What's in a name?

A slow start to the day. The morning just seemed to disappear, although I succeeded in recording the audio for next week's Morning Prayer video before lunch. 

In the afternoon, I walked into town through Bute Park for a look around. The park illuminations, skating rink in the Castle grounds and the Winter Wonderland attractions are all closed now and being dismantled. There weren't great crowds of sale shoppers around. Covid nervousness I suspect is keeping people away. I popped into John Lewis' to have a look at what was on offer in the sales but saw nothing of interest.

Before supper, I completed the Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube. This time I had to think about labelling it differently for the future. Previously it's been tagged 'From the Benefice of Canton', but at midnight tonight the Benefice as a legal pastoral entity is abolished. It's three Parish churches are going to be constituents in the new West Cardiff Ministry Area. The same is also true of St German's, merged into the Roath Ministry Area. It's not a move that I'm at all happy about, but must live with. 

Our group of three churches will continue to work together as they have done before. Relationships forged over the twenty five years the Team Ministry and Rectorial Benefice has existed will continue. I decided in future to label my contributions 'From Canton Parish in the West Cardiff Ministry Area. Although the ecclesiastical Parish is abolished, the civil parish, an area with its own historical record, continues to exist. That'll serve to prevent further erosion of the identity of the local churches planted here over a hundred and fifty years ago.

Unimpressed by the New Year's eve selection of TV viewing. We ended up watching the prequel movie to 'Star Trek' with its convoluted time shifting plot, excessively noisy special effects, and vaguely amusing dialogue recycling phrases from the vintage movie series. Seen it before. Then on Sky Arts, a Vienna New Year's Eve promenade popular orchestral concert from Vienna by André Rieu. A huge exuberant audience of not young enthusiasts behaving as if they were at a rock concert.  A recording from 2002. Another sort of time shifting I guess. The streets are quiet. No noticeable sound of parties. There will be fireworks but there's nothing to stay up for, to toast the New Year in. It's not really worth it until there's no more covid threat to inhibit traditional exuberance.

Endings, happy, sad and adventurous

I woke up early and decided to post the WhatsApp link for Morning Prayer on YouTube straight away. A message from Mother Frances arrived at the same time, to say that she's got covid, despite being triple jabbed. It may mean a few rota changes until she's in the clear. Fortunately seasonal rota modifications may make this less of a challenge for her to cover, but the demand for pastoral services is the same despite reducing numbers of active clergy, which can create problems when clergy are out of action. 

After breakfast, Kath left for Kenilworth as I was leaving for St John's. I celebrated the Eucharist with half a dozen others, then had to return home to collect the order of service and eulogy for the funeral which followed an hour later, as I'd forgotten to put them in my bag. There were fifty people for the service almost all of them members of the extended family. Five family members contributed tributes to a beloved 91 year old patriarch, which took an unusual amount of time on top of the funeral and eulogy, but it was worthwhile because of the warm and affectionate portrayals of a mana who loved others with joyful abundance.

At the end of the service a song by Frank Hennessy called 'Cardiff Born, Cardiff Bred' was played as his coffin was taken to the hearse. It made me smile, all the way to the cemetery. The hearse and four limos in the cortège sped up the A4232 ring road to avoid arriving well behind schedule at Western Cemetery, quite a change from the usual stop-start driving at 30mph on Cowbridge Road West. It drizzled before the service but rain held off during the burial. Later in the day I received an appreciative email from his daughter. The church and its funeral rite provided the framework, but it was the family's contributions that really made the day, and that's surprisingly unusual. Often mourners are dumb struck and grateful to let me be their voice.

I came home to a delicious bubble 'n squeak fry up lunch with left-over Christmas veggies and slices of turkey. Then a message arrived from Angela at St German's to say that the son of one of the church members was found dead yesterday. He was in church with her several times during Advent and at Christmas. It's quite a shock as he was only forty two. I called his mother and we spoke briefly, then walked in the park for an hour.

In the evening I watched a delightful and moving programme on BBC Four in which comedian, artist and philosopher Billy Connelly took a tour around his native city Glasgow and his homeland Scotland visiting his favourite places and reminiscing about childhood and growing up. He spoke eloquently of his love affair with both, and about getting old and living with Parkinson's and of mortality as a great adventure. He talked to camera throughout, with post-war archive footage and excerpts from some of his classic performances interspersed. What a great heart warming celebration of life it was.

Two catch-ups, one day

There were eight of us at the Eucharist which I celebrated at St Catherine's this morning, instead of St German's, as Frances is on leave. It was the first time in six months to be back with old friends. We had coffee and a catch-up chat in the church hall afterwards. 

Kath had returned from visiting Mandy by the time I reached home for lunch - a large bowl of soup made from the remainder of the Christmas chestnut casserole. It was delicious! 

We then drove to Penarth for a walk along the clifftop, and then on the pier. The coast path had turned into a running stream and we were discouraged from venturing along it.

We returned and got ready to welcome my eldest cousin Godfrey and his daughter Tegwen, neither of whom we have seen since Auntie Ivy's funeral. It was great to tell each other stories about what our families have been doing over the years. It's marvellous tbat they decided to drive down from Bangor to visit friends and family down south. Godfrey moved to Gwynedd after working in England and marrying Jean a North Walian, and has lived there over forty years, teaching in Welsh medium schools and representing the Labour Party in a bi-lingual area. His mother was very proud that he immersed himself in Welsh culture and became fluent, although his dad's family was of English origin and English was his first language. It was indeed a happy reunion.

Bank Holiday #2

Another damp overcast day but only a few showers. I had a revised funeral attendees list emailed to me this morning in the form of a JPEG rather than a text file. I tried using the Windows10 Optical Character Recognition app, which can extract texts from photos of documents straightforwardly, but makes a poor job of copying tabular formats. I captured an editable text file, from which I had to rebuild the spreadsheet accurately in order to print it in a was that will be easy for Eileen, the St John's caretaker to read when she ticks of people arriving. That's another hour of my life I'll never get back. The city centre was according to Kath quite crowded with shoppers. I'm glad I decided to work instead.

Kath and Clare went into town at the end of the morning, Kath for a look around, Clare to visit John Lewis to see if a refund was possible on a pair of very posh headphones she bought for me without realizing that Rhiannon had also bought a set for me. Then she went off to have her hair done by Chris, and Kath drove over to Rumney to collect her when she was finished. Meanwhile I worked on a reflection for Epiphany Day when I am doing Morning Prayer, and on a sermon for this coming Sunday, while I had time for this. After a snack lunch I went for a walk around the park, and although I wasn't feeling all that energetic, it turned out that I was walking at a sustained pace ten percent faster than I have done for years. Strange, and I don't think my fit-bit is misreading.

Clare cooked me turkey soup for supper, and Kath drove to Llantrisant to see her friend Mandy overnight. We then listened to a double album of Chick Corea improvising on solo piano before a live audience for an hour and a half. What a music genius he was!

Bank Holiday #!

After breakfast Anto and Rhiannon headed back to Kenilworth by train, and later on Owain returned to Bristol. Kath is staying on with us for a few more nights, and has the car, which will enable her to go and see friends also. After the departures, we went for a pre-lunch drink at Coffee #1 and then a stroll together in the park. It wasn't as busy as usual in the shop. You wouldn't have thought it was a Bank Holiday, one of two consecutive days off this year. I wondered if people weren't going out so much due to covid concerns and extra restrictions, now in force here in Wales. 

I set to work on recording and editing this week's Morning Prayer video in fits and starts, and uploaded it before bed. I also did the preparation for this Thursday's funeral at St John's. It was a little more difficult than usual because I was sent the Eulogy and the attendees list in a file format that was difficult to read on a non-MacOS device. I don;t recall that happening before, but I got there in the end, and all is ready now.

After yesterday's dry weather, today it rained intermittently, though fortunately not when I went for a walk in the hour before sunset. We had traditional Christmas chestnut casserole for supper, and started a bottle Barolo, the first I've had in many years. Then we watched 'The Queen' a 2006 movie about what happened in the Royal household following the death of Princess Diana. Very well done with stellar performances by Helen Mirren as Her Majesty and a younger Michael Sheen as Tony Blair, a superb production, well worth the down-time while working on this weeks video.

