Undramatic normality.

So good, to sleep well again for seven and a half hours in my own bed. I woke up at the scheduled time to post today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp, then got up and prepared the breakfast. Clever little Fitbit app told me that my Daily Readiness was low, 20% - meaning that it was going to take me a lot longer than usual to recover from physical activity. How it knows, from the measurements it takes, is a mystery. To me it meant the opposite - it was going to take me longer to get started at all! Correct. After a stressful day at UHW yesterday following a sleepless night, there was bound to be a physical price to pay. 

My head didn't hurt at all, but felt like a deflated balloon and my reactions were slow, dull, fatigued. It's just the way I was the day after gall bladder removal, when the surgeons were fretting about my systolic blood pressure being so high during the operation it took extra time to control it. That op came at the end of a fasting day with no water for ten hours. That time I had to persuade the day surgery ward staff to release me, as this reaction to unusual stress was not unknown to me. Just like last night. People tell me to take it easy now - there's no option. Push too hard and you end up making things worse. 

Clare had a flute lesson booked with an new experienced teacher, so I did a little writing and pottered about until lunchtime. I had phone calls from Kath and Owain, also from Roger, and a visit from Mary over the road, who's having difficulty understanding different instructions given to her about how to open her front door. Her memory is failing to piece together in the right order all the component concepts that make up the process. She's intelligent enough to realise she has a problem and asks for help. She came twice. and on both occasions I was on the phone. She then found out about my hospital visit, so I had to explain yet again. Telling and re-telling the same story when your brain is still recovering isn't really what you need for recovery, but that just how life goes.

Clare and I had different choices to cook for lunch so we had to work together at the same time at the stove and the kitchen sink. It's more effort if awareness is blunted by tiredness or pain, but for the most part we cope quite well and without annoying each other. We both needed siestas after lunch. Clare woke up and went out shopping before me. I got an extra three quarters of an hour's sleep, and then felt ready for a walk in the park, not pushing myself but promising myself to quit if I started feeling jaded. I returned at sunset having done three quarters of my daily quota and feeling none the worse for it. The fresh air and easy pace was what I was relying on to benefit me. 

Clare returned as I was gathering in the washing from outdoors, just too late to avoid autumnal dew-fall after a cold gorgeously sunny autumnal day. Then I realised there were a few items of grocery shopping both of us had forgotten, so a quick errand to Tesco's and back covered the last quarter of my daily quota. And I feel none the worse for it. I'm feeling better than I did this morning, and suspect my blood pressure is back down where it should be with a dose of undramatic normality.

A quiet evening of pondering, waiting for trick n' treaters, none of whom showed up, although Clare had prepared a dish of chocolate buttons to offer if any did arrive. When I was returning from Tesco's I saw a small dog with a hallowe'en skeletal designed coat. Also two men as tall as me wearing ghoulish masks, but no kids out playing pranks. But we have ve had several moments when loud fireworks have been set off this evening. Is this a silly season conflation of social moments? Everything is going crazy. 

Tomorrow is All Saints' Day and there's no Eucharist in the Parish, nor in the Cathedral to celebrate one of the ancient Christian festivals, since the Pope's liturgical influencers allowed the festival to be celebrated the Sunday nearest for the sake of those who cannot make a weekday Mass. Today is also Reformation Day, remembering Luther's paradigm shifting contribution to understanding the Gospel of God's grace. 

The current reform of parochial structures and declining attendance as much as decline in available priests has led to the erosion of scheduled public worship offerings. Fewer services, information about them sometimes quite difficult to find on websites, amid the promotion of social activities, fund raising fayres, charity appeals and the suchlike, no matter what fancy web design is utilised. Looked at from the edge of affairs, my habitual positioning, I ask of each one, what is the messaging here? What does layout and presentation of content tell you about this community this represents? 

Several different things may be the answer. But what comes first, matters most? And the messaging is mixed, viewed from a historical context. Last year I ranted about neglected outdated church noticeboards stuck in the past. Fr Sion, when he arrived, insisted on a new simple noticeboard design and content which states serenely and with confidence, what this building is here to do, who it belongs to, and when public worship happens. St German's updated theirs with a similar format last year. It's a first call for passers-by, info which works when their phones are off. That simple directness as a starting point is vital and can be reproduced on-line but rarely is with clear simplicity. 

Is all this lack of clarity about the public presentation of church identity and purpose a consequence of reform? Or symptomatic of a general lack of confidence in the value of life rooted in the prayer of the faithful as it has existed on a twenty century timeline? Thankfully there's a lunchtime Mass at St German's tomorrow and Saturday for All Souls. Anglo-Catholic tradition and teaching persists on the other side of town as it did in West Cardiff's Ministry Area under Mother Frances the way it had done for the past century.  It was never a mono-culture but a distinct ethos of devotion which now seems to be ebbing away. It's that strange feeling of no longer recognising the place which is meant to be home because it's changed.

Happy ending

At about eleven a porter showed up with a wheeled chair, and took me out of A&E into the vast basement area of the hospital to reach a lift that would take us up two floors to the Ambulatory Day Care unit on the upper ground floor. It's in the same neighbourhood of departments that has the radiology department, with MRI, X-Ray and Ultrasound scanners. I was last here for my gall bladder removal in February. 

There's a suite of seven reclining comfy chairs in separately equipped medical bays all in a row opposite treatment rooms and home bases for specialist medics whose services are most called upon. In another area there are single bed medical units for patients needing to be cared for in isolation, and some small operating theatres for routine procedures that can be done on day patients because they don't need a longer stay under medical care. 

Given the advances in keyhole surgery the number of patients that can be treated has risen. There are complaints about long waiting times for certain kinds of complex surgery especially joint replacement. An averagely ageing population means that the number needing this has grown beyond the capacity to provide it, so inevitably waiting lists are very long. When I look back five years to when I was waiting for my anal abscess to be treated surgically, there was a wait of four months from initial diagnosis to day surgery. This was partly due to the demand of the few diagnostic scanners available, and then there weren't enough of the specialist diagnosticians trained to read the results, inform and interpret to the surgical team how best of target their scalpels. The more precisely a surgeon could operate, the more productive they could be. 

More and better diagnostic tools have been invested in since then, and it will contribute to waiting times dropping. But there must also be sufficient staff, well paid and motivated to make this happen. There's still not enough investment in the entire NHS to bring about change at the desired pace. Let's hope that the use of AI in medical research can make a difference to diagnostics but to helping the institution reform itself by interpreting to NHS leaders what needs doing to ensure what change towards greater efficiency can be implemented without detriment to staff and patients, and without breaking the bank. That's quite a big ask. Thus a patient ponders in the waiting hours, night and day. 

A couple of the other patients who spent last night attached to drips in the upstairs IV lounge moved downstairs with me. They were likely to admitted to other wards once further tests had been done and a suitable treatment plan drawn up for each of them. Mine was simple in comparison. It was a matter of waiting for the next two stages of the medical procedure to take place. But first more checks on vital signs  then soup and sandwiches for lunch. It was gone four when I was summoned into a treatment room near my bed where the ENT team were based.

Dr Emily had inserted the packing balloon and inflated it. Dr Amanda withdrew it, then waited to see what the consequences would be. Nothing happened, so she inspected with a strong light and identified several lesions up my left nostril. Once the mucus and congealed blood had either come out on its own or been chased out with gentle suction, she was able to cauterize the tiny wounds, almost painlessly, and apply an antiseptic dissolving wound dressing that would protect the nostril from infection for several days before I needed to self apply the naseptin cream I've used before, for the next two weeks. All very straightforward. The harder part was getting myself discharged.

Temperature and pulse normal, diastolic pressure a healthy low number, systolic pressure worrryingly high. Again. This happened after my gall bladder operation too. It was hard to persuade the doctors and the nurse in charge that for me this was usual, and inevitable considering the stress of 36 hours in constant artificial light, no exercise, three hours sleep with interruptions for checks on vital signs, as well as the shock element of the procedure, and the direct application of foreign chemicals to nasal skin - one of the most sensitive surfaces of the human body. Enough to make anybody's blood pressure shoot up. In the end they agreed, and off I went, just after six to visit the hospital's cashpoint, to get some money to pay for a taxi home.

When I got into the taxi I quickly realised that I didn't have my 'blood bucket' with me. I'd parked it on top of the ATM while I withdrew money and walked away excited, without it. I leaped out of the car and ran back to the Concourse lounge to retrieve it, while the taxi driver followed me and waited just outside the entrance doors. It gave a little comic relief to the end of the whole affair. With Hallowe'en tomorrow, the discovery of a bloodstained Gower beach bucket might have been deemed a tasteless grisly prank by whoever found it. The only people to know anything different were the ENT team and a few A&E nurses who already knew and were amused by it. Anyway, untoward incident avoided!

Traffic was very heavy all the way home, unusual for a Tuesday evening, except for something which my taxista observed. On Cardiff Road there's a large house decorated for Hallowe'en as a haunted mansion. It is owned by a couple who run a company dedicated to producing special effects for TV and movies, and it is done to raise funds for a children's charity. After it was publicised by local journalists, people have come in droves to see it, parking their cars along the neighbourhood roadside making it too narrow for coaches to pass, adding hugely to traffic congestion nobody wants. Unintended consequences. The journey home was twice as long as usual and cost me more as a result. But it was interesting to see, and I was back just in time for the Archers.

