Misconceived

Awake at seven thirty, getting breakfast ready at eight, then finishing and printing off tomorrow's sermon before walking in Thompson's Park for an hour before cooking lunch. It's all a lot easier when there's blue sky and sunshine. The Snoopy figure in Thompson's Park has been taken away. Not surprising, as its a place where lots of small children are taken by parents wanting to socialise. Such an colourful sympathetic figure would be bound to have kids climbing over it. How come the designers of the Snoopy art project or the planning authorities didn't understand this at the outset?

After lunch, another hour's walk, this time around Llandaff Fields. I felt fairly tired, but resisted the urge to sit down and doze off, as I so often do. I'd just like to sleep deeper for longer and wake up refreshed. It happens occasionally, but not often enough. Let's see if re-shaping my sleep habit will make a difference.

I spent the entire evening reading and revising my novel. There was a French  crimmie on Four about clergy child abuse, but I didn't have the motivation to stomach that with a more enjoyable task in hand.

The Russian government is reckoning that a million Ukrainians have been taken across the border not half a million as reported yesterday by Ukraine. There's no analysis of numbers taken willingly or unwillingly, nor of how many suffer and die in the process. I read an challenging article about why condemnation of Russian aggression by UN General Assembly member nations was far from universal . Many third world countries abstained, either because they receive Russian financial or military aid, or their experience of western colonial power has been so negative. Others see us differently from how we see ourselves.

Sleep change plan

I woke up at half past seven, and got up and made breakfast at eight. Recent medical research reports that seven hours regular sound sleep is enough for a healthy lifestyle in older people, and that sleeping several hours longer, as I tend to do can result in deteriorating brain function. I've been sleeping nine or ten hours a day in recent years, but my sleep pattern was persistently broken by pain and discomfort. My sleep is far less disturbed nowadays, but old habits die hard, so it's time for a shake-up. Last night seven and three quarter hours sleep, and no afternoon siesta to follow, that's the plan!

After breakfast, when Clare went out for a walk, I recorded next week's Morning Prayer audio, and edited it. By ten was outdoors walking in the park under a blue sunny sky. I went to the greengrocer's on my way back to buy some mushrooms and a soft fruit treat for Clare. Then I made lunch with the butter beans, bought yesterday and soaked overnight, and added them to a sauce with spinach, mushrooms and onions, served with spaghetti. It turned out well, and I look forward to cooking it again.

Instead of a siesta, I completed work on the Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube, then went out and walked again until tea time. I had a call from Ashley to say that my Blackberry work phone account is now closing, long after CBS ceased trading. The process of winding up the business is nearly complete at last. My EE PAYG SIM card will be transferred to the Blackberry. The six year old Samsung struggles to keep up with current demand. The four and a half year old Blackberry is still fit for purpose, but its storage capacity is half what's accepted as normal in today's new phones, largely due to a phenomenal increase in the use of photo and video messaging with 4G / 5G networks and superfast broadband. I don't think I'll miss a second phone. A simpler life is far more desirable.

After supper I spent an hour working on the third chapter of my draft novel before watching another bizarre episode of 'The Crimson Rivers'. I'm enjoying re-reading my own work, despite the fact that there are always errors to correct. It's good to see with a fresh critical eye how some sentences can be improved and clarified. Working on weekly biblical reflections over this past year has been a valuable discipline. I aim for five hundred words, no more than five minutes worth to record. It's possible to pack a lot of ideas in by reworking, simplifying and editing the draft text. This exercise applies equally to a much longer piece of writing..

News today of the death of a British volunteer soldier with the Ukrainian army, one of twenty thousand foreign volunteers. Three UK Special Forces military trainers were killed last month in a missile attack on a military installation near Lviv, but the story behind that has been slow coming out. This morning a missile attack hit an armament factory in Kyiv, while the UN Secretary General was conferring with President Zelensky nearby. The Russians are demonstrating provocatively what they can do to outrage the international community with targeting like this. Ukraine's Ombudsman for Human Rights reports that 490,000 Ukrainian civilians have been deported from war zones into Russia. How is it possible to stop this terrible evil?

Art that made us

Last night before going to bed I took a preliminary look at next Thursday's Morning Prayer texts, and then started wondering what I could make of the Exodus passage I'd have to reflect upon. Then I looked at the opening chapters of my novel, still complete in first draft but untouched for more than a year, lacking the motivation to continue. Unfortunately this re-awakened my interest in it, so I had a night of broken sleep with my brain buzzing. I posted today's link to WhatsApp at seven thirty, then dozed until nine. When I got up, I felt as if I'd hardly slept at all.

There were eleven of us at the St John's Eucharist this morning. By the end of it an idea was taking shape to write a reflection for next Thursday, so I didn't stay for coffee, but went straight home and started work on the idea until it was time to cook lunch. After eating I went out to shop for veggies, and took with me a plastic disinfectant bottle to buy a refill from a bring-your-own container bulk buy store. I also bought some dried butter beans, as we don't have any at home, and I enjoy cooking with them. Other kinds of beans are on sale there too. next time, I get something different. The bulk buy store is in the refurbished Corp building, a pub converted into multiple retail units plus a bar. The venture seems to be working well, though I haven't seen it really busy yet.

After an hour's siesta, Clare and I went for a walk in Llandaff Fields. The vacant plinths that were briefly occupied by the Snoopy figures have now disappeared. For good it seems, as I read a news item on-line stating that some of the figures were being re-located to places where they were less likely to be abused or vandalised and five were damaged within days of installation. Altogether, there are forty Snoopys across South Wales. I'm not in the least surprised the Llandaff Fields ones have gone, as they were sited in places with many people passing through, but no CCTV, police patrols or park wardens. Just perfect for mischief makers. 

This evening I watched episode three of 'Art that made us' on iPlayer in the hour before episode four live. Three was about the sixteenth century and impressively gave prominence alongside Shakespeare to Welsh Bible translator Bishop William Morgan as a literary innovator. Da iawn! 

Four was about the seventeenth century, and highlighted architectural innovations plus the remarkable drawings of Robert Hooke who reproduced in fine detail tiny things observed under a microscope, an innovation in his day, opening a new chapter in observational science, looking into the microcosm rather than outwards into the heavens, like Galileo and Newton in the same era. 

I'm loving this insightful exploration of all dimensions of creativity that have been part of the history of Great Britain and Ireland since the Romans left. I missed last week's episode only because we had Kath visiting us. This is telly really worth watching. 

Master of design

Bright and sunny today, but with a cold wind. I went to St Catherine's and celebrated the Eucharist with seven others this morning. Mother Frances contacted me as I was about to leave for church to ask if I'd take a funeral from St Peter's Fairwater as Emma is on sick leave at the moment. This service is with local Splott based family funeral company White Rose Funerals that I've not come across before. Intriguingly, the names of family members involved in the business are Arabic. Very much a reflection of the diversity of today's Cardiff.

Clare's back is improving every so slightly, though still very painful. She bought half a dozen bedding plants when she went out for her morning walk, and after cooking and eating lunch, I planted them. Her bad back doesn't let her to do tasks like that at the moment. Then I went and collected this week's order from Beanfreaks, then slept in the chair for an hour. I mustn't complain about losing time sleeping if I wake up feeling refreshed and clear headed. It made my afternoon circuit of the park less of an effort.

In the evening I made the bereavement call to start preparing for the funeral in two weeks time, and then watched another fascinating editions of 'Secrets of the Museum', which featured the work of designer Sir Kenneth Grange, a man responsible for the form of hundreds of everyday objects, plus the Inter City 125 train during his seventy year career. He's still working at ninety two, and wouldn't think of retiring. He looks so young still doing what he's loved doing throughout his adult life. After that, I finished watching French crimmie 'Inside' set in a mental hospital - the ultimate in complex psychological drama!

UN goes to Kremlin

I woke up to news that the UN General Secretary Antonio Gutierrez is in Moscow to see Putin and Lavrov. He's come in for some criticism for not visiting Ukraine first to see for himself the impact of the war, but he goes in full knowledge of the situation and the fact that Russia's action is condemned by the majority of member nations. His official role is to inform Putin that Russian actions in Ukraine violate  the UN Charter. It is proper to convey this formally in person and keep channels of communication open. At the moment, Putin's attitude is that Russia stands fast against a hostile world. And that's a very dangerous position when Russia has armaments that could destroy it completely.

The Russians are upping the rhetoric stating that NATO is conducting a proxy war in Ukraine, supplying weapons to strengthen resistance against aggression. Germany is sending fifty tanks to  the Ukrainian army, aircraft and missiles are also on the way. Some Ukrainian railway stations have been attacked by missiles, as if to show that importing war supplies will not go unopposed. Destroying rail infrastructure is not in the Russians military's best interests when gaining control would be more beneficial to them. Amazingly, the onslaught on the Donbas region isn't yet gathering full momentum. It seems that some of Ukraine's best forces are already embedded in defending the region.