Jammin' or the Feast of Stephen

On the early morning news the death of Archbishop Desmond Tutu was announced, age ninety, one of the great figures of twentieth century Church and social history as a prophetic actor in the struggle against apartheid and mediator of reconciliation after its abolition. He was a wonderful liberal Catholic pastor, a preacher with passion and a wry sense of humour. I'll never forget hearing him address a Churches rally at Builth Wells showground in the late 1980s, preaching on the text 'It is not good for anyone to be alone' from the story of the making of Adam and Eve. His demise marks the passing of an era in which two Archbishops, one Anglican and one Roman Catholic were murdered for being outspoken against human rights violations and social injustice. That he escaped the same fate as them seems something like a miracle in retrospect.

Although it rained early on, and there were local flood warnings, it was stopping by the time I drove to St German's after a family breakfast for the first Sunday Mass of Christmastide. Every once in around a dozen years, Feast of the Protomartyr St Stephen (aka Boxing Day) falls on a Sunday. The roads weren't as crowded as they usually would be with the start of the Winter sales. Quite apart from new covid restrictions starting today, not all big stores are opening for post Christmas sales yet. People are probably staying home and buying on line instead, and not bothering with an outing to town.

We were all ready for the baptism of baby Abigail at Mass, but it turned out her parents wanted it to take place next week, not this week, so that granny to take part. She's supposed to be coming over from India for this. I wonder if she'll make it? Anyway, the preparation is done and all is put on hold until next year. The second Sunday of Christmas is on 2nd January 2022. There were twenty one of us for Mass, and after everyone was as keen as I was to hurry home, so I got back at one.

The salmon was already cooked but nobody was keen to eat a full meal, so we all snacked on turkey and sourdough bread sandwiches, then walked to Bute Park, making most of the sunshine. The others continued walking into town to see the Christmas lights and visit Winter Wonderland, but I felt rather leaden footed and headed for home instead.

After the salmon supper, we had a family jam session, which Anto and I have often done at Christmas in years past with the others singing along to familiar remembered songs. This year Clare joined us for the first time and we played some jazz things together and experimented with several other song as well. She did very well, and I think it's boosted her confidence that she's progressing as a result of the piano lessons she's been having this past year. It was great for me too, as it's the first time in three years I've been able to sit comfortably enough with the guitar to play properly. Not only this, but my rheumaticky hands gave me almost no painful botheration, a cheering finale to our festive days.

Wet Christmas

After six hours sleep I was up at eight, finishing off this morning's sermon and printing it. Amazingly, everyone was up by nine thirty, which meant I was able to have breakfast with them before driving over to St German's. It rained fairly steadily throughout daylight hours - a miserable dark day, not that it matters much when life is centred around the family table, but we all felt robbed of daylight fresh air. It was the mid-evening before the rain abated sufficiently to permit an hour's walk in the dark.

We were eighteen for the Mass, many present were also there for the Vigil Mass last night. Nobody wanted to hang around and chat afterwards, least of all me. The kitchen was a hive of industry by the time I arrived, and there wasn't much I could do apart from dry cooking utensils and return them to their proper place. The table was set and the food ready by two. We sat and feasted on turkey, roast veggies and chestnut casserole, followed by a pre-covid era Christmas pudding. We drank a Beaune Pinot Noir, then a Chateauneuf du Pape, and started a Crozes-Hermitage - wines irrigated by the waters of the Rhone, drinking somewhat less than previous years when we got through five bottles between us. I think we're all that much older, fitness conscious, less inclined to overeat these days, preferring higher quality over quantity. Covid has made us all think more about self preservation I guess.

Then came our grand present opening ceremony, during which I was overwhelmed by fatigue. Owain calls it 'food coma'. December has been pretty taxing, and this last week pretty intensive one way or another. I had tomorrow's sermon to produce before anything else. There was a re-run of a fifty year old Command Performance variety show hosted by Morecombe and Wise followed by the Christmas movie 'Elf' for the evening's viewing. I slipped out for a walk in the dark after the first hour of comedy, and managed to get to bed properly before midnight, definitely feeling my age.

Vigil Mass surprise

A persistently rainy day, so I caught the bus into town and back to buy a salmon from Ashton's in the Market. Many pubs and eateries were closed  at ten thirty and the streets less than busy, but not quite deserted. New covid restrictions and fesrs may already serve as a disincentive to town centre commerce and conviviality this yesr. Then a walk in the wet down to Berry's the Butcher to collect the turkey, sausages and streaky bacon. The fridge is very full now!

As feared, after my sister's new gas boiler installation she wasn't give adequate instruction on using the thermostat to be able to control the thermostat, so the flat is still not as warm as she needs it to be. She simply didn't understand the words used by the enginners, and they told her without showing her how to use it hands on.  What is common knowledge to one is a mystery to others, and the new technology gap between generations is wider than ever.

At tea time, Owain arrived then early evening in time for supper, came Kath, Anto and Rhiannon. All negatively lateral flow tested today. After a big pasta supper I started on my sermon for tomorrow, then churchwarden Richard arrived at a quarter to ten, to take me to St German's for the ten thirty Vigil Mass. Fr Roy Doxsey and I shared the service between us, with a congregation of forty. 

A young couple came, bringing their month old infant for the first time. Dad brought her up in the Communion queue snuggled in her arms, wearing s bright red babygrow and Santa hat. I wondered why his eyes shone so brightly before realising he was carrying the tiny tot. It was a moment of sheer Christmas delight. After the couple asked how soon they could have her christened. We agreed on Sunday, the feast of Stephen.

Richard drove me home through deserted streets, and I arrived at half past midnight. I had to write an email to James the church baptism organiser, to warn him of the surprise baptism. I remembered a similar short notice ceremony on Christmas dat at St James fifteen years ago, not long before it closed for good. That was for a Czech Roma mother. The urgency was becausee it was the only day off the family had in a life of menial toil. So important to make the effort to meet the need, no matter how tired and stretched you know you're going to be.

On the verge of Christmas.

After six hours sleep and breakfast, we drove home practicing the anthem 'And the glory of the Lord' from the Messiah, by singing along to it on YouTube in the car. After a late lunch, we collected our Christmas veggie bag and groceries. We were due at St Catherine's for a four thirty choir rehearsal ahead of a six o'clock Nine Lessons and Carol service. With all the rushing around we were both dog tired, and gave it our best effort, but three hours of singing felt more like an ordeal than a celebration. 

A hundred adults and children turned up and the choir was double its usual numbers. Considering how under-rehearsed it was, the service went quite well, driven by Colin our director of music and organist at a brisk pace. Children were supposed to sing at the crib, but I'm not sure if many did, they were so quiet and just stared at the congregation, as if they were in a Nativity tableau. It might have been easier if they'd been encouraged to turn to the crib behind them. Room for improvement here for next year.

I couldn't help wondering about the spread of the omicron covid variant. Apart from the kids, everyone in church was masked, apart from choristers when singing, socially distanced, sort of. It seems however, that Wales infections are still predominantly the delta variant which hasn't yet been swamped by omicron. There are more new restrictions on public events and advice about domestic social mixing from Welsh First Minister Mark Drakeford, much clearer than the English government's comparatively muddled messaging. This won't have much impact on the majority of Christmas family gatherings. Use of lateral flow tests is recommended as a precaution, although there had been some supply issues, as the demand is naturally very high.

Today after three weeks of set-backs is having her engineer broken gas central heating boiler replaced at last. The incompetence with which British Gas dealt with her plight until she kicked up a rumpus is truly phenomenal. The equipment is being installed, but will anyone explain to her exactly and in detail how it works, and most importantly, can be controlled?

Yesterday night I received an email request to provide a job reference for Rufus, and drafted this after returning from the carol service, although I would preferred to go to bed early, but promised to deliver by tomorrow. I needed a brisk walk in the dark to rid myself of accumulated tension before turning in. Singing in the Parish Carol service after driving home with no respite in between was pretty exhausting. To be avoided with better planning in future. Christmas hasn't started yet.

Carnival Band with Maddy Prior at Brum Town Hall

After breakfast I drove to St German's to celebrate Mass with four others then returned to collect Clare and set off for Kenilworth at eleven thirty. The roads weren't too busy, and we arrived at two for a giant bowl of creamy vegetable soup, perfect for a winter's day. Then Kath drove us right into Birmingham city centre, to hunt for a car park within easy reach of the Town Hall, where this evening's Carnival Band was going to take place. For a while it was a game of 'hunt the car park' with so many diversions and closures, as road layouts are being revised yet again, aiming to force people out of cars on to public transport. Many central streets are already pedestrianised, and at this time of year given over to a German style Christmas Market four times the size of the one in Cardiff city centre.

