Laid low for the New Year

Another night struggling with fluey aches and pains. My Fitbit told me I was awake more than I actually was and told me I was overdoing it and should rest. All based on faulty data collection, heaven knows why. After a shower, a rendezvous with Rufus at Coffee #1. It was good to see him in good form, enjoying his job as Missions to Seafarers Chaplain for Wales. It's a classic industrial missioner's role, and it's sad to observe how little serious interest is taken in this key secular pastorate by the hierarchy of the Church in Wales. It was much the same fifty years ago once it became hard to secure funding. It's just as well that the work is well resourced by its major CofE charitable foundation.

Clare was in town when I got home. I cooked lunch for us and once we'd eaten I could do no more, having run out of energy. I sat in my armchair, ached and dozed for the rest of the afternoon and evening. There's going to be no early bounce back from this. I've not had a high temperature as I usually do with 'flu, and feel as if I've been poisoned. Accepting defeat, I went to bed at eight. A miserable end to a miserable year, lightened only by being discovered by my niece Veronica via Ancestry.com. My only wish for the New Year is that my sister June will be healed of the trauma of being forced to part with her, soon after birth, and feel able to speak with Veronica, meet her and tell her own story.

The dreaded lurgy

I woke up early in time to be ready to greet an OpenReach engineer at eight, just in case the appointment cancellation visit order had not been received a second time. I took screenshots of relevant sections of the Direct Message text and had them ready to present on my Chromebook in case I needed to prove it wasn't my fault if there was a communication failure.  Once bitten twice shy. Thankfully there was no knock at the door in the time window between eight and one.

Despite being in bed by eleven and getting up at eight, I only got seven hours disturbed sleep and felt awful when I got up, with painful muscles and joints, and a hangover type headache, although I drank no alcohol since Saturday. Very similar to how Anto was over Christmas. I may have caught this bug from him. It was a relief that no OpenReach engineer showed up. I slept soundly in my armchair for an hour after saying Morning Prayer, but with aches and pains in my hand, doing my share of the housework was a struggle.

Clare cooked pasta for lunch, and I languished in my armchair, summoning up the effort to go out for some fresh air. On the brighter side, I received a message from Fr Dean asking me if I could take Sunday Masses in Grangetown Parish for the next three weeks, and then a message from Fr Jarel asking if I could cover St German's Sunday Mass for him in four weeks time. That was certainly a morale booster, giving me things to look forward to in January. On the whole, I have been content to worship with parishioners and not lead services. I miss preaching and the process of preparation to preach much more. But not being able to lead worship at Christmastime, with Christmas Day Communion out of reach without missing the family's early festivities left me feeling rather desolate. Thanks to Fr Dean's invitation I get to celebrate Mass on the 12th day of Christmas. A consolation from heaven!

I walked in the park for a couple of hours and got home at sunset, aching and short of my target steps, but I really don't care that much. 

Clare's wireless mouse died. I thought there was a spare among my odds and ends, but found this too was dead, not disposed of. Lucky they don't stink. Fortunately, I have a spare corded USB mouse still working, so crisis averted.

Recovering from this dreaded lurgy take its time and won't be hurried. Bed early. I hope I can make myself more comfortable tonight.

Non-communication

Such a relief to wake up under a blue sky today. I got up and ate breakfast listening to Sunday Worship on Radio Four, celebrated the restoration of Notre Dame de Paris, and its spiritual significance for the city and for the wider world. The cathedral choir sang French Christmas carols and anthems, and the service was led by Dr Isobel Hamley, Principal of Ridley Hall Cambridge, an Anglican born and bred in France. An unusual broadcast service for the first Sunday of Christmastide.

I was in the bathroom getting ready for church when I received a text message notification from OpenReach reminding me of tomorrow's engineer visit, the one that I got confirmation of cancellation on Friday afternoon. I contacted TalkTalk again via Direct Message and went through the same 40 minute cancellation procedure as yesterday. The call handler confirmed actions were taken yesterday but there was a 'technical issue' at their end which meant the message had not been sent or maybe wasn't delivered. 

I received a second confirmation of cancellation from TalkTalk, having requested they ask OpenReach to send me confirmation of cancellation. I also registered a complaint about this procedural failure and was only just in time for church, having had to conclude the message exchange on my way into church. At least I have an audit trail if an engineer turns up tomorrow, and OpenReach decide to penalise me for a call out for which I requested cancellation - screenshots of the relevant Direct Messages and acknowledgement of my complaint.

I slipped into St Catherine's, drained by the effort of all that concentration on the screen keyboard, and with a sore wrist. There were just thirty of us for the Eucharist. I was grateful to receive Communion after what was for me the disappointment of Christmas Day without Communion. We had a delightful family time at Black Patch, though cycling through all the festive season popular songs, and a few carols crooned sentimentally was just a reminder that my sense of duty and devotion to the liturgy of the church isn't shared by my family any more, if it ever was. 

I was reminded of a similar sense of estrangement in church when I heard there will be no Eucharist on New Year's Day, just as there was no Eucharist on St John's Day. It's one of Canton churches Patronal Festivals. My offer to cover services so parish clergy can take a break was not taken up. There seems to be an unspoken change of policy about public worship offered by the Parish. Retired clergy have no say in these affairs unless they are asked personally what they need, and what they have to give. Complaining or politicking over issues of change does nothing to support church leadership, it's just an embarrassing unwelcome nuisance. If I'm angry, resentful, or disappointed about anything, it's up to me to find a way to deal with my heavy heart.

I was in no mood to stop for a drink after the service. We did some shopping at the Co-op, then went home for lunch. I went for a long walk in the park afterwards, checked the verges for snowdrops - just in eight days there are many more appearing and about to flower, but none of them are as large as the plant near the campsite. A single daffodil with a developed bud on it has appeared on the verge near the stables. I got home just before sunset.

There was nothing of interest to watch on telly after supper. I said Evening Prayer then fell asleep in the chair until bed time, though I didn't feel especially tired. This Day of Rest seems to have drained rather than refreshed me.

First snowdrops

We both slept long and woke up late. There's widespread fog around the country, but none in Cardiff, just low thick cloud all day. I worked on making next Thursday's Morning Prayer video and uploading it to YouTube until lunchtime. The last of the cold turkey with hot veg for a late lunch, after a short walk in the Llandaff Fields before eating. We went out again and walked in Pontcanna Fields later in the afternoon. In the grass verge by the entrance to the campsite, a single clump of large snowdrops, flourishes, unusually early. I recall seeing this in other years at this spot. It may be from a cultivated variety planted some time ago. The wild ones in the verge above the riding school are smaller and widespread. I'll go up there and take a look tomorrow.

We were going to get a drink in the campsite cafe but as it was nearly sunset, it was already closed, so we went to Coffee #1 instead. After walking home with Clare, I continued walking to Thompson's Park and did a circuit there to complete my step quota for the day. After supper I browsed BBC iPlayer to find something to watch and came up with the 'Beyond Paradise' Christmas Special  and then a double episode story from the 'Waking the Dead' cold case series which started back in 2000 and ran for eleven years. Interesting to see the forensic technologies in use at that time, in the heyday of Nokia mobiles before smartphones.

Foggy journey home

I was in bed by half past nine last night, and awake by six fifteen this morning, unusually early for me. A thin sliver of the waning crescent moon had just appeared in the sky above the hill beyond the cowshed. The fields below the house and across to the horizon, south and west of us were shrouded in mist, and as the air temperature was one degree, there was a layer or frost on the grass and both our cars, thick enough to need scraping off. I unloaded the dishwasher and laid the breakfast and said Morning Prayer before the others began to surface. Thanks to a surfeit of bacon some of us had bacon butties for breakfast along with cereals and fruit, toast and jam. A hearty breakfast for a cold and frosty morning.

We've all eaten well during our stay at Black Patch, incorporating all our Christmas favourite foods, but it still left us with a fridge full of supplies, enough to last us a couple more days, with an excess of cake and assorted cheeses. In other words, we had over catered without realising, and had to share out what remained to take home with us. Both cars seemed as full for the return trip as for the outbound. Loading a collapsible plastic crate, almost full, into the car boot produced an unexpected crisis when it fell apart with loud crack, spilling its contents into the space it was meant to occupy, and out on the ground behind the car. Nothing was broken, or so we thought, but when we off-loaded the content into a big bag at home, we found that a plastic bottle of olive oil had shed its cap under pressure and spilled its contents on to most of the bag containing it. Such a mess to clear up, it took us half an hour.

The ninety mile journey home via Abergavenny and Newport train station was lengthy an difficult, as the sun didn't evaporate away the mist, and visibility was 50-100 metres on B roads, many of them winding and narrow, relying on google maps satnav instructions for the first fifty miles, unable to see anything of the surrounding landscape to be sure of where we were. An ideal two hour trip on roads with light traffic took us three hours with a half hour stop for coffee in Abergavenny. Dropping off Owain on westbound side of Newport station, which I've not visited before was a disaster. The signage for the drop off zone was hard to read in poor lighting conditions as the street lights were off, automatically triggered in low light, so I missed the entrance, confusing it with the taxi drop off, and then had to exit in a bus lane. I will probably get fined for this error.

