Shopping no deal

My sister June ordered a pair of capacious rain trousers for me which were delivered yesterday, just the right length and girth. Spurred on by this, I walked to town this afternoon along the Taff, to shop for a new raincoat. I caught sight of an elegant cormorant perched on a rock in the river, keeping vigil, and got one good photo. Cormorants look waterproof, but unlike other aquatic birds, after diving for fish, they must stand with wings outspread to dry them. It's lovely to see a colony of them doing this at the same time.

I find it hard to find clothes of the right size which are also long enough. I'm fed up of outdoor coats which don't cover the hem of my jacket, and leave me with wet fringes, unless I wear rain trousers. More often than not, in uncertain weather, if I'm wearing a waterproof top coat, I won't bother to carry trousers as well, or if I am carrying them, it's quite an exercise to put them on when it suddenly starts raining. I'd love a rain jacket that reaches my knees. Getting the lower trouser legs wet is far less of a chilling annoyance than getting one's thighs wet. I hunted in three different stores, and the only garment available of the right length was a very expensive Barbour raincoat. Rather heavy to wear in summer, and not available off the peg in my size.

Heavens! Do I have to spend hours trawling internet retail sites? I avoid doing this at all costs. I'm no fan of staying in to wait for deliveries either. I don't see how this is really convenient, especially if a garment is the wrong size or specification and has to be returned, entailing a wait in a Post Office queue to be attended to. I shop for clothes only when it's strictly necessary to buy something, perhaps once or twice a year in a real store. I shop for electronic kit just as rarely, although I often take a look at new devices and discount offers, which there always are if you wait six months or more.

Clare had a school AGM early evening, so once I'd eaten supper, I settled down to watch episodes of 'Helen Dorn' and 'Non Uccidere' one after the other, to compare the German and Italian take on female detectives. The Italian is series is stylish, the German series is described in the publicity as 'gritty'. The Italian detective has Mama issues, the German detective has Papa issues. The Italian woman seems to be single and living in the extended family house but having an affair with her boss, the German woman seems to be separated, couch surfing at Dad's, but in neither series do we yet have the full back story.

What you have time for when you have nothing better to do in an evening! It's better than being glued to the current national crisis news.

  

Travel plan thwarted

Things didn't work out as planned today. We intended to drive up to Kenilworth to celebrate Kath's birthday, after I celebrated Mass at St German's, but Clare was suffering from an inflamed blocked ear, and didn't feel up to the journey, and neither did I after several uncomfortable broken night's sleep. I took the usual buses to Adamsdown instead of driving, but one was five minutes late leaving the city centre, and that made me late arriving at church. As it happened, all except Angela of the regular midweek congregation were either unwell or away, so Angela kindly drove me back home. I was grateful for this as it was raining yet again. Kath postponed her birthday dinner until the weekend as well, as Rhiannon was feeling poorly. Ah well, never mind.

It rained for much of the rest of the day, though not heavily. Most of my afternoon walk followed a course under trees, so I didn't get too wet. Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields were covered by groups of birds grounded by the weather, gulls, crows, magpies, pigeons. No sound in the trees of the starlings I saw yesterday.

The news goes round and round the issue of Boris Johnson proroguing Parliament suppressing debate on whatever his government has to declare (if anything) about brexit deal/no-deal before the deadline on October 31st. All the commentators have ideas about where this will lead, but it's going to take weeks to develop, so there's only so much time to be squandered on crisis reportage and commentary.

With nothing else of interest on telly, I found a German crime series to watch on Channel 4's Walter Presents, with yet another lead female detective 'Helen Dorn'. It's based in the industrial Rhineland in the vicinity of Dusseldorf. Something new to watch, and good to find how much I understand of the dialogue aided by subtitles.
  

What can birds see?

Crossing Llandaff Fields on my afternoon walk, I noticed in the distance a flock of about fifty birds flying in close knit formation, then settling on the ground to feed, before repeating the action, and then flying into the same tree. They were smaller and more agile in flight than the resident flock of pigeons. When I stood under the tree I could hear the characteristic chatter of starlings, and this was confirmed by a ground photo taken at fifty yards distance, in which the typical underside markings of a starling were visible. I noticed another flock of starlings coming out of another large tree a hundred yards away. I haven't seen so many starlings in one place for several years. Such a lovely sight.

I was examining the photo I'd taken when an lady walking her dog stopped to ask me what I thought they were, and the chatted about the variety of birds that are to be seen in the city centre parklands. She then told me a story about swallows flying low over muddy puddles, hunting insects, and how she and her partner were standing watching them when two birds came surprisingly close to them and hovered, as if inspecting their human observers for a short while. An unusual, wonderful moment, but when her partner died three months later, she started wondering if it had been some kind of omen. 

