A frosty start to the day, with bright sunshine. I woke up in time to post my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp just before my phone notification sounded - a minor satisfaction. After breakfast a visit to Tesco Express to buy this week's food bank grocery offering before attending the Eucharist at St John's. Only five of us this morning. Icy pavements and car windscreens are a deterrent to the cautious.
When I returned from church, the postman had already called with the small parcel containing Owain's Christmas present, sent us by Ann, as she didn't have his current address the day she was in a mail sending frenzy to bear pre-Christmas postal strikes. When it didn't arrive she checked at the sending office and had it confirmed that that parcel had yet to leave there. It went eventually, arriving about five weeks later, at a guess. It had a big postage stamp on it, the kind printed at the counter, and dated 6th December 2022, the day of posting. The edge of the label was wrinkled and degraded a little. Whoever handled it in Cardiff sorting office decided this parcel was wrapped in re-cycled brown paper from which an old stamp hadn't been removed, and imposed the postage charge again. Errors at both ends. I sent Ann a photo of the parcel plus the notification card left in our letter box, so she can use these to start a complaint.
For lunch I cooked a pork steak in the remains of yesterday's tomato sauce for myself, and a chunk of cod for Clare, plus veggies. She returned from a shopping trip to Cardiff Market with a large bag of fresh fish to keep in the freezer from Ashton's. Next month's supplies!
As EasyJet emailed me a check-in reminder this morning, I thought it would be a good idea to book a ticket for the direct coach to Bristol Airport. I walked to the ticket office in Sophia Gardens to renew my discount coach card, and a return ticket. Twenty five quid altogether, much the same as the cost of the train fare and airport shuttle from Temple Meads, and taking about the same amount of time without the need for a change of transport. Then I walked into town and had another look in the John Lewis Sale to see if there was any new potential bargain, but there was nothing of interest.
I caught the 61 bus home. There were no buses waiting in Westgate Street, and when I was walking up to the next stop outside the Holiday Inn, a 61 passed me. I increased my pace, and when I rounded the corner saw the bus was still boarding passengers at the stop, I broke into a run for about thirty yards, and just made it as the doors were closing. Amazingly my injured ankle wasn't at all distressed by this, nor did it swell up later, so the last week's improvement is sustained, though I still need to be careful.
Clare went out to a Fountain Choir practice. I didn't think there was much point in learning music that I won't be around to sing, so I stayed in and saw 'Winterwatch' and another episode of 'Madame Blanc Mysteries' on telly. I found out when googling that although set in the South of France at a place called Ste Victoire, it was actually filmed in the Maltese Islands, mainly in Gozo with some lovely scenery. The setting of Ste Victoire in these ex-pat detective stories is fictitious portraying an inland village quite close to the sea. The real place of that name lies east of Aix en Provence, about 30 miles from the coast, at Marseille. The name belongs to a 1000m high rocky outcrop ten miles long west to east, known as the Montagne de Ste Victoire, a famed subject of Paul Cezanne's paintings. It has its amusing moments, but progresses with little tension or drama at a rather dull pace. Like other telly series about Brits abroad it fails to stimulate much interest. Soporific, if you want to go to bed straight after it. But on this occasion I decided to check in for next Thursday's flight and get my boarding pass before turning in for the night.
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