Social media - the dark side

A cloudy start to a hot and humid day, 27-28C. News this morning of a far right group of activists turning up and starting a riot outside a Southport mosque, in a community still grieving death of three children and injury of ten others in the previous day's murderous knife attack. False information circulating on social media platforms asserting the perpetrator was a muslim, led to this attempt to burn down this mosque with people inside it. The police arrived and were met with vicious hostility with twenty nine officers injured. This outrage has met with universal condemnation, apart from insidious critical comments made by Nigel Farage about the limited published information available. 

Questions are already being asked about the way social media algorithms amplify contentious and unverified claims in statements posted on-line. What was once an initiative to build community and spread good-will is increasingly contaminated by ill-will. Such a naive aspiration it has turned out to be. Despite the mess and damage caused by last night's riot, citizens of Southport turned out this morning to clean up and repair. The mosque has been established there for thirty years and enjoys good-will in the community. Let's hope social media researchers will identify the originators and distributors of on-line hate speech and help the police bring them to account in a court of law.

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's again this morning. Half the regulars were absent. Unusually we were five men praying together. Afterwards, I met with Iona and we went to the Wardrobe Cafe in King's Yard for posh coffee and a catch-up chat about the Ministry Area of which she is still lay co-chair. The two Ministry Area Wardens are also women, a triumfeminate as opposed to a triumvirate. Now that's a new word to consider, not that I can imagine it being used much.

I arrived home just in time for lunch. Clare had been into town for a field of vision test, relating to her driving license application, and returned after a visit to Ashton's in the Market with a couple of large swordfish steaks for lunch. What a delicious treat! Then a siesta in the chair, but I couldn't fall asleep, so eventually a long slow walk in parks, busy with football and cricket practice and several baseball games, while I chatted to Owain on his way home from a day in the office.

After supper uploading and editing photos, and trying to rescue a single image from a one second video MP4 file which the TZ95 generates if you press the shutter button too long. It's a camera smart feature I don't understand and neither need or want. On the whole it takes good quality photos, but handling it properly has taken me some time to master. I finished the evening reading Ruiz Zafon's 'Marina', still wondering where this strange book written originally for adolescents, but loved just as much by adults apparently, is taking me.

Value for money

Another glorious warm sunny day to enjoy after a good night's sleep. Clare's study group members arrived and before going into town to bank the fee cheque received yesterday, I renewed our TV license on-line. It's now £169, and nowadays the only age concession is for those on pension credit, whatever that is, I've never needed to find out thankfully. We'll lose the Winter Fuel allowance this year for the same reason, but that's fair enough when public finances are so grievously stretched. 

The TV license is one subscription I don't begrudge paying for, given the phenomenal amount of content delivered and consumed by us in the course of a year. Less and less on the telly itself, more and more on phone and laptop. The one constant is radio. Listening to a reliable source of daily news, informative and entertaining programmes is the sound track to our lives. Well worth paying for. in its own right, and all we had when I was a kid. Channels supported by advertising offer ad free subscription services, with speedier media consumption as a result. Ad repetition is boring often annoying, but programme breaks are a cue for exercise, a trip to the kitchen or toilet. What's not to like about that?

I walked to Cowbridge Road and picked up a late running 61 bus which arrived just after me. I saw two outbound 61 buses following each other as I walked, a common sight early morning and mid afternoon when schools are in session, but symptomatic of scheduling dysfunction at other times and not uncommon with drivers off sick or arriving late, and the occasional bus breakdown. On the return trip, after banking the cheque, I saw another pair of 61 buses in tandem heading for the new bus station. The bus information display at the Westgate Street stop wasn't working, and the one o'clock bus was nearly ten minutes late. The city has invested a huge amount in new electric buses and upgraded some of its legacy diesel powered fleet, but it seems to be harder than building and running a team of drivers to maintain a reliable schedule. Fortunately, I reached home just as Clare was putting lunch on the table.

After lunch I recorded and edited next Thursday's Morning Prayer, then went out for a walk in Llandaff Fields, then down to Tesco's for a couple of grocery items not on the regular shopping list. After supper another short walk around the park, taking a few photos of groups on the grass enjoying the evening sun. With nothing new worth watching, I returned to watching a couple of episodes of 'Bones'. Whilst there's variety in cases investigated, the general formula is much the same, incorporating a liberal dose of sexual politics. Like NCIS with its conservative patriotic flavouring, both series feel dated, no matter how much excitement they try to generate.   

Unanswered question

Another sunny day worthy of summer in July, and an early start for me, collected at nine twenty five for another 'medical' funeral in Thornhill. Just three mourners today, who also had an early start with an hour's journey from the top of the Ogwr Valley, and they arrived at nine, having mistaken the service time. I gave them the time they needed to think and pray with me. Without a memorial service soon after death, it seems to be this act of closing the circle is important, but may awaken painful memories of an incomplete parting at the time, especially if anyone still felt helpless faced with a situation where there as nothing that could do to change the outcome.

I was back home by ten thirty. Clare had already started routine housework, and had to wait for the floors to dry before I could make a coffee, then do my share. I made a start on preparing next week's Morning Prayer until Clare served us a veggie pasta lunch, and continued writing a reflection after lunch. Then a walk in the park, and some time spent reading the Spanish novel I'm half way through, having not returned to it since I was travelling to and from Nerja. While I was reading after supper, I nodded off and slept for half an hour, something I rarely do in the evening. I went for a short walk to clear my head as the sun was setting in a sky enhanced by beautiful patches of high level cirrus cloud.

Clare discovered another missing page in the printout of my novel which I had to print out to enable her to continue reading and checking. This is taking longer than I hope for. The next time I do a print run of the corrected version I'll need to make sure it's done in small batches of pages that can be error checked for slippages en route. Lessons are being learned in pursuit of perfection!

A missile landed on a football field, killing a dozen children in the Israeli occupied Golan Heights, which has a large number of arabic speaking Druze Israeli citizens, many of them sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. The attack was initially presumed to come from one of the Lebanese groups hostile to Israel, but none have claim responsibility for the attack, and fragments of the missile don't correspond to those used against Israel. Could this be an anti-missile missile gone astray? In any war zone accidents can happen, worsening the suffering of the innocent, has happened when a Hamas rocket misfired and dropped in the grounds of Gaza's Al Ahli Christian hospital. There's no end to the suffering when fanatics are in charge on both sides of any conflict and don't know how to stop.

In Britain a knife wielding teenager killed two children injured nine others and two adults in an attack on a children's recreational dance class in Southport Merseyside. There's an epidemic of young people carrying knives and using them to wound or kill other youngsters. Despite public concern there seems to end to it. There seems no end to the fears, aggression and lust for revenge that drive destructive behaviour, whether on the part of  individuals or governments. 

Meanwhile the Olympics continue peacefully in Paris with athletes striving to excel and set an example of good-will and endeavour to their countries. The gulf between this ideal reality and the destructive alternatives is as great as it ever has been. How can the world learn to choose the better way that leads to a life for all that's worth living?

What kind of fish?

Sunshine and clouds again today, but several degrees warmer. A good night's sleep and after breakfast a walk to St Catherine's for the Parish Eucharist. We were only twenty eight this morning. Bishop Rowan celebrated, and gave us a fine sermon about divine generosity, with an interesting insight into the feeding of the multitude according to Saint John. He pointed out that five loaves and two fish (not fishes) are mentioned. The absence of a plural in translation hides the possibility that the Greek original, in its context could mean pickled or dried fish rather than fresh or cooked fish which couldn't keep as long in the heat. It was something tasty to go with the bread, a little bit more than necessary nourishment provided at the right moment. Interesting, like the added extra of water becoming wine.

After coffee, home for lunch in the sun under the garden umbrella - fish as ever. Cooked salmon with veg. While Clare had a siesta, I went to Thompson's Park with my Sony HX300 50x superzoom camera to see if I could get better photos of the moorhen chicks. It developed a fault in the lens sensor and produces an annoying error message on startup. It can be cleared by removing and reinserting the battery and powering it up with the lens already extended. Repair would cost more than the camera is worth, or a replacement if Sony still made them. The same fault developed with my smaller 30x zoom HX50. After that, the camera died. The HX300 has taken half the number of photos but its reliability must now be in doubt. I haven't used it for a year. 

I should have taken a tripod with me to take photos at full zoom extension, but a few turned out quite well, revealing that the moorhens have another nest by the water in a patch of briars with ripening blackberries. Two of the three chicks spotted yesterday were visible in the alternative nest. As I was approaching the pond, the resident muscovy duck briefly mounted the moorhens' floating nest, but was quickly chased away, such a comic sight.

Clare and I then walked over to The Summer House in Bute Park for a drink. The SWALEC stadium was busy and noisy as we passed, with another Sunday cricket match in progress, in the 'Hundred' tournament series. Today it was a women's match. Apparently both home teams are known as 'Welsh Fire'.

