Heno Nos Galon

Nearly nine hours sleep, and then a breakfast of waffles to celebrate the turning of the year! Anna posted a WhatsApp link to a powerful well argued op-ed article in the Guardian written by Archbishop Rowan that takes the pandemic maxim 'nobody is safe until everybody is safe' and applies it to economic thinking, as the scandal of endemic poverty and social division worsens with the cost of living crisis Here's a link to it  

Here's a critical method and perspective which applies to politics, economics and religion alike. No doubt the unthinking will allege that no religious leader should concern themselves with secular affairs, but such ideologues may be fearful of being unmasked for impoverished thinking. Having stated his case Rowan gets around to the briefest reflection on the Nativity stories in relation to his critical perspective, giving a glimpse of the secular dimension of meaning to the Gospel. Will it provoke debate? We'll see.

It rained again all day, which kept me indoors until it slackened off late afternoon, and then finally stopped after sunset. I donned my rain gear, just in case it started again, but didn't need it, and just got hot and sweaty instead. Despite the rain it's been mild, eleven to twelve degrees all day. As I returned from the almost deserted park at dusk, I observed dog walkers arriving in numbers, their pets wearing collars that have LED lights of different colours making them visible after dark. A new feature of twilight exercise in the park this past few years.

There wasn't much of interest on the telly by the time we settled down after supper, without breaking into movies already started or about to finish, although we did watch some of S4C's Eisteddfod 2022 Concert and 'Heno Nos Galon' review of the year show for a change. Some marvellous singing, and good humour, even if my Welsh is limited. We decided not to stay up and see the New Year in, and made en effort to turn in a little early, and made it just as the festive fireworks started, always a bit early.

Thinking alike

Another damp overcast day with periods of rain. The news is preoccupied with the death of Pele the Brazilian footballer, credited with winning the World Cup three times, as if he was the only player in an eleven man team game. Well, maybe he did make the decisive moves in all three, but a team is more than its star player. He's spoken of like royalty or a heroic demigod, language verging on the idolatrous. He was known to be an easy going unpretentious warm friendly guy from a city slums. It must have been a constant test of personal humility to live with such adulation.

An unproductive morning in which the only useful thing I did was download the next diocese in Europe Prayer diary for use. The Llandaff prayer diary one isn't yet published on the diocesan website. The office is shut until next week so there's nobody around to ask. Not like in the pioneering days a decade ago when you could ring the techie colleague who would have copy to share before it was uploaded for public access.

Owain told me before Christmas that he was migrating his web pages to a new hosting server from the one I first registered with and paid for during the first dozen years. It seems that Servage the Service Provider had hugely increased the rental, reclassifying Owain's blog as a business site, though he makes no money from it. His 'inn8.net' web domain has quite a large volume of content, so it's not surprising really. Anyway he found a better deal with high quality add-on services, and his last subscription is about to lapse. When I reflected on this, it occurred to me that I've used a Servage email address to register my blog for the past sixteen years, although I've never made use of it for actual emailing. I thought I'd better change this while I still can, or risk losing access to sixteen years with of blogs.

I logged into my blog site, and discovered that through chronic digital stupidity I hadn't ever added a recovery email, needed in case I should ever lose the password. Google proposed that I should add another email address straight away. I tried using a couple of my existing ones and this was rejected, I had create a new Gmail account to serve as the recovery email, no problem, but this had the effect of displacing the existing Servage email address. So it's possible to log in only through the new account. 

The Servage email shows up as the recovery address now but attempts to exchange it for a new recovery email address, just in case have failed thus far. The now mandatory confirmation code from Google gets sent to the Servage address to an account which hasn't existed for years. I've yet to find a work around. In sixteen years I've never needed one, as my blog account has always been secure. Perhaps it's time for me to learn how to migrate my blog content to another site. We'll see.

On my afternoon walk in the park just before sunset. I bumped into Peter on his evening paseo just as the starlings began to gather in thousands along the west bank of the Taff in Pontcanna Fields. The wind was blowing in gusts and it was amazing to see how clouds of birds adjusted to this, re-shaping their formation, rising up or swooping down to just above our heads. I took a couple of minutes worth of video, and later edited these into one using Microsoft Clipchamp (what a silly name for an app!) and uploaded the result to YouTube. Worth a look for one and a half minutes, I think.

There was nothing worth watching on telly this evening. Apart from my half hour of increasingly boring DuoLingo drill, and a few emails to deal with, I just pottered around aimlessly.

This morning, or was it yesterday, I can't remember, I was think how nice it would be to have waffles for breakfast on Saturday morning instead of our usual pancakes, but I forgot to mention it to Clare. As I was about to turn in for the night, Clare was standing in the kitchen, and this prompted me t think about asking her if she fancied a change, but I saw that she's already got the batter mix bowl out on the work top, and presumed it was too late to ask. Then when I stepped into the kitchen I saw the electric waffle iron standing on the work top by the cooker. The same thought had occurred to her as well, so it'll be waffles for breakfast tomorrow!

Rare planetary occurrence.

I woke up early this morning and posted my Morning Prayer link to WhatsApp just before half past seven. After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St John's. There were ten of us this week. On the walk home it began to our with rain quite unexpectedly, though it had been cloudy with moments of sunshine earlier and it didn't last long, but my rain jacket was soaked.

I made a start on my Sunday sermon for St German's, then cooked lunch later than usual. It was after three by the time I went out for a walk. Half way through it started to rain again, though not so heavily. I took shelter for a while until the rain stopped under one of the few large evergreen trees in the park.  At least I didn't get soaked again. The sky cleared on my way back to reveal a waxing moon with one of the planets nearby high in the sky. Tonight seven planets are visible in the sky at the same time if you know where to look and when, five of them can be seen by the naked eye, a rare occurrence. I think I could see perhaps four from the back of the house, but without a map I can make sense of I'm not sure. This won't happen again for another eighteen years.

After supper I completed Sunday's sermon, then went to bed to watch 'Blacklist' on catch-up while Clare watched something different on telly. It gave me a head start on getting to bed early.

Lesson unlearned - Holy Innocents

After breakfast this morning on Radio 4 this year's four Reith Lecturers discussed the 'Four Freedoms' theme of the series, and were pleased to realise how much their ideas about freedom were shared. Like a choir part-singing in perfect harmony. I wonder if this years innovation of having four lecturers instead of one will catch on and be repeated next year. It introduces an additional dimension of dialogue on top of that provided by the fifteen minutes of Q&A after each lecture.

It rained for much of the night and continued until early afternoon. I ventured out in full rain gear to Saint Catherine's to celebrate the Eucharist of Holy Innocents' Day, reflecting with the congregation on  how child exploitation, abuse and slaughter in warfare has persisted in human history down to our own times, despite vain efforts to prevent and protect. To my surprise, despite the terrible weather, half a dozen regulars came to join me. No veggie bag this week, and no coffee after the service, so I went straight back home.

I cooked lunch, then had a snooze in the chair. Although I coped well with such difficult conditions last night, the effort of  driving it left me feeling pretty tired, and needing to take it easy with all the joints in my hands and fingers painful from the tension of holding on to the steering to wheel without respite for so long. That's what happens when you no longer do much distance driving I guess.

As it had stopped raining, I walked down to Blackweir Bridge and then around Pontcanna Fields. The Taff water level was high, covering the fish ladder completely and about to overspill on to the footpath. I took this little video.

As the sun set, I was walking under the avenue of trees the other side of the Fields when the local flocks of starlings began to convene noisily for the final stage of the journey to roost in trees along the east bank of the river, thousands of them, such a sight as you'll se here.

Before supper I recorded and edited the audio for next Thursday's Morning Prayer and after eating made them into a video slideshow for uploading to YouTube. Then I watched the last of Stanley Tucci's series on the regional food cultures of Italy, about Liguria. Genoa, capital of the region is the home of Pesto making. It was eye-opening to see how the basil leaves used in it were grown high up at 400 metres in an industrial greenhouse above the city, and then how a top expert chef made it by hand using a giant pestle and mortar.

Bank Holiday 2

It was overcast and damp by the time we left the hotel to walk up to Albion Street to join the others for a ten thirty breakfast finishing the last of the croissants and pain chocolat bought for the Christmas feast. It started to rain and continued at varying levels of intensity until mid-evening flooding highway drains and making it a misery to walk or drive anywhere.

After lunch Kath drove Owain to Coventry railway station to catch one of the trains still remaining in the aftermath of yesterday's rail strike to take him to Birmingham so he could take the three o'clock coach he'd booked to get him back to Bristol. We returned to the hotel packed our cases, loaded the car, then drove back to Albion Street to say thank you and goodbye to Kath and Anto for hosting another delightful family Christmas celebration, full of fine traditional food, good wines and coffee, spiced with much laughter. To my amazement the entire four kilo turkey and three kilo salmon were accounted for by the seven of us in three days. No waste, perfect planning.

