Alarming awakening

A rainy day with occasional thunder and even bursts of sunshine. At two thirty this morning the painful nagging bleep of a dying smoke alarm battery disrupted my sleep. I got up and with Clare's help holding the ladder attempted to change the battery, but failed to get the cover off to access the battery. I gave up an hour later and endured the remainder of a disturbed night's rest. 

I woke up at seven, posted today Morning Prayer link to WhatsApp and dozed for another hour before getting up for breakfast. Clare contacted an electrician mate of Owain's, who was helpful explaining how to get the cover off, but I was still unable to locate the slot harbouring the trigger for the cover release. It turned out to be on the side of the device that I couldn't see without taking a dangerous risk as it faced the void above the staircase.

I had to abandon my efforts in order to get to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist, giving myself time to calm down and say Morning Prayer before celebrating. Thankfully Rob, a techie neighbour of ours came and sorted the problem when I was out, in response to an appeal for help from Clare. There were nine of us altogether, including Father Andrew who turned up at the last minute and joined us. I think he was in the back office photocopying unnoticed as I was getting ready for the service.

We had salmon stew for lunch, using the carcass of the filleted fish Clare bought yesterday in the market when I got back from church. Then I went for a walk, and returned at four to meet Paula to finish off the Easter edition of Sway and send it out by Mailchimp. She's got the hang of it now, confident enough to go solo hereafter. Handover complete, job done. A satisfying feeling.

I had an email from churchwarden John in Nerja, with details surrounding my arrival, and a wedding date booked in late May. He and his wife will take me out for a Chinese meal on the evening of my arrival. I can't remember when last I ate in a Chinese restaurant. It's many decades ago.

After supper, Clare and I went to St German's for the Maundy Thursday Liturgy. There were twenty of us on a dark and rainy evening. The traditional rite simplified with the transfer of the Sacrament in silence and then the stripping of the altar was very effective I thought. We got back just after half past nine. 

Then I caught up on the day's events in a rainy Malaga, dipping into extracts on YouTube of the three hour video of the arrival of the Spanish Legion by ship, the march to the casa cofradia la Mena, and bringing out from San Domenico church next door of the huge image of Christ dead on the cross, known as el Cristo del Buen Muerte, for mounting on its trono. 

I've seen the disembarking in the flesh, but not the latter until now. I also listened to an interview with film star Antonio Banderas talking about the cultural, social and spiritual value of Semana Santa activities in our radically changing times, and understood enough to know what he was on about. Then bed early to try and make up for sleep lost last night

One of my happy places

I woke up to a morning of cloud and occasional showers. After breakfast I went on the bus to St Peter's Fairwater for the only Eucharist of the day, St Catherine's celebration have been cancelled in favour of a service of the Word this evening. As I was crossing the road to reach the 61 bus stop a bus passed in front of me, so I ran up the road behind it, about fifty metres, without running out of energy or getting terribly breathless. Then on the way back after the service, the same happened again, and I caught the bus, quite pleased with this minor achievement, without pushing myself too hard, or hurting myself.

Before the service Fr Andrew played Taize recorded chants, just the instrumental music, used as a backing track for congregational singing. It was a question of guessing the chant to pray with. One I recognised was 'Veni Sancte Spiritus Tui amoris ignam accende' which I learned on a Taize visit nearly thirty seven years ago. When Fr Andrew started singing just before the service began, he sang an English translation of the words I didn't know. It shows how out of touch I am I guess. 

A congregation of about twenty were present, the same number as regularly attend in my experience of taking services there. I may have been the only person attending from neighbouring Canton churches. Most faithful churchgoers are territorial, creatures of habit. If their routine service isn't available, they are reluctant to go elsewhere. They can change, but only if there's no longer any alternative and may just stop attending altogether, as happened during the pandemic closure of churches. I've been used to worshipping in many different ways and places throughout my adult life appreciating both routine and change, but what I seek when I'm on the receiving end is a quality of teaching and prayer from which I can learn, grow and be challenged. It's not getting any easier to find this nowadays, sad to say.

I got off the bus outside Victoria Park on the journey back, and walked around the park once before going home to fetch the veggie bag to go to Chapter and collect this week's order. Clare was in town shopping at Ashton's for fresh fish to freeze when I returned, so I started making a batch of bread and cooking lunch at the same time. I had more success with getting the dough mix right than I have for a while, so it was easier to work into a nice consistent mass for leavening. Lunch was ready not long after Clare arrived. After we'd eaten she went to Beanfreaks for groceries. I baked the bread, then went to the Co-op for the rest of the food we need for the coming weekend, when we'll have Owain, Kath and Anto staying.

After supper, I spent some time catching up on Semana Santa in Malaga. There's been rain again today, like Sunday, so no street processions apart from a brief excursion by the Jesus el Rico cofradia, which is charged with the official annual ceremony of freeing one prisoner, remitting the remainder of a sentence being served by one prison inmate from the city - imitating the gesture of Pilate freeing Barabbas. It's a Holy Week tradition which has persisted for the past 270 years. Again this year, it was someone serving a three years sentence for drug trafficking who gets early release for reformed behaviour. In the absence of video from today, I watched yesterday's footage on YouTube, and glimpsed a number of familiar places around Malaga's old town in which the processions are set. I have so many good memories of time spent in the city, it's one of those really 'happy places' in my life.

Then I finished watching 'Locked up - Oasis'. Its unnecessary portrayal of extreme violence in gunfights, like a Sam Peckinpah movie, is obscene in my opinion, as well as the plethora of confusing switches between past and present scenes. It was enough to deter me from watching the fifty one episodes of the original series, for which this is some sort of finale. Apart from listening to the Spanish dialogue and being able to understand a fair amount, it gave me no pleasure.