Called to account at last

After breakfast and the odd domestic chore, I finished off this week's Thursday Morning prayer video and then cooked a 'freezer' lunch, with the last portion of the defrosted Christmas turkey added to a tomato and mushroom sugo while Clare had a portion of fish pie from another occasion plus carrots and greens. I also used the last of a packet of couscous made from chick pea flour for convenience and speed. I'd forgotten quite how delicious it is as an alternative to potatoes or rice.

Later I walked for two hours, returning in time to hear the breaking news about goings-on in the Downing Street Cabinet offices during lockdown, dubbed by the media as the Partygate Scandal. Boris Johnston has yet to fall on his sword, but it seems his political support base is crumbling both in Parliament and in the constituencies. 

A redacted enquiry report has identified a dozen separate events that flouted covid rules, one a party in the PM's own apartment. The police are investigating to see if there's enough evidence for the Crown Prosecution Service to press charges, some report content has been withheld from publication, so as not to prejudice investigations. The published report so far, speaks of 'a monumental failure of leadership', by several people. It also speaks of an office culture fuelled by alcohol consumption on the job. A key unanswered question which Parliament will have to address is whether or not the Prime Minister misled the House on several occasions in alleging there had no misconduct in the work place. It's been amazing to see how some parliamentarians remain steadfastly loyal to him despite all that is happening.

Also in the evening's news, a report about the appointment of Archdeacon Mary Stallard by Archbishop Andy as assistant Bishop of Bangor to support him in his additional episcopal duties in a large diocese. The previous Archbishop didn't need an assistant as Swansea and Brecon is not as extensive. The Welsh Bench of Bishops will now comprise four women and three men. It's good that he has chosen someone who is not from outside the province, who knows the diocese well and is well known within the diocese and in the wider Church in Wales. 

Importing episcopal leadership from the CofE demonstrated lack of confidence in the quality of senior clerics in the Province. It hasn't yet been shown to be worthwhile. If it was thought necessary to import leadership from another Anglican province, I think we'd do better to consider candidates from another bi-lingual church without institutional ties to the state. It may be a century since the Church in Wales was disestablished, but the establishment mindset hasn't been entirely been left behind, and warps our self-perception and confidence.

 

Recalling times past

A good relaxed night's sleep and when I woke at seven and looked out of the window at first light, Venus was shining brightly in a sky that was turning deep blue, a wondrous sight. Then after breakfast, a walk to St Catherine's to sit in the congregation for the Candlemas Eucharist. I didn't want to dress up and sing in the choir, just be on the receiving end. Apart from holiday weekends I've had a service to take every Sunday since last summer. It's good to be idle end for a change.

We had lunch early and then went for a walk through Bute Park. It was bright and sunny but very cold. We noticed that tree surgeons have been at work in the past week or so clearing some storm damaged trees in the woods. The most notable tree that has been removed, however is one beside the riverside footpath past the cricket stadium. For the past five years that I can recall it has inclined at a very steep angle from the bank below the path and right over it. It hasn't borne and leaves for a long time. If it had, I suspect one of the increasing number of storms we experience would have brought it down. But no, 

I have often walked that way these past few years, to check after a storm. This afternoon, it was gone, and most of it had been cut up and taken away, only its twin stumps remaining. These now seem a little more upright in the ground than they were when bearing several tons of timber. How the tree was never uprooted, with its roots embedded in a slope is hard to grasp. Certainly now, the path is safer than it has been for many years.

I wanted to break in the shoes I bought last week, and wore two pairs of socks, but this made them uncomfortably tight on my left foot, so I took off the thinner inner sock when we were out in the woods. Although I recall putting it in a jacket pocket, it must have fallen out some stage on the rest of the walk. It's the second thing I've lost in just a few days.

When I went shopping to Aldi's on Friday, I think that when I was putting on a laden rucksack, I lost my Casio digital watch, caught in the strap and breaking off my wrist. I didn't notice at the time, since I often go without a watch these days. Its strap was too thick and not long enough so it didn't feel totally secure, but I didn't know what to do about this. Over forty years I've owned four of the same Casio digital watches, run them until they finally died, except this last one, lost forever. I went back to Aldi's Saturday evening and nothing had been handed in. Ah well, I've still got the analogue faced digital watch my sister June gave me some time ago.

After supper I spent another hour scanning some more strips of film negatives I'm slowly making my way through before disposing of them - some from a retreat with the Anglican Sisters of the Ascension at Montauroux in the Var, others from a New Year family holiday ski outing to Ovronnaz in the Valais, back in the mid nineties. 'Prasada', the Sisters community house closed ten years ago and the remaining women re-located to Devon. It's rewarding me to happy recollections of times past, even if the photos aren't all that marvellous. Pictures of me with cropped hair, clean shaven, and with a salt 'n pepper beard and Clare with longer hair than she ever has it now. Different phases of life.

Then I watched the last three episodes of the French family drama 'Beyond Appearances'. The tragedy of an unexpected suicide resolves into a strangely happy ending by a circuitous route, which explores the concealed depths of family relationships and the dynamics that prevent people from flourishing. Quite well written I'd say, and worth watching.

Trip to Becon

After our usual Saturday lie-in and pancake breakfast, we drove out of Cardiff in overcast wet weather on the A470 in the direction of Brecon hoping conditions would improve later in the day. The rain eased and cloud lifted as we ascended from Methery Tydful to the Storey Arms, and stopped altogether as we went down the other side. We looked around the town, and visited an outdoor clothes shop where Clare tried on a possible new cold weather winter coat, but didn't buy it because it wasn't the right size in the colour she wanted. Then we had lunch in a small restaurant we've eaten in before where excellent cawl is served. As we were eating the sun broke through the cloud and the sky began to clear altogether.

I took photos of some of the more interesting old buildings with my Alpha 68, and then we made our way to the far side of town to a place hwere we could park and walk on the canal towpath up towards the canal basin, which isn't that far from the centre of town. It was a very pleasant hour's stroll before setting out for home. As we drove up the long gradient back to the Storey Arms at the top of the pass, the sun began to dip below the mountains and the few clouds that were in the sky turned a beautiful orangey pick. It was twilight by the time we reached Western Avenue, not quite dark, but the clear sky had turned deep purple with a pink fringed horizon, an altogether enchanting drive home, impossible to photograph on the move, however.

After supper, with no preparation to make for tomorrow, and nothing worth watching on telly, I immersed myself in a Channel 4  French language drama in six parts about a dysfunctional family in which everyone has secrets to keep from each other. There's a mysterious death in it, which looks like murder and turns out to be a suicide, with someone unexpected killing themselves starting the exposure of all that is hidden. It's set in the scenic region of South Eastern France, in the foothills of the Jura near Colmar. I remember driving through that part of the world, on a camping trip thirty five years ago and we went to nearby Strasbourg on our Rhine river cruise too. I wonder if we'll ever return?

A tale of disappearing spectacles

After breakfast I drove to St German's to meet Fr Ed, brother in law of Geraldine's son Tom, to make sure he had early access and all he needed to set up his camera and microphone to stream Tom's funeral Mass an hour later. It was shared with Tom's international friends via Zoom. Ed gave the eulogy in the service. I assisted Fr Roy who'd known Tom and his mother for many years and he presided over the proceedings. 

The new Ministry Area Leader, now in charge of St German's, Fr Stewart graciously allowed us get on with arranging everything and came to meet the family and the congregation committed to his charge, and sat with the regular choristers in the choir also with Fr Chris and Fr Geraint, who read lessons. Most of the Sunday congregation turned up. I read the Gospel, led the intercessions and gave communion to the two wheelchair bound members of the congregation present. Thankfully, everything in church passed without incident.