Much to my surprise, Clare cooked a mushroom spinach and onion pizza for supper. It was very good. I watched episodes of 'After the flood' afterwards until bed time: murder with political and police corruption woven into a complex plot around a pregnant trainee detective, who seemed inexhaustible, the apect that was more far fetched than the rest of the plot.

Trouble at weir

A cool and cloudy start to the day, but the sky cleared later and the sun shone, but it felt more like October than the end of July. Last night's Olympic opening celebration took place in persistent rain, the one thing which couldn't be planned immaculately like the rest. And it's raining again today in Paris. Let's hope that the athletes, smiling bravely and waving from the desks of their team's boat don't suffer from a chill after getting soaked. Apart from a glimpse of the extravaganza on the news, we didn't watch.

Pancakes for breakfast this morning - more savoury than sweet for me, with added pieces of chicken for a change. Clare continued reading and correcting my manuscript during the morning, and discovered a page of text had not been printed, so I had to extract it from the original and print it.

We went for lunch at Milkwood in Pontcanna Street, which serves a brunch style menu for yuppies with an unusual variety of offerings. Clare had a taco with beans, goats cheese, egg and mashed aubergine, and I had a round of toast with cockles, laverbread and bacon bits. All ingredients are sourced in Wales, according to the menu. It was busy, with pavement tables full, and nearly all space taken up indoors as well, but there was space for us at a table in a corner that was close to rather noisy occupants. Fortunately they were near the end of their stay, and the place was quiet by the time our meal was served.

Clare then returned for a siesta and I went for a walk around Llandaff Fields and then down to Blackweir. An overnight local news story told of a van being stolen from Pugh's Garden Centre in Morganstown, and being driven to Blackweir and dumped on the edge of the water by the bridge. The immediate concern was what the environmental impact might be on the pool below the weir, so a recovery vehicle came and went first thing this morning. While I could see where such a vehicle might have parked on the edge of the bank to do the heavy lifting, 

I couldn't work out how the van had ended up on the edge of the pool. No sign of tyre tracks or disruption of the river bed, no stains from sump oil or fuel on the surrounding area. While I stood there, I saw three pairs of salmon in the waters of the pool, as the water was unusually clear and the light perfect. Alas, no camera. The pool is a breeding ground for river eels, and a much favoured place for cormorants egrets herons and some ducks. It seems to have survived the incident without contamination thankfully.

Walking up the avenue of trees, I spotted and picked up a small black wallet on the path. It turned out to be a police badge and warrant card. Five minutes earlier a couple of uniformed cops on walking patrol had passed me by the bridge, and I could see them a hundred and fifty yards ahead of me. I pursued them and attracted their attention just as they were about to leave area. What's the matter? I was asked. One of you is in trouble. You dropped your warrant card, I said. Not the first time I've done that, I was told. Oh dear. Had I been unable to reach them, there would have been trouble as I'd be obliged to hand it in at a police station. Not that there are many of them left these days.

When I got home, Clare was emerging from her siesta, so we went for a walk around Thompson's Park together. The floating moorhen nest was empty, but I spotted both parents on the edge of the water with the reeds behind them. After a few moments, there was movement in the reeds, and a photo showed three small red beaks poking out of the shadows. These aren't newborn chicks but ones born several weeks ago which I haven't observed until now. Here's one of the parents with three offspring.

After supper, another short walk in the park, then a couple of episodes of Michael Portilli's 'Great Railway Journeys', both focusing on inter war dictatorships in Germany and Italy. Beautifully photographed, interesting observations about the period and its architectural gems.

Scott off the Press

A cool day of clouds and sunshine. The news is full of stories about the Paris Olympics on the day of the opening ceremony, an original extravaganza using the stretch of the river Seine running through central Paris to showcase its history and French culture with 7,000 athletes from over 200 nations parading on barges, and entertainers on stages at various points on shore. But before it could get under way, news of four concerted acts of sabotage against the TGV rail network at strategic points disrupting signalling and power by setting fire to relatively small but key infrastructure nodes. 

This was planned by a group with a working knowledge of the systems involved. One attempt failed but nobody was caught. Three others are causing big travel delays throughout France, for holiday travellers as well as sports fans converging on Paris. Nobody seems to have seen this coming. Who is responsible? All over Europe I imagine state security teams will be working frantically to analyse communications traffic for clues. But what if malefactors have shunned using anything but snail mail, calls from public phones  and face to face meetings? If this happens in one country, it can happen in others.

Clare cooked sausages for lunch, veggie for her, pork for me. Afterwards, I went to town to get my novel printed. Church Street next to St John's Church was busy not only with pedestrians, but people sitting at tables outside the various eateries and pubs in the street. Such a change from when I was Vicar thirteen years ago. Before the pandemic outdoor seating was limited, used by smokers, but in the aftermath when investment in outdoor drinking dining became a means to survival economically, a culture shift has taken place. The public has got used to it and appreciates it if the weather is kind enough. Original arrangements have given way to stylish enclosures around seating areas, often with advertising banners on them. Cardiff feels more like a European city these days.

I was surprised to find the Oner Signs print shop was still open but under new management, re-branded as 'Scott off the Press'. Scott, a former employee has taken over the business from Dave who ran it on behalf of Oner. Apparently he's now enjoying a less pressurised life as a HGV driver! I left the novel pdf with Scott and walked to John Lewis's and back while it was being printed. 

It was a pleasure to hold the freshly printed manuscript on good quality paper in my hands for the first time. When I thought about it later, I was reminded of my father receiving the proof copy of his book 'Colliery Haulage and Rope Splicing' by post from the publishers in London for final checking before printing. He had submitted a hand written copy with illustrations, and had it accepted before his text was rendered into type before printing. It's so different, sixty years later.

I walked home along the west bank of the Taff clutching my manuscript, another step along the road to finding out if anyone thinks it'd be worth publishing. I discovered that the print process had omitted the page number. I have no idea why this is, possibly something to do with the difference between a pdf file created from a Libre Office text being read on an Apple Mac controlling the printer. Or it could be to do with me inadvertently locating page numbers outside the printable page area, although they did show up on the pdf displayed, but started with the title page, which they shouldn't have, so just as well they were omitted. It took me ages to find out how to correct the editable master copy. 

After supper Clare started a read through, spotting omissions and typos which escaped me with her sharp eye for detail still effective despite failing eyesight. Meanwhile, I watched the final episodes of 'End of Summer', which revealed crimes within a family, but with unexpected tragic twists in it. An interesting essay on small town rural life set in the region where the classic Wallander stories were set.

Print ready at last

Yet another grey sky day with occasional drizzle. I posted to WhatsApp this week's link to Morning Prayer and then got up for breakfast. Afterwards I visited Tesco's to buy our weekly foodbank contribution on my way to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist with eight others. I cooked hake for lunch and joined Clare in having sweet potatoes instead of spuds for a change, as I'd bought her a kilo bag of them, double the usual weekly purchase. 

She told me while we were clearing the table that the GP has referred her for a brain scan, as memory loss is starting to bother her. It's mostly periods of the past years she can't recall, places and people we're not in touch with any longer. It doesn't impede her in everyday activities. She's always been a prolific writer of shopping lists and food stock list, brilliant at household management in contrast to me. Left to myself I'll shop every day for what I remember I need currently, whereas she does a weekly list, and I fit in with this. We'll find out in due course what can be done about her memory, if anything. I wonder how much sight loss may have to do with this.

After doing the weekly grocery shopping at the Co-op, I walked in the park for an hour and returned in time for supper. I went through my draft novel one more time, correcting the chapter titles, and then made a pdf copy to use for printing. I'm going to take it to Dave in the Oner Signs print shop in Church Street. He's an old friend of Owain's from when Owain moved back to Cardiff, and I used the shop for printing church publicity leaflets in bulk.

Looking for something to watch after supper, I came across a Swedish six episode small town family drama about a child's disappearance fifteen years earlier, called 'End of Summer'. A slow moving story, much of which is portrayed in flashbacks, making it somewhat confusing and disjointed, but it retains interest so far, trying to work out what might have happened. 

Nothing to do except receive

Another overcast day with occasional rain showers. After breakfast I went to St Catherine's and celebrated the Eucharist with six of the regulars. It's the first time for me to do so in a month. I can't say that I missed it. Just being on the receiving end seems right for me, just what I need at the moment. At one level doing again something I'm used to isn't difficult when necessary but at another level it takes from me more than I get back. The inner feeling that I've been 'running on empty' has been with me for over a year. I'm fit and well thankfully, continuing to discharge the few responsibilities I have left as well as ever. I'd like to stop and change in some way that would give me fresh momentum.

