Leap Year Day

The sunshine returned this morning, but the cold biting wind still persists. After a tasty breakfast of veegan recipe pancakes, I walked to Blackweir Bridge again to see if the Taff had burst its banks in the night, having heard that the river Ely had done. The Taff had indeed burst its banks in the night and floodwater had collected in the field area below the first dyke, but was already draining away. 

The river was still high, lapping the footpath, but it had already dropped by a foot judging by the level of wetness on the concrete pier of the bridge, not yet dried out. The volume and speed of the water flow was truly impressive, seen close up. Last weekend I hadn't been able to walk all the way to the riverbank because of the extent of the footpath flooding. Today it was only a matter of a ten foot stream of water flowing across the path from north to south on the lower level. Last week the footpath on upper as well as lower level was inundated for several dozen yards.

Later, Clare and I returned, crossed over the river and walked through Bute Park, footpaths and grass areas still flooded near the Castle, disrupting walkers and cyclists yet looking lovely and tranquil in the bright sunlight. We had lunch in the Secret Garden cafe, enjoying a very tasty squash and lentil soup. Everything used and sold in the cafe consists of locally sourced organic products, a real little showcase for the Welsh food industry, and a credit to the park estate. 

We continued into town and went to John Lewis' in search of a new Kindle for Clare. We learned that the store no longer sells Amazon products. I guess Amazon has taken away a lot of their trade, so why give its products retail space? They had a few Fire tablets in the stockroom, and we bought one, albeit at the same price as we could have bought it in Currys. Then we realised that the device hardware had a back-lit screen not the front-lit display Clare was hoping to have once again, so we returned it before leaving the store, went to Currys and bought a Paperwhite Kindle there. Much mote expensive, but it fits the bill, and even the existing protective cover, as it's the same size as the old one.

It was early evening by the time I got around to writing and completing my sermon for tomorrow, late in the week for me, but I've had other things on my mind. All done and printed out in time to watch the third episode of the Cymru Noir crimmie 'Hidden' - very sinister and creepy. I shall miss the rest, as iPlayer doesn't work abroad, unless you use a VPN link, which I won't.

  

Adverse conditions

After very heavy rain Thursday night, I walked down to Blackweir Bridge to inspect the river level and found that it was a few inches short of overflowing on to the path and still rising. There was more rain during Friday and I got very wet, with soaked shoes, despite wearing my new rain jacket and rain trousers. It was a struggle to make my daily mileage target.

I received a letter from First Minister Mark Drakeford AM in response to mine sent to him on 4th February. His response merely re-iterated information I have already received from the Patient Care Co-ordinator, nothing more. My really essential question to the Welsh government about the way patients are kept waiting for treatment is why it's impossible to get any more than a minimum of general information. I will write to him again.

In any other public service with a waiting list, clients are given a ticket and there's an information display which indicates where they are in a queue. If managing the queue is halted for any reason, an explanation my be offered. Keeping people in the dark causes anxiety and doesn't generate good-will. Coronavirus experts are saying how it's the the public's benefit to give as much information as possible and treat people as if they can handle this responsibly as it's in everyone's best interests. Too much power is being exercise with too little accountability by everyone in public service, and it's set to get worse, given the appalling behaviour of Boris Johnson's government.

We had supper at Stefano's Restaurant this evening. It's always a pleasant and sociable experience. We were saddened to learn that its' closing down at the beginning of May. The property, owned by the family has been given planning permission to be turned into a couple of flats. It will, in the long term provide them with a steady stable income for less effort. The family has done business in the property and catering sectors of the market for half a century with considerable success. I guess retirement must be on the cards for someone.

Faith journey

I attended the Eucharist at St John's this morning, and said goodbye to Mother Frances and friends in the congregation there. All my duties are done except a service at St Paul's this Sunday, so now I have to get ready in detail for my journey to Ibiza. I went to the wound clinic and collected supplies of dressings to see me through most of the time ahead. The wound is easier to manage and this is evident in the decreasing amount of medical waste produced. Packing just one case is going to be an interesting exercise when I get around to it! 

I'm still a bit nervous about how I'll cope away from my comfort zone and the security of home, but this is the challenge of trusting faith is about. I keep thinking of the biblical sage which begins by stating the Abram was 99 years old when God called him to leave Harran and become an nomad in Canaan. 

It's been very windy with occasional strong downpours today, and chillingly cold, if sunny for my afternoon walk, even with my old thick ski jacket on. There's a lot more rain on the way and more flooding to come it seems.

The engaging 'New Amsterdam' medical drama series I've been following for months with 22 episodes, finishing tonight on a rather shocking tragic note. This suggested there's a second series in the pipeline. I check with IMDB and found there are another sixteen episodes to come and these are being aired now on a subscription channel, which means they will come over to More Four in the next six months or so. I look forward to that.  

Ash Wednesday

I went to the Eucharist of the day at St Catherine's this morning. There were nineteen of us and most stayed for coffee and a chat afterwards. Mother Francis preached well using the text of the hymn 'O Love that will not let me go', and telling the story of its author, the blind preacher George Matheson. It was a cheery gathering, and perhaps because I was in a quiet observant mood, I kept noticing how kind and attentive people were towards each other. As we parted company I had to wish them Happy Easter, as this was the last time I'd see them until my return in two months time. That felt strange.

After lunch, I phoned up and booked a room in Bristol Airport Holiday Inn for Monday night, so I can get some sleep before rising early for my flight to Mallorca at 07.05 on Tuesday. Then I walked over to the Sophia Gardens coach station and booked a ticket for the 17.40 coach to the airport. In the evening, I activated my new travel money card and registered an online account that will enable me to keep and eye on my euro spending. 

