Farewell series

The temperature has hovered just above zero all day after a proper frosty night. A cold wind is blowing the cloud from east to west, opposite to the most common tendency along the Bristol Channel - the Beast from the East is arriving, and maybe there'll be snow in Cardiff this week, as there is already in mid and north Wales. After a morning of digital tidying in my office, Clare's Christmas present, a new Samsung A21e smartphone arrived just before lunch, both of us received email notifications to say where the parcel was on its way to us. The last popped up to say it had arrived just as the postie knocked the door!

Transferring the old SIM and SD card to the new phone was less fraught with difficulty than I imagine. The Smart data transfer app on the old LG phone to automatically transport it to the new one was a total failure. Fortunately our Google accounts keep a copy of most of the data, and photos live on the SD card. Samsung has its own competing cloud ecosystem which wants to back up all your data and get you to use their apps, and dealing with his is an un-necessary annoying intrusion at set up. 

The phone's instruction manual leaflet came with text exclusively in Hungarian (I think), with a slip of paper containing a QR code linking to the download of the English version. This tells a story of its own. The Curry's European distribution centre is located in a country where I guess the net cost of the imported goods is low enough to provide a margin of profit in moving them on to the UK and EU. Clare was most annoyed. She like an instruction manual to read, whereas for me that's a last resort. I like to see how easy it is to figure out the operating system, how user friendly it is in reality, as opposed to the marketing hype.

My walk after lunch and phone set up took me over the the east bank of the Taff through Bute Park for a change. This too was busy, as can be expected when pandemic restrictions discourage people from going further afield. 

British teachers' Unions are advising members not to return to work, on Health and Safety grounds, unless all necessary covid testing provisions are in place and working, as opposed to promised. The government is facing a legal challenge to produce expert evidence that schools are safe enough as a workplace, and some English local educations authorities are going ahead and delaying the re-opening of schools, as the local health situation is serious enough to justify this. The government is not backing down on its insistence that schools re-open, despite mounting criticism. Nobody wants to see kids deprived of education and the pastoral support schooling provides. Everybody wants to get back to normal as soon as possible, but this is still a worsening situation, and the best everyone can do is hunker down and take no risks of making things worse for others.

Tonight, the first episode of the eighth and final series of the Parisian flic saga. Engrenages in French or 'Spiral' in English. It's been running over the past fifteen years and offers a grimly vivid view of crime in the French capital. Most of the perpetrators of vicious and brutal crimes of every kind over the years come from foreign migrants, refugees or asylum seekers 'sans papiers'. Or so it seems. The entangled worlds of corrupt cops, politicians, lawyers, financiers and indigenous organised criminals, is exposed from every angle, and involves a core cast of about eight characters who have been with the series for most if not all of the past fifteen years. 

Unlike the various iterations of American NCIS crime dramas, and the Italian Inspector Montalbano stories which have elements of family comedy about them sometimes, this has a sober serious dramatic long narrative and offers space for reflection both social and moral, on our flawed humanity, observing that the even the most brave, compassionate people have flaws when revealed under pressure, and are tempted to cut corners to achieve what they regard as justice. It's been interesting to see key characters age and gain seniority, and relationships in the brigade criminelle team develop at work and personal life. It can be tough to watch on times, chastening perhaps, but always worthwhile. There's not many TV series you can say that about.

Great craftsmanship - musical and artisan

I spent most of yesterday working on my ever expanding story, partly trying to work out how to bring its principal character back home from his travels, now that it's become more and more elaborate. In the evening, we walked over the the Royal Welsh College for an Opera Gala Night. All the graduate students on the opera course perform selected acts from great works, accompanied by the WNO's orchestra, conducted by Carol Rizzi, a well known and much loved musical figure not only in Cardiff but on the international operatic scene.

We were treated to a portion of Humperdink's 'Hansel and Gretel', two portions of Puccini, one from 'La Boeme' and a scene from the one act opera 'Suor Angelica', with the finale from Mozart's 'Cosi Fan Tutte, involving a dozen different singers and an opera chorus made up of students. Our seats were in the third row. The music wasn't too loud, but what was very powerful was being so close to these young opera singers, being able to see them act convincingly, and experiencing the full impact of them living their parts. So powerful, I was moved to tears. A night to remember!

