Arctic warming observations

The temperature went down to minus two overnight under a clear sky which remained for most of a day of bright sunshine. Amazingly, the temperature went up to eleven degrees by midday. When Clare went out to the doctors I had the house to myself to record and edit Ash Wednesday Morning Prayer then I cooked chilly pasta mushroom sauce to go with spaghetti and prawns for lunch.

Last week's release of Palestinian prisoners was delayed by the Israeli government as a result of the failure by Hamas to return the body of a female hostage along with those of her two dead children in the last of deals arranged as part of the provisional ceasefire. This error was rectified over the weekend, and followed now by the return of four more hostage bodies, to the final batch of prisoners are now being released. The second phase of negotiations is about to begin in Egypt, to secure the final release of sixty hostages, living or dead, and the release of a large number of Palestinian prisoners. Meanwhile the cease-fire continues, at least until the next stage is reached in the negotiations to determine what is agreed should happen next.

It remains to be seen how progress can be made on a sustainable political settlement and the two state solution called for by the international community but opposed by the Netanyahu government, let alone a plan for the reconstruction of ruined Gaza. Trump's officials are active in negotiations, though it's not clear what they can achieve behind the scenes or up-front. Hamas may have been critically weakened and its Syrian and Iranian backers have lost the ability to provide support, but Hamas has not been eliminated entirely, Netanyahu's key war aim from the outset. Will hostilities resume unless there is regime change? It's impossible to imagine at the moment. The world waits to see what happens next in Gaza and Israel. 

While I was cooking, there was a fascinating programme in the Radio 4 series 'Costing the Earth' about the impact of climate change on the Arctic Ocean and the strategic significance of Greenland in geopolitics. In Greenland as in Norway over recent years, glacial melting has uncovered a treasure trove of artefacts from Viking settlements abandoned during previous episodes of climate change. Until the 14th century there were Viking settlements in Greenland's for north, as well as Inuits. The climate was just mild enough to make this economically possible. When the average temperature dropped, Viking settlements were abandoned. Inuits were more accustomed to adapting to environmental and ecosystem changes given their nomadic life as hunters. 

Greenland's geology is rich in rare earth minerals and gold, which explains why Trump is interested in owning the country. Already ecosystems changes are occurring, not just with the wild life, but also vegetation. Moss, lichens, grasses and small bushes are growing in places where extreme cold once prevented them. Colonising beavers are spreading northwards. Creatures renowned for engineering their habitat in woodland areas are adapting to places where the treeless landscape permafrost is thawing and turning into bog.  Use of trees in dam building is adapting to use of stones, mud and man-made materials in addition to whatever bushes can grow there.

I walked over to the GP surgery to collect my prescription, only to find it had already been taken to the pharmacy across the road. I'm not sure how that happened. Somebody is being thoughtful maybe. From there I walked over to Sophia Gardens, and walked back up the West bank of the Taff to Llandaff Fields and then home. In the last mile I listened to the five o'clock news. This morning the Prime Minister's apparently cordial meeting with Trump was headline news. This evening it was about President Zelenskyy and Trump with the latter behaving in a most disrespectful and aggressive way, and in effect performing for the news media to broadcast. It's most disturbing. What next?

After supper I watched another couple of episodes of Welsh made crimmie 'The One that Got Away'. It's well made, well acted and the Pembrokeshire countryside around the Cleddau estuary lovely to look at. The twists and turns of the story-line reminded me of others I've watched however, such that I was able to predict some of them. There was one piece of scripting fakery I spotted. The protagonists visit a prison in Worcestershire, named as 'HMP Whitehaven'. When I googled the name I found a 19th century prison of the same name, long closed, was located in Cumbria. Just as improbable two prisoners on remand are held there four hours away from where the judicial processes are taking place, when there are three if not four prisons within two hours drive. I think I've spotted the copycat perpetrator. All will be revealed in the final episode, which I shall watch tomorrow.  

Debenhams demolished

A cold bright sunny day. Although I was in bed for more than nine hours, I was awake for two of them and felt I needed more, but it was time to get up and get on with the day. After breakfast, I made a few minor modifications to my grandpa's story ending, then moved the text to my laptop to error check it with Libre Office, before sending the finished pdf to cousin Dianne. I can already imagine a slightly extended ending, to include a few extra pieces of information, but quite like the sense that where it ends is right on the brink of where another story begins.

For lunch, I cooked sea bass with brown rice, fresh carrots and parsnips from this week's veg bag, (Oh so sweet!) and after eating siesta'd again for an hour before going out. I seem to need it at the moment. I started walking into town along Romilly Crescent and intercepted a 61 bus just as I was passing the stop near the Danish cafe. My mission was to buy tin of pimenton picante from Wally's and some olives for cooking. I remember the shelf where my favourite Spanish spice is kept, but was puzzled because the label design, which has been constant for the last ten years, was different. When I examined the tin, it was from the same producer in Caceres, where varieties pimientos are cultivated so close to the ground they get baked by the heat of the sun and acquire a unique smoke flavour - according to Rick Stein, who eulogised about them on a TV trip to the region years ago.

I wandered through the shopping centre as far as St David's Metropolitan Cathedral, and popped in to say hello to the Almighty. It was lovely to see new bilingual notice boards and banners promoting Holy Year recently declared by Pope Francis in Welsh and English. Glass doors and a new modern baptismal font at the entrance to the nave enhance the look and feel of the building too. When we returned to Cardiff 23 years ago and St David's was one of the several active churches in the city centre, it looked much the same as it did when we left for Geneva. 

About the same time as I retired the congregation of Ebeneser Chapel opposite St David's  moved out to the suburbs and the building was sold to the Catholic Archdiocese of Cardiff. This led to its transformation into a much needed modern church social centre, an upgrading of the clergy house and renovation of the Cathedral itself, a very costly and ambitious project. As a result the church building no longer looks as if it was still the 1970s.

The sound of pneumatic drills at work punctuates the neighbourhood around the Cathedral at the moment. Work on demolishing the empty Debenhams store building behind tall safety screens has now started. This sound takes me back to 2006 when the first phase of redevelopment began with the demolition of Oxford House and neighbouring multi-storey car parks, another section of the 1970s city centre redevelopment. In an innovative plan, the space occupied by Debenhams will be transformed into a new green space, a square with the east end of the Cathedral as its boundary. That's something to look forward to in a couple of years from now. 

Meanwhile, I try to figure out how the contractors will extract tens of thousands of tonnes of concrete rubble from a building embedded in a shopping arcade. For the time being I think they'll be able to use the roof car park goods vehicles used to deliver stock to the store. Sixteen years on from the opening of phase two of the St David's shopping centre, I continue to be interested in how projects of this scale in the public realm are carried out.

I walked back home along the Bute Park side of the Taff. Different kinds of daffodil are now flourishing in large numbers, likewise snowdrops, fat buds on bushes of white and red camelias are bursting into colour, a strong contrast to their dark green leaves. Bare branches of trees that blossom before their leaves appear are just starting to acquire a hint of colour as their buds grow. Spring is creeping up on us!

At sunset there were a few light cloud in the sky, a light rust colour. Venus shone brightly on its way to the horizon and a few minutes later Jupiter was visible through a hole in the cloud. When we went out to look again, Venus had set, Jupiter was heading the the same direction and Mars was visible overhead. By that time the constellation of Orion was visible, and a few other bright lights. I don't know if any of those were planets. Were Saturn, Uranus and Neptune hiding behind the wisps of cloud earlier? The temperature went from eight down to one degree. It was too cold to gaze at the heavens for long.

I spent the rest of the evening watching episodes of the new crimmie set in the Cleddau Estuary and Milford Haven, called 'The one that got away'. It's really good.

Double duty, glitchy day

More rain overnight, and a few degrees colder. I woke up on time to post today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp. When I checked the link posted, the video displayed subtitles running simultaneously with the voice audio. At first I couldn't figure out how this had happened, but when I examined the video metadata, I discovered a subtitle box was ticked. I can think of nothing I did that was unusual. Until this moment I didn't know automatic subtitling was possible, or how this could have happened. So I un-ticked it and the video ran as expected. I'll have to check this when uploading in future, in case it's some hidden default setting imposed automatically. 