When I got home, I check to see if the 'optical network terminal' box attached to our router had been fixed remotely in our absence. From the way it misbehaved differently on two separate days, I felt sure it was a matter of a network error outside our property, and requested an OpenReach visit as suggested, in case it was our equipment, which responded as intended when switched on. It took forty minutes to get through diagnosis via TalkTalk's Direct Message thread on the morning we left, to achieve this. Now I had to go through the same exercise to get the visit cancelled and confirmed by TalkTalk. Not what I needed at the end of an exhausting drive home.

It was getting close to sunset by the time I was able to go for a walk in the part to un-stress myself after a demanding journey, but an hour and twenty minutes in the fresh air was all I needed to calm down. Clare cooked veggies to accompany the remainder of the cooked salmon. Then it was time to catch up on three days missed episodes of the Archers. Kath and Anto's journey was more straightforward, and they got back in time to go a panto in Warwick Castle in which Rhiannon's boyfriend Talion was playing a part. For us, a quiet evening and early bed, still savouring our four days of rural beauty and quietness.

Misty landscape wonder

I woke up at seven thirty, and when I opened the curtains was amazed to see the valley filled with a layer of dense mist below us. The sky was almost cloudless above with a tiny crescent moon visible, and the sun about to rise above the hill top to the east of us. I took several photos as the scene changed, with the mist almost disappearing and then returning. With almost no wind it didn't completely disperse during the day in the depths of the valley, but we were treated with blue sky and mild temperature for most of the sunlit hours, with the mist rising and enveloping the house in the hour before sunset. The movement of the mist reminded me of a day in Nerja ten years ago when a fog bank rolled in from the sea, covering the coast, then receding, only to roll in again and cover the coast several times more, emulating the movement of waves on the shore. Both, instances of living breathing landscape.

Most of us got up and ate breakfast in waves of arrival at the table that I laid in between taking photos, Kath was the exception, being poorly with something which left her feeling poisoned, throwing up. A few days ago Anto went down with a bug from which he was still recovering, and he lay low for most of the morning. The rest of us went down the hill for a walk. Owan and I took the uphill lane from the bottom entrance to Black Patch Farm. The road we took ended in the farm yard of a place called Bryn Defaid. There was no sign indicating footpaths so we turned around and walked all the way down Meeting House Lane, before returning to Black Patch for a lunch of cold meat and chutney. 

As we have to be away from here by ten in the morning, it was necessary to start packing all the surplus food we won't need for the rest of our stay. Out came the magnificent fruity Christmas cake which we had no room for at tea time yesterday, and Owain baked the filleted salmon for supper. 

Then, as the sun was about to set, he and I walked up the hillside towards the top of the ridge, a steep track demanding on energy, but worth it for the spectacular view, pools of mist in distant valleys. The photos I took were high in contrast, and needed a lot of editing to bring features out of deep shadow. It was almost dark by the time we returned, and I was surprisingly tired for the rest of the evening, especially after eating generous helpings of salmon washed down with wine. The procession upstairs to bed had already started before nine o'clock, after so much fresh air and atmospheric beauty.

A happy family day

I can't recall having such a relaxed, warm and comfortable night's sleep at Christmas before. The heating was right for me, and I woke up at ten to eight, grabbed my Olympus camera and went out to catch some gorgeous photos in the light of the rising sun. Sheep in the field below the house, and later when we went for a walk, discovered a dozen cows and a bull separately housed in the huge cattle near the house which I thought was empty. Come to think of it, yesterday morning there was a man on a tractor with a bale of hay outside the cowshed, the only human being we've seen out here since we arrived. Despite all the evidence of human activity, there's nobody in the neighbourhood apart from us.

We all sat down to breakfast together, coffee, croissants, muesli, fresh fruit, different kinds of bread and toast. Then preparation of the veggies and the turkey crown began, with Clare and I treated to enjoying our children taking charge of the whole process and working together with ease, discussing, with Christmas music playing in the background.

Finding a Christmas morning Eucharist to attend was not as easy as it should be. It wasn't easy to find info on-line, and what was displayed didn't make it clear if a service was eucharistic or just a 'family service' of the Word.

I found a nine o'clock Eucharist in a village about 10 miles away, which would mean setting out at eight thirty. There were eleven o'clock services five miles away in two directions but no useful indication of what kind of service, and no guarantee that phoning to enquire on the busy afternoon of Christmas Eve would get an immediate answer. I didn't want frustration and disappointment to spoil my day, so I chose to stay at Black Patch and pray on my own.

After a long breakfast, Clare and I walked down to Meeting House Lane and went north up the tree lined valley with a stream running through it. As we walked I composed another haiku about timid sheep in the field below the house. It's something special to have sheep and cattle as neighbours on Christmas Day. 

Our family feast was a culinary delight with some excellent wines turkey and veg perfectly cooked, though the chestnut caserole was far too hot with an accidental overdose of paprika. We took a break for an hour to exchange presents and then ate the Christmas pudding, after dark, with an ad lib cheese course left on the table for those who wanted a nibble later on.

Owain and I watched the new Wallace and Gromit story, which was an parody of life in the world of AI and robotics and amazinging many of its sequences imitated classic movie drama moments. I lost count of how many. Brilliant! At nine we all gathered to watch the finale of the 17 year link Gavin and Stacey storyline, which has morphed into the Smithy and Nessa romance, finaly coming to closure in middle age. Brilliant acting, a happy ending too.

What a lovely day, food annd fresh air, with sunshine coming through layers of cloud and a spectacularly colourful sunset hour. So much to give thanks for.

Family re-union at Black Patch

The temperature dropped to 3C after midnight. The heating was switched off. The bedroom we chose to sleep in was above the garage. This meant the residual heat dissipated quicker where we were than in the rest of the building. I woke up cold four times, and had to put on extra layers in bed. Finding extra duvet or blanket cover in the dead of night risked adding to the chill factor, so it was a miserable night. Owain re-programmed the thermostat when we got up, so hopefully this won't be repeated tonight.

The cloud cover at sunrise was varied interesting, and the sun put in an appearance occasionally. After breakfast we drove to Knighton, three miles to the north of here, to buy the things we forgot to bring with us. The village Co-op was larger than we realised when we arrived. It has a modest sized multi-storey car park, a proper Post Office in the entrance foyer and half a dozen long aisles. A proper supermarket in other words, rather than the smaller sized ones common in urban locations. 

Knighton's silver band was playing Christmas music to welcome arriving customers. We stocked up on milks, wine, beer bottled water etc. It was very busy, but with five check-outs staffed by real smiling people, it was a lovely dose of  Christmas cheer. A hefty bill for all the items we forgot to bring, but satisfying to be fully prepared for the coming of Kath, Anto, Rhiannon and Viv this evening.

On our way back we drove into Norton village. It's all residential, no shops. The beautiful 12th century church closed for lack of congregation a few years ago, and has been ceded by the Church in Wales to a trust which is restoring it and making it into a community centre with a post office and space for social activities. No two mile walk in the dark down the hill for Midnight Mass. So tragic. It's a five mile trip to Presteigne for the Eucharist tomorrow morning.

After we returned, before lunch, I walked down the track alongside Norton brook, and recorded the sound of the stream and the haiku I wrote about it.

Sparkling and sweet / The singing of Norton Brook / As it speeds downhill

Then with help from Owain, turned the two sound tracks into a stereo MP3. I was quite pleased with the result.

To my surprise I received a phone call from Ashley, It's the first time in ten months that we've spoken. He's been in hospital, couldn't find my number and had sight problems reading his phone as well. Now I understand why he's been incommunicado for so long.

After sundown, Owain busied himself with preparing a delicious baked aubergine pasta sauce for supper. I recorded Morning Prayer and a reflection for New Year's Day while we waited for Kath, Anto, Rhiannon and Viv to arrive. It was seven thirty when they arrived safe and sound, their car laden with food and gifts. It took them a while just to unload and fill the fridge, find their bedrooms and sit down with a drink and an aperitif. Meanwhile Owain and Clare prepared the table for everyone to sit down and eat together accompanied by Christmas music streamed from Spotify.

Owain let the wood burning stove with longs brought by Kath. We sat and chatted until it was time to hunt for blankets, to make sure we were literally covered in case the programming of the central heating didn't work. Strangely, we found them stashed away in various places. We also found a chest in the entrance hall full of things left behind by guess, an odd mix of cans, bottles, pasta, items of clothing and the such like. The house info said we were welcome to make use of anything we lacked as long as we replaced it before we left. No need to as we're well stocked for our four day stay.

No Midnight Mass for me this year, not even on telly or radio. Clare and I went to bed at eleven, warm and relaxed, happily surrounded by our lovely family. So much to give thanks for.

Journey to Black Patch

Cloudy, but mercifully dry today. The morning was devoted entirely to assembling everything we needed to take with us to our holiday house in Norton on the Welsh side of the border between Herefordshire and Powys. We finally got going at half past twelve. The journey as far as  Bronllys outside Brecon wason main roads. The traffic wasn't too bad, and we stopped to buy sandwiches in a filling station at Llanfaes, and ate them in a lay-by on the Brecon by-pass. The next thirty miles of the journey took an hour and a half on narrow country lanes criss-crossing the hills and valleys of the border. Utterly beautiful scenery, as long you as you weren't driving as I was. 