Today, with the promise of fair weather, we ventured out to Brecon for the fist time in several years.
The higher mountains had snow on them after the recent rains, and the reservoirs alongside the A470 were full. The town band was playing Christmas music in a small square and people were collecting for charities. The section of the main street in the vicinity of St Mary's parish church contained two 50 metre marquees sheltering stalls selling Christmas craft goods, in addition to the Market Hall we were heading for.

We had a superb soup and sandwich lunch in the Hatter's Tea Shop, and the lamb cawl I had was the very best I have eaten anywhere. It's a family business, and the matriarch heads the cooking team. She told us that she'd learned to cook cawl from her Grandmother, who always insisted on using fresh vegetables and good quality meat. Cawl is a traditional poor peasant dish, not expecting to use the best meat, but my goodness, what a difference it makes when you do!

Clare was on a mission to visit the a stall there where she knew she could meet the artistic wood turner Bernard Dite, two of whose beautiful wooden bowls we bought from his stall at  St Fagans craft fair last summer. She wanted to buy one as a wedding present for her godson Florian, and this was the only opportunity we could be sure of, as his next St Fagan's date isn't advertised yet. She ended up buying three bowls for presents, beautiful yet practical objects. The ones we bought last summer are in daily use chez nous.

We got back home as it was getting dark, and in the evening I watched the final double episode of French crimmie 'Spiral', which came more or less to the expected conclusion, but with enough of an unfinished plot line to suggest another series. Well, I already knew Series eight was being made. In fact, it may even be aired on Canal Plus in French only now. I wonder how long we will have to wait?

Rain constrained

Another day of low cloud and spells of heavy rain, with so much rain overnight that the road through the village contained huge puddles of water all day. We drove up to the main road, intending to visit Rhossili, but a quarter of a mile south and the road was flooded, making it difficult for some cars to get past, Clare felt a bit nervous about risking our little Polo, not knowing whether it would be high enough to avoid water getting into the electrics, so we turned around and headed north towards Parkmill only to encounter another flooded road section a mile or so further along.. So we turned around again and went back to the bungalow, parked the car and went through the huge puddles down to the beach.

In the hour or so we knew we had before the rain returned Clare wanted to walk along the sea shore, but I wanted to walk to the far end of the bay on the road through the marsh, climb up the hill and take some photos of the bay from higher up. It's not safe to stop on the side of the road up the hill, as it's too narrow. So we parted company. Clare soon rang me, excited to say there were scores of surfers out in the bay, taking advantage of the weather conditions. Interesting photo opportunity, but I had already walked over half a mile to get to the hill for another photo opportunity.

I found on the hillside the way into Nicholaston Wood, the deciduous tree clad south east facing slope overlooking the Bay, with a footpath which takes you on a headland route to Three Cliffs Bay, rather than one which hugs the shore. It's ancient woodland, full of huge mature trees, a wonderful walk we must try out in future. I went along the parth a third of a mile before turning back, as it started to rain. 

Half way back along the road to Oxwich there's a bird-watching hide in a reed bed overlooking an extensive pond, a twitcher's paradise. I was getting quite soaked and took refuge there from the rain. It was a beautiful, numinous experience, silent apart from rain falling, and the occasional sound of a duck hidden in the reeds. I saw a family of eight mallards, a teal and pair of little grebes, (aka dabchicks) and a pair of swans, which surprised me by taking off, flying a circuit and landing again in full sight, just after I'd put my camera away. A wonderful moment I wish I could have shared.

The rain eventually slackened. I was getting cold, so I made a dash for it, stopping at the Dunes Cafe for a hot chocolate and an overpriced bottle of cheap wine, since we couldn't go out shopping for one as planned. Clare got back before me and had cooked a welcome hot lunch, for which I arrived, just in time. Later in the afternoon, the rained stopped again, and we walked to the Oxwich Bay Hotel for a cup of tea and a seat by an open log fire in the lounge as it was getting dark. 

Then, back through the puddles for supper and another two unmissable episodes of 'Spiral' on BBC Four. Money laundering corruption in high places, deceit, revenge, and the amazing Audrey Fleurot in an archetypal Jezebel role. She can do tragic/pathetic victim and sinister scheming vengeance equally. And she never over-acts. Just brilliant!