A job that's been in my pending tray for over a week, checking out whether or not my DBS update service registration now works. I had occasion to call the gov.uk troubleshooting hotline over error messages which seemed to be caused by me having two separate CRB checks running at the same time. I was able to access my account with the reference number given by the troubleshooter and this gave me confirmation of the Church in Wales certificate. I then added the Diocese in Europe certificate to the same account as I'd been instructed. As suspected before it was clarified by the call, I have and need only one access path to both applications on the DBS update portal. 

I find all this digital detail hard going these days, too much time spent typing in numbers and re-checking them, no matter how good the cause or convenient the purpose. Reducing human beings to a collection of numbers and use statistics is not my idea of being made in the image of God. Giving up surfing or reading newsfeeds and tweets for Lent in favour of a good book might be worth doing, but it's impossible to give up all things digital as almost everything we do relies on it, one way or another. What are we doing to ourselves? Where will it end?

This last few days army and police helicopters have been evident in the city skies by day and even by night, on a joint training exercise relating to major incident preparedness, according to the news media. As I was walking through Bute Park, two RAF Lynx helicopters circulated overhead and landed in the field by the Ambulance station. One was clearly a rescue craft, the other was armed, to provide protective cover. Services designed to protect citizens have to be ready for anything I guess.
I got some good photos to prove the co-incidence of my being there during the ten minutes they were on the ground. You'll find them here

Cwm Rhonnda, Smart Metering and Travel Money

I had an email this morning from Peter Hammond in La Cala de Mijas, who's been invited to give a Lent talk about a favourite hymn. He's chosen 'Guide me O thou great Redeemer' and was asking me what tune it might have been sung to before 'Cwm Rhondda' was composed in 1905. The English translation dates from 1771, the Welsh original by William Williams Pantycelyn was part of a collection of hymns written in 1762. Pantycelyn, his pen-name taken after his place of birth was a prolific hymn writer, a poet and a theological writer in the Welsh Calvinistic Methodist tradition. 

It was an interesting but unsuccessful hunt for an earlier Welsh hymn tune. The Welsh  version didn't cross over from non-conformist use into the Welsh Anglican hymn book 'Emanau'r Eglwys', but the English version found its way into the 1861 Hymns Ancient and Modern. Truth to tell, several 87 87 87 metre Welsh melodies would fit the bill, and may have been used in different chapels and churches in either language. It was only this evening when checking far down into the a wiki page on Cwm Rhondda that I discovered the essential detail that the original Welsh tune used with the Welsh language version is Capel y Ddôl. I must tell Peter!. 

Lunchtime, a technician from energy supplier SSE arrived to upgrade our electricity smart metering device and before fitting one to the gas supply, installed a new gas meter. Two years ago when we went 'smart' the technicians who came couldn't fit the gas smart metering device because the meter cupboard wasn't big enough - there was a disused legacy gas pipe obstructing the space. We have on a few occasions enquired when this would be done, as we've had to take a reading and phone it in, or enter it on SSE's website, a nuisance if you're away and keep on getting email reminders. When we had our annual inspection a couple of weeks ago, the guy who came rang up and organised a new gas meter and the upgraded second generation smart meter. 

Now its done, and we have a new posh monitor to tell us how much energy we are using at the moment or across different periods of time. All very clever, but whether we'll bother much with it I doubt. We are steady although not big users of energy and our bills showed little variation over years until I got sick and then had a post operational wound to manage. Then, there was a lot of extra energy and water consumed washing sheets and towels. Thankfully, that's reduced again over the past six months of improvement with less washing needing to be done.

I went to the Post Office after lunch to buy one of their Travel Money cards and some Euros, so that I have a ready source of digital cash as well as banknotes left over from previous travels, to cover different circumstances on my way to Ibiza next week. The card comes free, the real cost of use is embedded in the exchange rate used.

Clare has used one for several years and has used it for Euros Dollars and Swiss Francs. Rachel has one as well, which Clare has the details of and uses to send her Dollars from time to time. I've been reluctant to adopt this kind digital finance technology, also contactless payment, as I know how vulnerable to fraud all kinds of digital creations are. The volume of digital transactions is growing exponentially and replacing the use of physical money. Poor people and others on the margins of society are likely to suffer most from this. Safeguards on digital finance are on the whole pretty good, but the hassle of having cope when something bad happens is a risk I want to take only if it's really necessary. Maybe I've got to that point now. We'll see after this trial run.

No Parish pancake party for me tonight. Pancakes contain eggs I can't eat without them giving me stomach cramps, and I've already renounced wine, dark chocolate and chocolate biscuits for the time being, being very scrupulous about the diary free diet to allow my digestive system to recover completely after last weekend's episode of stomach cramp. It seems to be working, and already Lent is here, time for a little restraint. It's an easy win, compared to dealing with the irritable humour that wound irritation provokes. I'm impatient and not good at coping with any physical impediment to my version of normality. I need to do better.




My afternoon walk in the park was accompanied by strong cold winds. It started off sunny, then the rain clouds gathered and showered me with hailstones on the way back. 

More travel plans

I did the shopping and cooked lunch this morning while Clare went to the gym. Corns on my feet have been giving me trouble again, so I called into the Podiatrist to see about a booking and was told nothing was available this week. The receptionist took my phone number and promised to call if there was a cancellation, which she did after lunch, much to my delight.

I've started looking at Hostal accommodation prospects in Palma, and possibly a bed for the night near Bristol Airport (at twice the price), as my flight is so early. It's either that or get a taxi, at roughly the same cost, to forestall the risk of the airport coach not running. It's hard to decide. I'm concerned that I don't get over tired travelling. I arrive in Palma mid morning and won't be able to book in until three in the afternoon. Lugging a suitcase around lacking sleep isn't something I feel happy to put up with these days. I am vulnerable enough, and must minimise my vulnerability if I am to get my Spanish Police check done and be of any use to others when I go on duty.