Black Patch is a fair sized old farmhouse converted into a five bedroom holiday let, with all mod cons, on a farm two miles from the village of Norton, which itself is three miles from Presteigne, the nearest place with a supermarket. We shouldn't need anything, given the careful planning of food and drink to bring that's been going on for the past month between party goers. Getting our little VW Polo loaded was quite a challenge, so much so that I forgot to pack any of the wines I've been hoarding for the past two months, and looking forward to sharing. What a disappointment!

The lane up from the main road through Norton was badly potholed and impossible to drive at more that 15 miles an hour. It was a relief to turn into Carter's farm, where the road was metalled if muddy in places all the way up to Black Patch 'cottage', which faces south west, and nestles below a hilltop strewn with trees and a stand of deciduous conifers (I think). The journey took us two and a half hours, rather than the two prognosticated by Google maps, as many of the stretches of road in the last section are narrow and winding. It was impossible to make haste as the car was heavily laden, but we arrived without incident, in time to take a few photos of the landscape as the sun was setting behind multiple layers of broken cloud. Here they are. 

After dark, I walked down the hill in the pitch dark on the metalled access road, sometimes using a torch sometimes not, depending on how much I could see in front of me. From driving up, I knew it was pothole free, so it wasn't much of a risk. In a shallow natural gulley on the south side of the track is a fast running stream called Norton Brook, which runs all the way into Norton Village. I walked as far as the junction with Meeting House Lane, about two miles, there and back. There was no wind and it wasn't too cold. One bright planet was visible through a thin veil of low cloud. With very little artificial light in this valley, it must be wonderful for stargazing, or moonlit walks.

While I was out Owain prepared baked potatoes with smoked salmon and salad for supper, with optional slices of a pungent French garlic sausage, and an excellent Bourgogne Gamay. Then a quiet evening, uploading and sharing the arrival photos, writing, and finally making a drawing inspired by a photo taken back in the autumn of a road in front of a playing field, near Parc Trederlech. It's nothing like the actual photo, but an attempt to convey an impression of shadows thrown by the setting sun. Nice and relaxing after quite a stressful day.

Internet down for Christmas

Cold and windy again today with a few showers. The internet was inaccessible when we switched on, for the second day in a row. Nothing I did could restore it, so we left everything switched on and went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were about thirty of us this morning. No Sunday school today, as the kids are all turning out for the afternoon carol service. 

When we got home I spent an hour and a half in Direct Messaging the TalkTalk troubleshooting line using my mobile phone. We went through all the tests imaginable and in the end, had to book a house call from an engineer. The router works and so does the device through which the fibre optic cable connects to it. Unless I'm mistaken the fault is outside the house, or at the network relay box in Romilly Crescent. We have an appointment for a week tomorrow. It's just as well we're away Monday to Friday.

After a snack lunch, I started a batch of bread dough, prepared the Brussels sprouts for supper then walked for an hour in the park before going to St Catherine's for the service of lessons and carols. It was an event for the entire Ministry Area. It was good to see a congregation of about 200. The kids did their Nativity tableau as part of it and we had an 'angelic' dance from a dozen girls in white tutus, who attend a local classical ballet school. Beautifully done.

As I was leaving church, greeting a few folk I knew from other parishes, my phone rang. It was Clare to tell me that Owain had arrived and supper was cooked, so I went straight home instead of socialising over mince pies and mulled wine in the church hall.

After supper Owain went out to meet his local friends. We watched the first in the new series of 'Murder in Paradise', a Christmas edition introducing a new lead detective who starts as a holidaymaker on St  Marie island. Enjoyable colourful watching with a lovely mix of Caribbean accents in the dialogue. It takes me back to my time in St Pauls Bristol nearly fifty years ago. Happy days indeed.

Solstice snowdrops

After last night's party, I didn't sleep too well, overstimulated by socialising I guess. We live a quiet life for the most part these days. The doorbell rang just after half past seven this morning. It was a delivery man from Ashton's with the Christmas salmon Clare ordered. I was awake and ran downstairs to collect the fish as Clare wasn't quite awake yet. Then I went back to bed to listen to Thought for the Day and the news. By the time I eventually got up it was nearly nine and Clare had cooked Saturday pancakes for breakfast, and started making a fish soup for lunch. And thought she'd gone back to bed after putting the huge salmon fillets in the freezer for the weekend!

It rained until mid morning, then a strong cold wind sprung up and drove the rain clouds away. The internet was inaccessible and it took forty minutes of landline phone time to get it restored. The landline is being taken away, unless you pay £150 a year to retain the sevice. This will hit hardest those whose emergency devices only connect by hardwire. Scandalous. We don't need that and must switch to the all digital service to retain our landline. It doesn't bode well when the fibre lines are stil prone to outages. Changing our account to all digital costs nothing apart from another half hour on line via Direct Messaging, once the internet was restored.

At last I was able to make an effort to email digital greetings, over fifty of them, spanning decades of family life and ministry. It took a long time morning and afternoon to finish the job. The remains of the filleted salmon Clare transformed into a delicious fish soup with spuds and carrots for our lunch.

The chilling wind made walking the park on ordeal, but compensated by finding a few tiny snowdrops on the verge of the long avenue near the stables. There's a patch of ground where they first appear year after year. Finding them on winter solstice day is remarkable, about ten days earlier than last year. It was about the fifth of January the year before that. A symptom of climate driven change as the average temperature for this time of year creeps up incrementally.

I got home as the sun was setting and finished the Christmas emailing. After supper I watched the final two episodes of Crá, a complex 'whodunit' in a close knit rural community with shameful family  secrets and abusive relationships. Then made an effort to go to bed and catch up on sleep I lost last night.

Remembering Canton

A grey and damp day again. We both slept late and started the day late. Clare went shopping for food to take with us. I cooked lunch and afterwards went shopping to Lidl's in Leckwith for a few extra things to take with us. It's quite a collaborative logistical exercise catering for several days of Christmas feasting for seven people staying in a holiday let in a remote rural area.

Hilary and Clive invited us along with friends and neighbours for drinks and nibbles at their house, from six until eight. Some people we knew, most we didn't, but some interesting conversations took place. I was fascinated to listen to Gareth who sings in St Catherine's choir talk about the Canton he's known for the past seventy years since he moved here as a boy, a time when there were still orchards, and working farms with lots of artisan businesses and warehouses with new housing gradually transforming the patchwork of industrial occupation until it became almost entirely an industrial area. He has an encyclopaedic memory of changes over generations, as well as recollections of stories told from decades before he was born. He claims no expertise, but he is the consummate local oral historian. I would love to record him for a few hours, and regretted coming this evening not equipped to take advantage of the moment, I must make a plan for an interview, to map the history of the area's development in an audio recording.

We got home before nine, and I went out again for a walk in the park to quieten my senses after all that social stimulus, and complete my daily step quota, before bed. Thankfully, the sky was clear and I could see a few planets and stars, despite the urban light pollution. Always a lovely moment at the end of the day, as it was when I was a kid, looking from my bedroom window at Ty Isaf farm above Penallta Road. A lot more stars were visible in those days.

Christmas tree soiree

Dad's 'cello was ready for collection after repairs at 'Cardiff Violins', so we went into town together after breakfast, but first I needed to buy a suitable Christmas present for Clare. I'm hopeless at choosing presents and would rather buy something she knows she wants and is happy with. We went to John Lewis' and found a lovely soft Kashmir wool jumper. Just right, what a relief! We'd not thought through how to pay the repair bill, so we went to check this out at the Santander bank main branch. The gave me an opportunity to find out if my record I keep of my credit card PIN was correct. It wasn't, so I ordered a new one. When we went to pick up the 'cello, I took some photos of the the shop interior, so beautiful with scores of violins arrayed on its walls. I took a dozen photos for pleasure and send to Rachel. Here they are.

We had thought about taking a taxi home, but having walked with it into town, I wanted to walk home with it. The weather was just about merciful, except for the occasional nerve wracking gust of wind but I got it home without incident, communing with my father fifty years dead, as I walked through the park.

Fran and Mark invited us to their Christmas soiree in Penarth, started many years ago by our mutual friend Russell Evans and now continued by Fran, with many of their friends and associates and some newcomers too, gathered to share the pleasure of an evening of carols, music, readings, meditative reflection  on the lighting of the Christmas tree along with conversation over food. It's a wonderful warm relaxed occasion, the best kind of domestic social ritual, different from an liturgical one yet bearing so many similarities due to its spiritual depth. Offered by laity not clergy, I hasten to add!

Clare and I sang the plygain carol 'Y fore dydd nadolig' with drone accompaniment from Mark on viola. On previous occasions I has been asked to make a verbal contribution of some kind. I was uncertain about what to offer until late in the afternoon. Then, about half an hour before we were due to leave, out of the blue an idea arrived. I wrote rapidly in pencil until I had a poem in blank verse about the obscurity of the birth of the Christ child manifested in the obscurity of the birth of children in Gaza under violent assault. It was raw unrefined, even after I'd typed and printed it. Clare said she thought it was powerful. When I read it, close to tears, it was acknowledged with thoughtful silence.