Housewarming

This afternoon we drove to Mountain Ash for the housewarming party of an ex-colleague of Clare's. The house which Gareth and Sophie bought a year ago at a good price and are now renovating is in a side street terraced row up the eastern hillside above the town with lovely mountain views. Theirs is perhaps a century older than the other houses, perhaps where an official or landowner had lived, or even a Manse maybe. They have enough land around for a garden and also to extend the house one day. Gareth has made a garden tree house for his young daughter, and he loves it.

There was hardly anyone there I knew. People were in family groups with young children and pets to manage, so that limited the amount of conversation possible. I ended up talking with a convinced and well informed euro-skeptic, which was probably good for me. Some of his analysis didn't ring true as fact to me, but who am I to fact-check the rhetoric of others when it borders on conspiracy theory? I don't do any political homework after all.

Thankfully we needed to return after a couple of hours, as Clare was being taken to St Edward's in Roath to  a rehearsal before an evening concert by the Fountain choir and Roath recorder ensemble. I  stayed home to finish tomorrow's sermon, and watch this week's double episode of the outstandingly good French flic series 'Spiral'. The concert will be repeated soon at Insole Court, half an hour's walk from home. That suits me better.

'Spiral' returns

Nick and Sue stayed overnight in a dog-friendly AirBnB on Romilly Road, and breakfasted at the Brod Danish cafe nearby. This allowed us to have a lie-in before we met up to take Digby for another walk down to the weir and back before lunch and their return trip to Edinburgh. 

Llandaff Fields was hosting 'Cardiff Cross Challenge', a huge junior outdoor athletics meeting with races around a 3km long circuit around the park for children of different age groups from schools and athletic clubs. There were hundreds of children and parents milling around, watching, consuming refreshments or queuing in an orderly for one the dozen portaloos on site. There was an assortment of stalls, selling kit, promoting membership, selling food and drink, all of which had arrived and been set up, along with an enclosure for running events in the past twenty four hours. It's a pity the ground was still sodden by this week's rain. It'll look terrible for weeks to come. Still, it's for a good cause.

After a brisk walk, down to the river and around Pontcanna Fields, we returned, consigned Digby to his bed in the back of the car. The Nick and Sue took us to Heaney's restaurant in Romilly Crescent for lunch. The decor is distinctly minimalist, and the gourmet nouvelle cuisine menu is equally so. Even with an explanation from our waiter, we found it hard to understand the various menu options. 

The dishes I chose were tasty enough but the portions were small. I an additional plate of veg and some french fries would have satisfied my appetite, as we normally eat in the middle of the day. It's a pity we didn't go to Stefano's, a few doors up the street instead, but Sue was intrigued with the style and setting of Heaney's, and  was keen to try it, a good enough reason reason for going there.

We returned home for coffee and a slice of Clare's bara brith, then Nick and Sue too their leave of us and headed back to Scotland. In the evening BBC Four screened the first double episode of French crimmie 'Spiral', with a same lead actors playing Parisian detectives, judge d'instruction, and a bunch of dodgy lawyers. The series has been running for fourteen years, two years less than the original US top rated NCIS. I think 'Spiral' has killed off fewer key characters over the years too. Season seven opens up with the murder of a senior cop who has overseen the careers of Laure and Gilou down the years. The investigation trail uncovers a huge protection and money laundering racket. Promising!

With a much grander budget and global demand NCIS has screened seventeen series with 381 episodes, only a handful of them double episodes. There have been fewer story-line threads linking certain episodes. The eighth series of 'Spiral' is currently screening on French networks only, and there have been seventy six episodes altogether, but each series is bound together by a narrative thread which is much tighter and more complex. Subtitling for non Francophone audiences leads to a much longer cycle between releases, but it's always worth the wait. Beautifully filmed with superb acting and strong plots, relevant, never fanciful. Saturday evening excitement and interest as autumn turns to winter is guaranteed!
  

Chilly weekend in

The start of the Six Nations international rugby tournament acted as a deterrent from going shopping in town yesterday, or for that matter, driving out of town, and having one's parking place taken by a car from out of town. Full car parks and match road closures in the city centre cause an overflow, up to a couple of miles out from the centre with visitors walking or catching the bus for the last stretch. 