Do we ever consider, I wonder, that other creatures may be more aware of us at different levels, than we are of them. We tend to think of nothing more than the instinctive fight-flight reaction we share in common. It's already been observed that dogs with their acute senses react to the presence of cancer and maybe other ailments in human beings, and this has inspired researchers to take breath analysis to a deeper level as a diagnostic tool. It's amazing to how birds of prey react to movement, and the heat signature of a creature way below them on the ground, because of how their eyesight has evolved differently from ours. Can birds see things about us that we're incapable of noticing? There's so much potential for awe and wonder in this, that supernatural considerations seem unnecessary.

It's one year today since, I was examined and then operated upon by Dr Cotton at Quai Santé Medical Centre in Montreux to relieve the swelling in my right buttock caused by that perianal abscess I didn't know I had, as it hadn't been diagnosed in the two back-end examinations I'd undergone back home in the months beforehand. 

It's been a miserable and frustrating year, tied down in this miserable country by waiting for scans and then surgery, plagued by delays. Would the significant worsening of my condition last autumn until Christmas have been prevented by a course of antibiotics from day one? Would earlier referral for treatment by the district nurses have made a difference/ We'll never know. There's no point in looking back, even if the future of this course of treatment is still uncertain and gives nothing to look forward to yet. Maybe things will be clearer as a result of the third round of surgery in nine days from now. I hate not being able to make real future plans. I can't live off dreams.

Full job satisfaction

An early start today with a nine o'clock Eucharist at St John's, a ten thirty at St Catherine's and then a two child baptism back at St John's at one, assisted in this by Ruth the Parish Mothers' Union Enrolling Member. There were thrice as many people in church for the Christenings than had been there for the two Eucharists. It says a lot about family and community loyalties towards the couple and their three kids.

The regular routine Eucharistic life of the church fails to inspire the same kind of loyalty. It's not tribal, however, but rests upon commitment to beliefs with a way of life, people are free to choose either to dissent from or adhere to. I shall wonder until the day I die how best to commend this kind of commitment to a choice of habit to all those who still find some kind of significance and identity through the ritual of baptism.

It was nearly two o'clock by the time I got back for lunch. Thankfully, I wasn't totally exhausted after such an active busy morning, but I made the most of a relaxing warm afternoon siesta, and didn't go out walking again. I didn't use the car this morning, but walked from one church to another. By the time I reached home I'd done over two and a half miles. Altogether a satisfying morning.

In the evening I watched an episode of the Italian detective series 'Non Uccidere' (Thou shalt not kill) on More Four's 'Walter Presents' euro movie channel. The chief character is a young female detective Valeria Ferrero, whose strong point is investigating domestic homicides, probing the motives of all involved. Her character reminds me somewhat of Detective Sara Lund in 'The Killing', introverted, independent minded, persistent. Miriam Leone, the actor who plays Valeria won the Miss Italy beauty contest in 2008, so an unusually elegant and beautiful police officer. I'm not sure how this will work out, whether she has enough character to fill out the role, but as there are twelve episodes, there's lots of time for further development.

Coast walk

Yesterday, I delivered my accumulation of electronic waste products to the SFX Tech office over in Newport Road. I had difficulty finding it, despite the accuracy of Google Maps, as the 'Dominions House' building had no name plate. The building seemed to host only a Thai Massage Parlour. I rang the office to check I had the address correct, and found that I did. The office was on the first floor above the Massage Parlour! A strange location for an electronic recycling depot. The guy who came down to relieve me of my stuff was evidently in a hurry, so there was no time to chat and find out a bit more about the organisation. Most importantly, it's there and offering a valuable service to people with a bad conscience about electronic waste. When the CBS office finally closes there's somewhere we'll be able to take kit that can't be re-purposed.

We made the most of the beautiful weather today and drove to Penarth with a picnic, and took a walk along the coast path along the clifftop as far as Lavernock. The last time we did this was in April, just after my birthday. The hedges along the clifftop are overwhelmed with blackberry bushes. Unlike in Bute Park, there's a smaller proportion of fruit here ripe for picking at the moment. It's more exposed and peak fruit will probably come in a couple of weeks time. The berries here are smaller than ones inland. Even so, Clare with little assistance from me gathered just over half a kilo, which produced a beautifully sweet fruit syrup, perfect for Sunday's apple crumble.

The tide was right in when we arrived and slowly went out as we walked, revealing a red sandstone bed of rock at the base of the 100 foot cliff, decorated tastefully by the sea with a scattering of grey limestone pebbles. The fields behind the cliff path are awash with nearly ripe pale golden barley, and I spotted three different species of butterfly, thought I'd be unable to identify them. I watched a flock of several dozen finches burst from a garden hedge into the air, flying in a cloud formation with tail-enders zig-zagging to distract predator's attention from the majority of birds. This behaviour I've only observed at close quarters once before, at the Rio Aguas in Mojacar. Sadly, too quick for photos.

A Chinese family was out exploring the path. One of them quizzed Clare about the blackberries she was gathering. They hadn't seen them before, back home in Hong Kong, wild or otherwise.

