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.
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