After the service, I took off my best reading spec's while disrobing, and minutes later discovered they had disappeared, and nobody noticed. There seemed a remote possibility that Fr Roy took them by accident, so instead of returning home for lunch, I joined the funeral reception in the hall, which got under way while Fr Roy did the Committal at the crem. Geraldine was one of the first to arrive back at the church hall afterwards, smiling about the fact that Fr Roy had lost his glasses and had to borrow a pair to read from the service book in the chapel. What a co-incidence, said I. I just lost mine and that's why I'm still here to check if he'd taken them by mistake!

The two of us commiserated about disappearing spec's and went into church for another thorough check, but found nothing, Oh dear said Fr Roy, we'll just have to ask St Anthony of Padua to help us find them. Come on St Anthony, said he. Please! said I, and we left the church to re-join the gathering in the hall. Fr Roy went to put his robes in his car and suddenly burst out - Oh look, there they are, pointing to a soft black leather glasses case on the ground by the front wheel of his car. When he picked them up he realised just by holding the case what he'd find inside - both pairs of glasses, very similar in design and size too. We laughed like crazy men, and people laughed with us.

After a second lunch at home, and a short siesta, I walked over to Aldi's to replenish my stock of wine. It was dark by the time I got home again. With no sermon to prepare for the weekend, and nothing much of interest on telly, I fired up my old Windows Vista computer and scanner, and digitized two lots of negatives, one of a family holiday in Port Eynon when James was a baby and I was working in Geneva. The second was during our first visit to Kenilworth after Rhiannon's birth eighteen years ago. A couple of hours of worthwhile effort.

Genocide remembered

A good night's sleep, eight hours, five of them uninterrupted, a rarity for me. At eight, I posted the link on WhatsApp  to this week's Morning Prayer and reflection on YouTube, about on the betrayal of Jesus. 

After breakfast, Eucharist at St John's. Only six of us were there. To my surprise, no mention was made of Holocaust Memorial Day commemorations. So easy to lose sight of this. Thank God for the Jewish insistence that the six million Jewish lives lost under Nazism is not the only example of genocide in the twentieth and twenty first centuries. The real death toll, globally speaking, of populations and cultures wiped out  due to Communism and Nazism may exceed 150 million people,. We need to be even more fearful of human malice than of pandemics, it seems to me. 

I returned home after banking a cheque then started work on preparing next Thursday's video offering, while Clare put the finishing touches to painting the kitchen and screwed shelves back on the wall. We cooked together, and after lunch went for a walk around the park.

Clare went to choir practice at St Catherine's after an early supper, while I recorded and edited what I had prepared earlier in the day. Then, a couple of hours telly - Winterwatch and New Tricks, before turning in for the night.

 

Memento mori again

A walk to St Catherine's after breakfast to celebrate St Paul and his companions Timothy and Titus in one go, with eight others. Then, on to St John's for the day's funeral. I emailed the Coop FD yesterday evening to ask if they could give me a lift to the cemetery but got no response. With covid health and safety nerves I wasn't sure they'd be able to agree, so I went home got the car and parked it near St John's just in case. It wasn't a big a funeral as anticipated, as Traveller families often are - forty in church and at the cemetery.

I rode to Western cemetery wedged into the back seat of a new high topped hearse powered by a hybrid engine. An expensive American style casket was used, so big that was it hard for the bearers to handle, as one of them said quietly - heaver than the lady inside. Its size made it hard to get the main wreaths alongside it or on top without squashing them,

The grave digger welcomed me with a smile - twice in a week - we bantered with each other. He looked after the funeral I did on Monday. All worked as intended, except  the chief mourner said that I'd got one of the sibling's names wrong. He wasn't much bothered and I apologised, but later when I checked the photo of the I received, it turned out it wasn't my transcription error but most likely a dictation error. Someone had heard and written down 'Bettie' when the person mentioned was called 'Beatie'. The name was written three times in clear handwriting, so there was no doubt about this. The text wasn't checked for errors before sending. Ah well, these things happen, if there's no possibility of face to face contact beforehand. 

Technology cannot deliver us from simple communications errors, as I was reminded yesterday listening to the fourth Reith Lecture on AI. With a phenomenally powerful AI managed system one simple program error could be catastrophic, indeed we've seen this with very smart aircraft navigation systems causing hundreds of lives. It's the old sorcerer's apprentice conundrum writ large.

Then back to Canton to collect the car and drive home for a late lunch of curried chick peas and veggies, most welcome on a cold day. As our regular organic veggie bag pick up point was near where I left the car, I collected it en route. Later, after a restorative snooze, I walked to Beanfreaks to collect this week's dairy free grocery order, while Clare continued to work on re-painting the kitchen, which she's done in stages since the damp area re-plastering had dried out for sure. No change in paint colour, we still really like what we decided upon eleven years ago before we moved in.

We watched an amazing 'Winterwatch' programme again this evening, which featured unique footage from a heat sensitive camera of a fox attacking and killing a stoat. One predator preying on another, in effect removing competition for a share of smaller victims in the same territory. Also wonderful shots of Hen Harriers coming to roost in the same location in winter. 

This was followed by a powerful edition of 'Storyville' on BBC Four called 'The man who saw too much.' in which Alan Yentob interviewed a 106 year old Slovenian man Boris Pahor, the last living survivor of a Nazi death camp in Alsace, telling his nightmare of a story story. He may only have survive because we spoke Slovenian, Italian and French and was spared to serve as a translator. He's written several book and quotes from them were included, powerful, moving, poetic, eloquent in stark simplicity. An appropriate programme choice ahead of Holocaust Memorial day commemorations tomorrow.

Reading for pleasure again

 A slow start to the day, dealing with detail to do with two different funerals, then cooking lunch in time for Clare's return from study group. I dropped of the list of attendees for tomorrow's funeral at Eileen the verger's house on my way to the Coop for some broccoli and mushrooms  When I came to pay and scan the little Coop card linked to Clare's account it didn't work. The checkout clerk said the bar code and numbers on the back had become illegible. Clare rang up and ordered a replacement, another convoluted process involving proving who you are. I wonder how long this will take to arrive?

While cooking, I listened to the last couple of Reith Lectures on A.I. with the BBC Sounds app on my phone. It's interesting to reflect on the way the discourse has become focused on deep philosophical and ethical issues. It was good to be reminded of how dependency on smart technologies can in the course of a few generations lead to the loss of working skills which have sustained humankind for millennia, as these are inherited and learned by doing. Also interesting to note that a spiritual perspective or religious thought plays little or no part in relation to questions of meaning addressed. The spirit of the age I suppose.

Grocery shopping after lunch, then a short walk in the park, returning while it was still light as the temperature was set to drop even further, draining pleasure from the fresh air experience.

We had a nice chat with Rachel before supper. Afterwards we watched the wonderful 'Winterwatch' programme on BBC 2, then I printed the eulogy and order of service ready for tomorrow's funeral. Chores done I sat and read 'Invierno en Madrid' for an hour before bed. Two fifths of the way through a 500 page book in Spanish. So slow, but it's a while since I last had the right kind of energy and freedom to relax with a book. I've not lost interest in it, and can pick it up again easily after stopping and continue. I think it's helping my understanding of how Spanish works, as its a translation from the original English so much of the subject matter and ethos of the story is familiar, making it easier to decode the narrative. An engaging experience.

Smartphone takeover

It was an early start for a Monday morning, collected at nine fifteen for a funeral at Thornhill. There were just three mourners, one the solicitor handing the affairs of the deceased, another a former neighbour and the third was a fellow church member and contemporary, also 92, from Butetown Methodist Church. She told me their church was about to close and become a community centre, although there may still be a monthly service. So she was mourning at different levels. 

In conversation with the three of them beforehand, I learned the deceased had travelled the world in her youth, performing as a wing walker on bi-planes in post war years. They knew no more than that unfortunately. Sad to think nobody gathered stories of her adventures. She was widowed in her sixties and I guess there were no children or relatives to tell stories to.

Not long after I returned home there were two emails about Wednesday's funeral, one from the Funeral Director about the order of service, which I thought the next of kin making the arrangements would pass on after receiving and agreeing it with me. The other was from the man himself with a photos of a hand written list of funeral attendees for Track and Trace purposes. This will need sorting out so that Eileen the Verger can easily read it. 