Before the weekend I discovered that my blood pressure medication runs out several days short of my return from Ibiza, so I had to write to my GP and beg for more. The prescription was ready for me to collect this afternoon. Then I went into town and got it made up in the big Boots Pharmacy in Queen Street. A soft spoken pharmacist from Ulster asked if I could spare her the time for a quick interview abour medication use which I was happy to do

Then I visited the Santander main bank branch to give notification of my being in Spain from next week. I was told I can use my debit card there to draw cash and pay for things with a fee, and that's useful, provided the exchange rate is not too heavily loaded in the bank's favour. I have already seen on-line that there's a Santander bank in Palma town centre where I can pay the bill for the Police check. Branches close at two o'clcok, so I'll have to look lively when I arrive there. 

Clare also needed some silica gel crystals from Lakeland for the de-humidifier she bought for her jewellery work bench. The bag was larger than either of us expected and weighed a couple of kilos at least. She also asked me to get some non-bio laundry liquid, wherever I could. It took me a couple of tries before I found the right one, then it was time to go straight to the Podiatrist and lug the shopping with me. It's a relief to think that I will now be able to walk relatively pain free while I'm away.

Opera Matinee

I celebrated the Eucharist and preached at St Dyfrig and Samson's church this morning  at nine. This week I wasn't caught out by the different lectionary usage, as I was last week, having made a note the Ordinary time Sunday it is in the Roman lectionary is used. The Revised Common Lectionary has Transfiguration as its theme, one with which I am probably over familiar having got married on the August feast day, and having this on the Sunday before Lent for the past twenty five years. So, it gave me an opportunity to work with a different set of texts with the theme of fulfilling God's Law, Holiness and Perfection. I quite enjoyed that.

At lunchtime we drove down the Bay to met Martin and Chris for lunch at Ffresh in the Millennium Centre before a four o'clock performance of 'The Marriage of Figaro'. I think the production was a new one, as the scenery was abstract rather than naturalist, albeit the costumes were period pieces of the 18th century. It was beautifully sung by all the performers, and played for humorous content. I think the translated surtitles had a freshness about them. The movement and body language of the cast brought out the farcical nature of the script. Conductor Carlo Rizzi waved the WNO orchestra along at a very breezy but smooth pace, giving it an added dimension of vitality. The slow lyrical sections were played just right to let them breathe with emotion. Mozart would have been delighted,

What a lovely treat to share with two good friends.

Clare's home run

My second funeral for the week yesterday afternoon. I was collected and driven to Thornhill by a driver I hadn't met before. His name was Nabil, an engineer, born in Lebanon, trained in Britain but spent most of his working life in the Gulf States before retiring to Cardiff. He told me his father was Lebanese Greek Orthodox and his mother Italian Roman Catholic, it was almost unheard of in their day to marry outside one's tribe before the rise of the Ecumenical Movement. How times have changed,

Thornhill's Briwnant Chapel was packed and some mourners had to stand in the lobby. Often when someone in their late eighties dies there are few mourners and many friends and acquaintances are either too ill to attend or dead already. On this occasion the number friends among the mourners matched those of the extended family. I was asked to deliver a eulogy written for me which was twice as long as usual, and then the chief mourner came forward to thank everyone for coming and give his own personal tribute, which was equally long. The service came close to over-running the assigned time slot, and it's just as well there wasn't another cortege coming in straight after.

I spoke to Clare waiting for her flight home at Phoenix airport, and then set up my phone to track the 'plane from take-off just around half past eleven to landing at twenty to ten. The home-bound route didn't pass the southern tip of Greenland, like the out-bound one, but ran further south. The 'plane was ahead of time entering UK airspace, it seemed, but had to queue over Berkshire, and as a result was twenty minutes late. It was nearly five by the time Clare reached home, drenched due to walking from the coach station "for some fresh air and exercise after the flight", having stood up well to the eleven hour flight and another five on the coach.

I was rather worse for wear however. Yesterday evening I began to get cramps in the stomach which I associate with my under-active gall bladder. It's rare this happens, as a dairy free diet reduces the demand on bile production. I'm not aware of having eaten anything to cause me this grief, except a bit more chocolate than usual and a different one. The trouble persisted nearly twenty four hours and called for lots of chamomile tea (not my favourite) a dose of Melissa compound, and very plain food. Eventually I remembered Auntie Ann's remedy - cheap supermarket tonic water, and went to Tesco's for a bottle. Thankfully it helped. I shall sleep properly tonight.  

Time flying by

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's this morning, then after an early lunch was collected and driven to Gwent Crematorium for a funeral. The roads were unusually clear and we arrived half an hour early as a result. Among the mourners were in-laws who had come over from Ireland. Few of the deceased's actual family were left, many having died prematurely, suffering from Huntington's Chorea, an inherited genetic disorder. 

I thought it might have been a long time since I last took a service in that place, but when I checked my records, I discovered to my astonishment that it was over thirteen years, while I was still working at St John's. It serves a wide area, urban and rural, and its schedule of services is always crowded. The management is strict about service timing, half an hour from entry to exit, compared to forty minutes in Thornhill. It's not good to feel you're under pressure when taking a funeral, but that's just how it is. There's no alternative.

I was home again by three, and had time to go to the shops and have a good walk before sunset. In the evening, I spent several hours working on my novel again, as I did last night, and other nights when there's nothing worth watching on telly. At ten however, I stopped to watch another episode of 'New Amsterdam', which continues to hold interest as a hospital drama laced with moral complexities and strongly drawn relationships. Next week it's the twentieth and last. I've watched this for about three months after discovering it and watching the first half dozen on catch-up.