At four thirty we parted company and ventured out into the downpour. With only a ten minute break rain pelted down for the entire journey home in the dark. I intended to use the M42 to reach the M5/M50, but couldn't identify the relevant junction with the A46, so I had to use the A46 route via the Stratford bypass which we normally take instead, mostly unlit, and quite busy, as was the entire road home. I was grateful that my mind was clear and vision clear enough to drive with confidence. It took all the concentration I could muster. Our non-stop journey of two and three quarter hours was incident free, followed by a warm winter bowl of split pea soup quickly made by Clare from pre-Christmas leftovers.  Then, an episode of 'Vienna Blood' before turning in for the night.

So glad we decided to return tonight rather than rising very early and driving to a ten o'clock deadline to be in church to celebrate the Holy Innocents' Day Eucharist tomorrow. 

Bank Holiday One

We got up slowly and walked to Albion Street for breakfast, just as everyone else was surfacing. Kath then readied the salmon for the oven and started it on a four hour slow cook while we went for our Boxing Day walk through the fields to the south west beyond Kenilworth Castle. It was cold but sunny with occasional blasts of strong wind in open fields. The aim was to visit an alpaca farm to see their herd, a destination popular with children and adults alike. They're docile creatures, easily led, and can be walked on a lead by families wanting to do something different on their country walk.

Clare and I got within half a mile of the farm and decided to turn back, as Clare felt too tired to go all the way. I took a few photos of a pair of alpacas, and some sheep with long curly horns in a field of their own a long was from the farm. I'd been walking slowly with caution on a track that was muddy and potentially slippery in places, so we lagged behind the others. By the time we got back to the house, the others had been to the farm and returned walking briskly to arrive just after us.

The salmon was perfectly done and was served with a variety of salads and garlic bread at four as planned. Then Viv took her leave of us, hoping to arrive home before it was completely dark. In the evening we watched a movie about a businessman's struggle to get home for Thanksgiving after bad weather cancelled his flight, called Trains Planes and Automobiles. Then we watched a couple of Christmas special editions of a comedy series called 'Motherland' which I'd never seen before. Hilarious mockery of bourgeois 'yummy mummy' lifestyle and culture. 

After Clare had done her daily injection, we walked back to the hotel, just after eleven and ready for sleep.

A feast of a day

I woke up at seven without needing an alarm, and with a bit of effort we were out of the door walking to St Nicholas' Parish Church at the other end of Kenilworth for the eight thirty Eucharist of the day. It was a the slightly modified 1662 Prayer Book service, from Common Worship 2000, taken at an unhurried pace with meditative silences throughout, in keeping with the timeless tradition of a quiet early Communion. I didn't feel I'd missed out because I didn't get to sing carols at midnight Mass. I appreciated the difference.

As we returned to join the early turkey roasters over breakfast, we hear the sound of church bells being rung the other side of town. The arched gateway to a private house, clad with evergreen bushes covered in range berries was full of chirping sparrows when we passed by. The owner of a Chinese takeaway was out with a roller brush repainting the facade surrounding his show window. He gave me a big grin. Apart from him High Street was deserted except for the occasional speeding car.

After coffee and toast, served as the others appeared from bed, I took the car back to the hotel car park and walked back to join the party, the bubbly already circulating before midday, Christmas songs on the sound system, and the aroma of red cabbage and turkey already in the air. 

By two o'clock the seven of us we at table enjoying a smoked salmon starter with the first of four different wines, the last a Chateauneuf du Pape  of which we had two different bottles, mostly embellishing a 2021 Christmas pudding from Clare's treasure trove. The dish of the day was beautifully cooked, along with all the veggies. Superbly organised by Kath with a willing band of helpers. I enjoyed the fact that my help was not needed at any stage, for a change.

Presents were exchanged around the tree afterwards, but I didn't last to the end. At some stage I fell asleep and spent nearly two hours on the sofa out of this world. This isn't unusual for me on Christmas Day after a busy few days of services, and for good reason. Admittedly, getting up early and in church by eight thirty curtailed a night's sleep a little, but I didn't feel especially tired. I didn't just nod off slowly but lapsed into sleep without realising, and woke up refreshed eventually. The good thing about being old is that nobody worries much if you conk out spontaneously. As long as you keep breathing, and don't have a fit.

We listened on iPlayer to King Charles' maiden speech as monarch. I was interested to see it was branded as 'The Speech' to avoid confusion with the movie about his Grandfather King George VI. He spoke well, covering all bases in terms of appreciation for all the voluntary and professional workers whose lives of public service have made life tolerable and worthwhile for the nation in this past year, and affirmed the diversity of British citizens working together for the common good. 

He paid tribute to his late mother, and was transparent about the importance of his own Christian faith in his life, openly following in her foot steps. A worthy successor to her as chief lay person of the Church of England. The speech was filmed in St George's Chapel Windsor, and was rich in video cutaways to people in all walks of life engaging in public service across Britain, illustrating what he was speaking about. Brilliant thoughtful editing, maintaining a high standard and quietly demonstrating what a head of state can and should be in leading the nation. 

We walked back to the hotel at half ten, ready for a much longer sleep after a lovely day of excellent food and conversation laced with hilarious anecdotes and repartee.

Christmas Eve reunion

A comfortable quiet night in our hotel room, getting up slowly after a lie-in, then a message from Kath to say the coffee was on and breakfast would be ready whenever we arrived. The sun was shining and the sky clear as we made the twenty minute walk to Albion Street for a bowl of muesli and a pile of toast. To our surprise Rhiannon surfaced earlier than expected after a night out arriving home at four in the morning.

Anto arrived from a sortie to fetch the turkey from Waitrose. Freshly brewed expresso coffee was drunk by all from a newly acquired Italian mini expresso machine, complete with milk frothing appendage. Having already drunk two generous black Americanos with breakfast, I abstained. Inevitably, we had a late light lunch.

Then I walked up to St Nicholas Parish Church to see if it was open, and found it was not only open but full of parents and children taking part in a Nativity tableau, with a narration in rhyming couplets from some who I imagine was a Sunday School teacher. Ten years ago, we arrived a few days before Christmas to attend Rhiannon's Church school Nativity play in this church, so this brief moment evoked happy memories of her childhood. 

It was wonderful to see so many people attending this parish event in numbers comparable the pre-covid Christmasses. Just like back at home in Canton. It doesn't amount to a religious revival, but it is a sign that tradition is valued and held on to with tenacity when it is possible to express it once more. 

I remember a few years back photos of Syrian Orthodox Christians in Irbil, whose city had been overwhelmed by ISIS, its institutions and sanctuaries destroyed, in the days after the city had been liberated, gathering to worship in a burned out church. And the same in a bombed Catholic church in Aleppo when it was besieged. Hope and defiance expressed in reclaiming sacred places defiled by war. 

Nothing like that has happened to church members in Britain, but covid precautions closed down churches and other places of worship dispossessing millions of their freedom to worship. Despite the apparent loss of numbers attending church, or the slow return to worship of significant numbers, churches maintain their invitation to the whole community. Slowly people are realising what they've been missing, and find the church doors are still held open for them, the same old welcome still extended to them.

I stayed in church just a few minutes and then returned to rendezvous with Kath to drive to Digbeth Coach station to collect Owain from one arriving at four o'clock. We were back in Kenilworth by five, and while we were out Anto's sister Viv arrived. Then we walked to the 'Abbey Fields' pub for a drink before supper. Kath cooked us a splendid pasta dish, washed down with wines from France, Italy and Switzerland, followed by a selection of cheeses and  mince pies. We sat around the table and talked until ten, when Clare did her daily osteoporosis injection. Then we walked back to the hotel together. I wanted to walk up to the Parish Church for Midnight Mass, but found I was just too tired to enjoy the effort. There are three services tomorrow. We'll get to one of them, for sure.

On the road to Christmas

Lots of last minute preparations after breakfast, including a trip to the Post Office and Tesco's for last minute purchases, then bag packing. I cooked pasta to go with the laver bread and prawns for lunch, a really delicious combination. Then we set off for Kenilworth, calling in at Martin's in Newport for a very brief visit. That was when I realised I'd left home without a top coat, worse still, I'd forgotten to load the special wines for Christmas into the car. 

As we were about to leave a neighbour intercepted us and chatted for a while, which made us late and distracted me from the usual double check before leaving. We had to double back to Cardiff, which lost us an hour, but the journey was remarkably smooth despite the rain and we checked into the Peacock Hotel by five thirty, and were with Kath, Anto and Rhiannon by six.  Kath cooked us a delicious dish of frijoles rojos con chilli y arroz. 

Rhiannon was all dressed up and in party mode, and left us when we'd eaten after telling us hilarious tales about her pre-Christmas job as one of Santa's elves in Solihull shopping centre. It's lovely to see her flourishing and confident. In February, before her 19th birthday she's going to a two week film acting course in Los Angeles, which she's saved up for herself. An amazing thing to do in her gap year from theatre studies at Stratford FE College.

