Lying low

I didn't have a good night. Three days on from the operation, although the wound is stabilising, it's been painful and uncomfortable for much of the day. It's a bit like the aftermath of having a big painful tooth extracted. It's such a relief but it still puts you on hold for a while. 

Post-anaesthetic tiredness has caught up with me, but it's not been possible to sleep except in short spells, so I have paced slowly around the house and garden, not covering much distance. This will be the first day in a couple of years when I have fallen well short of my daily target walking for only half an hour instead of at least two  - not that it matters, though I dread stiffening up for lack of exercise.

A lovely sunny day, but I needed to stay home while Clare and Kath went off to picnic on Monknash beach, south of Cowbridge. The roads to the coast were inevitably crowded being bank holiday Monday. For me sitting at all, let alone in a car is impossible at the moment. I'll have to postpone tomorrow's eye test, as I'm unable to sit in a chair. 

In between bouts of walking and resting, I finished my reflection for Corpus Christi, and wrote a sermon for next Sunday. Fortunately my mind is clear regardless of the state of my body. On previous occasions after surgery, down time has been necessary. I wasn't expecting the same impact after the removal of the suture, and wasn't warned adequately of this when the procedure was explained to me beforehand. But I have been here before and will get over it. Just staying in bed all day is no option, with the pressure on my rear end the way it is. Being careful about every move is what counts, and accepting tiredness. That's what I keep telling myself.

This evening there was a fascinating programme on BBC Four with top photographer Rankin tutoring half a dozen promising individuals of different backgrounds and experiences in a variety of different settings, with different kinds of story to be told in pictures - a boxing gym, a wholesale fruit market, a fashion shoot featuring models with disabilities. All of the students were using hefty full frame cameras with an assortment of lenses, mostly Canon, though I think there was a Nikon camera there too. Choice or product placement? I couldn't help wondering. It was the second in a series. Tomorrow I must watch the first one on catch-up. It was amazing to see the variety of expensive high tech kit used in the fashion shoot. The cameras were cable connected to a computer displaying photos almost instantly, big 25-50 mega pixel hi-res JPEG images, ten times bigger uncompressed. How things have moved on since the days of film, and yet for some photographers, film is still the definitive medium for quality and colour. 

I know I take quite good photos on times, and take a camera everywhere, to point and shoot at whatever attracts my eye, but this programme made me realise that I don't really think enough about photos I am taking, and what story I'm aiming to tell with them. Hmm - now that is quite a challenge to sleep on.

Trinity Double Act

I woke early to a bright warm sunny day, due to wound discomfort and pain, which isn't going away any time soon. It's taken time for the impact of the final surgical repair stage of the process to reveal itself, and I just have to get used to the various workarounds, to remain comfortable. Clare dressed the wound afresh after breakfast, and then we walked to St Luke's where I was scheduled to celebrate the Eucharist with Archbishop Rowan preaching. 

The fact that we were both on the rota seems to be have overlooked and some people looked a little puzzled if not put out to have two clergy serving them. I joked about us doing a double act to relieve the hint of awkwardness. After a year of a church regime under covid people are less accustomed to coping with change. Over the past couple of months there have been changes a-plenty. Rowan preached beautifully. I made the most of the opportunity to thank God through offering the Eucharist for bringing me through the past two years and delivering me at last from the scourge of the Seton's suture, even if I am still paying the price for it post-operation.

After a light lunch, Kath arrived looking fit and beautiful, after a year in which she's worked incredibly hard to continue with creative projects in a most remarkable way. We walked down to the Taff, and this left me drained and tired and I had to got to bed before and after supper, like it or not. I need to redefine my limits for while, or else suffer unnecessarily. I did manage later in the evening to prepare for this Thursday's recording of Morning Prayer and a reflection on Corpus Christi. Sometimes ideas come when you're idling. 

Aftermath

I slept reasonably well, if a little less longer than usual, due to the need to change dressings in the night. The wound is open without the suture now, but at least it can heal properly at last. We had our Saturday pancake breakfast early, then went back to bed for a lie in and snooze until eleven. I walked for an hour and then cooked lunch. Today the wound is more painful and inflamed so I need to take several doses of Neurofen and one of paracetamol to minimise discomfort and pain. I've also needed to alternate activity and rest, to use my energy sparingly and not get exhausted. In other words, be sensible. 

When I was briefly awake in the small hours I remembered being anaesthetised and having a tight fitting mask imposed that was gently pushing air into my lungs, moments before I blacked out. I then recalled the same sensation when I was operated upon at the Spire last November - a mask like the one that scuba divers wear. On previous occasions the mask was more loose fitting with a tube into my mouth that was taken out when I re-surfaced. So, I wonder if this reflects the proliferation of the technique for assisted breathing with the oxygen or enriched oxygen mix being pumped in under low pressure, widely used to treat covid patients? It would certainly explain why I wasn't at all groggy when I came to, but felt as fresh and bright as I do when I sleep under an open window our outdoors in a tent. Extra oxygen to aid recovery maybe? A strange thing to be thinking about in between sleeps in the middle of the night.

I rested in the afternoon, then walked to Texco's for a bottle of wine and some olives, as Kath is coming tomorrow, driving their brand new Skoda mini-SUV on its first long journey, having collected it from the showrooms this morning. It'll be great to see her again in the flesh as opposed to on Zoom. Yesterday Clare took part in an all day symposium Kath ran about using dance with early years children. An very impressive piece of work. We're very proud of what she's doing.

Talking of early years work, Mark our violinist friend came around this afternoon to be briefed by Clare about accompanying her when she does her kindergarten eurythmy story telling session in school. It was lovely to see the two of them out in the sunshine on the patio piecing together the performance. Working with kids in this way is a new adventure for him, although he's no stranger making music with them,

This evening Clare had tickets for a Schubert Schwanengesange recital, by Gerard Finley accompanied by Simon Lepper in the Dora Stutzker concert hall at the Royal Welsh College, followed by a Q&A with the artists. I listened lying down on the bed for an hour and a half and then needed more fresh air before bed. For the first time, perhaps since the last operation, I can't remember offhand, I needed Clare to put a plaster over the wound before bed. It's slow drying out now the adrenalin which aids clotting has left my body. There's no escaping the aftermath of invasive surgery. It creates an opportunity for nature to take its course again in a wholesome way, and that's what counts in the end.

Op-day, liberation at last.

I went to bed early but didn't get off to sleep until eleven. I woke from a very short dream in which I bit on a juicy tomato which was tasty and slaked my thirst. It's the first time I can ever recall tasting something in a dream. I'm no stranger to hearing identifiable music, voices and physical sensation while dreaming, but identifiable taste, not just the word associated with a taste is different. And curious.

I was out of bed and having a shower by six fifteen, stepping int a taxi at ten to seven. The driver told his sorry take of being scammed over a smartphone purchase, Somehow a crook intercepted communication between him and him phone company, or else he got diverted to a malware look-alike site. He lost both his new phone and some money, although his bank reimburse some of his losses. I hate on-line purchases and shopping as you have to be so much more vigilant than you do when you the goods and vendor in a real life store.

I arrived at ten past seven, but couldn't get into the building until the surgical staff arrived at seven thirty, so I did a complete 2km circuit of the hospital ring road, and  stopped at a place where there was a view to say Morning Prayer. Later, while I was waiting for surgery, third in Mrs Cornish's list, I overheard the nurses debating the length of the building. One of them googled and learned that Llandough has the longest hospital corridor in Europe, at 1km. 

Mrs Cornish came by for a briefing beforehand, but afterwards a nurse discharged me. For the first time in five operations, I was allowed to walk to the operating theatre now relocated next door to the pre-op ward. The out-patient surgical suite has been reorganised since my last visit for op number three. You no longer have to be taken on on a bed in the service lift to get to theatre. It was one by the time I returned on a bed, more than an hour under anaesethetic, and then another hour before I was discharged by a nurse, once my blood pressure was low enough to be deemed safe. At last I'm rid of the Seton's suture, as planned. I'm on antibiotics for the next five days. Initially, the pain was more than I was expected, but the more I walked about, the more relief from pain I felt.

Jacquie drove me home, accompanied by Clare, who'd gone over to her house mid morning. There was a lovely and much welcome fish soup for lunch. The hospital offered post-op cheese sandwiches only, so I had to make do with a cup of coffee until we got home at three. The hospital wound dressing detached after I arrived. It was a relief, as it was thick and pressuring the wound repair. I wasn't bleeding so I used a much slimmer clean dressing instead, with a couple of ibuprofen tablets to curb the inflammation. This made such a difference that I went out for a walk in the park. 

This helped curb the pain, but drew rebukes from sister in law Ann who thought I should lie down, take it easy and rest, as I was taking too much of a risk by exercising so soon. Well, I felt better for movement, rather than struggling with discomfort unable to sit or lie comfortably without pain. The risk paid off. The concern is something to do with the use of adrenalin in anaesthesia to curb blood flow. When I came round after the op, I felt bright and clear, as if I'd awakened from a long refreshing sleep. This is regarded as an adrenalin 'high'. When it ends it may do so suddenly and cause you to faint. No sign of me fainting! 