America is also upping the rhetoric by stating the aim should be to degrade Russia's ability to act aggressively against any country. It's been said that the conflict so far has been more damaging to the Russian war machine than Putin anticipated, which could prolong the war beyond the target date of May 9th, associated with the Russian victory over the Nazis, and celebrated annually as such. Not being able to call his Ukraine exploit a swift success will be embarrassing as political and economic pressure starts to affect people more widely. But what impact will this have on the hold his regime has? 

After breakfast this morning, I stripped the bed linen for washing and re-made the bed. It's not such an easy task as the bed and mattress are very heavy, and in an awkward position. Joint pains in my hands make this an unpleasant exercise unfortunately.  Then I went out to do the weekly grocery shopping at the Co-op, and cooked lunch when I returned. Clare's back pain is easing slightly, and this afternoon she had an acupuncture treatment which seemed to help.

On my walk alongside the river Taff, I heard a warbler and a chaffinch, as well as the usual robins, tits, wrens and blackbirds. I saw a dipper speeding across from one river bank to another, with its distinctive flight pattern. It's the first one I've seen in the stretch between Western Avenue and Blackweir.

Another fascinating couple of programmes this evening on Sky Arts. The first was a documentary about the 16th century painter Raphael. The second was about the trafficking of archaeological artefacts looted from ancient Roman sites in Italy. 

A 60cm high group figure of three seated gods in marble was reported discovered in a clandestine excavation and taken illegally to Switzerland. The gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva were the principal deities of Rome, depicted in a huge temple on the Capitol Hill, little of which remains today. Smaller scale versions of the original figures were thought to have existed and given pride of place in the homes of rich Roman citizens, but none had ever been found. 

The person reporting the discovery made an 'identikit' drawing of the figure, which gave the Carabinieri detectives some idea of what they were looking for, but nobody had ever seen it or anything like it. By a stroke of misfortune for the thieves, an arm from the figure broke off and was lost during excavation. The finder returned to the site secretly and discovered the missing piece among the rubble, and was then caught by the police who were monitoring his activity. The arm, lost and found, was physical evidence confirming the report of the find. A high risk press conference gave global publicity to the theft, making it impossible for art traffickers to sell the figure to any museum. This resulted in its clandestine recovery from the gang of traffickers, for whom the figure had become worthless. None were arrested, but the figure eventually found its home in the town museum at Montecelio, close to where it was discovered. 

Several times during the programme, mention was made of the true value of an artefact being not just in its original beauty, but the story it was part of. It reminded me of why programmes such as 'The Repair Shop' and 'Antiques Road Show' are so popular, because of the stories connected to objects shown.

Then, with nothing better to do, I watched the second episode of 'Life after Life', a faultless depiction of life in middle class Britain in the 1920s, and the story of a young girl's suffering as she grows up and gets married. This too is good story telling.

New assignment

This morning after breakfast I wrote a draft of next Sunday's sermon. I'm standing in for Emma at Saint Peter's Fairwater. It'll be my first visit there. I had a phone call from Kate, one of the St Peter's wardens, to brief me about the service. 

Then, I hoovered carpets and washed floors, before cooking lunch. I had an idea to make a pasta dish using the coil in the bag mussels. First I made a creamy mushroom and onion sauce, cooked the mussels, added them to the sauce with the penne. It turned out quite well, but the sauce was a bit too runny. I'll know what do do about this next time I try it out.

When I went down to Blackweir Bridge on my afternoon walk, I spotted a cormorant swimming upstream underwater, but out of camera range unfortunately, likewise a jay in a wooded stretch by the path where I've not see one before. A little later, I saw a thrush feeding on the ground and got this photo. The first white chestnut candle blossoms are appearing now on trees in the park.

After my walk, I read the last chapter of 'Cancion de Noel'. I'm also making progress with 'Invierno en Madrid, though I still have a couple of hundred pages left to read. 

I spent the evening after supper watching episodes of a French crimmie set in a mental hospital, plus the initial episode of a new action drama offering on 5USA, 'Blacklist' which proved to be as improbable as it was convoluted, so clever it was hard to make sense of. Well, that's one to omit from my 'watch list', I reckon.

Orthodox Easter

Blue sky made an appearance early this morning, so good to wake up to. The Sunday Service was from the Ukrainian Catholic exile community in London, celebrating Easter according to the Julian Calendar a week later than the rest of the world. We were treated to some traditional resurrection hymnody, but what caught my attention was hearing the response to the Litany of Fervent Supplication in the Liturgy of St John Chrysostom used with prayer petitions relevant to current conflict. 

As an indigenous church, the Ukrainian Greek Catholic church, to use its full title, has been in communion with Rome since the seventeenth century, rather than in communion with the Ecumenical Patriarch, or the Patriarch of Moscow - other groups of Ukrainian Orthodox are in communion either with Constantinople or Moscow. It reflects the tensions and conflict of interests which have plagued the history of Ukraine for the past five hundred years.

In a way this is  what has happened to churches of Orthodox tradition in the Middle East which also changed allegiance under Roman Catholic influence and support post-reformation. The second Vatican Council affirmed the contribution of Eastern Rite church communities and enabled them to adapt to the times in a way Eastern Orthodoxy is still reluctant to do. 

Traditional Slavic Orthodox churches would be less likely to adapt classic petitionary prayer to current conditions. It's something I noticed this morning, because of encounters encounters with the Russian Orthodox church in Exile as a student nearly sixty years ago, when it was possible to get to know (and sing) the entire set form of the liturgy off by heart, leaving the variable bits to the experienced cantors. I owe a lot to the Orthodox way of prayer, and its original poetic way of expressing theological and spiritual insight in hymnody so different from its western equivalent. 

Western and Eastern expressions of Christianity are equally riven by religious and cultural divisions which are institutionalised into different church communities. There may be an acknowledged essential unity of teaching and purpose between them all (or most of them), but living with differences when exposed to geographical, political and cultural tensions is as difficult now as it was in the years after the birth of the church. What is most lacking, to my mind, is a universal sense of humour, to enable us all to admit that taking everything too seriously makes us no different from those scribes and Pharisees challenged by Jesus.

When I set off to celebrate the Eucharist at St German's, I kissed Kath goodbye, but when I returned just before one, she was still there, about to leave, as she's been unable to contact a friend to visit on her way home, so we kissed goodbye again. Then I cooked lunch.

Poor Owain. He left us to catch a train at nine last night. The train to boarded never left the station, and he sat in it for an hour before a cancellation announcement was made, due to someone wanting to jump from a railway bridge outside Newport. It's disgraceful that it should have taken so long to alert passengers and give them the choice to wait or go by other means.

I don't understand why an alternative means of transport wasn't arranged once it was clear there was a problem that might take time to resolve. British Transport Police would have attended the 'jumper' and had a presence at Cardiff Central. What's the matter with them that it took an hour to inform passengers of the futility of waiting? Rather than return to Meadow Street, he contacted electrician James and Jo his wife who live in Grangetown, a shorter walk to a couch for the night, rather than returning to Meadow Street, but it was midday before he got back to his flat.

We walked in the park for an hour before tea, then after supper I went out again on my own. A young man accosted me as we passed each other saying "You look beautiful, would you mind if I took your photograph? I'm a portrait photographer." I was intrigued by this chat up line and agreed. He told me he was in his final year of a photography course at the University of South Wales. In his bag was a Mamiya medium format film camera - the real deal. He said he'd just returned from a photo expedition in Turkey, and was intending to work in a European country after graduation. He took three pictures of me, hoping that the evening light was adequate for the film he was using. I guess I'll never know, though he did say that the final year class photo exhibition would be shown in the St David's Centre for a week from the tenth of June, so I've made a note to visit. Maybe I'll find out then if his shots were successful.

On returning home, I completed work on the Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube. As the biblical reflection was about Moses striking water from the rock at Horeb, I hunted down a photo to use of Ayin Musa - the spring of Moses, taken in 1999 while visiting Frank Dall in Jordan. 

It was on one of the many rolls of film which I digitized early in retirement and sits in its own Google photos album, easy to find. Cherished memories of travels in times past. I wonder if such opportunities will ever happen again?

Family time

Last night, I was looking something up on my Chromebook in bed before settling down for the night, and fell soundly asleep with the light on and the Chromebook closed but still tucked into the duvet. I woke up at two thirty, clean my teeth and make sure everything was powered down for the night. Then, I slept until nine, and found I was first up. After breakfast Clare and Kath went for a walk while I wrote my Sunday sermon. 