We bought train tickets when we went into town on a bus that took us to the new bus Interchange, before going to John Lewis', and took the 61 just after six to take us there again, to take the train for the twelve minute journey to Penarth. Fran lives 5-10 minutes walk from Dingle Road station. This was so much more convenient than driving in the dark and having to find a parking space in a neighbourhood that we don't know and is as hard to park in as is Meadow Street. BY not taking the car, I didn't lose my parking space outside the house. It's not unusual to go out for a night time event by car, losing the space and being obliged to park ten minutes walk away. Not pleasant when it's wet and cold.

We were fortunate to be offered a lift home by one of the participants in the soiree, so we were back in time to go straight to bed, and not needing to relax after such a peaceful evening.

Distraction

Another dismal day of intermittent rain. There was an amazing half hour programme on Radio 4, called 'Singing in Gaza' that told the story of the Edward Said Conservatory of Music in Gaza, destroyed by Israeli assaults but its musical mission kept alive by its staff, most of whom were made homeless and internally displaced by the onslaught. What an amazing inspirational piece of journalism! The sheer joy of musicians surviving, living not just to tell the tale, but make music, after having had their instruments destroyed violently - and making music teaching children to sing together from memory, using solfege. The embodiment of resurrection life and energy. No time for rage or despair driven by the creative urge to make the most of whatever life they have. It moved me to tears..

There were nine of us for the St Catherine's Eucharist. After collecting the veggie bag from Chapter, I cooked lunch when I got home - chicken and chorizo in a spicy sauce for me and fish for Clare with millet instead of rice. In the veggie bag a stalk full of brussels sprouts with one the size of an apple at the top. This on its own cut into quarters provided our greens for the day and any early taste of festivity to come.

I went to the Post Office to mail a calendar to Connie and Udo. Due to its unusual size and weight it cost £850 to send to Germany. Incredibly expensive! Then, a walk under the brolly in Llandaff Fields as the drizzle of rain intensified. My shoes and trousers were pretty wet by the time I got back. Then I wrote a reflection for New Year's Day Morning Prayer until it was time for supper, and afterwards I watched the finale of 'Strike' and a couple of episodes of Crá, the Gaelic crimmie with English subtitles, until it was time for bed, grateful for the distraction, and being in the warm, out of the wind driving the rain through the night time streets.

Culpable naivety?

Mostly cloudy with intermittent showers throughout the day but mild at 11C. After breakfast Clare walked to the School of Optometry to order new prescription specs. I listened to the final Reith Lecture, this week from Bergen in Norway. Dr Gwen Adshead spoke about Norway's penal system citing its low re-offending rate, humane imprisonment conditions and above all the number of offenders whose lives are changed for the better as they get to understand why they offended in the first place. Money is invested not in bigger and better prisons, but in psychotherapy and where possible restorative justice initiatives. It's altogether more cost effective than the British penal system. 

I made a couple of loaves of bread and prepared lunch. I did some writing while waiting for the dough to rise. It went into the oven when we'd eaten and was baked as we got ready to drive to Chris' salon in Rumney for a haircut. While Chris did Clare's hair I walked around the lake in Parc Trederlech, and got caught in the rain. Fortunately the salon was warm enough for my top coat to dry out by the time we left for home. It was already dark and still raining and the journey was slow and difficult in rush hour traffic. I hate driving in these conditions, fearful of making a mistake, but so far fortunately, I've been able to do it without accident or incident that annoys other drivers.

When we got home I went out with my new brolly in the rain for a few things we needed from Tesco's. Clare went off to meditation group and I completed my daily step quota walking up and down Llandaff Fields in the dark. After supper, I watched another episode of 'Strike'. All of them are on iPlayer even though it's being screened live, two episodes this week and two next. 

In the evening news, a report from a new media investigation into historic cases of abusive clergy under the leadership of Archbishop George Carey has implicated him in case of the abusive cleric about whom Archbishop Stephen Cotterell is currently under criticism and facing resignation calls. On Carey's watch, Bishop Peter Ball abused a series of young men and was eventually jailed. After a long drawn out review of historic abuse cases Carey was asked to resign as an honorary assistant Bishop by his successor Justin Welby, now resigning himself.  

Carey was granted a local PTO, restricting him from the wider ministry senior church leaders often have in retirement. Now it seems he's withdrawn from public ministry entirely, returning the PTO he held. At his advanced age it's not exactly a surprise. Ill health could just as easily lead to him taking this step. But it takes him out of the media firing line, and further criticism that could lead to his PTO being taken away from him. No doubt he regrets errors of judgement made when he was in charge finding that he, like many other church leaders was taken in by Ball's charm and piety. It seems Carey supported the reinstatement plea of a priest banned for five years due to inappropriate behaviour, but not yet charged for child abuse.

I imagine Carey acted in the belief that if offenders had been punished, shown repentance and changed behaviour they should be given another chance, presuming the person's honesty and sincerity. But how well informed was he, and Cotterell for that matter, about the deceitful behaviour of sex offenders who haven't undergone therapy. Whose advice did they rely on?  Church Safeguarding policy has only arrived in the aftermath of the Peter Ball affair, the church playing catch up on secular organisations and learning to listen to professionals in the realm of care and protection of children and vulnerable adults. 

Looking back a few generations, clergy weren't as well trained in care for people as they imagined. Maybe only good at looking out for each other in the ecclesiastical boys club. Thank heavens things have begun to change, not least because of capable women  and some with disability included in the ordained ministry. More steps in the church becoming what it's meant to be. So sad that so many have given up belonging. The news describes Carey as having 'left the church', equating church with its clergy. In reality it's the laity that has left the church, having lost confidence in its ministers, and maybe its message too, if they ever understood it well in the first place.

The perils of authority

Despite going to bed before eleven, I had a disturbing night and woke up at quarter past nine logging eight hours and forty nine minutes of sleep. I have no idea why I should sleep so long despite being aroused by dreams and flashbacks to times when I injured myself. The mind is a mystery.

Deposed president Assad messaged the world from Russia saying he hadn't intended to leave when he did but was directing military operations from a Syrian air base being run by the Russians, when he learned of the Syrian army's capitulation and told to leave for Moscow. Officially he is an asylum seeker there, but Putin hasn't had anything to say about this so far it seems. Meanwhile the transitional government set up by the victorious rebel army re-iterates that it wants law and order retained and no retribution against perpetrators but justice in court. But will this prove possible when so many were involved in Assad's reign of terror, leaving so many victims and their supporters with scores to settle. 

The celebrations surrounding victory and the return of freedom to Syrian people now gives way to facing the hard work of rebuilding a society in ruins. It's not so easy to achieve while there's uncertainty among the  nations interested in helping, about trusting the transitional government led by Prime Minister Mohammed al Bashir, acting as head of state. He talks about an inclusive future, but has yet to appoint anyone other than his own islamist supporters. How does anyone go about recruiting suitable participants from Christian, Druze, Shia and Alowite Muslim minorities when there's no precedent after fourteen years of civil war and half a century of tyranny from the Assad clan, who just happen to be Alowite?

After breakfast housework, then a circuit of Thompson's park before lunch. We went to town afterwards to look for Christmas presents, but it turned out to be a frustrating venture for me. Clare took a bus home before me, and I walked back through the streets, as the sun went down. After supper I watched an episode and a half of the latest series in British crimmie 'Strike' about a private detective agency with a story about cyber stalking ending in murder. It's interesting in its portrayal of covert surveillance and an investigation carried out by a civilian agency in cases where the police cannot  take action or are reluctant to for lack of resources to take action. What MI5 and MI6 get up to in this area is anybody's guess!

This past couple of days the media have started reporting about calls for Stephen Cotterell, Archbishop of York to resign over his handling of a case he inherited in his previous diocese of Chelmsford of a child abusing cleric about whom he was slow to deal with until the case had been taken up by the police. The man was already deemed to be unsafe around children, a risk to be managed while he was still in office, until there were legal grounds for removal from office. The trouble is there are perpetrators who are good at 'gaming the system' when it comes to avoiding culpability, and its made more difficult because of the rights of clergy as office holders in the established church. 

When I was young, I recall hearing about clergy disappearing from their pastorate without a send-off or leaving a forwarding address with no explanation given. In those days, obedience of clergy to the Bishop who licensed them was rarely challenged. The order to leave a place or never work under licence again in the event of misbehaviour or conflict was taken seriously for the most part. If the Bishop was openly defied by someone staying in post it was because as a cleric they had freehold tenancy for life, it was hard to remove them legally. 

Nowadays, so much church legislation has been put into place, surrounding clergy employment, welfare, professional conduct, accountability etc that a Bishop needs advice from a legal team before taking action. Personal authority and respect for apostolic authority can be and are challenged, making 'gaming the system' more possible for wrongdoers to avoid real accountability. Taking authority in such a complex confusing world is a poisoned chalice.