The four of us spent a very pleasant evening catching up on the events of recent months and drinking wine. We left the car near the house and walked back to the hotel through deserted streets. Not much party going activity evident in the streets gone eleven in the evening. But then it's early by today's standards for any hostelry to close, I guess.

First carol service this year

I woke up early, posted the day's YouTube link to WhatsApp and dozed until half past eight. It's unseasonably mild at ten degrees for a second day. 

There were nine of us at the St John's Eucharist. When I got back home I finished and uploaded next Thursday's Morning Prayer, and then started work on a reflection for the week after next, as Ruth emailed two sets of readings this week. It makes life easier when there are so many distractions at such a sociable time of year.

Then I caught the bus into town to buy the Christmas salmon, some laver bread and cooked prawns which we'll have for lunch before we head for Kenilworth with the salmon tomorrow afternoon. I love the festive seasonal atmosphere of the Market in the days before joining people waiting to be served and chatting. It puts a big happy grin on my face no matter how cold or damp it may be. I took my rucksack to carry the fish home, but it was too long to fit into it, so I had to lug it awkwardly to the bus in a huge white plastic bag that was uncomfortably heavy to hold. Thankfully, no mishaps. It's squeezed into the fridge ready for transport tomorrow. 

I went to the St Catherine's Carol Service early evening. There were about eighty in the congregation and twenty in an augmented choir. Very pleasing to see attendance at a weeknight pre Christmas service back at the pre-covid level. When the children sang Away in a Manger, two girls dressed in ballet tutus bedecked with tinsel danced a pas de Deux, representing the angels. Touchingly beautiful, and a great enhancement to the service.

I had a late supper of beans on toast when I returned, and tried to find something I could settle down and watch, but couldn't find anything that retained my attention. So I did my daily DuoLingo Spanish drill, and then went to bed.

Turning point

It's the shortest day today, I'm pleased to say. Slowly lighter evenings will return. I wake up at first light , switch on the radio to hear the news and then doze, often until eight thirty before getting up, frequently missing Thought for the Day and needing to listen on catch-up. After breakfast the fourth and final Reith Lecture for this year, on  'Freedom from Fear' by Fiona Hill a British born international relations advisor who worked for several US presidents sharing her expertise as a Russian affairs analyst. 

She started with a useful long perspective on geopolitical power struggles and conflicts over the past centuries, observing a tendency for history to repeat itself, and then analysing the war in Ukraine and Putin's strategy of arousing fear as a primary instrument of war. This I thought was a brilliant take on the situation, particularly her idea that the only way to counter the impact of fear was with resolute courage. Nicely timed this week as President Zelenski ventures away from Ukraine for the first time to visit the USA and make a bid to the US Congress for continued support. 

Then a walk in the rain to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. There were a dozen of us present and ten stayed on for coffee chat afterwards. Then I walked in the rain to collect the weeks veggie bag and return to cook lunch. A full stalk of brussels sprouts and huge red cabbage this week. Christmas fare indeed! I cooked a batch of soaked yellow split peas for lunch, but these took far longer than anticipated, so they were added to the vegetables sooner than necessary, and then needed pressure cooking to make them palatable. I was rather disappointed with my effort.

It stopped raining and the sky cleared of cloud after lunch. I started preparing the texts for the next two Thursdays' Morning Prayer, then went out for a walk just as the sun was settiing. By this time clouds were filling the sky and the temperature dropped enough to cloak the Fields with mist, quite beautiful.

After supper, another evening watching the last couple of episodes of Rocco Schiavone. Apart from the interesting story-line there are occasional sympathetic vignettes of characters marginal to the plot, encountered in the course of the investigation. Often old, or poor. There are still a few unresolved threads in the overarching story, maybe to do with high level corruption and vendettas that would benefit from several more episodes. If the sixteen episodes so far fourteen were made between 2016 and 2019, and two more last year, so the series survived the pandemic. I hope there'll be more.

Before turning in for the night, I recorded the audio for next week's Morning Prayer and set up the Video creation app ready to complete the task tomorrow to make ready for a work-free Christmas feast.

Losing a voice for grief

After breakfast this morning I started work on next week's Morning Prayer video until it was time to walk to Pidgeon's Chapel for the funeral I was to conduct for a woman who I think was of an age to arrive in  Britain in the Windrush era of immigration from the Caribbean. The service was for a family group of about twenty. After the committal at Western cemetery there was no filling in of the grave by the family, as has been customary at West Indian funerals I recalled from my time in St Paul's Bristol. 

The mourners just stood around silently to start with until the son added a few brief prayers of his own, and invited people to recite the Lord's Prayer again with him. Then someone started singing one of the hymns we'd sung at the service, quietly, bur this faded out as few remembered the words. Then someone played a religious song on their phone, too quietly for other to hear, but someone else got the idea and played another song on a much louder phone. It wasn't as if anyone was trying to fill the silence exactly, but more like groping to do the right thing, as something was felt to be missing in the farewell ritual. It was moving in a way. A generation of middle aged people no longer fully in touch with the ways of the community which had raised and nurtured them, losing its voice I thought.

Clare had lunch ready by the time I got back. While I was out, she took delivery of the standard lamp I'd ordered on Saturday, in a neat surprisingly small package. It was quite a physical struggle with painfully rheumatically hands to unpack and assemble, given the way the components were sheathed tightly in cardboard for transport, but I succeeded eventually. Then I went into town by bus to bank a cheque, and buy some special screw fit light bulbs to go in it. The lamp specifications made no sense in terms of what was on sale in Wilko's Queen Street, which I visited, despite the extensive array of bulbs for sale. So what I bought wasn't right and will have to be taken back tomorrow.

After supper I indulged in another evening of watching episodes of series three of Inspector Rocco Schiavone, all linking together an extensive investigation into gambling and casinos that launder money for criminals. It's long been a problem in national border zones, and often cleverly concealed. It's easier to grasp when laid out in a story than when explored in a long and detailed newspaper article.

Such a simple solution

More rain overnight, and an unseasonal thirteen degrees for most of the day, although it rained very little. It took a while to get going this morning, and by the time we'd had breakfast done the weekly housework chores, prepared the service for tomorrow morning's funeral, and paid the water rates bill on-line, it was time to cook lunch.

I called my sister June to check out how she's coping, as her heating system shut down on Friday and she's spent the last two days in her flat at seventeen degrees when she's used to twenty five plus. British Gas did not consider her to be a priority, and I'm troubled about that, but this is a time of year when central heating systems get more than usual usage and tend to break down. She's had so much trouble since a new Vaillant boiler with a Hive thermostat was installed, with an assortment of faults and complete failure on the part of gas engineers visiting to make sure she understood their user explanations before leaving. I thought the hive might be faulty, but it seems not, on the surface. 

Then it occurred to me this morning that the fault may lie with the digital mechanism controlling the boiler itself. As it communicates via a wi-fi link, I thought the fault might be as simple as a network systems crash. I said the one thing to her than nobody on any help line had thought of saying at any time "Have you tried switching the power off and on again." No she hadn't, and promised to do so. Later I received a delighted email to say the boiler was working again and the radiators were heating up as they should. Such a simple thing. A hard reboot of the boiler operating system was all it took. Why did nobody think of that before? 

After lunch a walk in the park for an hour and a half, and after supper, more Rocco Schiavone episodes to while away a dark evening before bed.

Singing again

The temperature leapt up by ten degrees overnight, and it rained heavily. Oddly it felt colder than when it was minute three as the humidity increased. Walking to St Catherine's for the Eucharist the drains were overwhelmed and a detour was needed to avoid being soaked by passing cars despite the rain we were three dozen adults and kids in church.

After lunch, I finished Thursday's Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube, then we returned to church to prepare for the second of our Fountain Choir concerts at six. I took my little digital voice recorder with me and planted it on the front seat, unsure of how well it would work. I was quite pleased with the result.  We sang well and the music was well received by the audience of two dozen.

After supper and an initial edit of the concert audio, I searched for something to watch on More Four and came across several episodes of the inspector Rocco Schiavone detective series. They were on the Walter Presents site, but haven't been aired live. I watched one and will certainly enjoy the rest. 

O Sapientia

My goodness, a week until it's Christmas Eve already! 

By the time I got up this morning the temperature was already rising above zero and stayed there all day into the night. Clare cooked pancakes for our habitual Saturday breakfast. Then we went into town and ordered a salmon from Ashton's to take with us for Christmas, buy some more cards, and investigate reading lamps in John Lewis. We identified one to buy, but there wasn't one in stock apart from the display model, so we had to order one on-line for home delivery when we got home. Hopefully it will arrive before we leave for Kenilworth next Friday. 