I felt relaxed and well enough to watch tonight's episode of 'Rocco Schiavone' live, and felt naturally tired towards bed time, and pain no worse than what I've been used to after too much or too little bowel movement. Tonight I'm feeling quite relaxed, having turned a decisive corner in my two year open wound ordeal. I may pay the price for my 'hyperactivity' tomorrow, who knows? It was worth it just to express the sense of freedom I feel as I turn in for the night

Quarantine day three

How cheering to wake up to a day of brilliant sunshine, mild weather and no wind! As I was closing the bedroom curtains last night , the moon shone brightly in between clouds, ascending just above the terrace rooftop south of our back garden.

I went to bed half an hour earlier than usual, and benefited from this, strangely, with a night of relaxed sleep with just two disruptions. I published the YouTube link to my upload of Morning Prayer and biblical reflection on WhatsApp for the first time before Radio Four's 'Thought for the Day'. Tonight, early bed and up at six to be sure I reach Llandough Outpatients for the op by seven thirty. I do so hope that this will enable me to return to complete physical normality.

Over the past couple of years, I've remained active and fairly fit despite infection, but having a wound at the base of my central nervous system, often irritatingly uncomfortable, thought never painful enough to require analgesics, has been a strange experience. I compare it to grit in the eye or a stone in the shoe, something that incessantly undermines bodily harmony ans hinders focus. I've not been able to sit and relax comfortably without consequence. If I've taken photographs obsessively these part two years, it must be because this is a head and upper body activity for which I need to stand.

I've stopped playing guitar which I've done for the past sixty three years. A guitar is, after so long, like an extension of my body. Sitting to concentrate on playing has proved as hard an effort as coping with rheumatic fingers and wrists. Fighting against the reaction of the nervous system to make the effort to play has felt counter productive. Better to rest, avoid any negative over-stimulation and wait to survive the affliction, in the hope of one day returning to enjoy playing. It's been much harder since Clare has started to learn jazz piano, as I'd relish the pleasure of playing with her. 

Most of my walking today was outdoors, enjoying the sun. I begin to feel normal, relaxed, and not feeling confined by the restriction of a few days self-isolation. My sister June has had a plague of flying ants and ordinary ones on her Wandsworth Common balcony. She was worrying about how to get rid of them, and then the local bird population turned up, crows, magpies, then blue tits and coal tits. It's been a while since we've seen tits in our garden. Or ant plagues for that matter.

In the local news today, a further closure of Blackweir Bridge while work is done dredging out hundreds of tons of stones from the river bed, presumably to improve flash flood drainage and let broken trees that fall in the water float downstream and not block the channel. I hope this doesn't have too much impact on the ecosystems of the riverbed that help sustain fish, and insects on which the birds feed. This past week or so I've seen swallows and swifts feeding on the wing over the river, a lovely sight as summer arrives.   

Thanks to another delivery of fresh salmon, sea bass for the freezer, plus laver bread, supper tonight was my favourite Welsh sea food. Then a couple of hours writing, and off to early bed.

Quarantine day two

I woke up in the night a couple of times, wondering about how to alert the local health authorities to the inconsistencies in the messaging. After breakfast I decided to contact the Local Health Board 'concerns' team and explain the problem. I still had the contact details, as I opened a complaint procedure two years ago when communication about appointments and waiting list was poor and contributed a great deal to my distress at the time. I explained my concern and added some photos as back up evidence. 

I received an auto reply straight away with a form to fill in. I did that two years ago, and never formally closed the complaint I made, and won't do until the surgical saga is over and done with. My contact details must be on their system somewhere (if not why not?). Somewhere will get around to reading it eventually and do what I asked, and forward my email to the NHS Wales comms team. 

Later I discussed the issue with Owain as he's a comms professional and knows from the inside what the problem is. As far he's concerned the government's communication systems are dysfunctional from the top down. It was badly designed and implemented piecemeal from the outside, so agencies don't all talk to each other or collaborate on information output, a malaise in every area of government. Ah well, at least I did what I could to highlight a problem there'd nothing I can do to resolve.

On the statistics programme 'More or Less' following the nine o'clock news, on Radio Four, there was an item about vaccination rates. It was revealed that Wales has the highest proportion of people vaccinated at least once in the world, and is set to complete the target population two months ahead of the UK target date. Israel is world leader in the number of its nine million citizens vaccinated, but Wales with three million citizens has done better proportionally. 

The Welsh Assembly Government developed its own logistic strategy for the roll-out of vaccines, different from that of England, Scotland and Wales, and it has proved effective. When I think of the way BBC Radio Four's Today programme interviewers subjected First Minister Mark Drakeford to a most hostile interrogation when he announced there would be a planned pause in roll-out at an early stage, I felt it was entirely unjustified. Poor journalism in fact. I wait to see if he is interviewed on the programme in the light of his re-election and the success of the Welsh vaccine roll-out.

A warm sunny day today, an opportunity to walk outside, and take photos of bees browsing flowers in the garden. I'm not over pleased with the results. I'm out of practice at taking close up photos of tiny creatures but a few days of nice weather confined to the house and garden will give me plentry of time to practise.

This evening I recorded Morning Prayer and Reflection and uploaded it to YouTube ready for tomorrow. My Samsung phone ran out of memory three fifths of the way through, so I had to move the incomplete file to the SD card and then record the rest and join the two files in a video editor  it is very annoying and consumes extra time. An eleven minute recording edited and uploaded consumes over an hour of time when you include the initial time spent on setting up the recording. Can all this be done more quickly with a more powerful better equipped phone? There's been no technical discussion of 'how to' among parish contributors so far. Or is it me? Am I the 'dinosaur' with only a five year old phone which works for most purposes just fine? 

At the moment, I don't have WhatsApp on my newer work phone. I could just swap the SIM cards over and install WhatsApp, but am reluctant to do so until the work SIM expires and revert to having only one phone. Yes, I am being awkward and will put off adapting until I must as I have no idea if the Blackberry will be as good to use for videoing as the Samsung. I've never tried videoing with it. Never needed to. As long as you have a device that works and fulfils your current needs and purposes, you learn the minimum you need to be remain functional. It's when you need to adapt to changes in use that you have to learn a few new things, and change well worn habits. That's a key problem in living with technology, and explains why people so easily get left behind by surges in innovation.

Covid cleared

This morning I drove to the site of the now closed Whitchurch Mental Hospital as it was called in my youth, to be swabbed for my covid PCR test at one of two Portacabins set up under a large canopy in the hospital car park. My only recollection of visiting the hospital was when I was a teenager, accompanying my father to visit his younger brother Douglas, diagnosed schizophrenic, and incarcerated here after going AWOL from army boot camp at Sennybridge near Brecon, and found wandering, out of his mind, on the moors nearby. He eventually died there of throat cancer, having been a chain smoker most of his life. If I visited anyone else there pastorally as a curate in nearby Caerphilly, I don't remember, but meeting Uncle Douglas just that once, sparked my interest in mental health and sickness, which in a way contributed to my seeking a life in ordained ministry.

As I had the postcode and name of the road where the site entrance is located, it was easy to find, I arrived ten minutes early and there was no queue of cars. The entire procedure took two minutes. On my way out, I stopped and took photos of the site entrance and the screening station to post on Google Maps. My proposed annotation identifying location in the hospital grounds wasn't accepted by Google Maps, but the photos of the site entrance showed clearly enough that this is where a stranger would be able to know they'd come to the right place.

Just eleven hours later, I had a text message on my phone stating that the test was, as expected, negative also stating that I didn't need to self-isolate. The message was clearly not customised to account for the fact that the test subject in question has pre-op self isolation as a condition for surgery to proceed. This is what the pre-surgery information leaflet specifies and is what I shall do. Reading the paragraph about this in the leaflet made me realise that clauses in the prescriptive sentence are written in the wrong logical order, leading to ambiguity. Some pre-surgery recipients of the text message could conclude that because their test result is negative they need not self-isolate, on the assumption that the most recent text supercedes the leaflet advice. I'm not happy about this, but to whom can I report this instance of a risk laden mixed message?

I'm staying home and not going anywhere until Friday morning so daily exercise means pacing around the house and garden. Before last November's operation I lowered my daily target by 20% to 10,000 steps, and managed this, and a little more. I didn't bother changing it today, and easily met my 12700 step target with pauses to take phone calls, eat meals, and prepare my Thursday Morning Prayer reflection for recording tomorrow. I found confinement pacing much easier today than I did last time, a tribute to the improvement brought about by the previous round of surgery. I think I'm going to enjoy instead of endure the next couple of days of waiting.

Watch rescue

Another day of strong winds, clouds and occasional light showers, but not as bad as the past few days. We are promised warmer weather later in the week, for how long, I wonder? This week, the Parish offering of Morning Prayer six days a week starts on rotation between three lay people, Fr Rhys, Mthr Frances, now back at work half time, and myself. This seems to me a good idea, with the variety of voices, and thoughts in a brief reflection as part of the Daily Office. It would be great to add even more lay contributors as time passes and others get used to the idea that they can do it too.

Last night, I had an email request from my sister June to shop for some special 'pill' batteries for a digital clock, as she can't get out to hunt for them herself. With difficulty she'd identified the serial number on the dead battery and sent it to me. I googled the serial number and got the impression that it shouldn't be too difficult to track this type down. I went to Tesco's where I knew a variety of common battery types were on sale. There was nothing with the same serial number on the rack, but when I googled again on my phone standing awkwardly by the shelf, I found info about the serial numbers for equivalent batteries, and that made it easy to buy the right type.