We stopped for a drink in Cioni's, at the town end of the managed parkland area of clifftop, before a visit to Asda while heading for home. Clare needed some medical grade olive oil to soften earwax, but was unable to find any, but I came away with a couple of bottles of wine anyway.

We treated ourselves to supper at Stefano's Restaurant, before settling down for the evening. The last two episodes of Danish thriller 'Below the Surface' were aired on BBC Four. There was a sinister twist to an apparent islamist kidnap plot with  Russian spies succeeding in duping some extremist would be jihadis into a botched attack which then becomes a hostage crisis, whilst at the same time duping a top Danish military intelligence official in collusion. As ever the savvy hero saved the day and there was a happy family ending with another series to follow most probably. (Yawn)

   

Admissions of an electronic hoarder

According to yesterday's news, UNESCO designates 2019 as the International Year of the Periodic Table of Elements. It's 150 years since Russian scientist Dimitri Mendeleev discovered the  essential relationship between the natural elements, and mapped this systematically. On the back of this, there was a feature about the need to re-cycle redundant electronic goods to recover their rare earth component elements, as all digital devices make use of some of these. As earth's supply of the essentials is finite, there's a risk of industry running out of them. Scarcity ensures price rises, and competition to control remaining un-mined resources. Indeed, the persistent chronic state of war in the Congo is due to the territory being rich in strategic minerals.

This prodded me into discovering a company in Newport Road called SFX Tech which re-purposes usable computers and recycles the components in the rest, and arranged to deliver all this kit there tomorrow. The next thing was to find and sort kit I no longer use, which I've kept over the years 'just in case'. Thanks to Linux, much of my old kit works when fired up, even if it's too slow and outdated to be of use for the majority of today's purposes. I retrieved three laptops, one from 1998, one to 2004 and one to 2009, also three old Nokia phones, two modems, and a couple of personal digital organisers,  and a Nexus tablet, with broken USB port, now unchargeable, plus a variet of chargers and cables, British and European. Prior to the 1998 laptop, I had two others. A luggable PC I sold in 1991, to part fund the purchase of my first real laptop in 1992. This I finally got rid of in 2010.

I bought my first Amstrad computer in 1984, the first of four. Then there were four Windows desktop PCs as well, all disposed over the years as more capable kit became affordable. I wasn't an early tech adopter, waiting until newish kit was available at a discount, watching the retail market regularly. I guess I was never as attached to these devices as I was to the portable ones, having held on to the latter so long. I enjoyed having kit I could take with me on my travels, and the selection of wireless network plug-in cards and dongles added into the throwaway bag bears witness to this. 

All this changed when affordable smartphones came on the market. It's amazing to think how much more powerful and capable these are than all previous mobile devices. I think I've passed on a couple of smartphones after upgrading, but there are two spares in the house 'just in case'. I still have my work Blackberry and my personal Samsung Galaxy. Once CBS is wound up, I'll be down to one phone for the first time in seven years.

Well, there's less electronic junk taking up space in the house now, and more to go eventually, as the process of simplifying life advances with age. Having seen what trouble was caused after his demise due to my brother in law Geoff's accumulation of 'interesting stuff' acquired from decades of car boot sales, I'd feel better if I could minimise what remains of my acquisitions to 'really useful up to date stuff' once I'm headed for the Pearly Gates. 

  

  

Remembering life-long commitment

After a disturbed night, I couldn't get myself into gear to go to St German's to attend Mass, as I'd intended. I have to accept there there are going to be good and bad days on the way to recovery. To me, my body reactions seem arbitrary, but in perspective the healing process still seems positive. 

The painter returned this morning to complete finishing touches on the rear of the house. There are a few tiles on the roof to be fixed, and then the scaffolding comes down. Job done..

This afternoon I extended my walk up the Taff beyond Llandaff Weir to Llandaff North road bridge and back, thanks to footpaths on both sides of the river. Thankfully, Cardiff is blessed with routes to  take you away from the incessant stream of car traffic.

Recently, after supper and listening to the nightly edition of 'The Archers' on Radio 4, with nothing better to do, I've been watching episodes of 'Law and Order' on Five USA. Initially, it was an effort to make sense of American judicial procedures, rather different from ours, yet equally dedicated to pursuit of truth and doing justice by perpetrators and victims. What's starting to impress me now is the way different episodes introduce debate on contemporary moral issues, and the challenge we all face in discerning how to do the truth in every different situation in which we find ourselves today.

I had a message from Revd, Doreen this afternoon, celebrating her fiftieth anniversary of clothing as a Novice of the Community of the Holy Name, the start of working out her call to ministry. I recall when we met several years ago while I was on locum duty in Málaga, she told me that she first sensed a calling to priesthood as a child. It finally happened for her over forty years later.

Co-incidentally, I made a personal retreat before my diaconal ordination at the Convent of the Holy Name in Malvern Link around the time of her clothing. A CHN sister made my first traditional style alb for me and I wore it for both ordinations, and at services for the next twenty years until I was given my first all-in-one cassock-alb as a parting gift by Halesowen parishioners in 1992. 

