Invasion of Snoopies

Another overcast day. The town centre was busy when I drove through on my way to St German's, with people arriving at the castle for the second day of the Tafwyl festival. I celebrated the Mass of Corpus Christi, a real pleasure with a few moments during the Eucharstic prayer when the sun peeped through the clouds. 

I take the sacrament first to people in the congregation who cannot walk up to receive. A man was there with his carer, severely disabled by a stroke. When I reached him, he'd fallen asleep. A few minutes later, as I was communicating the last of the congregation, the carer joined the queue, and told me Peter was now awake, so I went down to him a second time. It's lovely to be in a church which is so relaxed in prayer, that nobody pays any attention when something unusual happens.

I talked with a lady afterwards whose husband died during the pandemic, but not of covid, but due to his unexpected reaction to the second dose of vaccine. He was diabetic, and receiving the injection seems to have coincided with rapid deterioration of his vascular system, requiring amputations and eventual heart failure, all in a couple of months. It sounded to me as if the trauma of those months left more of an impact on her than she might realise. It's good she's coming to church and finding a welcome and a place of peace where she can be carried by the prayer of others.

Home for lunch, and then, while Clare had a siesta, I recorded and edited next Thursday's Morning Prayer audio, ready to finish off tomorrow. We then walked to the National Museum, hoping to see the painting of Sir Tom Jones, but it's still on loan to the National Portrait gallery in London. I asked in the shop if any postcards of the painting were available, and was told they're not sold, as the copyright is owned by Sky Arts TV which hosts the Portrait Artist of the Year competition. What a shame!

Outside the museum, all forty of the Snoopy sculptures which proved so vulnerable when on open display in public spaces, are assembled and displayed for this weekend in a temporary enclosure, labelled 'Farewell to Snoopy'. 

It was a completely surreal sight, all these brightly coloured fibre glass pooch replicas in serried ranks. There was a charge of four quid each to get inside the enclosure and walk around among them, but I didn't see the point of that, when I could take a few photos from outside to mark this bizarre occasion.

We called in to the Tafwyl Festival at the castle - four stages and dozens of fast food vans and tents of other organisations showcasing Welsh language artistic endeavours. The festival has grown in size and popularity in recent years and is clearly no longer just a Cardiff thing with people travelling in for this fiesta of Welsh language music and snacks in the hand. While we were there I received phone calls from Owain and Rachel to wish me a happy Father's Day. This, plus a card from Kath leaves me feeling very blessed.

We had a cup of tea, then listen to 'Brigyn' or at least, one half of the folksy duo, substituting for a band scheduled to appear which had to pull out at the last minute due to illness. After twenty minutes listening we caught a bus to Canton Cross, then walked home the last half mile.

After supper, another programme on BBC Four about the history of British music making in the 20th century with a feature on violinist Yehudi Menuin and sitar maestro Ravi Shankar, illustrating the impact of Indian music in the sixties, and the innovative fusion of different styles of music which began in that decade. Then there was a live concert from the Hoddinott Hall at the Millennium Centre from, with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, with Mendelssohn's violin concerto and Tchaikovski's Fourth symphony. 

At nine I switched over to watch the first double episode of 'Suspect', with some powerful acting and the tragic story about the death of a detective's estranged daughter. He's convinced it's murder when outwardly the evidence points to suicide. Who is right? We shall see.