the phone. If so it's something I have to learn how to do.

Clare dashed in from the tea party, alarmed to realise we were about to be late for the evening movie she booked us in for at Chapter Arts Centre - the Elton John bio-pic 'Rocketman'. We walked there very rapidly, and arrived after the batch of ads we've already seen on telly had finished, just as the title screen appeared.

It was superbly entertaining, in the format of a rather quirky screen musical. It was also thoughtful and sad, showing us his early life and taking us up to his mid-life addiction crisis, through some of his difficult relationships, and his glorious performance successes. The film was shown with subtitles for the hard of hearing, which included the lyrics of songs essential to telling the story. Never having been an Elton fan, I'm only slightly familiar with the music and not the words, so subtitles which could have been an annoyance made it unusually accessible to me. A great treat, coming in the same year as the Freddy Mercury biopic.

Farewell Russell

We had an early start this morning to be sure to arrive at the Cardiff and Glamorgan Crematorium for our dear friend Russell's funeral. Unusually for a man of 94,  two hundred people came to pay their respects in a service lasting sixty five minutes, over-running the double slot reserved., a measure of how well and widely known he was. Fortunately it was the only event in the chapel that morning, and place was locked just after the congregation dispersed. 

This is the first time I have been to the funeral of an Anthroposophist, led by a priest of the Christian Community, a group established by followers of Rudolf Steiner, guided by his writing. Her apparel was after the manner of an early 20th century German Protestant cleric in the era when the group was founded. The wicker coffin was sprinkled with water and enveloped by incense. More Catholic than Protestant. The liturgical content other than the ritual, I found original thoughtful, and poetic. Instead of classic forms of prayer addressed to God, meditative reflections were offered containing similar content, biddings reflecting the intention and understanding of what it means to entrust someone to God in an invitation to personal prayer. It's a similar approach to what I've heard from other reformed pastors at funerals but express in more lyrical and creative way. Anthroposophists are confident of the life beyond this world in a way historic European Protestants are not, since the reformation banned prayer for the dead to combat the monetisation of ancient prayer tradition by mediaeval Catholicism.

The priest told Russell's life story, and several others gave tributes or read poems. Here the element of appreciation and gratitude for a life well lived was expressed by different voices. Also read out was a personal testimony he'd written a couple of months before his death, a beautiful piece of prose poetry reflecting on his personal spiritual journey. A few months ago, we met for a chat and he shared this with me, so I was already acquainted with it. It seems he left copies of it in several places around the house, rather than just leaving it with essential documents, to ensure it wasn't missed. He'd been conscious of his impending morality for several years, and prepared well for his demise to make things easy for his wife Jacquie. This was his apologia pro vita sua, and expressed confidence in the spiritual adventure lying ahead of him in life beyond.

As a young man with an enquiring mind, he had encountered Steiner's teaching on experiencing life's  spiritual dimensions. He delighted in exploring these in church discussion groups and outside, but in the end, the elders of Congregational Church he attended declared his activity was unorthodox, and pushed him out, so his educative work went public into community centres and a home group which has continued meeting over the forty years since then. It's always been open, never exclusive, and hundreds of people have passed through it in their explorations and enquiries about the meaning and purpose of life ever since.

We often talked about his past, particularly his church's rejection of his unique kind of lay ministry, ahead  of its time in giving a central place to dialogue and enquiry about what Tillich called 'Ultimate Reality'. He never joined another church, nor did he condemn those who opposed him. He expressed bewilderment that they couldn't see his approach was consistent with a Gospel approach to religious faith and was never bitter. He realised 'all things work together for good to those who love God', and as a natural leader confident and comfortable with making progress by asking the right questions of others, he embodied the classic notion of priesthood of all believers in an admirable way. I certainly will miss our conversations.

The congregation retired to Penarth Pier Pavilion for a reception and buffet after the service. This was followed by the gathering forming one big circle and telling stories about what Russell had meant to their lives. I didn't have energy to sit still and listen for another hour, so I made my excuses and left for home, have acquired a lift with Farah a young Muslim woman who knew Russell through the Fountain School which all three attended in their early years before moving on to Llandaff Cathedral School. We had an interesting conversation on the way back - she lives quite near us - so we agreed we'd meet up en famille, to pursue our shared interest in the life of faith some time after Eid ul Fitr.

Inspector Montalbano returned to BBC Four in the evening, another watchable mystery, with humour, pathos and tragedy all mixed in. Apparently this episode aroused resentment towards author Andrea Camilleri from right wing populists in Italy, as it opens with scenes of the local police having to deal with processing rescued immigrants, involving two people traffickers in an on board rape case. In the first fifteen minutes drama the audience is exposed to the tragedy of some who are refugees and not economic migrants. Thoughtfully presented.

There was however a possible flaw later on in the story, when the death of a man in a love triangle is interpreted as suicide when it was murder. He is found drowned after a marital quarrel with his hands tied together - tying your own hands is difficult though not impossible, just implausible if the victim was drugged. It's possible the Examining Magistrate didn't think an autopsy necessary however, and presumed unjustifiably the death wasn't suspicious. It is possible that legal process in the north Italian province of Udine a decade ago in the story was so lax? It depends on context. The audience is left bewildered. If it's been published as a book, I'd like to read this story to see if a relevant clue or two wasn't omitted by the movie makers.