Fifty years later and we're both still active in the adventure of voluntary ministry, still energised by that vision and sense of mission that inspired us half a century ago. Thank God, that's all I can say.

    

Cosmopolitan footpaths

As the new cement rendering on the rear of the house is stable and dry, the surface was painted a pale magnolia colour yesterday, the first coating. There are also a few finishing touches to fit in, relating to rain proofing the window double glazing mounts, important details. 

It rained in the night, but by the time the painters began the sun was shining and surfaces were drying off, and in four hours it was done. I stayed in while the workers were present. Clare went out and did some food shopping, then went to the gym. Later in the afternoon, after the workers had left for the day, I took my daily walk. As it had been sunny I went out again with no top coat, and was rained upon, not much, just enough to make me feel annoyed and resentful. 

In the evening I read some more of Poveda's 'El Maestro'. Kath has been reading the first of his trilogy 'El Profesor' during siesta hours on holiday in Crete. She's been posting lovely sunny holiday photos on WhatsApp. A few days ago the three of them did the six hour Samaria Gorge walk, we did that in the early nineties. I wonder if we'll get around to doing it again one day?

No painter today, just the builder's man, completing work on the windows. I walked into town for a change and returned through Bute Park. It's lovely, no matter which route you take, and so well used by holidaymakers, students and other city residents. Walking the footpaths of our city open spaces so much, I'm struck by the relative infrequency of hearing people conversing in English. You'll hear Welsh, Spanish, French, German, Italian, but also Polish, Chinese, Arabic, Malaysian, Urdu, and Hindi spoken. It's a measure of how international Cardiff has become in recent years.

   

One small landmark

Confident that I can now manage, I got up early today and went through my usual morning routine, to be out of the house and walking in good time to St John's to celebrate the nine o'clock Eucharist. Our St Padarn's pastoral placement student Peter preached, and did the same again when we both went to St Catherine's for the ten thirty. I had to listen to him carefully both times, and later on give a written assessment of his effort for himself and his tutor. I thought he acquitted himself very well. 

The day's scripture readings weren't easy. Earlier in the week, I looked through my sermon archive and was unable to find a sermon based on them. With time on my hands, I passed a few hours writing one to see what I could make of them, just for pleasure. Our different efforts reflect just a couple of many ways it's possible to approach preaching at the Eucharist. It's good to have the opportunity, all too rare for me these days, to pay attention to another preacher. It did me good. 

I was pleased to find I can do two normal Sunday services again and not be exhausted as a result. It's the first time for a year, I think, and it's very much a measure of how far I've come in getting through this 'thorn in the flesh' of mine.

Late afternoon, a walk along the Taff, then in the evening, a catch-up session with BBC iPlayer for all four episodes so far broadcasted of a new Danish terrorist kidnap hi-jack drama 'Below the Surface' series two. Did we get series one on telly? I really can't remember. We've had several crime series over the past couple of years exploiting the islamist terror plot them. I'm not sure how edifying this is or what's gained by it.

Rain and two herons

It rained a lot yesterday, and I got soaked twice. First on a return visit to the wound clinic in search of dressings I omitted to ask for yesterday, then in the evening, walking across the parish for a pastoral visit before the christening of two infants a week Sunday at St John's. Such a miserable August. Both my sets of rainwear are old and no longer fit for purpose. It really is time that I ditched them for something a bit more suitable for lots of outdoor walking. I hate walking in the rain, and avoid if possible, but miss the exercise even more.

The weather was kinder today and my early evening walk took me up to Llandaff Weir. The Taff was in full spate and the roar of water over the two metre drop in level was hypnotic, almost deafening. Gulls which normally populate the river course were parked with the mallards in still water above the weir. No sign of the resident heron.

I then walked downstream to Blackweir bridge. As I approached I saw a heron fly up river and take refuge in a riverbank tree. I've seen this unusual behaviour once before by the pond in Dr Jephson's Gardens in Leamington Spa. As I was crossing the bridge, I noticed a second heron, the younger one that I've seen before, standing on housing of the fish ladder. Normally herons prefer the waters edge, but with the water high and turbulent, this bird had chosen the one possible vantage point from which prey might be visible in shallow water pouring down the slope of the weir. They're such solitary birds, that despite there being plenty of room, there'd be no room for two.

As I walked on downstream, about five minutes later, I heard a loud squawking noise and saw what may have been the younger bird flying down river, and alighting at the water's edge on the east bank. Ousted from the fish ladder housing by the older bird I suspect. I wish I'd been there to catch a photo of that little altercation. I've added to my expanding collection of Taff birds here.

I watched an episode I hadn't seen before of 'Endeavour', the Inspector Morse prequel on ITV3 in the evening. The new Danish crimmie on BBC Four I've not been following this time. Maybe I'll watch it on catch-up if we have any more prolonged dreary rainy days.