If I wasn't under the constraint of having to perform the service in the customary manner for the sake of consistency and continuity for those who attend, I would do things differently, much more slowly and in a more intimate setting - the side chapel would be better this than a big empty church. This would be in order to get more out of a simple act of worship, to drink more deeply from the stream, so to speak. It's certainly what I get out of just sitting in the congregation on the receiving end and having nothing to do except this.

I made of point of remembering Eluned in the service as she takes up office as the leader of the Senedd Labour Party. It is in a real sense a calling to ministry which has sought her more than she has sought it. The announcement has not yet been made when her formal election by the Senedd as First Minister will take place. Vaughan Gething has yet to offer his formal resignation from the post to the King. Nothing happens quickly in the affairs of state even if the media give the impression they do. In reality the multiple responsibilities of top leaders take time to transfer from one office holder to another, and in the meanwhile reports of new issues and challenges keep coming, even in the holiday season.

After coffee and chat following the Eucharist, I collected the veg bag from Chapter. Clare was out when I returned, having a treatment with a local osteomyologist, so I cooked lunch. Then after eating, an hour's siesta, a walk in Llandaff Fields, dodging light rain showers under the trees, and then a visit to Beanfreaks to collect this week's grocery order and treat us to a loaf of fresh sourdough rye bread. A really tasty treat.

Then with no other tasks in hand, I continued watching remaining episodes of 'Suspect' series two until supper and well into the evening after. It turns out be a melodrama with several female psychiatrists playing evasive mind games with each other, while one of them is tracking a serial killer and uncovering a huge sinister conspiracy to eliminate anyone who realises there's something suspicious going on, or else are too afraid to mention. It's not clear who the conspirators are or how extensive their reach in law, government and medicine. And after eight episodes, the killer gets his due dessert, but the conspiracy is not unmasked, so we now have to wait for the arrival of a series three (yawn).

Rebalancing the human equation

A mostly cloudy day with sunny intervals. I spent the morning writing the reflection on Peter's speech for next Thursday's Morning Prayer. Clare had an eye surgeon appointment at UHW, and decided to have an early snack lunch. I went to Tesco's to get coffee filters and frozen chicken breast pieces, half I cooked to eat today and tomorrow, the rest went in the freezer. Since the gall bladder operation I've felt the need to eat more meat protein than I have habitually through years of being mainly vegetarian. Not a large amount of meat any time, just a little feels satisfactory. Happily I have no digestive troubles, it's as if there's been a subtle change in body chemistry, reflected in what my taste buds indicate I prefer.

After lunch I recorded and edited the audio I prepared, then went out for a walk before supper. On the pond in Thompson's Park I spotted for the first time this year a moorhen on its nest, sitting on a clutch of eggs. Its mate was swimming around foraging for food. The nest is completely surrounded by water at the far end of the pond from the railings where children stand to feed the ducks. I'm not sure that it's actually floating. There may have been a few reeds or a submerged branch there for the home makers to start from. It's good to see. When Jasmine was here last July the moorhens established a nest in the round ornamental pond, but eggs laid there didn't survive. They built another nest in the reeds at the side of the big pond, but I don't recall seeing chicks swimming around later in the summer, so maybe the rats ate the eggs. Anyway I took a photo and sent it via Instagram for Jasmine to see. 

When I got back, I found that Clare had cooked a pair of big herrings for supper. They were delicious. How fortunate I am to enjoy the taste of everything I eat. I hear of people losing their sense of taste if not smell. I suspect in some cases this is a by product of medication they are obliged to take for an age related ailment. 

When I think back to the time before I went dairy free to prevent my gall bladder giving me grief I remember how my taste buds drove me to over use garlic and spices in order to make a dish seem tasty, so much so that others would complain about it. Going dairy free re-sensitised my palate, ridding my tongue of a residual bitter after taste associated with poorly digested dairy fats.

After we'd eaten, I made the video slide show to go with the audio and uploaded it to YouTube. Then I found a new series of the dramatic psychological thriller 'Suspect', and watched three shortish episodes before turning in for the night.

We learned this evening that Eluned Morgan is the only Senedd Member to be nominated for election as First Minister. The official announcement takes place tomorrow lunchtime. It's a measure of the regard in which she's held, and looked to for unifying leadership. In the USA, the presidential nomination of Kamala Harris is reviving the morale and hopes of Democratic Party supporters, and financial support for her campaign is flooding in. 

Like Sir Keir Starmer she's a public prosecution lawyer by profession, capable of giving Trump a hard time, and no settling for his nonsensical rhetoric. The rise of capable strong female leaders in the new century is a sign of a re-balancing in human relationships and political affairs which is long overdue, and will hopefully contribute to making the world a better place, capable of uniting to face the multiple threats to the future of our troubled endangered world.

Dystopia in St Mary Street

Back to being overcast and cool again today. It's funny how the weather seems to alternate between this and bright sunshine from day to day. I listened to the news early but then went back to sleep.  Clare was already up and pedalling on her exercise bike. Housework to do after a late breakfast. An interesting radio programme in a series on the dystopian works of Orwell and Kafka, observing how both American and Russian politics over the past century in a variety of ways have reflected in different ways the fictional  stories told in both '1984' and 'The Trial'. Life imitating Art or Art imitating life? I prefer to consider them as prophetic observations about the the world we live in, and its capacity to lie and distort the truth.

Chores done, I made the video slideshow for Thursday's Morning Prayer in honour of St James the Apostle and uploaded it to YouTube before lunch. We had prawns with veg, accompanied by noodles made of black rice, the first I've ever eaten. I was unimpressed and would have preferred gluten free spaghetti, for taste and texture. Before going into town, I started preparing next week's offering, just to get some idea of the passage of scripture I'll be reflecting on. Next week it's Peter's Pentecost speech from the second chapter of  Acts.

I went into town after we'd eaten, to pay a cheque into HSBC bank. They have installed a new generation of automatic banking machines, enabling you to deposit cash or cheques, as well as withdraw cash and make account enquiries. These have quite large display screens but the font size and overall layout of each page display leaves much to be desired, certainly not to the degree of user friendliness on modern phone banking apps and web pages. In a moment of absent mindedness I forgot to write my name on the cheque, but the machine picked this up and spat it out again, and stayed on hold without spitting out my card until I'd made the correction, so that I didn't need to restart the paying in routine. 

When I'd done this I walked through both parts of the St David centre. Now school holidays are upon us, the place was busy with families out shopping, and gaggles of teenagers. I went to see if there were any bargains on John Lewis' top floor. Three teenage boys were wandering around in the electrical goods section, turning up to high volume any radio or speaker system they could find switched on, attracting the attention of the security staff. Eventually they were asked to leave and escorted off the premises. I thought one of them was about to have a physical altercation with a guard twice his weight. With the prevalence of retail theft these days, it can't be an easy task to protect shoppers as well as shock from those intent on making more than adolescent mischief.

Walking back up lower St Mary Street, I noticed drugs being sold openly on the street, an assortment of people lying passed out in doorways or begging, and some conversing or arguing loudly, sounding as if they were intoxicated.  I noticed two elderly women sitting on the ground in the street, begging I think but not sure, as they seemed very withdrawn. Then a few paces further on, tables and chairs outside eateries, packed with well dressed people, mostly tourists or visitors from out of town, eating, drinking and chatting seeming unaware of the dystopian scene nearby. I didn't see a single uniformed police officer, nor any of 'street ambassadors' engaged by the Cardiff Business Improvement District organisation 'For Cardiff'. Where are they all?

I walked home along the Taff through Bute Park to Blackweir. It's not as busy, quieter now there are fewer students around. After supper, with nothing better to do, I relaxed with another episode of 'McDonald and Dodds' before turning in for the night.

Leadership changes

Back to sunshine and blue sky again today. We went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were thirty three of us present, Sunday School children and some adults were absent with the start of the school, so twenty fewer than last week, missing from the front half of the nave. None of those who sit at the back to make room for the Sunday school think to move forward unfortunately. 'Twas always thus, sad to say.

We returned home straight after church and had lunch early followed by a siesta in the chair before a walk around the fields, with cricket matches going on in Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields. In contrast to when both were deserted due to rain, groups of friends and family were sitting around on the grass chatting and picnicking, and children with their parents practising on their bicycles, plus joggers and leisurely walkers like me. It's good to see our green spaces so well used by people of all cultures among city dwellers, each in their own way.

On return, there was an item in my newsfeed from Sky news saying that Eluned Morgan is being backed by a presumed leading contender for the role, as the Senedd's next First Minister. I messaged Fr Rhys her husband offering deepest sympathies. The last time I spoke to her in church months ago, before Vaughan Gething was elected First Minister she expressed dread at the prospect of being nominated for the role and didn't let her name go forward. Being Health Minister for Wales was already difficult enough for her. 