Unusually, the right thoughts didn't come easily, which made me wonder about the reason for this. Due to covid it's a month since I last prepared a sermon. My Easter Vigil homily was improvised, and my Good Friday effort was prepared before covid. It made me realise how much I rely on taking time every week to think about the next Sunday's sermon, and the sequence of scriptural readings essential to it. In the same period, the war in Ukraine has dominated our everyday perspective, and I've not had much opportunity to reflect on stories from the conflict relating to Christ's passion. Covid and the war together have disrupted my thinking in an unexpected way.

Kath went out to meet her friend Mandy for a coffee at lunchtime, and I prepared a snack for Owain's arrival, expecting him around one. He arrived an hour later with Kath, having gone from the station to the place where Kath and Mandy were meeting. All four of us then went out for a walk to Bute Park and back, to enjoy the bluebells and wild garlic flowers now carpeting the woodland below Blackweir bridge. When we got back, Kath set about making a giant fish pie for supper.

Afterwards, we sat around the table and drank good wine until it was time for Owain to leave for the train back to Bristol. Kath and I stayed chatting for another hour, and amused ourselves with me reading aloud a chapter from 'Cancion de la Navidad' - Dickens' Christmas Carol in Spanish, and Kath working out if she could understand my pronunciation and interpret what I was reading. Having fun with language is certainly something she's inherited from Clare and I. Then, I printed off my sermon and we both made an effort to go to bed early. Clare retired straight after supper, following another day of alternate walking and lying down to cope with the back pain. Slowly it's easing. Very slowly indeed.

Electrician to the rescue

All over cloud today, a disappointment after such a long sunny spell. After a late breakfast, Clare and Kath went for a walk, and I went to the shops for a jar of Clare's favourite honey to replace the one I smashed yesterday. Then I worked on creating a fish stew with stock and spare pieces of salmon Clare had prepared yesterday. It turned out to be a satisfying success.

Kath and I went for a walk as far as Llandaff weir after lunch, and we met up with Clare in the park on the return stretch. When we got home, Kath noticed that the candelabra in the dining room was hanging oddly and got up on the table to investigate. It was meant to be secured to a beam in the ceiling by means of a bracket, but this had worked loose, most likely the last time a light bulb was changed. The candelabra was in danger of detaching from the ceiling altogether, so we decided to disconnect it from the power supply and take it down altogether. With some difficulty we did this, but the produced a break in the downstairs lighting circuit. 

Fortunately, Clare had the phone number of James, an old friend of Owain's, an electrician who lives in Grangetown. She called him, and within an hour he and his wife Jo called around to fix the problem for us. It was the first time we'd met, despite them being friends of Owain's for twenty years. We had a good conversation and drank some wine together. We were so fortunate that James was free and available to come around on a Friday after work. His everyday job involves the electric arc steel furnaces down the Bay, driven by a 11,000 volt power supply. James said that when the furnaces are operating they coosume half of Cardiff's power supply. Mind boggling.

We had laver bread fried eggs and/or smoked mackerel for supper, a delicious treat. Then I watched this week's episode of 'The Crimson Rivers' - just as ridiculous as previous ones, sad to say. A waste of of good quality actors.

Booster invite

I woke up early and posted the link to WhatsApp for today's Morning Prayer before Thought for the Day. I got up and made breakfast, but in the course of putting things on the table accidentally dropped a jar of orange blossom honey, Clare's favourite. Such a sad loss, first thing in the morning, and so messy to clear up, shards of glass mixed in with orange stickiness on the floor by the table. Then I went to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist with four others. 

In the post this morning, appointment notifications for both of us to attend Splott vaccination centre for our second booster jab next week. I wondered what the impact of this would be so close to having covid, and called the booking line to ask the question. After a ten minute wait, I was told that a delay of twenty eight days was considered acceptable by medical opinion. The appointment would be plus or minus a day that amount of time after contracting the infection. I was given the choice of postponing it, and decided to take an appointment ten days later instead. Clare intends to do the same, given the difficulty of travelling about with her current level of back pain.

Clare took delivery of a special order of fish for freezing from Ashton's and had just finished stowing it away when I arrived home to cook lunch. As Kath is coming this evening to stay for a few days, I then cooked a pasta sauce ready for this evening's meal. Then I recorded next Thursday's Morning Prayer and reflection, before going for a walk in the park. The second Snoopy sculpture in Llandaff Fields has now disappeared. I counted four of them in the city centre a couple of days ago. Easier to keep an eye on with ubiquitous CCTV of course. The plinth on which the sculpture was mounted has been shifted a metre or so, and a tiny picket fence erected around its base. Was it meant to deter little climbers? Too late. Doggone.

Kath arrived just before seven, and after we'd eaten we sat and talked until eleven. It was great to hear stories of the Wriggledance 'Squidge' tour, and all its technical challenges and nightmares, and of the dance workshops she's been doing with people our age and older. It made me very proud and happy indeed.

Museum showcased

I went to St Catherine's this morning and celebrated the Eucharist with a congregation of four. Responded to an appeal by Emma to cover the Sunday Mass at St Peter's Fairwater the Sunday after next while she's on sick leave after the same minor surgery as I had. 

There was house cleaning to do, which didn't get done on Monday, and the veggie bag to be collected before cooking lunch.  Then, another walk to the shops to collect our grocery order from Beanfreaks. Non stop domesticity today.

A belated birthday card arrived from Rachel and Jasmine, plus an unusual fridge magnet with a colourful design on it designed by Jasmine. A nice little surprise.

This evening on telly, another marvellous insight into the work of the V&A museum's conservators, this week showing preparations for a special exhibition of 20th century African fashion and design, featuring a Ghanaian woman's Kente cloth, bought to wear at the Christening of her first child in 1960. It also showed photographs taken by James Borner a Ghanaian man who worked in Accra and London, pioneering the use of colour photography with African fashionistas as his subjects. Aged 92, he was interviewed at an exhibition preview, expressing satisfaction at having his work recognised at last, albeit thirty years later than he'd have liked to have this happen! 

The programme also highlighted a unique collection of Rodin bronze sculptures loaned to the museum, when they couldn't be returned to Paris at the outbreak of World War One. It was controversial at that time for a major collection of work by a living artist to be shown in a museum. Rodin was so pleased at the way his work was displayed, he decided to give the priceless collection to the V&A. What a rewarding hour's viewing.  

The Archbishop of Canterbury's Easter sermon condemnation of the government policy of exporting some asylum seekers to Rwanda to deter people smuggling seems to have met with much public approval, but not from the Prime Minister whose ill judged, poorly informed backlash remarks about Anglican church leaders will doubtless contribute further to a decrease in his popularity and authority. He is helping to make his party un-electable by clinging on to power since his lies and deceit have been unmasked. There's none so blind as those who refuse to see the truth.

Turns of Fate

Disturbing news to wake up to this morning of the start of the Russian offensive to conquer the Donbass region of Ukraine with four times as many missile attacks as yesterday. Such overwhelming force, with no concern for civilian casualties or the environment. There's no justification for such destructive brutality, except to perpetuate the lies that keep the Putin regime in power. 

In the British parliament today, Boris Johnson has been apologising and making excuses for himself in relation to behaviour by the Downing Street Staff team which contravened public health legislation which government imposed on the nation as a whole. Police investigations leading to the Prime Minister and his colleagues being fined for breaches of lockdown law are outrageous enough in their own right, but more serious that this is the denial to the House of Commons on several occasions by the Prime Minister when challenged that there had been any law-breaking. We think Putin's regime is perpetuated by lies, but is our own leadership any different? 

It's argued by some that Johnson's lies don't have such a serious impact, but this turns a blind eye to the fact that as a journalist over twenty years, Johnson propagated lies about the European Commission and the benefits of leaving the EU which undermined democratic decision making in the brexit referendum. Trump's presidency over America was tainted by lies and mis-information throughout. In each case, it's all in the name of gaining and maintaining power and control. How can the world rid itself of such toxic culture? One way or another, the outcome is violence and suffering, perhaps self-destruction. What does it mean now to endure suffering for the sake of truth? Will NATO countries be drawn into war? Will the Russian people rise against their criminal overlords and change the course of their own history as they did before? So many unanswerable questions. I'm perplexed and troubled, fearful for the future.

After breakfast I walked to Pidgeon's chapel of rest to take the funeral service of a local lady who lived her entire seventy five years in the house she was born in. Not uncommon in a village maybe, but quite exceptional in a perpetually changing inner city area today. She was the widow of a professional soldier, one if whose roles had been the care of the Welsh Regimental Mascot, aka the Goat Major. A family members spoke fondly of times when her auntie and uncle had taken baby goat kids home to raise with bottle feeds - a bit different from the school's pet rabbit or hamster - things a mother gets to do!