I popped home and put the purchase in an envelope, then took it to the Post Office, as the envelope wasn't thin enough to travel on a single first class stamp. The counter clerk quoted me £3.50 to send the envelope but I was even more surprised when when she pushed a customs declaration towards me. "Since when" I asked, "Since when was it necessary to declare the contents of anything going from Wales to London?" Then the penny dropped "Oh, I thought you said France." she said, staring blankly at the address on the envelope.

After lunch, I walked into town and visited the digital watch stall in Central Market with both my Casio broken watches in hand, to see if the repair guy there could make one good watch out of the parts of two. He took the older one apart and inserted a new battery, but the LED screen wouldn't display fully. In working on it, he had an insight into why the one he tried to fix two weeks ago wasn't working properly. He took that one apart, fiddled about with it, and got the control buttons to work properly. Last time he changed the battery but refused to take payment because it didn't work as intended. This time I insisted on paying him although he was reluctant to let me. I'm glad to have it working again. This means I have two watches to choose from now for the first time in my life.

I rang the Public Health covid Screening centre to confirm my attendance on Tuesday, and mentioned the fact that the facility doesn't show up on Google maps, wile asking for the post code and street location, to be sure I can go straight there without having to stop and ask anyone. From this evening on I'm going to avoid others, apart from Clare, eighteen hours ahead of the test. I'm not taking any risks with surgery at last on Friday this week.

This evening I watched another episode of 'Rocco Schiavone' on Walter Presents. It's another one of those series in which the landscape is as much a star as the actors. It's interesting to have a storyline running in between episodes revealing that this tough detective with unconventional often rule breaking methods and a certain way with the women in his life is also a grieving widower who cannot let go of his wife. He has conversations with his wife about his cases and his life alone which are often philosophical and poetic and that distinguishes this series from other crimmies. Inspector Montalbano is another Italian detective with whom it's tempting to make comparison, and episodes so far have similar richness, complexity and social observations to them. It'll be interesting to see how Rocco's character develops in the dozen remaining episodes to come and how this portrayal compares with that of Montalbano. 

Summoned for screening

Another grey drizzle day. I celebrated and preached at St Catherine's this morning with two dozen others. I think some of our congregation will be going instead to the Confirmation service this afternoon, if not the Ministry Area inaugural service at 'the Res' in Ely. It's been quite a while since I celebrated and preached at this service, and I have to admit that I was nervous. 

There's a difference between ministering to a group of eight, and three to five times that number, distributed throughout the church. How to ensure you don't miss out giving Communion to anyone is the key issue. It helps to maintain a habit of walking a set course around the church each time, so you relax into the routine, but remembering what you did several months ago isn't quite so easy, and that made me nervous. I've celebrated often enough on a weekday now to relax and take the right hygiene precautions automatically now, so most of the performance of the liturgy isn't problematic, it's 'feeding the multitudes' when there are multitudes that I find difficult.

Our special treat for Pentecost Sunday lunch was a large skate wing each, with a white wine mushroom and onion sauce and roasted veggies. The white wine was a Frascati from the Colli Romani spotted on tbe shelf in Tesco's the other day. This was one of the first local wines I ever became acquainted with, back in the late seventies, when for two summers we joined a local Roman Catholic holiday group for a week at Palazzola, the English College summer quarters in a former convent above Lago di Albano. Frascati is the nearby regional capital, and the name of the wine. 

Palazzola has a wine cellar many centuries old with huge barrels of the local brew installed for serving in jugs at meal tables. In those days sulphur fuses were burned in the side opening of the barrel to sterilize the air that was let in during de-canting wine for the day. The wine itself was thin, lemonish with a hint of sulphur in taste, though not, not from sterilizing fumes, it was said, but a legacy of the volcanic soil in which the vines grew. The quality of the wine forty years on is much improved - fuller bodied with a richer citrus taste. It gives Pinot Grigio a run for its money any day, and is great for making a sauce with!

I slept for two hours after lunch and then went out for a walk down to the river. While I was standing on Blackweir Bridge I felt my phone buzz beneath the layers of waterproof and jacket. I wasn't quick enough to catch the call, from the ubiquitous 'Private Number' - it could have been Ashley, but rarely if ever on a Sunday afternoon, so I concluded it was from the hospital about my covid test. When I got home, Clare had fielded another call for me on the landline. 

I am summoned for the pre-op PCR test at a Public Health Screening drive through centre at Whitchurch Hospital Tuesday mid-morning. I'd expected an appointment on Monday given the three days quarantine requirement, but when I thought about it, the quarantine time is essentially a waiting time until the PCR test has been processed. The test wouldn't proceed if I had any covid symptoms, and self isolation is the front line defence against accidental infection meanwhile.

I wanted to know  exactly where the test site entrance is located. I googled Whitchurch Hospital and found that the hospital is marked 'Permanently Closed', and the test centre isn't tagged on the map. Disconcerting to say the least. Google same up with a year old news item relating to the opening of a screening centre on the old hospital site, which was reassuring. It's supposed to well signposted, but only when you get there, if you've gone to the right road to start with. The directions Clare received could have been a more helpful as the call handler presumed your acquaintance with the place. Something specific like a post code for the current site entrance or a street name would have been helpful. It's funny the way people tend to assume you know a place, without checking how familiar you actually are with the area.

This evening my sister June alerted us to a music documentary programme on BBC Four about guitarist John Williams. It was showing while we were eating supper, so we watched it on iPlayer following this week's episode of 'Call the Midwife'. It followed him from his emergence as a teenage classical virtuoso, just about the time I started grammar school, right through to a recent interview for the documentary. He turned eighty last month. 

In old film and video footage it portrayed his career as the consummate classical recitalist, recalling his phase of duetting with Julian Bream, his exploration of Jazz with John Dankworth and Cleo Lane and his fusion super-group Sky in the seventies, whose first LP album we bought in those days. Perhaps the best footage in the programme was a hilarious duet in which he played straight man with comedian Eric Sykes. They don't make them like that any more. 

Williams was an inspiration to me when I was a youngster trying to teach myself classical guitar. I regret not having the determination and persistence, even more than the opportunity to learn properly the music I loved. There were so many other demands and challenges to be faced when I was young. Guitar playing was always part of my life and used during my ministry in many different settings. I play rarely now that my hands and wrists are stiff and rheumaticky, but just holding my guitar brings back so many memories.

Null point

Yesterday, it was overcast again and rained all day, as it did during the night. It was late afternoon by the time I walked to Tesco's to get olives wine and baby shampoo for Clare. Then I walked to Blackweir Bridge, buffeted by the wind. The water was up by a metre since yesterday, over the top of the fish trap. Hardly anyone was out walking, though I did meet our neighbour Miriam from Bilbao who also walks daily. She said that the rain doesn't bother her, as it rains a great deal in her Basque homeland, just like it does here, I wish I could say the same. I miss the endless sun and blue skies of Andalucia, and long to return and spend time there again, whether for work or for leisure. Who knows when it will be possible?

It was a relief from frustration to wake up to sunshine this morning, albeit in a sky studded with cloud. After our ritual late lie-in and pancake breakfast I walked in the park for an hour before cooking lunch. It was only as I approached home again that it began to drizzle intermittently. More disappointment!

When I came to do my daily DuoLingo language drill, I was delighted to discover thirty new stories have been added to a list which already contains hundreds. Some stories are funny enough to raise a laugh, but their importance lies in the clever gradual insinuation of new grammatical constructions and words which change their meaning in different contexts. These can be hard to get your head around in except in the context they are used. Building up familiarity with these through simple dialogue and narrative works well to maintain interest and motivation in language comprehension and development.

By way of contrast, I'm still plodding my way through 'Winter in Madrid' an English spy novel in Spanish translation, thanks to Kath, who bought a copy at an airport bookshop in transit, and passed it on to me to read. It's a good translation which conveys well in Spanish the English ethos of the narrative. The price to be paid for this is the use of extensive Spanish vocabulary which is as rich in synonyms as English. It's not very demanding to make general sense of, but much recourse to the dictionary is needed to add colour to the story telling, which makes for slow reading of a somewhat slow uneventful story. 

I had two Spanish novela for my birthday, which will be easier to read eventually, but I'm determined to finish 'Invierno en Madrid' and hoping it'll help me to tackle other elements of Spanish literature. It's all a matter of time. Life seems quite busy these days, taking photos, exercising, blogging, language practice, following the news and church duties absorb so much time each day, that book reading gets neglected. I could do with another three hours per day, but could only achieve this by cutting down on sleep, which I'm reluctant to do, as only recently, due to the improving state of my open wound, that my sleep quality has improved, enhancing waking hours. How to get the balance right is the challenge.

Last year in Ibiza, the family held a WhatsApp Eurovision Song Contest fancy dress party as it was being broadcasted, a bit of wacky fun in a dark time. The contest was staged live from Rotterdam tonight, and for old time's sake we sat and watched. Well, I say watch, but for many of the performances flashing multi-coloured lights behind the performers were so intense that I couldn't watch. Total overkill. That was  the four hours of my life wasted that I'll never get back. Putting together a broadcast extravaganza on this scale with an audience of 3,000 plus hundreds of artists on stage given the still tight pandemic restrictions in force in the Netherlands was a colossal technical feat. Pity about the content.