After an early lunch, I drove Clare for an osteo treatment with Kay in Newport and walked for an hour while waiting in nearby Beechwood park again under cold grey skies. When we got back I walked for another three quarters of an hour in Llandaff Fields, to complete my daily quota, while the sun was going down. It was even colder than earlier and quite an effort to keep going.

At tea time, I received half a dozen photos of handwritten text of the eulogy. All were neat and readable but need transcribing correcting and turned into a script to read from. That took me an hour to do after supper. 

It's reported that 96% of the population of the UK are now said to own a smartphone. But do they use them? Demand for laptop and desktop PCs has diminished, and tablets as much can be done conveniently on a smartphone nowadays. If anyone can't learn how to write or email using a smartphone or tablet, then rather than take time to learn how to, photographing handwritten text to email is a convenient alternative. 

Optical character recognition apps for converting handwritten text photos into a digital text file can be quite sophisticated, but can be error prone if its quality is poor, and need as much attention as manual transcription. Speech to text is also evolving beyond anything that could be imagined twenty years ago, with the benefit of AI learning algorithms. Interesting times for consumers as much as techies.

I watched this week's new episode of NCIS and the news before turning in. More allegations emerging of socialising under lockdown in the prime minister's Downing Street office, also of islamophobia in the Tory whips' office. What a shambles.

Lonely lives

Another dull cold day and another drive across town to celebrate Mass at St German's with thirty others. I won't be here quite so often now that the Ministry Area team is establishing itself. Two Sundays a month until after Easter. There are no indications yet of when a new priest will be recruited to fill the vacancy at St German's, and the same is also true for Fairwater in West Cardiff Ministry Area. Nobody understands the reason for this. No answers are being given by the hierarchy when questions are asked. St German's Churchwarden Peter has been elected as the People's Warden for Roath Ministry Area. Someone still has to be appointed as clergy team Warden. It seems nobody wants a job that may make unknown, maybe heavy demands on a volunteer's time. What is going on?

Travelling home in the car afterwards, listening to Radio 3, I some Georgian polyphonic choral music was played. I was struck by the similarity between this and Corsican choral music which we came across when we visited there, and from a concert by a Corsican choir in Cardiff several years ago. The language was obviously different, but ornamentation and use of harmonic singing over a group singing a drone sounded much the same. Fascinating.

After lunch, I completed this week's Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube, then we walked around the park while it was light. The sun is now setting at a quarter to five. A few minutes more each day makes a difference. After supper, I prepared tomorrow morning's funeral service, for which there'll be few mourners if any, as it's been organised by a solicitor in the absence of next of kin. It reminded me of my ministry in Bristol when I had several funerals of single men with nobody to mourn them. I remembered writing the story of a one called Sidney Cummings with no known family and few friends who'd lived in our neighbourhood. 

A quick search of my digital archive produced an ancient file written a few years after we left the Parish, which thankfully opened in a simple text editor. It needed tidying up and re-formatting to read easily but it was worth the effort, four pages long. While out walking Clare and I talked about old Sid, but after forty years my memory was sketchy, so reading this brought it all back to life. That was possibly one of the first stories I wrote about living and working in the St Paul's Area, that, and one about the aftermath of the riot. Last year a wrote a few more. Slowly, I'm building a modest collection about an influential time in our family life.

The only thing I was interested enough to watch on telly this evening was 'Trigger Point' on ITV, about a bomb disposal unit faced with a sophisticated terrorist adversary. Very tense and dramatic.

Dyffryn's wintry gardens

After our usual Saturday pancake breakfast, we drove out to Dyffryn Gardens for our first visit of the year on a rather cold, dull morning. The house is still closed to visitors for adaptations and restoration work and the tea room annexe only serving take-away snacks and drinks to consume at picnic tables on the terrace.  The garden layout is still in the process of revision or restoration of original Edwardian design features, so some areas are cordoned off. 

A noticeable number of trees have been felled in the woodland area, removing older damaged ones to let in more light and make space for new trees to grow. In the vegetable garden, information panels explained how different ground cover measures were in place to reduce light, suppressing weeds and promoting healthy soil. One technique involves using biodegradable permeable matting leaving ground fallow for several years, the other a plant that generates thick ground coverage, then dies back and nourishes soil.

It's been cold enough this week for a skin of ice to form on the garden pond and the fountain pool. Small kids took delight in fishing out chunks of ice and skidding them across the surface. A few bushes had buds ready to burst open and camelias were in full flower. Flower beds in front of the house were empty apart from patches of snowdrops, and just a couple of daffodils in full flower - the first of the year! Daffodils flower a month earlier compared to when I was young because of climate change.

After a sandwich and a drink for lunch we returned home. I went out and walked for another hour down to the Taff. I counted four football and one rugby game going on at the same time in Pontcanna Fields, a sign of a return to normality, as covid the omicron covid infection case rate keeps dropping. I dare to start wondering when international travel controls will ease off to the point where the risk of booking a flight to somewhere south of here will be worth taking.

Fr Stewart, Roath Ministry Area leader, now responsible for St German's has been in touch about rota assignments for the next quarter. Responsibility for the Tuesday 'Class Mass' will be taken in future by his ministry team, freeing me from a weekly trip across town. I'll miss the fun of working with kids but, to be honest, not the effort of being out of the house and driving an hour earlier than usual. Mthr Frances has also asked me to cover several services at St John's on days when she has training days to attend. I hope, for her sake that these are worthwhile, given the extra demands of being one short in the full time clergy team.

After a delicious fish pie supper, I completed tomorrow's sermon with a break to watch half an hour of comedy recordings of the Morecambe and Wise show from fifty years ago. Much of their comic routine relies on the fact that they were both great actors with immaculate timing. From working the stage in the musical halls they moved to working the TV camera at close quarters brilliantly. Much of their material is corny, unconnected from our day and age, almost innocent in its use of mockery, never savage. It's the drama of their comic interactions which still makes it watchable.

Investment in comfort

I worked on Sunday's sermon this morning before driving to Thornhill crem for the second of the week's funerals. As it was the funeral of a retired dock gate keeper, the majority of those attending may have been retired dock workers themselves. The deceased's brother and niece both gave fond, but lengthy tributes which made us over-run by five minutes, but it didn't seem to cause a problem for the service following.

I got back at one, and Clare was still absorbed in writing, so I cooked the same lentil and veggie dish that I invented last Friday, and was pleased with the result. After lunch I walked into town and bought myself a stout pair of walking shoes from the Ecco store, as the heels on the pair I bought six years ago are badly worn. I also bought three pairs of the excellent insoles of the Ecco brand. I bought a pair last year and found they make a noticeable difference in comfort, and seem to be more durable than other kinds. I want to use some with each of my pairs of shoes from now on.

After supper a watched the remainder of the Norwegian crimmie 'Outlier', an interesting psychological slow-burn drama, maintaining suspense throughout, but just a bit too long drawn out for me, far too many lengthy face shots principal actors feeling emotions without showing much of it at all. Anyway the scenery was stunning.

The danger of not knowing

I uploaded the link to WhatsApp for today's Morning Prayer as soon as I woke up just after eight. After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St John's. There were eight of us present. After lunch I collected my prescription from the surgery got the medication at the chemist's opposite. The pharmacist who handed it over asked me if I'd like a lateral flow covid test pack and gave me one to take home. It's a small shop and well placed as a pick up point, but I imagine the staff need to reduce stocks pretty rapidly as the boxes take up a huge amount of storage space when just delivered. Then I went for a walk in the park. Clare followed me out of the house after her siesta fifteen minutes later, and we finished our walk together as the sun set. The sky was beautiful again, so romantic.

Then I recorded next week's Morning Prayer audio and reflection and edited them before supper, and that felt like enough work for today. I didn't feel like another evening of photo negative digitzation, so I spent the evening watching episodes of a Norwegian crimmie, about a young female profiler who specialises in identifying perpetrators of violent crimes against women. A very sharp portrayal of institutionalise sexism in criminal investigations, particularly in deeply rural areas where change comes slowly.