Callum, the young man who conducted the funeral told me as we were driving home after the committal at the crem how he'd got the job. Luke, his housemate had been a driver for Pidgeon's after losing his job as an EasyJet pilot during a previous economic recession. He encouraged to 'get a life' by quitting life as a bar manager and do something less demanding and more useful. Callum was taken on and then trained by Pidgeon's, and is happy to have real job satisfaction. Luke subsequently returned to piloting. Post-pandemic, he flies for SAS.

I got home in good time to cook our regular favourite fast food lunch - mussels with brown rice, sweet corn and peas. While I was out Clare has been into town to buy a TENS machine from Boots, hoping it will ease the back pain and enable her to reduce the use of analgesics. The pain is still pretty bad, though less intense than it was last week. Neither of us could have imagined it would take such a long time to recover.

After lunch, a walk to the bank to deposit a cheque. It was closed, with no reason given, although there was a notice on the door stating that the branch would be closing down in October this year. I had to get on a bus and go to the remaining branch in the city centre to deposit the cheque instead. I think there will be only three HSBC branches serving Cardiff in future. Admittedly the switch to digital banking has reduced the demand for branch bank services, but that's of no help to people who aren't mobile or have no liking for modern banking ways. 

Admittedly one can deposit cheques via the Post Office, which now acts as an agency on behalf of some banks, but Post Offices are busy places, often with long queues to be served.  Big banks aren't interested in smaller account holders or serving local interests. Poorer and older people suffer as a result. While new digital banking models are emerging to challenge the market dominated by big institutions, these don't meet local and personal needs. Will a new form of local banking emerge in time I wonder?  

When I got back from town, I slept for over an hour again. One way or another I seem to need that extra hour during the day to feel good. 

In the evening, after supper a fascinating documentary on Sky Arts about the trade in artefacts stolen from an archaeological site in Sicily - a real detective story! Then on BBC2 Wales an intriguing serial story called 'Life after Life', based on a well received novel of the same name. It works with the 'what if' idea of destiny, and portrays alternative outcomes for the main character, and how the lives of those around her are all interconnected.  It takes a while to get used to considering whether you're looking at what might have happened or what actually happened. Odd, but in a way quite entertaining. The portrayal of upper middle class life in the first quarter of the twentieth century is superbly crafted. But, is it of enough interest to watch again next week, or even binge watch the remaining episodes on iPlayer? I'll sleep on it.

Non Bank Holiday

Another fine mild day for a bank holiday. Not that we can go anywhere. Clare's back pain hasn't abated so she needs to rest a lot in between gentle walks, and avoid lifting and physical exertion. At her request, I mowed the lawn, a chore she usually enjoys. Then I finished this week's Morning Prayer video upload and prepared tomorrow's funeral service before cooking lunch, 

The park was relatively quiet when I went out for a walk afterwards, except for four volleyball games side by side on the grass overlooking Penhill Road. Many families will have headed to a beach today. In the past week there's been a surge of bluebells in patches all around the unkempt periphery of the park and in the woodland patches. I also saw the first patches of wild garlic emerge in the undergrowth along the Taff. Spring is well established now, a little earlier than usual, I think. When I returned from my walk, I slept for an hour and a half yet again. I seem to be sleeping excessively, but at least I find the siesta refreshing, if time squandering.

The Russian military states that it launched three hundred missile attacks on critical infrastructure and Ukrainian cities today, a prelude to its offensive on the Donbass region. Five million Ukrainians are now said to have left the country, fleeing indiscriminate attacks on civilians in cities all over the country. As a result of economic sanctions, tens of thousands of people in Moscow have lost their jobs and it's possible that number could rise to two hundred thousand. How will Putin explain this away when impoverishment of the middle class elites generates unrest above and beyond what state security can cope with? In the meanwhile the genocidal assault on Ukraine will cost many thousands of lives before unrest in Moscow has any impact on current policy and strategy. It's heart-breaking.

I watched the last episode of NCIS season 18 tonight, with some tantalising indicators of changes in the storyline and personnel to come in season 19. I don't suppose this will appear on UK TV until the autumn, if not next year.

Church confronts government

Another bright sunny day, a perfect Easter Sunday morning. I listened to the Easter Eucharist broadcast from Canterbury Cathedral, with Archbishop Justin preaching a powerful resurrection sermon which was strongly critical of government plans to deport some asylum seekers to Rwanda on a one way ticket. There has been widespread moral outcry at this policy, especially as government officials have advised there is no financial justification for doing this. It was good to hear a prophetic voice proclaiming the resurrection of our Saviour Jesus Christ, in such a relevant way. To hear, later in the day, Jacob Rees Mogg assert that the Archbishop hadn't understood the intention of government policy was insulting to Justin's intelligence, if not to the competence of his advisory team. 

Clare's back pain has subsided very little, so she didn't feel able to sit through a service at St Catherine's. I decided to go to St German's instead. Last night when I went over there for the Easter Vigil, I forgot to take with me the crucifix I borrowed for the Good Friday service at St John's, so this was a good enough reason to go there again, and enjoy sitting in the congregation. When I arrived, a small group was rehearsing Mozart's 'Ave Verum Corpus', which I knew well enough, so I joined them and sat in choir robed for the Mass, as I did on Maundy Thursday. 

At the exchange of the Peace, Fr Stewart asked if I'd lead the singing of the 'Regina Coeli' at the end of the service, something I'm familiar with, but he's not yet experienced in this context. I was indeed happy to do this. When I first helped out at St German's Fr Harold Clarke the much loved retired Vicar of St Martin's Roath would sit in choir at the Sunday Mass, and lead the Angelus at the end. As he was no longer steady on his feet, he wouldn't take an active roel in the Liturgy, except for this. I'm fitter that he was at much the same age, but standing there remembering him gave me a strange sensation of being an ancient cleric. Not exactly how I tend to see myself. 

Having prepared lunch before leaving for church, it was ready to eat when I returned from church just after one. Afterwards, a walk in the park, listening to Choral Evensong from Canterbury Cathedral on my Blackberry. When I got back, I sat down, switched on the telly to check whar's worth watching tonight and while Freeview was booting, I fell soundly asleep for an hour and a half with the remote control still in my hand. When I woke up the telly wasn't on, which puzzled me. Clare had come in and switched off without trying to remove the remote control in case she disturbed me. Strange - as I didn't feel at all tired. 

I watched the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta 'The Gondoliers' on BBC Four after supper - a new production with some of the comic dialogue rewritten for our times. It was colourful and spectacular with superbly choreographed dance routines. I don't think I've ever seen it before, though some of the songs from it are familiar performance pieces heard in light music concerts. The plot is pretty daft, and I started losing interest in the second act. I could have done with something more inspirational for Easter Day. 

Vigil

Well, a long night's sleep was the pick-me-up I needed. Our postal voting forms for the Council elections arrived this morning. I filled mine in and returned it to the post box on the way to St John's before cooking lunch as I'd forgotten to sign the register yesterday. I noticed the sacristy clock wasn't forwarded two weeks ago, and corrected it while I was there. Mother Frances arrived as I left and we talked about the difficulty of restoring a shared sense of attention to detail in congregational life. Hopefully this will sort itself out, as long as we don't have another pandemic type crisis, fragmenting our social lives and relationships.

I went into town this afternoon. The streets were quite busy though still falling short of heyday years when footfall was considerably higher. Many retail outlets are empty these days, including big chain stores like Debenhams and Arcadia Group stores which left Queen Street after being taken over by the ASOS group. There are simply not enough retail experiences to draw in crowds considered normal a decade ago. It was good to see a sizeable group of evangelical Christians out witnessing, plus a Hare Krishna monk. I didn't see a Muslim preacher as there often is on a Saturday, but maybe Ramadhan isn't a time for this.

I went into W H Smith to spend the gift token Ann sent me for my birthday, and had difficulty finding any item that added up exactly to the amount available. The one item I found at the right price wasn't in stock. I selected a couple of others that added up to the right amount, according to the price tags, but at the till was charged less for them, so the gift token with a residual sum of money on it is still in my wallet. Daft!

I walked home, had an early supper and then drove to St German's for the Easter Vigil celebration. There were just ten of us, but all in good heart. Everything was beautifully prepared. The only problem was low light and my eyesight. I had to use the torch light on my Blackberry to be able to chant the text of the Exultet. It's one of my favourite moments of the season, but this time with an added challenge!

Organist Brian and his wife Barbara went down with covid on Sunday, so we had a substitute organist who made a decent job of an unfamiliar service. Though we were few in number, everyone pitched in enthusiastically with the responses, taking their part in the readings, making it a special experience for each other. It's far from being the first time in fifty years that I've led an Easter Vigil with less people than there were at the Last Supper. For those who come, it's something special, but the majority of the faithful simply don't get it, or have something they feel is more important to do. I'm just glad that I can still lead or attend the Vigil - it doesn't matter which - it's the real turning point of the year for me.