We had a drink and a snack in John Lewis, and caught a C1 bus that took us to Cowbridge road shops to buy some cards as we'd forgotten while we were in town. We came out of the shop and saw a 61 bus in the distance. We caught it and were home sooner than expected, cooking lunch late. 

By the time we'd finished and cleared up, the sun was low and it was getting dark by the time I went out for a walk in the park. Several cyclists were riding along the edge of Llandaff Fields with helmets and bikes decorated with LED Christmas lights. In the night time most dogs out with their owners have illuminated collars these days, now they're cheap to acquire and run. It was quiet and deserted away from the road, until I heard a noise sounding like moped with no silencer coming from the Llandaff direction on the footpath, but the approaching bright light was too high to come from a moped. Then a guy with a light on his helmet sped past me standing on a skateboard with a small two stroke engine attached, the sort of engine you'd find on a noisy chainsaw or hedge trimmer. Skateboards with electric motors I've seen out and about, but this outfit was likely to be a DIY enthusiast's home engineering project.

I watched the third and thoughtful concluding episode of 'Granite Harbour'. Strangely, it turns out that Series One has only three episodes encompassing one story. More like a pilot for a series. No report yet of a follow up, though it's been well reviewed. Then I watched 'The Eagle has Landed' premiered in 1976. I've seen it a couple of times over the years since. Michael Caine and Donald Sutherland both look ever so young in it.

So far so good

Another sub-zero night, but with the air so dry I slept well and slept late. After breakfast, I found a CD in our collection of my late beloved colleague and friend Patrick Rosheuvel, with whom I used to perform on occasions when we both worked for USPG. He was a gifted singer / songwriter and with backing from the remarkable bass and tuba instrumentalist Herbie Flowers, he recorded an album of two dozen of his own love songs called 'Special Feelings'. Rachel remembered me practicing and singing them when she was a kid, and asked me about him and his children Golda and John the other day. Golda is a top notch performer in musical theatre and John is a composer of film music nowadays. Another case of creative clergy children!

She was asking about a particular song she'd been trying to remember with Jasmine, but I thought she'd like to be able to hear them again some thirty five years on from when the album came out. Originally I digitized the double disk album and made MP3s of all the tracks on my Linux laptop, but wasn't aware I'd saved them on to its hard drive, and started ripping the CD, but it got stuck and crashed half way through. I had to switch to my desktop Windows 10 PC, which also has a CD drive. Initially I couldn't find ripping software on it, then I found legacy Windows Media Player app from Windows 7 days which can rip CDs and this did the job nicely, so I uploaded the folder with all 24 songs in it to my Google Drive and sent Rachel a link to it. Far easier than burning another CD and mailing it to her.

I discovered that I didn't have Audacity on my desktop PC, but when I tried to use it for a small editing job I couldn't finish the job by installed the LAME library of file compression / decompression files. It's a fiddle job which I've done several times before, but forgotten how to do it properly, so it's not possible to use Audacity on this machine yet. So annoying, when I have it installed and working properly on my Windows and Linux laptops.

Clare cooked lunch and with our veg we had some sardines bought from the market frozen when freshly filleted and pan fried. A delicious treat on a chilly day, to remind me of the everyday delights of the Costa del Sol to come in the New Year. 

It was getting close to sunset when I went for a tentative walk without ankle or knee support, willing to turn back to home at any time if I felt uncomfortable without them, but I didn't fortunately. No adverse effects, and I covered two thirds of my usual distance quota today, first to the chemists to pick up my prescription medications, and then down to Pontcanna Fields and Blackweir, getting back at twilight as the temperature was dropping from just above to below zero. So far so good with ankle recovery, I'm grateful to say.

While I was at Blackweir, the camera announced that the 16GB SD card memory was full. Fortunately I carry a card in my wallet, so no evening light opportunities were missed. When I checked the file stats, I found that it contained 2,250 photos taken over 21 months. And that's just one of three cameras I use! It took me a while after supper to transfer the contents, along with those from the previous SD card in this camera, to a slower 32GB SD card for archive storage. This frees two faster SD cards for re-use, a total of 5,000 photos taken with the HX90 since I bought it, mid 2018. It's still working well, despite the cracked casing and missing flash pop-up mechanism.

My choice of viewing for the rest of the evening was a couple of episodes of a new series on iPlayer called 'Granite Harbour'. It's a police procedural story set in Aberdeen, featuring a trainee detective who's an ex military policeman, whose basic training was with the 'Red Stripe' Jamaica police service where he hailed from. He's unusually sharp and self confident with ten years policing behind him, and not adjusting easily to being the junior member of a team with more cautious investigative methods than he's used to. It's good to hear a cultured native Jamaican accent, clear and untainted by evolution in a British environment. By way of contrast, the Aberdonian accent of many cast members mumbled for the movies, is on times hard to decipher from time to time. A good storyline and well worth watching.

Christmas soirée

Overnight the temperature went down to minus four, but then followed a bright clear dry day. Perfect for the run up to the Winter equinox in six days from now. I uploaded the link for this week's Morning Prayer and reflection to WhatsApp, then got up and made breakfast. 

A walk to Tesco Metro for foodbank donations, then St John 's to celebrate the Eucharist with seven others and a cup of coffee before returning home to cook lunch. I needed a snooze in the chair after lunch, having had another late night. After a snack supper we drove to Fran's house in Penarth for an evening of readings carols and quiet reflection around a properly candle-lit Christmas tree. Clare and I sang the Welsh plygain carol we're performing in the Fountain choir concert and I contributed a brief poem on the incarnation that I wrote a couple of nights ago after an idea came to me when my head was just hitting the pillow around midnight. No wonder I get late nights! Here's the poem.

When the Word became flesh 

Old gods and demons were un-throned

so they said

Yet worshipped still unceasingly

Consuming their devotees

With deathly violence.

Foolish humans cannot bear for long

The silence of heavens

Emptied of glamorous mystery.

Divine utterance now dwells

Hidden in plain sight

Behind the child's naked cry

And mortal agony endured 

In the face of folly. 

Fran's partner Marc and I accompanied carol singing, violin and guitar, and while people were tucking in to their refreshments and mulled wine afterwards, we played a few Irish reels and jigs together for fun. I haven't done that for over thirty five years. After the death of our dear friend David Barker, with whom we used to play and sing whenever we met over the years after graduation, I didn't seek another opportunity to play like that again, sad to say.

Although the temperature was minus one driving home at eleven, the roads were dry with little traffic and I was able to reclaim my parking place outside the house, which was a relief. I was hard enough getting out of it when we left, as a new neighbour with a huge VW electric SUV had parked very badly and far too close to make this straightforward, over a foot out from the kerb and at an outward angle that added to the difficulty of the manoeuvre. Strange to say, getting back into the space seems much less tricky than leaving it.

It was a good evening, but I'm certainly ready for be now.

Out of the house again

It was minus one when I got up for breakfast. My ankle had improved overnight, and I was able to put on my hiking books with good ankle support, plus elastic knee and ankle supports to walk to St Catherine's and celebrate the Eucharist. It took me twice as long as usual, going slowly and carefully. Fortunately the pavements were frost free. We kept the feast of St John of the Cross and I took the opportunity to read to the six in the congregation part of one of John's poems about journeying by night. It got me thinking about the Cloud of Unknowing afterwards. It was written about two centuries earlier and works with the same notion of not being able to see, but going forward trustfully, entering into the depths of divine mystery.

We chatted afterwards over coffee, then Ann kindly gave me a lift down to Eton Place to collect the week's veggie bag, and then drop me off at home. I then completed cooking lunch which Clare had started before going shopping. Then I took my boots off and was relieved to find my ankle was no worse for walking. Later I walked to the surgery to collect my three months medication prescription. Altogether half my usual daily average today, but on the way back to normality now, thankfully.

In the evening I wrote next weeks biblical reflection, recorded and edited both Office and reflection after watching an new episode of 'Vienna Blood' in which a psychiatrist advises a murder investigator on a psychological profile of the investigator, when this was still a novel idea. The period piece interiors and Vienna town-scapes are lovely to see as a backdrop to the story, even if on times this police procedural movie seems a little mannered and wooden. It went on a little longer than anticipated and I ended up going to bed much later than planned - again.

Luciadag

The pain in my ankle wasn't nearly as intense as last night so I slept well. I had to move tentatively and slowly to find out what movements caused me pain and what didn't. There was no question of putting on shoes and walking outdoors yet, just slow pacing around the house, which got easier as the day went on. Clare went out shopping and I cooked lunch.

My ankle swelled a little afterwards, perhaps because I was standing for a while, but what took it so long to react to injury I wondered? On with the elastic support sock again, and foot up for the rest of the day in between short spells of walking around.