Swedish Advent

Cold cloudy and damp once more today. There were over fifty of us at St Catherine's for this morning's Eucharist. The children performed a short and simple nativity pageant at the end of the service. Half of them are under five, so it was a wee bit chaotic, but nobody minded. It was just lovely to see them take part in performing together for the rest of the congregation, some of them for the first time in their lives I imagine.

After lunch, I went for my afternoon walk, returning before sunset. Once it was dark I found the link that Sara sent me on St Lucy's Day for watching the 'Lucia Morgan' recorded concert on Swedish TV, as she's done over the years. It's a lovely musical occasion with children's and youth choirs, a barbershop singing group and a duo playing violin and nyckelharpa, which is a Swedish bowed instrument about the size of a viola with a keyboard to press the strings down on the neck as finger normally do. It's also called a keyed fiddle or key harp. It's an instrument I've never seen before. 

It takes place, or is meant to take place before dawn in candlelit darkness. It's the Swedish equivalent of a carol service and an initiation ritual event for young girls especially in their schooling. I don't suppose it happens at the crack on dawn in schools! It was a delight to see a sprinkling of snow in Sala where it was filmed this year - a location where there was once a historic silver mine, a site populated by historic buildings. As I was watching, Sara sent me a message and picture from St Andrew's Gothenburg, where she and Gunnar had joined the congregation for the Anglican Nine Lessons and Carols service. As a port city facing Scotland across the North Sea, it's not surprising there's been a chaplaincy there since 1857, six years before St Peter and St Sigfrid's Stockholm, a testimony to maritime trade routes back then I guess.

After supper we watched the Antiques Roadshow, then I read for an hour and a half before early bed.

Making the most of opportunity

It was nice to awaken, a bit later than usual to bright sunshine. Eating a three course meal in the evening didn't lead to a good night's sleep. Between us we cooked pancakes for breakfast, and I felt pretty lethargic all morning. As today is the feast of St John of the Cross, I lingered over a book of extracts from his teaching which I've had for years and only dipped into. I didn't go out for a walk until gone midday. Clare went out and returned much earlier than me. She'd just completed cooking lunch when I got back.

Mid-afternoon, feeling a bit more energetic, I went out and walked until sunset. I took the west side path up the river bank through the woods, for the first time in several months. It can be treacherous when the ground is saturated. It's not completely dried out yet, but is firm underfoot due to a deposit of alluvial sand from storm Bert which saw the river burst its banks on both sides. Bushes got flattened and the traces of dark red sand show how flood water ran along the path eroding it in weak spots, flowing through the fence in the adjacent field where often horses from the stables graze. The legacy of storm Darragh the following week was broken branches, some of them quite big, and several trees a metre in diameter, uprooted or snapped mid-trunk, weakened by the impact of long spells of Spring drought or disease. It illustrates how climate change is starting to revise our landscape.

I got back just after sunset, and decided to watch the last three episodes of 'Lykkeland' taking us up to the late eighties and the development of remote technology for operating underwater vehicles and drilling rig machinery, leading to contentious reductions in the number of oil platform workers. It was also the period when environmental sustainability became an issue calling into question the long term future of oil as the main source of wealth for the Norwegian economy, and how some of the wealth created currently could be harvested and put to use in state finances. All three series together have proved to be a most interesting essay in contemporary economic history, and the Scandinavian take on business enterprise.

Enough telly for now, time to return to Spanish novel reading 

Feeling my age

Another cold day under cloud. We're promised clear skies and colder weather tomorrow. After breakfast I drove Clare to the School of Optometry to collect a revised eye medication prescription. The one received after her visit there yesterday lacked a single word, affecting the type of medication intended. Picking it up only took a few minutes, then we returned home via Tesco's petrol station to fill up ready for the trip to our Christmas holiday accommodation. 

We had trouble with the tyre inflation machine, which is now tap and pay. It seemed to have stalled, a few minutes time remained from the previous user, but the air pump had stopped. Clare went to ask for help from the cashier, but by the time they returned the device had rebooted and could accept another payment again. Filling tyres with air was more taxing than I expected. I'm never much good any morning, my back and leg muscles stiffen overnight so mending and squatting when I'm not warmed up requires effort and caution. The last thing I need is a bad back or torn leg muscle. I must go to QuikFit and get them checked next time around, or else get rid of the car.

I walked in the park for an hour for a light lunch, to get ready to join parishioners at a church fund raising dinner this evening. I saw a pair of long tailed tits high in one of the trees opposite the stables, visible now that all the leaves have gone, but out of range for a photo. I think it's the first time this year I've seen them, though I have heard them calling occasionally. It's good to confirm visually that they're not lost from our local environment. They have better chances in the park. So many garden ecosystems have been ruined by remodelling with paving and plant pots for easy maintenance.

The dinner took place in St Catherine's church hall, looking good after recent renovation, with its wooden floor sanded and re-varnished and walls repainted in pale colours. The food was excellent, rising to the challenge of catering for a variety of different dietary needs. We were treated to live jazz from a piano and bass duo, perfectly balanced acoustically without need for the bass to be amplified as a result of the wood surfaces. The piano was an electric one with just the right amount of amplification for balance. We were at one of half a dozen tables for six people, with Fr Sion and Catherine, Sue and Monica her friend, who is a lifelong Catholic. There weren't so many people present for the buzz of conversation to make table talk difficult, so it was an enjoyable evening. Even so, we were both tired by the time we got home and ready for bed.

How to look for life beyond earth

Another dull grey cold day. I woke up in time to listen to 'Thought for the Day', then went back to sleep for another hour. Over a late breakfast, I listened to Melvyn Bragg's 'In our time' programme exploring the complexities of the interdisciplinary scientific search for signs of life beyond earth. A branch of astronomy which has come into its own in the past twenty years with the development of huge terrestrial telescopes, and those mounted on satellites dispatched to the furthest reaches of the solar system and beyond. It's quite unlike the extra terrestrial beings portrayed in science fiction. 

Sustainable life as we understand it depends on suitable conditions existing for basic chemical elements to develop into self sustaining evolving organisms. The right environmental conditions associated with the emergence of primitive life forms and their timing in the history of the universe can be expressed in a typical chemical signature that can be searched for. It's what the Mars Rover is doing, collecting rock samples and examining them in robotic mini-laboratory on board. Telescopes look for evidence pointing to the same chemical signature in different wavelengths of light. These are technological marvels some sci-fi writers dreamed of in my youth, but the reality at which we marvel today, could only happen thanks to the innovation in engineering and digital computing. It's amazing to have lived to see fiction turned into fact in so many areas of modern life through human creative imagination.

I walked to the retail park on Western Avenue to buy a Christmas gift at Halfords. I was offered a fifteen per cent discount if I subscribed to the store's promotional email list. I declined, as I could see no reason to add to the number of promotional messages I have no interest in and have to deal with. On my way back I saw three male goosanders shadowing one female up-river from Blackweir Bridge. I guess they were busy competing for her attention as the time arrives for mating.

Clare cooked lunch while I was out. When we'd eaten, I continued assembling the Christmas card mailing and then took them to the Post Office to buy stamps and post them - four destined for Switzerland, and thirty three for Britain. Cards and postage cost ninety pounds this year. The number of cards posted is half the number sent a few years ago. Next to do, our digital greeting, going out to twice the number of card recipients. But that can wait until tomorrow.

I spent the evening watching the final episode in the current series of 'Shetland', a couple of episodes of Lykkeland, and discovered an new Irish language crimmie with subtitles filmed in County Donegal  that's going to be an interesting series to watch when I get around to it.

Greeting card time

Another cold grey day, but no rain thankfully. I woke up and posted the WhatsApp link to today's Morning Prayer before 'Thought for the Day'. Owain was already up and about, getting ready to make his way to the HMRC building in Central Square. He brought his work laptop with him, but forgot his comfortable earphone headset with mic, so he borrowed one of the several mobile phone headsets I have accumulated over the years. Thankfully it worked OK for him.

There were eleven of us at the St Catherine's Eucharist, including Ann and her nonagenarian mother whose birthday is today. There was a celebratory cake after the service and we sang happy birthday. Clare was already cooking lunch by the time I got home with the veg bag. 

After we'd eaten I glued the car's wing mirror cover to its mounting, to make sure it resists violent gusts of wind in future. Then I went to buy more Christmas cards at a shop on Cowbridge Road, before doing a circuit of Llandaff Fields, arriving home just after sunset.

As the Christmas card mailing deadline is nearly upon, I had to devote the evening to printing newsletters and address labels for envelopes, then writing greetings and stuffing envelopes. All the cards I bought had nothing printed inside them, so signing them turned out to be a slow task with only a third of the job done by bed time. 

Captagon?

A cold grey day. In early news, a report that thorough search of Saidnaya prison in Damascus hasn't found any secret underground cell. It's not surprising that such rumours develop about such a much feared place. It said that 60,000 people may have been killed there under the Assad regime. Prisoners were led about the prison blindfolded, unable to build up a mental picture of its internal layout. Those on the outside knowing nothing of people they know were abducted, whether they are alive or dead may imagine such a story to defend themselves from not knowing. The emerging regime promises to bring to trial state security agents or officials responsible for such evil crimes. Some survivors are utterly broken, physically and mentally. What makes such sustained inhumane cruelty possible?