It was cold, so we had little incentive to do anything other than walk to Pontcanna Fields and back before tea. By that time, visitors who'd been watching the game in one of the local pubs, were out and walking home, or to their cars. It was impossible to guess from the faces that Wales had gained a resounding victory against Scotland. Perhaps it was the cold. unless people were simply astonished.

The final episodes of the latest Engrenages/Spiral series aired in the evening.  Justice was done, with a few late surprise turns, but leaving a few loose narrative threads to propose the inevitability of a seventh series. The acting throughout was brilliant, portraying the imperfect and flawed character of key crime fighting figures, with their own personal struggles and failures to maintain integrity, faced with corruption on all sides and all levels. As movies, each episode is superbly crafted to carry the story-lines and reveal the lives, public and private of the players. It's as good as it gets.

This morning I celebrated and preached about God and creation at St Catherine's. Co-incidentally the Gospel of the day was St John's Prologue, the same Gospel as I read and preached on the last time I was here at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and again on the Sunday after Christmas in Montreux. Not that I mind. It's one of my favourite Gospel passages to reflect and preach on. 

In an age dominated by the loud voices of advertising, propaganda and political spin, aiming to capture our minds and impose alien ideas and interpretations of reality upon us, I believe it's essential to keep on arguing and insisting that divine meaning and purpose is at the heart of all reality, and not man made substitutes. 

We had a lazy sleepy afternoon, and didn't venture out into the cold at all. I made a start on tidying my study and clearing out years worth of accumulated excess documents, leaflets, magazines and brochures, much of it financially related - years worth of terms and conditions, financial reports and notifications - there's little sign that digital banking has really diminished the volume. Sure, you can go paperless with internet banking, but the number of .pdf pages of documentation to read is still the same, and just as easily ignored, as when it's gathering dust in my office.

I was so pre-occupied with getting the backlog of necessary financial paperwork correctly filed that I missed the start of McMafia, and watched the final episodes of Professor T on Channel Four catch up instead. I'll do the same with McMafia in a day or so, when I get around to it.

  

Lausanne explored

Overcast, but no rain today, so I took the stopping train from Territet to Lausanne for a photo outing. I have little recollection of going right through the Old Town on the north side of the station on my previous visits, as these centred around visiting Christchurch, the fine Victorian Anglican church on the south side of the station, and walking from there down to Ouchy and the lake.

Lausanne is built on a succession of steep hills rising up from Lac Leman. On the summit of one is the 12th century Cathedral and just below it, the original university buildings on one side and the museum on another. The university, founded in 1537 and very much a fruit of the reforming work of Pierre Viret, who is to Lausanne what Calvin is to Geneva, and Farel to Neuchatel. It has fourteen and a half thousand students, and its new campuses have spread out across the coastal plain outside the city as far as Ecublens.

The Cathedral is a 12th century masterpiece, whose nave resembles that of Geneva's, but Lausanne's chancel ends in an apse with ambulatory. The reformation stripped the building of ornament and oratories, save one small one with an ancient stone altar in an east facing niche of the south transept, more of an historic artefact than a place of devotion. The stark uncluttered simplicity of the building displays the sheer beauty of its medieval architecture. 

A Gothic south porch has been 're-purposed', by closing it off as an entrance, glazing it, and introducing cushions for the porch stone benches and some simple soft furnishings, to make it a meeting room or prayer group space. There were three organs, one in the west end gallery over the entrance porch, the other two at either end of the nave. 

Many of the streets of the Old Town are paved with cobbles and pedestrianised. There's a modest strip of a park dedicated in honour of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and a huge plaza in front of the University main building which hosts an open air market. By the time I'd climbed up this far it was winding up for the day, but I was amazed at how many stalls there were selling cheese.

The Swiss Coop hosts a five storey department store with a food supermarket in the basement, and restaurant with balcony at the top. It gives a great view of the very varied city-scape. Several bridges span the steep valley between hills. Everywhere is interestingly built over making best possible use of urban housing space in times past. The modern Metro system has its underground terminus up in the Old Town. One line descends to Ouchy, the other reaches out to the University campuses. One of the high arched road bridges has beneath it a bridge carrying a Metro line out from underground on its way west. There's lots to see. It's an interesting place, and I look forward to a further visit when we return here in August.