Sara emailed a link to a Swedish broadcast of the celebration of Sta Lucia, today's big festive Advent ritual in Sweden. It struck me while watching it that it's much more than a charming musical ceremony hard to relate to mainstream Church teaching. It showcases teenage Christian girls celebrating songs of praise in honour of Lucy of Syracuse a young female martyr, victim of violence against women, along with many others persecuted for their faith, and refusal to comply with the imperial status quo. The ancient Roman Canon of the Mass contains the names of seven female martyrs from the 2nd and 3rd centuries. Not even a conservative religious hierarchy could suppress mention of their names.

Given the horror of what is currently happening in Iran, with young women and girls persecuted and violated by Islamic Republican 'morality' police for refusing to cover their hair, the sight of a couple of dozen girls with their hair down, uncovered, wearing crowns of light remains a powerful gesture of defiance in a world contaminated by cruel sexism. 

With much time on my hands, iPlayer on my Chromebook is a consolation. I watched the last episode of 'Strike' with its surprising revelation that a seemingly helpless elderly lady was behind the disappearance of a female GP, just one of multiple victims of a discreet psychopathic serial killer. A very clever twist in a detective story. I guess good fiction help draw attention to the seemingly unthinkable. 

Then I watched all three of Simon Schama's series 'The History of Now' reflecting from both personal experience and his own historical enquiries on the way key artistic contributions to life in the past hundred years gave a voice to the need for social change in the realms of justice equality and freedom. A powerful collection of essays that is giving me pause for thought about change in Christian thinking and my own ministry, especially as Schama is just two months older than me.

Looking back over the years since I retired, I have been disturbed and disillusioned by the ways in which the Church in Wales has been led and run, or should I just say managed? But I haven't been outspoken on any issues of concern. It's been important to me to exercise a ministry as pastor which serves others, not to draw attention to myself more than is necessary, and to stay out of church internal politics. 

My final big project before retirement was the faith communities survey of Cardiff. It had a positive public launch, but was dismissed by the editor of the Western Mail whose report on it only included negative feedback from a spokesperson for Wales Humanists. I didn't know how, or have the guts to challenge this at that time, prior to Twitter and Social Media, nor how to follow it through without making myself more prominent and open to criticism that could undermine confidence in me as a pastor. It's all I ever wanted to be in life, after all. I didn't have the energy to be anything more at that stage. 

In the same year I had to accompany the faithful remnant of St James' church through the painful process of church closure and its contents disposed of prior to sale. It was a heart breaking job for which diocesan and provincial officials gave me no support. Maybe none of them knew how to do the job either. It was a bleak time which I survived thanks to the loving kindness of a wonderful congregation at St John's. It made me determined not to stay on for another five years as I could retire  at sixty five and have nothing more to do with church bureaucracy. Having the freedom to be a volunteer pastor since then has been a great consolation, glad to have nothing to do with the institution or its processes any more. Was I right to disengage? Not to seize the freedom to speak truth freely to power when I could or should have done? Not sure I know the answer to that.

Laid up

Sleep was fitful with discomfort from pain in my ankle and lower leg, but helped by an ibuprofen which Clare insisted I take in the middle of the night. It started to ease by the time I got up late for breakfast. I could stand and walk slowly and carefully to avoid stabs of pain in my heel and ankle joint, but still no swelling. I had no alternative but to spend the day resting with my foot up unable to do my share of either the housework or the cooking. 

The knee and ankle support were dispensed with once I realised I could walk safely without them. It's just a matter of being patient with myself and staying safe indoors. This will be the first time I've not been  out walking at all for longer than I can remember except when I've been laid low with a debilitating virus.

The choir WhatsApp group was busy with messages during the day, positive feedback from the concert yesterday, including an offer to make a professional standard recording of the concert in St Illtud's in the New Year. I had a positive response from Caroline the Lay Reader at St Andrew's Los Boliches, about the Lent course outline I emailed to Jen on Saturday. We're considering having a weekly address on the course material at the midweek Communion with discussion afterwards over coffee, and then a Zoom discussion around the address the next day. It's a start anyway. I made a little more progress in arrangements for the funeral I've been asked to take in eight days time.

In the afternoon I finished reading the Patricia Cornwell crimmie, with one of those 'evil twin' scenarios in its ending. It seemed to me however that the various threads of the story contained excessive detail and repeated descriptions of the setting of action which seemed more like padding to me than an enhancement to the chilling drama promised on the cover. Even the title 'Red Mist' seemed only marginally relevant to the whole story. Harder work than her earlier stories I'd say.

After supper I watched two and a half episodes of 'Strike', series four on BBC iPlayer, authored by J.K Rowling. Well written and interesting in telling a cold case story from fifty years ago in which dramatis personae are seen as they were in the seventies and now in old age. I could have watched all four episodes back to back as the story holds attention superbly, but I also need sleep to make up for last night. The ankle isn't any longer throbbing painfully all the time. Hopefully I'll sleep better tonight.

Unexpected indoor slip

The alarm got me out of bed at seven fifteen and walking to St Catherine's by half past seven. I expected the ground to be icy, but not wet and slushy. It seems there was a heavy downpour in the night flooding the drains, with a spell of drizzle as it tailed off, turning to sleet and then a light flurry of snow, coating gardens and parked cars. Quite a surprise. There were only five of us for the service, half the usual early Communion congregation. 

Back home for breakfast, then a drive across town to St German's for the eleven o'clock Solemn Mass. Twenty of us instead of the usual thirty. I will miss being here for Christmas. Bless them, they gave me a lovely bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape for a Christmas present.

The road home across town skirting the city centre was far less congested than last Sunday so I was home by one. My lunch was waiting for me, but Clare had gone for a siesta, bearing in mind the demands of the afternoon. We left at two for the drive to Llantwit Major, collecting Mother Frances from the Rectory on the way. I was grateful the air temperature was 3C and the roads ice free. They stayed that way when we drove home in the dark later.

By ten to three all the Fountain Choir singers were in place, attending to lighting and taking a quick run through of some of the pieces, in a warm up session. Then at half past three an audience began to gather. Around a hundred people altogether. Filling the nave. Anna talked them through each of the pieces before we sang, and then we gave it our best effort. It was a spirited performance, flawed by minor errors which Anna and singers may have spotted, but hopefully few of the audience.

Welcoming us at the end of the concert was Philip Morris, retired Archdeacon of Margam, attending with his wife Sheila, a couple we've known for more than fifty years, since I was in St Mike's, when we got to know his parents. Clare taught him English in Whitchurch High, during her first teaching job. They live now in Llantwit and he helps out as I do, most Sundays. He was standing in for Edwin Counsell, Rector, but as a choral music fan would have come anyway. He said it was the first concert of fourteenth century in Llanilltud Fawr anyone could recall. Music from the same century in which the church in its present form was re-built. Our audience was most appreciative which pleased us all. Next Sunday we're singing in St Catherine's, but will there be quite such a good audience I wonder?

We got home at twenty to seven. Before we ate, I had a belated bereavement phone call to make, which I did upstairs. Clare called me down and as I neared the bottom, slipped on the last but one step and my back leg caught on the third step twisting my leg and ankle up behind me. Agony overnight but pain slow to recede. Luckily nothing is broken or torn,  dislocation avoided, and it can bear weight but free movement hurts, so I'm laid up with an aching ankle. I think I'll be limping for a while once I get moving.

While laid up after supper with a foot bandage, an ice pack and a glass of wine, I watch a full length performance of Schubert's 24 song 'Winterreise' cycle on BBC Four. Two youngish musicians Baritone Benjamin Appl and pianist James Baillieu  perform in a pop-up theatre on top of the 2,250 m Julier Pass in the Swiss Engadine, built as a temporary structure for a series of summer festivals. It cannot be used in winter for public performances due to snow, but the recital was filmed in and around the place, with the singer role playing Schubert walking in the snowy wastes in between indoor shots. An unusual arty music video lasting 90 mins, with a few clips of musicians talking with shining eyes. A lovely distraction from the unpleasant discomfort of my twisted ankle. 

Cards mailed

Minus two overnight and extra time under the duvet after an unintended late night. A pancake breakfast, and then a start on assembling Christmas cards and letters ready for posting. By half past eleven I realised I wasn't going to get them all ready in time to go and buy stamps and post them, so I took half of the forty odd batch down to the Post Office, due to close at twelve fifteen. There was the expected queue, but I was served within ten minutes and posted the cards I had with me.

Then I walked down to St John's for their 'Santa's Grotto' Christmas Fayre, containing lots of home baked cakes and pies on one table, a couple of tables for children's toys and another for small gifts. The place was decorated with small Christmas trees and lights, and the refreshments counter was busy. I wandered around, chatted with people, had a coffee, bought some raffle tickets and then returned for lunch.

Afterwards, I completed the other half of the batch of cards, and took them out to a priority posting box which may be emptied over the weekend, if I'm lucky. The second class posting deadline is on Monday. I have a small number of overseas cards to send, and my long list of digital cards. Clare has approved the design I prepared last night.