The controversy over Downing Street drinks parties continues to divide the Tory party against itself, while support for Boris Johnson is eroding, He has admitted making mistakes, errors of judgement, but is still in office and not talking about resigning until the investigation into conduct in top government offices during covid restrictions is published. He doesn't seem to recognise that admitting he didn't know about the rules governing conduct in his suite of offices is to my mind a revelation of his unfitness for office. 

The same can be said about former Pope Benedict, who in his days as Cardinal Archbishop of Munich had several known sexually abusive clergy deployed in his diocese. This has been revealed as the result of an an investigation into historic cases. He says he was not aware of it. In the same era it may be said, Archbishop George Carey declined to investigate sex abuse allegations against the charismatic Bishop Peter Ball. Or in both cases did both prelates exercise the benefit of the doubt unjustifiably and regrettably with hindsight?

Since then a change is culture has developed in the churches, and now as well as sexual abuse, bullying and manipulative behaviour is being faced up to and treated as unacceptable, an offence against the Gospel. An environment in which safeguarding the health and well being of others is seen as necessary is laudable. It's not entirely natural when society as a whole is still over tolerant of violence in sport and entertainment. Safeguarding must be learned through a raising of consciousness in looking out for each other. It's a challenge to maintain the effort. 

Family photos rediscovered

I stood in for Mthr Frances at the St Catherine's Eucharist this morning as she had a funeral time clash. Nine of us were present, and we had another lively conversation over coffee afterwards. I dropped my quarterly prescription renewal form into the surgery, a little later than planned, as I run out on Sunday. After lunch, I collected groceries from Beanfreaks, bought some cans for the food bank collection then went for a short walk around the park as it was starting to get dark. When I got back, I wrote a reflection on next Thursday's Gospel ready for recording.

In the evening I revived my 12 year old desktop Windows Vista PC to drive my photo negative scanner, as there's a jumbled pile of negatives to digitze and then get rid of, in a modest clutter clearance effort. I was quite impressed at how quickly this old machine booted up and worked smoothly, despite having to reset the system clock as its CMOS battery is as dead as a dodo. It no longer needs to rely on connecting to the internet to provide a useful service, so its speed reflects a world where antivirus software, internet security and other device slowing measures are no longer required to make it a functioning tool. What have we done to ourselves?

One assorted batch of negatives were probably taken by my sister June, both in London and Geneva, at times when I was beardless or had cropped hair. The other batch are of a family holiday in Provence when we had a wonderful Bedford motor caravan to take us on holidays to France and Switzerland in the late eighties. Two odd photos are of Kath and Rachel one Christmas before Owain was born. For the first time I used the Windows 10 photo editing app, not only for cropping pictures but also trying out its light and colour image enhancements. It's simple, but effective, making a difference when working on scanned images from another era when the film cameras i used weren't expenside or sophisticated and mu ability to get the best out them not all that developed.

There are scores more negatives to scan so I'll leave the kit ready to switch on for a while, in the hope of a few spare hours to finish an amazingly time consuming trawl into family photos.. 

Marmalade all made

After a clear night with a full moon, a cold clear day with a funeral to take at Western Cemetery entirely in the open air, at the request of the deceased. His widow was in a wheelchair and the service had to be short simple and said at three degrees centigrade. Early cloud parted and the sun shone on the fifteen mourners gathered before the open grave. I was pleased that those present responded with Amens to the prayers and said the Lord's Prayer together with me, rather than just being uncomfortable dumb spectators.

As I had no lectern to hold my service sheet, I picked up a stiff black backed notebook from my bookshelf, to contain the service sheet. I was driven to the cemetery from Pidgeon's funeral home, arrived early, and waited in the car for the family to arrive. The notebook I'd picked up turned out to be my last handwritten journal from the autumn of 2004, giving my account of the week's flamenco course I took with Anto at the Carmen de las Cuevas school in Granada - a present from our spouses. We were there during Michaelmass weekend, and watched the procession of the huge trona de San Miguel from the Parish Church up the hill to the local hermita and back. A wonderful experience. Autumn in the following year was when I opened my Blogger account, and with a few changes of name it's been the repository for telling stories about my life ever since.

I cooked mussels and rice with veggies for lunch when I got back, right on time for Clare's return from her Tuesday group. She discovered that one of the second kilo batch of Seville oranges waiting to be cooked for the past week was covered with mould, so she got them ready for pressure cooking. I got them started, and cooking for fifteen minutes then went for a walk in the park while they cooled. The sunset was spectacular while I was out, and I got some good photos. Then it was a matter of cutting up the oranges and lemons, de-pipping the pulp, and cooking them with sugar until the jam was ready to be potted. Six and a half small jars and three large jars this time, to add to the seven large jars produced last week. All done in time for supper and the Archers.

Another amazing Winterwatch programme was showing on BBC Two, and I divided my time between this and completing this week's Thursday Morning Prayer video for uploading to YouTube. I expected somehow to feel very tired and stiff after a demanding weekend of fresh air and exercise, but so far so good. Today has been satisfyingly productive too.

Spare wheels arrive

We had a lovely view of Oxwich Bay in early sunshine from the table where where breakfast was served to us this morning. We checked out at ten thirty, then started the one and three quarter hour journey home, while wishing we could have stayed longer, given the cloudless blue sky, but there's always plenty to do when we get back.

In the post was a slim package from a company that sells dishwasher spares. The machine's plastic rollers on the upper sliding tray have progressively deteriorated with the impact of dishwasher detergent and then broken off. Replacing them was easier than we'd thought. Clare found a supplier and repaired the tray with great satisfaction, before we sat down to lunch!

Afterwards, we walked to the shops and then to Llandaff Fields as the sun was starting to set. The sky was clear but the air temperature dropped down to 2-3 degrees during the evening. I did some work on funerals I'm taking this week, then watched the new edition of NCIS series eighteen. I'm not quite sure I followed the plot altogether, but fashionably mumbled dialogue certainly didn't help.

Tonga has been hit hard by a volcanic eruption and a tsunami as a result of the colossal explosion. Normal communications channels have been wiped out, aerial surveillance aircraft and satellite data have provided some idea of the impact. Tonga is one of the few places in the world which has been free of covid due both to its remoteness and strict entry controls. Its government has been reluctant to ask for emergency aid from outside for fear of introducing the virus. Ten per cent of the population died due to 1918 'flu pandemic, and nobody wants a repeat. I guess air drops of supplies will be the answer, but first emergency communications infrastructure equipment will need to be landed and set up. That will be a technical challenge o f the first order.

Duty Free Sunday

A free Sunday to enjoy! Breakfast half an hour earlier this morning, to enable me to get out and walk to church for the ten o'clock Eucharist. Clare and Kath decided to go for a walk on the beach instead. I met Fr Roger, the priest taking the service on the way up the path to St Illtud's Parish Church. He's retired as I am, and a member of the Gower Ministry Area team of seven clerics with house-for-duty license. There are seventeen churches in this largely rural ministry area, quite a challenge to organise. We were fourteen at the service, with a thoughtful sermon from Fr Roger and beautifully crafted intercessions from a layman. Once more I was welcomed and our previous visits over the past few years remembered. A lovely experience of worship in a beautiful ancient setting overlooking Oxwich Bay.

I met up with Clare and Kath after the service, and before we drove out to the Gower Inn for lunch Kath and I walked up the steep hill behind the village to take a look at Oxwich Castle from the outside only, as it's not open on Sundays. The Sunday Roast Dinner was rather disappointing. It wouldn't have been quite so disappointing if it hadn't been served up inundated in thick brown gravy, obliterating other flavours. The slices of roast pork I ate were good enough, but had to be rescued from the gravy to be tasted. It was the nearest think to a school dinner I have had in years. Too much reliance on pub mass catering supplies microwaved for any of the components of the dish to be tasty anyway. Not our kind of food sadly.