    

The ground on which we stand

I was back on midweek duty this morning, celebrating the Eucharist at St Catherine's with eight others. Because of the readings, I took the opportunity to reflect with them on the church's ministry of healing, making use of the laying on of hands. It's struck me how important that is in this day and age when medical treatment is all narrowly specialised and organised around tests and procedures. It may indeed all be very effective, but the process reduces the case load to patient and procedure numbers. The whole person isn't treated, only presenting problems and symptoms. The best medicine is holistic and some of it happens in GP surgeries where a real effort is made to care for people, but even those generalist doctors are obliged to be a specialist some of their working time. It's right and good that the Christian community addresses sick people as whole persons first and last. Ministry of Unction and Laying on of Hands represents this affirmation.

At least the rain has been lighter this past few days, but colder. The wind has been occasionally gusty, making my daily walk a little challenging on times. I was amazed to see a ten foot long branch on the ground along the avenue of trees across Llandaff Fields, which had blown down overnight. What was unusual was that it had completely disintegrated into rotten fragments on hitting the ground. How the dead branch had stayed attached to the tree for so long without breaking off is remarkable. It fell over the touch line of one of the rugby pitches. If that had come down during a match, the consequences could have been tragic. I can't understand why Cardiff Council's parks department tree officers didn't notice it before. It could have been up there decomposing for several years since it died.

Down at Blackweir Bridge, the river management crew has been at work since Sunday removing tons of silt washed downstream by the floods. There are tons more silt in dark red tide marks at the edge of the lower field as well, and huge reddish silt stains in the upper field where flood waters reached. It must be rich with microscopic organisms, as flocks of crows, starlings and gulls spend a long time on the ground foraging. The soil of the flood plain is for the most part greyish in colour, as coastal rock strata are Jurassic / Liassic Limestone. The waters of the Taff pass through a gorge to entre the flood plain, part of a long rocky outcrop at the southern end of the South Wales Coalfield. The strata in this outcrop are various ages of sandstone, some blue Grey Pennant, but also Old Red Sandstone, which is darker in colour than the New Red tends to be. It's fascinating. In the countryside on both sides of the city flood plain the soil tends to be red, reflecting what's in the rock below. The variety is fascinating. My Grandpa Kimber taught me all about local geology when I was still in Primary School, and for this lifelong interest I'm indebted to him.

Flood aftermath

News stories this morning are telling of floods due to the exceptional rains of this past couple of days. Not just in Pontcanna Fields and Bute Park, but of homes inundated in Llandaff North, Nantgarw and in my home town of Ystrad Mynach where the river Rhymney burst its banks, according to reports appearing on Facebook. The waters have subsided fairly quickly, but the damage is done.

This afternoon I did some food shopping and then walked down to Blackweir Bridge and along the riverside footpath. There's still a big pond of water trapped on the upper playing field level. Hundreds of gulls, crows and starlings are on the ground in the vicinity of the water, the grass is stained with brown sediment carried there by the flood water. There must also be organic matter as well, which could explain why birds congregate there to forage, without fighting for space, or foraging in separate groups as they usually do. That's the only reason I can think of anyway.

This evening I drove to Dinas Powis for a bereavement visit in relation to the second of two funerals I have to do this week. I worked on the orders of service for both this morning. I had a phone call about another funeral in two weeks time, but had to turn it down, as I'll be in Mallorca by then. The days are slipping by rapidly. I have to get my head around necessary preparations for my time away.

  

Flood alert weekend

Yesterday, it had rained heavily at night and continued for part of the day as well. Dangerous weather warnings were issued by the Met Office. It was just as well I had a Sunday sermon to finish. During a break in the weather, I walked to Blackweir Bridge and took photos of the Taff, turned into a raging torrent with the water level on the west side so high it was lapping at the edge of the footpath. I'd never seen it so high before. 

On BBC Four in the evening a second series of crime drama 'Hidden', set in North Wales occupied the prime time crime at nine slot. The cops are the same as last time, but the baddies are a group of three disturbed teenagers up to sinister no good things. Very promising.

This morning, I was back in St Samson's again at nine, preaching on the 'Creation Sunday' theme in the Revised Common Lectionary. I was caught out, however. The parish uses the Roman Lectionary scheme of Sundays in 'Ordinary Time' with a totally different set of readings. I had to hunt through a couple of Lectionary books with scriptural indices to find the readings I was expecting and ask for these to be read instead. My request was  received graciously, and we started on time.

After the service I returned home, and then walked down to Pontcanna Fields to take a look at the state of the river after a second night of heavy rain. I heard on the news that the Taff had burst its banks and caused flooding up at Pontypridd, Nantgarw and Llandaff North, so I was interested to see what impact this exceptional volume of water passing underneath Blackweir Bridge would have.

Not only was the field between the footpath and the dyke flooded, but also half of the field a couple of feet above it. This was due to water breaking through a higher up on the west bank and pouring into the edge of the north side field where the dyke is not so pronounced and the ground slightly more level, so the north side flooded at the higher level and poured over the footpath into the south side. It was quite spectacular to see. The re-engineering of the river bank to improve flood defences was undertaken after Cardiff was flooded back in 1979. Apparently, today the Taff rose 80cm higher than it did on that occasion, so the work done was really put to the test, perhaps like never before.

There was a steady flow of people coming to see and take photos like me. The sensible ones had green wellies on, a few cycled through, and some like me risked the shallows and either turned back or got their feet wet. That's what happened to me. But I got some interesting photos, both yesterday and today. You can see them here.

Martin and Chris invited me over to lunch. One of their guests was a doctor friend from Martin's days as Vicar of Pontyclun, whose brother is one of the GPs in our surgery. The other was the recently retired Bishop of Monmouth Richard Pain, whom I have known for thirty years, through our shared association with Ty Mawr Convent. Neither of us can remember when we last met. I wasn't around when he was consecrated Bishop. It was a lovely afternoon of conversation, eating and drinking fine wines, just catching up and reflecting on ministerial life and the present parlous state of the Church in Wales. It was a respite from solitude which I much appreciated.