Way of the Cross

I didn't sleep very well, but woke up to a mild sunny spring day. My first assignment was to lead Stations of the Cross at St German's.  Before I started, I posted to WhatsApp the YouTube link for the service at St John's at noon. There were only ten of us present. There was no time to stop for coffee and hot cross buns afterwards, as I needed to take the car home and then walk to St John's in good time. 

I borrowed the Zambian crucifix from the sacristy to place on the altar for the St John's noon service, and had to carry it in a large bag for life down to the church. I had to wear my cassock as I couldn't carry it along with the crucifix. The shops were open but the streets weren't busy. I don't suppose anyone noticed me looking a bit conspicuous on the half mile walk to church. There were ten of us for the service, which wasn't without mishaps. 

I took the hymn numbers from an early edition of the hymnal in use, none of which matched the real numbers. Monica the organist didn't mention it, and I only realised it after sowing confusion among the congregation. Andrew, Martin and Monica read their assigned parts well, and all of us would have been more audible if the radio microphone had batteries in it. Apparently it's been like that for three weeks. Nobody feels responsible for practical details of running the service - the stage management side of the traditional church warden role - now abolished in the creation of Ministry Areas, but needing re-invention. 

Clergy taking services have more than enough to think about. It's important that lay people look after all the necessary supporting details of running worship, not just the flowers and refreshments at the end. The trouble is, the imposition of Ministry Areas has in effect dis-empowered them. Now they need motivating and encouraging to attend to the detail all over again. It is troubling to see congregations so diminished.

After the service, I went home to deposit the borrowed crucifix and my cassock, and then walked over yo St Luke's for the Liturgy of the Passion at two o'clock. There were twenty of us present, and three choir members sang the reproaches and Psalm 22. Surprisingly Mother Frances read the entire Passion, without additional voices, just congregational crowd responses. It's often the case that readers for the passion get roped in when they arrive for the service, and everyone makes the effort to ensure it works unrehearsed. St Luke's isn't short of good readers. No sermon this afternoon, and no sermon last night from Fr Stewart. What happened? Why these changes? Is the church now so busy trying to reorganise itself to cope with decline that interpreting the Word of God is being neglected?

When I got home, I ate a very late lunch, kept by Clare for me. As I relaxed, began to feel very tired and slept for an hour. The past week has been quite demanding, with all the video editing hassles. although I haven't had to preach or take services, as I have done previously in Holy Week. I've not been lacking in energy or concentration, but in common with many others post-covid, I've had to work with a fuzzy head as my body works at discharging the remnants of covid infection. Good sleep seems essential.

There are preparations I need to make for tomorrow and for next week, but tonight I was in no mood for work, and spent the evening watching dreary telly. Perhaps I sould have gone to bed very early instead.        

Triduum begins

I woke early and posted to WhatsApp the link to my Morning Prayer video offering of the day. There was no Eucharist to attend or celebrate in the Parish. Instead, lay people were urged to attend the Chrism Mass in the Cathedral. Since the second Vatican Council the emphasis on this has increased, as an occasion when clergy renew their ordination vows, with a pep talk from the Bishop. Before that for fifteen centuries it had just been the occasion to consecrate sacred oils used in the sacraments and start distributing them to the parishes through the clergy attending. Adding in the vow renewal, to my mind, makes it even more of a clerical jamboree. It's important to have lay people attending to witness this, but if all the faithful of the diocese turned up at the Cathedral, there wouldn't be room. In practice, people work during the day, and expect to attend just the evening service celebrating the institution of the Lord's Supper. A morning service used to be offered for those who work evenings, but that's now been abandoned. Maybe there's no demand or expectation any longer. So much has changed.

I spent the morning working on next week's Morning Prayer offering, then cooked lunch before going out for a walk. At four thirty I drove Clare to an acupuncture appointment at a clinic on Newport Road. The traffic was heavy enough to delay us by ten minutes, but we made it just on time. While waiting to take her back home, I listened to the news in the car. A report has arrived of the Russian flagship of the Black Sea fleet being hit by missiles, set on fire and evacuated - no casualties, it seems. The Russians deny this, claiming it was merely a fire that set an ammunition store alight. If so, how very careless. 

If it was indeed Ukrainian missiles, it was remarkable good fortune. It's the second navy vessel put out of action so far, supporting the invasion of the Donbass region. It's only a matter of time now before the Russians revised campaign plan gets/ under way. Western nations have been pouring armaments into Ukraine for them to use. An international brigade of experienced volunteer soldiers has been formed, but little is known of whether or not its seen action yet. 

Perhaps most concerning is the news that Finland and Sweden have opened negotiations to join NATO - the very thing that Putin set out to deter by taking action against Ukraine. His antiquated fears and fantasies about western influence eroding Russian culture have driven him into becoming an aggressive campaigner against Ukraine. The world has united against him, and two neutral neighbouring countries are now joining an alliance to defend Europe and the wider world against his ambitions. There is a risk this could escalate conflict, but also a possibility that it would lead to his downfall and replacement in an internal regime change that would seek an end to his repressive policies. That's what we must pray for.

I drove Clare home, we ate supper together, then I drove back to St German's for the Maundy Thursday Last Supper celebration. I wore choir dress and sat in the choir stalls, although there was only one chorister. We were just seventeen in church. Church attendances are still down post covid. Will they ever pick up again? Some people have lost the habit altogether, and not been replaced by enough new people. It's not good for morale. 'The disciples all forsook him and fled.' is what concludes the story of the betrayal of Jesus remembered at the end of this evening's liturgy, except that it doesn't always get read aloud. It's too close to the church's current experience of reality.

Chasing Trane

Yesterday, I prepared and uploaded my Maundy Thursday Morning Prayer, and then continued working with the components of the Good Friday service video. It turned out to be more complex and difficult to realise, as YouTube flagged up digital rights management issues on a couple of the music tracks I'd used. To be honest, I couldn't make sense of it, whether it was possible to use the pieces in the way I'd intended. 

It took me a couple of hours to change the selection and upload a revised version to YouTube, but the next time other DRM issues were flagged up, and I think incorrectly, but how to dispute this was beyond my ability to understand. And a waste of even more time. At fifty minutes this was the longest video edit I'd ever attempted and the software didn't fail on me. The video rendering and uploading to YouTube took up hours of time machine minding.

Clare is still in a lot of pain and incapacitated with her back injury. She went for an osteopath treatment yesterday and is in  even worse pain today. Between looking after her needs and working on the video, my day was entirely consumed. It was nearly ten in the evening before I went out for a walk, needing to clear my head before going to bed without finishing the job, having decided to edit out the music altogether and just present a voice audio version of the service. Not what I wanted, but it will have to do.

Thankfully, I slept well, and uploaded the Good Friday video without issue this time. Then, a couple of grocery shopping trips, another to the surgery to collect a pain killing prescription for Clare and another for my blood pressure medication. Then, after supper I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were twenty one of us present, eight in the choir. Mother Frances talked about a Picasso Blue Period painting, which I recognised, signifying estrangement and failure in relationships, and jumping from this to Judas at the Last Supper. I go the point, but it didn't quite work for me. I think I work by visualising the story and conjuring with it dramatically. That's certainly how I got the thread of ideas for my Good Friday text.

Before bed, I watched a remarkable documentary about the life of John Coltrane, one of the 20th century's musical geniuses. It had interviews with many of the jazz greats, now at advanced ages, but full of energy, still inspired by their memories of the man who died aged 40, fifty five years ago, What was important in this biography was the exploration of Coltrane's spirituality, his creativity and mystical relationship with God. It was so good, I'd love to watch it again. It was so absorbing that I was surprised to find that it had run for two hours, when I thought it was only an hour long. It also made me wonder why I have none of his albums in my music collection. Somehow, after his time with Miles Davies, his contribution to music passed me by.

 

Prime time

I find myself conflicted when my birthday falls in Holy Week. My attention and energy is focussed on the Passion story, whether I'm busy with services to prepare for, or with not much to do and appreciating time in quiet retreat. Family and friends are good at remembering and sending greetings and gifts, and if there's an opportunity, making a little party, but it never feels like the right time. I'd rather postpone everything until after Easter Day, when celebrating feels like something I really want to do. But the cards and calls arrive on time no matter what I think, and from far and wide too. Nice not to be forgotten. 

Seventy seven today - in my prime, seven times eleven - I find it hard to believe I'm that old. I guess I'm fairly fit and well for my age. Only occasionally do I sense my vulnerability and the physical encroachments of age. I'm thankful for all that I have and all that I have experienced, and still open to experience new things, if not chasing hungrily after them. The great sadness for me right now is this war in Ukraine. Nothing like it in Europe in my lifetime, and no idea how this will end.