It was dark when we went out to the shops again looking for tins of evaporated milk for fudge making, as is customary this time of year. I was going to walk in the park but accompanied her to and from the Coop, as the temperature was descending from 3C towards freezing after spells of rain this afternoon. Now the air is no longer cold and dry, but heavy cold and damp, a chilling combination unless a sub zero night and the return of clear skies reduce atmospheric humidity.

After supper nothing of interest on telly, so first I did some work on drafting the Lent Study series I'm proposing for my next locum stint at St Andrew's Los Boliches then sent it to churchwarden Jen. Then two hours reading my latest Patricia Cornwell crimmie, and a short practice of tomorrow afternoon concert music. It's stretched my music reading to the limit, and I have not been helped by a music layout which repeats the lyrics for each part for separate staves, so I scanned the sheets most difficult to read properly and deleted all text except the line I'm singing to make it less confusing. Here's hoping it works.

Real cold weather

The temperature overnight was again just below zero. Fortunately our house is quite well insulted so with winter duvets on the bed it doesn't need heating on overnight. Annoyingly the bathroom light pull-switch broke as I was getting ready for bed, leaving the light permanently on, so I had to remove the bulb before turning in.  There's front on the lawn grass and on car windscreens in the street, but snow is unlikely at the moment.

As I was clearing up after breakfast I listened to Haydn's Oxford Symphony on Radio 3. The sound quality of the new DAB radio, installed by Clare yesterday, is really good for the kitchen acoustic. At the end of the first movement, a metallic clunking sound came from the radio. DAB radios with poorly positioned antennae and signal issues are prone to noise 'artefacts'. The Sony hi-fi DAB receiver in the dining room is on times, not fit for purpose, and can't be re-positioned. Then, the presenter Georgia Mann apologised for the background noises. The end of the music had coincided with the arrival of the bin men, she declared. Evidently working from home! 

I spent the morning producing my Sunday sermon. Then I printed Christmas Card labels and forty copies of this year's newsletter, ready for assembling with the cards I bought a month ago. 

Having cooked a tasty salmon soup, Clare went into town, and we ate it went she returned. I uploaded some photos, then went out and took more photos at the sun was setting, interested to see what I could capture in diminishing light, without a tripod, and at what point the picture become too grainy or blurred to be of interest. I can hold the camera quite steady for with long lens extended when the light isn't great, sometimes it works OK, sometimes not. Sometimes I think the camera is not so quick to processing the light input and gets confused. Good shots seem to be a matter of luck in marginal conditions. 

I uploaded and edited the best of these after supper, before watching another episode of Astrid and Rafaelle, the last in season one, probably the last for a while until season two is screened on More Four. All interesting cases, instructive to watch, as they portray a true autistic savant at work, solving crimes. Favourite quote from Astrid: "They all think I'm unique. I think they're all the same."

Minus one at bed-time tonight!

New spec's for both of us

It was minus two when I woke up this morning, just before 'Thought for the Day'. I posted a link to today's Morning Prayer video on WhatsApp, then listened to the news headlines before getting up for breakfast. I went to the Eucharist at St John's, six of us together in the side chapel. The nave was full with recording equipment and brass ensemble musical instruments. The Cory Band is recording another CD I think. Over coffee afterwards, I learned that four hundred people came to the church Christmas tree Lights switch-on and carol singing with the Sally Army last weekend. Impressive numbers, and quite a surprise calling for some hasty additional catering improvisation.

A message came in from the University Optometrists to say my new pairs of spec's had arrived, so I rang immediately and arranged a fitting and collection appointment at half past one. I got half was through preparing and cooking lunch, then switched everything off and drove the car over to Cathays. Traffic in town was slow moving, a fifteen minute trip taking twenty five. Two students training in the dispensary took turns, each with a pair to fit. One wore a hijab and was from her accent Middle Eastern, the other was South East Asia. The School of Optometry has a high reputation, and trains many overseas students. I got back home just after two. Clare had just arrived by another route from the same place. She's just spent two hours having her eyes tested, ready for new spec's. Finishing cooking didn't take long, but it was half past two by the time we'd eaten.

I then worked for an hour and a half on completing and uploading to YouTube next Thursday's Morning Prayer, before going out for a brisk walk down to Sophia Gardens and back along the Taff. It was dark by the time I reached home. After supper, with nothing of interest on telly again I continued reading the Patricia Cornwell crimmie until nearly bed time. I find the American English first person narrative style she uses somewhat difficult. As she doesn't use speech quotation marks, it's sometimes hard to know who is speaking. The fact that the legal system and its procedures are so different means there's a lot that needs decoding as you go. It's the some when watching Euro-crimmies but over the past decade I have become familiar enough with the differences with British law for it not to be a stumbling block to enjoying a story. I'm glad I don't live in America.

Rowan on Religious Freedom in Reith Lectures 2022

A late start to the day which began after breakfast to listening to Archbishop Rowan delivering the second in this year's Reith Lectures in a series entitles 'The Four Freedoms', of which freedom of religion is one. It was a masterpiece in covering a complex subject for a secular pluralist audience. Amazingly, it was also a magisterial account of Christian apologetics for the contemporary world, which to my mind helped to explain a few of the decisions both political and ecclesiastical, which he took while he was still in office, always aiming against the odds to keep everyone in dialogue, even those lapsing into schism, opposing the mainstream liberal agenda. 

The philosophy seems to me to be that no religious conviction or practice should be suppressed, but all should be subject to challenge and scrutiny, so that all sides can start to learn what impact their views and actions have on others. Above all, then the call is 'be reconciled', driven by the question Jesus often posed. What are you afraid of? - and - Why are you afraid? Spot on!

Then I went to St Catherine's to celebrate the Eucharist with eight others and chat afterwards for an hour over coffee before going to collect this week's veggie bag. I was home before Clare and cooked lunch for us, somewhat later than usual. Afterwards, I scanned all the safeguarding identity verification documents required for my Euro diocese PTO and emailed a .pdf file of the documents to HQ. Due diligence done hopefully. I'll hear about my clearance for PTO in a few days I was informed.

After lunch I did the Co-op shopping trip, and then had to go out again to collect a couple of items from Beanfreaks which were ordered but omitted from purchases Clare collected from the shop. The rising full moon was just over the horizon under a clear evening sky as I walked home, and the temperature went down from five to one degree, so we needed central heating while we both sat in the lounge and read. This morning I found another Patricia Cornwell novel from the church second had bookshelf and brought it home to read. It makes a change from binge watching series on catch-up telly.

Hard rehearsal

This morning after breakfast, I took Clare to her eye appointment at the Heath Hospital, and then worked on completing this week's Morning Prayer video. When she returned, we drove to Lidl's  in Llandaff North where she'd seen a DAB kitchen radio designed to fit under a shelf or a wall cabinet. We had one in place next to the cooker for many years. It was quality and hard to tune if it lost power, but served its purpose. There were several in stock and it was just the right shape, so we bought one, and did most of this week's grocery shopping as well. Fitting the radio is the next task, one which Clare is keen to do herself, so she's satisfied it's done right. 

Ruth's weekly email arrived with next week's texts to work on, so I prepared them, recorded and edited the Office. Later I wrote an accompanying biblical reflection, as well, then cooked butter beans in a sauce with pasta for lunch.  

I walked several laps around Thompsons' park listening to a recording on my phone of the 14th century plainsong version of 'O Virgo Splendens' repeatedly. I find it very tricky to memorise correctly, which is vital in a vocal ensemble of eight people. It doesn't seem to stick as well as the other pieces we're doing, but I must persist so I don't make a mess of it on the day. Our first performance is next Sunday evening in St Illtud's Llantwit Major.

Then, an early supper, as we had a choir rehearsal in Saint Catherine's at half past six. It was demanding on concentration and stamina, but Anna our choir director seemed fairly satisfied with the result. Mother Frances is singing with us, and afterwards she signed the verification paperwork for the documents needed to confirm who I am to the Euro diocese safeguarding people. These now have to be scanned and sent, to expedite matters with the paperwork mailed later, I suppose. In a couple of months I'll have to go through this process all over again for the Church in Wales' safeguarding process. Frances is a naturally diligent person, but I think she shares my distaste for this 'prove who you are' business in a community where the pastoral watchwords are 'know and be known'.

I've volunteered to take the eight o'clock Communion again on Sunday. Rota arrangements haven't yet taken into account the resumption of this once monthly traditional Sunday act of worship, attended by about ten people, so Frances doesn't have the support of Rhys next Sunday and would otherwise have to take three services and rush around far too much. I'm so happy to be fit and well enough to be in a position to offer to do this nowadays.

I recorded and edited the biblical Reflection when we got back from church, and went out for a breath of fresh cold night air, to stretch my legs at half past ten. Finally a DuoLingo Spanish session. The app is congratulating me for the length of my continued span of learned over the past six nearly seven years. IT says I'm among the top one percent of learners, and invited me to boast about this achievement on social media. I don't believe their stats and certainly wouldn't boast about it on social media. Such a silly idea, inviting all sorts of trolling and spam.