I'm deeply grateful for the experience of the past thirty six hours, not only for emerging well treated from my little bloody catastrophe, but for being able to see A&E staff teams in action, working their hardest in demanding sometimes distressing circumstances. So stressful, but the warmth and good humour expressed in the way they worked together, the sensitivity and tenderness with which they related to patients, and despite being over worked, underpaid, unfairly criticised and vulnerable when anything goes wrong. Here is love in action. Where is God in the midst of all the misery and suffering? In the hands, hearts and minds of those who give their lives right there where it's most needed.`

Such as relief to be back in my own bed again tonight.

 

Bloody Catastrophe

I woke up yesterday morning after a good night's sleep, but as soon as I swung my legs out of bed, my nose started to bleed heavily. I managed to eat a little, then Clare's study group people arrived. My nose continued to bleed profusely and the mess could only be contained by keeping my head over a plastic beach bucket.

The GP surgery referred me to A&E, and Fran, one of the group members drove Clare and I to A&E at UHW. It was very busy fifty people waiting and being processed continuously.

There's now a touch screen self registration procedure to get you started with triage. Just as well Clare was with me as I had to hold the bucket to avoid making a mess. One handed typing standing up while bleeding isn't easy. I was seen three times by triage nurses taking blood tests etc before been treated by an ENT specialist after a six hours wait.

The initial remedy could't be made to work due to the bleeding, so my left nostril was 'packed'. Not with gauze and chemicals but with a slim inflatable balloon which reached up into my sinuses, uncomfortable to have inserted, but quite  effective. I was then given an intravenous drip and shown into one of two IV lounges, kitted with recliner chairs and medical support kit, enough room for four or five.

An overnight stay was necessary for the procedure to be concluded. Longer if it failed. I was feeling very congested and groggy, in shock from the impact of both nosebleed and treatment. But I reckon I was the least worse of others there on a drip, waiting for an available bed or discharge from A&E. There was nothing to do but accept and wait. Be a patient in other words. It was lovely to see nursing staff teams, so diverse, so busy, so much enjoying working together on all three shifts. So impressive, despite the stress, poor recompense, and long hours. 

I dozed away the night, punctuated by blood pressure and temperature checks, and succeded in getting three hours of proper sleep before the day shift arrived. At nine, another ENT team member arrived and said I would be transferred to the Ambulatory Day Care unit for the next and hopefully final stages of the procedure.

While I was being briefed, the breakfast trolley came and went, but a kind nurse hunted down a couple of packs of ham sandwiches and a cup of black coffee, which was such a blessing. I feel so well looked after despite the long wait to get started.

Hard going

A dull damp overcast day, such a contrast to the weekend just past. Housekeeping chores after breakfast, then making the video slide show for next week's Morning Prayer and uploading it to YouTube. I cooked a veggie chickpea dish with rice for Clare, and added cooked chicken pieces with tomato paste for myself.  

Although I had a decent night's sleep I felt slightly under the weather, as if I was having a second reaction to last Friday's covid jab - physical activity seemed to be an effort, and I felt slightly faint on times. It's as if my blood pressure was a bit low and the medication I'm taking was making it lower still. It was even worse just before lunch when my blood sugar level is low anyway. It's not the first time this has occurred, but it's not frequent. I wonder if cumulative tiredness has something to do with it. 

When I went out for a walk, aiming to cover my daily distance in daylight, I found it hard going so it took me longer than usual to do a circuit of Llandaff Fields and Thompson's Park. After supper I found myself a new sound recording app for the Chromebook which will also run on my phone. It's nice and simple to use and unlike the phone app I had before, the accompanying ads on the free to use version, don't display in such a way as to distract one's attention when using it, or obscure enough of the control button to make it hard to use.

Since Israel eliminated the key leaders of Hamas in Gaza, the Israeli war machine has turned its attention to the key leaders of Hezbollah in Lebanon, and its military infrastructure in South Lebanon. Hundreds of civilians have been killed there and residential buildings destroyed, adding to the 43,000 killed in Gaza, where so little aid has been allowed to enter that hundreds of thousands are reduced to a state of famine  and at risk of dying of disease if not malnutrition. 

In addition, an Israeli missile attack on Iran has crippled a key sector of its armaments production capacity in retaliation for an attack that rained nearly 200 missiles on Israel. 182 resident media workers reporting from inside the war zone are reported to have been killed in this year long conflict, and no reporters are allowed into the war zone. Israel has demonstrated its military power and cruel ruthlessness in wielding it, without regard for how it is regarded internationally. 

War crimes have been committed, but will there ever be accountability or justice for the multitude of victims, who have suffered not just in the past thirteen months, but down the generations since the foundation of the state of Israel? Scripture says yes there will, but it seems nobody in power takes seriously any more the verdict of divine judgement down through centuries of history. It's heart breaking. 

Valued invitation

A cold sunny day after a better night's sleep than my less than smart Fitbit tells me. It simply can't cope with reverting from summer time to GMT and stopped recording time at rest (whether awake or sleep) an hour before I woke up and looked at the time on it. I recall this happening last year on this day too, and a few other times in the year for no reason, losing 2-4 hours recording time. It fails to synchronise with the phone app too, even though it says it's bluetooth connected. 

I woke up at approximately my usual time to judge by the rising sun, now a quarter to seven instead of a quarter to eight. After an early breakfast I went for a walk in park for half an hour before church, to take advantage of the sunshine. The Sunday Park Run crowd were out on Llandaff Fields putting on some kind of running activity for children - a good hour before the Sunday morning sports training tune up. Physical activity is the new secular society substitute for Sunday School and churchgoing, I reckon.

There was no Sunday School at St Catherine's in any case today as it's half term, so there were thirty of us for the Eucharist, celebrated by Fr Rhys, as Fr Sion and Catherine are in Bologna, visiting their daughter, studying there at the University. The church hall is still disguised for use as a film set, hired out for two weeks to a TV company shooting a children's series. The back room annexe is off limits at the moment as it's filled with film set props and lighting equipment. At coffee time we were allowed a peep into the room to satisfy our curiosity.

After lunch, I was relaxing hoping for a snooze when the phone rang. It was Sir Norman Lloyd Edwards, ringing on behalf of the United Services Mess to find out if I'd be willing to officiate at the Remembrance weekend Mess dinner in two weeks time. In years past, the previous Mess secretary Tony Lewis rang me a month or so beforehand to book me in. It's a duty I've performed most years since I became Vicar of St John's, except for a few years when I was on autumn locum duty in Spain. I wondered why I'd not heard, and admitted it was possible a new Mess Chaplain had been appointed. 

Until a few years ago the Mess was a gentlemen only organisation, the exception being women on active service. The only women guests were the Mayor, Lord Lieutenant or High Sheriff. None of the three women clergy who followed me at St John's were recruited as Mess Chaplain, so I remained by default, a sort of legacy Chaplain unless this had changed and I'd not been informed. I was wondering about calling the Mess to check this out in case it had been overlooked. Coming to the night accidentally without having a Chaplain on board wouldn't be looked on favourably. Military folk follow meticulously their traditions and necessary formalities. Most may be non-religious, but respect for the status quo is part of respect for each other. Informality and comradeship still have a secure foundation in customary observance. 

Sir Norman, through his office as retiring President of the Friends of St John's was able to obtain my contact details from church rather than Mess records. It seems the new committee didn't inherit them. As he was in charge of assigning top table places, including the Chaplain and the banquet Master of Ceremonies, he spotted the omission and made the call, while I was still thinking about checking this out. I'm happy to accept for perhaps the twentieth time. It's an honour to be in the company of veterans as well as serving members of the armed forces, despite never having done so myself.

Clare was still snoozing when I went out for a walk in the afternoon sunshine. She called me an hour later, we met in the park and went to Coffee#1 for a drink before returning home before sunset, for a change. It's completely dark before six now with the sun setting at six minutes to five, and that's on a sunny day. After supper, I watched an episode of 'Lolita Lobosco', set in sunny Puglia, with some lovely romantic stories running alongside a series of dark criminal investigations. Serious, but also laced with good humour and spiced with wisdom or quotations from the Classics. It helps keep at bay the autumnal darkness we now have to live with for the next four months.

New phone for Clare

A dull cloudy day, toasted waffles for breakfast. Yesterday's covid jab is producing its reaction today, not severe, but enough to make me feel slightly groggy with muscle aches. Not enough to lay me low, but an effort to stay active throughout the day.

Clare's phone screen was displaying signs of degradation as a result of being dropped down the toilet a couple of weeks ago. We went into town and visited John Lewis' tech' department to buy her a bargain Moto G17 for a hundred quid. Then we tracked down a pair of pearl earrings she fancied for her birthday. This was the first occasion we've had to hunt for them since then. After a bowl of soup with sourdough toast for lunch, we headed for home and a snooze. 

Our neighbour across the street needed help re-setting her clocks to GMT so I went over and sorted them out. She'd just had her door lock changed to make it simpler to open, but getting used to a new routine was proving somewhat difficult, and she had to repeat it many times to get the hang of it. The perils of failing memory, sad to say.