Half an hour after reading the news, I heard her being interviewed on the six o'clock news saying she's still making up her mind. Nobody else seems to be seeking nomination at the moment, though there are three more days until nominations close, but if she has support from all factions of Welsh Labour, her election would be a mandate for reconciliation. 

Eluned has a great track record, having been the youngest person elected to the European Parliament back in 1994. She was granted a peerage in 2011 and served as a Shadow Minister in the House of Lords. She took the title Baroness Morgan of Ely - the name of the Parish in which she grew up, where her Dad Bob was Vicar for most of his ministerial career and one of my earliest ministerial mentors. In his day he was a local Councillor and County Council Leader before he finished. For now, it's a matter of Watch and Pray.

In the same news bulletin President Biden announced that he would not be seeking re-election. Another dose of covid and calls for him to withdraw seem finally to have convinced him he's no longer up to the job. He's to be succeeded by Vice President Karmala Harris

Looking for something to watch, I found a crimmie on ITVX now in its fourth series called McDonald and Dodds, and watched its latest two hour episode. The stories featuring a partnership between chalk and cheese detectives: an ambitious young black female Detective Inspector and her quiet perceptive middle aged West Country Sergeant. Quite a complex story-line, with a twist in the eventual resolution in the final minutes. I wonder if other episodes available on-line are as good as this?  

Morning Recital

Another cool and cloudy start to the day with periods of rain, though it the sun did put in an appearance in the evening. we started the day with Clare's pancakes. Eight and a half million computers needed a hard reset after yesterday's chaos inducing network catastrophe. Full recovery will take several days, though for the most part big well managed systems are already up and running. Down-time in airline scheduling and any service reliant on just-in-time logistics are now playing catch up. Public warnings have been issued of scammers contacting individuals and offering them help they don't need with computer problems. As ever the biggest problem individuals have is ignorance of how complex any digital device is. Great or small. 

We drove to St Edward's in Roath for a violin recital given by Marc and accompanist Chris. It was an hour of superb music played with a smile of enthusiasm to a packed audience of about a hundred. Every time I applauded after in item, I noticed that my Fitbit recorded several steps, when I hadn't walked any. The same happens when cooking, with the watch on my left arm, as I chop things up with the knife in my left hand. It seems the Fitibit accelerometer which records body movement isn't smart enough to recognise the difference between an arm movement which covers a horizontal distance and one which is within a negligible radius. It may be a matter of what you pay for is what you get. It has too many smart features I never use and the one I need doesn't work as well as it needs to.

Fr Stewart was there, meeting and greeting people afterwards at the door. It was good to see him. He now succumbed to walking with a proper arm support to help him cope with his knee while he awaits surgery. We talked briefly about the medical funerals both of us have done this week, observing that both of us are waiting to be paid - no doubt something to do with the fact that the cremations were commissioned by the University Medical School. Notoriously slow payers. Now there's the added excuse of the internet crash to add to the delay.

We returned for lunch and a siesta, then it rained for several hours. I went out when it slowed to a drizzle towards tea time. Clare followed me out about an hour later, and our paths crossed when I was on my way back. Then I went to Tesco's for a couple of things missed on the week's shopping list. In the evening I watched a couple of new episodes of 'The Wagner Method, series three set in scenic Strasbourg, a mildly comic and rather lightweight crimmie with its hypocondriac lead detective whose mother is the Mayor - an unlikely story.

Global web crash

Another glorious sunny day reaching 28C in the afternoon. I awoke to news of a major Microsoft internet outage, making corporate systems  using its Azure Cloud services crash worldwide. It was caused not by a cyber attack, but a faulty core system update and compounded by a separate flawed anti-virus update from a service provided by a back office business service I've never heard of called Crowdstrike. 

These faults didn't take long to remedy, but the impact was far reaching, as networks running hospitals, airlines, banks and businesses were required to re-boot networks manually the net result being chaos. Cancellations appointment booking and payment systems not working. It reveals how vulnerable the world has made itself by over dependency on Microsoft and its Cloud computing products. It may have shown us the shape of things to come, when things like this happen not by accident but by design.

Since Azure is for enterprise  networks, much of individual domestic computing services have been untouched, but this is going to set alarm bells ringing. Apple and Linux based systems were not affected. It makes me even more determined to get replace Windows 10 with Linux Mint when Microsoft stops supporting it next year. First I must work out how to free myself from dependence on the one app I do still need for making my weekly video prayer slideshow, Windows Photos (Legacy), as Microsoft calls it, dismissing in effect its value to those who use it, as something they regard as outdated.

President Biden has covid and is self isolating, many of his allies are openly appealing to him to step down. It's not clear who would replace him. In the meanwhile Trump's support continues to rise. The King's speech on Wednesday was one of the longest on record since 1945, spelling out an ambitious programme of new policies for which the government will be proposing legislation.

Apart from following the morning's spate of interesting news stories, I sat and wrote a poem inspired by seeing a birthday party held yesterday afternoon in Thompsons Park. Then I cooked lunch. A pork steak for me, hake for Clare, with quinoa carrots and a tough spring cabbage, requiring more cooking that I gave it. Better luck next time.

When I walked in Thompson's Park after my post-lunch siesta another birthday party was going on under the trees. People seizing the opportunity to make the most of the weather to have fun. It's also the end of term today. I expect the parks will even busier in weeks to come.

After supper, I responded to an email about the Azure Cloud outage from by dear friend Valdo. He has recently replaced his 2004 Macbook with a 2013 Macbook Air and converted it to Linux Mint. Quite an achievement. It works perfectly. I think he's pleased with the result. Then a brief walk for a breath of fresh night air before bringing the day to a close.

Accounting for Covid - the official reckoning begins

A bright sunny day with a temperature worthy of July, with the temperature in the upper twenties. I posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp before 'Thought for the Day', and then got up to organise breakfast. I called in Tesco's to buy this week's food bank donation on the way to St John's to join six others for the Eucharist. Fr Sion told us that when he returns from his holiday trip to Arizona, where his eldest son in training to be an airline pilot I believe, the St John's Eucharist will be on Wednesday at noon, straight after the one at St Catherine's. He needs more free time for sermon preparation. Such are the pressures on his existing tight work schedule, some of which it seems he has no control over. How he'll manage if there's a call for a morning funeral on either Wednesday or Thursday remains to be seen. I said I would cover for him if needed. I'm not going away anywhere for a good while, after all.

When I got back, Clare was out somewhere, having prepared the veggies and left sausages out to thaw and cook. I continued where she left off, so all was ready when she returned. I seem not to have slept so well last night, but made up for it after lunch by snoozing for over an hour in the chair. Then a walk, several times around Thompson's Park. On my way home, I called in to see Diana and Pete for a chat and a cup of tea, It was just on seven when I walked through the door, in time for supper and the Archers. Another short walk after we'd eaten, then a spell of looking back at what I wrote at the start of the pandemic in the first weeks of isolation in the Can Bou chaplaincy house. 

It's a co-incidence that the first report from the covid public enquiry was published this morning, telling the story of government failure to be prepared for the kind of pandemic we actually experienced, having planned for something different. All this in the light of the SARS epidemic twenty years ago, which hit Asian countries and was a different variant of the covid viral strain. Lesson learned from that about best practice response were not learned, with lockdown ordered too late to prevent more untimely death than should have been the case, and insufficiently diverse opinions sought about how to manage the spread, and the impact of lockdown, economically, socially and educationally. 

Thankfully British scientists rose to the occasion of innovating vaccines in partnership with others internationally, far quicker than might have been thought possible, thanks to Cloud computing, new technologies rapid production and a programme of vaccination which helped curb the impact of a virus surging through the population. It's just so tragic that an under equipped, under funded hospitals and their staff were taken almost to breaking point, and the NHS is still struggling to recover. Let's hope the new government can do justice to the real needs of staff wanting to do their jobs properly, and to the huge number of people still waiting in the treatment queue. With all this to reflect on, it was soon time to turn in for the night.

Job done - at last

A day of sunshine and clouds, and a little warmer than it has been for a while, though nowhere near what's expected for July. Meanwhile, parts of southern Europe have temperatures of more than 40C, double what it is here. While I'd like it to be a bit warmer, I'm content not to be abroad at the moment. 

After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were eight of us today. At coffee Paul told us about catching covid the previous week and needing to self isolate again. The virus hasn't gone away.  People are still getting sick enough to be admitted to hospital and are dying because of it, though there are fewer fatalities. Fewer people are bothering to test for covid when they feel ill, just encouraged to take a few days off work and avoid situations in which they can pass it on. Without the pandemic panic pressure, how many will do the right things? Society has learned to live with seasonal 'flu and its fatalities for the vulnerable. The consequences of covid infection can be even worse for anyone with poor immune systems but it seems we must learn to live with it sensibly as it's become an endemic infection.