Over-dramatic pauses during the announcement of the results, long video fill-ins between programme items, too much time spent watching performers lounging about waving at the camera in the 'green room' adding very little if anything to the programme. An indifferent Italian heavy metal band sang the winning song, with a massive popular vote surge springing a surprise almost at the end. Heavy metal music is popular in many former Soviet Bloc countries and Baltic nations, so that helps to explain the result.

Far superior were the two French language chansons from French and Swiss performers that took the two runners-up places. As for the rest of the two dozen songs, nothing memorable. For the second time in a row, the UK scored 'nul point' - a mediocre song badly sung by a nice guy. Given that Britain has some of the top internationally known groups and recording artists it's a bit strange that we've not had a Eurovision winner since 1997. I wonder if two successive 'nul point' scores isn't a reflection of how other people in other countries see things British post-brexit. Will questions be asked in the House of Commons?

More ministry upheaval

So disappointing after yesterday to wake up to overcast sky, blustery wind and intermittent showers from dawn to dusk. I walked to St John's and back to celebrate the Eucharist, however, without a soaking, but I had to dress in my waterproofs to go out after lunch. There were seventeen of us for the service. That's the most there's been on a Thursday since we restarted give weeks ago, perhaps the most for several years. It's to core of old faithfuls who are making the effort to come together for worship and a chance to say a quick hello to each other, as they don't have a Sunday service attend at the moment.

Sunday next the new West Cardiff Ministry Area is being inaugurated by Bishop June with an service at the 'Res' in the afternoon. She's also confirming candidates from our Parish (and maybe others) who were due to be confirmed last year, but couldn't due to a covid postponement. Monica, the organist at St John's, is being confirmed, having been raised a Baptist, and there's a class of about a dozen children too. I don't intend to go to either service. after celebrating Mass at St Catherine's on Sunday morning, I'll avoid further social gatherings. I'm due to have my pre-op pre-quarantine covid test on Monday. I'm not in the mood to take extra risks. 

Apart from that, to be honest, I would in any case stay away. I don't see the point of Ministry Areas as an extra layer of organisation between the Deanery and Parishes. I see reason in reverting to the Deanery as a key organisational unit for mission, even for making it into one big team ministry - provided the area a Deanery serves makes sense to serve as a socially cohesive unit in which collaborative ministry can function. 

In some places this can work, but in other places, some territorial revision is called for. Parish and Deanery boundaries are often ancient history on maps. Changing them legally is both time consuming and legally expensive unfortunately. I don't think that inventing a new structure is an answer. In a declining situation it seems un-natural. Rather let nature take its course. 

Church communities die, new ones are born and some are even re-born with the passage of time. Is social engineering the life of the church really compatible with the Gospel? Only time will tell if this novelty proves worth the effort, and what the losses as well as gains will be as a result. My loyalty lies with the worshipping communities I am privileged to serve and to supporting their pastors. My days of grand plans motivating others to engage with change and worrying about the outcome are thankfully behind me. 

After five weeks on sick leave Mthr Frances is re-starting part time, and having a lot of catch-up work to do as the local Ministry Area Leader. It'll be good to have her back, so that there is one permanent priest in the Parish, as Benedict leaves and Emma takes on a secondment to Fairwater until an appointment is made there. There's another upheaval about to happen to, as Fr Phelim over at St German's has announced his departure, to take on the role of full-time Area Dean in South West Birmingham. Twenty Parishes with a total population about the size of Cardiff. 

It's another initiative in managing institutional decline, re-shaping the life of the church with fewer clergy, less resources and still shrinking support. There's not much sign that a pandemic has driven the population back into the waiting arms of Mother Church so far. If decline is turned around into growth, I believe it will be due to lay initiative and activity, not clerical. It may be necessary for much of the church's present structure to fall apart and die off before that can happen again freely.

I was much cheered a few days ago to have an email from Andy and Michelle Evans about the christening of their second child now that it's safer to do this than it has been for the past year. Fr Phelim has agreed to let me take this on, and asked me to celebrate Mass at St German's that morning beforehand. This will free him to get on with necessary preparations for moving to his new job at the end of summer. I am quietly hoping that I'll be asked to spend more time over there during the vacancy. I'd love that.

iPad down and up

A day of respite from intermittent rain hail and cold wind, sunny and warm enough to go out with no top coat, proper spring weather. There were eight of us at the St Catherine's Eucharist. It was Emma's last service at St Catherine's before she goes on three month's secondment to Fairwater Parish. She will be missed, and it generates a certain level of uncertainty about how projects she initiated or catalysed will be able to continue.

I collected our organic veggy bag on the way home, and cooked what I call my Inspector Montalbano tribute lunch. Pasta with pesto mixed with spinach and carrots, and boil in the bag mussels in a white wine sauce, plus a bottle of a organic Sicilian white wine to accompany it. In all thirty of the movies based on Camillieri's novels I have never seen Salvo drink anything other than local white wine. It's not something seen here often but Lidl's had one when we visited yesterday. 

After lunch I collected our weekly grocery order from Beanfreaks, and then took my Sony Alpha 68 with me for a walk around the periphery of Llandaff Fields, equipped with a 11-18mm wide angle lens to take a succession of landscape photos of the trees whose leaf canopy is now almost fully developed. On three of the marked pitches, preparations were under way for evening cricket matches - at a guess, teams of Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi players, each group speaking a mixture of English and their national language. If there's a Caribbean team or league hereabouts, I'm not aware of it. It's just great that so much cricket is played. Most afternoons there are players practicing at the mobile nets array in a corner of the park. We're just a mile away from the SWALEC stadium, home of Glamorgan County Cricket, where there are even more practice nets, so it's understandable.

Yesterday, Clare's iPad froze on her. The touch screen stopped working, although it seemed that behind the inaccessible login screen, everything else was still working, but inaccessible. She took it to Turotech on her way into town, only to discover the shop is closed on a Wednesday. When she returned, she left the device on the kitchen worktop. I was pondering on why Apple would fail to provide the equivalent of a kill-switch and means to reboot iPad OS, as happens with all other electronic devices. 

The older iPad has a top edge button that works like a power switch to bring it out of hibernation, but no amount of prolonged pressing would shut the thing down properly. It also has a physical button below the touch screen that can take you back to the home screen whenever it's pressed. I tried pressing the two together. The screen went completely black, then after a few seconds, the Apple logo appeared and reboot started. We were both delighted to find the touch screen worked again and found out something neither of us knew before. But, why it froze when it froze is a complete mystery.

This evening, just for fun, and for practice, I made a three minute video slideshow using the photos I took this afternoon, and accompanied it with the first movement of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons'. I was quite pleased the result, and uploaded it to YouTube for the family to see.

Loss of a Brother

I took Clare to the Optometry School this morning to collect the specs she ordered, and have her inflamed eye examined. This produced some helpful advice from optician Ceri, and the curious information about Blephoritis, the condition she's suffering from. Ceri is in touch with colleagues and students of hers from all over the world via WhatsApp, and they are reporting an unprecedented surge everywhere over the past year in the number of cases of this condition. The reason hasn't been identified. It's strange when you think there's been a marked reduction in air pollution from vehicles and 'planes during the pandemic. Could it be something to do with more people have been confined indoors by lock-down, and exposed for longer each day to stale air and dust mites? It's a mystery which is likely to be the subject of research in years to come.

This afternoon, I walked right up the Taff Trail as far as Llandaff North bridge, something I haven't done in the past year. There was a mother with four growing ducklings up river from Blackweir Bridge, so that's two Mallard pairs with offspring I've seen so far this spring.

While I was out, Clare had a phone call from one of the brothers at Alnmouth Friary to tell us that Brother Raymond Christian had died, aged eighty four. We met him in our first year as undergraduates in Bristol, and kept in touch by letters, cards and occasional visits and phone calls ever since. Since our friend Mike Wilson died three years ago, he's been our oldest friend. We met him along with Mike a few months into our first term fifty eight years ago. 

He became a Franciscan Friar named Brother Christian in his late teens in Canada, as their admission age was lower than their British equivalent. I think the Canadian Anglican Franciscan experiment didn't work, but it didn't disillusion him. He returned to Britain and joined the Society of St Francis at Cerne Abbas, where he had to go through novitiate training a second time. Then, after ten years in the Order, his elderly parents had nobody to look after them, so he left and cared for them until they died, while helping out in his local parish and working as a hospital orderly. He was no stranger to personal violence. On one occasion, he was mugged at night and it took a long while to recover from his injuries, but this didn't deter him from public ministry, as a lay person and as Friar.

After a decade's absence he returned to the Order and a third time went through the novitiate, finally making his Life Profession as Brother Raymond-Christian using his baptismal name as well as his adopted 'religious' name. In the 1980s a small group of Friars lived and worked in Belfast, and he worked as a hospital orderly alongside the chaplain in a time of violent conflict. 

It's an extraordinary story of vocation, and persistent faithful endurance. He imitated the example of St Francis in the humble trusting way he lived, and coped with the pain he often suffered by identifying with the vulnerability of Christ the cross-bearer. He went into hospital for surgery and caught pneumonia while recovering. His funeral will be up at Alnmouth Friary with a memorial service at Cerne Abbas Friary a month later, both journeys out of reach for us at the moment, but we will be able to remember him in prayer and at Mass. May he rest in peace and rise in glory!