Two services to take this morning, as Fr. Sion is on leave. It rained as a left home for St Catherine's, and I took my brolly with me, expecting to use it later on the walk over to St John's for the second Eucharist. The rain stopped by the time I got to church, and the rain didn't return. If I'd known that the first shower of rain was going to be so short, I wouldn't have bothered to take it with me, but I was stuck with carrying it, and risk forgetting it. In both churches there were ten of us, and both congregations included a mother and baby. It's a minor encouragement.

I collected this week's veggie bag from Chapter Arts on the way home. Clare poached two big chunks of Coley in plant milk for lunch. I thought it tasted better than just cooking it over a steamer pan. Taking two services ensuite was tiring so I took an hour's siesta after we'd eaten, and then went for a walk in the park. It was sunny with clouds and a cold wind. There was a sudden cloudburst when I was out in an exposed area with no shelter under the leafless avenue of trees. I headed for a conifer which spreads out like a huge wigwam. I see kids playing inside it occasionally. I found a way into the hollow central space and stayed there for a few minutes until the cloudburst stopped. There were several mushrooms growing underfoot, worth a photograph.

Yet again today my Fitbit readout on both watch and phone was wildly inaccurate, and I had to guess when I'd walked enough of my daily distance to return home. After I'd been home for a hour, both devices corrected themselves, showing a step count close to what I estimated it should be. To see if it would make a difference, I uninstalled and then re-installed the Fitbit phone app as it's possible a tiny fault had crept into the algorithm running the device, not serious enough to crash it, but to introduce a minor cumulative error into its running. It's always a pain to restore the status quo on a device following a remedial uninstall and re-install action. We'll see tomorrow if this fixes the problem. Aa

After supper I did another two hourswork on grandpa's story and completed the final section. It needs error checking and a final review of where it ends than it's fit to share. Really tired now. Bed.

Planets uniquely aligned and in view

It rained overnight, and rained intermittently all morning. Clare's study group came for a session, and I went out and did some more shopping. I continued working on grandpa's story before Clare dished up a bowl of salmon soup, made from the carcass of the filleted fish she bought yesterday. Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time I went out for a late afternoon walk, just as the sun was skirting along the western horizon. In the garden at twilight we spotted four of seven planets currently overhead emerging in a clear sky. The other three are less visible without binoculars. Urban pollution helps obscure them too.

After supper, another intense evening of work on grandpa's story. The remaining narrative section that I had originally misplaced is now where it should be, connecting nicely with the rest of the story. My work is based on a sparse collection of interesting historical facts, with my own speculative fiction padding it out into a full story of the era in which he lived, emigrated to America and returned to marry grandma. It was eleven thirty again before I stopped, to get ready for bed.

Earlier spring?

Yesterday's wet and windy weather front gave way overnight to a day of sunshine, clouds and mild air. Both of us are well on our way to full recovery now. After breakfast, the usual Monday housework, then completing yesterday's draft Reflection and recording it before making lunch. I found half a packet of a grain last week called Amranth, a kind of Quinoa apparently, mistaken it for millet and put in the wrong storage jar. I scooped out enough of it to serve two and cooked it for lunch to accompany stewed veggies. It turns into a grainy gloopy porridge, absorbing three times its volume of water, giving it an odd texture and similar flavour to quinoa. Fortunately, after lunch, Clare found the grain mixture could be separated with a kitchen sieve we use every day.

Shopping in the afternoon, and a walk in Pontcanna Fields. The first surge of daffodils is turning the verge yellow along the Spine road on the way to the stables, and crocuses are in abundance too, in most spots overwhelming the snowdrops. I hunted for primroses, but found the first few celandines instead.  I took a photo of some, and sent it to my cousin Dianne, daughter of my late godmother, Auntie Celandine. Such lovely gentle colours. Spring is nearly here already, weeks early.

I spent the evening after supper working on the rewrite of my grandfather's story, so absorbing that I went to bed later than expected.

Creative spurt

I woke up, feeling the worst of the virus was past, still exuding a lot of thick catarrh, but not congested by it or coughing a great deal. Much less worse, and not up to a last minute drive to Kenilworth to attend Rhiannon's 21st birthday this evening. Clare didn't feel ready to go to church, so I went to St Catherine's for the Parish Eucharist on my own under my brolly as it was raining and windy too. There were about thirty adults and just a few children. It's still half term, and people tend to go away rather than attend church. I didn't hang around after, but came straight home, taking Clare by surprise, being an hour early for lunch on a Sunday.

I waited in vain for the rain to stop to go out for a walk after lunch. When I thought it had reverted just to drizzle, I ventured out without the brolly, and was soaked when I'd walked for an hour, and had to return, change coat and shoes and have tea before going out again to walk some more with my brolly in hand. I've fallen short on my daily distance this week, and now making an effort to return to normal. No reason to let my fitness level decrease. At least when the wind blew it wasn't cold.

While I was out, I noticed an odd malfunction in the working of my Fitbit. It was showing wildly incorrect step data being sync'ed between app and watch. I restarted both devices when I got home and it made no difference. Curiously the phone app's data analysis on the page beneath the home screen showed what I thought was the distance I'd walked. After several hours without further my tinkering, the system self corrected. I suspect the initial distance walked to church and back wasn't properly over-written by new data, due to a latency issue of some kind. After all, the watch takes data direct from GPS for measurement and relays it via Bluetooth to the phone, which then uploads it by internet to the Cloud storage Samsung uses to store and check data. It's sophisticated stuff, and amazingly consistent, normally. Until it isn't, and that's pretty rare. It's only happened a handful of times in the past couple of years. 

Ash Wednesday's biblical reflection has been on my mind, so I devised a special order of service for Morning Prayer then found an idea to begin writing about and a draft came together quite quickly. This got me into full creative mood. After supper, I continued editing and revising Grandpa Jack's tale, non-stop for three hours until bed time. We started receiving lovely photos of the family dining out and singing Happy Birthday to Rhiannon. Hard to admit that our presence there was sabotaged by an untimely virus that left us feeling we couldn't take the risk of travelling. Thankfully Kath is coming down next weekend and will be able to take Rhiannon's present home to her.

Nice to go to sleep feeling satisfied with something hadn't expected to achieve on a very wet Sunday.

Disturbing uncertainties

Thankfully I had a long night's sleep despite being awake for two hours. At least I didn't cough much, but when I did cough, my rib cage hurt as if I had been crushed by a wrestler. I cooked Saturday pancakes, and then spent the rest of the morning recovering from the effort in the armchair. 

I watched the last episode of Virdee and looked at the reviews. It's been well received even if it's difficult to watch on times, due to the violence and cruelty portrayed in a complex story of a drug war in Bradford. Alongside this, a moving  tale of two Asian families united through an inter-religious marriage, but held apart by the intransigence of an elder who refuses to come to terms with the way his inner world has changed, although he has adapted  himself to western ways in other respects. The way in which he's led to a change of heart by the women in the family doesn't happen until the final minutes.

There are several crimmies with corrupt or borderline corrupt cops whose success solving serious crimes and covering their tracks keeps them on the right side of the law. In this story a cop and a drug baron are brothers in law sharing a guilty secret. The cop knows what his brother in law does but won't act against him because of the secret. The drug baron is opposed to those who exploit children in County Lines gangs and wants to take them over and clean up the drugs trade. There's a third party in the mix as well, a former drug baron serving a long sentence in a Pakistani gaol. He escapes and returns seeking vengeance, leaving a trail of murder and kidnap, until he can confront and destroy the cop who brought him to justice. A very sinister character, but this part of the story is to my mind improbable. 

In the real world, the sixth exchange of hostages and prisoners has happened in Gaza and Israel without incident, under the cease fire negotiated by middle eastern mediators. A proposed plan for a second round of exchanges leading to a truce is in limbo at the moment as no negotiations have been started, at least officially. Netanyahu's government is under pressure to  get all the hostages home and do a lasting peace deal, but there's still strong opposition to this from the extremist factions keeping him in power. If he is forced out, criminal prosecutions for corruption await him at home, and internationally for war crimes in Gaza. Since Trump started meddling, proposing an American takeover of Gaza, dispossessing Palestinians from their ancestral homeland, he has made no more outrageous interventions. He's done enough, however to endorse the wildest dreams of Israeli extremists, and it won't lead to stability or peace.

For the moment, he seems to be making himself busy purging American public institutions of liberal thinking office holders. This is how a dictatorship develops and crushes democracy. Will this turn out to be good for business in the long run? It's how success will be determined in his eyes. We're living through disturbing times, as dramatic in their own way as any crime thriller. A re-run of 1930's Germany.

