At last, after breakfast while I was saying Morning Prayer, the sun poked its way through the clouds. It was twelve degrees overnight rising to sixteen this afternoon. About the same as the Costa del Sol was in mid March. It's twenty five degrees there today, and threatening to rise to forty in the interior, dangerously early in the year. If we're near the point irreversible damage has been done to the planetary environment, it's a consequence of denying what industrialisation has done for the past half century, in the name of the gods of wealth and increase, which as scripture suggests, always consume their worshippers in the end.
It took me most of the morning to prepare a sermon for this Good Shepherd Sunday. In the mail from my sister June, a document to sign accepting power of attorney in case her mind should deteriorate and she loses her grip on personal affairs. For the moment she's as sharp as ever and interested in life, but she's a good planner, and manages very well, despite the difficulties she has navigating the shifting sands of cloud based personal computing, and the storms of random ads and bewildering notifications which pop up on her screen she doesn't know how to deal with breaking her concentration on tasks in hand.
This makes me angry too, being pestered constantly by irrelevant information, and I've fine tuned my devices to eliminate most of these notifications and get rid of ones which appear during updates. Not so easy to do this with my infrequent visits to London. I really should install remote access software at both ends to deal with some of these problems. I cooked mussels with veggies for lunch, and after an hour's siesta, went for a walk up to the Cathedral and on to Llandaff weir, the first time I've been up there this year, I think.
When I got back I continued watching 'Helsinki Murders' penultimate episode, and then after supper the final one. A good watch. Interesting to hear dialogue in Finnish as it's so different from other European languages with few borrowed words to recognise in the stream of dialogue.
Then I spent an hour reading 'Soldados de Salamina'. The story of a fugitive hiding from his executioners in a forest is powerful to read, even if I lack many descriptive words I can still follow the story, although Javier Cercas writes very long sentences which doesn't make comprehension easier. Then it was time for 'Astrid - Murders in Paris', and then an Italian series 'Non me lasciare' set in Venice. It's a rare day in which I can pass time immersing myself in four different foreign language stories, just for pleasure.
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