Kath set off for Kenilworth from the pub. I'd driven our car there to take us back to Oxwich after lunch. Then, another long beach walk, taking in the hide overlooking the pond. While we were there watching the sunset reflected in the water, a man came in, who was a local nature lover, who comes over each day to keep an eye on things and feed the birds. He brings a small bag of Tesco muesli to feed the small birds around the hide - a bossy robin and a pair of timid Dunnock. At last I know what a Dunnock looks like, as we saw one. It was lovely chatting with such a knowledgeable enthusiast for the area and its wildlife.

Then, back to the hotel for a picnic supper in our room, and photo upload session in the downstairs lounge where the wifi signal is less flaky than where our room is situated, before settling down for the night. I'm amazed we walked nearly eight miles today, having done over ten yesterday, and so far the leg muscles are not unbearably stiff. But maybe tomorrow they will be. No gain no pain? Unlikely.

 

Three Cliffs walk triumph

After a good long sleep and late cooked breakfast, we were ready for a long walk. It was mild and overcast with high cloud, and we headed out along the shore to see how far we could walk. For the first time in many years, perhaps ten, Clare and I walked all the way to Three Cliffs Bay and back. Kath and Anto did it last summer, but we couldn't manage the full distance, which is about 12km, longer with diversions, but today's total was over 16km - ten miles. I felt terribly tired and was walking at a much reduced pace on the home leg. The steep uphill sections of the walk were very taxing, but we survived!

On the way back, I made a diversion to look at the lakeside hide. The approach path is being refurbished, and much of the overgrown reed bed has been cut back, not just for visibility but to free space for aquatic birds to use. As I opened a hide window a magnificent heron made a long take-off run across the water - too fast to get out a camera, but a lovely sight anyway.

We drove to the Smuggler's Beach bar restaurant in Port Eynon for supper, where we had enjoyable meal of a high standard served by a staff team, all of whom looked as if they were under twenty five. Impressive.

Then we retired to the hotel lounge with a bottle of Pinot Noir to sit before a log fire, and spent the rest of the evening talking and relishing the moment.

Oxwich bound

I walked to St Luke's for a min morning funeral with a fifty strong congregation in church and as many again outside. There was traffic chaos as there were four limos and the hearse double parked, for lack of parking space cleared outside church.

The deceased was mother of seven so the extended family took up all the spaces indoors. A Grangetown fourth maybe fifth generation black family, dating back, to before World War Two. For the benefit of people in USA, the service was live streamed and a video recording made.

At the burial the undertaker produced the traditional box of soil to sprinkle on the coffin, the first time this has happened at a burial since well before the pandemic. Just as I was about to leave in the hearse, I hear the thud of the first spadeful of clay hit the coffin. The men in smart suits wearing plastic overshoes, had started work filling in the grave, as is customary. Tradition still rules in the face of modernity.

I made phone contact with the next of kin looking after arrangements for his aunt's funeral, living over near Thornbury Bristol. Another interesting traditional funeral to come,. With a Traveller family burial in their plot in Western Cemetery. A male priest and FD was insisted upon, as funerals are considered men's work, even if much of the organising is done by the women.

After lunch, we packed the car and drove to Oxwich, arriving as the sun set in a glorious clear blue sky. After check-in in we walked on the beach. Emma messaged me about covering a Monday funeral for her. There was no phone signal, and the hotel internet was flaky. It took me ages to respond with a sorry. We don't return until Monday afternoon.

Kath arrived and we drove out to supper at the Gower hotel, then walked along the beach under the moon in the dark. A lovely ending to an unusual day.

Spec's re-framed

I woke up very early this morning, posted the link to my Morning Prayer video and took ages to drop off to sleep again for another hour. As I needed to go to the School of Optometry to get my specs, broken on Christmas Eve, finally repaired, for an eleven thirty appointment, I drove to St John's for the midweek Eucharist. A blanket of fog covered the city, visibility down to 150 metres, the world of colour reduced to black, white and shades of grey. Driving wasn't so bad, fewer cars on the road anyway at the moment, but with people being sensible about limiting their speed and not jumping lights. Fog like this is unusual for Cardiff, and that makes everyone extra cautious.

With Mother Frances, there were ten of us at Mass, back to normal numbers. I had time for some shopping in Cathay's Lidl, making use of their car park, as the store is almost next door to the Optometry building. I assumed correctly that a replacement frame would be necessary. Although the computer said they were out of stock of that design, there was one remaining on display. So, in ten minutes and for only fifteen pounds, I was happily reunited with my everyday lenses.

I cooked a lentil and mushroom dish for lunch, then prepared my order of service for tomorrow's funeral at St Luke's before going out to make the most of the afternoon sunshine. As I left the Fields after sunset, thick mist rolled in again over the grass for the third evening in a row. It's going to be a cold night, I think.

I spent the evening writing next Thursday's reflection, then recording it and the Office, to get a head start on what will be another busy week to come. After tomorrow morning's funeral, we're going to the Oxwich Bay Hotel for the weekend, and Kath is coming down to join us. We got lucky with a cut price winter deal in our favourite coastal location. What a treat!

Unfinished stories

Late last night I had a request for help with editing the order of service for her son's funeral, and that was my first task of the day after breakfast. Meanwhile another request to take a funeral came in. This time a solicitor is making funeral arrangements on behalf of a nonogenarian lady with no next of kin. The last occasion I had to take funerals with no mourners was in the St Paul's area parish in Bristol, and that concerned destitute homeless men.

Then a walk to St Catherine's to attend the midweek Eucharist and catch up with friends over a coffee in the church hall afterwards. There were eight of us altogether, and rather than sit in the main hall, we used a side room with south facing windows, as it was a bright blue sky sunny day. Too cold to sit outside, so this was the nearest we could get to sitting outdoors.

The weekly veggie bags have re-started after the Christmas break and I went and collected ours before lunch. Finding our labelled bag is harder than ever. I feel sure there are more bags full of fresh picked veggies crammed into the locker than there used to be. The Coed Organics scheme is quite a success.

I walked down to the Castle in the afternoon, and returned through the North Road entrance to Bute Park and along the periphery all the way to Blackweir Bridge. As I walked past the Royal Welsh College with the sun heading toward the horizon, several song thrushes were singing loudly above the footpath, each out of sight in a different group of very tall trees. It's as if they are competing for attention with the  sounds of music being rehearsed by students in rooms overlooking the park. As the sun reached the horizon, the temperature dropped and a bank of mist began to form across the fields for a second evening. This is winter at its best.

I made a home bereavement visit before supper, the second this week. When the next of kin are older and triple jabbed, and there are no children around, it doesn't feel too much of a risk. Older folk are keen on self preservation, and on not infecting others, less carefree, or is it careless than  some younger folk. The deceased was the middle one of three brothers all of whom worked as lock gate keepers in Cardiff Docks. They had lived through the entire Bay Barrage construction phase before retirement, what an extraordinary working experience.

After supper I finished watching 'When the dust settles', a thoughtful observation of people traumatized in different ways by a terrorist attack. In times it was difficult to follow as several of the story threads featured women with long fair hair, making it easy to confuse their stories. Some story threads had a  happy outcome others were sad, several inconclusive. 

The story telling left viewers without closure. Ten often highly intense episodes left me wanting more, wondering how some story lines might continue. In other words, portrayal got me interested in them, caring about fictional characters. The last series which had me caring about its characters was the American hospital drama 'New Amsterdam', which now runs to three long series. Is this inconclusive ending another bid for attention from film investors and producers? We'll see.

Boris Johnson has admitted his presence at a Downing Street drinks party during the first covid lockdown but insists that the independent conduct enquiry reports back to Parliament before considering his position. As it could take a week or so, and public feeling as well as the feelings of many in his own as well as other political party members is already at a high level of indication, one wonders if he will fall on his sword or wait to be stabbed in the back, before grass roots Tory support evaporates completely.