We had a delicious salmon soup for lunch, very colourful containing beetroot, peas and potatoes. For the rest of the evening I worked on revising editing the final half a dozen chapters of my novel. On checking back through this blog, found that I started writing it on 24th October 2019, in Oxwich Bay. It took exactly thirteen months to complete. The revision and editing has happened in fits and starts since then, and two years have elapsed until last week when I finally got around to finishing it. At last, I have a full length draft worth printing for others to read.

Unusually busy day

Up and out of bed after 'Thought for the Day' this morning of clouds and sunshine, to get ready for a duty morning at the Crem. The doorbell rang at eight, a salmon from Ashton's ordered yesterday before we started making breakfast.

I was picked up and driven to Thornhill in good time to organise and ensure my start was without rush. The first funeral would be the longest with a full tribute to the deceased, as the family didn't have a memorial service immediately after death. I was able to fit everything planned into the twenty minute slot available without rushing, so that was a good start. The next one was utterly different, with no information other than name age and address. No mourners. The funeral director kindly accompanied me through the service which proceeded as if there had been a congregation. The last time I recall being in this situation was back in Bristol, taking the funeral of a homeless man forty years ago. 

The remaining two services each had less than a dozen family members and went as planned. I found it tiring, but not as emotionally draining as a normal length funeral, in an atmosphere charged with grief and pain. The serenity of those who have come to terms with their loss and can remember a past life together with gratitude makes a real difference. 

I was home again by twelve fifteen and just needed to recover with coffee chocolate and a rest. Clare's study group was just winding up. She cooked large herrings for lunch, the first complete fish rather than fillets we've had in years. So delicious, and not always available these days. Lunch was crowned with a big slice of apple and date pie. 

At three I was collected for the fifth funeral of the day at Thornhill. This time, a full length one with just a dozen mourners. I was home again by five as the traffic was light. Clare went out to meditation group, and I went for a walk, first to Tesco's and then around the park before supper. 

Then I listened to the last two episodes of 'The Jetty', described in a review I saw as 'a feminist' crimmie, portraying a story of older men grooming under age girls for sex in a rural community with a murder and a disappearance thrown in for good measure. For me there were unexplained elements in the background of the detective investigating a cold case with resonances in the present. There was an element missing in her back story. I couldn't see how she'd been selected for training as a police officer, as a young single mother and become a detective in her mid thirties. It seemed a bit far fetched to me.

Trump has chosen his vice-presidential nominee Senator J D Vance, a self-made rich smart successful guy from a poor dysfunctional family by all accounts, and as capable as Trump of making stupid outrageous offensive remarks. He alleges Britain is the only islamist country with nuclear weapons. Was this a joke? Or an expression of ignorance. He doesn't seem to know that Pakistan, is an islamic country which has the bomb, and problems with islamists as well. British politicians have shrugged off the remark a sort of diplomatic discretion given the possibility of Trump and Vance being returned to power this November. I fear for the future with such people in control.

Word and deed - two sides one coin

Another overcast day turning to intermittent rain for much of the day. I wok up to an excellent 'Thought for the Day' by Prof Mona Siddiqui, speaking about her experience of political violence in Pakistan, being there for a family wedding when Benazir Bhutto was assassinated in Pakistan. Extreme political rhetoric, she reflected is inevitably linked, one way or another to violence. Words and deeds are inseparable. That's something both Christianity and Islam have received from the wisdom of Hebrew culture, yet all three religions still fail on times to be mindful of this. 

Many Trump supporters are reading the narrow failure of the assassination attempt against him as divine intervention, spurring on the messianic view of him as America's saviour. There are echoes of the Book of Revelation in this scenario, that will appeal to the apocalyptic mind set and religious fundamentalism which has pervaded many minds in the United States since the rise of social media and the fake news industry. Nothing new under the sun really.

After breakfast, routine housework chores to be done, and then continuing preparation for tomorrow's batch of funerals. Clare cooked me a delicious pork steak for lunch. Comfort food on a miserable day. After a siesta I went for a walk during a break in the rain. It only got worse and I was soaked by the time I got home. Consolation came in the form of a date and apple slice in puff pastry, baked by Clare.

With an hour to go before supper I took a look at next week's Morning prayer texts and saw the possibility of a biblical reflection on status hunger and insecurity, and had it down in writing before it was time to eat. Such creative moments still give me pleasure. After we'd eaten, a walk around Llandaff Fields to complete my steps for the day, just avoiding a shower of rain. Then I watched a couple of episodes of 'The Jetty' a new crimmie on iPlayer, set in the Lancashire part of the Lake District. I found the dialogue difficult to follow initially. Not sure if it was the accent or the acting, or the sound recording. Then early bed.

Assassination attempt with consequences unforeseen

I woke up in bright sunshine at eight, to hear on the news of an assassination attempt on Donald Trump at a political rally in Pennsylvania. A bullet just nicked his right ear. He'd moved slightly away from the line of fire and that saved his life. His immediate response was anger and defiance, and within minutes blame was being laid at his Democrat opponents for criticising his political stance and untruthfulness. This will dominate the rest of the US presidential election campaign, no doubt. The perpetrator must have lost all common sense to believe doing away with Trump could make any difference for the better to the political future of the country.

Trump's combative rhetoric has catalysed anger and violence in times past. Whatever the motives of the shooter, violent words provoke a violent reaction. President Biden was quick to condemn the act and reach out to Trump sympathetically. There are questions in need of an answer about how a gunman could have got within shooting range above the stage. America is already divided and volatile. What might happen next? Trump has been a champion of the US gun owning lobby. How will this influence his position now he has been a target and the evil power guns unleash? Tonight's Euro cup final got less media coverage than might otherwise have been today, likewise Gaza.

The sky clouded over for much of the day. We went to St Catherine's for the Parish Eucharist, which today was very child oriented. A nave altar was used and Fr Sion had the children take part in a treasure hunt in church. It was very nicely done. The occasion celebrated the end of the Sunday School term, before a six weeks summer break, we were over fifty in church, a dozen of them children, with a happy atmosphere. It's what the St Catherine's needed to do justice to young families who make the effort to attend church. I couldn't help noticing that almost all the children present are girls. My guess is that the boys are attending sports matches or training out in the Fields. It's what I've observed when walking to Llandaff Cathedral on a Sunday morning. I have no idea how the church can address this spiritual deficiency.

I approve of such development in the life of the church community but it leaves me wanting more than I am receiving from collective worship. I miss extended periods of shared silence, and a sense of dwelling in awe and wonder at the divine presence. This I need more of as I get older. Recent years of activity as a voluntary pastor seem to have drained me to emptiness. I don't think occasional visits to the Cathedral or St German's or a long retreat can provide much more than a brief respite. For now, all I can do is dwell with the emptiness, keep waiting and trusting in the unknowable next time when the Spirit moves.

After lunch and a siesta, Clare and I walked over to Bute Park and had a cup of tea in the Secret Garden cafe, continuing to flourish since its contested lease was renewed, with people and their dogs turning up for a cuppa right up to closing time. 

In the evening, we were grateful to have the summer evening concert by the Vienna Symphonia to watch, while the football was on. I made a batch of dough and left it to rise while we watched this, and a lovely documentary about Wales' favourite composer Carl Jenkins. Then I put the bread in the over to bake, while watching the performance of Verdi's Requiem which followed. I took the two perfectly baked loaves out of the over, just before bed time, filling the house with that wonderful aroma that makes a house smell like home.

Cultural contrast

I needed extra time in bed this morning but didn't get much. Clare was cooking pancakes for breakfast by the time I got up. I finished work on next week's Morning Prayer after breakfast and uploaded the video to YouTube.

Media frenzy about tomorrow's Euro cup final dominates the news. So much so I thought it was tonight. Little coverage of the seventy people killed by another missile strike in Gaza. So many innocent lives destroyed, and still no end to this cruel conflict. The death toll is now said to be 38,000. In the post, a round robin from the 'Friends of the Holy Land' NGO, telling the story of a recent visit to Israel and the West Bank by one of its people. In Israel and the West Bank there are no tourists. Hotels are empty or shut. Palestinians and Israelis alike are suffering economically. With the Holy Land deeply defiled by this war, what will happen if or when peace and security are restored? Will visitors want to return, knowing the reality of all that has happened in the land of the Prince of Peace? The cruelty and injustice of it all could be a deterrent to tourists and pilgrims with a conscience.

I cooked a vegetable risotto with boil in a bag mussels in wine sauce for a late lunch. Sounds exotic, but simple and tasty to prepare. Then a siesta before a long walk. In the evening I enjoyed watching all the remaining episodes of 'The Turkish Detective' on BBC iPlayer. A high quality crimmie, for story lines that thread through all eight episodes, not only for its portrayal of stunning Istanbul cityscapes, but fine acting. 