Clare is battling with the same virus, so I cooked lunch for us. Lentils with stewed veg and millet. Nice and easy. Then I needed a couple of hours rest before going out and walking for an hour and a half, as much as I felt I could do without pushing myself too hard. My head is starting to clear now, thankfully.

After supper, I watched another episode of 'Astrid - Murders in Paris' before bed.

Echo virus?

Another bad night. I think I've been fighting off a virus for the past week and when I got up my head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool and my nose was running copiously. Clare received a text from N G Motors after breakfast to say the car was ready for collection, so I caught the 61 bus, followed by the 11 from outside the city library. as far as Adamsdown. I got off the bus one stop early un-necessarily. A walk in the cold air revealed that the virus is still developing. Thankfully a new mirror only cost me fifty quid. The car's low fuel warning light lit up, so my journey home went by way of Tesco Extra's petrol station on Western Avenue. 

I wasn't happy about my level of alertness and standard of driving on busy roads. It was an ordeal I could have done without. Clare admitted that she was also feeling unwell with similar symptoms. The thought of driving to Kenilworth in this condition made me apprehensive, so we decided not to go to Rhiannon's birthday party. Fortunately, Clare was able to cancel the hotel booking without penalty and let the family know. It turns out Kath and Anto are also under the weather with a similar bug. It's a hazard of work with crowds of small children for them. I think I've been fighting off this bug for a week, well before we went to 'Dance in the Dark' on Monday.

I went out for a walk after lunch but fluey aches and pains, left me feeling debilitated, so I returned home with three quarters of my daily step quota completed. There was nothing else I needed to do and spent the rest of the day idling and binge watching episodes of 'Virdee', waiting for the toxic effects of the virus to leave my system. I checked previous blogs to find out when I last had these nasty fluey symptoms. It was just eight weeks ago, at the end of the year. Kath and Anto have had a similar experience. GPs talk about it being an 'echo virus'. Is it exactly the same strain or a very similar variant that can be caught afresh or is it something the immune system is still struggling to get rid of? Did my annual 'flu injection last November actually work? I'm fit for my age and eat healthily, so a repeat infection after only two months is rather a set back. Now it's time for early bed again.

Security, what security?

A poor night's sleep including a minor nose bleed. It was raining loudly when I woke up with a thick head. No idea why. I went to bed early and it took me a long time to fall into light sleep. Then I woke up with a trickle of blood from my nose. It didn't last long. It wasn't easy to settle down to sleep after this, and I lost two hours of sleep. I think my blood pressure is averagely lower than it used to be. An hour after taking my pills I often feel light headed. Apparently this has a medical name, linked to over medication. 

Clare had a flute lesson after breakfast. I went out and did the grocery shopping and got rained on. I took a rucksack with me rather than the trolley, and regretted it. Full to the brim, it must have weighed ten kilos. Hoisting it up on to my shoulder was a precarious exercise outside the store in the rain, once I realised it was too heavy to carry by hand. Clare made a fish pie for lunch. I slept for an hour and a half before going out for a walk. At least it had stopped drizzling by then. A mild west wind blew some of the clouds away and the sun put in a brief appearance for an hour before it set.

A week after Owain's office computer failed to install a Windows 11 update and refused to start, another replacement device was delivered from the company that does tech support. He has no idea why it should have taken so long to reconfigure a new one with all the necessary versions of work software, and was appalled that the courier service couldn't guarantee a delivery rendezvous. The courier service has been known to leave computer parcels at a recipient's door without handing it over and getting it signed for after identifying the recipient. This had happened to Owain's boss recently. So much for  adhering to a government agency's security policy. Amazingly, no arrangement has been made by the tech guys to retrieve the broken laptop. Well, you get what you budget for, I reckon.

After supper, I found an interesting crimmie to watch on BBC iPlayer, set in Bradford, the protagonist is a detective called Hardeep Virdee (aka Harry) whose family origins are in the Punjabi Sikh community who's married to a Muslim A&E nurse, both born and bred in the UK. He's been rejected by the domineering family patriarch though not by his mother and sisters, so one aspect of the story is domestic drama, the other is about drug gang wars and kids recruited into County Lines drug distribution networks. It's bi-lingual with dialogue in Punjabi and English which is unusual if not exceptional.

Another early night for me. This morning's thick head seems to be turning into something else.

Recycling innovation

A day under thick cloud, made even more depressing by Trump blaming Ukraine and President Zelenskyy for the war on Ukraine. After his chat with Putin he seems to have become his mouthpiece. He's notorious for his provocative remarks but far from pushing people to think hard, openly echoing Russian propaganda will undermine the struggle for justice and truth. It's deeply disturbing.

I woke up and posted today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp just before 'Thought for the Day' and was up at eight getting breakfast ready. Clare went off to a hospital appointment afterwards. Due to its timing I couldn't take her without rescheduling the rest of my morning. Before leaving for the Eucharist at St Catherine's I recorded next week's Morning Prayer audio, avoiding the noise of bin lorries collecting rubbish from the street. When I went out and put the bin away, I found we'd received a new blue plastic bucket container (aka caddy) with durable red and blue 'bags for life'. In recent months these have been issued in our district, street by street. The bags oblige users to separate materials for recycling. But no explanation has been given, no leaflet through the door.

Googling Council re-cycling page told me about a 10,000 home trial run, and now the scheme is being rolled out across the city on the basis of what was learned. I had to google some more to establish what is meant to go in each container. The blue caddy is for bottles, the blue sack is for paper products, and red sack for plastic and metal containers. Flimsy green plastic recycling sacks have been discontinued, which is just as well, since they would split easily when overloaded. If any unwashed food container was put in a sack, gulls would visit, split open the bags and scatter the content over the street, aided by the wind. So this is an improvement.

There were only six of us at St Catherine's this morning, plus baby Sebastian, who gave me a huge grin when I turned around to make eyes at him and smile as I regularly do at Wednesday Mass. I collected this week's veggie bag on my way home, then took the car over the N G Motors in Splott to have a new offside wing mirror fitted, as I lost one a few days ago. The drive there was nerve wracking, it made me realise how much I rely on my nearside mirror, for parking and overtaking. The rear view mirror on its own doesn't give an adequate field of view, as back seat headrests partly obscure the view adding to blind spots each side.

Having entrusted the car to Phil our favourite VW expert, I walked back to Newport Road and caught a bus to the Kingsway and walked to the Holiday Inn Bus stop for a sixty one. If I'd stayed on the bus and got off at the Angel Hotel, I would have caught the sixty one which arrived as I was crossing Westgate Street. I ran the last fifty yards but the us pulled out as I drew level with it. Fortunately a sixty three bus bus pulled in  minutes later, going up Cathedral Road and took me to the Halfway Hotel stop. I was home eating a late lunch by ten to two.

Before going out for a walk, I edited the audio recorded earlier. I didn't have far to go to meet my daily target, so I was only out for half an hour. Clare went out to a Canton Chorus community choir practice at Canton Uniting Church for a try-out session after supper. I busied myself for a couple of hours with making the video slide show of the recording made earlier, then watched an episode of 'Death in Paradise'. This episode involved three wronged women chefs conspiring to kill a rapist master chef. It's a curious coincidence that last night's episode of 'Astrid - Murders in Paris' was about three refugee women torture victims conspiring to murder their torturer years after they escaped and were given asylum, both stories echoing Agatha Christie's mystery 'Murder on the Orient Express' I think. Well, there's nothing new under the sun, as the saying goes.

Domestic day

A slightly milder and sunny start to the day, but it clouded over later on. Clare went off to her study group, and I did the week's hoovering, hung out the washing, and cooked lunch in time for her return. A message from my good friend Roy Thomas, who's back from Madrid where he now lives, for business meetings to do for a South Wales green energy project for which he's handling public relations. He proposed to meet somewhere  for coffee. As I was preparing to make a paella, I invited him to come for lunch instead, so we had a good three hours catching up over a meal, which was a pleasant surprise.

After we parted company, I walked in Llandaff Fields, came home to use the toilet, then went out again to walk in Thompson's Park. But this time it was getting dark, but it didn't prevent Fiona, one of the Fountain Singers, from recognising me as she walked in the park, waiting for her son to finish a drama workshop at Llanover Hall. We chatted until we both began to feel the cold, then continued our course. Clare was out at meditation group when I returned. I emptied the dishwasher, had supper and paid the window cleaner his dues when he came to collect.