Winds of change

This week the midweek Mass attended by a class of children from Tredegarville School moves to Tuesday from Wednesday. so I was out of the house by nine thirty to drive across town to St German's. After the service, four of us drank coffee and chatted in the church hall. In today's email was a copy of the Bishop's decree on the formation of the mew Ministry Areas. Like many faits accomplis, it's short on detail and not thought through in detail, and is not being well received. As a top-down edict its consequence is to reduce the number of lay people involved in decision making, while increasing the responsibilities of the few. The impact of changes imposed on churchgoing membership overall remains to be seen. If it doesn't work, an edict reversing the changes can just as easily be imposed.

When I got back later than usual, I cooked lunch, then went for a circuit of Bute Park. The sun had just set as I crossed Pontcanna Fields on the way back/ The sky was beautiful, mostly clear but decorated with colourful clouds. The temperature dropped in the waning light, and thick mist rolled over the grass. An enchanting scene.

More outrageous revelations in the news about Downing Street government support staff and cabinet members flouting covid regulations last spring's lockdown. Will this be enough to put an end to Boris Johnson's premiership? Several times he has denied law breaking by his office staff, and now a formal investigation is under way which may show that he knowingly lied. He has lied before, notably about  the promise of brexit, and got away with it, but now it seems loyal electors are losing patience with him. After all you can't fool all of the people all of the time.

In the evening we watched an interesting programme in the BBC2 series 'Digging for Britain'. It's best described as a news magazine programme on archaeological finds, reviewing work on digs going on in various parts of Britain. One of the five reports was on finding clear evidence of manor grange farm of the mediaecal Order of Knights Hospitallers in the Leicester countryside, on a previously unexcavated site whose surface contours led people to presume previously that it had once been an iron age fort. In a an Anglo Saxon cemetery in the city of Cambridge were found grave goods and ornamental clasps that had traces of mineralised fibre from the cloaks they belonged to, from fifth century Britain. The weave pattern in each trace was quite different, indicating local and continental weaving methods being used in the same era. 

Then there was a report on a palaeontological discovery in the mud of Rutland Water at low level, that has turned out to be the fossilised skeleton of a ten metre long icthysaurus, the largest of its kind ever found in Britain. TV news reporting at its most riveting - scientists on the job, enthusing! After this treat I remembered that I was two thirds of the way through 'When the dust settles' on More Four, about a murderous Danish terror attack, eight people whose lives are changed by it, as well as tracking down perpetrators. Well observed slow going, ten episodes long, but I watched one episode before turning in for the night.

Remembering times past

Another damp dark drizzly day, making my long for sunnier climes. This prompted me to walk down the 'The Salad Bowl' greengrocer's shop to find out if this season's Organic bitter Seville oranges consignment had arrived. I was delighted to find out that they'd come in after Christmas and were now on display in the store. I bought two kilos worth, and later in the day Clare bought three kilos of Demerara sugar for making our delicious dark marmalade. There's just one jar left of last January's batch, to move from my stash of extra jars that tide us through the lean season of autumn.

Then I drove across town to St Margaret's Roath for Allan Frampton's funeral. For a church with socially distanced seating and masks still in force, it was quite full. Along with his family, there was a cross section of his mainly elderly friends, colleagues from the building trade and St John's City Parish of which he was a member for sixty years, many of them as churchwarden, and Roath Parish which he became part of in the last decade of his life. It was a touching occasion, and it was good to sit near Alwena and Richard, St John's members of my generation among the few still around and active eleven years after my retirement.

After lunch I made a couple of bereavement calls and arranged a couple of local visits, one this afternoon. The daughter of the deceased told me that she chairs the Rotheram Minister PCC a notable 13th century church building, with a rare Snetzler organ of 1777, built by a migrant craftsman from Passau, south east Germany. The Minster has a fine mediaeval west window containing ancient glass currently being restored at a cost of 4.5 million pounds. So there's quite a lot for the church council to think about.

This evening, a couple of episodes of NCIS series 18, neither of which I've seen before, then a hunt for photos of Clare and I in the 1990's when we were in Geneva, to add to the brief biography I wrote and sent to Manel yesterday. I have hundreds of negatives from that period which I never got around to scanning. At some stage the photo prints were ditched because they took up too much space, so now maybe its time to get out the scanner and work my way through them all, and retried detailed memories of an amazing time in our lives. But not tonight, for sure. And I have to get the ancient negative scanner to work as well.

Epiphany Sunday grief

Grey skies with occasional glimpses of the sun and mild today, no rain. In fact the sun shone briefly during the Mass at St German's this morning. There were thirty of us present. Heather came and after the service was discussing her son's funeral Mass with a group , including Brian the organist, trying to remember the name of a piece of music which belongs to the Requiem Mass repertoire. I guessed rightly that they were thinking of the 'In Paradisum' from Faure's Requiem at the departure from church. Minutes later when I switched on Radio Three in the car to listen t while driving home, the final sixteen bars of this piece of music were playing. What a strange coincidence! 

Lunch was on the table when I walked through the door a ten past one. I was a bit later than last week, but Clare judged it rightly. Afterwards, I found a full Requiem Mass text in congregational booklet format in my digital archive, edited it and sent to Heather to add details of hymns and readings. Co-incidentally the booklet had been prepared for a funeral I took at St German's five years ago, during a previous spell of locum duty.

Clare's monthly Sunday study group was due to arrive at four, so I went out and walked for an hour and a half before tea, listening to Choral Evensong on my phone. It was the recording of last Wednesday's Eve of the Epiphany service. I find this rather disappointing, as we've moved on from the Day of the Kings to the Baptism of Christ on this first Sunday of Epiphanytide.

I received an email this evening from Manel, an old friend in Geneva, chasing me up for a potted biography for the former chaplains' page on the HTC Geneva website. That was a lot easier to do than find a decent digital photo of Clare and I together from our time living there. It'll be interating to investigate, and awaken a few good memories.

I also had an email from Fr Stewart to say that ex-St John's Churchwarden Allan Frampton's funeral would be tomorrow morning at St Margaret's Roath, Lynne rang up to tell me, the day he died, it was the week before Christmas so I knew it would happen in the New Year, but not precisely when, and I don't read the death notices the the Wales On-line website. Fr Stewart took a long time to answer my email enquiry as he was away after Christmas, but it arrived just in time for me to attend. I was very fond of Alan, a staunch churchman and chorister, warm, hospitable, enthusiastic. Alzheimer's got him hospitalised in the end, and he died in Llandough. May he rest in peace.

At St German's this morning recruitment started for a possible Parish trip later in the year to Auxerre where our Patron Saint was Bishop. Back in the summer, based on the biographical research I did, the idea of writing a plan based on scenes from his life emerged. I wrote almost all of it very quickly, then had an idea it would be better to insert a narrator into the script, but then stalled completion for several months. Tonight, I got started on it again and completed a full first draft. It's only eight and a half thousand words long, a twenty five page script, so not exactly a blockbuster. Now I have to tried it out on a few people, watch this space.

I'm not sure where the energy for this came from, given how leaden footed I was walking earlier, after a very broken night's sleep, cause by not taking my medication early enough in the day. Serves me right for being forgetful and distracted at breakfast time. Anyway, I think I'll sleep normally tonight.  

Tap improvement

When I surfaced from sleep, Clare was awake and up cooking pancakes about half past six this morning. It turned out that she'd mis-read the clock. It didn't matter as she wanted to breakfast over earlier than usual for a Saturday since a plumber was arriving at nine thirty to install the new mixer tap for the kitchen sink. 

We made a good choice of tap and plumber as he fixed an error made when the original was installed that we've lived with for the past eleven years. Now at last we have the hot tap on the left and the cold on the right, as they are in every other sink in the house. Such a small change, but what an immediate difference it makes to the feel of working at the kitchen sink. While the plumber did the job, I recorded the audio for next Thursday upstairs, then added a slideshow and uploaded the video to YouTube before cooking lunch.

