Unexpected judgement

Yesterday was wet and windy all day and into the night. In the afternoon we went over to Bristol to visit Amanda and James for a few hours, and watched the final episode of 'Young Montalbano' in the evening. As ever it was beautifully crafted with fine acting and a teasingly complex story to keep track of. It was also very moving, as our hero sets about leaving his beloved Sicily to live in Genova with Livia, his lovely bride to be. It's such a struggle for him to let go of his work and his partners in solving crime. Sicily and its people substitute for the birth mother he lost in childhood. 

Then, just as he is about to leave, anti-Mafia prosecuting magistrate Giovanni Falconi is assassinated on his way from Palermo airport. It was a real watershed event for Sicily and all Italians, in real life, back in 1992, and the impact of this was well portrayed as Montalbano found himself driving around empty streets in fictional Vigata, empty because everyone was indoors glued to TV newscasts, just as the whole world was, during the 11th September attacks in 2001. It awakened memories for me of that hot afternoon in our Monte Carlo parsonage, when I idly switched on the news and couldn't tear myself away for hours. The story ends with Montalbano phoning Livia, and here say, despite herself, "You must stay." How often events external to our lives act to change our destinies, in fact as well as fiction.

The sun pushed its way through the clouds this morning, quite appropriate for Transfiguration Sunday in the Church in Wales Calendar. Before Mass began at St German's, Hamid told us his asylum appeal had been refused. He seemed less concerned about this than we did. Being forced to go home carries all sorts of risks to his safety, now he can be identified as a convert, but he'd get to see his wife and sons again after five years, despite this. 

After the service he showed us a lengthy document explaining the judgement issued. It contained factual errors, and some expressions of the judge's opinion, which to my mind, revealed an insufficient knowledge of evangelisation as an enterprise all Christians are involved in, not just authorised church representatives. Hamid's journey into Christian faith, was shaped by a number of encounters with lay people, some of them sustained. They helped him understand the message of the bible, and commit himself. This has been discounted, as justification for his conversion. He is officially regarded as insubstantial, insincere and unreliable in his motives for seeking asylum. 

I'm far from happy about this, though whether any of the deficiencies in the opinion expressed contradict points of law is not for me to judge. There will be a further appeal, I believe, and I will do whatever I can to ensure the process is better informed. 

The rain returned after lunch, making the prospect of a walk uncongenial, so I continued working on my preparations for this year's daily Lent blog on prayer, which will go live with in introduction on Shrove Tuesday.
  

Learning to be a digital consumer

Owain had gone out to do a gig on Friday evening, as he arrived home before I did last night, but we had the pleasure of his company over a late brunch this morning before he returned to Bristol. In the last ten days he's had three job interviews, and is still waiting to hear from the first one, which he'd most like to win. It's hard to get enthusiastic about further applications when you're uncertain in this way. I so feel for him.

We walked across into Bute Park and had a light lunch in the restaurant of the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. The weather was bright and sunny, but a bitter cold wind made walking a ordeal. We continued into town, toured a few shops, had tea in House of Frazer's Cafe Zest and caught the bus home. A teenage couple standing on the bus chatting animatedly in sign language caught my eye, as their faces shone and their hands moved about eloquently. A moment of enchantment in an otherwise dreary journey in a bus full of dreary countenances.

With jobs done and nothing better to do while waiting for this week's delightful episode of 'Young Montalbano', I watched a YouTube video of a talk Clare wanted me to hear, then tried out some of the live and catchup TV apps for tablet available, to supplement YouView on our TV digital box, which can't be watched on two channels at the same time if there's a schedule clash. A second telly would a waste of space, when tablet media consumption can be continued, doing other things if needs be. It's not so often 'must watch' programmes are on at the same time, and more often that telly gets bypassed for jobs in need of completion. The secret is not to watch too much, or too late, and not to watch for the sake of watching, which I confess I've done a lot of when I've been on my own in Spain. I promise myself I'll make better use of my time, next time around.

  

Houses visited and remembered

The weather was mild enough today to encourage us to visit Dyffryn House and Gardens for the first time this year. We had a light lunch in the cafe before entering and watched blue tits feeding at the bird table near where we were seated. In the grounds, plenty of snowdrops were out, an occasional early primrose too, but none of the daffodils were yet blossoming, just appearing as shoots yet to bud. It's that much colder for them to develop out here in open countryside than it is in the urbanised coastal plain of Cardiff. The grounds have been tidied up as far as possible after the fall. All is quietly waiting to emerge, buds are appearing on trees and bushes, earlier than usual.

Inside the house is where changes have taken place since our autumn visit. The main drawing room and the library have now been furnished elegantly with suitable period pieces, now that the restoration of the walls and windows is complete. It's impressive, and the enthusiasm of the volunteer guides is also impressive. It's a grand labour of love, this landmark place in the Vale of Glamorgan, of which many are justly proud.

Owain came over, both to see us to visit friends in the evening and stay overnight. With a Sunday sermon readied on Friday, there was time to enjoy cooking supper and relaxing with another episode of Young Montalbano, in which he lunches with his vineyard owning Father in his huge barn of a bottega. The traditional wine barrels in the background setting of the scene caught my eye, about three metres in diameter, and five metres in length on their side. They reminded me of the large ones I saw for the first time forty years ago in the bottega at Palazzola, at that time, the English College summer residence, south of Rome, above lake Albano. We were staying there as ecumenical guests of a local Catholic parish community that hired the fourteenth century convent buildings for group summer holidays. The site had been in use as a dwelling place since the days of ancient Rome, and the cellars, hollowed out of the volcanic tufa dated back that far. Happy memories of summers when the girls were toddlers.