After supper, I watched another entertaining episode of 'Astrid - Murder in Paris' before an early night. I've noticed recently that the earlier sunrise is causing me to wake up earlier, but tend to go back to sleep with the radio on and try to get a full seven and half hours sleep to last the day without dozing off and losing an hour of daylight in the winter. Early to bed early to rise until the clocks go forward in six week time seems to make good sense.

Kids fun in the dark

After a night in which I lost a couple of hours sleep, we were up early for breakfast and on our way to the train station just after nine, for a train to take us to Birmingham on a thirty quid day return ticket, to see Kath's new show 'Dance in the Dark'. Rhiannon came to meet us at New Street Station, arriving by train herself, having thought better of driving into the heart of the city to collect us. We took a 47 bus to Edgbaston and walked to MAC (the Midlands Arts Centre) in Cannon Hill Park.

The park is a special place for us, as we lived in Selly Oak. when I was a Guild Chaplain in Birmingham University. We took Kath there in a baby buggy when she was a toddler, walked around with her and went to the swings. We took her there not long after she'd taken her first steps, so we freed her from the buggy, to see how she'd fare in the great outdoors. She set off and walked steadily around the pond at the centre of the park, a distance of about four hundred yards without tiring. The pond is still there fifty years on, over the fence from the Midlands Arts Centre. We could see the pond shining in the afternoon sun from the upstairs room where we took off our outdoor clothes and shoes ready for the performance.

The show is aimed at very young children, and is set inside a large circular sleepover tent, with soft furnishings and blue blankets covered with stars. The lighting is subdued and only rarely is it completely  dark. It's not unusual for tinies to be scared of the dark or easily disturbed from a state of light sleep. The hour long show features two pyjama clad dancers and Anto plus guitar taking a playful adventurous, approach to night time and sleep, features night sounds, footsteps, doors banging, owls hooting, rain, wind, thunder and lightning. Some children came dressed in their pyjamas, and the dancers invited them at certain stages to play with the dancers in the centre circle. Children who were noisy and rushing around in the upstairs room became quiet and naturally attentive when they settled down in the sleepover tent. This was the sixth performance in the show's opening venue. The company takes the show on the road to other cities next week. It was a delightful experience, both the performance itself and the children's response.

This is Kath's first solo venture as a show maker, building her own team, creating a stage environment in which some pretty sophisticated lighting and sound technology served the performers perfectly and didn't get in the way. Some of the music made by Anto was recorded and played back, blended to perfection with his live performance playing on stage, interacting like a parent with the pyjama clad dancers, and with the two dozen children in the audience. I'm so proud of what Kath has achieved with this show, and marvel at Anto's stagecraft and musicianship. I don't think many ex-primary school teachers would do as well. In a rock band when he was young and still performing salsa music with Kath, he's come to stage performance of this kind late in life, and is loving it.

Rhiannon's boyfriend Talion came to join us for the show. He's an actor working in Warwick Castle as Rhiannon does. They met there last year, and when Rhiannon's contract came to an end she re-applied and was one of the few to be re-hired. She'll work there until the autumn, then start a lengthy fashion design course in Manchester University. Talion will also be studying there. They make a lovely couple, relaxed and confident, sociable, comfortable in their skins. We arrived at MAC while the Company was taking a lunch break in between performances, so we met them and joined them for a sandwich.

After the show, they were under pressure to clear out of the performance studio space, so we congratulated them and took our leave. Another 47 bus took us back to the city centre. I'm not sure if we got off at the right spot, but the driver told us we could walk through to the station from there. Just as well he told us, as the bus went on beyond the centre, and wasn't on a circular route. Neither of us knew where we were as we started walking - I was reminded of the Midlands ballad of lament 'I can't find Brummagem', voiced by a visitor from another town finding the roads and streets have changed so much he can't work out where he is. Written 200 years ago. 

We were last in Brum on December 23rd 2021 for an evening Carnival Band concert and singalong with Maddy Prior in the Town Hall. Before that I came on a trip with Cardiff City Centre Retail Partnership Board in 2007, for a briefing about the recently opened shopping mall. That was in daytime, and I was amazed then at how the city centre had changed since we lived in Selly Oak in the mid-1970s. Anyway, we followed the directions given and within minutes came within sight of St Martins in the Bullring, and the shopping mall I'd visited eighteen years back. At the top of the hill I couldn't see signage for the station so Clare asked a lady who pointed us to a narrow passageway between buildings. It led down a slow to a place where we could see the shiny new exterior of New Street Station and re-vamped Bullring Shopping Centre, now branded as 'Grand Central'. 

I'd love to have had time to explore the area and piece it together with my previous recollections, but taking a train home took priority. There was a train direct to Cardiff at four thirty, so we only had half an hour to find the platform and wait. We had a twenty minute wait for a 61 bus when we arrived. A past dish for supper, quickly prepared, followed by a slice of the beautiful apple pie Clare baked yesterday. I'm none the worse for sleep lost, but not pushing my luck, and going to bed even earlier, savouring memories of an exquisite performance, topped and tailed with train journeys in what turned out to be good weather, up and down the Severn Estuary and the Vale of Evesham.

Grimm tale

As I was getting up this cold grey morning, the BBC Radio Sunday Worship programme was starting. It was from a charismatic evangelical church gathering of two thousand  called 'The Warehouse Church' in Manchester. It's an outreach ministry aimed at Generation Z, led by a popular Gospel rock group called 'Warehouse Worship. It offers worship through music, prayer and teaching at large social gatherings, and to an on-line membership. To my surprise Google informed me that its home base is in Newport where co-founding pastors Robbie and Donna Howells are based. Its missionary model has been reproduced in Canada and the West coast of America. Is this mega-church for Generation Z? 

The music has no appeal for me, nor the devotional ethos. It has strong similarities to worship in black Pentecostal churches I visited during my time in St Paul's Bristol fifty years ago. These have also evolved to meet the challenges of the rising generations, with digital ministries and well as live worship, making a positive contribution to the presentation of traditional Christian faith in this radically different era to the one in which I was privileged exercise ministry.

I drove to St Paul's Grangetown to celebrate the Parish Mass, with twenty adults and ten children, a good turnout. I was amazed to see primroses growing in the churchyard garden, as well as crocuses and a few daffodils. Apart from a few places where I've seen them in front gardens, I've not seen any in the parks so far this year. Primroses can flower from December if it's mild through to May. March-April as their best months, so mid February is early. I believe I wonder what's special about the church garden environment? I was able to leave straight after the service as it was followed by a congregational planning meeting.

After lunch walk in the park. Although the temperature was a few degrees higher, the cold east wind was back. I was suitably dressed but still got chilled. In the evening I watched the last three episodes of Danish crimmie 'Fatal Crossing'. In the penultimate episode we learn that an English murderer has groomed two Danish teenage girls and manipulated them into killing on his behalf. They disappear for forty years, missing not dead, changing identities and murdering on their own initiative. It's a grim story, or should I say Grimm? As there are two wicked witches in this story. Very slow paced, suspenseful, psychologically complex, very dark, and a tad philosophical, with rambling feminist moral to conclude the story. I wasn't quite convinced about its plausibility over such an extended period of time.

Easy bed now as we have a train to Birmingham catch in the morning. We're going to see Kath's new show 'Dance in the Dark', at the Midlands Arts Centre in Edgbaston. Rhiannon is come to collect us from New Street station in her car!

Memory glitch

A slightly warmer damp overcast day. Although I went earlier to bed I was awake for longer in the night. Clare prepared the batter and I cooked our breakfast pancakes and went on to cook lunch as well, after a morning completing tomorrow's sermon and preparing text for Morning Prayer for Wednesday the week after next.

I went for my afternoon walk in the park shortly after Clare went out. When I'd walked for ten minutes I had that uncertain feeling that I hadn't locked the front door. Could I have even left it open in a moment of distraction? There was just a small gap in my memory for a familiar routine action, so I returned home to check. Yes, I had shut it, but not double locked it. Not that anyone could get in without a key! We always double lock by raising the door handle and then using the key. It was the sound of raising the door handle that hadn't registered itself in my mind, because I forgot to do it.