The rain stopped in the afternoon, so we took a muddy walk through Bute Park woods and had a coffee at the Secret Garden Café on the way back. The river Taff has risen up to cover the fish ladder again as it last did on New Year's Eve. It's rained most days since then, for hours at a time day and night. The Fields are getting waterlogged again, but I doubt if they will flood again back in February 2020, as the river bed and banks underwent a drastic surplus vegetation clearance operation to ensure unimpeded flow. The river runs much faster when in full spate these days. Let's hope it stays that way.

Nothing much of interest on telly this evening. On Four the thirty-sixth and last episode of 'Inspector Montalbano' available on iPlayer is being shown again in the Saturday Euro-crimmie slot. I think this is for the fourth time in two years. It's good, but I don't want to watch it again. There is a thirty-seventh episode, aired in Italian in 2021, but it hasn't yet been produced for a British audience. We're still waiting. All there is to do this evening is complete and print tomorrow's Epiphany sermon, and turn in.

More of the same

After breakfast this morning, I worked on my Sunday sermon for an hour before walking to Pidgeon's Chapel for a lift to the Vale Crematorium with one of the team assisting at the service I was taking. I got there before rain started and continued for the rest of the morning. About a dozen mourners attended, and on this occasion we sang a couple of hymns with the words displayed line by line on the screen behind me which meant I had to turn around to see them. 

Everyone was masked, so I'm not sure if anyone sang along to the recorded music. It felt rather odd, and I limited myself to one joke about the strangeness of the situation. What frustrated me was that the sentence was displayed exactly when the words were to be sung, not appearing just a second before, to give you a chance to read ahead - a recipe for ragged singing if the words were unfamiliar. So, I have emailed the management at the crem to give them feedback about this set up.

The last minute tribute to the deceased which I wrote for the service drew appreciation from a few of the mourners who spoke to me. I'm glad it was worth the worry and the effort. One of the two remaining sisters of the deceased intended to come to the funeral but tested positive for covid the night before, so I gave the other sister my print out of the service and the eulogy to take home and show her.

I got back home just as Clare was serving a tofu and veggie stir fry for lunch. Then we drove to Screwfix in the Western Avenue Retail Park to buy a new mixter tap for the kitchen sink, as the one that was put in during our kitchen refurb ten years ago is badly leaking and hard if not impossible to repair. Mission accomplished we returned home, and when it had stopped raining I went out and walked for an hour and half, under a sky that cleared a while then clouded over intermittently. 

Mother Francis messaged me about another funeral in three week's time at St Luke's, organised by the Coop Funeral Service in Redfield Bristol, not far from where Owain lives. This is quite unusual and will be the first Bristol Coop Funeral I have done since leaving the City to live in Chepstow thirty eight years ago. It seems the deceased was born and bred in Canton and is to be laid to rest in Western Cemetery. I contacted to funeral arranger and now await a confirmation letter with the arrangement details.

Then I did a bereavement phone call to start the process of organising another funeral at St John's. Later I had an email giving me the date of the funeral at St German's for the son of one of the church members. That was enough for one day, so I vegetated in front of the telly until it was time to reflect on the day and turn in. So many funerals at the moment.

More funeral business

There were just five of us to celebrate the feast of the Epiphany at St John's this morning. Wintry weather and covid angst are discouraging older people from routine pursuits. It began to pour down as I left after the service and my topcoat, which only showerproof got thoroughly soaked walking home. When I called into our HSBC branch to bank a cheque three of six automatic bank teller machines were out of service, including the two that allow one to pay in cheques. 

It's less than six months since branch counter service was closed for good. The six machines have been there for several years, and if they are breaking down now it must be something to do with their increased usage in the absence of friendly faces. I was only able to bank a cheque because there are a couple of front of house staff who deal with queries and help customers who have problems with machines which are not entirely user-friendly or state of the art. 

On top of their front of house client triage duties, deciding which back office staff need to be called upon or arrange interviews with, they now have to act as bank tellers for paying in cheques. They are not in a secure booth with a client window, but in front of a perspex screen, meant to give added protection against having covid laden breath in their faces. It's insecure and a farce in terms of healthy customer relations.

Clare was busy repairing a piece of jewellery when I arrived home, so I cooked lunch, using a couple of fillets of Basa a Vietnamese Mekong Delta fish she'd bought a freezer pack of in Iceland. It was good resembling hake. We'd never had it before. Oh but think of those food air miles! I don't think she knew its origin when she bought it. She has also booked us into the Oxwich Bay hotel for the weekend after next as I have no Sunday duties. There's a bargain two for one bed and breakfast special offer on! Kath will come and join us for some time out in her hard working life.

I've picked up a fourth funeral for a week Friday, with a family run funeral company new to Cardiff called 'Ivor Thomas Funerals Ltd', working in Caerphilly and Barry, based in Whitchurch. Last year, independent Funeral company Coles of Rumney opened two branches in the city. Can these family business funeral companies make a living nowadays. The very local undertaker was the norm in the first three quarters of the twentieth century, but with few exceptions got taken over by big funeral chains like Co-op or Dignity. Independents these days tend to be bankrolled by a specialised investment companies, which allow them to keep their local family identity and maintain the same standards as the big chains. Interesting times.

Finally the social worker dealing with tomorrow's funeral got back to me with a little information that will help me in finishing the tribute to the deceased. It's not got much personal detail, but it reminds mourners of what society owes to generations of builders labourers, in the days before machinery took over many of the most arduous jobs they did.

It rained from mid morning until it got dark, only then was I able to get out and walk for an hour without getting soaked again. It was cold enough anyway under a clear night sky under a waxing crescent moon. Clare went to choir practice. I needed to work, and when I'd finished watched an episode of 'Escape to the Chateau', something I've rarely watched before. Before I knew it, its was time for bed again. Days slip by so fast it seems.

Pastoral TV

I was surprised how little traffic there was when I drove across town to celebrate Mass at St German's with five others this morning. I left a little later than usual and arrived on time. When I got back a message was waiting for me from the social worker, acknowledging my calls. She's been on leave due to a bereavement in her family. I now about the music planned to be used for Friday's funeral, but still lack information for a tribute. She proposes to contact a nursing assistant in the care home who looked after the deceased in the last stage of his life. 

The kitchen wall painter arrived several hours late, as I was on my way out to the shops. The undercoat was done by the time I returned. The painter didn't hang around until it dried to do the top coat. He returns some time next Monday to finish the job.

It was sunny and cold again, walking in the park this afternoon. Apart from organic waste, this week's waste collection hasn't happened today, so maybe tomorrow instead if covid hasn't decimated the regular work force. Being Twelfth Night, there are redundant Christmas trees littering the pavements as well as recycling bags. When will they be collected I wonder? 

I caught my first glimpse of a redstart in the usual place near the stables where I've seen them in recent winters. I made what I thought would be a perfect shot, but my camera wouldn't focus fast enough, and both pictures were blurred and useless. That's unusual with my HX90. Either light levels were low enough to confuse the camera sensor, or the camera's physical mechanism was too cold to function normally. Thereafter I kept the camera in my trouser pocket to warm it up, and had no trouble taking a couple of photos of another lovely winter sunset half an hour later.

We watched another edition of 'The Repair Shop' after supper. It's a remarkable series that showcases the very varied craft skills and creativity of a team of artisans devoted to repairing and renovating broken old things valued by people for whom they hold treasured memories. Often stories of bereavement are told or of childhood memories, all emotionally touching in various ways. There's a remarkable pastoral sensitivity among the team members. How super to have a reality TV programme filled with utterly decent people doing their best to bring joy and consolation to others. 

Then there was an edition of 'The Great British Dig' uncovering evidence of an ancient settlement beneath a suburban housing estate in Staffordshire. A section of a primary school playground was excavated next to where the team had their field headquarters, and to their surprise discovered evidence of an Iron Age roundhouse, not far from where children took history lessons. An amazing bonus, generating excitement for staff and pupils alike. I wonder how many children at that school now want to be archaeologists when they grow up?