Once Kath had found the right car park, we were only five minutes walk from the Town Hall, but a chilly downpour of rain began as we left car park cover and then continued a drizzle for nearly an hour. Kath and Clare vanished through the stage door, leaving me to fend for myself until the front of house doors opened two hours later. I sheltered under building overhangs for a while and then walked the length of the Market which stretched down New Street as far as St Martin's in the Bullring, everywhere brightly lit with festive decorations, and whilst St Martin's was externally lit up and decorated, no light shone from within the church itself, in stark contrast to the neighbouring shopping centre, just like St John's City Parish Church in Cardiff. A social anthropologist would be forgiven for thinking that the message being conveyed here is 'church gone out of business'.

People arriving for the concert without covid passes were being given a lateral flow test in the lobby. I did mine in any case before leaving this morning, and showed evidence of this plus my covid pass when presenting my duplicate ticket. Therein lies a story.

Clare had given me a paper ticket too big to fit into my wallet many moons ago, so it got pinned to the notice board along with all the NHS appointment letters, and thereafter forgotten by me. Paper tickets for things booked on line are a rarity these days, so much is now done digitally. So it was only after we arrived in Brum  that I realised. Quick witted as ever, Clare rang Sarah our neighbour and asked her to use her duplicate key to retrieve the ticket, photograph it, and email me the picture. This also gave me the seat number. Furnished with this information, I was able to go to the box office and ask if they could accept the digital evidence of being a ticket holder. They did better than that, issuing me a duplicate.

After the rehearsal we went for a drink and a snack in a New Street coffee house before taking our seats. The concert hall was a third full, Kath reckoned. The Carnival Band Community Choir sang four carols in the middle of the second half and returned for an encore at the end. This year Maddy Prior sang with the band, and all performed superbly a wide range of British and European carols and songs with their array of folk instruments, including two kinds of bagpipe, shawms, clarinet, cittern, guitar, fiddle, drums and double bass played with a bow and producing a fat sound. Some songs had satirical contemporary verse updates about abolishing Christmas, then and now, and a Health and Safety vetted Nativity. Such great fun. We got back to Kenilworth at eleven and then had sandwiches and a drink of wine before bed, exhausted at half past midnight. Quite a demanding day, but worthwhile good festal fun anyway.

Another Covid Winter Solstice

Already the shortest day is here, overshadowed by low cloud, and colder than it has been for the past few days. It'll take a month before it gets noticeably lighter in the afternoon, but at least the journey back to evening sunsets starts now.

Restrictions are now being imposed on crowd attendances at sporting events in an effort to slow down the spread of the omicron variant of covid19 and consequently reduce the rise in hospital admissions. Nothing is being said about theatre audiences yet, that would lead to the cancellation of tomorrow night's Carnival Band Christmas concert in Birmingham. We're driving to Kenilworth after Mass tomorrow to rendezvous with Kath and travel to the performance, in which both of them are singing. I admit that I'm nervous about it, given the number of commitments I have in the days following.

An email came from Montreux, from the family of Geoff Fookes, a long standing member of the St John's congregation to say that he'd died. His funeral is tomorrow, and can be watched on-line, though sadly we will be travelling when it's live streamed from the church. I first met Geoff and his wife Joy at Swiss Archdeaconry events while I was chaplain in Geneva twenty five years ago. When I did locum duties in Territet, Geoff would come to the 10.00am BCP midweek Communion service with his beautiful golden retriever, and sometimes that was all the congregation I had. It was only a few days ago that I emailed them my Christmas Greeting and Letter.

They welcomed me at their lakeside apartment,  for drinks and for supper during my stays there, and it was through Joy, an ex-nurse that I found a GP clinic where my abscess was diagnosed. Looking back in my blog and reading about those days in early September three years ago reminded me forcibly of how ill I was, striving to complete my tour of duty and not cause upheaval for the churchwardens. It awakened distressing feelings, as much physical as emotional which I found can only be dispersed by a good walk.

Before lunch I walked over to Lidl's in Leckwith to get some replacement packs of walnuts, as we use a lot of them, and I want to make a turkey stuffing using walnuts and apricots. Then I walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour, as the sun was setting which made me feel better.

My sister June has had heating troubles in her apartment for some weeks as a result of a botched routine servicing job. She was persuaded, perhaps un-necessarily into replacing her boiler for a more economical and eco-friendly unit, and after more administrative muddles and delay, this was delivered today with an appointment to install it tomorrow. 

Then, British Gas contacted her to say the engineer booked was off sick with covid. Scaffolding is required by Health and Safety rules to fix the new gas exhaust pipe into the wall at the back of the property, even though the job could be done with a ladder. Scaffolders now have too be cancelled and re-booked for a date when a fit engineer is available. You couldn't make it up, it's so crazy - no hot water or heating for weeks on end and not June's fault, but a British Gas engineer's. A disgrace.

Time to say thank you

Mid morning, I drove Clare over to the University Optometry school to get her new set of varifocal specs, her second pair this year, as her eyes have deteriorated further and she needs to make the most of her eyesight while she can, before she is compelled to learn how to use voice recognition technology with the phone and the computer. We called into Lidi's nearby afterwards, where she bought a anti-snore pillow, which turned out to be nothing of the sort - more likely a wrongly packaged standard pillow. Too late to return it once it's been used. 

With a couple of trips to the shops and Post Office, my days exercise was done pounding the streets under a layer of grey cloud - there is visual relief however, from Christmas trees revealed behind open curtains and strings of coloured festive lights, increasingly spread outdoors to front garden trees and fences.

Then I settled down to finish the thank you letter started over the weekend to Mrs Cornish the surgeon. As the wound is now tiny and almost completely closed, I felt it was time. I've been reluctant to write this any earlier, when I might well have done - a bit like tempting Providence. It's now three years almost to the day since I was given an initial date for surgery. I have so much to be thankful for, given the intrusion of the pandemic, and several other delays in between rounds of surgery due to resource shortages. 

I guess if anything has changed in three years it has been not just in staffing, but in improved availability of some equipment, and organisational efficiency. There are still big problems due to lack of functioning wards, shortage of nurses, and lack of home care to enable early patient discharge to avoid bed blocking, but covid has brought a revolution in emergency care and diagnostics, and this makes possible different ways of treating people. 

I heard an industrial scientist on the radio talking about a proposal for a global health monitoring system to spot evolving deadly viruses which could give rise to another pandemic. It would issue a global threat alert early enough to take preemptive action. It would network monitoring technology analysing soil, air, water, especially waste water, relating them to medical and veterinary pathology data. It would require huge investment and political consensus, but save the world from economic ruin and high death tolls in future generations.  

I completed and uploaded to YouTube this Thursday's Morning Prayer video, wrote a biblical reflection for next Thursday's video and recorded the half of the audio. This minimises the amount of preparation I have to do alongside Christmas services and family celebrations. It's going to be a busy week.

Before bed I started watching the movie 'King of Thieves' based on the 2015 Hatton Garden bank vault robbery. It was said to be masterminded and pulled off by a group of retired London East End thieves in their sixties, and starred Michael Caine, Jim Broadbent and Tom Courtenay - a brilliant portrayal of a group of elderly working class males, a non-genteel 'Lunnon' equivalent to 'Days of Wine and Roses

The dialogue was hilarious, mostly comprising old school abusive gangster language, such as you might hear in any rough back street pub or football terrace. Anything but politically correct, so the movie was preceded by a 'health warning'. I had to give up and go to bed before midnight approached as it didn't finish until late, so I'll have to watch the last quarter in iPlayer.

The carol season starts

This morning I joined Clare singing at the Eucharist in St Catherine's choir. We sped home afterwards for an early lunch before returning for a choir Carol Service rehearsal at two thirty. I was only able to stay for forty five minutes before driving over to St German's to conduct their Carol Service, with music recorded put on my phone and played through the church's Bluetooth speaker. Just a dozen people came, and sat in the choir, Fr Roy Doxsey among them. He's going to join us for the celebration of Midnight Mass, which will be a pleasure - the first time we've concelebrated since he retired, two years after me.

I was back home be five, and worked on drafting a biblical reflection for the Thursday after Christmas, to get as much done as I can before festivities begin in earnest. Christmas sermon next! Worry about omicron covid spread continues, but so far no eleventh hour edicts from the Bench of Bishops obliging precautions other than the ones already in place, which haven't slackened much so far. Mask wearing in church is still the norm, although the choir can take them off to sing, and increased numbers of singers are tolerated now. I'm not sure this is such a good idea, as there's not really enough space in choir to make social distancing practicable. Most singers are of an age when they are fully protected by vaccinations, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of accidental infection, even among the most careful of people. 