I went out for my daily walk at five and return just after sunset. Setting up Clare's new phone after it had charged took a while, but nothing went astray in the process. Now she has to get used to the different look and feel of a new user interface, and she's not pleased about it.

After supper we watched an old episode of 'All Creatures Great and Small' and 'The Repair Shop', for lack of anything better to do. Clocks back, then bed.

Paddington in Cardiff

A sunny day with clouds but dry after rain last night and just the threat of a light shower. I was up and out of the house by eight thirty for my eighth covid job at Rookwood Hospital vaccination centre at nine. I got there in 56 minutes, slightly less time than the last walk there for the RSV jab. I took my time returning as I didn't need to be punctual returning for the rest of my breakfast. Clare was out for a McTimoney so I used the quiet time to record and edit texts I'd prepared for Thursday's Morning Prayer the week after next, and helped her make lunch when she returned.

I read a news article that stated an effigy of Paddington Bear sitting on a park bench had been installed in St John's churchyard garden. Similar images have appeared in the public realm in other cities around the country to publicise the forthcoming movie 'Paddington in Peru' due to be premiered in two weeks time. It made the news since the gardens are only open on weekdays, and not over the weekend, with the excuse of preventing anti-social behaviour. Apparently some families have complained, having made the journey especially to see and get their selfies with the bear only to find the gates under lock and key. 

In the fifteen years since the churchyard garden was renovated, it's always been difficult to secure regular opening hours for the garden, and yes there has been anti-social behaviour, day and night. Is this really an obligation of the Council to staff and pay for? Or has this been taken on by the FOR Cardiff team as part of the Cardiff Business Improvement District (BID) initiative? I don't know, but whoever is responsible has had to pull their finger out to arrange and publicise a Sunday opening time, while FOR Cardiff sees if it can find an alternative locations without the same problem arising. A nice idea, but not fully thought out.

Fifteen years ago, the redevelopment architects had a notion to commission a statue for the gardens that would symbolise the spirit of the city. This failed to materialise as the ground consecrated for burials and owned by the church. Only a memorial monument would be permissible under church law. I proposed at the time that a memorial to Cardiff's blitz victims would fit the bill, but this didn't appeal to the ambitions of the developers. Instead, a million pounds were spent on the abstract metallic edifice which stands in front of the city library, a true monument to pretentiousness.

I went into town at the end of the afternoon to take photos of the Paddington Bear effigy before St John's Gardens were locked up for the day. As Paddington is only there for publicity purposes, it's a temporary installation, not requiring legal permission from the Church in Wales. But, I can't help wondering if the Chancellor of the Diocese has been consulted about this! I had a wander around a few shops, then headed home by bus. 

After supper I watched this week's episode of 'The Chateau Murders'. It's complicated and rather dull, not what I'd call a crime thriller. 

Parking controls threatened again

Awake early posting today's YouTube link for Morning Prayer to WhatsApp, then back to sleep with the lulling sound of the news on in the background. Roger came around at ten thirty for the drive together to Port Talbot for Fr Derek Belcher's funeral. I made a navigational error coming off the M4 at Margam, and missed the turning that would take me into the Taibach district of the town, where St Theodore's is located.

As a result we went on a bypass that runs along the periphery of the steel works, no longer emitting smoke steam and sulfurous stench, all furnaces shut down, awaiting demolition and replacement by new electric arc furnaces. in a couple of years from now. The road was very quiet with little industrial traffic. It took us to Sandfields, and then we had to double back to Port Talbot on another road, and got lost in back streets before there was an opportunity to stop and consult Google Maps. By now we were close to the junction roundabout where we should have left the motorway, from which we would have been able to see Saint Theodore's rising about the neighbouring terraced streets. I dropped off Roger and hunted for a parking space in a side street, and just avoided being late. 

There were about a hundred and fifty worshippers present for a traditional Solemn Requiem High Mass, with about thirty robed clergy, including two bishops, and more clergy rearing clerical collars among the rest of the congregation. Almost everyone was wearing black, whether clerics or not. I felt quite out of place. It hadn't occurred to me to wear anything different. I have a black top coat, but rarely wear it for any reason. I recognised many of the senior clergy present, retired or still active, but not many to greet personally. I've spent too much time out of circulation in the clerical world of Llandaff diocese over the past thirty five years. I greeted Pam, Derek's widow briefly, just before we left. By that time, she must have been exhausted, receiving condolences from such a large gathering of mourners. 

It was three by the time we reached home again. Clare left lunch warming on a plate for me, not knowing exactly when I'd be back. After eating, I walked for a couple of hours, returning after sunset. There are notices posted  on lamp posts in our area about the imposition of parking permits and not for the first time. There's no consensus about this in the four streets that make up our zone. There are more cars needing a space to park than there are available spaces, but overall, the fact that some residents aren't here all week but commute is a one factor which makes a difference. 

It's rare to find it's impossible to park nearby, apart from late at night. Some latecomers park within areas delineated by yellow lines and risk getting fined if the civil parking enforcement team arrive before they'd move their cars to commute to work. In effect, few get fined, and the available space is adequate given the mobility of the user constituency. I doubt if there's been any proper data gathering on this issue recently or previously. Current churn in housing occupation and the fact that some residents get old and stop driving, or arrive and settle having chosen to live car free, are dynamic factors which need assessing every few years, in order to justify imposing parking controls where none are necessary. 

As a long standing car owning resident said to me, while I was trying to take a photo of the latest parking notification posted on a lamp post, residents have muddled through for years without needing additional  controls. The case has to be re-stated to the Council yet again, in the hope that common sense will prevail and municipal time and effort will not be wasted.

The major concern over street parking isn't to do with local residents, but the fact that people not wanting to pay for city centre parking, park a mile out, where we are, when they come into town for a match or concert in one or other of the three city centre sports stadia. This disrupts the local modus vivendi, even if it is only for four of five hours, depriving residents as a result. If this could be dealt with there's be fewer complaints about lack of parking space. As it was getting dark my efforts to get photos of the two pages of notification posted on lamp-posts turned out toe be futile. Not only were they not properly in focus, but my pictures were of the Welsh version instead of the English.

After supper, I spent the rest of the evening writing. and made an effort to get to bed early.

Not consistently smart

I was in bed just after eleven last night, fell asleep immediately and slept quite well. I was annoyed to find that my Fitbit watch failed to record the first hour's sleep altogether and refused to record the missing hour manually. This happens occasionally in a random way. The worst thing is that all the clever statistics and so called coaching advice the thing generates is based on a watch telemetry failure. Smart watch? Huh! 

I drove Clare to UHW for another eye checkup after breakfast, but couldn't stay with her. I had food bank shopping to do before the Eucharist at St Catherine's. We were six men at the service this morning. There was no coffee and chat in the hall afterwards, as it had been hired for use as a film by a S4C production company, to judge by the few scenic additions made to the hall exterior. Four of us went around the The Wardrobe coffee shop in King's Yard instead. As it was sunny we were able to sit outside and chat. On my way home I collected the veggie bag from Chapter. Clare was cooking a curry for lunch when I got back.

After we'd eaten, I started preparing the text for Morning Prayer the week after next. I've made an effort to archive texts of the reflections written and published on WhatsApp for each Thursday morning since I joined in doing this regularly when I returned from Ibiza in May 2020. I've done this in fits and starts and only once since the beginning of this year. I spent an hour copying and pasting texts into my archive file until it was up to date. 

I don't know how much longer I'll continue doing this, given there's no feedback and nobody new has offered to fill the existing gap, so others have to double up. I used to do this but seem to have less time to offer these days. Three lay and two clerical volunteers contribute, but the full time clergy don't. I think it's a legacy affair they'd rather not have to deal with, so it just drifts on with nobody willing to take the lead and ask questions about what we're doing now and why let alone whether we could be improving the offer of daily prayer from and for the parish.

I went for a walk at four, once around Thompson's Park, then across to Llandaff Fields for another circuit and a trip to the Co-op. It was nearly dark by the time I got back.

After supper I spent the whole evening writing a reflection and editing it down to the right size. Some days this task comes quick and easy, other times, like this evening, not.

Multi-tasking morning

A damp and chilly day after rain overnight. Clare went of to her study group in Penarth after breakfast and I stayed in to receive the plumber who was due to come and fix a dripping bathroom tap. Mid morning in Halifax the Muir family, friends, colleagues and former parishioners were gathering in the Parish church at Sowerby Bridge near Halifax for the funeral of Clare's cousin John, a former Vicar of the Parish. It was livestreamed on YouTube, and I watched. The service lasted an hour and twenty minutes with tributes and  an account of his family life and international ministry taking an hour. 

At the conclusion of the service Bishop Smitha Prasadam the Bishop of Huddersfield came forward from the congregation and gave the blessing. I didn't recognise her at first, but curiosity compelled me to check if I was correct. Until last year, she was Chaplain of Saint Alban's Copenhagen. It's unusual for a serving Chaplain to be recruited to the episcopate, so her ministry must be well regarded in the CofE. Her father  Sam was a priest of the Church of South India, who spent several years as a parish priest in the Rhondda, when I was new to ministry fifty years ago.