A day of qualified release

A strange 'four seasons' weather day with sunshine, clouds, gusts of wind, rain and bouts of hail catching us out across much of the country. A day too when more of the covid restrictions are being lifted around the nations of the U.K. Wales is now at Level Two in the hierarchy of restrictions. This permits pubs and restaurants to serve people indoors, small groups of people, not just those in your family bubble to meet, hug each other. Weddings and funerals can take place with thirty people as well as the infection rate is now as low as it was last summer. 

Having said that there are still infection hot-spots where the Indian covid variants are multiplying fast, and being tackled with a fast response in terms of test track, trace and isolate, plus mass vaccination in critical places. The news media talks about it being done with military precision and accuracy. Perhaps that's because the military's logistic resource and management is the basis upon which medics, both civilian and military can deliver this vital intervention and head off another wave of infection. The government has promised easing of restrictions on this date, but warned it isn't risk free. If there was any sign this tactical intervention to curb the Indian variant wasn't working, it might be necessary to halt progress. It's still a time to 'be sober be vigilant, because your adversary ... is about ...'  But, so far so good.

While the British Army is focused on helping to save lives, the Israeli army is taking lives and destroying homes and community structures in the Gaza Strip. 212 Palestinians killed among them about 40 children, and 12 Israelis killed, among them 2 children. There is no justification on either side for the loss of these lives, whether or not the adults regarded themselves as civilian or military. A dialogue of the deaf has gone on for the past eighty odd years between essentially tribal cultures that have been opposed to each other on record in the Bible for the past two and a half to three thousand years. Distrust and resentment seems to be embedded in their collective DNA. Will reconciliation between the historic tribes ever be possible? Or are they destined to play out this pathogenic script until the end of time? It's unfathomable.

Here at home, emails have been exchanged over the past 24 hours between volunteers in the Parish willing to join a rota to maintain on-line Morning Prayer, once Emma and Benedict have gone to their new duties. It's a good initiative to support Mthr Frances when she returns to duty. She won't need to 'hit the ground running', as the saying goes. I'd like to see us switch to on-line audio, and keep video for presentations in which the visual is a key element. Just doing audio is much simpler and less resource hungry, when WhatsApp on a phone so quickly eats up available memory, and requires frequent maintenance. Unfortunately, the habits formed in the past year aren't easily given up. At least it's clear the Parish on-line offer needs reviewing and revising now restrictions are being lifted.

Thanks to the antibiotics prescribed yesterday, the inflammation of Clare's eyelid has started to subside, and she has an appointment tomorrow morning at the School of Optometry to check this out, and to pick up a new pair of bi-focal specs.

I spent time this evening getting my Windows PC up to date and trying to get it to run faster, after reading an article with a series of suggestions about tweaks to achieve this. It needs such a lot of maintenance to optimise performance. According to articles I've read lately my machine is under-powered to meet the demands of current users for slick on-line conferencing and learning, not to mention video editing. The more we expect these devices to do for us, the higher the specifications needed. Linux would make better use of the system resources. I'm thinking that I may be better off making it a dual boot system, with a data partition in common, so that I can continue to use the Windows video editing apps I've learned how to use. Better than finding a Linux open source equivalent and spending hours mastering it. But do I have enough confidence and know-how to go the dual-boot route? That is the question.

Land of song

We arrived slightly late for church this morning. As we entered, the choir was singing an English version of a Taize chant which I've known and sung in French for over thirty years, without knowing the English. We're not back to congregational singing yet, but under the cover of my face mask I sang along quietly anyway, a reminder of those family stop-overs in Taize on summer holidays, and the one glorious year when I worked for USPG and stayed a week in Eastertide.

For the benefit of the congregation, Emma announced Fr Benedict's departure for Whitchurch, and her own temporary secondment to Fairwater, although it had been announced to the PCC on Thursday, so most people present already know, and I suspect are still stunned by the suddenness of the change while Francis is off sick. What impact all this has on church attendance and support is yet to unfold. Already the organisational changes demanded of parishes constituting the new Ministry Area are disconcerting for some who don't see good reason for the changes. 

It's all being driven from the top down and it seems to me that diocesan leadership is acting in crisis mode when it would benefit from more widespread consultation with grass roots members, It's difficult admittedly, when proper conferencing has been impossible for over a year, but top down managerial style leadership has been in the ascendancy for the past decade in the Church in Wales. Reducing its body of supporters to passivity isn't a recipe for rescue or growth, but rather resentment. That's not good for a community whose vitality comes from its interactive participatory worship and fellowship. How vital it is then for us clergy volunteers to sustain a healthy dialogue with God, when the hierarchy seems to be unaware of how its actions are being received at the grass roots level.

After lunch I walked along the Taff, still swollen from recent heavy rain, though the water level is lower than it was a few days ago. There was no sight of the Mallard ducklings, just a few pairs paddling hard to stay in the same spot, heaven knows why. Only one small outcrop of river bed rock was visible above the water, and on it was perched a Merganser female. There were no fewer than three male suitors in a line downstream of the rock, paddling furiously to stay in positon. Quite comic really.

Over the past few days, Clare's left eyelid has been worryingly swollen with a condition called Blepharitis, due to blocked lubrication glands. It might be a peculiar pollen, or pollution or an infection that causes it, but it's worrying because of the impact it could have on the tear duct surgery she had some years ago to mitigate the impact of advancing glaucoma. She sought telephone advice from our GP on Friday, and was referred to her optician, but no appointment was possible before next week. So yesterday she obtained an emergency appointment with an optician in Llandaff who prescribed an eye ointment.But it didn't stop the condition worsening. 

This afternoon she had a telephone consultation with at doctor at Heath Hospital A&E, albeit not an eye doctor. They were very busy and it took several hours for it to happen, but the outcome was a just-in-case antibiotic prescription. This was faxed directly to the emergency weekend pharmacy down in Cardiff Bay Retail Park for collection, so we drove down there at six. We had to wait a while as the prescription hadn't yet arrived, but were back home again in just over an hour. Talking to sister in law Ann, Clare learned that her late brother Eddy was susceptible to the same eye condition, so there may be a genetic component in there somewhere, who knows?

While I was waiting in the car I listened to an interview on BBC Wales by Roy Noble with a Rhondda historian, Dean Powell, about his book 'A Royal Choir for Wales'. His book is the fruit of research into the emergence of Welsh male voice choirs during the industrial era in South and North Wales. It seems that in the 19th century there was fierce tribal rivalry between two big Rhondda Fawr choirs, when it came to choral competitions. Punch-ups at the pit-head or in the pubs, betting on Eisteddfod  results, attempts to bribe judges and so on. I can imagine a wonderful movies out of this story, full of uplifting music and surreal comedy! 

There was indeed for the span of a century a Royal Welsh Male voice choir, so called as it sang for Queen Victoria, and a line of British Monarchs and Prime Ministers since. The 400 strong choir went on several world tours by ship, lasting one or two years, depending on where the gigs were. After the closure of the pits, choir recruitment went into decline, and in many places this highly popular form of recreation died as its ageing faithful members died - a bit like the church these days. Then after a spell of twenty years male voice choirs re-emerged with a new generation of younger singers, and much more varied repertoire, as exemplified by 'Only Men Allowed'. Before the pandemic Cardiff was said to be home to twenty different  male voice and mixed voice choirs. Many of them have continued, despite the difficulties, working on-line but once restrictions of singing are lifted, I wouldn't be surprised to see a resurgence popularity in choral singing, as a celebration of regained freedom and creativity.

In St Catherine's at the moment we have a choir of four to six people singing a couple of items for us at the Sunday Eucharist. Months of Mass with no music really made me appreciate what we lacked, and it's a joy to have them back, doing what they love again. Choir member Sue, an adept seamstress has in the past made purple cassocks for choristers. Recently she turned her hand to matching face-masks. It's a stylish response to the onerous necessity of being masked in church. It made me wonder about Spanish penitentes in the Semana Santa processions. They don't all wear long pointed hoods. Many of them wear a decorative face mask and head covering, to conceal their appearance - or is there really more to this than meets the eye? Given the number of times over centuries old cities were afflicted by plague I wouldn't be surprised..

Virtuoso video

Another lazy Saturday morning. A lie-in then pancakes. Departure of clergy means not only additional church services to undertake, but also on-line reflections and Morning Prayer slots to fill. The Parish is fortunate to have three retired clergy as well as Fr Rhys as a self supporting priest. Together with several laity we'll be able to keep up a reduced offer on-line until Mthr Frances returns and reviews the changed situation.

I had an email this morning from Andy and Michelle, whose wedding I did four years ago, the christened their first born. A second child was born before lock-down, and it became impossible to organise a second christening. Now restrictions are easing, it's possible to work towards a summer date for the christening. It depends on continued progress in keeping contained the fast spreading Indian virus variant. Over the next few days news media is likely to obsess on the matter of whether or not progress to open up will need to be halted.

After lunch, I walked down to the Bay Wetland nature reserve. There weren't many birds around, although I did see a couple of stopover Brent Geese, some swallows, and a strange all black pidgeon. I got several photos of a couple practicing Aikido in Hamadryad Park. My wound got rather uncomfortable after I had walked for an hour and a half, so I caught the number six bus back to the centre, and the the 122 Tonypandy Bus back to Pontcanna.