This morning's Reith Lecture with forensic psychologist Dr Gwen Adshead was broadcast from Grendon Underwood Prison, which specialises in dealing with violent offenders who request to be transferred there as they want to understand and do something about the driving forces within themselves which result in their violent behaviour. Some inmates took part in the Q&A after her talk. Research is revealing there is a link between a person's tendency to violence, the environment they were raised in how what violence they may have witnessed or experience. Those who have been abused go on to abuse others, though not all, and that greatly complicates understanding and predicting behaviour and how to change it.

As the programme ended, Clare's study group members arrived, including icon artist Fran, who brought some of her own Christmas cards to sell. I bought two dozen, and went to pay for them on-line, as I didn't have the cash. I was surprised to discover that Santander's banking security procedures have been boosted again. There's now a lengthy interrogation before a one off transfer of funds before payment is allowed, a triage of anti-fraud questions that ensure you know what you are doing, know the payee and know there are their banking details. 

It's good, it's thorough, and warns you that you might not get any reimbursement if you allow yourself to be conned by not adhering with strict honesty to answering the questions. If Fran had bought her digital payment card ready with her it would have been a matter of simple 'tap and pay'. Your mind has to be sharp to answer correctly throughout, not on auto-pilot. I think I'll carrying carrying bank notes for making cash payments in future.

Clare cooked fish for lunch in a creamy garlic sauce, and I prepared the veg,. After we'd eaten I took some time designing a digital Christmas card to go with our annual newsletter. It was a little tricky to perfect, so once more I started walking late and got back home at dusk.

In the evening news about Syria today the new regime promises to tackle the manufacture and illegal distribution of a drug called Captagon I've never heard of before. It's a stimulant related to amphetamine, used by those in need of going without sleep and focusing effort, nicknamed 'chemical courage'. Useful for coping in a crisis or waging war. It was invented in East Germany in 1961, and made on an industrial scale in Syria, as a money spinner for the Assad regime. Addictive properties and side effects, including psychosis and hallucination, but it can be given on prescription to treat narcolepsy and ADHD. In Middle Eastern its abuse as an alternative stimulant arose when cocaine was scarce. Declaring it to be illegal in order to curb widespread abuse, led to it becoming a commodity smuggled across borders, manufacture and production in Syria was tolerated and the Assad clan benefited. We'll see what the new regime does about it.

Owain arrived in time for supper. His office team's new base is in the HMRC building in Central Square. He has an induction meeting there tomorrow morning, which is reason enough to come over early and be at the office without having to get an early train. Normally he works from home and isn't required to visit unless there's a purpose. It's just an occasional commute. We discovered both of us have been watching the Norwegian 'Lykkeland' saga, at more or less the same pace, so we watched the last two episodes of series two before turning in for the night.

Implications of Assad's downfall

A sunny start to the day with light cloud. By the time I got up, Clare had already left the house on her way to a nine o'clock appointment at the School of Optometry. After breakfast I did the weekly housework and cooked pasta with a veggie bolognese sauce for lunch.

Reaction from political commentators and governments to the speedy downfall of the Assad regime move from astonishment to concern about what happens next. Syrians in bordering countries are already heading back home. Syrians inside the country wanting to know what happened to people they know unaccounted for during Assad's reign of terror are flocking to the notorious military prison of Saidnaya near Damascus , regarded as a 'human slaughterhouse due to the torture and murder of so many opponents of the regime. It's deeply ironic that the municipality of Saidnaya is dominated by the sixty century monastery and shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a place of pilgrimage for Muslims as well as Christians. I visited there on my study visit to Syria back in the nineties. I took a hundred photos there, but few of the Christian quarter in Damascus and sadly none of Saidnaya.

Surviving prisoners were set free by rebel soldiers yesterday, but there are rumours of prison cells hidden  underground which may still hold forgotten inmates, the search for them is now happening. The rebels are swiftly setting up their own government administration with their leader Abu Mohammed al-Golani as prime minister, promising to uphold the rights of religious minorities. He heads Hayat Tahrir al-Sham the main group in the rebel army coalition. It's designated as a terrorist group, by UK USA and Canada. Each country has to make up its mind about whether or not to deal diplomatically with Al-Golani. Will those he lead and the communities they represent stay united and work for the restoration of Syria or fragment into warring factions, as happened in Libya? The world is watching and questioning.

It's concerning that European countries hosting Syrian refugees are already suspending applications from asylum seekers still being processed, and preparing to repatriate people without settled status. Yet nobody knows how long it will be until there is a consensus about whether or not safe return is possible After the downfall of a dictator some people are bound to be looking for vengeance, unless a new regime can succeed in  restraining those bent on settling old scores. This alone could contribute to instability and put returnees at risk of violence which they sought to escape from in the first place.

Before going out for my afternoon walk I drafted our annual Christmas round robin and sent it to Clare for approval. This made me over an hour late starting out. On my way out I refitted the wing mirror cover to the car. It seems not to have sustained damage, but I think it may need a little glue around the edges to secure it properly, in case one of the tiny tabs that click it into place has broken off un-noticed. There was a chilling wind when I went out, first to Thompson's Park, then Llandaff Fields, and Canton Tesco's before returning home in the dark. We laughed all the way through supper at the first in the new series of 'I'm sorry I haven't a clue', our favourite radio panel game along with 'Just a minute'.

I spent time writing afterwards then watched another episode of Lykkeland before going to bed.

The Assad regime falls - what now for Syria?

After the storm what a relief it was to wake up to blue sky and a light but chilly breeze this morning. Since last night Damascus has fallen quickly into islamist rebel hands. The army gave no resistance, with many soldiers deserting to the rebels or taking off their uniforms and dispersing. Assad and his entourage fled the country overnight. the prime minister has been asked by rebel leaders to remain in office for the time being and run government services until the Syrian people decide what comes next. 

 Iran and Russia withdrawing their support for the Ba'ath party regime, it's too early to imagine how this will work out. In the meanwhile the streets of Damascus are filled with people rejoicing in freedom from oppression and celebrating the downfall of a criminal regime after fifty four years. Syria has been ruined and broken into fragments by thirteen years of civil war. How the country can be healed and rebuilt, the world waits to see.

Sunday Worship this morning came from Llanarmon Dyffryn Ceiriog near Llangollen, showcasing the Welsh language carol singing folk tradition of Plygain services. A couple of the carols were things that Clare and I learned singing with the Fountain choir. Clare was singing with a Plygain group as well at that time, over in Roath. Now that it's being said 40% of Canton's population are Welsh speakers and we have a Welsh language Eucharist twice a month, it seems to me there's potential to start a local group. So, I have suggested this to Fr Sion as an initiative worth taking.

We went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. It was a relief to see the churchyard trees have survived the gales. There were three dozen of us for what was meant to be a 'family service', and only three children and a baby out of the two dozen in Sunday Club present, with a children's talk and game rather than a sermon. I'm feeling starved this Advent of hearing the Word preached. Through my working life I invested a lot of energy week by week in preparing sermons, not only for others but myself. I don't do that now I'm not taking services all that often, and realising this is making a difference. Reading devotional books or written sermons isn't the same as listening live.

After lunch I had a go at digging out the root of a Virginia Creeper that Clare wanted removed from the garden. It was rather difficult with inadequate tools and not enough energy. I was only partly successful and will try to finish it off tomorrow. As a left the house for a walk down to Blackweir Bridge, I spotted the wing mirror cover I lost yesterday in the gutter on the opposite side of the road. It was still intact, well more or less. I'll know when I try to refit it tomorrow. Somehow a very turbulent gust of wind sucked it off and carried it up and over the car without causing any other damage. Amazing!

It was bitterly cold in the park, though the wind was not as strong as it was yesterday. It didn't look as if the river overflowed on to the path during the night. The volume of rain can't have been as large overnight. Clare's study group came for a session while I was out. After tea we went to the Fountain choir Advent concert at St John's. It's the feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary today, overlooked at the Sunday Liturgy, unless it happens to be the title feast day of your church, but the concert programme was mainly anthems in Mary's honour. Ironic when you consider this isn't a 'religious' choir. Delightful music from the middle ages.

We got back home in time for the Archers and the weekly Archers podcast, then the Antiques Roadshow from Beaumaris Castle. In tonight's news, a report that Assad and his family fled to Russia and Putin has granted them asylum, and most likely their fortune of looted Syrian wealth.

I watched another episode of Lykkeland. It's marvellous to see how the principal characters develop in the story over a decade. Then I remembered that I recorded this evening's concert on my little digital voice device and set about editing it out nearly twenty minutes of commentary and applause, leaving the forty minutes of singing in a single audio file which I have now shared with Anna the choir director using Google Drive. Being only five metres from the performance in an acoustically favourable place gave fair quality of recording, considering how small the recorder's microphone is. The task took me no more than an hour. And so to bed.