While I was watching, the plumber arrived. It turned out not to be a straightforward job, as he couldn't dismantle the tap, parts of which were so tightly jammed together that there was a risk of breaking the surrounding ceramic wash basin. The plumber called his mate to give him a hand, but neither of them could get the offending tap apart. What to do? I never liked that set of taps as they opened and shut on a quarter turn like a lever tap, opening and closing the opposite way to traditional British full turn taps. I never got used to lever taps and asked if they could be safely changed for ones I prefer since changing them was necessary.  As luck would have it, there was a spare pair of full thread taps in their van, and half an hour later the job was done.

The funeral live-stream was continuing on my Chromebook on the kitchen table. I had just started making lunch, and nearly incinerated the onions I was frying when the plumber arrived and the door needed to be answered. Everything seemed to be happening at once, but by the time Clare returned the chaos subsided and lunch was only twenty minutes late reaching the table. After lunch, I wrote some more of my current story, then we drove to our hairdressing appointment at Chris's salon in Rumney. We were on time. but he was running late, so while Clare was waiting, I walked a circuit of Parc Tredelerch enjoying the sunshine and saw a large green dragonfly above a boggy reed bed. Too fast to photograph, no idea what it was.

I decided to keep my hair long for the time being. Chris's excellent coiffure makes it easier to control and comfortable to wear loose and tied up. The sun was setting at six when we left for home, a layer of cloud on the horizon under a blue sky was tinted orange-yellow, very pretty, though it was soon gone. I still had another hour's exercise to do, and went out again after supper and the Archers. For the second evening in a row, a corner of the field behind the WJEC building was illuminated by four strong battery driven LED floodlights. As it was misty, it conveyed a somewhat sinister impression. It seems that sports training for youngsters in the park can now continue after dark, thanks to the acquisition of lights. Not so sure what the resident foxes and owls make of this disruption to their hunting time.

After my walk I spent the rest of the evening writing, until it was bed time.

Improvement

A cloudy start to the day but sunshine and mild autumnal air all afternoon. I drove Clare to an appointment at Llandough hospital after breakfast, to hear from the osteoporosis specialist how she's doing at the end of two years of daily injections. A recent bone density scan showed a further six percent improvement, that's  sixteen percent altogether. She'll go on to a six monthly injection regime from now on, with more checks en route. That's really good news. I read Morning Prayer from my phone while waiting for her in the main entrance coffee shop. On the way back I dropped her at the Post Office and got on with weekly housework chores, followed by cooking haddock for lunch. It's not something we have often, but the taste somehow reminds me of childhood in a good way, apart from the bones!

We went for a circuit of Thompson's Park together, then I went on my own for a longer circuit of Llandaff Fields and down to the Taff. A mixed age group of individuals wearing florescent jackets with the City Council logo and the word 'Volunteer' on the back, with orange litter bags and picking arms stood near the pond in Thompsons Park, being given a briefing I think. The park looked clean, but their bags seemed to be empty, so I'm not sure what was actually going on. They all left in a group, and I'm not sure where they went afterwards. Walking up the main path, I spotted one can sticking out of a bramble patch, easy enough to see and grab hold of. I retrieved it, along with two other cans and a small plastic bottle, which had lain there long enough to be embedded in the grass undergrowth. Litter annoys me so much that I don't have any peace out walking unless I take it to a bin. While I was out, I composed a birthday Haiku to send to my friend and literary advisor Diana. 

After supper, I made the video of next week's Thursday Morning Prayer, in honour of Reformation Day, commemorating Martin Luther. I started making this while we were in Tenby, and found I'd not finished the audio edit properly, so that needed sorting out before I could complete the job, absorbing an hour more time than it usually takes. Anyway, I took my last hour before bed to try and make a sketch from a photo taken from below of part of a tree canopy. The photo is deceptively simple in appearance, and hard to give more than a vague impression of its content.

Reminiscence Sunday

I switched the radio on when I got up at eight fifteen and was surprised and delighted to hear that today's Sunday Worship programme was coming from Llandaff Cathedral with Bishop Mary preaching, Jason the new Dean and his clergy colleagues contributing to a service celebrating the 'Eco-Church initiative which has been embraced by Cathedral Staff and members of all ages. Some work is being done to root out invasive species from the churchyard and replant with native trees. Large parts of the older cemetery have been left to go wild over decades. Now properly managed now this is a haven of biodiversity. 

Plans are in place to install an air source heat pump system, to replace the broken electrical underfloor heating system. This reminded me that fifteen years ago, when I was at St John's and the revenue from St James' church sale became available, I persuaded the church wardens to approach a company specialising in heat pump systems. We'd got as far as ruling out a ground source system, and had just been introduced to the idea of an air source system, which was at that time a new idea, at least to me. Sadly at that time the installation of roof top solar panels on three of the huge south facing roof surfaces available was regarded as out of the question on a Grade One listed building. I wonder if this has changed since? 

All this came to pass as I approached retirement. I didn't want to stay on until I was seventy. The thought of passing my final years in public ministry pursuing such an innovation given the bureaucratic mountain that would have to be scaled didn't seem worthwhile compared to the new horizon presented by voluntary ministry as a pensioner, which I have enjoyed since, I hoped whoever followed me would see the value of picking up on the proposition where I left off. But that didn't happen. It rarely does.

It was an overcast start to the day, with the threat of heavy rain to come. After we arrived at St Catherine's for the Eucharist the heavens opened. It stopped by the end of the service, and gutters were overflowing with water on the way home, drains blocked with uncleared fallen leaves. Fr Tristan Hughes preached on safeguarding as a Gospel value. His wife and young son came with him, also his parents. His father Berw was in St Mike's at the same time as I was and ordained a year ahead of me. At 82, he's still active in Bangor diocese where he's spent his entire ministry. How few, we reflected, are people from those days either of us are still in touch with fifty five years on.

While we were chatting, Roger came up to me and asked if I was going to Derek Belcher's funeral in Port Talbot on Thursday this week. This was how I learned of the demise of an old friend. When he was Rector of Cowbridge Team Ministry I took services in most of the eight village churches in his care when he was recovering from major surgery. Fortunately I'm free to attend the funeral Mass in St Theodore's Port Talbot this Thursday, so Roger and I will go together in our car. He was both a scholar and a pastor, with degrees in Theology and Canon Law, and served on diocesan and provincial bodies of the church in Wales. He trained as a counsellor and even set up a counselling service in the Vale, but he was plagued with ill-health for much of his later life, losing a kidney and a leg to diabetes. I learned from Angela at St German's one his home parish church, that he died of a heart attack, having been on home dialysis for many months, Making it to 74 was perhaps his last achievement. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

Amazingly I slept for an hour and three quarters after lunch, following what I thought was a good night's sleep. While I was unconscious, a strong wind from the west drove the cloud away over Offa's Dyke and left us with late afternoon sunshine for our walks in the park. Clare went out while I was asleep and we met in the park when she was on her way back for tea and cake. It was sunset when I got back, at ten past six with another haiku composed while walking. Such fun! The nights really seem to be drawing in now, and it seems even earlier if it's overcast all day, so this afternoon's late walk was a blessing. I need to make an effort to get out for exercise earlier in the day in the coming weeks.

A quiet evening after supper, writing, reflecting, remembering, appreciating all that life has given me to experience. More for good than for ill. For this too I am grateful.

Photo hunt

A dry cold sunny day today. Pancakes for breakfast, as a rather idle morning, both of us feeling tired after our journey home yesterday. Apart from a short walk to Thompson's Park for some fresh air before lunch, I started makking the dough for a batch of bread, then spent time writing, and hunting for photos taken on one of my locum visits to Mojacar, in 2016 or 17. This was prompted by reading an article about a pilgrimage camino in Spain from Orijuela to Caravaca. I recognized one photo in the article and felt sure I'd been there, but nothing more. 

After searching through a couple of SD cards archived with the name of the camera they'd been used in, thousands of photos, I found a a batch of about thirty taken in Murcia which had never been identified and placed in a separate folder. Coupled with this Microsoft insisted on a full back up material to OneDrive, which I may not have needed, and couldn't find out how to abort. It meant I could do very litttle on line as uploading a couple of gigabytes of data consumes most of the bandwidth. I was nearly a year since I last did a back up of my desktop workstation, which I use seldom nowadays, as my work habits have changed.

It was gone four by the time I went out for a long walk. I composed several more haiku while I was out in Pontcanna Fields. Clare put the loaves I started earlier into the oven while I was out. After supper I spent the evening adding more to Jack's tale, until it was time for bed. The days just seem to fly past, not enough hours to get a satisfying amount of things done.

Flood Risk

I was up, packing my case and making breakfast before Thought for the Day this morning, as there was a lot to do before leaving for home at ten. Half a dozen trips down and uphill to load the car, three trips to the bins up and downhill with recycling and general rubbish. A fair amount of exercise to clear the head before saying farewell to Tenby, after a lovely restful week's holiday, and the weather was sunny and bright for the journey. We stopped at Pont Abraham for the first coffee of the day and got home at one. After unloading the car I cooked lunch while Clare reloaded the fridge with the rest of the food we took with us. Boil in the bag mussels with rice, and a mix of green beans chard and onion cooked with ground  nutmeg and coriander. This combination worked nicely, considering it was done in haste as both of us were hungry.

It took me a while to sort out, relocate and stow away the collection of chargers and leads for cameras and laptops taken with me, then I dozed in the chair while catching up on the news. Meanwhile cloud caught up with us from the west and robbed us of a sunny evening.

