Sports ministry

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

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

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

A foot and eye day

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

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

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

Dis-Appointment and Shopping disoerientation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

A free Sunday

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

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

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

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

Project milestone reached

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transcription under way at last

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

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

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

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

November turning points

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

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

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

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

A fruitful day in several ways

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

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

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

A Bosnian Welsh connection and Leonardo celebrated

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great craftsmanship - musical and artisan

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surgeon's inspection day

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

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

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

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

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

  

Christmass planned and an archive revisited

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

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

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

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

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

Short commemoration

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

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

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

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

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

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

More remembering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remembering in different ways

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Need for light

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home and dry, nevertheless

After the torrential rain and flooded roads a few days ago, and prospect of more rain to come, we were left feeling uncertain about travelling home on Tuesday morning. As there were no extreme weather warnings for today, we decided to leave today instead, and packed after breakfast. Then the sun came out, so we walked on the beach and through the dunes for a couple of hours before lunch and then headed for home. There were only a few light showers all day! 

Clare was happy to return early as she has extra preparations to make for school this week. I did the shopping, then uploaded to Google Photos 290-odd pictures from our Oxwich stay, and edited them on-line. In the absence of a wi-fi connection, there was no point squandering mobile phone data allowance, especially given the flaky signal we had there. I tried old-school editing on the Linux laptop I took with me, but although the software is good, the poor resolution display on a machine nearly ten years old delivered misleading colour rendering, especially with large high quality photos.

I indulged myself by taking four cameras with me and using them in different situations, just for interest, as taking them by car wasn't a burden. With a poor display screen, comparing them was unsatisfactory, so I transferred the entire folder of these photos to the SD card on my Blackberry, for viewing purposes. As this is a modern sharp high resolution screen on a powerful device, the viewing experience was impressive, despite being small. It revealed mistakes I had made in trying to adjust photos using a screen not really fit for purpose, and that convinced me to leave editing until I could do so at home using a better screen. 

The laptop is OK for writing but not for editing photos. I still regret losing to a beer spillage while working a similarly aged Dell XPS a few years ago, which had a high res screen and ran Windows and Linux well. In most ways a Chromebook fits the bill. It's designed for 'always online' use, and can be used off-line, although differences between modes of use are a limitation, especially when it comes to saving a copy of work on a USB device for transfer. It's do-able, but calls for vigilance. 

Although 'always online' is the new normal with Windows, files created by use of the device's own apps are saved first to the device, easy to copy for transfer, and then  sync'd if/when it's on-line. For Chromebooks, it's the opposite way around. Normally this does not matter, but this difference becomes a noticeable irritant if working offline is inevitable.

Still, it's back to digital normal again now. It was noticeable that after powering up the router and signal booster on arriving home, that we were attached to the internet again within minutes, while the EE signal booster, which runs via the router, and normally runs very well, took several hours to settle down and deliver the usual service. Again, it's one of these things you don't notice, if you neither send nor receive mobile phone calls or texts in the house while the network sorts itself out and re-attaches the device. 

It's confusing if you find you cannot make a mobile call, and confusion is compounded nowadays as we can make WhatsApp or Skype calls via wi-fi as well as direct mobile phone calls. It's easy enough to forget or confuse what medium you're using, when not looking at the phone. That's if you've bothered to register the difference between the two services anyway.

I managed to get another couple of hours writing my latest story, which continues to grow in a way which keeps me interested and motivated. I had no idea when I started where this would take me. It's a story about a traveller, and while I have ideas about how it will end, I'm still not sure how long it will take or how to close the circle. What an adventure!

Traditional Sunday worship reimagined

Such an amazing change in the weather this morning, sunshine and blue sky with decorative clouds until mid afternoon, and showers only a little later.

We walked to St Illtud's for the ten o'clock service. This was a Liturgy of the Word only, what Greeks would call a 'Liturgical Synaxis'. It had several well chosen different prayers to start with, and led by four different lay members of the congregation, not wearing liturgical robes. It was beautifully done, relaxed and confident. The people were as welcoming this week as last, and we were happy that we could stay and chat over a drink for half an hour afterwards. 

Altogether it was a lovely experience of being part of a worshipping Christian community. A weekly Sunday Eucharist in each church is not possible with parochial re-grouping, but the alternative really shows how lay worship ministry can shine, even in a conventional and traditional conservative setting.

The sermon slot was dedicated to a TEAR Fund presentation by a young women who is their regional representative in Wales. She spoke about a video which was shown, telling the story of a Nigerian woman's struggle to feed her family in an inland regions acutely impoverished by climate change and structural economic injustice. It showed what TEAR Fund was able to offer in developing women's self-help groups which operated a form of credit union style savings club, and mutual support in learning and adopting new agricultural resources. 

Central to this initiative is bible study and a church planting project. It's a matter of indifference what the religious label of the church might be, what counts is the integrated approach to making life worthwhile and full of the Gospel in practice. It was simply presented and thoughtful. It reminded me of the years I spent working as USPG Area Secretary in Wales. Gower was one of the places I got to visit and work during those years.

We treated ourselves to Sunday lunch in the Oxwich Bay Hotel. It was traditional fare, meat and five veg. A veggie option for Clare and a handsome chunk of roast lamb for me. More than enough to fuel another beach walk, plus a visit to the bird-wby atching hide in the marsh later on.