After supper we watched and listened to a recording of a 'live' concert with a small audience at RWCMD of Chopin piano works, played superbly by Llyr Williams. We used Clare's computer to stream it, and sat on the bed opposite side by side, as if we were young students again. Llyr's playing was masterly in technique and powerful in emotional expression. So refreshing and inspiring. 

Then, some time before bed uploading photos, and maintaining photo files on my desktop workstation. I am particularly bothered by the slowness of Windows 10 in loading programs, and managing files. It's got worse in the two years since I bought it. I will end up converting it to Linux at this rate. I an't see how I could get it to run any faster.

Ministry upheaval

Fortunately, no rain today, warmer with the sun peeping through the clouds occasionally. After the daily reflection upload, breakfast and prayers, a walk to the GP surgery to get my medication prescription and then pick up the pills from the pharmacy opposite. After lunch and a snooze, a walk around Thompson's Park and Llandaff Fields. On my way home, I saw a young girl with what I thought was a tiny sausage dog on a lead. When I looked more closely, I realised the creature was a handsome sleek coated ferret. It's something I've never seen before! 

The weekly Parish newsletter arrived this afternoon, announcing the departure of Fr Benedict, who is to join the Whitchurch Ministry Area for the rest of his curacy. In addition Mthr Emma is being seconded for three months to Fairwater Parish at the other end of our Ministry Area, for an interim ministry until a new parish priest is appointed there. Mthr Frances is still on sick leave. For her to return to a situation in which two colleagues have departed, leaving her as the sole full time priest is, to my mind, an insensitive move. The three of us who are retired clergy living in the Benefice will doubtless fill in some of the gaps in the everyday duties of ministry, but the burden of responsibility for the three churches still remains with the Rector. Surely there could have been a better way to deal with the situation?

After supper we sat and listened to the early Miles Davis album Walkin' together for the first time. Owain sent it to me in MP3 form last spring in Ibiza, along with several others of Miles, and that was the first time I'd listened to it since I was a teenager. When Clare went up early to bed, I watched another episode of 'Inspektor Falke' on my Chromebook, a morality tale about what happens to a neighbourhood watch group when vehement social media activists make it mutate into a vigilante group capable of criminal acts. We need reminders of the dangers of social media operating in a climate of uncertainty and fear, over all kinds of common concern.

Under the cloud at Ascension

Ascension Day, with the whole region under a layer of cloud, rather than under blue sky and sunshine, as is hoped for in mid-May. I did my daily reflection upload to WhatsApp on waking, then walked to Saint John's to celebrate the Eucharist. Fifteen of us were present, the most since Thursday services resumed last month. I wonder when Sunday services will resume?

On my way to church I noticed a vehicle queuing at the Canton Cross lights with a camera mounted on a telescopic pole, in hi-viz livery. At first sight I thought it was a Google Street View camera car. Closer inspection revealed it was a Cardiff Council traffic enforcement vehicle. I think it may be patrolling to identify vehicles which are parked where they shouldn't be. Number plate recognition would identify the vehicle for the issue of penalty notices. Traffic wardens could then be directed to the vehicle to place the penalty notice under the windscreen wiper - this still happens locally. 

What interests me is whether this technology is used in relation to the huge delivery vehicles which so often block through roads, if not park on pavements obstructing pedestrians. They may only be parked for a few minutes, but this can still generate congestion, and put walkers at risk. Using large delivery vehicles creates economies of scale in moving goods around, but who is costing the congestion and pollution that results. A radical overhaul is needed to the way our economic infrastructure works in our crowded cities.   

Clare was in kindergarten again this morning, by the skin of her teeth. The bus she takes to get there was unable to ge through, due to congestion caused by a traffic accident. Waiting at the stop with her was a doctor going to work at a hospital on the bus route, with a scheduled appointment ahead of him. In the end he called for a taxi, and gave Clare a lift to school, so she got there just in time.

New housing developments north west of Cardiff are already leading to increase traffic flow into the city through Llandaff. Now things are getting back to normal, people are moving around more normally and with the change to traffic flowing through the centre, there's additional congestion at junctions a mile or so out of town. The impact on local traffic is noticeable already and it's several years before the those new suburbs will be populated. It's hard to see how public transport networks will adapt to compensate. 

At the moment covid precautions are limiting the number of bus and train passengers that can be taken or want to travel. I suspect it's going to get worse. At certain times of day already, pollution from traffic is much more noticeable after a year of limited travel leaving the air a lot fresher. It makes you realise what we got used to living with, and it's no good for anyone's health.

I had lunch ready as Clare arrived home. Afterwards, I sat down to relax and fell asleep. When I woke up and thought about going for a walk, it was raining, and kept on raining into the evening, so I had to wear my rain-gear. It amazes me to see several football games in such wet and slippery conditons. I guess players are so glad to resume, that rain is no deterrent to them.

I watched one of the earliest episodes of the first season of NCIS after supper. Interesting to see how the various permanent characters presented themselves, compared to now, eighteen years on. What got my attention even more was the kind of technology in use then, as compared to now - clamshell mobile phones, PDAs (remember them?), CRT monitors with webcams perched on top of them etc. Two decades of technical development portrayed in a crime based soap opera!

Tribute to visionary thinkers

Just after eight again this morning I uploaded to the Parish prayer WhatsApp group my reflection for the day. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's and afterwards drank coffee in the garden with Emma from a flask I took with me in response to the invitation in the weekly newsletter to post Eucharist socially distanced fellowship time. Only half of the eight people who attended stayed on, but it did give me an opportunity for a welcome chat with Emma.

After lunch, I fetched the week's grocery order from Beanfreaks, and then went for a walk in the park. On returning home I had an idea about a suitable sermon for Pentecost Sunday, the week after next, so I sat down and wrote a complete draft in the hour before supper.

I watched an interesting documentary on BBC Four about the bombing raid on Canning Town during the London blitz, and how it exposed the woeful lack of preparedness to deal with those whose homes had been destroyed. An overcrowded temporary rest centre in a local primary school was bombed with the loss of over two hundred lives, because of the disorganised emergency response to the result of bombing night after night for weeks. Seven thousand bombs fell on a district of poor working class people, living in crowded conditions. 

Investigative journalist Ritchie Calder, working for the Daily Herald became a critic of government and local authority attitudes and inaction, advocating a more integrated approach to addressing the need of the most vulnerable. Eventually Churchill appointed Henry Willink, MP for Croydon as Minister of Health, and as well as tackling the most critical concerns of the homeless and displaced, he drafted the first integrated policy documents that led to the foundation of the Welfare State. It was a valuable lesson in the social history of the years before I was born. In Wales, we all know about Nye Bevin and the NHS and Ritchie Calder I'd heard of, but Henry Willink I'd never heard of before. All people to whom I owe the quality of life I've enjoyed throughout my life.

One more step on recovery road

Sunshine and showers today, and it's a bit warmer, more like May is expected to be. I uploaded today's reflection, audio and text to WhatsApp shortly after eight. After breakfast, Clare went off to Cowbridge with a friend for a study session in a group member's garden. A pleasant outing for her. I went to the GP surgery with my prescription request and collected Clare's eye medication from the Treganna Pharmacy before cooking lunch. 

I drove to Llandough Hospital for an ultrasound scan this afternoon. On my way back I went to PC World at Culverhouse Cross to buy a new cartridge for my lazer printer but found the store no longer stocks lazer ink cartridges, so I'll have to order one on-line instead. The Currys PC World in the city centre closed for good during the pandemic. Now they only have superstores on the eastern and western sides of Cardiff. So much of their business has moved on-line in the past couple of years. The superstores are in effect giant showrooms for all kinds of consumer goods, and are not well frequented by clients. I wonder how long they will last? Interestingly enough there are dozens of ink-jet cartridges available in store. These truly are money spinners, as they don't last long. In contrast, a lazer ink cartridge can deliver ten thousand copies and last several years. Anyway, there was an Aldi next door, so I bought a couple of bottles of wine to take home instead.

For the first time since last summer the Fountain Community Choir in which Clare sings met to practice at St Catherine's, following all the covid secure requirements which the Parish sticks to religiously. Also the Parish Brownie pack met again, in the church grounds rather than in the hall, but these small steps are welcome hopeful signs of return to normality. Once my last operation is done, I'll consider a return to singing again. I've not felt able to sing with others this past few years. It calls for a certain energy that I have lacked, whether its physical or emotional I don't know, but when the time is right and the Spirit moves, it'll be possible.

While Clare was out I watched the last episode of the second series of New Amsterdam, which finally showed up on the More Four home page, and then a long episode of 'Inspector Falke', dealing with a case that involved asylum seekers, covert gay relationships in a homophobic setting, drug dealing and police corruption, not to mention the murder of a woman during a police hunt - very complex and a last minute twist in the revelation of which copper was corrupt. 

Sheep without a Shepherd

Up at eight this morning to upload to WhatsApp the audio and text reflections prepared for this first day of Christian Aid week. After breakfast and prayers, I read a chapter of Akala's remarkable book 'Natives' about the persistence class divisions and racism in British Society over centuries. It's hard hitting, honest and accurate in its perceptions. It's also very well written. Clare made rye sourdough pizzas for lunch and we ate very early, as she had to leave early to take the bus across to Rumney to have her hair done, as I'd arranged to meet Rufus at the time when she needed a lift across town. She hadn't mentioned this to me in advance unfortunately.