Travel plans in place at last

My Llandaff diocese CRB check certificate arrived in this morning's post and was immediately sent of to the Provincial office for inspection as required. That won't be necessary next time round in five years, as the Church in Wales as well as me will have recourse to the full on-line service by then. It's a shame the Province is that far behind the CofE, which went digital five years ago.

I called the EHIC Plus help-desk after breakfastt and discussed my travel insurance premium. I found out that the standard rate could be applied if my condition awaiting the final operation was exempted from the policy. This seems reasonable to me. I am managing things well, and bearing in mind what happened in Montreux 18 months ago, would rather fly home and go to the nearest A&E, if anything threatened to de-rail my progress than seek surgery abroad. Follow through specialised treatment in situ would be impossible as a temporary resident. I believe the risk of anything going wrong is very low, both surgeons and my GP didn't seem to think so, and I can't be the first and only person to be in this position before. I paid over the phone and within minutes the policy documents arrived by email.

With that done, I set about investigating travel arrangements. The only outbound EasyJet flight to Mallorca from Bristol in the first week of March leaves at seven in the morning, so I'll be obliged to take the 02h30 coach from Cardiff to the airport, something I've done once before, though I can't remember when. When I get to Palma, I'll be able to visit the local branch of the Ministry of the Interior and apply in person for the Spanish police check. This may take a day or so to see though properly, so I'll stay at least one or two nights in a Hostal, and then take the ferry to Ibiza. I may even get to do some sightseeing!

I couldn't find a direct return flight, but there was an 08h40 Vueling flight to Barcelona, and another EasyJet flight to Bristol three hours after landing. I believe (I hope) they use the same terminal. KLM offered possibilities of a flight to Cardiff or Bristol via Schipol, but their website is pretty unfriendly compared to Vueling and to EasyJet, so I soon lost interest. I was amazed at how much time it took to do the research and book the flights. It was late by the time got out for a walk. I set out in the dry but got drenched by a heavy shower toward the end, so I covered the shortest distance of the week.

I am so looking forward to resuming pastoral ministry with one community for a couple of months, as opposed to being on call by the Cardiff Area Deans or our own Team Rector to fill in wherever the need exists. As it's Lent and Eastertide, this measure of continuity is mutually beneficial. I can maybe plan with the church pastoral team how to go about the teaching side of ministry over that period. I'll have an opportunity and time to prepare fresh material to use as well, which I find stimulating. Even so, I can't help but feel nervous about getting started again, and perhaps that nervousness added to the difficulties I had with travel planning. Being stuck at home and so vulnerable for such a long time has left its mark on me, over and above physical injury.

Today, priority booking for the 20-21 WNO season of opera performances opens, so I went down to the Millennium Centre and bought the selection of tickets which Clare and I had decided upon before she went to Arizona. Not only do we get seats in the row we want, but also at a 15% discount. It's one of the special things we enjoy about living in Cardiff, just a short journey away from a world class opera house and performing company.

Second Opinion

I work up in the night realising that I had failed to get around to making copies of letters to me from Mrs Cornish, plus an updated treatment timeline document. It took me an hour and a half, and I got back to sleep for two hours before the alarm went off. At eight thirty I had a call from the Nuffield Hospital to ask if I could come at nine forty-five, and I agreed to try, as it's only a twenty minute drive west of Cardiff to the village of Hensol where the Vale clinic is located. But it was rather a rush, as doing my daily ablutions takes time and cannot be forced. I admit that my anxiety level shot up as I was trying to organise all that I needed to get out of the house on time and start driving there. I arrived safely and on time, and was greeted by Professor Haray in the reception area, as he'd just come out of his office to look for me.

The Prof interviewed me carefully with a nurse taking notes. He could see that I was stressed out. It happens when I'm under pressure and faced with uncertainty and scrutiny. He gave me a thorough physical examination and reviewed with me the overall treatment process. He concluded by saying that he could certainly take me on, but questioned whether it was the right thing for me to commit to, as there was no certainty that the fourth operation would be the end of it all. The hospital would need to re-do all the preliminary tests and a MRI scans as there's no sharing of this information between public and private sectors, And this means extra cost, and maybe a recurring cost. He didn't think that I could afford this, clearly aware of how impecunious self funding clergy are!

He very kindly volunteered to write to Mrs Cornish and my GP to tell them I had visited him for a second opinion, and that given the over-granulation problem, in his opinion "they should get on with it as soon as they can." Well, I agree with that, for sure, but heaven knows what impact his 'second opinion' will have when it arrives. I doubt if I will be seen before Easter. So I'll just have to go to Ibiza and carry on coping with things the way they are. 

The medical component of my travel  insurance puts up the price I have to pay from £111 to £292, but I'll talk with EHIC PLUS about this tomorrow, and see if this can be reduced by exempting the condition from the insurance package. There's no way I'll be getting surgery abroad if anything did go wrong. I'd have to return home as soon as possible. 

It seems odd to be thinking about this at all. I'm not worried, I've had reassurances that I am managing things well. Also in the past week or so, there have been fewer setbacks and the wound seems to be closing and drying up despite the Seton's suture (or maybe because of it). The less trouble it gives me, the more confident I am that I'm making progress despite everything. I still have to conquer my anxieties in order to make progress however.

America calling

I attended the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. In the afternoon I had a request to take a second funeral next week. I have one Thursday and one Friday. 

Clare called on WhatsApp after lunch, just as she was starting her day in America. She gave me a video tour of Rachel's garden at her new home in Tempe, with its lovely citrus trees all laden with ripe fruit. Suburban housing there seems to have been built in an orchard area, so many properties and the avenues have fruit trees, many of them with the fruit not harvested. They picked olives from a roadside tree and were going to cure and store them as an experiment. Jaz can walk to and from her new school. On her way she sometimes goes scrumping neglected grapefruit, which she loves. It seems the new school is good her her, as she's getting top grades in all her subjects.