We are debating about returning to Cardiff tomorrow instead of Tuesday morning, as another rainy day may cramp our style yet again, and we're nervous at the prospect of flooded roads recurring. We'll see.

Rain constrained

Another day of low cloud and spells of heavy rain, with so much rain overnight that the road through the village contained huge puddles of water all day. We drove up to the main road, intending to visit Rhossili, but a quarter of a mile south and the road was flooded, making it difficult for some cars to get past, Clare felt a bit nervous about risking our little Polo, not knowing whether it would be high enough to avoid water getting into the electrics, so we turned around and headed north towards Parkmill only to encounter another flooded road section a mile or so further along.. So we turned around again and went back to the bungalow, parked the car and went through the huge puddles down to the beach.

In the hour or so we knew we had before the rain returned Clare wanted to walk along the sea shore, but I wanted to walk to the far end of the bay on the road through the marsh, climb up the hill and take some photos of the bay from higher up. It's not safe to stop on the side of the road up the hill, as it's too narrow. So we parted company. Clare soon rang me, excited to say there were scores of surfers out in the bay, taking advantage of the weather conditions. Interesting photo opportunity, but I had already walked over half a mile to get to the hill for another photo opportunity.

I found on the hillside the way into Nicholaston Wood, the deciduous tree clad south east facing slope overlooking the Bay, with a footpath which takes you on a headland route to Three Cliffs Bay, rather than one which hugs the shore. It's ancient woodland, full of huge mature trees, a wonderful walk we must try out in future. I went along the parth a third of a mile before turning back, as it started to rain. 

Half way back along the road to Oxwich there's a bird-watching hide in a reed bed overlooking an extensive pond, a twitcher's paradise. I was getting quite soaked and took refuge there from the rain. It was a beautiful, numinous experience, silent apart from rain falling, and the occasional sound of a duck hidden in the reeds. I saw a family of eight mallards, a teal and pair of little grebes, (aka dabchicks) and a pair of swans, which surprised me by taking off, flying a circuit and landing again in full sight, just after I'd put my camera away. A wonderful moment I wish I could have shared.

The rain eventually slackened. I was getting cold, so I made a dash for it, stopping at the Dunes Cafe for a hot chocolate and an overpriced bottle of cheap wine, since we couldn't go out shopping for one as planned. Clare got back before me and had cooked a welcome hot lunch, for which I arrived, just in time. Later in the afternoon, the rained stopped again, and we walked to the Oxwich Bay Hotel for a cup of tea and a seat by an open log fire in the lounge as it was getting dark. 

Then, back through the puddles for supper and another two unmissable episodes of 'Spiral' on BBC Four. Money laundering corruption in high places, deceit, revenge, and the amazing Audrey Fleurot in an archetypal Jezebel role. She can do tragic/pathetic victim and sinister scheming vengeance equally. And she never over-acts. Just brilliant!

Cadw enrolled

It's been warmer today, but still with a pall of low cloud and mist making the outdoors very un-inviting. Even so, we made an effort to go out after breakfast, walking up the lane close by, and then a little down the road it comes out on, to visit Oxwich Castle, open this weekend and then closed until next April. It's a Cadw property, which was the sixteenth century Elizabethan home of the powerful Mansel family, who also acquired neighbouring Penrice Castle by marriage in the early 15th century.

Once a prestigious mansion house with a staff of fifty, Oxwich was probably too costly to maintain. It had its heyday for about fifty years, then over centuries it fell into ruin, with only part of the property remaining as a dwelling. The family bought the land and buildings of Cistercian Margam Abbey after Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, and that became the Mansel clan headquarters instead.

The Oxwich ruins were sold to the state after the Second World War, and restoration of what remained of the Elizabethan buildings was a slow burn Ministry of Works project, opened to the public finally in 1994. The few remaining sections of its walls show it had four storeys over a basement, and the huge square tower had six. With wet mist swirling around and through the ruins, it was very atmospheric, like being inside a black and white movie.

A two storey section alongside the ruined main house was for five centuries divided into two cottages and these were occupied until after the war. Replacement homes had to be constructed nearby before restoration could begin. The ground floor has been nicely converted into a gift shop and interpretation centre. The upstairs is sparsely furnished with period pieces, but also has a clothes rail of Elizabethan costumes for kids and youngsters to try on. The whole place is more of an education centre relating to mediaeval Gower than it is a museum or a stately home.

The receptionist-cum-custodian told us about the place, and promoted the virtue of taking out an annual Cadw subscription. Clare enthused about this as a possible Christmas present, so the deed was done. It is valid also for English Heritage properties, and Wales has so many fine castles and other buildings looked after by Cadw that it's worth our while, even if we have been to quite a few of them all over the past fifty years.

We walked down to the village again. Clare fancied fish and chips for lunch. I fancied a curry, so while she waited for hers to be cooked, I went back and cooked my own. She had more chips than she could eat, so I had curry and chips for lunch, a rare event indeed for me.

I rained and was overcast for much of the afternoon, but when it stopped about half past four, we decided to go out for another walk, and went to the beach as the sun was setting, albeit totally hidden by cloud and mist. The whole hour was like a very long twilight. The sea was coming in as we walked along the beach. It didn't start raining again until it was dark enough to merit leaving the beach and heading back to the bungalow. It was quite a mysterious experience like hovering between two worlds. And it produced some interesting photographs also, just like Oxwich Castle.