I went out to buy a few groceries at Tesco's and then did a circuit of Llandaff Fields. It was alrady getting dark, but I had an idea for a sketch of Cafe Castan, so I took a photo to remind me later. After supper and the Archers podcast, second edition. It's an interesting take on the continuing story of the world's longest running soap opera. Then I made a start on a pencil sketch of the Cafe, but didn't have the energy to finish it this evening. I stopped at nine to watch thus week's episode of Chateau Murders and started on the first of the fifth series of Usedom Murders, just anounced. One in Canadian French, the other in clear North German accent.

More heavy rain is on the way, combined with high tides increasing coastal lowland flood risk. A few days ago I saw a news article about building a huge battery electrical storage plant to accompany a new data centre in what I think is an old brownfield site off Rover Way in East Cardiff in the coastal plain. 

The river Rhymney flows out into the sea through that area. Agricultural land between Cardiff and Newport is very low lying and usefully absorbs flood water. A stretch of land in the vicinity the river will be more prone to flooding if concreted over by an industrial storage site. The Rhymney already has a three metre flood protection barrier, adequate for present need, but what about decades to come with the sea level rising and more unpredictable weather? I look forward hearing what kind of discussion there'll be about this concern, when detailed planning proposals for the new era of industrial development are aired.

Lost and found again

I woke up early and posted today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp, dozed for a while longer then got up and prepared breakfast. Fog persisted until well after nightfall, then the temperature dropped and the sky cleared slowly, as there wasn't much wind. When we got up this morning the sun was shining brightly through eastward moving clouds. A promising start to the day, such a contrast to yesterday. After breakfast, Clare's daily dip in the pool. A fire alarm sounded just after she got into the water. No smell of smoke nor dramatic sound from the building so we continued. Then the alarm stopped. A man came by to reassure us it was just a test. No pasa nada.

I realised that I lost a lens cap off my Olympus Pen 7 yesterday. Looking at dates and time of photos taken with it in the past 36 hours suggest a rough search area to check later. It's so small, it may have remained lying unnoticed in a gutter. It happened to me once before on the road by the stables in Pontcanna Fields. Let's see if I am lucky a second time.

While Clare was showering and washing her hair I took the opportunity of quiet in the lounge-diner area to record and edit audio for Morning Prayer on All Hallows Eve aka Martin Luther or Reformation Day. It was time to cook lunch by the time Clare appeared declaring her hunger, so a made an impromptu pasta dish with an assortment of veggies and a can of tuna fish. It turned out better than expected at short notice.

After lunch while Clare was having a siesta, I added another page to the semi fictional story I'm writing about my Grandpa - the days when he arrives and gets his first job, as a waiter in the NYC Yacht Club. Then we walked into town and I started to retrace my steps to the places where I'd recently stopped to take photos. There were fewer of them than I thought in fact. I noticed an advertisement for a local craft fair at the De Valence Pavilion in Upper Frog Street.  It's an events venue run by the town Council, quite near to the municipal market, so we went there and saw the range of local handmade potential gift items on sale. We came away with a beautifully made pastry rolling pin with an inlaid decorative spiral in contrasting dark wood, and a weighing scale decoratively painted in barge ware style colours. 

Rather than carry it with us, I walked straight back to Bryn y More with the components of the scales in two separate plastic bags, weighing about five kilos, hoping they wouldn't break, and left them in the car. No sooner than I set out, a shower of rain began and lasted for the quarter of an hour my uphill journey took. That was the only rain we had all afternoon. I hadn't bothered to wear a top coat and was pretty damp by the time Clare and I were reunited in the market hall vestibule. We walked the length of Upper and Lower Frog Streets, then along the Esplanade above South Beach, before retracing our steps through the town centre and returning for tea. One place where I may have lost the lens cap was the Old Chapel, but it had closed by the time we passed by.

When we got back, Clare started on packing up the content of the kitchen cupboards ready to put in the car, excluding remaining supplies for supper and breakfast. We must be out by ten thirty in the morning. I looked around the apartment once more to see if there was any place I'd not checked just in case, and there was. The foggy morning I woke up, I reached for my fleece to wear over my pyjamas when I went on to the terrace to take a picture, out of interest. And the fleece pocket was where I found the lens cap. Not lost at all, only forgotten, thank heavens.

After supper, I made a sketch of one past of the harbour with the life boat stations and the hill on which the remnants of Tenby Castle's keep still stand, along with a statue of Prince Albert the Good, who is very tiny in my poor landscape. A satisfying conclusion to my artistic challenge of the week with six drawings completed over six days. Another unexpected adventure in noticing the detail of how the world around me looks and is put together. I look forward to doing more!

And now, all my kit accounted for and packed away, time for an early night to conclude and enjoyable if sometimes tiring week.

Fog

We woke up this morning to find the whole of Tenby enveloped in fog with an air temperature of 16C. Visibility about 200 yards. It's about ten years since I last recall being in this kind of weather, and that was in Nerja, where it was possible from a mile inland on higher ground to watch fog banks roll in over the sea, and then recede, emulating the movement of the waves breaking onshore. There's no wind here today, just intermittent showers of light rain. 

After breakfast I went with Clare to the pool for her daily dip. Then, after coffee I had a phone call from sister in law Ann to say she's received a notification in the post about the death of John Muir, a cousin of Clare and Eddie's. Since the death of Dorothy his wife in 2017, he's been living in an alms house in Halifax, slowly declining with Alzheimer's. The last time we saw him was in 2019 when he visited us for a weekend and we went to the opera together. In their youth they were missionaries in Zambia, and John was a Presbyterian Minister, but when he returned to the UK, he became an Anglican priest and served in rural parishes in Wakefield diocese. The death notification is probably waiting at home for us when we return. The funeral is on Tuesday next. There's not enough time to plan the 200 mile journey. Whether by car or train with several changes, it would involve an overnight stay, and be very taxing on us. We have commitments in the week as well, so attending the service, except for on-line is all that we can manage.

We walked into town for the midday Eucharist at St Mary's. It gave us an opportunity to remember John in prayer, and entrust him to God. There were about eighteen in the congregation, double the size of St Catherine's midweek service, as may be expected with a congregation of double the size on a Sunday. Fr Steve the Vicar told me that the Old Chapel ministry team was pastored by a husband and wife couple. The enterprise has gone down well in the community and he said he was impressed by what had been achieved, starting as they did from scratch.

We had lunch at the Harbwr Inn not far from the church, proudly promoting its own range of home brewed ales. I had a superior sort of hot dog and chips dish, with lamb sausages which really were spicy hot with a caramelised onion chutney, salad and a big bread roll made using strong white flour. Very tasty. Clare had red mullet fillets with new potatoes. The food on offer in Tenby is high quality, the restaurants and pubs are well maintained and interesting to look at, each in their own ways, evidence that two and a half million visitors a year earns enough in revenue to keep them looking good.

Then we had a few items of grocery shopping to buy from Tesco's and hunted streets nearby for a bakery Clare remembered seeing but couldn't remember where. I found it on Upper Frog Street, and bought a small wholemeal sourdough loaf to last the rest of our stay. Mist still swirled in the streets, lifting very little, so we walked back to Bryn y Mor, by which time we could just see the spire of St Mary's emerging out of the cloud covering the town. Beautifully atmospheric.

I needed a snooze when I got back, then I walked back to town to find Sainsbury's on the east side of town beyond the town walls, near the bus station, to buy a bottle of wine. Fog still clung to the streets and the bay, only slowly emerging as there's little or no wind to blow it away. Further east there's been torrential rain, I heard this afternoon. At least we've been spared that, and have been able to get out and walk.

For supper, I cooked canelli beans, with garlic, onions and mushrooms, with chorizo and tomato puree added to my portion, a flavoursome lift on a dank foggy day. I had a go at making a sketch based on a foggy photo taken of the harbour while I was out. It was incredibly difficult. I'd have done better to make a simple pencil sketch rather than use colours, but never mind. Finally, another episode of 'The Chateau Murders' from last Friday, then bed.

Old Chapel Tenby Initiative

Another overcast day, waking up just in time for 'Thought of the Day'. After breakfast I went with Clare to the pool for her daily dip. Yesterday evening I took photos of my recent drawings and discovered that with Google Photos editing facility it's possible to intensify the lines and to some extent the colours drawn on paper. It would take a lot longer to do this by hand, assuming I had the right quality of coloured pencils to use. Admittedly it's possible to allege this is cheating, but it's my art work, I'm free to do whatever I like with it. If I wanted to make prints this would make for a better quality image in the end. It's all part of the creative learning process after all. And great holiday fun as well.

Neither of us felt like going out this morning. We had an early lunch and then went out, with the intention of walking on South Beach, after exploring side streets behind the town wall, but there were strong gusts of wind and this deterred us from going further. We made our way back along Upper Frog Street, a name which sticks in my memory as one of my contemporaries at St Mike's lived in this exotic location when he was sent to Tenby to serve his first Curacy. My attention was caught by a church building with a hanging sign outside saying 'The Old Chapel', a Christian bookshop and coffee shop. There are several eye catching notice boards on the wall either side of the entrance ,indicating that it's still a place of worship as well, but presenting itself as a far from conventional religious building. 