It's a contrast to the dreary domestic police nuclear family drama embedded in Danish 'Sommerdahl Murders. The Turkish police family drama told in this story portrays a big happy family subjected to the same stresses and strains of a father who finds  the demands of investigating murders irresistible. His wise and loving wife somehow copes and gently holds the family together, without having an existential life crisis. Apart from her pre-menopausal pregnancy and birth, that is.  But it's not about a western European nuclear family, but a multi generational secular Muslim one in an equally modern city that's the gateway to Asia. 

Closing the circle

Overcast with periods of showers today. I spent much of the morning recording and editing the audio for next Thursday's Morning Prayer. Then, with the prospect of five funerals in one day to prepare for, there was a lot more work to do. Phone calls to make, service sheets to prepare and brief introductions to each service to write, each one being different. 

A learning experience for me, with each family responding to the death of a loved one in different ways. Some organised a celebratory memorial gathering in the weeks after. For them Tuesday's brief service is definitely understood as a ritual of closure two years on. Having no information about the deceased apart from name, age and address in other cases means that when mourners arrive for their service, I'll need to find out quickly before we begin. 

I was impressed to hear from bereaved next of kin of the positive experience of being dealt with by funeral companies and the University Medical School, in preparation for a death anticipated. One woman told me how a young medical student relative had shown her around the Faculty of Medicine and given her a tour of the anatomy department. She was impressed by the respect shown towards the bodies students worked on, and was persuaded to bequeath her own. She persuaded her husband to do likewise. Another couple also made the same decision, finding consolation in the midst of sorrow at the prospect of continuing to be useful at the end of life in the flesh.

For all the families, this brief ceremony reunites their memory of the departed with that person's mortal remains, after the two years of separation as an anonymous subject in an anatomy laboratory completing the circle of life in the traditional customary way. 

I stopped for lunch, then continued working into the afternoon before setting foot outside the house for a walk to Aldi's to buy wine for the weekend. Fortunately, there were no more showers. After supper another unsatisfying double episode of 'The Sommerdahl Murders', which went on too long. It was eleven before I went out for fresh air before bed and walked around the streets of Pontcanna. I was surprised at the queue of slow traffic on Penhill Road, then remembered that the 'Tafwyl' Welsh music festival started tonight in a broad enclosure on Cooper's Field containing a huge tented stage which I noticed yesterday. I heard people on the streets chatting in Welsh on the street making their way home from across the Fields. It reflects the social change which has taken place in our neighbourhood since we moved back here fourteen years ago.

A new pastoral challenge

A return to blue skies and bright sunshine today, though still rather cool for summertime. I went to the Eucharist at St John's after breakfast and called in to Tesco's to buy food bank groceries: two week's worth as I missed last week. Fr Andrew celebrated in honour of St Benedict's feast day, and took me by surprise. He started the service, much to my embarrassment, by reading most of the biographical reflection I wrote for Morning Prayer and uploaded earlier when I woke up. I'm never sure who if anyone listens to this daily offering, but at least I know it sometimes gets read!

Clare was in town when I returned from church, so I cooked lunch, timing it perfectly for when she came through the door just after one. My afternoon walk took me down to Cowbridge Road and over the river as far as Bute Park. I walked all the way up to Blackweir Bridge on the east bank of the Taff, through quiet woods lit sunlight. At last the paths have dried up and are mud free.

Yesterday, I had an email from Coles Funeral Directors requesting my services next Tuesday. Fr Stewart referred me to them. It'll be the first I've done in a year, apart from one I did when I was in Nerja. When I returned home there was a message from Summers Funeral Directors waiting for me, again referred by Fr Stewart requesting my services for a group of funerals, coincidentally on the same day. The four short services, all in one morning are for people who bequeathed their bodies to the University medical faculty. In each case next of kin are invited to attend. It's something I've never done before and I'll need to think carefully about how to approach this, to ensure each is personal.

After supper, I continued reviewing and editing my novel. I've now reached the last quarter of the book, further than I've gone in previous efforts at completion of the task. I can tell that I've not re-read this since I wrote it as there are still uncorrected typos, misplaced words and unnecessary repeat descriptions calling for a rewrite of some sections, but that's a future task. First get to the end and then think again.

Point of view

Another cool, cloudy day. I went to the St Catherine's Eucharist this morning. We were eleven altogether, with five regulars away. Jean organised drinks in the hall afterwards, as Hilary and Clive are away. Fr. Andrew arrived by bike after the service, to rendezvous with Fr Sion to take a cycle ride around Cardiff Bay and back before lunch. Fr Rowan was with us. He told me after that a commission he's part of looking at the future of governance in Wales is reporting to the new First Minister soon. The timing seems right as a new phase in relationships with Westminster is now under way. 

We talked about the unfinished business of brexit and its impact on the devolved nations, an issue avoided in recent electoral campaigning, apart from Labour's promise to improve relationships with the EU. How can things be improved until the deep rift between proponents and opponents of brexit has been healed, and justice done in a situation where the very referendum process was flawed by excluding UK voters in the EU, and ignoring the need for a two thirds majority to make such a huge change in relationships with our nearest neighbours.

On my way home I collected this week's veggie bag from Chapter. I was surprised to see a fire truck in Llanfair Road, though there was no sign of smoke in the vicinity. A small domestic emergency maybe? I did the weekly Co-op grocery shopping after lunch, then went for a walk in the park.

As I was walking I started to think about how an artist or a photographer may depict what they see from a particular viewpoint. What they consider to be the subject is determined by what they notice, what story they want to tell through their creative act. That led me to think about my novel, five years on from starting to write it. I tell about the subject in the third person, but who am I in relation to the subject of the story and its setting? Then I had an idea about how I could revise the introductory passage, by inventing a story teller who belongs in the context of the story.

After supper, I spent the rest of the evening again revising chapters of the novel, starting with a preface to introduce the story teller in the first person. I think it works, but over time, it will need revising too! Such fun, working with words.

Drawing Mary

Overcast again today but warmer. The Prime Minister came to Wales to establish relationships with Senedd political leaders, and to engage with Tata Steel on their policy upgrading the Port Talbot plant, and secure are many jobs as possible during the transition. An initiative to build good will between London and the Celtic nations after the colonial years of Tory government.

After breakfast we drove to Fran's house in Penarth to hear the updated presentation she and Marc are rehearsing to take to Lindisfarne in two weeks time at the invitation of Mthr Frances, on the icon of the Annunciation, Marc playing music by 17th century Czech composer Biber. It was deeply thoughtful, reflecting on the significance of form in the composition of this icon. There were seven present. 

This was followed by a drawing workshop focusing on the head of Mary as depicted in this kind of icon. I didn't feel I was up to struggling to make marks with charcoal on blank paper, so I walked for an hour through Alexandra Park instead, and took a few photos. I returned, and joined the group for lunch, then we headed home, as Clare didn't have the energy for another session of drawing.

I went for another walk when we got back. This time over to the big Tesco's on Western Avenue to dispose of more than a dozen empty cartridges used by Clare's printer. It was seven by the time we got around to making a cooked meal, having only had a light lunch at Fran's. I then spent the remains of the evening until bed time, editing another fifty pages of my novel, and making a few changes. It's taking much longer to complete than I realised. The experience of writing a weekly reflection over the last three years has taught me a lot about conciseness of expression, and how best to edit what I've written. At least I hope so. It's worth the effort to make the story worth reading,

Criminal damage

Overcast today with low cloud, so disappointing. Housework after breakfast, with the vacuum cleaner not working properly, due to a surfeit of hair on the carpets, mostly dislodged from my head, to judge by the length of strands wrapped around the cleaner's roller brush. I had to free it from hair after each room. Just as well we had a hairdressing visit to Chris lined up for this afternoon. I cooked spicy chickpeas with veg for lunch, and used Quinoa for a change instead of rice. It turned out well.

When we arrived at Chris' salon in Rumney, the place was being boarded up. In the past couple of weeks the whole shop front  has been rammed by vehicles on three different occasions. It seems that a local criminal is trying to force him out of business, in a lame and stupid attempt to 'make him an off he can't refuse' to quit and sell up. After forty five years in business in this place, Chris is popular and well known by everyone in the neighbourhood. None of the locals have come forward with information about the different crimes. People are afraid of repercussions from the known bad actor in the vicinity. The police seem powerless or unwilling to take action, despite the evident seriousness of the situation. Chris says he wouldn't be surprised if the next attack was arson.

Even so, he welcomed us into the inner sanctum which had survived having a big Volvo car driven into it at speed last night. Its driver sustained a minor injury and left the scene on foot, leaving the car behind, plus DNA and fingerprints. But will the police do anything now they have such evidence? When he had told us all that had happened in recent weeks. This included a life threatening emergency with Martin, who failed to act in his own best interests when a stomach malfunction recurred, causing dehydration no matter how much he drank, and taking him close to multiple organ function. It's vital to keep a close eye on one's own physical condition the older one gets, or the consequences can be serious.