Back to the garden

I went for my weekly visit to the wound clinic, mainly to collect supplies, and update the duty nurse on recent events. A man, and an elderly lady were waiting for treatment. She stood uncomfortably, leaning on her walking stick. Either the physical act of sitting down on the queuing bench was too painful for her, or as I've been so often, sitting down was painful enough to want to avoid unless necessary. There'd been some appointment mix-up. She'd arrived an hour early, when I was due, and the nurse was in any case running late, as often happens, given the demand. The supplies I wanted weren't available as none had been delivered (again), so after a brief word with the nurse I skipped my appointment and returned home.

As the weather was fine, I took out my Sony Alpha 68 and several lenses we drove out to Dyffryn Gardens for lunch and a wander around the grounds, which are looking wonderful. Recently, some of the enclosed gardens have been revised according to the original 19th century master gardener's plan. Best of all, the water garden which runs the length of the main lawn in front of the house has now been completely restored, and filled with a variety of different coloured water lilies. The fountain in the pond at the far end of the lawn is working again, and beyond it, the sunken garden which for years was like a wilderness, is re-ordered and populated with plants. What a lot has been achieved by the team of fourteen gardeners and scores of volunteers over the past year. And more is to come.

Attempts to trim and restore the hedges around gardens on the west side came too late to bear fruit. Some of the bushes will never grow back as desired and others have died after pruning, or maybe due to old age. These will be uprooted and replaced in coming months, and large sections of hedge will then be grown from saplings and re-trained to reflect the originals. It'll take some years to complete, but will be worthwhile. 

There's also renovation work to be done on the south facade this autumn. So good to see a distinctive and beautiful building and its setting restored to former glory. Originally it was the home of an elite landowning family which could afford the artists and staff. Under the ownership of the National Trust it belongs to everybody in different ways - workers, volunteers and tens of thousands of visitors. It was indeed a busy place today at the height of the summer holidays. The rest of my photos are here

  

Early Assumption

Monday, we walked with Rachel to the coach station in Sophia Gardens, said our farewells. Her flight to Phoenix is from Heathrow, early Wednesday morning, but she's visiting a friend in Gravesend until then, and making her way to the airport very early, for a seven thirty check-in. We then walked on to Barker's coffee house in Castle Arcade, to meet Graham and Eleri for a chat. It's the first time we've been there, and we appreciated the intimate ambience, although the piped music was a bit too loud if you're trying to converse. 

Sleep on Tuesday night was much disrupted by wound pain and discomfort. I seem to be having one or more good nights, then a bad night. It's impossible to work out what I do exceptionally that sets off bleeding. Daytimes, I have very little trouble with the wound, but the nights are worryingly mixed.

This morning I went by bus to celebrate Mass at St German's again. It wasn't as convenient as it used to be, since the 61 bus no longer crosses the city from Pentrebane to Splott, but turns in the centre and re-traces its route out o the west. I had to get off in Westgate Street, walk through to a St Mary Street stop to pick up a number 11, which took me to Longcross Street. Only a quarter of a mile of walking but enough to leave me with a sodden rain jacket.  

As Fr Phelim is still on holiday there's no Mass of the Assumption tomorrow, so we anticipated the feast. Christian tradition tells several different stories about the death of our Lord's mother, not based on scripture. What they have in common is the sense that her departure from this mortal life is a source of wonder, joy and mystery, at the end of a life fulfilled in trusting God's Word in every sense. When I was thinking about what to say at a brief homily at Mass, it occurred to me to reflect on the contrasting experience of our own mothers' deaths. It was safe to do this as all the worshippers were old enough to have lost parents a good while back.

Peter and Hilary gave me a lift back to Pontcanna, and dropped me off at King's Road GP surgery, as I'd obtained a 'book on the day' appointment, to discuss with a doctor my concerns about the erratic behaviour of my wound over the past week. The result of this was a walk over to UHW's Surgical Assessment Unit, and another six hours wait there, being interrogated, getting a blood test, and finally a physical examination with a young surgical registrar at the end of his shift, all kitted out in his surgical scrubs who, I suspect, was aching to finish work.

The triage nurse was the same woman I'd seen on December 21st. She recognised me as a walked in, and could hardly believe it's eight months since she saw me last. Thankfully, the Unit wasn't as busy as last time I was here. My blood condition tested out OK, and the surgeon said there was no sign of anything anomalous or any infection that he could see. The hyper-granulation didn't seem to concern him, ans he said that I could expect blessing as long as the Seton's suture remained in place. I didn't really get answers to the question of why the outbreaks of pain and discomfort were so random, or what I could do to mitigate this. I'm just left with having to tough it out until operation day.

Yet again I succeeded in catching a bus which took me the long way to the city centre for another bus to get back home. I could have walked much quicker.

Missing out

After a hearty breakfast and more conversations in a private dining room, we left for home, driving from good weather into torrential rain on the M4. I'd survived long hours of sitting yesterday with little discomfort, and drove two thirds of the way back without grief, my longest spell behind the wheel since summer last year. 