Rufus came to visit from Leominster after lunch for our first face to face chat since last autumn. We drank coffee outside Cafe Castan and then walked around Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields. It was good to see him looking fit and well, to hear how his ministry is working out there and what future plans he's working on for early retirement and an experiment in self-supporting future ministry. The best thing is that he'll be returning to live in Wales. The number of people looking for pastoral care and support doesn't decrease. New ways to look after the 'sheep without a shepherd' badly need exploring, by those of us on the edge of the institutional church rather than at the centre fighting to preserve itself.

Due to the catastrophic decline of support, reduction in full-time ministerial posts, leaves more people than ever without pastoral help and support at critical moments in their lives. In retirement I've worked with scores with people on the fringes or beyond the reach of conventional pastoral ministry, during times of bereavement on top of my locum ministry in parishes. The need was there already and slowly growing over the past decade. It will continue to increase with fewer full time clergy. The economic impact of the pandemic on church adherence and support will exacerbate the trend. It must be a nightmare managing church resources to ensure remaining full time clergy (and pensioners like me) get paid.

It's really too early to say what is going to happen to church attendance and committed membership post pandemic. Reforms in the institutional church are necessary for economic reasons, but deeper reform and renewal to address pastoral concerns is needed way above and beyond finances. On-line worship was a stop-gap of sorts, born out of pastoral concern, addressing the crisis, but how does it figure in the long term picture? Streaming services might be a good idea for showcasing what different kinds of Christian worship is all about but does every parish need to do it, or just key centres of excellence? Who does it serve, once people are free to assemble for prayer again? 

What if people lose the habit of regular churchgoing altogether and find they don't miss it? What if people find that they can find fellowship, encouragement and solace from purely secular associations, and no longer find the habitual teaching and mind-set of church community relates to their altered life experience? What are the chances of a mass religious revival of the kind that marked the evolution of church life from the seventeenth to twentieth century? We cannot tell. The Spirit works in unpredictable ways, not subject to analysis or calculation. All we can do is wait patiently through a time of uncertainty, and be ready to respond in trust and love to whatever happens - and maybe experiment a little as well. 

I had a phone call this evening from my old friend Chris who is also destined to retire early from full time ministry later in the year. He's wondering how he'll be able to carry on pastoring in the community where he will still be living in retirement, as his wife is still a serving cleric in a neighbouring parish. It's an interesting conundrum which couldn't have existed in the church before the 1980s when women began to be ordained priest in Anglican churches. With all that's going on at the moment, my concern is that all the energy of our leadership hierarchy is invested in managing our way out of crisis, back to some new kind of ecclesiastical normal, rather than focusing on the practicalities of pastoral care and mutual support, on which authentic ecclesial community thrives.

Job Done

Up and out of bed by eight this morning, giving me plenty of time to get ready to walk over to St Luke's to preach at the the Parish Eucharist in support of Mthr Emma presiding, in recovery with laryngitis. There were twenty of us present including an organist and choir of four.

We had lunch at Stefano's at twelve thirty - our first restaurant treat of the year, then returned home and had an hour's siesta, vital, as I had to drive over to Bristol to visit Owain at home, and obtain his signature on a banking mandate to transfer signatures from him and me to James, Amanda's son, who is going to be looking after her trust fund hereafter.

Owain took me to Trooper's Hill, one of his regular therapeutic walks, to enjoy the view. It's a celebrated conservation area, once a 18th century copper smelting industrial site, with an original furnace chimney. left to mark the spot. On the way there we walked along Strawberry Lane through a verdant valley where waste land has been transformed into allotments in recent years, a wonderful witness to what can be done with spare unused plots of land. 

I drove from Owain's place in Redfield to Amanda's place in Southmead to deliver the bank documents in twenty minutes, as the roads were quiet. Normally it would take double the time. It was satisfying to hand over the historic trust fund dossier and signatory document. They'll be in good hands in future. One thing less for me to worry about.

Amanda's in good form. She now has an electric wheelchair and is able to get out of the house on her own without needing carers with her. The next step is an electric bed, which enables her to get in and out without needing assistance. It will free her even more from depending on carers, and put her more in control of her life. I'm thrilled that technologies are now available to people via the NHS, enabling them to live more fulfilling lives. We're all better off as a result, I'm sure.

It was gone eight by the time I got back home, tired and hungry. That's the most I've done in a day for a long while - driving nearly a hundred miles, and walking a total of eight miles. So grateful to have the health and strength to be this active, after a difficult year.

Wet Saturday

Back to gray skies and torrential rain again today. We woke up and had our pancake breakfast late, then with nothing better to do, went back to bed for a late, lazy lie-in, until eleven. Clare was keen for me to try out an armchair in John Lewis' as we're thinking of replacing one of our unsatisfactory sofas with separate chairs. So we took the 63 bus into town, all dressed up in our rain-gear, and visited John Lewis' furniture department. Outdoors it was cold and drizzling. In the store on the third floor, it was pretty warm, dressed for the street as we were. 

After a satisfactory inspection of the armchair - fabric colour to be decided next week, we headed for home. Clare caught the bus and I walked along the river. There must have been heavy rain in the Brecon Beacons overnight, as the water level was up about a metre from yesterday, just covering the fish ladder on the weir. Lunch was ready by the time I reached home, curried prawns with rice and Swiss chard.

Earlier in the day, I exchanged messages with Emma who hasn't yet fully recovered from laryngitis which little Ned brought home from nursery. I offered to spare her voice by preaching and reading the Gospel and intercessions if needs be, and she agreed. We'll be at St Luke's together tomorrow. After lunch I wrote the sermon, reflecting on the meaning of the phrase 'Abide in me.' I enjoyed doing that.

Then I took some time out to watch an episode of the second series of stories about the German detective 'Inspector Falke' on More Four. I think I watched the first series about three years ago. As ever, modern crimmies often deal with crimes relating to current social issues. This one was bang up to date, reflecting the rise of the far right in Germany, resentment against immigrants and Brussels also the indifference if not complacency and ignorance of some young people (though not all by any means) about the value of their own citizenship and social responsibility. A script that exposes the vernacular debate about German society, its past and where it's headed. Not too distant from the conditions in this country really, before and after brexit.

I was relieved to hear that Welsh Labour has secured half the seats in the new term of the Senedd, with Mark Drakeford continuing, at least for the rest of this year as First Minister. It's the endorsement which he and the party deserve for carefully steering their own course this past few years, and not succumbing to the misfortunes that English Labour has brought upon itself. Faithfulness to context is everything when it comes to good politics I guess. Despite the array of nay-sayers, Welsh Assembly government has done its best, given the limitations imposed on it by Westminster. I don't think you need to campaign fruitlessly for independence. A viable case for transferring more responsibility and power for self determination can be made that unites more citizens than it divides. I'd love to see Wales prove this point in practice.

Time of reckoning

Another bright cold sunny day, but I didn't go out until after lunch. After breakfast I recorded all six of the reflections I've written for next week's Parish WhatsApp group, and then edited them with Audacity. It's good to have this ready to go before the weekend.

I went down to the Taff this afternoon with the long lens attached to my Alpha 68. I got some nice shots of a Mallard mother with four ducklings, and then walking further down the river, saw another Mallard with a brood of eight much smaller chicks. They were harder to photograph, however as their coloration against the clear dark brown riverbed, with a shallow covering of water made them difficult to see let alone focus on. I bumped into Gareth and his wife from church, and we talked about ducklings on the river. He said that Mallards may start with eight ducklings, but it's not unusual to lose half of them to predators in the first weeks of growth.

I had an interesting conversation this afternoon with the Church in Wales Safeguarding Coordinator, who called to put me in touch with former police officer whose mother was a St John's city parishioner which I was Vicar there. He used to bring her to church in her wheelchair, and I took her Communion at home when she could no longer attend, and eventually I officiated at her funeral. We lost touch after I retired, and now he's retired, and is part on the 'White Ribbon' initiative, which works with men prone to violence against women. I suspect that in his years on the force he must have seen enough to motivate him.

This evening we watched the incoming Senedd election results on telly. Welsh labour seems to have done better than its English counterpart, thanks to the steady intelligent moderate leadership shown throughout the pandemic by First Minister Mark Drakeford. The full results won't be in until tomorrow, so we don't yet know if there'll have to be a coalition with a second part for the political status quo to continue.

Fishy story and a movie masterpiece

It's bright sunny weather and not pouring with rain for today's elections for the Welsh Senedd and Crime Commissioner. That might encourage a higher voter turn-out, with added reassurance that polling stations will be run according to covid secure protocols. Just bring your own pencil. Clare and I submitted our postal votes two weeks ago, as we've done for the past twenty years. We probably won't know the result until Saturday. I do hope Mark Drakeford is re-elected, as he's served the nation well during the pandemic, with his clear, sober, measured manner of communication. 

News, as I woke up this morning, of sixty French fishing boats gathering in the waters around the port of St Helier Jersey to protest about the issues relating to the requirement for them hold a license to fish in UK waters around the Channel Islands, as part of the post-Brexit trade deal. Yesterday the French government made threatening noises about cutting of the island's electricity supply if this wasn't resolved - you have to wonder what sort of fools in government are appointed to make inflammatory comments of this kind. The British government is equally capable of such stupidity however. It seems to be a common affliction among people who think they have power and authority to speak out publicly with little thought for the impact - or do reporters fan the flames by confusing off the record gossip with public statement? 