This evening we watched an interesting interview on BBC Four with Daniel Barenboim about his long working career as a performing pianist and then world renowned orchestral conductor. He's just a few years older than us, so his music has been part of our lives since we were young. A real trip down memory lane.

Saturday surprises

Weekend late lie-in, followed by pancake breakfast then a surprise present from Clare, a new Remington Electric shaver to replace the one I bought in a Chinese emporium in Nerja back in 2013, now incapable of holding a charge for much longer than it takes to do a rough shave. I'm delighted. It's so sophisticated compared to ones I've had in the past.

Before lunch, I edited next week's Morning Prayer sound files, recorded in bed last night. I decided to add a suitable short music clip to the end of the recording and went through the routine I normally follow, using YouTube and Audacity. For some reason I couldn't figure out, the sound quality was awful. After several fails, I did the same on my Chromebook but using the Chrome sound editing on line plug-in called 'Twisted Wave', which worked perfectly first go. 

The app was already attached to my Chrome browser ecosystem (reproduced on each Chrome using device), but I hadn't used it since installing it in Ibiza, where I used it very little, as the Chromebook I has with me was old and not really powerful enough. On the new Chromebook it works a treat, and transferring the sound file captured to Google Drive made it easy to send to any other operating platform.

After lunch, a walk into the city centre, busy and crowded with shoppers, more so than metropolitan media reports were alleging. Will there be added restrictions in the next few days avoid a catastrophic spread of omicron covid overwhelming hospitals? The German tavern and eaterie among the Christmas Market stalls were crowded, but more people were wearing masks on the street and in the shops than  previously. I took a few photos, bought some more Christmas cards, a new pair of shoes and Clare's Christmas present before catching a surprisingly empty 66 bus home.

Lord Frost, the government's chief negotiator with the EU has resigned, openly distancing himself from Boris Johnson's leadership on policy grounds, yet more evidence of loss of confidence in his leadership. This isn't the best of times for such a crisis, though I believe the country is better off without such a hard line anti-EU libertarian at the front line in relationships with our nearest continental neighbours.

Although Jasmine isn't coming over now, Clare is still diligently practicing piano accompaniment to the recordings Jas made for her, so this evening I joined in on guitar. For the moment my hands aren't too afflicted with rheumatic pains interfering with the physical recall of correct chord shapes when I play. It was fun. I miss playing, but for ages have been deterred from making the effort. But all is not lost.

In the evening, some preparatory work on a Christmastide audio reflection, then an hour trying to catch up on a Danish crime drama 'When the dust settles' about what happens before and after  a terrorist attack on a restaurant. It's very complex with eight (I think) overlapping story lines which observe a range of social issues that reflect contemporary society at close range. Not sure I can cope with this!

Installation Day

When the doorbell rang at eight thirty, I wasn't long out of bed and Clare hadn't yet surfaced. The engineer from OpenReach had come to install our new fast fibre broadband. I sped downstairs to acknowledge his arrival and ask a few questions. Most importantly, the location of the new fibre optic network socket.

I was bemused to learn that the existing hole in the wall drilled by NTLWorld at the turn of the century for their first generation fibre-optic cable installation couldn't be used by another service provider, obliging OpenReach to drill their own. I've never imagined a defunct cable network provider owning a hole in our wall!

Anyway the fibre optic broadband line came in from the same pole in the street as the landline - set to be abandoned for no good reason in two years time in favour of an all digital system that doesn't work if there's a power outage. The broadband line is strapped with cable ties to the back of the drainpipe - fine as long as we don't have a drainpipe disaster! A hole was drilled through into the corner of the front room just above the abandoned NTLWorld socket to accomodate the new fibre optic line. 

A new improved router attaches to the fibre optic socket and all works just fine. The only flaws in the grand scheme of things are 1) the distance from the nearest electrical socket and 2) a standard two metre network cable, which isn't long enough to reach the wall socket for attaching to a powerline adaptor, essential for equal internet access around the house in places not reachable by wi-fi. Domestic power extensions needed juggling with to get everything neat and tidy. 

I walked over to Wilson's Electrical Wholesaler's store the other end of the parish and bought a five metre network cable to use for £3.20. All works perfectly, and we have a download speed of 75mbps and upload of 20mbps. This will make a real difference to uploading pictures, as well as having a dozen devices at a time attached to our router. Best of all, it'll cost us less, for the next 18 months at least, but worthwhile in any case to have high quality connectivity.

I had a call from Pidgeon's about a funeral in early January, the first I've done that I can recall since being in Cardiff of Social Services making the arrangements as the man and his next of kin couldn't afford to pay - what used to be referred to when I was young as 'a funeral on the rates' rather than a pauper's funeral. I recall doing several when I was in St Paul's Bristol forty years ago, when there were no next of kin and the deceased was old and poor. Sometimes there would only be me and the funeral director out of respect there in attendance, but we still gave the person a full service.  

After lunch, I drove to Llandough Hospital for an ultrasound scan. I arrived on time and within fifteen minutes I was on my way back to the car, and free to call in to Lidl's for some wine on my way home. No change in the 400mm gallstone, and the gall bladder shows no sign of inflammation. It functions but at a low level of efficiency, as it can never produce enough bile to deal with dairy fats. It would be better to have the gall bladder extracted, in case some random or accidental factor caused it to go out of control. As it's not critical, I suspect there'll be a long queue, but there's no harm in getting my name on the list.

By the time I got back, it was dark, which meant that I had to walk for an hour in the dark before supper. Preparation for the scan meant I had to fast for six hours, but I waited until after my walk to eat what had been cooked for lunch by Clare - it was most welcome indeed. I didn't have much to do in the evening and ended up sleeping in the chair in front of the telly although I had no reason to feel extra tired.

Christmas disappointment

Although I was up in time this morning, I was later than usual posting the link to this week's video as I got distracted, by an early call. We were told to expect the arrival of the boiler repair man between eleven and one. This meant I couldn't attend Mass at St John's, but I went down there anyway to take our food bank offerings, only to find that there was no collection this week. Ruth took it instead to add to offerings for Ty Bronna, the local Church Army supported youth homelessness centre, which also relies on donations. There's no end to the need of people who've fallen on hard times in and around our city.

The boiler repair man arrived at noon and the job only took him half an hour. It was a matter of replacing a valve, source of the leak. I had lunch ready for Clare when she returned from kindergarten, with a huge bunch of yellow roses,co a thankyou gift from the children, on her last day of working with them.

We had an email from Jasmine's dad John to say that of necessity, their Christmas holiday trip to had been cancelled, given the on-going covid crisis here. Disappointed, yes - but surprised no. Slowly we're seen the return of restrictions aiming to curb the spread, but really it was too late from the day the first case was noticed. It's likely it spread surreptitiously over weeks beforehand. Only yesterday did I put copies of this year's newsletter in with sixty odd Christmas cards announcing her coming. This afternoon I posted them all anyway, but amended the digital version to send with another sixty email greetings, after devising a Christmas greeting to accompany it. 

After supper we went to choir practice at St Catherine's and worked our way through all the special music for the service of Lessons and Carols a week tonight. It was hard work.

When we returned, I watched the last one of the thirty two episodes of 'Crossing Lines'. It gives no indication of being a closing episode, nor does it give tantalising indications of story lines incomplete, as do some of the movie sagas that have graced our screens this past decade. Well it was above average while it lasted. worth watching to gain insight into the dystopian side of our contemporary world.

Quiet at midweek Mass

When I was printing labels yesterday evening I discovered the table on which the printer stands, situated directly underneath our gas boiler was soaking wet, and not for the first time. Previously I thought I had splashed coffee from a mug set down on my desk next to the printer. On closer inspection I found there was a leaking tap on the underside of the boiler, installed six months ago. Clare sent a message to Matt our heating engineer, who reported this to the manufacturer - it has a seven year warranty attached to it. 

By lunchtime we were notified of a visit by the manufacturer's engineer, to rectify the problem hopefully tomorrow. The response is unexpectedly speedy, simply because Matt reported it on our behalf, otherwise it could have taken much longer. I succeeded in securing a drip tray beneath the leak, and in twenty four hours, it collected about 200ml of brownish water. How long it's leaked I don't know, but I hope it's only just started to get noticeably worse, or else we'd have a big damp patch in the corner of the kitchen below.