Prove who you are - impersonally, really?

As ever on Monday some housework to do after breakfast. Then I went into town to meet Chris from his train, to sit and chat over a couple of coffees in a Royal Arcade cafe I'd passed but never been in before. It was quite busy, and there were several people working on the laptops, taking advantage of the free wi-fi, that is now become a common feature of just about every establishment open to the public in the city centre. You can also get free wi-fi when out and about in the street once you register. 

It's so different from how it was fifteen years ago when St John's pioneered the first public wireless access point in the in town, and certainly the first in a church. That ran for a year for free, as I recall, then lapsed, as the publicity stunt ended and wi-fi roll-out got going in earnest. It was rather clunky as speeds weren't great. More a proof of concept than anything else. But I was there! As Max Boyce would say.

Chris and I chatted for two hours, about the departure of the Bishop and the prospects for a new one. It was two by the time I arrived home for lunch, lovingly kept warm by an ever patient Clare. There was a message from Pidgeon's about a funeral the week after next. After I'd eaten, I went for a walk in the park, then recorded and edited the audio for this week's Thursday Morning Prayer and reflection. 

I returned to receive an email from the Euro-diocesan safeguarding officer with instructions about registering for the CofE Disclosure and Barring service database, something which I'd done three years ago prior to going to Ibiza. I dug out my password for the website, and was obliged to re-enter a list of required identity details, the same list as last time, if my memory serves me right. The next requirement is to get copies of three identity verification documents and get them signed for by a cleric - Mother Frances has agreed to do this when we meet for the Fountain choir concert rehearsal tomorrow night. 

Once signed, I have to scan and send them to the safeguarding officer. It's an onerous task, and it must be that much less straightforward for anyone who doesn't have the ability or technical resources on hand to do this. Proving who you are by supplying a whole lot of confidential data had now almost entirely supplanted personal relationship 'knowing and being known'. I see the point in a world where deceit and lies have become endemic, and identity theft is now crime whose impact is causing increasing concern, but the impersonal forensic nature of the process seems anything but pastoral when based on electronic communication. 

The only personal element is the responsibility entrusted to Mother Frances verifying my documents, as a cleric who knows me. I'll have to go through this procedure all over again soon, as the due date for my diocesan PTO will fall early in the New Year. I find this process at the heart of the church's enlistment for public ministry somewhat disturbing. The data doesn't say whether I am faithful, or trustworthy with the duties I undertake, only that I haven't transgressed the law and been found out. It hasn't stopped the church from losing members or gaining new ones. The distrust or disregard people have for the church is based on credibility of belief and practice in all our relationships. Not just compliance with the law. 

At least there's one thing to rejoice about today. I heard that Gerwyn, former Dean of Llandaff has been appointed Vicar of Thaxted in Essex, an historic Anglo-Catholic Parish in Essex with a radical social traditions, bringing to a happy closure the bitter dispute between Bishop June and Gerwyn about reforms imposed on the way the Cathedral and Parish were run. It attracted unwelcome publicity from the media, and affected his health, such that he hadn't worked since early in the pandemic and eventually resigned his office, withdrawing a formal complaint he'd made against her. It was a profound embarrassment for the Cathedral and diocese. Llandaff has a history of tense relationships between its Bishops and Deans, but nothing quite as open and exposed as this. Thankfully now, it's over.

After supper the last episode of 'London Kills' and latest of 'The Blacklist', almost impossible to fathom. After watching all fifteen episodes of the former I can say with confidence that the same clips of stock footage of London locations was re-used time and time again in between dialogue scenes, to no benefit apart from padding episodes out to forty five minutes instead of forty or less. It takes binge watching to notice things like that. I the porgramme commissioners notice, or care, I wonder?

Underestimating

An eleven o'clock start this morning, celebrating the Eucharist again at St Edward's in Roath. The full choir of eight were there and produced an excellent musical accompaniment for the Mass. I wasn't quite on my best form, having forgotten to check out if there was any Sunday School, which there was. The two people who could have told me about the increased numbers for Communion in the adjacent hall were both away so my catering for the Lord Supper was short by a dozen wafers. I had also forgotten to ask if the chalice was offered, and presumed it was, but Communion was given only in one kind, so I prepared more wine than was needed for one person, but I muddled through anyway. There must have been forty adults and children altogether.

I drove home via Gabalfa, a longer route but much quicker than joining the traffic queues of Christmas shoppers entering or leaving town at lunchtime. After lunch we walked in the park together, but it was very cold, so Clare only stayed out for half an hour. I stuck it out for another hour before returning for tea.

I spent the evening binge watching episodes of 'London Kills' again, as a sub-plot about police corruption runs through later episodes - some of the background music used has hints of 'Call of Duty' about it, that endless saga of police corruption investigations which kept the nation wondering where it would go next.

It's Bazaar or Fayre time again

A late start to the day, but pancakes for breakfast once more this morning. Then I walked to Cowbridge Road and caught a C1 bus over to West Grove, a five minute walk from St German's for their Christmas bazaar. Walking the last stretch took me past the former St James' church whose closure I had to oversee in 2007, now being converted into fourteen apartments. The advertisement hoarding facing on to Newport Road simply says 'St James' with the strap-line 'Divinely Re-invented' - amusing, clever. I wonder what the Church in Wales Bench of Bishops has to say about that?

It was good to see and chat at the bazaar with old friends from St Michael's in Whitchurch Road, one of the churches in this ministry area, people I've known since I was Team Rector of Central Cardiff, looking after St Michael's, and St Teilo's. We talked or should I say lamented about the changes in the dioceses, and our hope to see a new Bishop elected with a pastoral heart, and healing touch, and a long standing personal knowledge of ministry and mission in Llandaff diocese. Pushing through so many changes in recent years has gone against the grain for some, and demoralised many. The churches need recovery time to come to terms with all that's happened and adjust to much diminished resources and membership.

I bought a hot dog and chips and some mince pies for lunch, and my raffle ticket purchase won me a small bottle of Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon and a wine glass to drink it from, in the presentation box. I seldom win anything in raffles. Clare has won wine in a raffle twice in the past year. Third time lucky and this time it's me!

I caught a 49 electric bus along Newport Road and across the city centre to the Westgate Hotel, and then a 25 up Cathedral Road to Llandaff Fields, so I was at home by three. Clare arrived shortly after me, having gone to the Steiner School Christmas Fayre while I was out. I then walked for an hour and a half around the park, and when I get back, fell asleep listening to the five o'clock news, and slept deeply for over an hour, making up for going to bed late last night.

After supper, I watched several more episodes of 'London Kills', with more twists and turns than an Alpine Mountain Pass. One investigation per episode and a background story of a disappearance running through them all, so it keeps your attention. Earlier to be tonight, as it's Sunday tomorrow.

Jazz night out

After breakfast this morning, Clare had a jazz piano lesson with Eddy. He mentioned that he was playing a gig this evening at a cocktail bar in St Mary Street. Naturally she decided she wanted to attend. A Friday night in town isn't a time I'd choose to go out, when the city centre is packed with carousing young people but reluctantly, I agreed.

Yesterday I had an email from Emma the Euro-diocesan Locum administrator about renewing my PTO, and requirement to fill in a form for the Safeguarding Office as the basis of their checks. When I tried to do this, this morning, although the document sent was a standard .docx file it resisted my attempts to fill it in, being marked 'read-only'. When I checked out the OneDrive embedded online MS Word app, it too refused to do anything other than display read-only. I tried saving a copy to edit, but still it wouldn't work in Libre Office, my default Word Processing app. I don't use desktop MS Office. When I re-saved the file in Open Document .ODT format, it became editable, though editing was slow to respond. At least I got it done and sent it off eventually, but it took far longer than expected.

I finished and printed out my Sunday sermon while Clare had her lesson, then cooked lunch. Afterwards, a brief snooze in the chair followed by a walk in Llandaff Fields and along the Taff, I saw a goosander in the water a good half a mile above a spot downstream where I see them roosting. When walked past the rock,  a little later, a mallard couple was perched on it. I wondered if they'd dispossessed the goosander forcing it to move to the stretch of river where I saw it. For more of last year I rarely saw any goosander on the river as I had done in previous years. I guess these changes in habitual behaviour are symptomatic of changes in environmental and weather conditions. Animals are more affected than humans by subtle changes I think.

During supper, we listened to 'Amser Jazz' broadcast from the RWCMD over YouTube, then walked to St John's to pin a poster on the church notice board about the Fountain Choir concert a week Sunday at St Catherine's. The church was brightly lit and there was a carol service going on within when we arrived. The first Christmas lunch of the year had been served up in church this lunchtime for about twenty people.