Sadly, getting to church was impractical, and we wanted to return by lunchtime to have as much time as possible with Rachel, scheduled to leave us tomorrow morning. I hate being unable to attend Mass on a Sunday. My solitary prayer efforts instead never feel like a match for praying within the body of a community of faith, wherever it may be. I just had to accept and offer up the experience with thanks as well as regret.

It turned out that apart from a last supper together we didn't have that much time with Rachel after all, as she had booked to have a special massage in the afternoon, and return borrowed guitars. Such is life. It doesn't always work out the way you think or hope it will.

  

Royal Berkshire nuptials

Last night, Rachel played a gig at St Canna's Ale House on Llandaff Road, co-incidentally a hundred yards away from the Apothecary Tea Room where she did a gig in July last year. Clare did all the organising and emailed friends and associates to let them know. Rachel borrowed the three guitars she needed (each with a different tuning) from friends, and installed herself in a corner of the bar room to play. It wasn't the best location, as it was adjacent to the way out to the toilets, but she's so used to working in awkward environments that it didn't seem to bother her. 

There were around twenty people there, including people from church, friends and colleagues of Clare. It wasn't one of my better days, so my only contribution was to video the first hour of the gig on my Sony HX300, from nine until ten. I didn't have the energy to stay for the second half, and went home early. St Canna's Ale House is a warm friendly place, dedicated to good beer and conversation, so not surprisingly there was too high a level of audience chatter in the background for the recording to be of much use for distribution, but I figured it would give Rachel an opportunity to monitor her performance critically.

I rose early to work on the videos, to be able to upload them to YouTube before we left for my cousin's Lindsay's wedding in Ascot. The job took just a couple of hours, as I didn't bother editing the raw footage, since it wasn't for public consumption. Since I edited footage of her last Cardiff gig, I've done videos of two choir and one eurythmy performance, so I've not forgotten how to use Windows Movie Maker. It's a slow business with an average speed internet connection and a not particularly powerful computer, but I've trained myself to start processes and then get on with other tasks in the meanwhile, like making and eating breakfast and packing bags. 

We succeeded in leaving at our planned departure time. The trip up the M4 as far as Reading was plagued by wind and rain, but we drove into better weather. It was a race day at Ascot and Google's itinerary re-routed us on a circular route through leafy suburbia along roads line with exclusive and very expensive houses. Our destination was the Royal Berkshire Hotel, once a huge Churchill family mansion, now an even bigger country hotel with golf course and tennis courts. The wedding reception was going to be held there so Clare thought it would be a good idea to stop there overnight. It was an expensive B&B for the night, but an enjoyable experience, well worth the indulgence, as several of my cousins and members of the bride's family also stopped overnight, and a special breakfast room was reserved for wedding guests.

We had an hour and a half in our room to rest and dress up before taking a taxi to the Parish Church of All Saints Ascot Heath, just past the racecourse, in the London Road. It's a beautiful ornate gothic revival building dating from 1864, with frescos and mosaics, where Lindsay attends church. His bride Lynne lived in Bromley, but she was happy for the service to take place in the area to which she'd be making a new life. Her parish priest gave the homily, while his performed the ceremony. There was a small robed choir leading the singing, and a soloist sang Mozart's 'Panis Angelicus'. It was moving to hear then plighting their troth for the first time, he 70 and she 65 and recently retired from teaching. Lynne was born and raised in Natal, South Africa, and is one of triplets, a brother and a sister who is an Anglican priest, living and working here for over 25 years.. What a lovely occasion it was!

We set off for the reception after the post-wedding photographs, just as racegoers were leaving at the end of their day. It was slightly surreal at tea-time to see women in party clothes staggering in high heels down the London Road while others were staggering drunk with excess of Pimms or Champers. It's a strange foreign world to me. The Royal Berkshire hotel, in contrast, was sedate and quiet. The reception and banquet were delightful, accompanied by a life string quarter, who played for the best part of the four hours it all lasted. So many interesting conversations with family members and guests with whom we shared a table. A day to remember with much pleasure, and a capacious comfortable bed in which to bring it to a close.

Caught out

I visited the wound clinic this morning to pick up some supplies, in preparation for our weekend trip to Ascot, where my cousin Lindsay is getting married for the first time in his late sixties. Earlier this year he was confirmed, having found his way to faith in his local CofE parish. I'm delighted for him on both accounts. I wasn't well enough to travel up to his confirmation, and am determined nothing will prevent me being there for his wedding. I've given them the 'Hospitality of Abraham' icon as a wedding present, to bless the home they are making together. It's one I've had and used in prayer for over fifty years. I think I brought home from Greece, but it's hard to remember now. To my mind it's a gift with a certain quality that doesn't come with one bought from a church supplier.