There were just four of us for the service at St German's this morning, as the school decided to cancel its annual Christmas celebration because of omicron covid spreading. It seemed strange to be back in the Lady Chapel for a relaxed quiet low Mass. My playlist of digital carol recordings compiled for next Sunday's Lesson and Carols, worked well on the church Bluetooth speaker. One less thing to bother about. After coffee and a chat, I drove home, then walked down to Eton Place, off Saint John's Crescent, where the new veggie bag drop box is discreetly housed in someone's front garden, and collected this week's order. It's further than the previous location in Conway Road, but that's not much bother.

Clare cooked lunch for us while I was out, then I started work on preparing next week's Morning Prayer video material in advance as it's going to be busy in the run-up to Christmas. It was sunset by the time I went for a walk in the park, but at least it was mild and not raining. Being out while cyclists are returning home from work isn't all that pleasant however, as the majority use blinding LED lamps to enable them to see ahead and ride faster. Unless they use no lights at all and risk not seeing pedestrians. It's almost better to wait until later when traffic has died down and there are only dog walkers and teenagers hanging out in the park, mid evening.

After supper I assembled the prepared batch of fifty plus Christmas cards, ready to post tomorrow, then watched a few more episodes of 'Crossing Lines', with nothing better to watch on live telly. The series continues to hold my interest because stories of organised crime groups with a pan-European reference, although fictional, represent current concerns. The third series aired in 2015, and nothing new since then. Did they run out of ideas? Or was the third series poorly received outside Europe as it was lacking in transatlantic interest? Despite entertainment newsfeeds on the web talking of a fourth season, it seems entirely speculative. There's no reliable source confirming that work has begun on this. I suspect that a cheap attempt is being made to start a media rumour to evoke a response from fans that will persuade the production team and investors they can make money out of a new project. Bizarre really.

Mail out in progress

This morning I went to the Post Office with Christmas parcels to mail out, and thankfully didn't have to queue all that long. I bought stamps for sending our Christmas cards and newsletters, which prompted me later in the day to print of a set of labels for the envelopes. This took far longer than it should have done as the computer had slowed to a crawl in the throes of updating once I'd switched on.

Yesterday, Sara sent me a video link to the broadcast by SVT, the Swedish state television service of the annual Santa Lucia dawn ceremony and concert. I played it this evening while waiting for the latest and maybe the last Windows 10 update to download and install - the process is still so disruptive that you can't work properly while it's working. It was a pleasant calming distraction.

I cooked lunch for us before going out for an afternoon walk in daylight, and watched a couple of episodes of 'Crossing Lines' again before supper. I thought the first two series were quite good, and the third series, with a substantial change of characters is even better, thanks to some good story lines highlighting several  different kinds of cross border crime, and revealing some quite genuine tensions in the working of a team with different skills and of different nationalities.

Before bed we chatted with Rachel and Jas on WhatsApp. They were about the have an early Christmas celebration over in Tempe, before Jas comes to Britain with her Dad and stepmother for a Christmas-New Year visit. It's going to be great to have Jas here for New Year, but sad not to have Rachel as well.

Testing testing ...

I went out to bank a cheque straight after breakfast, then we loaded the car with things belonging to Owain which have been stored in our attic bedroom since 2010, to take over to him, on our way to visit Amanda and James. Before setting out we both did Lateral Flow Tests, as did Owain, Amanda and James, just so we could all be sure it was all right to meet and interact without fear of infecting each other. This is now being seen nationally as a necessity, given the rapid rise in omicron covid infections. All clear all round. For me this was the first time to take the test, and I was a bit nervous about doing it correctly, and though it's straightforward enough it is fiddly. 

Later in the day Clare told me I should report this test to the NHS database, which was even more fiddly and frustrating to achieve as you first have to find out how to get to the Welsh reporting site, through the national NHS site. It's not user friendly, offering endless information and nothing as simple as a big blue button saying 'Go to Welsh LFT results report'. It's buried among much excess verbiage, an act of inter-departmental spitefulness in my opinion. How many people are deterred from reporting by this kind of stupidity I wonder.

We delivered all Owain's stuff, mostly vintage techno kit, ready for eBay, then went for lunch at one of his high street local eateries - carrot and lentil soup with fantastic sourdough bread, being the highlight. Then we drove across Bristol to Southmead and spent a couple of hours catching up with Amanda and James. It must be three years since we saw him last. He's gone from being a tall skinny teenager to being a well built adult male with poise and intelligence. He took time out from University when the pandemic started and returned to being his mother's chief carer, as the supply of home support became uncertain if not non-existent on times. Since then new disability aids have transformed her life and returned to her a measure of independence she hasn't had for many years. It's made a great difference to the confidence of both of them. James works from home as moderator of a gaming social media platform, and will return to his studies whenever stability returns to the University environment, and that won't be this academic for sure.

We left as it started to get dark. I wasn't keen about driving in the dark anyway, but it turns out now that the route from Southmead to Pontcanna is illuminated all the day. It's just that the lights are poorer in some sections than others, and when the road is busy but not congested, traffic, pushed by the heavy lorry brigade tends to go faster than the pace I'm comfortable with. To stay out of trouble and prevent others from driving too close to you, you sometimes have to go faster than you want to. Anyway we got home safely and without being honked at or flashed.

After supper, I completed and uploaded this Thursday's Morning Prayer and biblical Reflection video, and watched a 'Crossing Lines' episode about a kidnapping that was unwittingly linked to the spread of a highly contagious disease. Nothing to do with covid, but something much worse and fast spreading. Not a bad reminder of how an accident could easily turn into a catastrophe.

Gaudete

After yesterday, it was such a relief that today's cloud cover was at higher level than yesterday, so it wasn't as dark all day; the temperature was around ten degrees and there was no rain. At St John's this morning the new icon of St John with our Lady was blessed, a gift from the Russian Orthodox congreagation. I wish I coud have been there, but at the time I was driving to St German's to celebrat Mass with 27 others. For Gaudete Sunday a stylish pale pinky purple chasuble was laid out for me to wear, and the third pink candle was lit at the beginning of the liturgy.

I learned that we wouldn't have an organist for the carol service Sunday next, and using recorded music connected up to the church Bluetooth connected mobile speaker/amp was proposed as an alternative. This device connects to a smartphone, so one can play whatever music you want publicly with it directly. I wasn't terribly keen on the idea, but thought I should accept the challenge. 

It means making a playlist on YouTube and trusting the stability and strength of the phone/wifi signal, or having an archived set of MP3 tracks on my phone (my preferred option). There seems to be a hard-wire option for connecting the phone to the speaker also. This would minimise the risk of something going wrong. When I returned to church after lunch for the third of the Advent Great O services, I checked out the device and found it connected via Bluetooth to my phone quite easily. 

I walked in the dark for an hour or  so when I got back and then got to work finding suitable material on YouTube to record on to my digital dictating machine, then edited the file in Audacity to suit. I just hope the tracks I've chosen can be sung along to by a congregation.

There was one beautiful track of 'Silent Night' arranged by John Rutter and sung by a virtual choir this time last year. This one I think we'll just listen to. Also I came across a version of Hark the Herald by an Irish Showband, in full folk dance mode, with fiddles, flutes guitars, hand drums, singers and dancers, a delightful replacement for an organ voluntary after the service I thought. Getting this job done took up the entire evening, but I was fairly pleased with the result. I tell myself it's going to be all right on the night.

Winter wetness

A dank drizzly day, with the city shrouded in low cloud. We had a lie in, then a pancake breakfast. Without anything better to do, I spent the rest of the morning re-organising files in my Google Drive. After lunch a walk in the park for an hour and a half which took much effort. Only a few intrepid dog walkers were out and about. I felt as if wet mist was weighing me down, most unpleasant. The remainder of the day I spent watching crimmies on my laptop, escaping from the world outside.

There's mounting alarm about the spread of the new omicron variant of covid19 and concern that hospitals could be overwhelmed with new patient admissions. Increased restrictions are being introduced, but rather later than they should have been, and these are causing resentment among those who see this imposing on their right to freedom. Revelations about groups meeting in the government's Downing Street offices in last year's festive season during lockdown are arousing public anger against Boris Johnson's leadership and administration. How much longer I wonder, before he resigns or is pushed out by the Tory kingmakers who backed him?

A is for Archbishop as well as A.I.