I returned to the park and walked around Pontcanna Fields, and was intrigued to notice a fresh outburst of snowdrops on the grass verge by the campsite entrance. A single plant with multiple flowers first appeared there in mid December. Its last flower is now withering away after blooming for an unusually long period. There's been little sign of those new plants growing until now. It's curious the way they come at different times in different places around the parks, and in some places they just don't grow on ground that appears to have similar vegetation. It's probably a matter of soil chemistry, as they're resilient creatures, coping with frost and long spells of torrential rain.

Clare had started baking a batch of bread by the time I arrived home. It came out of the oven before supper and the aroma filled downstairs rooms like incense. We ate hot sliced bread. Mine had olive oil on it with a slice of chicken and salad greens. Simple pleasures.

Nothing to do in the evening apart from printing my sermon, so I watched more episodes of Dsnish crimmie 'Fatal Crossing' until bed time.

Disturbing events

In the middle of the night, I felt a draught of cool air on my cheek. It happens when the wind is changing direction and veering from east to south west, and then west. It's bringing rain with it, and further inland where it's been colder, there'll be some snow over the weekend.

After breakfast and a spell of writing, I went to Tesco's to buy Valentine's day roses and cinnamon buns for Clare, and chorizo for me, so I could make a chicken and chorizo dish for lunch. 

Then I finished reading 'Una Muerta Imperfecta' and was interested to learn that there's an English version as well. J J Fernandez is a crime fiction writer with five crimmies to his credit. I thought this one was a murder mystery as it opened with an unexplained death, and a niece who's not satisfied with her uncles 'natural causes' autopsy finding. She thinks the truth is something else and investigates. It turns out her uncle was a victimiser not a victim, and her memory of being abused as a child was so successfully repressed that when she finds out there are other victims and confronts him, she represses this memory completely. It's a well constructed story, and as most of story is in dialogue form it's easy to follow and instructive about everyday conversation.

I walked to Llandaff Cathedral and then went on to the weir on the west bank footpath of the Taff before returning for tea. Although the air temperature was the same as yesterday, the west wind was more dampening than it  was chilling.

There's now a chilling wind in American relationships with Europe, since Trump announced his intention to meet with Putin in the coming weeks to discuss terms for a peace deal. Two guys who see themselves as strong leaders, in effect populist dictators bamboozling democracy to gain power, fervent in the belief that might is right. He's done this without consulting with President Zelenskyy or NATO allies. Vice president, Vance attending a European security conference made very derogatory remarks about European democracy, alleging the suppression of right wing political opinion, suggesting he's ignorant of differences between European and American cultures. Both feeling entitled to throw their weight around on the world stage. Heaven knows where this will lead.

Hopefully European nations will be driven to unite more firmly in defending their values, and invest more in protecting themselves against Russian aggression. There seems to be a lot of pessimism about at the moment in the political as well as economic sphere. Thankfully there will be a hostage exchange in Gaza tomorrow, so Hamas has decided not to obstruct the agreed process despite its allegation of Israeli cease fire breaches. No doubt Trump will boast this is due to his threatening rhetoric.

Hunting for something to watch this evening, I found there are four new episodes of 'Astrid - Murders in Paris' on Channel 4 Walter Presents'. I watched the first of them, and then browsed to see what else is new. I came across a Danish crimmie about a cold case investigation undertaken by a journalist, and watched the first and half of the second short episode and then stopped, having decided to take a break before bed. 

The light in the window

When it's just above freezing and overcast day after day, I'm reminded of our years living in Geneva, when similar weather conditions could persist for many weeks in winter. Fortunately, we could drive up the Col de la Faucille on the north side of Lake Geneva out of the cloud into bright sunshine to walk or ski on Jura ridge trails, with occasional views of the high Alps fifty miles away to the south. It was so therapeutic and I still miss that experience of spending time in high mountain quietness away from traffic with occasional winter birdsong for company.

I started writing a sermon for Sunday after breakfast and spent most of the morning on it, but couldn't find the right way to conclude it. It'll come, eventually. Clare and I joined forces to cook lunch with sausages and chips (ordinary and sweet potato) baking in the oven with cabbage and onion fried together, and some artichokes from the week's veggie bag done in the pressure cooker. An unusual combination but it worked.

Walking in the park after lunch was a trial, as wind chill factor made me very cold, so I had to go home to warm up with a hot drink, and then go out again to finish off with a different top coat. It's impossible to judge how cold it's going to be throughout a long walk, as some places are sheltered from the wind and others exposed. This changes when the wind changes direction. 

The former Welsh Presbyterian church at the top of Cathedral Road, now a special needs school, was lit from within as I passed by at dusk. I noticed for the first time a large pair of stained glass panels in the middle of the otherwise clear glazed windows running the length of the building. One depicted John the Baptist and the other Christ the Light of the World as portrayed in Holman Hunt's painting. Mid twentieth century design I reckon, unusual to see in a plain protestant church building. So glad it's been conserved,

What was also unusual was the large bottom panels of both windows filled with written texts which clearly weren't information about the people or occasion they commemorate. I took a photo with my phone (for once I wasn't carrying a proper camera), and when I got home loaded the image into Gimp photo editor which lets you flip the image. The text was written to be read from indoors, so image flipping makes it readable from outside. Both texts were from St John's Gospel - John the Baptist bearing witness to the divine light, and Jesus saying "I am the light of the world ... "

Again after supper I spent the evening reading my Spanish novel. I only have a few chapters left to read, but rather than stay up late, I left them for tomorrow and went to be on time.

Job success for Owain

Another cold night and grey day. Awake by half past seven, posting the Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp, then up at eight for breakfast, benefiting from getting to bed half an hour earlier. It meant I was out of the house on my way to St Catherine's for the Eucharist early enough to buy our contribution to the food bank without haste. It was heartwarming to have Pam at today's service, brought by Jean. She's been unwell and housebound for a long time. Marlene, our other nonagenarian wasn't well enough to be brought to church today, still recovering from a fall a few weeks ago. Both are frail their confidence easily drained by a shock. 

To see either or both of them at church and smiling is good for those of us who are ten to fifteen years younger, wondering how we'll be if we live to their age. We were nine this morning plus baby Sebastian, who snoozed throughout. Normally he's awake and alert, staring around with wonder in his eyes. I was pleased to learn from Hilary that three of the jars of marmalade I made are sold so far. I collected this week's veggie bag on my way home, and cooked lunch, while Clare was having a violin lesson with Mark.

For a change, I walked into town to have a look around. Ann called me while I was walking to say that her cardio examination on Sunday concluded with the good news of a healthy heart. Then Owain called to say he's been offered a job with HMRC in a team that's based in their Bristol office. His interview was last week, and yesterday he was informed that he interviewed well and would be considered for a suitable job if one came up. He was rather surprised to get an offer quite so soon!

I could hear French voices on the street, early arrivals for Saturday's rugby international. There are now large iron gates in Wharton Street enclosing the internal space created by the initial demolition phase of the Howells department store redevelopment. It's possible to get a better view of the facade of Bethany Chapel  preserved and absorbed into the store during the mid-1960's redevelopment. Banners for the demolition company are now emblazoned on three sides of the old building. The plan is to gut the building, preserving its listed building facade and build a new structure within it, adding a garden terrace at roof level.

I caught the bus home and got off halfway up Romilly Crescent to walk the last stretch. Before supper I watched the last episode of 'The Sketch Artist' which ended on a cliff hanger, so there's bound to be another series eventually.

Owain phoned after supper to chat about his move from the Insolvency Agency to HMRC. There's a rather convoluted procedure involved it seems, as each of the 422 government agencies is a distinct entity with separate personnel management departments. Although he's been vetted for his present job, he has to be vetted by HMRC, and this involves lots of form filling with personal details. It was the same when he moved to the Insolvency Agency from the DVSA. There's no equivalent of a civil servant's digital passport it seems. Timing and details of the transfer have still to be worked out and it could be two to three months before it happens. Owain said that's an improvement. It used to take six months! 

I spent the evening reading my Spanish novel, picking up new vocabulary and expressions as I proceeded. It helps that the writing style of J J Fernandez the author relies on repetition of phrases to build tension or a sense of confusion in the narrative, and is more sparse than that of Zafon, several of whose books I have read. And so to bed, more or less on time. It's hard to stop in the middle of a chapter.

Ways to look after our park

Another overcast grey day, but at least I had a good night's sleep. Clare had a lift to her study group in Cowbridge after breakfast. With the house to myself, I recorded next week's Reflection, edited it and the Morning Prayer audio done yesterday, ready to make the video slideshow and upload it to YouTube. Then I cooked lunch, ready for Clare's return.