Two PTOs in different dioceses means two police checks, and two different invitations to register for access with the on-line update service. I did one successfully last week, and attempted to do the second one today, and ended up unable to access either. Fortunately the .gov.uk help line was able to explain that there was a minor glitch in registering volunteers, who are exempt from paying a fee to access the service. One only registration is required to access both CRB checks it seems. I have yet to pluck up the courage to have another go. I don't need any more frustrations in life at the moment. It will have to wait. The second paper copy should show up in a few days time.

Getting a grip on myself

I woke up to a message from Clare to say she'd landed and all was well. Using the polar route, the 'plane wasn't fighting strong headwinds. In fact, it touched down fifteen minutes early. She'll need to sleep to recover from the eleven hour flight, so we'll probably talk tomorrow afternoon.

Being at home alone takes some getting used to, even though I'm used to keeping my own company when working abroad. I guess I feel much more vulnerable after a year of coping with this wound. I had such marvellous support from Clare in the early months of recovery when I was ill and weak, traumatized by delays, misinformation or no information about appointments, feeling trapped and not knowing which way to turn. I'm fit and well now, enough for us both to feel OK about a two week separation. A kind of practice for me resuming locum duties. That sense of vulnerability I find hasn't gone away, with the treatment still incomplete, uncertain and delayed.

If I need help it's never far away, but being on my own and encountering all sorts of minor everyday frustrations makes me realise that I have to fight to regain as much confidence and self-control as is possible when I am still dependent upon our medical overlords to finish the job. Learning how to cope without getting angry with myself and my situation I find very hard. Thank heavens for routine and structure - shopping, daily walk, prayer, creative writing, and occasionally watchable telly. It's harder to give time to journey planning as this step away from routine arouses anxiety, I find. I just have to summon the courage to resume doing things I used to do easily.

Unavoidable decisions made

Both Clare and I were awake at five this morning, leaving the house at half past five to drive her to the coach station to start her journey to Phoenix AZ to visit Rachel and Jazz. The Heathrow coach was half an hour late, but got her to Terminal Five with the four hours she needed before her direct flight departed. Fortunately, despite the weather it left on time, and in the evening I was able to find it on a flight tracking website heading south west from Hudson's Bay surprisingly on-time despite strong headwinds causing longer flight times on the direct east-west route. In the past week or so the speed record for the fastest transatlantic subsonic flight west-east has been broken twice due to the power of the jet-stream - 800 miles an hour ground speed.

I went to the surgery this morning for my medication review. I also asked the doctor's opinion about travelling abroad on working in Ibiza, whether under the circumstances it would entail additional risk, and she said that it didn't. If I have the confidence to manage on my own here, as I shall be for the next fortnight, then being on my own in Ibiza is no different. So I can get on with preparations for getting there.

Much to my disappointment, after two weeks, I received an email from the Spanish Ministry of Justice rejecting my application for a police check, on the basis that a UK certificated copy of my passport is unacceptable in their legal processes. The only way I can get a copy 'notarised' as their protocol requires is to obtain an appointment at the Spanish consulate and make a visit in person, or else mail my passport to the office, which I am reluctant to do not knowing how long it would take. It looks as if the only way I can get this done is to find the Ministry of Justice office in Ibiza and go through all the necessary procedures there, to obtain a certificate copy and apply for a police check. So much easier in person.

Still nothing from UHW about an appointment. No response to my letter to Mrs Cornish. Finally I reached the conclusion that further delay is not in my best interests or anyone else's, so if I have to pay for the final round of surgery, I have to pay. So, early evening I called the Nuffield Hospital in the Bay and arranged a consultation with Professor Haray one of their surgical consultants. I have an appointment booked for Thursday morning. Hopefully, I may be able to get an operation within a few weeks. The cost of that is likely to be as much as that river cruise I was hoping to take Clare on. Such a pity.

It seems that the lion's share of NHS resources these days goes into managing any and every kind of medical crisis from A&E to transplants. It's well done and often successful in a way that calls for admiration and respect. Brexit driven staff shortages have hit UK hospitals hard, but the price is paid for this disproportionately by the masses of people suffering from chronic minor complaints needing routine surgery, having to wait twice as long this year as last. If only the hospital admin were more honest and forthcoming to patients about the real position they are in, then at least it'd be possible to make an informed decision about treatment. I'm fortunate to be able to afford to act in my own interests, even though I'd prefer to wait, but enough is enough. Mt family and other people have to endure living with me in the precarious state I've been coping with for so long. It's not fair on them as well.

Lost and found

Our friend Gail arrived from Worcester yesterday lunchtime for another night at the opera together. This time it was Verdi's 'Sicilian Vespers', something none of us had heard before. I didn't realise that it would be in French, composed as it was for a Parisian audience, although the story was based on the historical uprising of the Sicilians against their French overlords in 1282, so I expected it to be in Italian with some French as a bonus. Not so. It's not so well known or often performed as Verdi's other operas, but the music is rich and powerful.

It was presented with another timeless minimalist set made up of large mobile open frames. It was too dark for my liking but nevertheless highly effective. The singing was as ever, top class, and the middle section included an imaginative and superbly performed piece of contemporary dance, as a medium for telling the background story of two main characters. There was just one interval in the three hour long performance, and that came after the dance intermezzo, so the first Act was two hours and the second was one. For me, that length of sitting was too long in the seats we had booked which were somewhat cramped for a tall person at the best of times, but with the state of my behind was uncomfortable and stressful to manage. 

For the past hour I moved up to the viewing platform for wheelchar users at the back of the stalls where there are half a dozen stand-up places, and a few seats with more legroom. I wished I'd thought about this from the outset. We were sitting in the same row as last time, when it was also equally uncomfortable, but it didn't cross my mind as the wound is far quieter these days. But there's still a limit to the amount of direct pressure I can take while sitting so I need to move around. Hardly the best thing when you're in a front row seat with a dozen rows behind you.