Last night my first 'covid passport' expired and as we have a matinee concert performance to attend at the RWCMD this afternoon, renewal was my priority after breakfast. I failed to get a result from the NHS digital app on my phone which referred me to NHS Wales digital equivalent without providing a weblink that would land me exactly on the page I needed. Or if it was there, it was somewhat obscured from plain view by too much irrelevant advisory text. I had to google the correct page on my PC to reach where I needed to be, and then it was straightforward to download and put on both my phones. Perhaps I'm just old and stupid, but perhaps some stupid old digital feud between governmental IT silos of the four nations is the reason.

In this week's diocesan newsletter was a short greeting video from newly elected Archbishop of Wales, Andy John, Bishop of Bangor. It's not a contentious appointment, but he's a safe pair of hands coming into office as the Province presses ahead reforming the structure of its entire parochial system, with one Benefice the size of a conventional area Deanery in many cases replacing individual Parishes many of which were probably carved from the larger area Deanery centuries ago. Why a 'Ministry Area' structure needed to be overlaid on the existing historic entity is hard to see. Admittedly demographic and social changes have occurred that make some ancient Deaneries boundaries irrelevant. They could have been tinkered with, but I suspect that would be more expensive legally than overlaying a new Ministry Area structure on a grouping of churches and then dissolving the ancient structure in one fell swoop.

Really, it's the way the plan has been implemented which is a problem for some. Some churches which have fought hard to survive, want to stay as they are and feel they will lose their identity, alleging their members have not had enough say in this decision. Others are now too impoverished and weak to care. Llandaff diocese has been a slow starter in this process. Pressure to complete has come at the most inopportune time during the pandemic, but more seriously because it can no longer afford to pay an adequate number of parochial clergy. 

A heart-breakingly difficult dilemma, as harsh as that faced by British churches at the reformation, when monasteries were dissolved, and monks who served as parish clergy were deprived of a living if they couldn't adapt to new vernacular liturgy or loyalty to the state. Some clerics are farced with redundancy and early retirement, or offered part time posts with free accommodation. Others are non-stipendiary clergy already or young enough to make a new career in secular employ, whether they want to, or not. It's been coming and avoided for as long as I have been in ministry. I retrained as a teacher forty years ago with that in mind, but somehow it never happened in my full time work life, and here I am in my seventies often working the equivalent of a half time minister's hours as a volunteer, and happy to do so.

While Clare had her online piano lesson, I listened to last Wednesdays Reith lecture about the use of A.I. in warfare, and what a challenge it is to agree global banning status for autonomous 'killer robots' that is equal to the ban on chemical and biological weapons, as different interested parties have different ideas of what autonomy consists of. Superpower governments are the most reluctant to agree to a universal ban for fear others will develop them in order to get the upper hand in the global strategic situation. 

The thought of killer drones that can use A.I. to select individuals based on facial recognition and target them for assassination with greater precision than a remotely operated unmanned aerial vehicle, is really disturbing. Tiny drones are already in development that can carry out covert surveillance, even indoors, and swarms of tiny light bearing drones performing aerial ballet were used in this year's Olympic games opening and closing ceremonies demonstrating the huge advances in remote control which have been made in the past few years.

After her lesson, Clare went to school for a couple of hours and I cooked lunch ready for her return. We had tickets for the matinee performance of the students' Christmas concert at the Royal Welsh College at three and walked over there through Bute Park. To my surprise, it turned out to be a full Christmas Carol concert accompanied by the College Big Band with fresh arrangements of a wide range of well known carols done in full strength music theatre mode, with jazzy swinging gospel numbers and fast moving choreographed ensemble singing by groups of singers and soloists. 

Everything was sympathetically re-interpreted and delivered with astounding energy. I was feeling rather jaded when I arrived but invigorated and awake when we left. I wanted to jump up, clap and shout hallelujah, but I'm not sure if that would have been deemed appropriate in an audience of staff members, elderly patrons like us, and just a selection of students (it was being live streamed for other students and family members around the world). Whether they were believers or not, they put conviction, heart and soul into performing in a way that seems lacking in church services.

I'd like to think that performing songs of faith so excellently might work its own miracle on those taking part. It's long been known that taking part in a passion play can lead a sceptic or someone going through a barren patch to a spiritual awakening. From my own experience I can say that the more I've preached and taught, the more confident in faith I've become without ever losing my natural scepticism and desire to test and question all religious assertions. I believe and hope this can also be true for others.

The sun was setting in a clear blue sky as we walked into town for some shopping before going home. With all the Christmas illuminations and streets full of brightly decorated market stalls, it was quite an enchanting scene. After supper, I settled down and watched a couple of episodes of the third series of 'Crossing Lines', ad free on the computer. There are major changes of cast in the new series, due to some characters being killed off, or disappearing from sight for reasons inexplicable so far. Only three characters from the first two series re-appear, and are joined by three more. Intriguing stuff.

Healing progress

I had another good night of sleep in which I only had to get up and go to the toilet once in seven hours. It's such a difference, very much a measure of the continuing healing of the wound in my perineum. I am so grateful for this. This week's Morning Prayer and Reflection link was posted to the Parish WhatsApp at eight, minutes after I woke up, later than usual.

I went to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist with seven others this morning, then returned and cooked lunch in time for Clare's return from her eurythmy session in school. Straight after eating I had to leave on foot to get to Pidgeon's Chapel for a funeral service, after which I was taken to Western Cemetery for the burial. It just started to rain when we arrived there, but with a big funeral director's brolly in hand I didn't get too wet at the graveside.

When I got back I drafted my Sunday sermon before eating an early supper to enable us both to get to choir practice at St Catherine's in time. I really must remember to take a torch next week as I had extra difficulty reading the music, despite the church lights being full on. I just seem to need a lot more light to read printed pages by these days. Then, back home and a couple more 'Crossing Lines' episodes before bed. It's really rather addictive, with a variety of photogenic European locations setting the scene for different and sometimes original stories, even if the use of advanced hi-tech devices and travel time compression risk the plausibility of the tale.

Ministry Area change ahead

I drove to St German's this morning and had fun celebrating the school 'Class Mass'. Fr Stewart, the Roath Ministry Area Leader emailed while I was there to ask about my availability for duties there in the New Year when St German's is merged into the Roath Ministry Area. He said he'd need to be at St German's two Sundays a month. I said I'd be happy to cover the other two during the transitional period. This would free me either to attend St Catherine's or help out in the Parish. Next term the 'Class Mass' will move to a Tuesday mornings so that Fr Stewart and take his share of the celebrations. That's also good for me, as it will allow me to attend or minister at St Catherine's midweek, something I've not been able to to since last summer. From my viewpoint and hopefully for Fr Stewart, it's a win-win situation.

After a cup of coffee and a chat, I returned home and collected this week's veggie bag while Clare cooked a prawn stir fry for lunch, earlier than usual as she had an afternoon optometry appointment, leading to the need to order a new expensive pair of specs to optimise her failing eyesight for as long as it lasts. After she'd left, I recorded the audio for next week's Morning Prayer, and I wrote the biblical reflection to go with it before walking in the park. Again a cold wind  blew and it threatened to rain, but didn't until I was nearly home, just at sunset. 

After supper I prepared for tomorrow's funeral, and then watched another couple of 'Crossing Lines' episodes. I think the series script writing and characterisation has developed a lot since early on, probing deep within the stereotypical characters, giving them plausible and often tragic stories.

Tax muddle

It felt really cold again today with a hard wind blowing in gusts and occasional rain showers, but not cold enough for frost or snow. After breakfast I drove to Penarth with Clare to collect Owain's saxophone from the music shop where it's been given a service and found to be in good shape. That I took her to her study group meeting, went home and cooked lunch.

Walking in such conditions was quite an effort. I needed to get out but didn't manage early enough in the day to avoid walking in the dark. 

Since I submitted my on-line tax return, I've been getting nagging reminder emails from HMRC which I couldn't make sense of, saying I should register as self-employed and remember to pay tax by the deadline on the amount I owed. I had a clear recollection of asking for outstanding tax owing to be payed the adjusting my PAYE coding, as I have done for the past fifteen years that I can recall. 

Something had to be wrong, so I went back to review the form I had submitted, and realised I'd made a mistake, by not understanding that I should declare myself as 'Employed' although I'm retired and living on pension income. This was the cause the email nags about registering for self employment.

When I'd made the correction on the declaration form some extra boxes popped up on the form allowing my to enter my income from employment pensions, the HMRC doesn't refer to them as such on the form. I wondered before why it didn't ask for this income initially, and ended up assuming that HMRC already knew what my PAYE income and tax paid amounts were. If they do, they insist on you declaring it. Tax accountancy I will never understand. Anyway, corrections made, form confirmed re-submitted. 