I worked all day on constructing the master audio file for the Good Friday on-line service. Andrew and Clare recorded scripture readings for me on their phones. Clare and I recorded some material together and there were nine pieces of music. I was pleased to find that the completed article was forty nine minutes long, well within the planned time frame of the original script. Tomorrow I'll put together the audio and visuals and make an uploadable video from them.

Late afternoon I walked into town in search of some herbal remedies for Clare from Neal's Yard. Then, an early supper, so that I could attend Mass at St Luke's. Mother Frances is giving a series of sermons this week around certain 20th century works of art. While a copy of tonight's painting was on display, lack of light and distance from display meant that I couldn't figure out what the subject of the painting was, let alone how this related to her interpretation of it. It was frustratingly out of reach for me. Something to do with age I wonder?

I got home in time for this week's new NCIS episode, then got ready for bed. Just as I got into bed I had a WhatsApp call from Rachel on a bright sunny afternoon in Tempe. Kath and Owain called earlier, and I had a text message from Amanda as well. Whar a lucky guy I am!

Palm Sunday overtime

A lovely sunny morning, if cold, just right for my first proper outing in a fortnight, to celebrate Mass at St German's. We started the Palm Procession with the blessing ceremony in the church garden, which looks great at the moment, clean and well cared for. There were twenty seven of us and a revised version of the Passion Gospel according to St Luke prepared by James involved a third of the congregation as readers. It was one of those 'bonding' experiences which really brings out the best in a church community, whether it's a small number, or tens of thousands. For me it's the same experience as standing in the street among the crowds watching Semana Santa processions in Malaga.

After lunch, I did another two hours work to complete the visuals for Good Friday before going for a walk. I noticed the Snoopy statue near Cafe Castan was missing, with a note on the empty plinth saying it had been taken away for repairs. That's after three days in the wild. It's too tempting for the idle handed youth who like to hang near the cafe to take advantage of its free wi-fi at night.

Ukrainian workers report that over twelve hundred dead civilians have been counted in areas around Kyiv which Russian troops invaded fought over and then retreated from. Moscow denies everything. An army general has been appointed to lead the forces aiming to annexe the Donbass region who was instrumental in the devastating siege of Aleppo and all the war crimes committed there.  Boris Johnson has paid a visit to Ukraine this weekend. Archbishop Rowan goes with a group of church leaders this week. 

Meanwhile, the Prime Minister of Austria is going to visit Mr Putin in the Kremlin. Since Cold War, Austria has been not only a neutral country, but strictly non-aligned, in a deal to ward off the Soviet threat. This means there are channels of communication with Russia uniquely open to Austria. Switzerland, while also neutral, has by its sanctions policy and support for human rights concerns, is in effect aligned to the West, though not closed to Russia, as witnessed by the Russian citizens and their wealth domiciled there. But can anything be done to stop the onslaught on Ukraine without conflict escalating dangerously?

There was nothing of interest on telly this evening, and I try not to spend too much time glue to 24/7 news as it's not good for the soul. So, after supper I got on with work on the audio side of the Good Friday service, finding hymns on-line making recordings and editing for length, seventeen minutes worth of use in between readings. It took three hours. It wasn't very easy, and it was only when I went up to bed that I remembered an occasion when I'd used the Twisted Wave app on my Chromebook and produced a much better quality of sound file than was possible by the convoluted method I was using - partly as a consequence of my not being able to configure Audacity properly. I don't know why I failed on a new more powerful machine, but it may have something to do with the hardware that I don't understand. Much work done today, and a fair amont of progress, which is pleasing.

Not contagious, but not clear

In an effort to get back to normal despite the back pain, Clare rose early and cooked our usual Saturday pancake breakfast. A cold but bright sunny day, so we both spent lots of time outdoors soaking in the sun, two and a half hours walking in the park morning and afternoon.

I did a lateral flow test before lunch and it turned positive again. When I was down by Blackweir Bridge I met Fran with a couple of her friends and we talked about covid testing. One of them said he was obliged to be in a daily lateral flow testing regime at work. After he tested positive and quarantined for ten days, he returned to work and was told not to do further lateral flow tests for ninety days. 

It seems that certain people get over covid, are well and symptom free, but still test positive for a long while as a trace of infection works its way out of their system, but they are no longer contagious. That sounds like where I am at the moment. It's impossible not to feel like a pariah, but nobody has any control over how their individual immune system deals with this virus.

Thompson's Park has in the past week seen an outdoor shelter extension to the park keeper's lodge turned into a Lufkin coffee stall. It has a simple un-treated timber frame with vertical slatted screens for walls, in the spirit of an oriental tea house. There's room for a dozen or so people to sit inside and chat holding their takeaway coffee cups and cookies, and be out in the fresh air at the same time. I daresay in time a green canopy might be allowed to grow over it, but for now it has a bare modern minimalist look about it.

Nearby, another whimsical Dogs' Trust Snoopy sculpture has appeared. This one is in heavenly hues, decorated with comets planets and stars, and entitled 'Bark Night'. 

I wonder how long these sculptures will survive both weather and curious clambering children? Especially in Thompson's Park where all the yummy mummies hang out with their bairns after nursery and infants' schools finish. 

This evening I worked for a couple of hours on the visuals for the Good Friday service. It's the longest audio-visual presentation I've ever done, and it's going to take a fair amount of time this coming week/ It's just as well I don't have much else booked. When I'd completed the first phase containing twenty seven slides, I felt that was enough to be going on with, so I watched a vintage episode of the Scottish crimmie 'Rebus'. It's not a series I've often seen before so it made a change. Back to St German's tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it.

Woolly surprise

When I finally woke up at nine, I uploaded my second WhatsApp link of the week to the Daily Office video I'd done instead of Fr Rhys. Before lunch I went for a walk around the park. The Urdd rugby tournament still hasn't finished. I saw several senior girls matches being played. Interesting to hear how the noise generated by players and spectators alike is so much more high pitched than when it's boys playing.

I drove myself to the so called 'New Section' of Cathay's cemetery to say some prayers at the interment of ashes in the family grave of a man whose funeral I did back in March. It rained hail and sleet for a while while I was travelling. I arrived early and met the mourners, then the cemetery manager found us waiting and took us to the far corner where the grave was located. 

Cathay's cemetery was opened a hundred and sixty three years ago. The 'New Section' isn't new at all. Back in the 1970s, when the A48 Eastern Avenue urban freeway was constructed, it divided the original cemetery into two parts. Because of its proximity to the nearby Heath Hospital, many service personnel treated there in both world wars who died were buried therein. Six hundred and eighty five of them in all, British and Commenwealth personnel.

I thought I hadn't been to this part of the vast East side city burial ground, the third largest in the UK, but when we reached the grave I realised I'd been here for a funeral back in my early days at St John's City Parish Church. Not far from the opened grave, I recognised a small marble memorial marking the mass grave of victims of the 1941 blitz bombing of a residential street in Butetown and seafarers hostel. Several people buried there were unidentifiable, others were children. A mass killing like that of people in Kramatorsk train station this morning. 

Despite a good nine hours sleep last night, I dozed off for an hour in the chair when I returned from the cemetery. Then I went out again for another walk. On my way back I saw that the Post Office box on the corner of Conway Road had been decorated with a delightful colourful knitted cap covered with figures.

A fine example of 'guerilla knitting' - not something we see a lot of around here!

This evening I started watching a new French crimmie on More Four, called 'A l'interieur'. Strangely, it lacked a first episode, so it was a question of guessing where it was set and what happened to start with. Twice, when it reached the advertisement break, the streaming player crashed and the system had to be re-started, and there were long silent gaps between advertisements, as if the entire thing had not been properly edited together to fit the prescribed timing. It passed the time while I was waiting for part two of 'The Crimson Rivers'. It was even more implausible, badly written and badly acted than last week. Quite the worst French flic movie I have ever seen.

Keeping busy nevertheless

More wind, rain and hail today, as well as sunny spells. I posted today's Morning Prayer link to WhatsApp an hour later than usual, as I woke early and then went back to sleep. Another morning of work preparing next week's uploads, and then I cooked lunch. Clare had a telephone consultation about her back injury and then was invited into the surgery for a reassuring physical check-up. No broken or cracked bones, just a torn muscle, as she thought. It's going to take a while to heal.

I went down to St John's to leave a couple of scripts for next Friday's reflection at the foot of the cross, for Andrew, and Monica the organist to pick up on Sunday morning. There'll be three of us reading during the midday service. Now Clare and I have to record the same for the Parish Good Friday digital offering. I may have been away from services this last two weeks, but there's been plenty of work to do meanwhile.

Late afternoon I walked around the park, and discovered that there were still Urdd rugby matches going on, only now with the senior youth level teams, big players, of an age where they might be called up to play for Wales. Rain during the day made sure all were well coated with mud.

Two small sculptures have appeared in Llandaff Fields, both are Snoopy Figures, one as plain as the cartoon character on the page, the other decorated with an assortment of urban images in bright colours.