Chris did a marvellous job on both of us, sending us away cleansed, tidied and refreshed into the evening traffic, which was, thankfully, lighter than usual. After sitting around for much of the day I was craving for exercise, and went out for an hour's walk before supper. Afterwards, I watched another 'Turkish Detective' double episode, then went out for more fresh air and exercise before bed. This time under a brolly in the rain, but it was worth it. 

Empty nest again

I woke up at ten past five, hearing the voice of Jas downstairs, an figured her taxi had arrived. The next sound I heard was the front door shutting behind her and Clare, so sadly I didn't get to see her leave. Clare went with her to the Megabus stop, then walked back home, and went back to bed. It took me a while to get back to sleep and I didn't get up until ten past nine despite the bright sunshine streaming into the room. It's been lovely having her with us. Now we have to get used to a quiet empty nest again.

I drove to St German's to attend Sunday Mass. There was a congregation about three dozen, despite half a dozen regular members being away on an excursion. It's good to see numbers are picking up under Fr Jarel's leadership. A couple of RWCMD singers have joined the choir. I believe it's part of their training in church musical leadership. One of the women, with a fine soprano voice sang Faure's 'Pie Iesu' during Communion. When I talked with her afterwards she told me she was from Phoenix, and had lived for some years in Tempe. What a coincidence! The sun shone throughout the service, and I enjoyed a beautiful relaxed experience of worship being on the receiving end, content not to be on active service.

I has hoped to see Basma there, but she was unwell and didn't turn up, so I didn't stop for coffee but went straight home for lunch. Clare benefited from a long morning in bed while I was out. After lunch and a siesta we walked over to Bute Park and back. It was nearly supper time when we got back. Afterwards I watched a double episode of 'The Turkish Detective' on iPlayer. 

It's set in Istanbul, and gives a vivid sense of the beauty of vitality of this eurasian crossroads city - in some senses highly modern, but in others still very traditional and even eccentric. One of the main characters is a senior detective inspector who knows the city and its communities inside out. He's a shrewd mentor to a new Turkish recruit trained in the UK's Metropolitan Police, and his observant style interrogatory stay is reminiscent of detective 'Colombo' in the long running American crimmie series. This one is certainly a different optic through which to view the world and its many variations of fallen-ness.

I ended the day with a short walk for a breath of fresh air under a cloudless sky. A group of teenagers were walking around, singing enthusiastically to hip hop emanating from someone's phone linked up to a small portable loudspeaker. They were neither rowdy nor trouble making, but happy to be out together enjoying this magical hour in a carefree way. The sun was already below the horizon and the western sky filled with twilight glow. Just above the tree line in the direction of Llandaff Cathedral, the thinnest possible sliver of a setting moon was visible Lovely, enchanting, so peaceful.

Last day with Jas

Bright sunshine today with occasional showers and passing cloud, but a chill wind. More like April than July. My body seems to have fought off whatever mystery bug has laid me low and made me cough this last two weeks, but the final act of whatever it was hit me hard with a morning of diahorrea, which was exhausting as well as draining. 

Clare and Jas went off to visit the food festival down the Bay. I stayed behind to recover. Eventually I had a walk in the park followed by a light light lunch, and fell asleep in the arm chair for an hour. A phone call from Clare woke me from slumber, telling me they'd been unable to rely on buses as there was disruption in the city centre due to an event which turned out to be a fan zone for the England v Switzerland football match in the Castle grounds. Clare was walking back, Jas had taken a number 1 circular bus out to a big Sainsbury's on Colchester Avenue, in search of an Argos outlet where she could but a particular make of Polaroid camera she was interested in taking with her on the next leg of her European holiday trip. Could I drive over and collect her, as there were very few buses and no useful information? 

I agreed, headed out of Canton toward the other side of town and into a traffic queue caused by a road closure from Canton Bridge to the other side of the city centre. No road closure or traffic diversion notices in evidence where most needed to allow drivers to anticipate the change. I had to drive around the streets of lower Canton to get back to where I could anticipate the route change, and had only gone a quarter of a mile when Clare called to say Jas messaged her to say she'd caught a different bus back to the city centre and intended walking home. I returned and parked the car then sent Jas a message to find her whereabouts. She was just entering Bute Park at the far end, so we agreed to meet at Blackweir Bridge and walk back together. This we did, and returned talking cameras all the way. I'm amazed at how confident she is at 17 and happily independent about getting around in the strange city.

After supper Clare and Jas played together for the last time on this trip and I listened from the other room. Two learners working together. Her sax playing is a little tentative as this instrument's fingering system isn't the same as the one she plays back home. Clare's playing is tentative as she's still learning to play by heart, something that comes naturally to Jas, it seems. She's happy to play by ear. Like her mother, like her grandfather. 

Then I watched another episode of 'The Sommerdahl Murders', and learned from IMDB that many other viewers are as unimpressed as I am by a glossy production set in seaside suburbia. By way of contrast, 'Hierro' which I recently finished watching has received top ratings all round for story, location, dialogue acting and movie craftsmanship. Like many other, I too am sorry there won't be third season.

Jas and Clare went to bed early. Another early start for a coach trip to Bristol Airport for an early flight. Jas is going to meet her boyfriend Louis in Bordeaux. They're visiting his grandparents in Bergerac before flying back to Arizona. What amazes me is that Jas can afford to do something like this partly because she's earning from the after-school job she has in a Matcha tea shop in addition to support from her Dad. I didn't have such confidence or work experience at her age. The best I could manage was a few sessions cleaning buses.

Keir Starma has convened his first cabinet meeting today, and still has junior ministerial appointments to make. His sense of purpose and direction and his candour about the crisis his government faces marks him out as a leader worthy of respect. Nothing will change rapidly, except perhaps the national morale, as a bitter disillusioned public recognise someone is telling them the truth and working hard to unite the nation in tackling the problems, working together with integrity for the common good. Oh how we need this, after all the years of sugar coated lies.

Cefn Onn out of season

Another cool overcast day with pancakes for breakfast, after a long time in bed with far less sleep than I need to face the day. The news is mainly about Labour's huge victory in the General Election. The majority is almost as large as the one that brought Tony Blair and his team into power, though the turnout was comparatively low, perhaps an expression of disillusionment on the part of many, not only with the political parties, but the whole system of government. Labour has the elected members but with the overall vote share lower than hoped for. Notable government players in the drama of the past five brexit dominated years have lost their seats, punished by the electorate for failing to deliver promises made, or for their personal wrong-doing. A sentence passed on lying populist politicians and politics in my opinion. You cannot fool all of the people all of the time.

At the end of the morning we went up to Cefn Onn Park for a walk with our cameras. It's a spectacular place to see in spring when the rhododendron bushes are in full bloom, not so much in so-called summer, apart from hydrangea bushes and flowering trees with the same shaped blossom in several different colours. It's a long time since we last visited. The top section, known as The Dingle has had a lot of work done on it, and now includes an elevated tree level boardwalk, accessible to wheelchair users. The main pond looks magnificent and well maintained with reed beds and giant leaves of the rhubarb family on the far side away from the path. Very photogenic any time of year.

It rained earlier and the cloud remained unbroken, but under the canopy of trees the impression of being in the corner of a temperate rain forest, with lichen clad trees was quite vivid. Apart from dog walkers and the occasional parent with a small child, we were the only visitors except a group of Chinese young men. 

We returned home for lunch and then I slept for over an hour. It rained, so we didn't go out. I worked on the video slide show for next week's Morning Prayer instead, and uploaded it to YouTube before supper. Afterwards, once the rain stopped Jas and I went for a walk with our cameras down to the river and back, but as the light failed earlier due to low cloud, her attention was taken by the appearance of snails, mostly on garden walls, and quite different from snails back home in Arizona.

When we returned I watched an episode of Danish crimmie 'The Sommerdahl Murders', an attempt to tell a tale of a mid-life crisis police marriage breakdown and the tragic death of an exploited illegal immigrant. The investigative aspect was good. Not so sure about the other side of the story.

UK Election Day

Up at half past four after sleep disturbed by much heavy coughing. Unpleasant chronic catarrh persists after the other symptoms of this virus that's plagued me all week. The sky was clear with the rising sun as we drove to Sophia Gardens, twenty minutes before the coach was due to leave. I watched it pull in and then we parted company. Ten minutes later I had a phone call from Rachel to say that I had booked her on the previous coach! 

I've no idea how this happened. Evidently neither of us checked the e-ticket details properly. She was told she'd have to buy another ticket, but she was in no position to do so with no cash and no internet on her American phone, so I drove in haste back to the coach station to use my phone to buy her another ticket. As I arrived, she rang again to say the coach driver was going to let her travel in any case. There must have been plenty of room on the coach. How kind! What a relief!