Hopefully the email nags will stop now. I found it quite upsetting, and getting to grips with this issue took up much of the day, a phone call to Rufus in a panic, and googling answers which still barely made sense before the penny dropped. HMRC is master of the game, inventing the language and rules whether or not anyone understands them. If you don't tough. You get into trouble. Hopefully, writing this down now will help me remember what to do next year. It's a mistake I never made before. Maybe I was just lucky, or too careless this time.

I've been told that I don't have to submit an annual return any longer, but as I have been receiving some fees that are untaxed at source, I've always felt that I should declare them and pay tax, so I continue to enter this additional amount in a box for extra information, and it does get picked up by the system. It was a relief to get things straight in the end.

After supper, I watched a couple more episodes of 'Crossing Lines' on my laptop and some how getting to bed much later than I should have.

Deejaying a funeral?

I drove to Thornhill to take a funeral at the end of this morning. Chapel attendant Clive was keen to show me the new music gizmo installed on the officiant's reading desk, part of a new digital sound system that generates a playlist for everything requested for each funeral of the day. It's a dedicated small tablet which the minister can control, but also the attendant, if requested. There's an identical system at Wenvoe crem, but it's a year since I last saw and used it. It's very clear and straightforward, to be fair, but as I wasn't comfortable about having to use it without a dry run, Clive operated it remotely. I wasn't happy with the playlist order, but thankfully items in it are easy to move around. 

A favourite song of a deceased - Matt Munro singing 'Softly as I leave you' was to be played. I'd suggested the best place for this was after the eulogy, not realising it had been put on the back of the printed order of service, un-noticed by me, as exit music. In the event, Clive was quick witted and copied the track to the end of the playlist, while the service was in progress. Surprisingly, repeating it worked well so it seemed intentional. Next time, I'll have a practice at operating the device on my own, and hope it doesn't stress me and divide my attention from meaningful prayer. With pastoral contact so often minimal these days - clergy shortages and covid anxiety limiting the possibility of visiting even if it is now possible - expectations have changed, so the quality of every service taken must ensure that it's memorable for those attending.

Clare cooked lunch while I was out and left a welcome plateful of pasta to come home to. We walked to the shops together later and then I caught a bus into town to meet Fr Chris Reaney for a coffee and chat in 'Coffee Heaven' on St Mary Street, next door to McDonalds, much nicer to sit in, with arm chiars or tables, and the coffee is served in a proper cup. Rufus and I met here a few weeks ago. This afternoon I discovered that the charming lady who runs the shop is a member of the congregation at St Paul's Pontyclun, and her husband runs an identical shop there in the village. She closes early as soon as it gets dark, and custom tails off. Chris had missed his four o'clock train, and as we were about the leave the lady suggested we wait there until she was ready to leave, after tidying up. Both of them were heading West on the same train, it turned out.

I walked with Chris to Cardiff Central station before continuing to walk home. After supper I had a little work to do around Thursday's funeral, and then settled down to watch another couple of episodes of 'Crossing Lines' on my laptop before turning in for the night. I'm working my way through series two. It is available to stream but hasn't yet been broadcasted. For some strange reason the episodes run without adverts. I don't know why, but it cuts running time by 25%. Too good to last, although apparently it's possible to stream programs ad-free by paying a subscription, a temptation I haven't succumbed to yet. Ad breaks are useful for making a drink, going to the toilet, and even doing Duo Lingo lessons with the TV sound off. Seeing the same sequence of ads a dozen times a night is brain numbingly boring.

Time out dilemmas

No service to take this morning, so I went to St Catherine's and sang in the choir. The music was familiar thankfully, as I hadn't attended last Thursday's choir practice, which I must this week and next, as I plan to sing in the Nine Lessons and Carols service the Thursday before Christmas. When we returned I finished next week's Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube. The next few days are busy so it's good to have one less task outstanding.

After lunch, a brisk walk in the park before going to St German's for the second Advent Evening Prayer services, just as the sun was setting. There were only four of us. Mike and Ann had intended to come but he arrived at church this morning and couldn't get out of the car because his arthritic hip had seized up, so he had to return home and get something done about it. I hope he's going to be OK.

Thought I'd prefer not to, I went for another walk in the dark after returning from the service. making an effort to sustain my daily 10k exercise quota. I'm obsessive about it I know. Sometimes I walk thirty percent more, other times I just make the target recently I've been struggling somewhat it make it, but not because I'm tired or lacking in energy. I'm feel fitter and healthier well than I have since I retired but I'm getting bored with the routine and feel it's robbing me of time to do other things. 

I've endured several dark winters of long nights without losing motivation and spending two hours a day outdoors. It seems to me I'd benefit if I could make an earlier start to the day, re-schedule work time later, as now I tend to work mornings and afternoons. In times past, under pressure I'd work morning, afternoon and evening if needs be. Now I can't work so intensely for so long without paying for it with exhaustion, needing a couple of days to recover. It's more important to take time out each day. Getting outdoors and walking early isn't quite so easy however, as I'm slow getting started when I wake up. There must be a way of making the change of habit, but I must figure out how.

Meanwhile, time-out is usually evenings. Tonight I binge watched three episodes of 'Crossing Lines. It's ridiculous. Even so, despite portraying a multi-lingual environment almost entirely mono-lingually, the series is maturing, as an equivalent to NCIS - a crime fighting team with wise leaders and a classy HQ, hi-tec equipment with ninja fighting and firearms skills, instead of US Navy crimes and social issues as its mise en scene, it has Interpol and the whole EU as its theatre of operation. It's on it's third series now. How much further does it have to run? Is it for the global market NCIS has succeeded in, or just the European? Time will tell. What's interesting is how relevant some of the crime themes are, people trafficking, Russian mafia, cyber bullying, police corruption. Moreover, some of the dialogue is quite entertaining, which makes a change.

Luck at St John's Christmas Fayre

Late rising, both catching up on lost sleep, it was gone ten by the time we had our pancake breakfast. Then I recorded and edited material prepared yesterday, finishing just before lunch. Then there was Monday's funeral service, and some texts for tomorrow's evening service to prepare before going out for a walk. 

First I went to St John's, which was holding its own imaginative version of a Christmas Fayre with a small collection of brightly decorated Christmas trees, a Santa's grotto and an assortment of tables selling jams and chutneys, table decorations and toys. There was a raffle and a dutifully bought five tickets and to my amazement won a bottle of Prosecco. Coincidentally, Clare won a bottle of Prosecco at the St Catherine's Autumn Fayre, so now we have two in hand, ready and waiting to be drunk at Christmas with the family.

The event was very well attended, and all those who'd worked hard to put it on were pleased their efforts were rewarded. I was especially pleased to meet Sandra again, one of the church stalwarts, housebound since before covid. She's been declared unfit to drive at her advanced age, and can no longer make her own way to church. A veteran member of St John Ambulance, she's content to sit at home knitting in front of the telly. Her speciality is baby clothes for the maternity hospital premature unit.  

The sun was already setting by the time I left St John's so most of the day's walk was in the dark, which I'm not very keen on. I have no problem about walking familiar paths at night, but most out walking or riding use strong LED flashlight, which dazzle unpleasantly. It takes away pleasure of being out in the park under a cloudless sky with Venus and Saturn visible, with the rest of the heavens obscured by urban light pollution. The new moon came, and went un-noticed during the day

When I got in, Clare was talking by WhatsApp to Rachel in Phoenix, where it's mid morning. She was demonstrating her progress in jazz accompaniment in anticipation of Jasmine's visit. We've had news from the instrument repairer in Penarth that Owain's saxophone is ready for collection on Tuesday, and wasn't in need of a major overhaul and won't be too costly, which is good news, and means that it won't be hard for Jasmine  just to pick up and play.

We had supper fairly late and I went up to bed to watch 'Crossing Lines' on my Chromebook. Tonight's episode of the Millennium Trilogy I already watched. It was available on iPlayer last week, which is rather strange. A Sunday morning without a service to take so I shall sing in the choir at St Catherine's tomorrow.

A delivery too late

A very cold bright day, so I stayed in, writing until lunchtime. Another email arrived from Yodel to say our TalkTalk equipment parcel is on it's way and is fiftieth in the delivery queue. This gives us no idea whether to expect it today, tonight or tomorrow. It's just as well that I postponed the Open Reach installer's visit to the 17th of this month. But what a co-incidence that I should receive an appointment for an ultrasound scan of my gall bladder on the same day! Thankfully, it's late in the afternoon and the installation appointment is in the morning.

