Sounds of our times

It was good to return to public worship at St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning, although we did have to leave together and walk to church half an hour earlier than usual. Feeling better and having more energy made that much easier. Clare and I were on duty together, She took names of attendees beforehand, then read the Epistle and Psalm. I was on the welcome desk inside, reminding people to hand sanitize and offering them a service sheet card. Several people entering wanted to know how I fared with the op, as I've been on the Parish prayer list in recent months. I was touched by their interest. 

Fr Rhys celebrated and preached about duty and stewardship in relation to the Parable of the Talents. We were altogether twenty nine communicants and nine children. After the service, we helped Sue to sanitize the pews, ready for next Sunday. No Wednesday service as Emma is off sick, I learned later in the day. Our clergy have made huge efforts to develop an alternative programme optimising what can be offered regularly via the internet, wither or not church services can happen, but adjusting to such a change in working practice is stressful and tiring, as I found in Ibiza.

The second walk of the day was at four. I headed for Thompson's Park only to find the gates being locked and a new official notice stating that closure is at three thirty. It's a pity to lose the hour in the park before sunset, but I guess it's necessary to start well before it's dusk, for security reasons. Enclosed parks do have locked gates at night. Leaving them open would provide a convenient opportunity for fly tippers to do their worst. Access roads around Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields are securely gated, but pedestrians can still enter at night, and there are secluded areas when the tents of homeless people appear from time to time. In this wet weather I can't imagine anything worse. I walked out in my rain wear, again, as it had rained earlier, but breaks in the clouds appeared, no rain came and sunset bathed large grey clouds with subtle tinges of pale pink. Beautiful.

I was comfortable enough to sit in the lounge and watch telly after supper, part of a Queen live concert in the seventies, then a hilarious biography of Frankie Howerd, made up of audio and movie clips of his masterly comic performance. A real treat. Then finally, the last half hour of The Who's live performance of the rock opera Tommy from April 2017, the only time they've ever done this, as the original was just a studio album. Brilliant musicianship and energetic showmanship, though Roger Daltrey's voice sounded hoarse and tired, but then he and Pete Townshend are over seventy now. And the Rolling Stones' Mick Jagger soon turns eighty I believe. We're all in the same age bracket, and still alive, thankfully.

Clare and I were reflecting after the telly was switched off on the extraordinary period of history we've witnessed in our lifetimes, with times of change and upheaval for everyone as radical as those of the Industrial Revolution two centuries ago.