Although I'm sleeping deeply I' still wake in the night with low level pain and discomfort I need to deal with if I'm to settle back to sleep again. That way I lose an hour or so, and need a siesta to compensate. I can go without if needs be, but then tiredness accumulates and that's not a good idea. This morning I woke up before eight, and listened to BCP Choral Matins from Windsor Castle on Radio Four in bed.
It was abridged to fill the time slot and contained a homily - beautifully done. It was to mark the centenary of the late Duke of Edinburgh's birth that the broadcast came from St George's Chapel, and I think he'd approve of it, being utterly traditional, short and right to the point. It was lovely for me to lie there and pray the words of the old Office by heart. They have been part of my life since I started attending church regularly and singing in the choir over sixty years ago.
As this that wasn't enough I took a turn as celebrating and preaching at the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist, now allowed to be Choral, which meant that I could sing the priest's part for the first time in a couple of years. Hopefully the ban on congregational singing will be lifted soon as well. I found this experience both uplifting and moving. It was a morning when Clare was scheduled to read, and be a welcome steward. We've done this together a couple of times, and enjoy it. Today she had to cope on her own as I had to get everything ready for Mass - there were two dozen of us, many away for half term I guess,
Suture removal hasn't only put a spring back in my step (I caught myself jigging from one foot to another to the music as I walked around Tesco's yesterday afternoon), it's reconnected me with the desire to sing effortlessly. This is perhaps the strangest consequence of having a tiny foreign body piercing close to my vagus nerve. It was subtle, rarely painful but it made music making an effort, not wanting to pick up the guitar or wanting to sing. A distinctive subversion of well-being. To stand at the altar singing again was a foretaste of heavenly bliss - I can't say more. We've both decided we're going to join the church choir now that it's likely the restriction on numbers will be lifted fairly soon.
I walked down to Blackweir after lunch and a short siesta. There were hundreds of people in small groups picnicking, playing music, enjoying the sunshine, some youngsters paddling in the water or jumping off the bridge into the deep part by the fish trap - a delightful picture of summer normality. Then I walked to St Luke's for a service of Meditation and Benediction in honour of Corpus Christi weekend with a group of ten of us. I walked home chatting with our friend Diana, such a pleasant change from sending messages to each other on-line.
When I got back Clare was talking to our friend Peter in Itzehohe near Hambourg, who had a double lung transplant recently. We first spoke to him the day after the operation a month ago and were amazed to see him already so responsive and invigorated after nine hours of surgery. He went went for a rehabilitation course at a Nordzee coastal resort before returning home, Today he's been out riding a bike. Astonishing!
We talked for over an hour while I ate supper, and then we watched the first episode of a three part drama called 'Time', and authentic claustrophobic portrayal of prison life seen from the perspective of inmates and officers. It was hard to watch, so brutally honest about life behind bars. For all its best intentions the prison system doesn't stop people re-offending and many prisoners have mental health conditions on entry or while they are incarcerated. It's not working to rehabilitate offenders, so why does Britain persist with a system that's clearly failing in its own aims?
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