Surprising upheavals in Syria

Wind and rain produced a lot of commotion during the night. It kept Clare awake, but me, only briefly. We had pancakes for breakfast cooked with a new recipe. Fewer ones and thicker, tasting good. Rain and wind persisted but not as intensely as it could have done. I walked down to the Taff to see the water level and it was high enough to cover the fish ladder structure but about a foot below footpath level. 

I shot a couple of minutes of video and returned home to edit them, using Microsoft's Clipchamp app, then uploaded the footage to YouTube to share with the family. The wind blew in random gusts, and rain was light enough not to soak my top jacket, trousers or shoes.

Clare made a delicious chick pea curry for lunch. After we'd eaten, I completed work on the Morning Prayer video for Wednesday after next, and started preparing a one for Christmas Day. Then I walked back down to the river to check the water level again. This time wind and rain were stronger and I got soaked. The water level had risen to within four inches of the footpath level and will probably burst its banks again tonight as the wind and rain intensify, as it did last weekend.

I was amazed to see a man in heavy duty waterproof overalls with a canoe, standing on the river bank, contemplating the white water in front of him. It was too wet to stand around and see if he decided to attempt to shoot the rapids. water was entering the pond below the weir in such a volume and rate that it was piling up in a wave a couple of feet higher than when I was there this morning. The deluge from storm Bert a fortnight ago reshaped the islands of pebbles in the riverbed entirely. Heaven knows what's happening beneath the waves today. 

Two days ago when I was walking down the east side Taff Trail, a team of men in firefighters' protective gear were out searching the river banks for signs of someone injured and washed up. One of them told me a report had been made of an empty canoe floating downriver and no sign of its occupant. It seems they have a duty of care to act on such reports, even though nobody had been reported missing. A year ago I spotted an empty canoe drifting down river and took photos of it between Western Avenue and Blackweir, curious about how it would navigate the weir after a stretch of calm waters. It seems that on occasions a canoe escapes from Llandaff Rowing Club, not properly moored, or blown offshore by a strong gust of wind. Maybe the latest one was taken from a place not safe from flood water. Only the owner knows in both cases.

Either wind or a mischievous hand snatched the cover off the passenger side wing mirror from our Polo at some time since I parked on returning from the recycling centre yesterday. It's sad really, the first time this has happened to our car since we moved in fourteen years ago.

Fast moving events in Syria have caught my attention in today's news. An islamist rebel group or maybe a coalition of groups has in the past week launched a fast moving offensive against the al Assad regime, taking first Aleppo, the Hama, and then Homs, plus Deraa, south of Damascus. In each case the Syrian army has withdrawn, as it's no longer able to rely on military support from Iran or Hezbollah, and Russia's aid is now limited due to its campaign against Ukraine. Damascus is being surrounded, and it looks like it's only a matter of time before the al Assad regime falls, the end of a brutal fifty year long dictatorship, that has cost half a million Syrian lives, and twelve million feeling the country. 

It's about time too, and it could have happened before now if interested nations hadn't chosen to collude, rather than sanction the regime for making war on its own people. But it's an oil producing country with significant reserves. In the light of climate crisis changing opinion globally, it's now of less interest to keep an evil status quo which serves less of a strategic purpose. That's probably one big reason for other nations no longer propping up al Assad and his henchmen. 

Talking of oil politics, after supper, I watched another couple of episodes of Lykkeland to end the day. It's amazingly well written in its observation of Norway's management of its oil industry development, which has made it one of the world's most asset rich countries now.

Digital Storm Warning - a first

More nasty weather forecast for today but it was just overcast with occasional drizzle when I got up late, thankful to catch up on sleep after Wednesday's late night. Comedian Mark Steel was on Desert Island Disks. He told the story of knowing early in life that he'd been adopted. Only in later life did he decide to find out about his birth mother, and tracked her down to Rimini in Italy, though she'd run a business in Scotland before retirement. He learned about her but didn't get to meet her before she died. What he found interesting was the characteristics they had in common despite lifelong separation. Definitely a case of nature not nurture due to DNA, and he didn't do an ancestry DNA test, having discovered the background story by coincidence.

I drove to the Bessemer Road recycling depot this morning with two big bags of accumulated garden waste to dump. The city council stopped garden waste collections for the time being, and won't be collecting Christmas trees in the new year. This is said to be due to be lack of funding and labour disputes. I was surprised how little traffic there was on the way there. I called at Lidl's to buy a couple of bottles of wine for Christmas and a chorizo, but still arrived fifteem minutes before the time I booked. There wasn't a queue so I was in and out of the depot in five minutes and on my way home.

I cooked lunch, and after eating went out early for a walk down to Blackweir to inspect the Taff. The water level was up about a metre after yesterday's deluge. One of the trees along the path leading down to the river had blown down overnight. I think it was one I noticed shrouded in moss without leaves this year, probably diseased. The path was already cleared with the trunk and branches on the sides, awaiting clearance. Although rain was predicted, there was nothing more than a few minutes of drizzle while I was out, hoping to avoid torrential rain in Met Office warnings.

With nothing else to do mid afternoon, I watched this week's episode of 'Shetland' which I missed, then went out again for a walk as it was getting dark, noticing the houses in the streets which now have lights decorating their front gardens or lit Christmas trees in their front rooms. Again, although rain was forecast there were only a few sprinkles of rain while I was out, and no wind.

In the six o'clock news the impending seriousness of storm 'Darragh' now approaching from the west, with a red alert warning of risk to life was underlined by the announcement that an emergency alert would be broadcast over the mobile phone network, which would sound and be accompanied directly by a page of information and an audio message. This would be independent of any weather app notification, and would override any 'do not disturb' setting. Such a facility should have alerted Valencianos to the deluge which took over two hundred lives recently, but wasn't issued quickly enough in the first instance, but has been used since, I understand.

While we were having supper and listening to the Archers, our phones emitted a warning sound louder than what I thought the phones' loudspeakers would be able to sustain without breaking, and there was a page of information and voice message as well. Fine, now we know it works, but it happened twice more within the hour, rather disconcerting. Still only light rain and little wind. It may be quite different along the coast with news reports from Penarth and Porthcawl saying that wind speeds were building. 

Two miles inland up the Taff, only light rain and wind so far this evening. The fifty metre high western escarpment overlooking the Cardiff flood plain shields us from the full force of wind and rain when it comes from a particular direction. When the direction of the weather front changes enough, northwest or southwest, we'll get the full force of it. It sounds like we're going to have seventy mile an hour wind for the next couple of days. I spent the rest of the evening until bed time enjoying reading 'Las luces de Septiembre'

Another monsoon day

Another grey damp day with an afternoon full of rain and more flood warnings. I felt none the worse for losing an hour and a half's sleep overnight. After breakfast I finished off making  and uploading the video of next week's Morning Prayer, and started work on one for the week after. Clare went shopping in town, and I cooked lunch. 

I unearthed a crinkly cabbage from the back of the veg drawer in the fridge. Straight from the farm it harboured dirt a couple of slugs and probably slugs eggs, a huge carrot was mud caked and the surface of a small celeriac so wrinkled, all of its exterior needed cutting off. Everything needed thorough cleaning and removal of outer layers before being fit for the steamer, but it all cooked perfectly and delicious, worth the effort. I used quinoa again instead of rice or potatoes. It goes nicely with fillets of sea bass.

After lunch I needed to do some food shopping. A break in the rain long enough to get me there and back was forecast on my phone's weather app, but it wasn't as accurate as it claims to be. It drizzled until a got to the Co-op, then the heavens opened, monsoon style for about half an hour non stop. I got everything on the list, but dared not leave the shelter of the store. 

I went back inside to see if they sell brollies, and found a generous sized gentleman's edition for only seven quid. As both the brollies I have and use are hardly fit for purpose, slightly broken, shall we say, I bought one and waited a little longer until the worst was over, and then headed for home. I had to be extra careful as there were gusts of wind from random directions. It was necessary to negotiate a path in the road, as gutters and pavements were overwhelmed with water that couldn't drain away fast enough. If only the drains were cleaned more regularly while autumn leaves fall at different stages, depending on the tree. Such heavy rain is likely to strip leaves from the remainder of trees yet to lose their foliage. It's looking more like winter now with a fortnight before the equinox, still mild, but with much colder weather coming soon we're told. 

Before and after supper, I edited audio recorded this morning, then watched the finale episode of the first season of 'Lykkeland'. So far so good in a decades long story. My Windows 10 workstation is now sending me aggressive full page notifications of the operating system's end of life and need to upgrade. I wish there was a way to tell Microsoft that the machine will get a new lease of life when I convert it to Linux. I need to set aside time to do that properly.

The rain stopped around supper time, so I went out and walked for forty minutes in the dark to get the last of my daily step quota done, and have some fresh air before turning in.

Gala night delight

A dry overcast day. My sleep was disrupted by the recollection that I would run out of my blood pressure medication this weekend, and needed to renew my prescription pronto. I knew my phone would prompt me at the right time to post this week's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp a day earlier than my routine Thursday over the past three years, but I ended up inserting a reminder into my phone calendar just in case I forget, and went back to sleep until my phone notification woke me up again, altogether an hour short of the regular amount of sleep I need.