 

They promote the work of an organisation called The Dogs Trust.  Given the hundreds of dogs that are walked in the parks daily It suppose there's some sort of logic to it. Whether they are temporary or permanent installations I'm not sure. Notices are affixed dissuading people from climbing on them, but the children small enough to want to clamber on them are likely to be too young to read.

After supper I started watching an episode of 'Vera' but Owain rang up and I lost interest in the plot, but found the first episode on BBC 2 of a new series called 'The Art that Made us', all about British identity and how it has evolved over the past fifteen hundred years, as witnessed in its creative arts. It was just wonderful to hear experts taking about culture enthusiastically and not in an abstract intellectual way. Must ensure the rest of this series is on my TV watch list.

Today Russia has been expelled from the UN Human Rights Council, in the light of reports of war crimes in Ukraine. It wasn't unanimous, and it seems some countries were threatened with 'consequences' if they voted for expulsion. Forces are building up in the Eastern Donbass region, which Russia aims to annexe. It has its eyes on the region's fossil fuel reserves. As if fighting the war wasn't enough of an assault on the environment already.

I tested myself before bed. Still positive, but now far less likely to be infectious as each day passes.

Muddy Fields

The day started with rain, but cleared up later, with the addition of strong gusts of wind. I worked most of the day on preparing Morning Prayer video upload material. First to cover for Fr Rhys this Friday, to give him some covid respite time doing nothing. I know how much I needed it this time last week. Then there's next Thursday's in addition. All the Exodus texts I've worked on lately have not been easy to reflect on, as there's so much in each that needs analysing and explaining, and extracting an overall threat from each is an unsatisfactory task. It's just small fragments from a much bigger exercise which might be entitled 'how to make intellectual and spiritual sense of the Exodus story if you're not Jewish'. We might have somewhat different priorities, especially with a war going on in Europe, about whose background us Brits have scant understanding.

After lunch I collected this week's veggie bag, had a siesta and then  walked to the Taff at tea time, where the last of the Urdd rugby tournament matches were being played on the couple of pitches that remained in action. The others already had their flags and goal safety buffers removed by this time. As it had rained, great brown mud patches were evident on many of the pitches. Players being collected by parents were hobbling to the car park in their boots with very muddy legs and sports kit, unlike the two previous days. The starlings crows and gulls would be happy with the scuffed up turf on the pitches, as it exposes insects and worms for them to eat. The footpath down to the river was treacherously slippy with mud, unlike other days. Let's hope it gets cleaned off soon, in the best interests of public safety. Still, a lovely event which I'm sure would have made a lot of people happy.

After supper, more preparation work, and then a couple of hours relaxation with the last two episodes of the Welsh crimmie 'Hidden' - very thoughtful and unsensational drama, if slow moving. Its portrayal of a man with learning needs was possible through some fine acting which gave the character dignity and depth - you admired him rather than feeling sorry for him. Well done BBC Cymru.    

No let up

A fair night's sleep, and I'm beginning to feel more like my normal self, though not entirely. It seems that for some people even when the virus has been defeated by the immune system, it leaves its calling card, an unusual symptom that comes and goes. I'm going to leave the lateral flow test to the end of today. Opinion states that a week after being infected, the risk of you still spreading infection is much lower, and that after ten days, no matter what your test states (provided that you have avoided others, and the outside chance of re-infection) you no longer need to quarantine and can resume normal duties. Thankfully, this brings me up to the day before Palm Sunday, for which I am booked at St German's. Still, it would be a relief to have negative tests again.

Clare had her osteo appointment this morning, and I cooked lunch ready for her return. She'll still be in pain, but the painful debilitating pressure on the vagus nerve starts to ease once the injury is worked on by someone who really knows how.

I did some more editing work on the Good Friday service, then sent a copy to Mother Frances to check if she thought it fitted the bill. She's pleased with it, so I can go ahead now and organise it with Monica the organist and Andrew. a little later, Mother Francis rang to say Father Rhys has just tested covid positive/ She was wondering if I could cover for him next Sunday, but I explained I was already booked. What a nightmare for her. I do hope she will be able to find a stand-in.

For a second day the Urdd rugby tournament continues in Pontcanna Fields, in cold and windy weather. It was nice to hear bi-lingual announcements from a youthful voice appealing to participants to ensure their rubbish went in the bins provided. It's all very nicely organised. The Goosander colony further down stream from the rugby pitches now seems to be settling in, not visiting. I counted half a dozen birds, two older larger ones parked on rocks, the other four practicing their formation swimming.

President Zelensky has addressed the UN Security Council and shocked members, showing video of the trail of human carnage left by retreating Russian troops. Denounced as fake by Russia's representative of course. He's calling for Russia's expulsion from the UN Security Council. Not sure how that could be done. How do you get around the veto power of China and Russia, two of the permanent five members of the Security Council? A change in constitution or standing orders or what? These are serious times and as Zelensky right says - the Council might as well dissolve itself if it cannot stop Russia now, as it is proving how useless and impotent it is in the face of real crisis. 

Well, it's bed time, and I've tested positive for covid, and not surprised. Getting rid of a runny nose takes a long time with me when a cold or 'flu is passing. My sinuses aren't swollen but just slightly sensitive, as they are from a dose of house dust or pollen. Impossible to know what's happening.

Urdd Rugby fiesta comes Taffside

The symptoms may be milder than yesterday's, fading away apart from the woolly head, but the covid test is still positive on this sixth day since I tested positive. Exclusion from all normal activity continues. So frustrating and disappointing. 

An hour's walk before lunch helped to clear my head somewhat. Yesterday afternoon, Pontcanna Fields was being quietly kitted out ready for an Urdd rugby tournament, sponsored by the Wales Rugby Union, with twenty football pitches marked and extension poles fitted to convert soccer goalposts for use in rugby matches. Today, dozens of games were in progress, many of them between girls' teams. It was a wonder to behold. 

Just think, a thousand boys and girls in groups shouting and cheering, many involved in robust physical interactions, yet with no need for external intervention. I'm not even sure if there was a police van on site, let alone any officers on patrol. An amazing tribute to the quality of youth work for which Urdd Gobaith Cymru - the Welsh League of Youth, is famed for. Credit to the WRU for nurturing sporting enthusiasm and participation. Even though team sports don't interest me much, I'm so proud to be Welsh, 

The tide of indignation against the atrocities of Putin and his gang continues, but who can break the power their lies hold over a hundred million citizens with no access to alternatives to Kremlin propaganda? Already there have been fourteen hundred Ukrainian civilian deaths due to the criminal conduct of this war. What happened in Aleppo and Grosny is being repeated. Previously, the reaction was no more than reproach, and the evil just carry on doing evil if the good stand by and do nothing.

Military strategists are of the opinion that Russia cannot win a long war for lack of trained experienced personnel, let alone equipment. They say Putin must not win for any chance of regime change to arrive as an eventual outcome. What actions can effect a necessary change, apart from economic sanctions and pouring more armaments into Ukraine?  Talk about banning coal and oil trade with Russia is a measure which, if undertaken, could cause suffering for tens of millions across Europe. Would masses of people outraged by what they are learning be willing enough to suffer deprivation voluntarily to achieve this objective?

The most disturbing photograph I caught sight of today on line, showed Putin naked to the waist standing in the baptismal pool of an Orthodox church. I have seen him crossing himself publicly and presumed it was what his granny taught him when he was young. The photo shows him aligning himself politically socially as well as religiously with traditional Russian culture and its aspirations. He claims to have been secretly brought to baptism as an child by his Christian mother, and maybe the photo was of an Epiphany baptismal renewal ceremony. If his faith is important to him, how can he condone the perpetration of such violence in the name of Christ, let alone Holy Russia?

Just before the five o'clock news we had a power blackout. Clare called Western Power Distributors, and learned that, not for the first time, a squirrel had cooked itself on the transformer of the local electricity sub-station. It was all over in fifteen minutes. Quite a quick response, fortunately.

I spent the evening editing the Good Friday Vigil liturgy I've been constructing, getting it down to one hour, with a break to watch this week's new NCIS episode.

Bleak Sunday covid down-time

I slept OK but woke up bleeding from an operation scar. Eighteen hours a day flat on my back for three days with no exercise, and the sheer physical compression on the old wound is unavoidable. Something I won't find easy to get used to. Covid symptoms are diminished however. My body no longer feels like lead, muzzy head is clearing and fewer aches, pains and shivers. I didn't bother with a self-test as I doubt if I would test negative today. Tomorrow perhaps.

Another Sunday without being able to say Mass or attend church, having to settle for praying on my own. It reminds me of being back in Ibiza living with the limited horizon of estadio de alarma restrictions. Al least it's nothing now to get used to.