Rachel went for a hairdo in Rumney with Chris at lunch-time and I drove over there to collect her.  We were going to drive on to Newport and visit Martin then, but he texted me to say that he was in bed and unwell after an earlier surgical examination. Rather foolishly, I had omitted to take suitable cushions with me, to protect me from the evil effects of bucket car seats, and I paid for it with a very uncomfortable journey. It was a relief to drive straight home instead. Awkward pressure from the seat left me in pain and discomfort for the rest of the day. I was so annoyed with myself, given that I've made progress in recent weeks, in being able to sit without grief on most kinds of seat with the right protective buffer cushion, the exception being worn out railway carriage seats, of which there are many given the age of so much of rolling stock still in use. 

I'll have to be careful to take with me on Saturday cushions I need for travelling and banqueting. We're going by car, rather than train, to allow us more flexibility, as long as I'm confident I can sit for the required length of time. As the wound draws less attention to itself and its need to be pressure free it's easy to forget simple precautions. I have to plan, and avoid spontaneous impulse, as a matter of self protection. This doesn't come naturally to me!

Supper in Easton

This morning I went to St German's to celebrate Mass. Clare drove me there and then went on by car to the School of Optometry to collect a new pair of specs. It was good to have an opportunity to observe the feast of the Transfiguration a day late, as there wasn't a service I could get to yesterday. Peter gave me a lift into town afterwards and I caught a bus home from there.

There was a letter from HSBC waiting for me in the post when I returned, containing the remaining
balance of the closed Cardiff Crime Limited account in the form of an up to date cheque. This will be used to balance the books, and dissolve CCL, finally owing nothing, and with nothing left over. It was advice from someone who didn't understand the Cardiff RadioNet setup, which led us to believe we needed to establish a 'not for profit' company alongside the business to fund the BCRP business crime manager role. It was a sledgehammer to crack a nut, a waste of time and energy, but at last we have closure, ahead of winding up Cardiff Business Safe.

Late afternoon, Rachel, Clare and I went to Bristol by train, benefiting from a group ticket offer which gave us three tickets for the price of two. Our train stopped in Lawrence Hill station, where Owain met us, as he'd just finished work. The DVSA office is five minutes walk from the station and he lives ten minutes away. He was pleased to have an opportunity to show Rachel his new abode, and for Mum to adjust his curtains, now equipped with blackout material, thanks to her extra efforts.

We'd agreed to go out for a meal together, so we walked a mile from his neighbourhood across to St Mark's Road in Easton, to a recommended Indian diner called Thali, serving an excellent selection of spicy food - not too hot - set out on a tray in small portion dishes, offering a variety of different tastes around one's key dish of choice, whether meat, fish or vegetarian. This way of serving is what is apparently known as a Thali in India. We were delighted with the food we tried, and walking there certainly gave us an appetite.

The restaurant is only a few hundred yards from Stapleton Road station, so it was possible for us to check for a return train time to coincide with finishing the meal and getting back to Cardiff not too late. There wasn't an outbound train stopping there at this time of night, so we had to take an train going into Bristol Temple Meads to pick up a Cardiff train. We were very lucky, as a long distance train bound for Cardiff had just arrived twenty minutes late. Instead of having to wait until nine for the next scheduled train, we were on our way half an hour early, and reached home by ten.

Quiet anniversary

Yesterday on my afternoon walk, I took the west bank path along the Taff from Western Avenue to Blackweir, for the first time in ages. I spotted a Little Egret among the reeds on the east bank. I was sure I'd seen one from the east side path, feeding with other birds  a couple of weeks ago, but I must have disturbed it, for it flew off before I could awaken my camera. Despite the distance, I got one sharp shot, pleased at last to see this bird again. Apparently they can be seen up at Radyr Weir, but this far down river they seem to be just occasional visitors.

Kath, Anto and Rhiannon arrived for their holiday in Crete. Rhiannon and I exchanged WhatsApp messages in simple Greek. Just for fun.

Rachel is busy borrowing guitars and planning her song set for her gig at St Canna's Ale House this Friday evening. The house is full of the sound of her playing and singing. It's lovely. 

Despite the mix of showers and sun, the builders are forging ahead now with applying new layers of concrete rendering to the back of the house. The new surfaces will need to be painted, in a plain near-white colour afterwards, to reflect extra light into the back garden. It'll cost extra, but it needs to be done while the scaffolding is up. It'll be worth doing, I'm sure.

It's our 53rd wedding anniversary today. Clare wasn't feeling great, so we decided to postpone a festive meal for a while. Disappointed there was no service to go to in the Parish. The importance of this as a major festival was made plain to me when Clare and I went backpacking in Crete, 52 years ago, and attended the Orthodox Liturgy in the village church in Platanos - we experienced Orthodox worship as students in Bristol, but this was really the first experience of a Greek Parish at prayer, and it was such an eye opener. The informality, the relaxed sense of devotion, plus the iconography, the incense and the ritual. It made a lasting heavenly impression on us, and influenced the kind of Anglicans we have grown up to be.