We caught a bus into town from nearby the church, and made our way to the castle end of St Mary Street to the cocktail bar where Eddy's gig was taking place. It was packed with young people on their first stop  of the night, drinking cocktails. People came and went fairly quickly so we were soon able to move from a high seat opposite the bar to a table right next to the band. Eddy was clearly pleased that Clare had come, and she introduced us in the break between sets. A piano, bass, guitar trio, playing post war Jazz standards, perfect live cocktail lounge music, played with vigour by three young musicians a third our age. Wonderful!

I recognised the bass player from the 'Amser Jazz' gig we watched earlier.. He caught my attention, as I thought he was playing a proper string bass from what we heard. I looked, but couldn't find a string bass, just a bass guitar sounding like a proper string bass. Tonight he was playing one. Nice technique I thought, and told him so when we congratulated the band before leaving for a ten o'clock bass. The young guitarist was rooted in the classic jazz guitar tradition of  Wes Montgomery and Barney Kessel, despite all being born well after they'd died. It was a musical treat.

We were lucky not to wait long for an 18 bus to Canton Cross, as the temperature was 5C. Not a night to be standing around for long. I watched the latest episode of Astrid and Rafaelle on catch-up when we returned, as it was on telly while we were out tonight. Bed rather late.

Eye check

I woke up in time to hear my phone's notification beep telling my it was time to upload this week's link for Morning Prayer to WhatsApp. I don't recall that happening before. I've been leaving the phone on to find out how long a battery charge lasts. It's almost three days, on continually. That's more than I'd expect, but I'm not exactly a heavy user. I noticed too that this phone picks up the minimal 4G phone signal better than the Blackberry did. Perhaps that's a slight improvement in service. Perhaps an improvement in the phone's ability to receive and hold a signal. Our street, like others in the neighbourhood is poorly served by the main EE mast in the city centre, although it's only a mile away, but we're equally low lying, and in the so called 'signal shadow'. 

Anyway, job done, I got up and made the porridge for breakfast. With an eye test appointment at eleven, I had enough time to shop for our weekly food bank donation and then to the the School of Optometry, but had to miss the Eucharist at St John's as I went by bus and on foot through the city centre instead of taking the car. I could have attended the service and used the car had I known in advance the test wasn't going to involve pupil dilation, as has been the case in the past. I got there on time, just, and the hour long test produced a good result. Nothing untoward following the cataract op, just needing new prescription specs to drive and read at arm's length.

Because I didn't use the car, I didn't have my driving glasses with me to check the preferred shape which fits well with the clip on sun glasses I use. I decided to go home for lunch and return later in the afternoon by car with the driving specs, and walked home by the most direct route via the cycle path to Blackweir Bridge. I returned to the clinic at four, with both pairs of specs, and ordered a new frame for my reading specs and an identical frame for the driving specs at a special offer price of £140 for the pair. I got back at five as it was getting dark, and was lucky to regain the parking spot outside the house which I'd left an hour and a half before. 

I scanned the optometry report and emailed to Andrew in Malawi, as requested, to add to his digital case file, and was delighted to receive several short video excerpts of Jasmine's most recent performance with her school's Jazz ensemble. You can see the confidence and hear the playing improvement as well. What a delight for us this is!

After supper I took time out and watched a few more episodes of 'London Kills' before turning in for the night. Anything to avoid the overdose of football news, interviews, analysis and opinions which have been flooding the news this past couple of weeks.

The demise of High Street banking

Overcast, but no wind or rain today.  I attended the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. There were ten of us celebrating Saint Andrew's Day. After coffee and a chat with the others in the hall, I went and collected the week's veggie bag, and headed home for lunch.

This week's prayer texts arrived from Ruth, and after eating, I set to and prepared my Thursday script and wrote a reflection to accompany it. The, I went into town afterwards to bank a cheque. It's bad news that HSBC is to close another hundred branches next year, having already whittled Cardiff down to two. The high street banks have enthused the majority of clients into banking on-line, and the use of cash has greatly declined since covid against the rise of tap and pay bank card.

This has happen with the growth of digital demand pushed by government and business alike, without adequate thought for those who can't or won't use on-line resources, and no apparent concern for the potential for the entire global banking system fall apart due to catastrophic failure of the internet. The tech geniuses think they have robust resilience built into all their systems, but there are still unknown unknowns, like the impact of colossal solar flares internet if not nuclear wars. The worst thing is that banking becomes more and more impersonal and remote, and individuals continue to be vulnerable to internet fraud.

Having said that, I was using my HSBC account this afternoon to make a donation to Andrews eye hospital work at Mulanje Mission Hospital in Malawi, (it has an interesting website) and found the HSBC transaction verification procedure has added another security layer. In addition to the now commonplace One Time Passcode one now has to repeat the email address used for the transaction, which the bank holds on record, just in case your card or/or mobile has been stolen. The thief is unlikely to have the appropriate email address. That's as good as it can be for now, I guess. 

With the weather now decidedly colder I started to think about buying a new padded winter coat on my way back from the bank. On impulse, as I was passing the Mountain Warehouse shop in Castle Street, I went in to see what I could find on the Black Friday bargain rail. To my surprise I found the Nordic style calf length coat I'd despaired of ever finding, with a faux-wool lining and hood. Just the job for really cold wet weather. At last! And a third of its original price.

Nothing of interest again on live telly tonight so I watched a couple of episodes of a series I've not heard of before called 'London Kills' a police procedural series of 20 episodes dating from 2019 about a Met murder squad. Forty-five minute episodes, to a upbeat sound track, with the usual sort of plot, and formulaic introductory scenes of a corpse discovered, and yet another side story about a senior detective whose wife has gone missing. Oh yeah, really?

Hairdo

I sent a WhatsApp bon voyage message to Andrew after waking up this morning, as today he's starting the long journey to Malawi and the eye clinic he's helping to establish there. After breakfast, Clare's study group met at our  house, and I confined myself to the bedroom, writing a sermon for next Sunday. By the time I came downstairs again after they'd left, lunch was already cooked and on the table. We had a large fillet of Red Fish, which neither of us recall eating before, succulent and tasty, a bit like cod.

After lunch I went for a brisk walk around Llandaff Fields for an hour while Clare siesta'd, then we drove over to Rumney for a hairdressing session with Chris at his salon. While Clare was in the chair, I went for a walk around the lake at Parc Tredelerch as I did last time but today with my Sony HX90. It was misty and overcast, already seeming to be quite dark an hour before sunset. I snapped a big old heron on watch at the edge of a bank of reeds, some swans, coots and tufted ducks in the middle of the lake, plus a large number of assorted gulls resting on the water. Another brisk but rewarding walk before having my long but ragged hair trimmed to perfection. 

Although traffic was heavy on the return trip, it ran slowly without holdups, so we arrived home for an early supper, as Clare was then going out to her weekly meditation group. I couldn't bear to watch Wales versus England football at the World Cup, as their wins against England have been few and far between over the years, and as anticipated they were thrashed. There was nothing else of much interest on telly. Instead, I archived archived videos I've made from my computer to a backup hard drive.

Then I watched a full length movie reprise of the spy thriller 'Spooks' from  2015 on iPlayer entitled 'The Greater Good'. Fast paced and full of violence, it was in contrast to the Le Carre book I finished this afternoon, called 'Running Agents in the Field' which proceeded in a leisurely anecdotal way over the few days in which it was set, with only the odd threat or promise of violence and some brilliant intriguing dialogue masking the real intent of the agents throughout, albeit a little harder to follow.

Bedazzled

After breakfast, a short stint of duty housework, then a ride to Thornhill for today's funeral with just six of us present, neighbours and me, as there were no next of kin. Before I arrived the crem's on-line digital music system had crashed, and only just recovered. Music for the first service of the day had to be played on from a phone into the minister's microphone instead, but all was well again by the time it was my turn.

I got back at noon and wrote a lengthy response to an email I'd received, which took me an hour, so Clare and I had to work speedily together to deliver the meal we both needed. It was on the table by just after half past one. Despite a good night's sleep, I felt very tired and slept for the best part of an hour, so the sun was setting by the time I went out for a walk and it soon got dark, leaving my having to contend with the dazzling lights of commuting cyclists on my way back. A good reason to walk in the park sooner rather than later in the day at this time of year. 

The new generation of LED lights emit high intensity light, which is good to light one's way, but distressing to the eyes of those who are out walking in the dark, relying on the natural ability of the eyes to adjust adequately to low light levels. The idea of having lights that dip out of concern for other road users seems to have no place in the mindset of night time cycling commuters.

After supper I completed this week's Morning Prayer video and uploaded to YouTube. After more than two days switched on and in use, the new Moto phone needed recharging. That's pretty good battery life. I also took a few photos with it, and was quite impressed by the result. I'm not sure it could replace a proper pocket camera however.

I watched another confusing episode of 'The Blacklist' complete with mumbled dialogue, and spent quite a bit of time with DuoLingo doing new exercises as well.