The BBC's tireless courageous reporter in Ukraine, Jeremy Bowen gave a disturbing eyewitness report of the trail of murder and destruction left by retreating Russian forces in the suburbs of Kyiv. Dead bodies left in the streets where they were killed weeks ago, Victims with hands tied together. Clear evidence of war crimes. Hundred are said to have been killed. According to Putin, all this is 'fake news'. I wonder if Trump will dare to dismiss revelations against him in future using that phrase. If we does will anyone trust him?

President Zelensky spoke of genocide. Ninety years ago under Stalin millions of Ukrainians, were starved to death during the forcible collectivisation of agriculture, the region punished further by being deprived of a fair share of its produce. If there was shortage, it was blamed on farmers, for whom managed, imposed collectivisation didn't work. Most of the produce was exported to feed the industrial workers of Russia. The Ukrainian's don't forget the Soviet attempt to keep their land subjected by deliberate policy. Using the word 'genocide' is no exaggeration. They've been here before. Expressions of outrage have been voiced around the world all day, even the Israeli government, which has tried to stay on the fence, because of its security interests in Syria relying on Russian complicity. Pope Francis is talking about a pastoral visit to Kyiv. 

Archbishop Rowan was on the Radio adding his voice to the call to suspend the Russian Orthodox state church from membership of the WCC for speaking of the country's mission as holy war. The question is, will Orthodox Bishops around the world make the case for regarding such talk as heresy? Sadly, in both scripture and Christian poetry there is widespread used of bloodthirsty martial imagery. Its impact is deflected into religious rhetoric about spiritual warfare, but there are no concrete safeguards to protect the unspiritual and the gullible from taking this all literally. Back in the Vietnam war, US marines with evangelical religion behind them talked about 'killing a gook for God'. It's blasphemy, just as is any talk of holy war. Time for all Christians to take stock about this kind of abuse of scripture

Both before and after lunch I went out and walked for forty minutes each with a mask on and aimed for parts of the park where there was little human traffic. I wanted to test my strength and stamina carefully. All is well, thank God. Clare, on the other hand is still suffering from the trapped nerve in her back. Her Wednesday appointment has been moved to Tuesday, thanks to a cancellation.

This evening there were two great programmes on BBC Four, one about the food history of Florence, the other, the latest Royal Shakespeare Company's Stratford production of Much Ado about Nothing. It had a majority cast of brilliant mostly young black actors and was vibrant with colour, energetic music and movement; very hip and funky, but it didn't seem contrived, as a modern setting might do. It worked as a showcase for the immortal comedic dialogue of the Bard, funny as any classic farce of intrigue and confused identities. A breath of fresh air. One up for multi-cultural diversity. It's what we need in a world where aggressive nationalism has been made into a demonic idol that consumes its own kind.

Watching and waiting

I.

I cooked lunch for us. Clare is still in a lot of pain from the trapped nerve in her back, inconsolable, The rest of April Fool's Day passed me by in slow motion, not feeling any worse, no temperature, with heavy limbs and  a great tiredness. I slept uncomfortably until late evening when I watched this week's episode of French crimmie 'The Crimson Rivers'. I went to bed annoyed to find that it was a two part story, but not because we're compelled to wait for next week's thrilling episode, but because it's so long drawn out, and implausible. 

I can't imagine a high security prison in which standard security protocols aren't followed where guards don't walk about in twos not carrying radios, and there's a death squad on the loose, practicing mafia like ritual murders (mafia isn't mentioned) to protect dirty secrets whatever they may be. Oh come off it.

There's a scene in a prison ward where a man in a coma isn't wired to a vital signs monitor, nor shackled to the bed, nor is there a nurse or guard in attendance when the cute but tough gamine of a cop stabs him in the chest  with a syringe of adrenaline, like an A&E doctor, jolting him from coma to consciousness in a few seconds without killing him. Truth is stranger than fiction but whenever fiction mocks the powers of observation and intelligence of its audience, you wonder why you've watched.

It was interesting to see Philippe DuClos who played Robin the juge d'instruction in the long running flic saga 'Engrenages' playing a tired ageing dishevelled prison governor, looking much like Robin did at the end of his fictional legal career.

II.

Clare has tested negative two days in succession, but is still in a lot of pain. She has however succeeded in booking a Wednesday appointment with a local osteomyologist who works with Clive Taylor my local go-to back-man. We're both feeling sad about not being able to go to the Wriggledance show in Bath. They've had a full house for all their shows this week, which is great news.

Feeling a bit better, though symptoms have shifted. Head fog is clearing to some extent, but I have strange sharp muscular aches in odd joints, jaw and fingers especially, plus a mild sore throat. Cooking lunch was an effort, and much of the day was devoted to sleeping. I'd love some fresh air and exercise, but and not keen to take the risk of returning and feeling worse. Covid pushes you around, finds your weak spots. It's not a good idea to push back.

This evening I watched two episodes of 'Hidden' on BBC iPlayer. It's slow going and not easy to watch as much of it is shot in half-light showing off what can be done with high powered digital cameras. There are some interesting religious elements to the plot, not weird, but very much about a priest accompanying a marginal community with its broken dysfunctional people. Well presented, as is the story line about rural farms in North Wales being forced into poverty by changing times and circumstances. The portrayal of a few key characters has  a touch of Dostoyevski about them. I can see this winning awards.

Still feeling tired at the end of the day. The virus is taking its time to let go of me.

Red alert - chicken soup time

I.

Clare repeated her lateral flow test yesterday morning and was still positive. I hadn't noticed any change in the way I feel, as I've had a runny nose and a thick head since a surge in local blossoming trees a week ago but I agreed to take a test. It turned out to be positive. Automatically, this means my cataract operation can't take place for three more months. According to sister in law Ann, covid infection can leave residual inflammation in body tissue for several weeks - to be avoided when eyes are being worked on. I called St Joseph's hospital immediately to let them know. Saturday's Wriggledance show is ruled out for me. Maybe if Clare tests negative Friday and Saturday she can go. We'll see.

I attempted to register my test result with the Track 'n Trace app, but the test code it sent me was rejected. Later in the day I had a phone call from the Track and Trace call centre, and complained that the app had not worked as designed, so info I provided was entered manually. The call cut out however, as it was about to conclude and wouldn't reconnect. Had the call handling system called time out? Or did my phone signal drop because I was at the range limit of our domestic black spot signal booster? I'll never know. There was no call back and I couldn't raise the number displayed by my phone. 

Anyway, I had a text message from Track and Trace ten minutes later confirming that I should self-isolate until 4th April. So that's another Sunday when I won't be able to celebrate Mass at St German's. What I can't know is when I was infected - maybe 24 hours after Clare, as we had almost no contact with each other in the time between her negative test and the onset of her symptoms and positive test. But maybe later, as we made an effort at mutual isolation. It will take whatever time it needs for our bodies to deal with the virus. I still wasn't feeling any worse than I have done over the past week, so I got on with next week's Morning Prayer video upload, in case I get too poorly to finish it off. 

Over the day, the symptoms I have been living with for the past week intensified, or were over-ridden by a similar reaction to the coronavirus - the body working overtime expelling alien substances. I cooked  chicken soup for lunch, the fabled 'Jewish anti-biotic'. It's certainly comforting that's for sure. In the evening I watched telly but found it hard going, so went to bed early and slept quite well. 

II.

I woke up late and posted this week's video link nearly two hours later than planned. Track and Trace twice sent me a text message and and email urging me to enter the test code into the NHS covid app, although the data had been collected manually yesterday. I tried entering the code and again it was rejected. Then I thought - what if an app update has been issued and I've not been notified of this. But why the hell shouldn't an update be installed automatically anyway? - I thought, as I checked on the cluttered nagging inferno which is Google's Play Store.

Yes, there was an update, correcting a parsing error in the data input line which auto-corrected anything the user entered. Incredible! With the app updated, I tried again and the code was rejected on the basis that it was past its time expiry date. Admittedly, small print in the first text message tells you to do it quickly. Easy to overlook if you're poorly, or distracted trying to rearrange your life around a red alert. Evidently, manually input data takes time to add to the grand database of contagion, but doing so doesn't cancel the auto-generated nagging reminders to do something that's already outdated by NHS digital's own criteria. Auto-generated confusion spreading I call it.

Chicken soup again for lunch, then I returned to bed and slept uncomfortably for the rest of the day with symptoms no worse than my last bout of 'flu.

III. 

Clare tested negative this morning, but is now in agony, having pulled a back muscle sneezing after poking a swab into her nostril. Sadly that rules out a trip to Bath for the Wriggledance show altogether. My head is clearer and not so congested today. The fluey aches and pains aren't so pronounced. Whether or not I'm over the worst remains to be seen, but at least I'm able to catch up on writing about the last two days, before cooking another round of chicken soup.