Curiosity led me to take the westbound Metro for its half hour journey to its other terminus in the main line train station at Renans, which hosts a couple of branch lines into the Jura to the north, as well as the Metro. The station is currently being upgraded, and several areas are cordoned off and shrouded with plastic. The range of my Carte Journalière extended as far as Renans, which meant I was able to use a main line train regional, to take me right back to Territet. This meant using the station subway to reach a far platform. Normally no problem, but the subway entrance from the platform was one of the fenced off zones, and there was no signage to say how to reach its other entrance on the station forecourt. No signage to say there was a subway at all. Locals know all this but visitors, birds of passage like me? Normally the Swiss are superb on signage. I suspect this was a problem caused by thoughtless building contractors.

I reached Territet at half past four, went into Church House, collected a shopping bag, then returned to Montreux on the 201 bus that stops just outside every ten minutes. This way I was just in time to get some food items I missed out on yesterday, before the Metro Centre shut - five on Saturdays. I've been caught out before.

This evening's BBC Four double episode of Engrenages/Spiral was a brilliant as ever. Events unfold at a pace with several stories developing and intersecting concurrently. It's beautifully edited and engages attention well. I thought the tenth episode would be the last, but apparently not. Two more to come, when I'm back home again.

Ascending Sion

This afternoon, I took the train to Sion the capital of the Canton du Valais. It's one of Switzerland's oldest Christian centres. St Theodule, the Apostle of the Vaiais began evangelisation at Martigny, an already established Roman trading post. In 589, his episcopal successor moved the mission up the Rhone valley to settlement, subsequently called Sion, as there are two steep rocky promontories in the river plain, places for refuge from hostile tribes. 

Both promontories are surmounted by fortified buildings, the ruins of the 13th century Chateau de Tourbillon are on top of one, and on the other is the Basilica of our Lady of Valère the site of the original 12th century Cathedral and Bishop and Canons' residences. At the foot of the promontories is the well preserved 14th-15th century old town, where today's Cathedral, diocesan and episcopal headquarters are located. Next to the Cathedral is another 14-15th century church built in honour of St Theodule.

It started snowing not long after I got off the train and it snowed for the rest of my visit. It was just above freezing, so the snow was rather wet, making photography challenging. The old town is about a kilometre from the station, then there's a long steep climb to the summit of Valère. It's about 100 metres above the valley floor. I had difficulty finding the access road at first, but followed a steep unpaved footpath. When the snow began to persist underfoot, I lost my nerve and turned back. Then, I found the turning I'd missed and resumed the ascent, and reached the car park just where the rugged footpath emerged. At least I benefited from the extra exercise.

The Cathedral is enclosed by defensive walls. The out-buildings have become a museum celebrating five thousand years of human habitation in the Valais. The 11th century choir and sanctuary are out of bounds at the moment as a major restoration is under way, and just the nave is visitable. High on the west wall of the nave is the world famous organ, whose innards are said to date from 1430. The case looks as if it's more modern, however. I look forward to returning and making the climb on a future occasion, when the weather is better and the restoration completed.

The highlight of the evening again was another double episode of 'Engrenages / Spiral' on BBC Four. It never disappoints. So glad the telly here has several UK Freeview channels, having to sit through all ten episodes on catch-up TV when I return would be an emotional endurance exercise.

Epiphany Sunday feast and an unexpected visitor

There were only two down people present for the Epiphany Sunday Sung Eucharist, and almost all of them came into Church House afterwards for mulled wine and mince pies. Mulled wine was my task. I'd bought some cartons of Spanish Jumilla, as it's good and fruity, and I know it's made use of for gluhwein in parts of Germany. Mixed with about a third jus de pomme, with honey and Clare's spice bags, it turned out well, and was heaty enough in taste not to need fortification with cognac, like the mincemeat. Several people brought food contributions, a pizza, savoury pastries, even an entire Christmas cake left untouched from Christmas festivities. 

While we were getting ourselves organised, several people set to and un-decorated the tree, and put away the Christmas candelabra brackets and other accoutrements which had made the church look so good and seasonally welcoming. Then we had an enjoyable hour of relaxed eating and chatting, with just enough food and wine to go around.