I had confirmation of yet another funeral in two weeks time. That'll be the fourth so far this month, and all of them elderly men. Ministry Area leader Fr Stewart Lisk has confirmed that the school Mass at St German's will now switch from Wednesdays to Tuesdays when they re-start in two weeks. This avoids diary clashes for him and his clergy team colleagues, and me as an occasional stand-in. It frees me to attend or take the St Catherine's Wednesday service, and that's good news.

Frustrations

After breakfast, I accompanied Clare on a trip to the dentists in Llandaff North, just for us both to be reassured she is comfortable about driving, as she's not done so for a long time. She got behind the wheel and started off with complete confidence and drove without any anxiety that her glaucoma might cause. The  real frustration is that her deteriorating field of vision impacts upon her at reading distance. It's sad, as she's an avid reader of books on her Kindle, and it's gking to affect her jewellery work as time passes.

I have been frustrated by not being able to make phone contact on two counts today. One was with the University School of Optometry, to arrange repair of my treasured mid-range reading glasses. Last time I called I got a recorded message saying their were closed for the holidays, this time the number just rang and rang without cutting out. I made another attempt to contact the social worker arranging Friday's funeral, about which I needed information, but only got her answering machine. The Funeral Director is chasing me for the same information.

Rufus came over for a chat and a walk around the parks with his two dogs in the afternoon. It was bitterly cold as the sun headed for the horizon, but I got a nice sunset photo as we were parting company.

This evening we watched 'Rocket Man' the bio-pic about the life of Elton John, which I had seen before but Clare missed. I didn't make it to the end, as the need to sleep well and get up for an early start made more sense. It's a brilliant musical, full of glamour and sadness, but Elton is still alive, a happy family man whose story isn't yet completely told.

Normal life on hold

We were expecting a painter to arrive this morning at nine, to complete the work on the section of kitchen wall re-plastered to cure rising damp, so Clare got up early to prepare for his arrival. He didn't turn up, and when she called to find out what had happened, he said apologetically that he hadn't realised it was a Bank Holiday Monday when he put the date in his diary. Incredible!

I made a bereavement call to the elderly sister of the deceased in preparation for the funeral I'll be doing of her brother this coming Friday, and drafted an order of service. I can't complete it until I've talked to the social worker who is making arrangements for his aged next of kin, to get a more detailed picture of the deceased. At the moment, I can only get her her voicemail. I guess the new year of normal activity starts tomorrow after a long festive weekend - supposing it will be normal with so many people having to isolate with omicron covid.

Before making lunch, I walked in the park for an hour. The river Taff is still swollen but the tip of a bank of stones in the middle, and another close to the edge emerged as the water level dropped a little. Out in the middle a pair of cormorants were installed, and on the nearer bank a heron was keeping vigil. It's the first time in many weeks I've seen either bird on watch in this part of the river, let alone both at the same time and I took a few photos that captured them both, and narrowly missed a photo of the heron taking off. What I did get was a photo of the heron uncharacteristically crouching low, a fraction of a second before springing upwards into flight.

I fell asleep in the chair for an hour after lunch, something that tends to happen if I've gone to bed later than I need to. Then I took my second hour's walk of the day. As it's a Bank Holiday the streets are quiet. Some sporting events are going on but without crowds in attendance, yet again.

In the evening a re-run of a 2015 edition of 'Fake or Fortune' on BBC Four about the authentication of three paintings by L S Lowry. A fascinating piece of work involving not only letters, photos and art saleroom catalogue entries, but also film footage of the artist being interviewed in the year the painting were alleged to have been made. To the investigators great surprise, two of the paintings under scrutiny could be seen among a batch of paintings awaiting finishing touches in the background of the artist's studio. Great television, this kind of detective story. 

Then a documentary about the life of surrealist master painter Salvador Dali, told by an art historian who  reviewed and made use of excerpts from five decades of movie documentaries and interviews about the artist, to show the complexity of the man and variety of perceptions of different phases of his life's work, so full of contradictions, yet so influential on popular culture. It was pleasing to find that I could understand some of the Spanish spoken in the interview footage, subtitles notwithstanding.

Memorable Musical

This Sunday, the first of the New Year, is the first in the new era of Ministry Areas in Llandaff Diocese, with the historic pastoral area of the parish merged with neighbouring parishes to be 'managed' with a team of clergy assigned to, but not confined to working where they worked before. There is just the one governing council with a few people from each church represented on it, instead of each parish having its own church council. It's not yet clear how the traditional role of church wardens will be exercised, who will be appointed to it or how. Or what the consequences are of abolishing the office. 

It's creating a situation in which fewer lay people have a say in running their church. While it's true that recruiting a full complement of PCC members is more difficult as churches shrink in numbers, that's no reason to remove the opportunity to participate. There's a risk that when members no longer feel they are stakeholders, it'll mean they are less motivated to volunteer for church duties, and a greater burden of responsibility for running local affairs will fall on the clergy. Let's hope I'm wrong about this. I can't honestly pray for success, but can pray it doesn't lead to decline or to hard working clergy being broken by changes wished on them from above.

At St German's this morning baby Abigail was baptized during the Mass. With her parents was her Nan who flew in for the occasion from Amritsar. The couple are here for studies without family or friends to be here with them. Dad was keen to video parts of the service to send to relatives back home. Given the initial uncertainties surrounding new Ministry Area arrangements, it was a real blessing to welcome a new member into the Body of Christ, especially one whose Christian identity is rooted in the Indian sub-continent. Business as usual, in other words.

Covid restrictions have led to the suspension of after service refreshments for the moment, which was a pity as it meant we couldn't celebrate with Abigail's family before going home. But at least it meant I could reach home for lunch by one after getting soaked in a cloudburst walking from the church back door to my car parked at the front.

Afterwards I walked around Thompson's Park and then down to the Taff, listening again to yesterday's New Year concert in Vienna from the podcast I downloaded to my phone. Rain threatened again, but didn't materialise. The weather is changeable and temperatures dropping after a spell of unseasonable mildness. At the top entrance of Pontcanna Fields I found the first snowdrops of the year and the first tender leaf shoots of emerging daffodils in places where I have photographed them in previous years, so very early in the year.

Before supper, Clare and I sat and listened to Jazz CDs, then in the evening watched the new production of the 1936 American musical comedy 'Anything Goes' filmed in London's Barbican. It was delightful, brilliantly conceived and performed with inspiring dance routines and witty comic dialogue. It reminded me of the film of the stage show, one of many musicals watched on black and white TV as a youngster. Happy memories of going to bed as a kid, with the music continuing to play in my head as I fell asleep. The same thing now too.

Thinking in the New Year

It was one o'clock in the morning by the time we settled down to sleep, after watching the fireworks from attic window at midnight. We had pancakes with garlic mushrooms for breakfast, a double treat! Our new router is poorly located for decent signal distribution, and needs to be raised to a higher shelf, but when we were discussing the feasibility of this in situ, the router had to be disconnected in situ. The spaghetti mix of cables as confusing. In re-connecting I mistakenly placed network cables in the wrong router sockets. No damage was done but it took an hour before we could sort out which one belonged where and get the system to behave properly again. The Christmas tree had to be moved, and then we decided to strip it of decorations early and return it to the garden in its pot.

I started writing a long biblical reflection about the impact of digital culture and living on our sense of self as human beings, and what this means for our spiritual life and prayer. It's only when you stop to take stock that you realise the extent to which life has been changed by the advent of the internet over the past thirty years. Getting a comprehensive picture of blessings and curses is hideously complex, and I worked on this after lunch and in the evening. In between, I went for a walk around the park as usual.

Clare wanted to watch a movie in the evening instead of the New Year's Day concert from Vienna, so I downloaded the full podcast and listened to it while I wrote in the evening. It's an annual favourite of mine, and best of all, I have it on my phone until the end of January.