We went in and were delighted to discover a welcoming colourful decorated interior, whose south wall is lined with bookshelves, and other walls are lined with a variety of posters, banners and bric a brac. Near the door is a counter laden with delicious looking cakes, serving coffee and tea. The floor space is given over to sofas and armchairs in circles, like a collection of colourful comfortable domestic sitting rooms, arranged for relaxing and conversation. Above this warm and welcoming place of hospitality is a worship space, where a communion service is held on a Sunday morning and a preaching service in the evening, plus a ministry to children and bible classes, branded as 'The Upper Room'. 

A community of missionary entrepreneurs running this initiative describes itself thus: "We are a non-denominational, independent gathering of evangelical Christian believers who have received grace from God, and who aim to show grace to one another." Who they are and where they come from is another story to be discovered another time. I learned from chatting to a few people that the chapel was originally sold on for use as a children's soft play centre. When this didn't work out, it was sold to a small group of believers who wanted to reclaim its Christian identity, but in a fresh imaginative way. 

Whoever had the vision certainly has design and marketing skill to place at the service of the Gospel. This is such a lovely people friendly place. Volunteers are a mixture of believers and non-disciples of all ages. Apart from worship, teaching and hospitality, there's a ministry to children and a food bank operating at Old Chapel. Such a refreshing and engaging offer of Christian service, not bound by historical institutionalised norms but by desire to be authentic and creatively free according the the values of early Christian fellowship and mission.

As an Anglican missionary priest, with rare exceptions, I dedicated my life in ministry to work within an historic church in an effort to reform and renew its offer to the world. It doesn't seem to have worked, but I still don't believe it can be dispensed with. Its witness to stability, orthodox doctrine with high standards of disciplined critical thinking about the meaning, purpose and value of life together as human beings on planet earth, thanks to the teaching and self sacrificial life of Jesus of Nazareth, are indispensable as far as I'm concerned even if its institutions leave much to be desired. The Gospel message of Jesus offers space to return to biblical essentials and re-think in creative ways the way the call to faith in God is made. 

In the beginning the church was no more than a collection of self supporting groups sharing a new found faith in God. The Apostles helped these groups to network with one another and develop shared teaching and values, and a heritage of organisational structures evolved from those simple beginnings, adapting to different cultures as it developed. But this has not been the only way in which Christian community and organisation has developed. 

From early on there were independent thinking groups regarded as sectarian, heretical, toxic. Monastic and missionary communities developed with a life of their own without becoming disconnected from the mainstream of institutional life. In reality, the church evolved into an eco-system of communities sharing similar values and purpose. Not always good at recognising each other's authenticity however. 20th century ecumenism encouraged Christian groups to think differently about each other. Unity now doesn't mean uniformity, but demands respect and celebrating diversity. And how lovely it is to have come across one local creative expression of church in mission to rejoice in, not simply more of the same in disguise.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor after our visit, as Clare was feeling out of sorts. I needed to walk further, so I went in the opposite direction to the junction where we turned into the road where our apartment is located, then turned left and went downhill to reach the town centre by another route, making a circuit of a couple of miles to bring me back to where I started. I now have a better sense of the town's overall layout as a result.

After supper I made another sketch based on a photo I took of the view from up the hill behind Bryn y Mor with Caldey Island  in the distance. It wasn't easy are there was too much dark green in the scene and it was hard to emulate with the pencils I have to work with. But never mind, I enjoyed  making the effort again. First I must build confidence in having a go at a subject, regardless of how difficult it might be with so little technique to rely on. You can learn by doing, and accept with gratitude any advice you get along the way. I remember grammar school art classes, and learning to resent a teacher who was only interested in the few who had a flare for it and were quick learners. It was discouraging to have ones efforts ignored and never to receive comment, favourable or otherwise. It put me off doing any kind of visual art until I was old enough to take an interest in photography, thanks to my sister June's passion for it. In latter years I have spent hours scanning negatives and slides, building a digital library of lifetime's worth of her holiday pictures before she bought a digital camera. 

After an extra long walk yesterday, quite tired today, so early bed.

Fish fresh from the quay

A good long night's sleep but waking up to light rain and low cloud. Thankfully the sea reflects more light than any urban landscape, so it's not nearly as gloomy. As 'Bryn y Mor' has its own swimming pool, Clare booked herself a slot for herself at ten, after breakfast.  Not that she's allowed to exercise for several weeks apart from walking after her eye operation, but she can walk around in the water for the variety of muscle activity to mitigate the deterioration that comes with not being able to do vigorous exercise. Having said that, we walked seven miles yesterday, with no ill effect. The pool is in a modern annexe to the building with glass walls, and a sauna. It's uniformly four feet deep and twenty five feet long. Not an athlete's pool, but just right for old people and children learning to swim. I went with her and sat beside the pool and read the news on my phone. Half an hour was enough to start with, so a slot for each of the three days we have left was booked before we returned for coffee.

We walked into town and climbed up on to the promontory overlooking the harbour, where there's a statue of Prince Albert the Good as it says on the base, Queen Victoria's Consort. There's a great view from there of St Catherine's Island and Caldey Island, as well as the full extent of North Beach and Carmarthen Bay. It's got the town museum and the old Coastguard's house too. A lovely place to take photos too. We went to the fishmonger's small shop above the quary, with every kind of fresh fish caught in the area on display and labelled colourfully with the prices. 

Clare bought a couple of Dab fillets and a couple of pieces of sewin - sea trout fished near the river mouths along this coast. The back to Bryn y Mor for lunch: rice and veg with the Dab fillets. They are like a small version plaice, light and delicate, needing nothing added for just about any herb or garlic would spoil the taste. You'd really need a lot of them to make a full meal, but it was lovely to try something neither of us have had before. It's been an age since either of us have had trout, let alone sea trout, but that's for tomorrow.

Clare had a snooze while I uploaded and edited the photos I'd taken, then we went for a walk uphill on the old Amroth Road which runs under a canopy of trees and lined with hedges, parallel to the path into the cemetery. It then continues in a straight up to the top, in a gently winding way until it joins a newer metalled road at a bend. Next to the bend a new housing estate of luxury dwellings, perhaps on a piece of farmland sold for housing development to finance the family business. Who knows? It was a stiff climb but rewarding for its hidden beauty.

After supper, I took one of the photos from earlier in the day and made an attempt to draw it.The detail was even harder to reproduce than in the picture I drew yesterday, but it was great fun just to try. Then I got around to watching the final forty minutes of 'Bordertown' which had its happy resolve, but then an inconclusive ending, begging the question of whether there's another series in the pipeline. It became hard to follow in the end as there were several sets of complex relationships connecting different people to the perpetrator of several murders, requiring the viewer to remember a lot of strange names and their context, a story of who was who among the victims. Hard going with too much time dwelling on the sleuth in charge pondering with a puzzled vacant look on his face. 

Tenby's own brew

Colder and cloudy for most of the day, but no rain. I woke up to another nosebleed in the night with blood slowly trickling down the back of my throat, so I was able to get to the bathroom without making a mess everywhere. A repeat of last Monday. I don't understand what triggers this, but it might be writing late in the day, and yesterday I spent extra time drawing, lots pf 'brain' work with not enough physical activity to balance. These bursts don't last as long as they used to as my diastolic blood pressure is averagely lower nowadays, but the systolic pressure does go up with effort, and prolonged concentration. I may get tired, but not necessarily relaxed enough to mitigate the effects of too much 'brain' work.

After breakfast we walked to St Mary's for the 10.00am Eucharist. It was pleasing to join a congregation of over seventy, including a choir of twenty, which sang a couple of anthems very nicely plus two clergy and a lay reader, who preached. It's a lovely church with three aisles. The high altar is elevated up twelve steps, and the Vicar Fr Steve Brett faced eastwards. It made sense in that physical setting. Everything was well ordered and harmonious. Just what a Parish Liturgy should be. When he greeted us after the service, he asked my first name and his eyes lit up when he pronounced my surname. "I thought I recognised you!" He said. I visited St John's when you were Vicar there." I think that was before he was ordained. What a unexpected surprise now that I'm getting to the age where I reckon few people remember me in the church apart from those in churches I have ministered to. Anyway we'll meet again for a chat after the Wednesday Midday Eucharist.

We had two hours to squander before our lunch date at the Hope and Anchor, most of wandering around parts of the old town, a half hour spent over an expensive coffee, a half hour in the quayside chapel dedicated to St Julian the Hospitaller, patron saint of ferrymen, innkeepers and circus artists before we arrived on time for lunch, only to discover that lobster wasn't on the lunchtime menu. And lobster was to be Clare's special treat. So we re-booked for supper with lobster at six. 

A third of the way back Clare realised she's lost a ring she was wearing, most likely in the toilet, so we went back to look for it, but to no avail. Sad, because it was one she made for herself. When we got back she had a light snack and then a siesta. I cooked Canelli beans with onion, tomato and chunks of chorizo, as I was feeling really hungry. With a couple of slices of home mead bread this was enough to keep me going until supper time. I then slept for an hour and a half, making up for what I missed last night. The 'Hope and Anchor' was far less crowded at six. Clare had half a lobster, I had a gammon steak with pineapple, salad and pembrokeshire new potatoes, washed down with a pint of Tenby Best Bitter, brewed somewhere within the very town itself. Nice and malty, a good ale very locally sourced!