While we were together, we were joined by a young woman who called herself Natalya, born in Russia, raised n France, estranged from her parents since she left home. I think she came into church during or after the service, and then came into the house after the others. She said she was an artist, trying to earn a living from her work. She'd lost whatever job and accommodation she'd had, and had spent several months 'couch surfing' as it's called today, but had been told that she couldn't stay any longer and didn't know what to do next. 

She didn't appear unkempt, like a rough sleeper, but all her possessions fitted into a rucksack and a cloth bag. She was hungry and tired, and grateful for an offer of food and drink. She talked to me and the churchwardens in turn non stop for another half an hour after our guests had left. More than anything she was isolated and lonely, I suspect.

Finding a place for her to stay on a Sunday evening in January was bound to be difficult. She had a French passport but no work permit, therefore no entitlement to social services in Switzerland. Not that there aren't places that'll take in people sans-papiers as they call it around here, but places that do are not quite the kind of places you'd willingly send a vulnerable young woman, who may have had mental health issues or complex life problems, as well as no visible means of support. 

Several enquiries drew the same conclusion, there wasn't a way to find her the kind of help she may need on a Sunday afternoon. After a long conversation with Neil, he took her to his family's ski chalet in the Alpes Vaudois to fend for herself in safety and security for a few days, to afford her an opportunity to work out exactly what she wants to do hereafter. Not the best solution, maybe, as there'd be nobody to keep an eye on her regularly, in case she had other needs. She seems, however, to be a survivor, used to coping on her own. Let's just hope this respite is enough to enable her to look a little further ahead in her life than the evening of each day.

Once everyone had left us, there was still enough daylight time left to go for a walk, so we headed along the lakeside path to the Chateau de Chillon and arrived just as it was closing, so we vowed we would return on the morrow, and walked on as far as the Villenuve lakeside piscine publique, before

turning around. We arrived back at Church House just as the lights of evening began to shine.

Later, another episode of McMafia on BBC One. Still more elegantly delivered nastiness. Not sure if this all adds up to anything to learn from, or is just another filmic outing into the realm of posh melodrama with a Russian accent. Give me gritty sordid 'Spiral' any day.

A very wet Saturday

It rained heavily, most of the night and for much of the day. I occupied myself during the morning with sacristy chores, left un-done since Christmas Day, as key regulars who look after things were away. It was only reasonable to get things straight before they returned for this Sunday's service. 

I'd just started braving myself up to walk to the shops in Montreux when Joy popped into church on an errand and knocked on the door in search of a spare sacristy key. The secure key box in church housing everything needed for access, would not open. The battery operated code number pad had stopped functioning, presumably its battery died without warning in the default 'locked' position. 

Somewhere a physical key for releasing the bolt mechanism was concealed, but nobody approached so far knew were. But, there was a spare sacristy key, which enabled me earlier to enter and do all that was required, except for putting the Communion vessels in the church safe. Getting a specialist locksmith to attend a non-emergency over the holidays, until there was a priest next door to let him into church was unlikely. That's a job for next week. It's possible to manage for the moment.

When she heard that I was about to go food shopping, Joy offered to drive me, as she was headed to the Coop hypermarket the other side of Villeneuve where she could get a piece of wood cut to size for a DIY project at home. Her errand took only moments, so she guided me around the vast retail floor to pick up all I needed, in just ten minutes. Alone it would have taken me an hour! The only thing that defeated me was buying wine. There was such a huge variety of local and foreign wines on offer at such a range of prices, it would have taken me an hour to decide, limiting myself to the inexpensive end of the market. There must have been thirty metres of four tier shelving given to wine. Why so much? The answer is in the location.

The hypermarket is in a retail park adjacent to an autoroute junction, uniquely situated for passing trade. France is 20km away, on the south side of the lake, also 70km to the north, and the way across France to the UK. It's also 100km to Italy through the Mont Blanc tunnel, so it's an ideal place to stop off and stock up after an alpine holiday, before the long drive home. I imagine it'll be very busy after the New Year bank holiday, and the roads everywhere will be congested daily until schools return. Considering the weather conditions, the road network copes well with such high demand, if there's no accidents, then chaos ensues, and the coast roads are as congested as the autoroute. I am none to sorry not to have a car this time around, and obliged to use the regional train if not buses.

