Another bright sunny day despite drifting light cloud. I didn't sleep comfortably and stiff neck muscles dulled my senses. I wasn't as sharp as I usually am, and need to be. Celebrating the Eucharist at St Paul's felt like an effort, and I stumbled on my words a few times. Before leaving I sent a message to Basma with a link to the service on Zoom for her to watch at home. She's still housebound. I had intended to take her Communion afterwards, but forgot to take my phone, so I couldn't call her beforehand to check if the link worked, and alert her to my visit, assuming she's in Cardiff this weekend. Last time I proposed to do this she was in London at a family funeral. Ah well, I'll be at St Paul's in a fortnight's time and can arrange to visit her after the service.
I was home by half past twelve, on time for Sunday lunch for a change. I had a message from Basma to say she's been able to watch the service. I must make sure she gets on the Zoom link mailing list. After we'd eaten I dozed in the chair for half an hour, and then my mind drifted to Haiku on the Gospel story of the Temptation of Jesus in the desert. Again, I ended up writing two linked Haikus. How to reduce it to a single one that makes sense is harder than I realised. Then I went on to write a reflection on St Joseph for the Wednesday after next. Meanwhile, Clare went over to Bristol for a study group meeting. It was gone four o'clock by the time I went out for a two hour walk around Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields.
While I was walking a slow nose bleed started. Providentially I had a couple of spare tissues with me, and cope without making a mess on myself. I got back just before sunset, and realised that I'd failed to take my blood pressure pills, though it doesn't account for this happening. I suspect it was something to do with sleeping last night with my neck in an awkward position. I just can't get the pillows right every time, as I move about in between episodes of sleep.
Clare arrived home soon after I did, in time for supper. I spent the evening watching remaining episodes of 'Dark Hearts'. It's basically an old fashioned war action movie, set in Iraq when ISIS were on the rampage, with a fictional French Special Forces group in enemy territory. It has a cast of elite actors who do justice to an excellent fast moving script and was filmed in Morocco, giving a good account of how such a group of soldiers operate, making use of hi-tech support back in HQ. It comes to an abrupt ambiguous end which many enthusiastic reviewers of the series assumed when it first aired would lead to a series two.
This has indeed happened and will appear some time this year in France, but maybe later on the Beeb. I wasn't surprised to see among its production team the names of those who made the eight series long 'Spiral', about Parisian crime and the Brigade Criminelle. It has the same dramatic intensity, sudden twists and turns that command attention. Although it's fictional, it has a credible authenticity about it. It portrays French soldiers at war with their own kind of camaraderie and personal relationships. This makes for a different ethos to movies about units of the SAS or US Navy Seals. Speaking of the brilliant 'SAS Rogue Heroes', the making of a third series has been announced this week, due for some time next year.
None of these stories are easy to watch. Violence and suffering portrayed remind us of the cruel impact of conflict on victims and warriors alike. Relationships between peoples and nations break down because they cannot live at peace with their differences. Leaders fail to cope with crisis that builds up due to tension, fear and uncertainty and violence follows. The worst can happen anywhere, any time, on our own doorsteps even. It's forty five years on April 2nd since the St Paul's riots in Bristol, something I'll never forget.
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