We got back just before eight, and I made another attempt to draw a view of the end of South Beach of which I had taken a photo earlier, something straightforward I thought, until I realised it wasn't. It was a challenge, but worth the effort for three quarters of an hour, before writing this and making proper time to decompress before going to bed...

Back to the drawing

A blue sky sunny day to wake up to with the added backdrop of the sea behind the town below us. After breakfast we walked down into the old town and explored shops and the main street in which St Mary's Parish church the jewel in the crown. It's one of Wales's largest parish churches with a 152ft spire. It was built between the 13th and 15th centuries, beautifully designed to produce a well lit interior, noticeable on a sunny day. We'll be here again for the Eucharist tomorrow morning. 

There's a delightful market hall on the same street with a superb organic wholefood shop at the main entrance in addition to the range of craft stalls including one that sells a variety of unusual jams and chutneys. At some stage, the hall roof has been renovated to admit as much light as possible and a light coloured wooden panelling ceiling surround adds to the interior brightness. It's a venerable old trading space which breathes variety and colour, a credit to its conservators. I had a chat with the man running the wholefood shop and expressed my delight at finding such an excellent retail offer, better than Beanfreaks, in fact. He seemed pleased to get such positive feedback.

When we started thinking about returning for lunch, we were standing outside a pub called 'The Hope and Anchor' opposite the house where Admiral Lord Nelson is said to have stayed when off duty I suppose, when his fleet was anchored in Milford Haven eighteen miles away by road, but probably quicker by boat two hundred years ago. The pub was busy, so Clare suggested lunch there tomorrow after church, and we booked a table. A lobster treat for her, hopefully. Heaven knows what for me, until I see the menu.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor and had sea bass for lunch. The, while Clare was having a siesta I sat in the sun outside and made a couple of efforts to sketch the most interesting part of the townscape that I could see in the distance. It's the first time I've done this since the turn of the century, I think. Challenging, but also satisfying. Then we walked down the hill to the place where the footpath to Amroth starts. It goes up the hill alongside a municipal cemetery dating back to the early 19th century. The old cemetery chapel has been converted into a dwelling. Some of the older monuments still remain, others have been laid flat or demolished, but the higher up the hill you go the graves start to be dated in the 20th century. One family grave had been reopened a few months ago for a 21st century burial. 

The older sections reveal an interesting array of names and professions of Parish residents. Many non-local people buried here were military men and their families retired from serving with colonial forces. This helps explain why there are so many fine residential buildings in the area above the harbour adjacent to the medieval town walls. In addition there are occasional tombstones of men from both World Wars. At the top end, there's a path through a boundary hedge to an all new section, with a garden area for cremated remains and a big area of uniform sized tombstones in black marble. Some parts of the older section are no longer fully maintained, where there are no longer relatives to visit or help with upkeep. These are now overgrown and provide a refuge for wildlife. Who could possibly object?

Clare want to return and recover from the half mile hill climb. I ventured further into town, to rediscover the area inside the medieval walls. It's been mostly taken over by restaurants, pubs, clubs and takeaways, and the town's young people and visitors were turning out in force as evening was approaching, for a night of festive fun and leisure. I turned for home and arrived just as the sun reached the horizon. Earlier the sky clouded over and there were a few light showers of rain but it didn't last long. As the clouds broke up, they turned pick in the sight of the setting sun. When I took a photo the waxing gibbous moon stood right over the spire of St Mary's church. A wond'rous sight.

Supper, then some writing, and then more 'Bordertown' to finish the day.

On holiday in Tenby

Nice to wake up to sunshine on a day when we're travelling westbound. Kath is even further west than we will be in Tenby. She flew to Dublin yesterday for a conference in Galway for those working with Early Years children in the Arts, and was travelling by coach to her destination into the setting sun, as we were having supper. 

After breakfast, a morning spent finding things and packing what I need to take with me - equipment and clothes. Clare started two days ago on personal baggage and food for the week, as we're self catering. It took us all morning to pack the car. Instead of taking a picnic we had lunch at home and left at one thirty. With one stop at Pont Abraham, we made it to Tenby and 'Bryn y Mor', our holiday apartment by four fifteen. It's spacious, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms on the ground floor of a four storey mansion, probably Edwardian, set on a hill, facing the sea, a mile from the town centre, facing south, so the terrace outside the lounge cum kitchen-diner benefits from sunshine most of the day.

The down side was unloading the car. Six trips up to the terrace from the assigned parking place. Aerobic exercise after nearly three hours driving! The other down side was the absence of toilet paper, with no BYO alert in the booking material. I left Clare to unpack food supplies, and walked a mile down the main  road to find the nearest shops, just before closing time at five. Tenby is far less busy at this time of year so there's less need to stay open late. It gets two and a half million visitors a year, and needs recovery time off-season. Not only did I acquire toilet paper, but a sketch pad and a couple of black pencils, as I propose to do some sketching while I'm here, and with this in mind, packed some coloured pencils, secreted in the bottom draw of my study.

While I was searching for an only sketch pad with unused sheets in it, I looked at a file folder of drawing made twenty five years ago, before I became obsessed with digital photography. I was surprised to find how many drawings I did, mostly in the years we were in Geneva, not only in Haute Savoie, but Greece and Ty Mawr convent. I'm certainly not tired of photography, but long to do something different, ring the changes a bit, and definitely develop better drawing technique. We'll see.

After supper, I watched another couple of episodes of 'Bordertown'. It's interesting in that it portrays the lead investigators in a serious crimes squad working across the Finnish Russian border as high functioning autistic, whose reasoning process is informed by his visual memory and attention to detail. It's very dark stuff, showing the really sordid side of organised crime and its dalliance with legitimate business. 

At first I was puzzled by the manner of storytelling in this series, in which the portrayal of the dramatic conclusion was compressed into a series of video vignettes in the last few minutes with only glimpses of violence and happy reunions after a rescue. Interestingly, this minimises the melodramatic character of unfolding events and emphasises the story told of an investigation with an unusual team of investigators. It's the first time I've really noticed this in crimmies I've watched over recent years. 

Raid on Boots the Chemist

I woke up to a cold dry cloudy day, posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp at half past seven, listened to 'Thought for the Day', and didn't drop off to sleep again, so got up and made breakfast. Clare went into town later, and I went to Boots again to retrieve the rest of her ordered prescription. Again the pharmacy was busy and I was told I had to wait half an hour. It was more like an hour and a half, just before one when the counter closes for an hour at lunchtime, that I learned the prescription had been made up and ready to take away. As well as having supply chain problems and 'flu jab bookings at this time of year, this branch is seriously under-staffed. And in more ways than one.

While I was waiting a man came into the aisle of shelves at one end of which I was sitting. He walked up and down and I thought he was about to talk out again when he discarded his rucksack, have extracted a large 'bag for life' from it, then walked back up the aisle until he was standing at a shelf a metre away from me, with a large display of packets of nicotine chewing gum, which he then proceeded to empty into the bag. Then he moved swiftly back down the aisle and started on another shelf, when the shop's alarm began to sound and then he ran out. With so many customers, the staff, mostly women, were slow to react. One young man noticed, attempted to block his path, then thought better of it, and all this was going on right in front of my eyes. Having been sat down waiting so long to be served I was in a stupor. It happened so fast and so boldly I had difficulty believing what I was witnessing and didn't react. A surreal experience.

The pharmacist who handed me Clare's medication pack said this happens a few times every day, but more so when there's no security guard on duty. Staff are instructed not to intervene. Not even a security guard has to risk exposure to violence. If they are strong enough to tackle or detain a thief physically they can be at risk of an assault allegation by the offender. Shoplifting both spontaneous and done to order by criminal gangs is now an epidemic nationwide. It's disturbing to think that it's driven not so much by poverty or hunger, but by the desperate cravings of alcohol and drug dependent individuals.

As soon as I reached home, much later than expected, I started cooking lunch. Clare got home late as there was a long gap between buses, so it was ready by the time she arrived. When we'd eaten I completed an article about the phenomenon of Marian apparitions, their popular influence over the centuries, how they relate to times of crisis or profound change, and their occurrence among the poor and unlettered at the margins of church life, rather than at the heart of its institutions. Then I went out for a walk which took me to Aldi's on Western Avenue to buy some wine and a few food items to take with us to Tenby tomorrow.

At supper time a much publicised episode of 'The Archers' at which miscreant George Grundy is in court for sentencing, having been charged with dangerous driving and perverting the course of justice. He gets two years in prison, which seems about right and may be released on license after sixteen months. It seems about right to me, but I think an even better lawyer might have made a mitigation plea on the grounds of accident trauma triggering the immature impulse to cover up his errors of judgement, as this has happened on previous occasions when he's made a mistake or done something wrong of a less serious nature. 

In jail he's not going to learn what he needs to amend his behaviour. As an immature late adolescent held in a male prison rather than a young offenders institution, he's at risk of becoming a hardened criminal instead. I look forward to the debate that arises from this piece of socially targeted drama, at a time when British prisons are in crisis and penal reform hindered by inadequate funding. After this, I spent the rest of the evening watching two more episodes of 'Bordertown'. More about organised crime and designer drugs and the chaos these unleash among the young.