I drove home and went back to bed, but it was difficult to fall asleep properly as my mind was racing and I was upset by a chaotic departure, which Rachel took in her stride. She sent me a message from Heathrow after she checked in and was safely installed in the Departures area. The flight stats app told me the plane departed at 11.00 on schedule.

A rather flat day of news in the absence of endless argument between politicians desperately trying to cram as much of their brand of policy as possible into interview time allotted, all sounding tired if not bored with the sounds of their own voices. After six mind numbing weeks it's election day. And it's Kath and Anto's wedding anniversary. They're also celebrating completion of their new bathroom installation.

I got up at nine and had breakfast with Clare and Jas. They wanted to make waffles, but our waffle iron is on its last legs, shedding its non stick coating. I spent the rest of the morning dozing in the arm chair in an effort to recover as I was feeling awful. They went out in search of a suitable waffle iron in town, but without success. At lunchtime, we drove to Barry Island calling in all the big stores we could find on the way there and back to see if we could buy one, but still no success. It's on-line purchase or nothing.

We wanted to show Jasmine a beach with family memories for us over generations for nearly a century in the case of the Kimber clan. The world wide popularity of the TV comedy 'Gavin and Stacey' has boosted its fame as a tourism destination. The front looks cleaner and bright than I ever recall, with everything in good repair, and strict enforcement policies (announced bilingually intermittently over a Tannoy system) reminding holiday makers to leave their rubbish in the ample supply of bins provided on the front, and not to drink alcohol on the beach but only in the licensed premises provided. Beach wardens are employed with power to impose fines on the non-compliant. It ensures a clean safe family friendly environment. Barry has not been gentrified as such, but uplifted by insisting on appropriately high standards of behaviour in the public realm, which encourages more social investment. Bravo. A win for the town under labour leadership. Shape of things to come for the country? I hope so.

We ate sausages and fish cakes on the beach (no chips this time), circled by gulls ready to pounce and snatch food from our hungry hands. A radio programme I heard earlier spoke about gull behaviour. They are omnivorous, but have worked out that the scope of the human diet is similar to their own, so they'll hang about where humans eat, not only in search of left-overs, or anything they can snatch easily, given their sharp sight and fantastic aerial mobility. Then we walked up on to Friars Point, but the chill westerly wind was so strong it drove us back to the shelter of the hill. Then we drove to Cold Knap, walked around the lake, but were driven back again by the strong wind along the giant pebble beach. We took refuge in the Romilly Tea Shop near the place we'd parked. For Jasmine it was a surprise, as places with the ethos of an old British tea shop (full of older tea drinkers) are few and far between in the south west USA.

We returned and had supper. Chicken and chorizo for me, omelettes for Clare and Jasmine. Then Jas and I went out and walked with our cameras for three quarters of an hour. Unfortunately we were cut short by increasing rainy drizzle, and returned home. Time for me to watch penultimate episode of 'Hierro', and listen to breaking news of election exit polls after ten. In fact, I watched the final episode as well. 

It was gripping, with amazingly little bloodshed given the threat of violence brooding throughout. A very original variant on crime storytelling, with a judge confronted with her assassin and talking him out of completing his mission by stating the logic of his position. The judge's antagonist arrives to rescue her carrying an illegal firearm, but the argument is enough to persuade the killer. As the guardia civil arrives to make an arrest, the antagonist tosses his firearm into the wilderness, to avoid being investigated for its possession. It's a very clever visual statement about the futility of violence. With midnight approaching I headed to bed, knowing that I won't have the energy to stay up all night to listen. But the interest remains. 

Jammin'

Overcast with light drizzle from dawn to early evening and 16C. After many weeks of political posturing, the campaigns are over, and tomorrow the General Election takes place. My postal vote was mailed last week. A large Labour majority is predicted by pollsters, but there's been much debate about how big it will be and what the composition of the opposition parties will be, so it will be worthwhile staying up for the results, or maybe going to bed early and waking up to check in the middle of the night, as I tend to wake up several times anyway. 

I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. We were a dozen for the service, and all stayed for coffee afterwards. Cake was provided in honour of Clive's 80th birthday. It's a pity I need to abstain from cake laden with dairy ingredients. While I was in church, Clare Rachel and Jasmine went for their spa session. Afterwards I fetched this week's veggie bag before taking advantage of having the house to myself to record and edit next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection.

When Clare returned, I was dispatched to collect this week's Beanfreaks grocery order, then all four of us played some rough and ready jazz standards together, with Jas on Alto sax and Rachel on her grandpa's 'cello. It was fun, but not easy, as my left hand is now very stiff. It's painful to make some of barre chords and my finger muscles tend to cramp.

After supper, another episode of 'Hierro' and then bed. Up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to take Rachel to her airport coach. So sad to part company after such a lovely reunion.

Sushi on the menu

Sunshine returned to grace the morning, but sadly gave away to cloud by midday. Clare was going to take Rachel and Jas for a spa session, but learned that the spa jacuzzi is not working, so the trip has to be put off until tomorrow. Instead Clare taught Jas to play Oscar Peterson's 'When Summer Comes' on the piano and Rachel improvised an accompaniment - just for fun.

I started preparing next week's Morning Prayer, and then booked Rachel's coach ticket to Heathrow for this Thursday. I'll only need to get up at five and drive her to Sophia Gardens, less stressful than a drive to the airport with the sun in my face. So far to see her go. I look forward to a time when she can return to the UK for good. We miss her. Jasmine would like to live in Britain when she's finished college. She prefers the climate and loves the environment here.

After a light lunch and a siesta I went for an hour's walk in Llandaff Fields. I need to break up my daily exercise rather than do the target distance in a couple of hours as usual. It's due to the energy draining effect of the bug that's been giving me a sore throat and chest plus chronic catarrh for more than a week. 

Rachel and Jasmine prepared sushi for supper. It's a meal Jasmine enjoys, as she does many things about Japanese culture. It made a delicious change. We ran out of sushi Nori seaweed sheets, so Rachel and I had to go hunting for this in the local food shops. Fortunately we were lucky first time in our local Tesco Metro. This was a discovery for me. I knew the store offered popular Indian and Mexican ingredients but now I know they offer Far Eastern foodstuffs as well.

Rachel Jas and I went for an evening walk in Thompson's Park. The gates are staying open much longer. I'm not sure if they stay open all night nowadays. Then I started watching the second series of 'Hierro', with a child custody dispute at the centre of a story, in which a hit man dies of a heart attack while trying to assassinate a suspected smuggler in trouble with the law in the first series. An interesting twist. The background story is about the impact of organised crime in the Canary Islands, centering on cocaine and blood diamond smuggling. As ever the spectacular scenery of a volcanic island co-stars with a marvellous cast in a original context.

Matcha

A cloud covered sky again today, and cool with it. My fitbit has started to be annoying in that it refuses to record several hours of sleep, particular over the early hours of the morning. It tells you you've slept badly when you feel refreshed enough to know you haven't. I suspect it's something to do with our internet being switched off at night. In the bedroom my phone to which it is linked to synchronise data can just about get a stable 4G signal, but some days can take hours to notice there's no internet by wifi. The promise of good connectivity is rarely realised with complete consistency across devices which depend upon it.

Today is Owain's calendar birthday, but our big family celebration yesterday sufficed, apart from a verbal greeting at breakfast time. As a special treat, Jasmine who works some days after school in a Matcha tea shop back home, made us each a cup of her speciality blend mid morning. I've never tasted this kind of green tea, made with tea leaves ground into a fine powder Japanese style and mixed with water, with milk or sugar or neither, hot or cold. It has quite a strong bitter flavour that's not unpleasant. Like all other teas, it seems to me, health benefits are extolled. It's said to be full of caffeine, but it doesn't give you the same kick as a strong coffee.

Rachel and Jas went into town with Owain, in search of a place to have a supplementary birthday treat. before his return trip to Bristol to meet a mate who'd bought them tickets for a gig this evening. A pity that so many places are closed on Mondays in  city which offers such diversity of choice these days. The Chromebook which was our present to him, was much appreciated. After setting it up to check it worked properly, he reverted to watching the European cup football match involving England on mine, as it's small enough to sit with it one your lap. His new one is among the biggest you can get as he wanted to use as a telly.

We had a light lunch, and I siesta's for an hour, then walked around Llandaff Fields until Rachel and Jas returned from town. Rachel cooked supper and then some ginger biscuits of her own recipe. Afterwards Jas and I walked to Thompson's Park to see what birds were on the pond. The muscovy duck is still there and some mallard ducks, but so far no sign of coots or moorhens. By then, the sun was setting, and somehow bed time crept up and ambushed me.