Reunions

Yesterday afternoon, Owain arrived after lunch to be re-united with his sisters and stay overnight. It's a great joy for us to have all three of them together under the same roof with us. It's lovely that they all still get on well together, and can enjoy sitting at table, sharing a meal and chatting. 

This morning, I had an early start to be ready to drive to Splott to celebrate the 9.30am Mass, then the 11.00am Mass afterwards at St German's. This time, my old friend Fr Graham Francis was at church, and concelebrated the Eucharist with me. The last time we were together in this way at the altar was probably in the late 1980s, when he has Vicar of Penrhiwceiber, and I was a guest preacher on behalf of USPG. 

It's fifty years since we were both at St Mike's in training. We were among a small number of college students recruited as volunteers with Cardiff Samaritans, allowed to be be away from College on a weeknight, once a fortnight, I think it was, so that we could do the overnight shift on telephone duty. We both learned a lot from this. It was one of the first student pastoral placements outside of the domain of parochial ministry. A modest innovation in those days, but the start of a practical revolution on ministerial training which happened over the next couple of decades.

Graham lives with stomach cancer. It deprives him of his characteristic energy. He needs to rest a lot, but it doesn't hinder him taking as full a part in the Mass as he can cope with. He can't preside and preach at at Sung Mass any longer, so for most of the service he sits, and reserves himself for concelebrating and sharing the distribution of Communion. At the end, he leads the singing of the Angelus, having pointed out to me that it's an hour earlier than it should be sung, an anomalous custom from times when the St Saviour's Mass finished at noon. Since student days Graham has been a master of liturgical know how, with an immense library of publications accumulated over decades. Not an academic but a practical and creative liturgist, to whom a scholar might resort if they couldn't track down a historic resource in any library or book-shop. It saddens me to think that none of our scholarly or training institutions seem interested in inheriting his collection. He started asking when he retired. He's got publications nobody has got around to digitising or ever will.

We had a super family lunch, when I got home. Then I walked with the kids through Bute Park while Clare had a siesta. We took photos in the park and then had a go at a family selfie in the garden when we returned. I wasn't entirely pleased with the result of the latter, which I attempted to do with my Sony Alpha 68. Setting it up to take timed shots is different from the three other Sony cameras I have, and this proved disconcerting, as did setting up the camera tripod. Thankfully, Kath has a lot more expertise than me, in matters audio-visual, and rescued the situation from a long drawn out wait while dad got things right.

Kath drove Owain to the station at tea time, then headed back for Kenilworth. Time seems to pass so quickly on days like these, re-forging family bonds, with the sun shining and nothing to distract us from being at home together. I'd have liked to be completely well, but despite continued improvement this dreaded affliction still pulls me down, somewhat unawares on occasions. I'm resilient, but not as much as I expect to be. I needed Kath to remind me of how much better I am now than I was last Christmas night, when things really did take a turn for the worse. But also for the better, as I had my first contact with the District Nurses team on Boxing Day morning, and since then, I have everything to give thanks for.

Happy homecoming

An uneventful Thursday, with just a visit to the wound clinic, another six mile afternoon walk, and more episodes of 'Keeping Faith' in the evening. For reasons unexplained, BBC iPlayer will not show the final episode at the moment, which is rather annoying.

This morning I took a funeral in St John's. This was unusual in that the family asked to have the Committal in church at the end of the service. It's commonplace to do this in rural areas where there may be and hour or more journey from church to crematorium, also in many parts of the diocese in Europe. Funeral directors are happy with this as they can schedule their activities more to their own convenience. All that was required of me was to escort the hearse from the churchyard after mourners had left the church and were gathered outside. It seemed just a bit strange to me in this setting.

Thornhill Crematorium chapels are currently undergoing a make-over. A large marquee has been erected in nearby to serve as a temporary chapel. This entails a change in practice, as there can be no final leave-taking curtain. The coffin is removed after mourners have left, then transported to the ovens behind the chapels. This arrangement is scheduled to last for just a couple of months. It will be interesting to see how it impacts on usual custom and practice. I don't think it influenced this family's choice, however. They'd planned for the wake to take place in the Liberal Club, around the corner from the church, and it made better sense for them to go straight there.

When I got back, an appointment letter from Llandough Hospital was waiting for me, confirming 5th September as the date for operation number three. Let's hope this'll happen as planned. After lunch, I walked up to Llandaff Weir again and got some more heron photos though still not the good ones of the bird in flight which I'm after. Watching them take off and land is such a spectacle, it happens so quickly and quirkily that it's hard to aim and focus accurately in time. But, practiee makes perfect.

Early evening Katherine arrived from Kenilworth with Rachel, after a few days spent together. It's so lovely to enjoy having them together, with supper out in the garden, despite the scaffolding and mess from building work, and then some music making. Rachel loves to be re-united with the Grandpa's 'cello, and bonds with it again blissfully. It's so good to have her back where she's most at home.