On duty at St John's

A dry day, with sun occasionally piercing the cloud. Aware that I'd be back late for lunch, I started cooking a tomato sugo after breakfast to go with chicken pieces cooked earlier in the week. I went to St Catherine's to pick up keys from Fr Sion before the service for the St John's midday Eucharist. It's three months since I last took a service there, but I had no problem preparing the altar as nothing has changed in the sacristy arrangements. There were six of us today, as three of the regulars were away. 

On the way home I collected the veg bag from Chapter. The bags are stored in a large wooden chest in the courtyard. Recently a small chest has appeared next to it, but I had no desire to look what was inside it until today as our bag was always to be found in the main chest. But not today. Having inspected the bag labels in the larger chest twice without success, I wondered if we'd been forgotten, until I inspected the other one and found ours, much to my relief.

It was gone one by the time I reached home. Clare had eaten earlier, so I finished cooking the sauce and ate it with the rice she had cooked. Much to my surprise, although I slept well last night, I slept deeply for an hour and a quarter when I sat down to read my news feed after lunch. It's not that I felt tired, but I recall the same happening in times past after celebrating the Eucharist. I wonder if it reflects a need for the kind of space and quiet to absorb the experience of celebrating Mass, as it's rarely possible immediately after the service when the priest is expected to be outgoing and chat with members of the congregation.

I woke up refreshed and went on an errand to Boots to collect part of a prescription she'd been told would be ready after lunch when a fresh delivery of supplies came in. Well it wasn't. The delivery had arrived but not been checked or unpacked. Come back tomorrow. A wasted journey. Then I walked up to Sion's house near Llandaff Cathedral to return St John's keys. I spotted Clare walking around the periphery of the field about 200 yards ahead of me, and intercepted her near the far end, much to her surprise. A pause for a kiss, then we went our separate ways, and returned home within minutes of each other half an hour later.

After supper, I completed the Morning Prayer video slideshow of the recording I made yesterday and uploaded to YouTube. Then I watched some more of the 'Bordertown' series I started yesterday until it was time for bed.

Family reunion?

Another day of clouds, sunshine and periodic showers. Last night I succeeded in getting to bed an hour earlier than usual and benefited from an hour's extra sleep. Must do that again! Clare's study group arrived after breakfast. I prepared another Morning Prayer for the week after next, then went for a walk in the rain in Thompson's Park. 

The mother moorhen and three growing chicks were joined by the (presumed) father, dabbling about in the waterlogged grass verge on the edge of the pond. Before I could get them all in the camera viewfinder together, they slipped away to a shaded corner of the pond where they were hardly visible, so I missed the rare family shot. It's the first time since early summer that the male has showed up with the rest of them, leaving the mother to raise the brood on her own. I heard the screech of a parakeet in the trees in two different places, and eventually saw one in flight, but out of snapshot range. I still don't know if there's more than one of them out there.

Clare's study group members were just leaving when I got back, and she was already forging ahead with cooking sea bass lunch. While she was having a siesta afterwards, and the house was quiet, I recorded the text prepared earlier, then quickly wrote an accompanying reflection, recorded that and edited it. It was five by the time I got out of the house, again in the rain, and walked for an hour and a half under a brolly, listening to the evening news on my phone. It's quite a good use of time actually, walking and listening with few interruptions. Fortunately the rain was mostly in light showers, so I didn't get soaked.

After supper I found a new Finnish crimmie about the dark side of life in a Finnish town bordering on Russia and started watching. It's about organised crime the sexploitation of young women and trafficking. I suspect the story reflects how things were before the outbreak of Putin's war against Ukraine, prompting Finland to join NATO. Since then the frontier zone has become a different place altogether I reckon.

Time wasting digital hassles

I paid the price for spending so much time writing and not having a little walk to still my brain before turning in for the night. I woke up after an hour's sleep and felt blood trickling down my throat, rather than out of my nose.. I got out of bed, keeping my head back and managed not to get blood everywhere on my way to the bathroom. The bleed didn't last very long fortunately, not as they did when my blood pressure was much higher, but it came as a shock, and left me feeling odd when I finally got up just before nine. It's frustrating, having a creative surge late in the day and being reluctant to stop, and relax. I'm tired enough to fall asleep soundly, but am not really grounded. That's what happens if I work too late. I'm really not as disciplined as I need to be.

I was slow tackling domestic tasks after breakfast, and was interrupted by a wretched computer issue that needed diagnosing. Kath has sent the family a OneDrive link to a Christmas food planning spreadsheet for our annual celebration - this year in a holiday rental barn conversion near Presteigne, away from it all. All seven of us under one roof, and the nearest shops several miles away, so we have to take everything that we need with us. Hence the spreadsheet.

Clare, however couldn't open it, although the first time the link was used it loaded fine and accepted some additions to the list. The second time, it demanded a Microsoft account sign-in. This is something which she had a long time ago, but no record of it in her comprehensive little password book, nor in her Google Chrome password wallet. She's been a Linux user for the past five years or so, and the browser has never had reason to log into her ancient account. So it has to be set up again. I thought it might be possible from her tablet where she uses Skype, a Microsoft product nowadays. That was when I found the tablet attached to the internet normally for ten seconds and then disconnected, as if the device, once identified was being disabled for some reason by the server. Very strange.

Later on I told Kath what had happened and she told me that Anto had experienced a similar problem, and that she'd had similar problems with other OneDrive shared links. She sent another link to the shared Christmas spreadsheet, which I tested on Clare's computer, and it worked just fine. Both original and revised links work fine on my computer although they are quite different to look at. Even stranger. Is there something Microsoft isn't telling us? 

To add one digital annoyance to another Clare Samsung Galaxy Tab A7 wouldn't hold an internet connection for more than a few seconds despite restarting the table and the router. No idea why. The device first came out five years ago and she's had it just three years this month. It seems on average they last about five years. But when I switched on again this evening to check when the file system was first set up after purchase, it did attach to the internet. It's odd to say the least, and time wasting.

For lunch I cooked myself some chicken with tomato and onion and Clare had fish to go with veggies she prepared. As it was a sunny afternoon, she decided to walk to UHW for this week's eye appointment and return by taxi. I went out to walk a little later, without a brolly or a top coat, as it was quite mild, but got caught in a brief shower mid way. There was no sign of this little cloudburst on the so called AccuWeather app I rely on, but at least it didn't last long. She had to wait a long time for her checkup with the eye surgery, and we arrived home within minutes of each other.

In the park, saw a tiny brown bird with a distinctive pattern on its back standing on the foot path ahead of me. I slowed down, getting my camera out, as the creature remained standing still. I took one photo and stepped past it, and as I went to take a second photo it ran into the bramble bush it was next to. Such a delight, and intriguing. After supper I went on-line in search of photos to compare with the one I took. It was a Dunnock.  Only the second time I've seen one. The last time was only a fleeting glimpse in Oxwich Bay woodland.

Another thing I noticed recently was the 'For Sale' sign on the recently refurbished house around the corner in Llanfair Road, asking price £600k, is a now marked Sold after just a month on the market. Last year the house next door to us went for £500k, and it has four bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms and loft conversion, as opposed to three. Demand for housing around here has gone crazy this year and prices are reaching heights unimagined. Slowly the number of houses in this street on offer for rent is increasing and a few converted into apartments. As the older generation moves on, these houses become no longer entry level family homes, but dwellings for well off childless couples or individuals. A house with an infant or toddler is a rarity. Children don't play in the street any more.

I've not done much today, nor felt like doing much. Last night's unusual nose bleed was a shock to the system. Early bed tonight.

Wet Sunday writing

Overcast again today, and with the lengthening of the nights, if I do wake up early I'm more likely to doze off and wake up properly even later. Quarter past nine this morning but I felt better for a full eight and a quarter hours of sleep. Days when I feel extremely tired for no obvious reason are those following a run of seven hours sleep. I don't think the fit-bit is all that accurate when it comes to evaluating quality of sleep, but generally speaking my sleep quality doesn't seem to vary a great deal. I think the extra tiredness is due a need for more physical rest and relaxation than I get, given that I'm fairly physically and mentally active much of the time. There's too much to get done to stay inert for long. I have slowed down, but need more rest in order to avoid feeling drained and physically stiff all over. Navigating old age isn't as easy as it seems, post three score years and ten.

Clare also woke up very late this morning and couldn't summon enough energy to get ready in time to go to church, so she stayed behind while I went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. I caught up on food-bank shopping at the Co-op after the service and took a bagful back to church, aware that Jean was loading her car with offerings to deliver to the depot in Splott tomorrow. Lots more donations expected next week on Harvest Festival Sunday, and hopefully another car load. The need isn't diminishing. The cost of food and instability in basic energy costs, are hitting many people on fixed incomes really hard.

After lunch it rained persistently for the next four hours. Clare went out for a walk in the wet. I couldn't face it, so I stayed in and added to my story all afternoon until the rain slowed to a drizzle. Once I was out in the park, the rain stopped and the afternoon sun shone brightly. Rain dripping from the trees glistened in an enchanting way the fields looked fresh and bright, such a contrast to earlier in the day.

I continued writing after supper right through the evening until it was bed time, pleased with the progress I made. I didn't complete my daily walk target however, having been too caught up in writing to remember to go out for a breath of fresh air before bed. It's the first time I've done that in ages.