This morning I celebrated and preached at the St Paul's Grangetown Eucharist again, and afterwards officiated at the baptism of a one year old boy. Interestingly, twice as many attended the christening as there were for the Eucharist, and all different people. It was the first christening at the church in a year. The regular congregation hosts a Sunday school with up to thirty primary aged children, so there are young families in the area. There's work to be done by a new parish priest to build bridges between the few families that still attend just for a christening and the Sunday School ministry, and it's not so easy in this highly mobile era of ours.

By the time I got home, Gail had already left, hoping to find a train still running. With warnings of heavy rain and high winds over the weekend, some train cancellations had already been announced. As it turned out, she was lucky in that the train she went for actually did run, although later ones did get cancelled. Walking in the park this afternoon was quite challenging, with occasional gusts of wind of about thirty miles and hour. There had been torrential rain overnight and in the morning, but fortunately, not while I was out. The river Taff at Blackweir bridge had risen by over two feet overnight, with the torrent water covering the fish ladder tunnel, and the water level rising to within a foot of the western side foot path. Huge flocks of gulls and crows were grounded in the fields. For some strange reason, the flocks of starlings congregated in a few select trees.

Clare leaves for Phoenix to visit Rachel and Jasmine tomorrow. She's been packing for a week and is very nervous about every aspect of the journey there, starting with the 05.55 coach to Heathrow's Terminal Five. This afternoon she was distress to find that she'd lost an earring while changing over cardigans. We hunted high and low, with no success. It was only when we emptied the dishwasher after running it that she found the earring in the cutlery basket. It's had to imagine how it go there. Then a little while later, she couldn't find it a second time and fretted about this until she realised she'd re-attached her ear for sake keeping, having taken off the other one for safe keeping earlier. Pre-flight nerves! I wonder how I'll be when I'm about to fly again for the first time in eighteen months?

  

Off-line working, old time style

I had a call this morning about a funeral in ten days time. The next of kin had to fly over from Ireland to make the arrangements as the deceased spouse was in a hospice over here. She was due to arrive at Pidgeon's office at one, so I arranged to go and introduce myself and discuss the service. It would be unthinkable to my mind, just to turn up at the crem with only a brief telephone contact beforehand. As most of the family are Irish Catholic and a few left over here indeterminate Protestant, I was glad to be able to brief them face to face.

On my afternoon walk the much warned of change in the weather started as the sun was going down, a clear blue sky slowly filled with clouds from the west. High winds and rain were expected, but there was no sign of that up to bed-time.

I occupied myself with more negative film scanning. I'm impressed by how stable my Windows Vista machine is, working with the scanner, permanently off-line these days because it doesn't need to be on-line with its outdated insecure browsers and antivirus. It boots into a functional state quicker than any comparable modern machine because it doesn't have to attach to the network, do security scans or software updates. It's still a useful working tool because it does what I need it to do without fail. Isn't that what tools are supposed to be?

 two more packs of photos from Monaco days, and reminders of just how many family and friends came to stay with us while we were there despite the dark days of conflict and rejection I endured in the last three months. The pain of that experience has long dissipated and I look at the photos with measure of detachment. I'd forgotten just how many photographs, film and digital, I took in those days. I guess I was comparatively well paid there and so able to afford to buy film and get it developed. 

Digital photography changed everything for me, even though initial investment in fast evolving cameras was expensive. I used an Olympus Trip travel camera in those days, and it gave excellent results. Digitally scanned negatives are superior in quality to the digital photos I took in those early days,  once they have been edited. I can see why there has been a resurgence of interest in old film cameras and photography. It may be more expensive than it ever used to be, but in some conditions the quality of digitised film delivers desirable results worth the expense and effort.

Endless waiting

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's yesterday morning. On my return I found an email from the hospital patient care coordinator confirming in writing what was said to me on the phone about a thirty six week queue for minor surgery, and appointment notifications only being sent out six weeks before the due date. In terms of patient care this a scandalous. 

There's no way of knowing or planning anything ahead. In the last couple of weeks the general improvement in the condition of the wound is making it easier to live with, and I feel confident I could manage abroad and not get into trouble with it. It's just not having any idea of which period between now and summer to avoid being away. I want to book Clare and I on a cruise in late April , but dare I? I must be here first week in May when I'm booked to baptise the son of PCSO Andy and his wife Michelle at St German's.

It looks as if the only recourse I have now is to pay for surgery. That way at least I can have a definite appointment date to work around. Meanwhile, I continue to scan old photo negatives to take my mind off the whole affair.

This morning I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's, then wrote a letter to Mrs Cornish the surgeon to communicate directly to her the impact of this affair on my life and work, and saying yet again that being put into a position of not knowing is driving me to take the private option. I don;t know whether I will get any response, but we'll see. I also wrote to my GP, giving an account of all that has happened since last November - I don't think I have been to see her since then, as I've not needed to. I feel I need to seek advice about foreign travel at this stage before going any further. I'm supposed to be in Ibiza a month from now. If I have to cancel, I shouldn't leave it any longer for their sakes.

I'm also waiting for both my Llandaff and European CRB checks to deliver, so that my PRO can be renewed. I know these are being processed, as I've been informed, with the exception of the Spanish police check, which is still 'in the wind'. At least if it doesn't arrive in time for Ibiza, I'll be granted a temporary limited PTO to cover me, so I've been told.

I've been enjoying my afternoon walks this week as the weather has been mild and sunny. Sunset is no around quarter past five, which gives extra time in the daylight outdoors before supper. The first snowdrops are out and daffodils appearing everywhere. So early.

No lessons learned, history repeats itself

Still no appointment letter from the hospital in the post Monday morning. That's twelve days waiting. So, I rang the surgeon's secretary to enquire. I was disturbed to discover that she didn't have access to Mrs Cornish's surgical appointments diary. She didn't apologise for not acknowledging my message of Friday afternoon last. She told me that Ms Cornish is on study leave this week, and in my opinion this may mean the next appointment lists have not yet been prepared, but who knows? 