An afternoon walk in the park for two hours. Opposite the entrance to the stables, three metre lengths of large tree trunk have been deposited along the verge to prevent car parking by stable visitors. It used to be grass, hosting daffodils, but in recent years has deteriorated into a shallow mud bath here and there, as the saturated topsoil rarely dries out and becomes firm enough to support vehicles. About time too. Storms a couple of months ago brought down several large diameter trees around the park, so there's been no shortage of tree trunks to use conveniently, once cut to size.

I've been intrigued by what seems to be the random sprouting of mole hills in patches around the parks at different times of year. It's pleasing to think there are mole colonies. Heaven knows how they survive such a lot of rain. I've learned from Google that they don't hibernate. If the topsoil freezes they just dig down as far as they can. I suppose it's the same when the topsoil is super saturated. Digging tunnels and expelling the soil above ground is going to aerate the topsoil layer, and provide habitats for insects, and maybe even small birds. It's rare to see a mole unless one gets killed by a predator emerging from its burrow. For those cultivating a perfect garden lawn they are a nuisance, in the park they're an asset to a healthy environment.

After supper and the Archers with another dramatic episode portraying the impact of sewage flooding the new Ambridge housing estate. Very much a reflection of climate crisis times, and well written.

I read my Spanish novel for a couple of hours, then watched an episode of 'The Sketch Artist' before turning in for the night.

Where reality and fiction meet

Overcast and cold rain to start the day with. Housework after breakfast, then I started work on next week's Wednesday Morning Prayer and Reflection. Clare cooked lunch and afterwards we went out to the shops together for the week's essential groceries. Then I walked for another hour in Llandaff Fields, arriving home just before sunset, now at 5.18pm. The thick low cloud  gave the impression it had set before five.

Veronica emailed me to say that she and John would be driving to England from Spain mid September and staying in Kent. We're planning to meet half way. Chieveley Service Area at the M4/A34 junction is half way. There are hotels and restaurants four miles away in Newbury where we can meet for a meal. It's something to look forward to. Meanwhile I'm planning a spring visit to L'Escala. Vueling flights from Cardiff start again in time for Semana Santa, the third week of April this year, so early May looks like the best option, "before the silly season begins", as Veronica says.

Hamas has suspended hostage exchanges alleging ceasefire breaches by Israel. With Trump openly talking permanent removal of Gaza's population to somewhere he imagines them having a better standard of living and the US 'owning' Gaza, whatever that is supposed to mean his ethnic cleansing proposal acquires a little more coherence. Some Israeli fanatics are excited about the idea of having the entire Holy Land to themselves with Trump's support, so it's not surprising. Hamas holds on to whatever shred of power it has to defend Gaza and Palestinian people. He ignores the fact that Palestinian Arabs have been at home in Gaza for over two thousand years. The Arab world would never agree to any deal disinheriting them, let alone the rest of UN member states. 

After supper I watched another couple of episodes of 'The Sketch Artist', and made an effort to go to bed half an hour early. I really need to make an effort to advance bed time, so that when the clocks go forward it will be easier to make the adjustment to summer time.

We habitually listen to 'The Archers' at suppertime. After a dull week about the love lives of Ambridge  youngsters, we were witnessing a serious farming crisis unfolding. Torrential rain brings more than just floods, nothing new in the world's longest running soap opera, the local sewage treatment is overwhelmed by rainfall. The river Am overflows with sewage into the yard of Bridge Farm, leaks into the dairy, ruining some cheese stocks, although much is rescued, thanks to neighbours pitching in to drive away the toxic effluent. This story will have a lot of consequences for the Bridge Farm organic brand and revenue. It's true to life, reflecting what's happening around Britain due to climate change and outdated waste treatment infrastructure. As the drama 'Mr Bates and the Post Office' drew public attention to one major injustice, I hope this fictional drama will raise debate about our environment and the threats faced by agriculture to a much higher level.

Caught out by cold wind, again

Cold with sunshine and a few clouds during the morning. After breakfast I finally got around to printing my sermon, having made more small changes after reading it through. I wasn't as confident about what I had to say as I am generally. I drove to St Paul's through quiet Grangetown Streets. There were twenty adults and four young children, all from the same family. I thought there were going to be fewer of us for the service but unusually, half a dozen arrived late. 

Afterwards I took Communion to Basma. She's looking forward to a hospital visit tomorrow to check on an eye infection which is slow to clear. She's had to tape her left eye shut for several months because of this. It's kept her housebound since she moved into her new temporary accommodation, relying on home deliveries and her daughter Maya to obtain everything she needs. Maya has now moved to St Mellons into a place of her own, creating additional difficulties. Basma is exceptionally patient and resilient under the circumstances.

It was nearly two o'clock when I reached home. Clare had left Sunday lunch warming on the stove for me. I went out and walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour, but when I crossed over into Pontcanna Fields that arctic east wind was even stronger. Although it was seven degrees it felt as if it was close to zero. Again I had chosen the wrong top coat to wear, and was compelled to head for home and change it for my old ski jacket. Clare had invited a few study group friends in to read a lecture together and they arrived at the house at the same time as me. I then walked to Thompson's Park and walked for another three quarters of an hour to complete my daily quota.

Browsing 'Channel 4 Walter Presents', I found a third series of the French Canadian crimmie 'The Sketch Artist' and spent the evening after supper watching four episodes, just for the pleasure of hearing Montreal French spoken in a bi-lingual setting. If you're not in a position to go abroad, it's a kind of substitute.

Justice done to a Mozart masterpiece

I slept well and woke up late. Clare was up early cooking breakfast pancakes. I rewrote my sermon for tomorrow as I had a fresh idea to weave into it. This took most of the morning. Then I cooked lunch early to take the bus to the Millennium Centre in good time for the matinee performance of 'The Marriage of Figaro' and the drinks reception which preceded it. I had a glass of Chilean Merlot, the first glass of wine I've drunk this year. It was quite pleasant, but I had no inclination to return for a second one to take into the auditorium with me.

The opera wasn't a new production but re-worked a production we last saw nine years ago with a minimal set design. I think the libretto has been revised, attuned to more colloquial contemporary humour as some dialogue raised waves of loud laughter during the singing. The movement and body language of the performers also contributed to revealing the comedic character of this story of lust, deception, revenge and betrayal. The acting as well as the singing of all the cast was impeccable

There was one interval, an hour and three quarters into a show of three hours. Rather long for a majority audience of over sixties. The toilet queues for both sexes were a witness to that. We only had five minutes to wait for a number six bus back to the city centre. There was a large crowd waiting. The bus service runs only every half hour now, with none added at a time when performances has ended and demand is high. The new electric buses have a capacity of seventy, and many more than that were waiting at the stop, and that arctic east wind was still blowing.

The bus driver took a look at the size of the queue with its high average age too, I suspect, and abandoned issuing tickets to passengers boarding. "Get on as fast as you can and budge up!" he said, "I want to get as many  of you as I can out of the cold and back to the centre." There must have been eighty on board when we left five minutes later. The majority of passengers would have held free bus passes anyway, so not a lot of revenue was lost.

We took the 122 Tonypandy bus back to Llandaff Fields, and were home just after seven. After supper I dressed warmly and walked for three quarters of an hour in the park, to compensate for four hours sitting in a cramped seat. Having long legs, I don't find there's quite enough space for me to sit comfortably for so long, but it's worthwhile when the WNO's production and performance is so superb at many levels. Due to funding cutbacks, there are only two operas this spring, but there's no cutback in quality or standards of performance.

I had a nice chat with Rachel when I was writing after my night walk, so bed time is somewhat delayed.

WNO company briefing

Another cold night, just above freezing followed by an overcast day with the east wind making it feel even colder. After breakfast, I had an early appointment with 'Chris the Earwax Guy' to hoover out my ears. The left one was blocked and my hearing really impaired. I thought the right one wasn't so bad, but inspection showed it was almost as bad, even if I could hear more from my right ear than my left. It was such a relief to get it done. I've put off making the effort to arrange an appointment for too long.