The Yodel parcel deliveryman turned up a quarter an hour after the original installation time slot was due to end, so it's just as well I re-scheduled. I sent a direct message via Twitter to TalkTalk reporting what had happened, suggesting that they should review their scheduling and their supply agent ability to deliver the goods on time. It's important to give feedback. 

I unpacked the parcel to look at the new router. It attached to the fibre broadband supply through a dedicated form of ethernet plug, which will be connected with a converter box to the fibre optic cable, once installed. This turns the digital optical signal into an electrical one to deliver to the router. I could have set it up myself had the fibre optic cable been installed, except that the engineers are obliged to test the entire new system, once it's running and settled down after the initial connection is made.

After lunch I walked for an hour and a half. The evening sky was magnificent with a scattering of high cirrus clouds turning lovely autumnal colours as the sun set. Most of the trees are bare now, making tens of thousands of starlings visible as they restlessly gather and move from one back of the river to another before settling to roost for the night. In the evening I roosted in front of the telly again, having prepared everything for recording next week's Thursday Morning Prayer. That can wait until tomorrow.

Over-promised, under-delivered

I posted the link to this week's Morning Prayer and Reflection on the Parish WhatsApp group as soon as I woke up, then after breakfast, Clare headed off to school, and I went down to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist with half a dozen others. On the sacristy take I found a Byzantine icon of St John the Evangelist standing with the blessed Virgin Mary, capturing that moment when Jesus dying on the cross asks John to look after his mother. An label on the back said it was a thank you gift from the Russian Orthodox Exarchate Parish which has been using the church on Sunday afternoons since lock-down denied them the use of the chapel in Cathays which is part of the Nazareth House convent/nursing home. 

Interestingly enough Conway Road Methodist Church offers hospitality to another Russian Orthodox congregation on Sunday afternoons, one that is under the Patriarchate of Moscow. The Russian Exarchate federation of churches began in the 1920s after the revolution, when many exiles felt that the Patriarchate of Moscow had compromised itself in order to survive under Soviet domination. It retains its identity and independence throughout Europe and owes allegiance to the Oecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople. 

A new influx of Russian ex-pats arrived in the wake of glasnost who retained loyalty to Moscow and set up their own churches, once they realised the Exarchate congregations didn't want to return to the fold. It's a bit like the co-existence of indigenous Anglican Communion dioceses in Spain and Portugal, which are at least as old as many of the diocese in Europe ex-pat chaplaincies. Different pastoral needs call for different responses.

I returned from church to find a note from the postman about the failed parcel delivery - Clare's specs, which she left in Kenilworth a couple of weeks ago, sent on by Kath, which means another visit to the main depot to retrieve them. In theory you can ring up and book a re-delivery, but in practice the line is always busy or not answering. Then, I had a text message from OpenReach about Friday's Future Fibre broadband upgrade presuming we'd already received the new router and digi-box "A few days" ago. 

Yodel, the parcel delivery company emailed yesterday to say the packages had been dispatched, but there was no delivery this morning, so I was forced to postpone the installation for a fortnight, which was done efficiently by text message within an hour. TalkTalk, Open Reach and Yodel all seem to be working on different time scales at the moment. It's impossible to know when, and wastes a lot of time just waiting to get things done. I was told by someone at St John's that a member of the congregation had signed up to change from BT to Sky broadband, and has been waiting a fortnight without the service switch-over being completed.

I cooked lunch, then  went for a walk through the Bute Park woods - much of the park is still open by day, it's the arboretum area that's closed off for the light show. Then I wrote next week's biblical reflection and started drafting this year's Christmas newsletter. It made me realise when I'd finished how much we'd been able to get away this year in spite of covid restrictions. I have missed going abroad, but am grateful nevertheless for what we have been able to do.

In an effort to spend less time working on the computer or the phone, I stopped after supper and watched another episode of 'Crossing Lines on My5, in the absence of anything interesting on live telly. 

The memory jigsaw puzzle

The first of this year's Reith Lectures was broadcasted on Radio Four after breakfast on the subject of living with Artificial Intelligence by Professor Stuart Russell. It was really engaging, and easy to follow, a subject in need of careful consideration and of interest to me as a student of Philosophy of Science since before the advent of digital information. As an undergraduate my research project obliged me to compile basic data to support my meagre findings, by hunting through huge tomes of scientific reports from the 'Chemical Abstracts' library shelf. That got me thinking about scientific method and this has remained a subject of interest ever since. 

When I arrived at St German's for the school Mass this morning, a group of children were already sitting on the floor in front of the others with small portable xylophones, picking out a tune to accompany the rest of the three dozen or so children in singing a Christmas song. Due to current covid nervousness singing is not permitted in the school hall. Due to the church's high ceiling however, this is permissible. We've been told there's not going to be a Christmas concert or public nativity play this year. The unpredictable and often terrible weather rules out planning an outdoor performance. Tragic for children and their families.

When I got back home, I realised that I'd lost the only pair of middle distance specs I rely on for both reading and seeing clearly across a room. I hunted for them unsuccessfully while Clare cooked lunch and then I fetched this week's veggie bag. I rang Angela to ask if they were in church and could be set aside for me to collect, as I concluded they couldn't be anywhere else. Then I took the 24 bus to town and walked from Westgate Street to St German's. I hunted for the specs with no success, then rang Angela ago, who told me that Peter had gone to look for them. Seconds later an email arrived from him telling me where he'd left them. While hunting, I noticed that the sacristy safe had been left wide open, and closed it with the the chalice I used safely tucked inside. Unusual I thought but then realised why.

Normally Peter tidies up after the school Mass, takes the vessels away and locks them up. This time he'd been busy with an incoming enquiry about booking the hall, so in an effort to be helpful I'd taking the vessels to the sacristy and left them there, unsure of how to finish the job, as normally it's a task done by someone else at St German's. It's all looked after wonderfully for the officiating priest. Peter came in and found my specs. He left them in an unusual place. At the feet of St Joseph. Now there's no image of him in church, so this puzzled me until the penny dropped.

Already the nativity crib scene has been erected, as school classes visit church well before Christmas. When St Joseph had been unpacked, it was found that his head had come off. Peter had repaired him and left the figurine to get on a table in the back room where the flower vases are kept. He was easy to find, looking after my specs, once I realised. Peter's routine completion of chores had been disrupted every bit as much as mine, losing my specs, but things still worked together for good. All was safely gathered in. How our memories rely on routines, as well as observation to see the whole picture.

I took a couple of buses and walked to reach a house on time for a bereavement visit in Canton Court on the return trip, then contacted the undertakers about the detailed arrangement when I got back. That's only the second home visit I've done this year. Most pre-funeral arrangements are done by phone since the pandemic unfortunately.

After supper, the evening was taken up with writing this year's newsletter to accompany the Christmas cards. It's hard enough summarising the key points of the year let alone remembering what they are and when they happened. Mind you, I find the same when it comes to remembering each day's events that I blog about. It's as if memories aren't contained in any distinct order, but can be associated with each other in many different ways, elusive to identify. Only when you make the effort to tell the story do the pieces emerge and need sequencing. It's just like doing a jigsaw puzzle. I can think of no better analogy. 

Even more amazing is that for different reasons the rate of recall of certain memories seems to be quite quick, the bulk, rather slower, and some so slow that far longer times pass before recall allows a more complete picture of the past to emerge. It's fascinating, and recall seems to involve sensory cues. I find I rely greatly on photos and visual memories, whether of the day or years past, to evoke memories of an occasion whose story I want to tell. Short term memories are evasive on times, but recollections return later, when you thought you'd forgotten. It's as if every memory really exists, but outside of our normal time-frame of perception.

Early news reports state that the omicron variant of covid has milder symptoms, but is more contagious, and less likely to be fatal or cause serious illness. It will take time for rigorous consistent testing of the initial findings, but they are consistent with the overall evolutionary pattern of new diseases, which self adapt to be more transmissible and less likely to kill of their host. An overview due to Darwin's work, so often vilified by biblical fundamentalists with an overly narrow view of the workings of the creative process. They never really read Genesis chapter one and saw in it an outline of the evolution of the known world from absolute simplicity to complex diversity which precedes science. Perceptive myth was never intended to be taken literally but to awaken people to see the mystery of creation differently.