By lunchtime, there were two UK fishery protection vessels monitoring the situation and two French patrol boats, and conversation about the issue was already taking place. The new EU-UK trade deal which was recently announced grants that historic Channel Island fishing rights in UK waters are retained by the neighbouring French fishermen, but they need a license to support this. More paper-work, easy on-line if you have time and back office support to apply, but many of the fishermen are small business operations that may not have that support. Some have applied for licenses but not yet received them. Is the system not working? Not yet fit for purpose? There is another issue, a bit more embarrassing to be faced.

Those applying for licenses have to state the size and type of catch landed annually. This is important for the conservation of fish stocks, something the UK government is trying to be more zealous about. There is a suggestion that more fish is being taken than the conservation quota allows - probably true for both the French and British fleets - the French complain they've not had to give this precise information before, when all was regulated by Brussels. 

Over-fishing has quietly gone on for generations. It's hard enough for small fishermen to make a living at the best of times. The real enemies of marine conservation are large scale trawling enterprises, that scour the seabeds and destroy vital habitat. Their 'productivity' drives down the price of fish. They profit, small businesses suffer from reduced income. It's not fair. If only our proudly 'independent' government would really put some effort into clamping down on those who are doing the damage to our environment, even if it meant the price of fish were to increase significantly 

After breakfast and morning prayer, I walked to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist. Again there were fourteen of us present. Then, back home to cook lunch ready for Clare's arrival from kindergarten. As promised earlier in the week, I booked us a table for Sunday lunch this weekend at Stefano's. It'll be our first restaurant meal this year. I hope it's warm enough on their little patio. It's still unseasonable cold as well as wet, despite promises of hot weather to come.

On my walk down to the Taff after lunch, I spotted the first brood of four Mallard ducklings on the river with their mother. What surprised me was how big they seemed. In previous years, the first ducklings seen have been smaller, and there have been as many as eight of them in a brood. I'm sure I would have noticed them earlier if they'd been out there, as I walk by the river most days. I wonder if the cold wind of the past couple of weeks has had any influence on their late appearance?

This evening we watched the masterpiece movie 'Citizen Kane' by Orson Wells. I think it's the first time I watched it with some understanding. The last time I saw it was about fifty years ago, and then maybe I didn't see the entire movie, and wasn't as visually aware as I have become since I started taking photos forty years ago. I was intrigued at the scene on the night when Kane stands for election as Governor of NYC, his newspaper readies two possible next day front page headlines announcing news of the result: 'Kane Elected Governor' and 'Electoral Fraud!' The movie was made in 1943. Did Trump model himself on Citizen Kane, I wonder?

The movie was followed by a documentary about Orson Wells as an artist as well as film auteur, visiting the many places where he lived and worked, revealing the influences they had on his creations - a lifetime's sketchbooks and paintings as well as movies. It was fascinating, and the narrator didn't talk about Wells, but rather addressed him throughout, as in a eulogy for someone still living. A powerful device which put it on a different level to the average documentary. An inspiring evening of telly - for a change.

A matter of taste

Another day of bright sunshine and could, cold currents of air and sudden outbursts of torrential rain and even hail; weather that can be very destructive of crops. Clare's french beans continue to flourish indoors. She's like to put them outside to acclimatize before transplanting them, but unpredictable conditions are a bit of a deterrent at the moment, to we talk to the plants instead, as if they were pets. 

I went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist after breakfast and was greeted by Fr Benedict at the church gate. Mother Emma had lost her voice, could I stand in for her? He'd prepared everything, in case I didn't turn up, to take a service of the Word and administer the reserved sacrament. All I had to do was say yes, and then find an alb that fitted in the sacristy cupboard. For once, I'd left my phone switched off after charging and missed an email, a WhatsApp message and a call from Fr Benedict, causing mild panic, although he's more than capable of doing what he was ready to do. It's really nice to have an assistant Curate who really understands what it means to be in Deacon's orders.

After the service, I started walking into town to visit the market and get the batteries changed in a couple of watches - one with a conventional face which my sister June gave me, and a classic Casio cheap digital watch I've worn for past forty years. It's curious that my late sister Pauline gave me the Casio about fifteen years ago. It was identical to the two identical ones I'd had over the twenty five years before that which became unserviceable. 

My late brother in law Geoff was a life-long watch fanatic with a huge collection. He'd learned the watchmaker's art from his father. His son, my nephew Jules is also a keen collector. At some time in the past my cheap Casio digital must have attracted comment, leading to me justifying my attachment to this little un-stylish device. Pauline heard this and didn't forget.

The Casio digital was one of the early cheap electronic consumer designs that persisted for the past forty years or so. Batteries and straps have been replaced several times on each of my watches every three or four years. It's not the most streamlined shape, the design could be more stylish but its plastic and metal shell shows little sign of wear and tear. That makes it a superior example of consumer industrial design, reliable, durable, simple to operate. What does it matter if some people think it's a bit naff to wear one?

Anyway, as I set out, it started to rain heavily, so I took a 17 bus from Cowbridge Road East. It's the first time since last autumn that I've taken one. It was so good to see Cardiff Market bustling with life again, and the watch repair stall lit up and busy. There was good news and sad news. The analogue watch works fine, but my Casio doesn't work properly any longer. Last week the watch face went dead. After the watch mender worked on it, he still couldn't get it to display. As I have another with a dead battery and no strap at home, we agreed that I'd bring that one in and he'd see if he could make one working watch from two. When I got home and took the watch from pocket, the display worked. The time was almost right, though not the day or date. One of its control buttons was so recessed into the case it's no wonder it didn't work properly. Well, I may get lucky I guess, when I take both dead Casios with me on my next visit. We'll see.

Walking back through Bute Park there was a team of gardeners out tidying the flower beds, making space ready for the next round of planting. We see the results of their work daily, but don't often see the people who do the work, so I stopped and said thank you for the good cheer their work offered during lock-down. Then I had a chat with one of the litter picking team working nearby. We both wondered if it would ever be possible to educate citizens to dealing responsibly with their own rubbish and not just leaving it for others to deal with. It's the sort of moan we old geezers have among ourselves.

I collected this week's organic veggy bag from Conway Road. We were glad to find some fine radishes in this week's delivery for the first time this season, freshly pulled this morning and with their greenery still bright and fresh. Are these greens eatable she wondered, and googled for an answer. As a result she later made a jar of pesto using radish leaves, almonds, olive oil, lemon juice and pepper. An interesting taste, a little on the bitter side, so choosing what to eat with the pesto is worth considering carefully. The radishes themselves, however, go well with smoked salmon.

It's funny how long it can take you to get around to tackling small issues, which causing mild annoyance. Last year when I was pacing around the garden of the Chaplain's residence in Ibiza, I spent a lot of time listening to Jazz and Latin American music on my phone. One of several Buena Vista Social Club albums on the phone's SD card had duplicate tracks. I thought there was something I didn't understand about the MP3 player I was using, put up with it, and then forgot about it for a long while. This afternoon while I was writing, I revisited the album, got annoyed and resolved to figure out what the problem was. 

No, it wasn't the MP3 player, as it turned out, but a duplicate album reluctant to show up in searches. At some stage in an effort to tidy up my music library, I must have copied the album to a new location instead of moving it. Well, now it's fixed, but what a fiddle! It took me half an hour to figure it out as I couldn't do it just on my phone. With the aid of the new USB-C link cable I bought a couple of weeks ago, linking the phone to my Chromebook to view its file system made the hidden duplicate. easier to spot. How anyone can live their on-line lives just on a phone, I'll never know.

Clare's upgrade

It was nice to wake up to sunshine, even if there were showers on and off later in the day. This morning's 'Thought for the Day by Tina Beattie was interesting, as it was a reflection on Sunday's episodes of 'Call the Midwife' and 'Line of Duty' which went out on BBC One in tandem. The former she said, highlighted compassion, while the latter highlighted justice, both core Christian values which all need to take to heart.

Late morning, I walked down to Tourotech, our local independent geek store before lunch and bought Clare a two year old refurbished Core i5 laptop with 8GB RAM and a 250GB SSD. It was already set up with a Windows 10 single user area, and a small assortment of free software, but Clare wanted to continue with Linux Mint so installing that was my next job. 

But first I drove her over the the University School of Optometry to get an adjustment made to her new specs. The installation only took twenty minutes. Copying her data from old too new device to two hours. The only thing I had trouble with was getting wi-fi to work, even after correctly installing and configuring the software. I stopped at six and completed my walk for the day later than usual, listening to the Archers on my phone while I was out. Today's episode was interesting as it was all about the christening of Alice's newborn - her chat with the Vicar and the grannies getting the christening party ready.

It turns out that wi-fi works if Secure Boot is switched off. There may be a workaround but I have yet to discover it. For the most part, the new laptop involves little or no new learning or changing of habits for Clare, and that's what counts. This machine has Mint's Mate desktop, and is quite pleasing to the eye as well as being familiar in its function.

If only Windows 10 was as easy to tailor consistently to one's own needs without forever swamping the user with annoying nags and notifications. Chromebooks are better still, but not as flexible as Linux, and you have to adapt to them, as customistion is only possible in a limited way. Interestingly Google didn't send me a whole load of security notifications when I set up Chrome Browser and Firefox for email purposes on Clare's new machine. Same operating system, from same I.P. address, but different hardware seems to have gone un-noticed.