Clare and I made a rendezvous at the nearest bus stop to travel into town and then down to the Millennium Centre for a Friends of WNO gathering at which Adele Thomas and Sarah Crabtree, newly appointed joint director / CEO of the Company introduced themselves and shared their vision for the future development and the creative enterprises that rely upon it for work - some five hundred people - in a time when funding for the arts is being savagely cut back across the country. It's a question of imagining how to do more with less, how to engage more support nationally for a Company held in high esteem internationally for its innovative productions.  Sara observed in her talk that WNO's native audience are more adventurous than other opera audiences judging by the way innovative productions play to full houses at the Millennium Centre. That was certainly the case with Death in Venice and Ainadamar last year. Both got five star reviews as well.

Sarah has come from the team at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden, Adele is from Port Talbot, and had a key role in Michael Sheen's Port Talbot Passion Play fifteen years ago. Her career so far has been as a free lance artistic director. "This is the first time I've been properly employed." she joked. It was great to see such enthusiasm with clarity of vision and realism about the work ahead. They were very well received. We were also treated to a fascinating talk by the head of the WNO's wig making team, demonstrating what goes into preparing both chorus and cast to step into their roles suitable coiffured. The two hour session finished with a short operatic aria recital from Harriet Eyley the singer playing Cherubino in the Marriage of Figaro which opened last night to a enthusiastic audience with plenty of hwyl, by the sound of it. 

Waiting for the bus on Plas Roald Dahl afterwards with an arctic wind blowing made us impatient to get back to the city centre and lunch in John Lewis. We got on a number eight bus as much for shelter as the longer trip through Grangetown. We both had dishes of pie and mash with red cabbage for lunch. Veggie for Clare and chicken for me. We both wished we'd gone for fish and chips in Caroline Street instead, as the pie crust was hard, chewy and didn't digest readily. 

We went to the bus interchange nearby to wait for a bus home and shelter from the wind. Unfortunately we got on the 24 bus to Llandaff North which goes there the long way, instead of the 25 which goes up Cathedral Road and stops at Llandaff Fields. Rather than take an hour to get home instead of twenty minutes, we got off the 24 at the Kingsway stop and walked a chilling quarter of a mile back to the nearest stop where we were lucky to catch the 61 stopping closest to our house. No success in avoiding the cold wind after all! Once I'd warmed up with a cup of tea, I donned my long topcoat and walked for another hour.

The death of Lord Dafydd Elis-Thomas was announced on the evening news, eighteen months younger than I. He was a Welsh language activist, campaigning politically for the introduction of bi-lingual signs and schooling. He led Plaid Cymru for 17 years, was an MP for 18 years and Presiding Officer of the National Assembly for Wales before it was transformed into the Senedd. I first got to know him at events hosted by St John's City Parish Church. A few years ago he and his wife Mair moved from a neighbouring street into Meadow Street. 

We met now and then, walking in the park, and occasionally walked together to the Cathedral Sung Eucharist reflecting on our lives and current affairs.  He was born and bred a Welsh Non-Conformist and told me that the time he spent in Westminster influenced him to become an Anglican. It's been a while since I spotted him opening his front door to receive a parcel delivery and waved, let alone on the street. A great champion of his motherland, its culture and spirituality. May he rest in peace.

Clare found a bereavement card and wrote a condolence message in Welsh to Mair, Dafydd's wife, to pop through their door in between watching episodes one and two of 'Death in Paradise' series 13. It's a very popular show, showcasing the feel-good Caribbean lifestyle enjoyed by original inhabitants and ex-pats alike. Rather gentle for the most part, with elements of romance and humour outside the murder stories it tells. These are mostly conventional domestic whodunits with clever solutions to seemingly inexplicable crimes, offering little insight into the dark underside of genteel society as modern crimmies tend to do. It's entertaining rather than reflecting sordid reality.

The new WNO production of 'Marriage of Figaro' tomorrow afternoon

Distinctive yet similar

I was shocked to awaken to this morning's news that Trump has continued to speak about America taking over the ruined territory of Gaza and redeveloping it, adding the detail that the Israeli military would be in charge of overseeing the removal of its Palestinian citizens to safe Arab territories before the USA took 'ownership' of the Strip. Such provocative speculation can only wind people up and inflame tensions. He seems to think being American president places him above international law. His messianic fervour for saving the world from all its woes is nothing short of diabolical - in other words, it divides and promises to conquer because might is right in his eyes. Heaven help us.

I spent the morning after breakfast writing my sermon for Sunday. This year we have four Sundays before Lent as Easter is so late. In terms of the three year lectionary cycle it's an infrequent event. When I looked in my archive, I couldn't find a text file for Year C readings for this occasion, and had to find and copy them from iBreviary website. I started compiling lectionary texts for use in leaflets, and for consultation off-line when the Church of England started using the Revised Common Lectionary and the new Common Worship Book of Common Prayer came into use, twenty five years ago. Such resources weren't as readily accessible on the internet back then, and off-line working a more regular aspect of life. Looking back, how things have changed!

Clare cooked a veggie pasta dish for lunch with added TVP. I added tomato paste to my portion to give it a flavour I prefer. Clare steers clear of tomatoes as part of her anti-arthritis diet. I continued writing after we'd eaten, as I wasn't sure about the way the sermon should end. Eventually I went out and walked for a couple of hours, through Llandaff Fields to the Western Avenue Bridge and down the Taff Trail all the way to the Millennium Bridge and then back home. A chill wind was blowing from the east, but the sun shone. It was just right for a brisk walk after a sedentary morning at home. 

As I was walking past the SWALEC stadium, a group of about thirty teenagers emerged from within, bunched together talking animatedly. One or two hailed me with 'Hello', perhaps because I was wearing a camera around my neck. I couldn't work out what language they spoke, but from a few odd words guessed they were Italian not French or Spanish. I remembered Laura, Holy Trinity Church secretary in Geneva thirty years ago observing that Italians are very gregarious, so if you saw a bunch of people skiing cross country unusually close together they'd most likely be Italian as other nationalities prefer to spread out and make the most of the piste. Funny how these little memories emerge from time to time.

The camera in question was my Olympus PEN. Despite its lack of viewfinder it's getting easier to use now thanks to its Optical Image stabilisation feature. It takes good pictures, except those of red petalled flowers which never seem to reflect the visible reality. Photo editing afterwards doesn't cure the issue. It's just the flower itself that seems over-exposed and lacking in detail when other colours aren't. It's something to do with the way digital camera sensors work producing a compressed JPEG image, and how the eye registers colour at the red end of the spectrum. Several explanations I read were too complex to understand fully.

After supper I watched the tense final episode of 'An t-Eilean', a beautifully crafted bi-lingual drama about a coercive controlling Scottish laird deceiving and ruining the lives of his grown up children, unmasked by an islander who is a police family liaison officer called back home to act as an interpreter after the wife of the laird dies in ambiguous circumstances. It held together well, made me think of a Greek tragedy.

This week I've been in touch with cousin Sue who lives on the island of Mull, part of the Inner Hebrides island group. The drama is set in Harris, one of the Outer Hebrides islands. Sue told me about differences between the Gaelic spoken on Mull and Harris, very similar to the way North and South Wales Welsh have some differences in vocabulary and in distinctive ways of voicing the language. Every place and every generation has a way of owning the language they call their own. Talking of which, I read a few chapters in my current Spanish novel before turning in for the night.

Reckless dangerous speech

Awake before the alarm and posting today's Morning Prayer link to YouTube. After breakfast I set out for the St Catherine's Eucharist with the empty veggie bag filled with five kilos weight of marmalade jars to give to Hilary to sell and raise funds to cover the cost of Wednesday morning coffee and biscuits. There were six of us for the service. Afterwards I dashed back to the Coop to buy our food bank contribution for the week to leave in church, and then had coffee. I collected this week's veggie bag on my way home and cooked lunch. Clare was in town shopping and got home late. It didn't matter as I'd started cooking late.

An hour's siesta after lunch, a deep refreshing sleep which put a spring in my step when I went out for a walk around Thompson's Park and Llandaff Fields. Although I've been logging over seven hours sleep on a regular basis, I don't seem to sleep deeply for long, so it's no wonder I feel tired and out of sorts. Not enough relaxed restorative sleep, I think.

Trump has made ridiculous and contentious remarks about America taking charge of clearing Gaza's ruins and redeveloping it as a 'Riviera resort', requiring the entire Palestinian population to be displaced to other Arab countries in the region to achieve this. Some Israelis have welcomed the suggestion as a contribution to discussion about the future. There's been an cry of outrage among international leaders about this, who see this as a proposal for ethnic cleansing, and a violation of the sovereign status of Gaza and the West Bank citizen, territory Israel already occupies illegally, flouting international law and treaty. 