Anyway, mission accomplished, I was soon back in Church House cooking lunch, and afterwards finishing a sermon for tomorrow. Only after it began to get dark did I remember that I still needed to go out and buy some wine. It meant walking into Montreux in the rain, but so be it. I arrived in the town centre at five, just as the supermarkets closed down until after the New Year. So, I had to walk further, along the rue de la Gare, and investigate a succession of 'open all hours' convenience stores run by non-Swiss entrepreneurs. Yes, they have them here, run by Arabs, Asians, Portuguese, tightly packed retail spaces offering most things you could need, from eight 'til late. So, I got wetter but returned with a modest supply that'll last me until midweek.

Exceptionally, sometimes big retail stores open in the evenings, but Sunday closing is still the norm and nobody seems to be in much of a hurry to change it. Evidently the Swiss economy is doing well with things the way they are. Bravo, I say, even if it's occasionally inconvenient for some.

On BBC Four this evening, the first double episode of the sixth series of the French crimmie 'Engrenages', entitled Spiral in English was broadcasted. So superior to the last French offering, in which Audrey Fleurot, one of the key actors in Spiral also appeared. The story lines are complex and require attention, but they are woven together with precision. The way in which characters from previous series are re-introduced with allusions to their back stories is understated and well crafted, as good as crime move drama series can get. Yet, a newcomer can start here and now, knowing little and quickly engage. 

Or, am I fooling myself? The relationship between police and judiciary, and the governance of the two is so very different from the British legal system. We tend to be more aware of how the American system works differently from ours, and the French is different again. To be honest, this took me several sets of episodes of Spiral watching to get to grips with. Unlike many crimmies, the interplay between police, judiciary and politicians is as much a part of the drama as following the police investigative procedures and forensic trail. A welcome return to Saturday night viewing, one of the few things that's not boring that I bother with on telly these days.

Vale vineyard hunt

Another afternoon spent on building the new website in the office on Friday, with the sound of rain hammering on the roof while we worked. No question of going out and taking photographs. That will have to wait a while longer

This afternoon we went out to Dyffryn Gardens for a walk in the last hour before it closed. Skinny looking crocuses and snowdrops are out, and the first daffodil shoots are just breaking ground. Most of the flower beds look bare, clean and tidy, ready for the first planting of the season. 

We went on from there along the A48 to find out how to get to Llantriddyd, where I'm engaged to celebrate the Eucharist and preach tomorrow. We took a wrong turning, which led us down a narrow lane to Llancarfan, then back to our destination by a round about route. Llantriddyd church is 12th century, restored in the 19th, set in a churchyard bedecked with snowdrops. My friend Derek Belcher is to become priest in charge of this grouping of parishes when he retires from Cowbridge benefice next month.

Next to the churchyard is the ruin of a mediaeval mansion, one of the Aubrey family's historic possessions, abandoned since the early nineteenth century.

There are a few houses in the vicinity, but these are mostly hidden by trees, so the church presents a solitary demeanour. Before the construction of the A48 the road past the church would have linked Beaupre Castle near Cowbridge and St Hilary with Bonvilston - all place names connected with Norman settlements in the Vale.

From there, we headed north in search of Llanerch Vineyard, near Hensol Castle and the village of Pendoylan, on a mission to see if we could make an advance booking for a family meal to celebrate jointly our 70th birthdays at a time when all the children can make it. It's much nearer the M4 than the A48. Although well signposted across country between the two, it seemed to take us ages to get there in the fading afternoon light. We were delighted with what we found there, and that booking a table for the last week in July presented no problems either.

Mission accomplished, we returned home to complete the day with a paella, and the last couple of gut wrenching episodes of 'Engrenages', aka 'Spiral', past paced, full of twists and turns, maintaining the tension right to the last frame. I like the fact that I can understand much of it, even though it's mostly Parisian French you hear. I follow the subtitles to make sure I don't miss anything, but as with 'Inspector Montalbano' episodes, hearing the original dialogue is a great bonus to entering into the emotions of the drama.