She wasn't very forthcoming in response to my concerns but did say that there is now a 36 week waiting list for minor surgery. This disturbed me even further. She promised to email Ms Cornish and enquire on my behalf, as I am so concerned to know when I will be seen. Knowing if I am going to be available for duty or not is a matter of urgency. She said the pre-op assessment handled scheduling and that I could call them, which I did. Their auto-response device intended to deal with waiting list enquiries wasn't working and disconnected me. I was so infuriated by this I decided to re'activate my complaint procedure with the Local Health Board, and wrote an email describing what happened. It's a repeat performance of what happened last June-July.

Today I was called by a hospital trouble shooter and told officially about the 36 week waiting list, but not whether this was from when Mrs Cornish saw me or from the pre-op assessment appointment. I was offered no information about where I might be in that 36 week queue, only that I would receive six weeks notice of such an appointment. It seems that my final operation is regarded now as 'routine' and 'non-urgent', despite reassurances that it would be dealt with sooner or later because of the tissue over-granulation problem I experience. No explanation offered for the reasons behind this. I said that such a lack of definite information was outrageous and unacceptable and that I would be escalating this complaint.

I then set about writing to the Welsh Assembly's First Minister, to whom I wrote back in July to tell him of this repeat performance. Delays are evidently due to lack of resources and that's common knowledge, but it doesn't provide an excuse for keeping patients in the dark about the practical details of their treatment plan. That is just bad management, and needs to be addressed. I walked down to Mark's constituency office and posted the letter through the door, in the hope that ti will be picked up and read tomorrow.

I feel as if I am in limbo at the moment, not knowing where I stand, unable to confirm commitments I want to make until I know when I will be dealt with.

This morning, Laura, one of the Euro-diocesan safeguarding administrators rang to tell me about the need to make a digital CRB check application. After racking my brains, I vaguely remember doing this for the diocese five years ago when the new system was in its infancy. But I still need to prove who I am with supporting documents, posted or emailed to HQ.

This afternoon I popped in to see Emma and Nick and their wee bairns, and got Emma to countersign my old and new passport copies and a copy of a pension document with my address and NHS number on it, all required to support a digital CRB check application. Then I did the on-line application, and sent digitized copies of my proof of i/d to Laura. One more job done. Just in case there's any CRB confusion due to my recent change of passport, I emailed her and the Church in Wales safeguarding office a certified copy of my new passport, as queries will go back to these offices rather than me, as they are the agencies requesting checks. I wonder when the Church in Wales will switch to the same system as the CofE has had for five years already. It seems we're always a bit behind the times.

Candlemass

I celebrated and preached at St Paul's Grangetown this morning. When I returned home, Clare told me that Emma was presiding at the St Catherine's Eucharist, having resumed work after maternity leave. It's good that she's back in circulation, and will have several months of working with Frances before the parish welcomes a new Deacon for his training curacy. It's pleasing that ministry in the parish getting back up to strength. It means there'll be less for me to do, but that's fine by me, as I'm in Grangetown most Sundays at the moment and have the prospect of returning to Spain in March.

Apart from an afternoon walk, I spent much of the day again scanning old photos - a mix of pictures taken in Switzerland, and some in Barcelona when we went there to celebrate Anto's 40th birthday. I'm not writing much at the moment, the surge of inspiration has waned, perhaps because I enjoy the journey into our past lives through the photos I'm rediscovering. We were fortunate to visit or live in some lovely places during my full time working life, and this continues still, thankfully.
  

National isolation day one

Nothing in the post from UHW again today. I would have expected to hear by now. It's distressing. It was also annoying to have my Llandaff Diocesan safeguarding CRB check application form returned to me in the post because when I filled it in and did the identifying document check at Llys Esgob two weeks ago I missed a second form authorising consent to digital data sharing for safeguarding. Earlier this week I found the un-filled form and posted it to Sarah the Bishop's chaplain, but she's not in the office this week, so it won't have been dealt with. It's just as well my Llandaff PTO doesn't run out until the end of April, and I requested my application rather than wait to be notified. Both ways on top of Brexit starting at midnight in Brussels yesterday, a rotten start to the weekend.

I still can't believe brexit has started, let alone come to terms with it. It breaks my heart. Separation and division ferment conflict. Eleven months of negotiations now begin in earnest. Isolation makes us vulnerable. I believe those who have a high opinion of Britain's strength and capacity as a lone global player are profoundly mistaken. It's another propaganda con-trick. Just how vulnerable Britain now becomes may well be revealed in the coming years. All of us will suffer, apart from those who can figure out how to make a profit from the country's plight, then cut and run. 

I walked into town, keeping Clare company while she did some shopping in the afternoon. It was a six nations rugby international afternoon, and while Wales were imposing a humiliating defeat on the Italian ream, the streets and shops were very quiet. We saw a stall set up on Queen Street by a Muslim non-violent anti-extremism group wanting to convey to the world that authentic Islam in no way condones the evils perpetrated in its religious name. Good luck to them. I wonder what impact their campaign will have in a society which habitually stereotypes everyone and feeds on fake news poor quality journalism and 'newspeak', fond of calling good things bad and bad things good in a way which would have George Orwell saying "I told you so." from beyond the grave.

More scanning later in the day, this time a roll of film from a Greek island holiday in 2000 and from the wedding feast of Delbert and Ara in Geneva, on which occasion I played guitar with a Mariachi band of Latin American ex-pats in between courses. The daft things I did in those days!

A re-run of a Montalbano episode seen twice before on BBC Four tonight. Brillant slapstick from the inimitable Catarella, but a sad tale of betrayal, jealous passion and compassion, spanning a thousand miles from Sicily to the eastern Italian Alps.