By the end of the day Trump is in retreat saying in effect "Just speculating, thinking aloud. No policy decisions have been made." It's pure provocation. Trump is using his role as the most powerful world leader to play with people and antagonise them. The situation does however provide Palestinians with an opportunity to re-state unequivocally that their territory is not a tradeable commodity but an ancient inheritance they will never relinquish.

Arabs and Jews have lived alongside each other in the Holy Land for more than two thousand years. Some though not all Israelis believe all the land is theirs by right, mandated by scripture, well the scripture they choose to believe while ignoring other parts which imply they must live side by side because they're not obedient enough to divine law and commandments to have exclusive rights to the land. Another way of saying that they need others to live alongside them to enable them to live according to God's will. Exclusivity doesn't work. But who can prevent the Israelis from forcing the issue, now that Trump, their more powerful ally has spoken so recklessly.

After supper I spent the evening on the rewrite of my Grandfather's story and that was enough for today.

Legacy of violence

Both Clare and I had a disturbed night. She felt dizzy for no accountable reason and stayed in bed most of the morning. I was feeling lethargic but managed to record and edit the audio for next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection, make the video slide show and upload it to YouTube, before cooking lunch. Then I did a heavy grocery shopping trip, but still didn't get everything we needed, so Clare and I went out to the shops together for the missed items. 

It was getting dark by the time we got home so I continued walking into the park under a clear sky. It was wonderful to see a waxing moon, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn and Mars shining in an arc above me once more. All too often, cloud obscures the night sky. Worth braving the twilight chill for this.

After supper I watched both episodes of 'Silent Witness', telling the story of two army veterans suffering from an undiagnosed traumatic brain injury, leading to a succession of violent murders in a tragic chain of events. It's set in the context of Nicky and Jack deciding to move from cohabitation to marriage. While it's very romantic, a shadow of uncertainty over the future is implied when Jack finds out that a contemporary from his days as an amateur boxer has lost all his memory. Also a product of traumatic brain injury. It's the last double episode in this 28th series. It's a very popular show, so I'd be surprised if there wasn't a 29th.

In Gaza the ceasefire still holds. The dreadful task of recovering bodies from ruined buildings throughout the Strip, after eighteen months of war has raised the death toll to 61,000. And now there are more deaths in West Bank territory as the Israeli army conducts 'security operations' against armed Palestinian militant groups, with more innocent civilians killed than jihadis, and many family homes being bulldozed with the same excuse. Nothing new there in a long history of Israeli occupation. Trump is ambitious to do deals to resolve all the problematic relationships between Middle Eastern countries and claim he has brokered peace in the region. It would almost be a miracle if he succeeded. One miracle he cannot make happen however, is the healing of innocent Palestinians, brutalised, dispossessed and bereaved over generations. A huge open wound, impossible to heal or forget in a future yet to be forged by peacemaking deals.

Woollen support

Despite spending a long time in bed I didn't sleep well so it took me a long time to get going this morning. After the usual Monday housework, I cooked an early lunch using tasty Greek gigantes beans, as we had a two o'clock hairdo appointment with Chris. While Clare was having her hair done I went for a walk, first up the hill to inspect a post box crowned with an interesting looking example of 'guerilla knitting' spotted on the inbound journey. This delightful adornment features a mini rugby pitch with a Welsh Dragon lining up to convert a try. A fringe of letters underneath says 'Come on Wales' - supporter inspired art! Sadly it made no difference to the Welsh team's run of thirteen successive international match defeats.

From there I walked a long circuit down to the lake in Parc Trederlech, before returning to the salon. As I washed my hair yesterday and my scalp is in good condition, Chris needed to do very little to tidy me up, and we were on our way home by half past three in surprisingly heavy early traffic. After a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, I walked for an hour in the park as the sun was setting.

Worked on preparing next Wednesday's Morning Prayer and Reflection before and after supper. Then read my new Spanish novel, intending to go to bed early. Then I noticed an email notification from Samsung about a firmware update for my Fitbit, apparently to remedy a tendency to overheat. I followed the instructions which said it would take at least twenty minutes to complete. It took from eight until eleven to download and a few minutes to complete the installation process so I could switch off. So I end up going to bed at my usual time.

Christmastide ends

An overcast day waking up to 'Sunday Worship' on Radio 4 from Liverpool's Catholic Cathedral, with the Latin Ordinary and Propers for the celebration of Candlemass, a refreshing change despite the awkward r English translation of the Collects and Eucharistic Prayers. I walked to the Cathedral for the eleven o'clock Solemn Eucharist, in which the girls choir sang the English setting written by Herbert Howells, in place of the boy choristers. It was beautiful and uplifting, a lovely conclusion to the forty days of Christmaside.

Precentor Ian Yemm preached a fine sermon covering all St Luke's stories about the infancy and youth of the Christchild. He also devised a candle processional set of versicles and responses for celebrant and congregation, to end the service after a procession to the font. Dean Jason presided, and I had a chance to welcome him to Llandaff afterwards. It's the first time I've been to a Cathedral service since he was inducted. I was surprised when he said that he attended my licensing and induction at St John's in 2002!

Straight back home for lunch, a snooze and then a walk in Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields afterwards. On a corner of Pontcanna Fields where I saw a youth football match was played yesterday, I caught sight of a pile of rubbish gathered into one spot fifty yards from the nearest bin. Fifteen plastic bottles, four energy drink cans and two coffee cups, plus a couple of strays on the other side of the pitch that I also collected, binning them all; some on my way down to Blackweir Bridge, others on my way back in a different bin. At the site of a second match played yesterday, no rubbish had been left. It speaks volumes about the difference in quality of team supervision and leadership between the two matches.

I spent the rest of the day watching the remaining episodes of the current series of 'Wisting', before and after supper. I think I've watched all 26 episodes over the past five years. A good police procedural drama with a layer of family stories with grown up children. The protagonist is widower in his late fifties, solitary, wedded to his work, but not a lonely man. A thoughtful sympathetic character. As with other Norwegian telly dramas I've watched, the dialogue in context flows naturally between Norwegian and English. It's the same with other series produced for the European market over the past decade, and I'm pleased that Welsh and Gaelic dramas showcasing minority languages have featured in this cultural  development.

On AI avoiding the question posed

I didn't get up until after nine. A long time in bed, but I didn't sleep well, overstimulated by thinking about what I'm writing, and a big evening meal. Clare was up an hour before me, cooking breakfast pancakes. I did very little all morning apart from showering, washing my hair and exchanging messages with cousin Dianne about our family tree. Clare cooked fish and chips for lunch, and we both slept for a while before going out for a walk. I felt stiff and tired, Clare's arthritic hip was hurting so she did one lap of Llandaff Fields and return home, leaving me to continue walking a lap of Pontcanna Fields as well.

Loud music was emanating from somewhere the other side of the Taff, probably Coopers Field, suggesting an event was on. Later, young people returning to Pontcanna across Blackweir Bridge had faces painted in the blue and yellow colours of Ukraine's national flag. Or else the colours represented a sports team they were supporting. A Google event search was surprisingly unhelpful, seeming not to understand the word 'today' unless it was qualified as 'only today', throwing up all sorts of irrelevant events at dates past and present. If this is AI at work, it's laughable ignorance. 

There seems to be no enquiry possible around the question 'What's on in Cardiff today' categorising and listing most major types of public event. Large language model AI algorithms need to be 'taught' by processing public information, they say, but for now it doesn't seem to be attuned to delivering basic general information, unless an event is being promoted hard. That's not always the information needed.

For the third day in a row I bumped into Richard on his litter gathering round. His afternoon bag contained a heavy coil of thick cable insulation dumped after its copper core had been stripped out. Earlier I found an unopened water bottle and Coca Cola can discarded on top of different rubbish bins. Consumers with money to waste buying more than they need and then dumping it. A cost-of-living crisis hasn't impacted on such selfish greed yet.

I copied my collection of music files from my phone to the Linux Workstation this evening. Building the database on Mint's 'Rhythmbox' music player was a slow process, so I watched episodes of the fourth series of Norwegian crimmie 'Wisting' while I waited. There were inconsistencies in the metadata of some of the MP3 files I created, so I found myself with multiple copies of folders and the relevant files spread between them. Rationalising these into single folders for each album also needs to be done, and that took more time attending to the detail in scores of folders. It's not a job I would entrust to AI, that's for sure.