I got up, had breakfast, then went to the pharmacy on my way to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. I was told I'd do better to take my prescription renewal form to the surgery (over the road), as the pharmacy's daily patch of prescription renewal requests had already been sent across. So I did, and was told I could collect the renewed one this afternoon. 

The church was locked when I arrived, but the gates were open. Then Jean arrived arrived with a key, so I was able to go in and prepare the altar and open up the church for Fr Sion, who had yet to arrive. We were six today, half the regular attendance and one of those was a stranger from the diocesan staff team, going around churches finding out what sort of welcome was extended to visitors in places where she was unknown. What's to be done with this information wasn't disclosed. 

I think we were friendly enough as she came clean with us. In the conversation that ensued we uncovered an overlooked flaw in the Ministry Area information output. The Ministry Area website still has St John's midweek Eucharist on a Thursday even though the noticeboard is up to date, showing Wednesday. Internal communications aren't as good as they used to be. A posting on the Daily Prayer WhatsApp group early today mentioned the Christmas Lights switch-on at St John's this evening. Nothing has appeared in the Parish weekly Sway news blog about this. There were posters at St John's, but where else I don't know. Last year when Fr Andrew's appointment had just been announced a lot of advance publicity took place and there was a good turnout. Sadly for us, this clashed with the Opera Gala Performance at RWCM, for which we had tickets, a pity that there was a conflict of interests.

I collected the weekly veggie bag on my way home, and cooked lunch. Afterwards I slept soundly in the chair for over and hour, then went and collected my prescription from the surgery. The pharmacy opposite closes on a Wednesday so I had to go to Boots on Cowbridge Road, a much busier place, so I had to wait over half an hour to collect my medication. It was dark by the time I got back for supper and starting to rain. We took the 24 bus to town and walked under our brollies to RWCMD. 

The Gala was an amazing showcase of a range of operatic music, not all of it that well known. Two dozen female choristers, eleven soloists, and an orchestra of over forty musicians, a mixture of students and WNO players and one of their younger conductors, whose performance was athletic, he moved around so much and bounced up and down. The acting was brilliant as the singing. One of the soprano soloists wore a surgical boot on her right leg - due to an accident apparently - it didn't stop her from moving around and being sex as well as very funny in the roles she sang. A flawless performance delivered with vigour and great enjoyment by all taking part.

It was still raining persistently when we left to get a bus from outside the Holiday Inn. We had a fifteen minute wait for the 61, and got home a half past ten, with wet trousers and wet shoes only, thanks to the brolly. Then to bed, eventually.

A psychaiatrist's take on sin

Awake at half past seven, listening to the news and Thought for the Day, then up and taking photos of the rising sun through a veil of orange cloud, an awesome start to the day. After breakfast the second Reith Lecture about violence by Dr Gwen Adshead. Interesting discourse and debate about the nature of evil in which she proposed that it's more helpful to consider evil as an adjective describing a state of mind which  can drive human behaviour in reaction to a variety of negative circumstances, bearing in mind we have a choice about whether or not to act on the impulse to violence. 

Ability to control such negative impulse can be impaired by both social and individual influences; poverty, abuse, drugs, dehumanising ideology etc. Spending time ruminating on greed lust anger envy and pride, whether alone or on social media is the kind of activity which could edge the most 'normal' person towards an evil state of mind. 

Harbouring evil thoughts and impulses can be related usefully to dwelling on of the seven deadly sins. Pride leads to egotism and denigration of others. Gluttony and lust are about selfish appetites and emotions out of control. Greed and envy arise from questioning if there's enough to go round. Extremes of inequality can give rise to unjustifiable violence. Sloth is the ultimate in not caring about anything, disengaging from the world. It can driver despair, a risk factor for suicide and even homicide.  Anger is a reaction to pain and fear, a response that can protect and save life if enacted in the right circumstances, but can lead to hatred in an evil state of mind and to violence . Nobody is immune to the effect of sin. Everyone must be awake to its influence and cultivate a mindset of goodness, compassion and gratitude to protect protect themselves from evil influences.

I found this a most engaging interpretation for a diverse secular audience of moral and spiritual teaching that resonated through different religious faiths. It is of course based on the experience and life's work of a woman committed to healing broken people with the ability to see herself in them. I downloaded the audio of the lecture and listened to it again, to make sure I had taken it all in. 

Meanwhile, Clare went off to her study group in Cowbridge, and I made lunch for when she returned, later than usual. I spent some time writing a letter, then went for a walk. Again I got back after sunset. The sky looked beautiful but the temperature had dropped by nearly ten degrees by the time I returned. Very chilly. I had supper early with her, as she was going out again to meditation group. I started another batch of bread dough, wrote for a while and, baked the bread while watching two more episodes of Lykkeland until it was time for bed, with the house perfumed by that lovely fresh baked smell.

Faulty switch

I woke up about half past seven, dozed until Thought for the Day, then got up to make breakfast. The sky was mostly clear with cloud patches on the horizon as the sun appeared just before eight so I grabbed the nearest camera I could find in my office the HX300 and took a few pleasing photos. 

It's sad there's a lens sensor fault which displays a persistent error message on screen making it tiring to use for any length of time, as the fault has made no difference to lens quality. Getting it repaired would be more expensive than buying an equivalent new one. Such a pity.

Housework after breakfast, then I spent the rest of the morning recording and editing another Morning Prayer and Reflection for a week Wednesday. Editing took me a little longer than usual, and I had to finish the job after lunch. It's just as well that Clare had already planned a meal and was cooking. 

An electrician she hired came at eleven to repair the bathroom light switch. Recently, when pulling the cord the light came on and flickered. If you held the string for long enough it might turn on properly, or not as the case may be. It wasn't a matter of adjustment, but an unusual fault in the switch mechanism, the electrician said. It needed replacing, fortunately it wasn't too expensive. For him it was only ten minutes work.

It was gone three by the time I went out, first to the Co-op for the weekly heavy load of shopping and then for a walk in the park. Having started an hour later the sun set, was I was walking along the river bank. It felt very chilly and I was glad that I'd changed top coats after doing the shopping, for the long fleece lined one bought in last year's sale. It's heavy and has no useful inside pockets, but it's warm. I may get away with wearing something lighter underneath, perhaps even a big sweater. We'll see.

After supper I watched three more episodes of the Norwegian drama 'Lykkeland' before turning in for the night. It's so well written and well paced it sustains interest and is compelling to watch. No wonder it's won 12 movie industry awards and 11 nominations besides.

Advent awakening recalled

It rained in the night, but cleared for a while in the morning and the sun broke through the clouds. A good eight hours sleep, following an early night. I benefit from going to bed early but struggle to change my routine, as I enjoy remembering reflecting and writing while I relax at the end of the day.

I drove to St German's for Mass for a change and joined a congregation of thirty for a traditional Advent Sunday Liturgy. Fr Jarel didn't preach, as a Parish bring and share lunch was going to follow the service, combined with a group conversation envisaging the next ten years in church life, leading up to the 150th anniversary celebrations. I didn't know this was happening and didn't consider staying on. I am after all part of the past fourteen years of St German's and may not live long enough to see the day. At least the sun shone during the service, always a consolation in such a beautiful light filled building. 

I set out for home half an hour earlier than I normally would. The traffic across the city centre was very slow and took fifteen minutes longer than the journey there. I arrived earlier than Clare expected, so she'd been late starting lunch, not that it mattered., I opened a bottle of Italian Merlot that I won at the Christmas Fayre last week and listened to the news once I laid the table. 

The sky clouded over again by the time I went for an afternoon walk in the park. There was a lot of water on the roads from earlier showers and my lower half got soaked by a car driving through a water filled pothole. Later on there was a ten minute shower of rain, soaking my top jacket. Although my trousers dried out while I was walking, they needed washing as roadside puddle water is inevitably dirty water.

After an early supper we went to St Catherine's for the Advent Carol service. Nearly four dozen people attended. There was meant to be a bidding prayer at the start of the service, but it didn't happen. I suspect nobody reminded Fr Sion that he needed to provide his own text for this. There is a suitable one in the Oxford Carols for Choirs, which needs to be provided for the officiating cleric, or they need to be told in advance so that they come prepared. I've been nearly caught out by this before and glad that I'm no longer responsible and facing the congregation for worship.

Being in the congregation for Advent Sunday holds a special memory for me. In my first term as an undergraduate, I attended a silent retreat at a convent in Salisbury which catalysed a spiritual awakening in me that opened a way to contemplate the mystery of God. As a child I went to the early Communion service with my mother and this made an impression on me. I connect these two experiences as markers on my journey which set me in the direction life has taken me. 

Fifty seven years of active participation in the church's mission and ministry later, in response to a call which first came to me through others, I still wonder if I made the right choice. I never felt comfortable about being in the social role of a clergyman and it took time to feel completely at ease acting as a priest and preacher representing the church before God, and God's Word to the church. It's a matter of learning to pray all over again when performing the priestly role. When you no longer occupy the role it's a matter of re-discovering if not learning, how to pray as an individual member of the Body, blessed with the time and space in which to do so.

And now, another effort to get to bed earlier and change my habit!