Saturday tech and movie time

Owain departed after a late breakfast this morning. I spent some time 're-purposing' a work phone made redundant by the continuing upgrade cycle. It's a Samsung Galaxy III, functional and in good condition. Clare's phone is a Samsung Galaxy III Mini, just like mine. It's slightly newer and has more memory, but its connectivity has never been as good as mine, and no remedial fix has ever been effective, so it's probably a hard to detect fault in the aerial, as all else works fine. The new phone works just fine, but will have to wait until Monday to check of it can be used straightforwardly with a different network SIM card from the one the phone was first registered with.

In the afternoon, we walked in the rain to Staples on Western Avenue, to buy an Epson wireless printer and a Toshiba CR 104 Chromebook, like mine, for Amanda. A little shopping around had determined a price on both that was good enough to pay for an extra set of ink cartridges for the same price I'd have paid elsewhere. Carrying the kit back involved a capacious rucksack, long arms and patience. We got wet, but that was preferable to losing our parking space in the street, always crowded on weekends.

After supper, I used iPlayer to catch up on the first episode of 'Hinterland', set in the cefn gwlad up behind Aberystwyth, in and around Llanafan Parish uplands, which we discovered the summer before last when we visited our friend Margaret LeGrice, Vicar of that six church benefice. The lead actors in the series are melancholic, serious, preoccupied, in keeping with the often bleak storyline and stark landscape. It's beautifully crafted, and best of all, as normally bi-lingual as the social environment in which it is set. It's must-watch for Welsh people everywhere. The portrayal of the environment, the dialogue in either language and the relationships between characters are honest, resonant, authentic. A triumph of Welsh film making.

Then we watched together the ever comic and colourful with dark undertones second episode of 'Young Montalbano'. Much more complex threads in the storyline, but each thought provoking. Best of all in this episode was the banter between Montalbano and the parish priest about attending marriage preparation classes. It was very true to life, the excuses busy men make to avoid have to sit through life coaching sessions from someone they believe have no direct experience to draw upon in talking to them about intimate relationships.

After this I finally got around to writing and printing the baptismal homily which I'd devised in my head one very late night this week, and scribbled a few notes before falling asleep. And was late to bed again, thankful that I don't have an early start tommorrow.
   

Wet weekend

The roads were much busier yesterday, with cars coming and going from the town centre, visiting the never ending sales. To get some exercise, we walked into town along the Taff Trail late afternoon, not very late but late enough for the Castle Park gates to be already shut requiring us to use a cramped exit through the gatehouse cafe into Castle street. We visited several stores in search of pot-pourri and came home with a new jacket for me, something smart to wear when we go cruising on the Danube in the spring.

Much to my delight, the first of six new episodes of 'Young Montalbano' was shown on BBC4 after supper. There are many moments of comic dialogue and sarcasm to raise a laugh, and yet this never detracts from the tragic seriousness of the story lines. You get small glimpses into people's struggles against poverty and corruption, and conclude that humour is for the people portrayed a front line defence against losing their dignity to despair and anger. It speaks to me more than the earnestness and intensity of Scandinavian noir crime fiction.

This morning I left for the Mass at St Germans in driving rain, and realised that I'd left my sermon behind, which meant I had to improvise around what I remembered of the one I prepared. We kept the Epiphany early, and processed to the crib for a prayer. There was a minor panic due to the absence of an appropriate prayer source to take with us. I retrieved my Blackberry (in silent mode) from my jacket, found the collect for the Second Sunday of Christmastide in the CofE Daily Office app, tucked up my sleeve. That's my first ever liturgical use of a Smartphone. I was impressed back in the spring in Nerja, that parish priest Fr Andreas led hymns and devotions in procession from his smartphone. I wouldn't say 'never' then or now, as I'd rather ban phones from the liturgy. But sometimes, the need is there.

As I arrived, rain started to cascade down the inside south wall of the Lady Chapel. A gutter blockage on a flat roof above quickly led to a small lake of uncleared water seeking to go to ground underneath the lead, not over it. The blockages is a consequence of a tree in the Vicarage grounds, which the church is not allowed to cut down or trim as there is a municipal 'tree preservation order' on it. This grade one listed building sustains damage, not because it's poorly maintained, but because the tree cannot be cut back, if not cut down, to prevent leaves landing on the roof. This kind of blockage can happen in between regular inspection visits, if there's an overnight wind followed by heavy rain. If the Council has the legal right to impose such preservation orders, do they not have an obligation to help prevent things like this from happening as a consequence? 

After lunch, a walk down to Blackweir bridge again to see impact of the day's rain on the river Taff. 

The water level beneath the bridge before it goes over the weir is a good six inches higher than a few days ago, and the speed of flow is astonishing, but it's still a couple of feet above the upstream banks. With more rain forecast will it go any higher I wonder?

Lost and found

In the post this morning, a jiffy bag from Margaret up in Llanafan containing my lost Samsung Galaxy Ace II, missing presumed damaged or stolen, when all the time it was hiding in the black leather back seat of her car from that delightful afternoon back in August when she showed us around her parish. And still holding its charge. Amazing! All I have to do is get it un-blacklisted by Orange, and Owain can have it to use, since I already have a new phone, and he wants an Android smartphone to get him started, as he's been using a conventional mobile for years.

Clare had a school open day, so I was left to my own devices until mid afternoon, and just pottered around - emails, blog, sermon for tomorrow - not enough blue sky to be worth a photo expedition on my own. We went into town and ended up having tea, as we often do, in John Lewis' before returning home for supper and the last episode of 'The Young Montalbano', a splendid series faithful in content and spirit to the original featuring the detective in mid-life crisis.

Last respects

This morning, I headed out to Llandough for my first service of the day with last night's music still going around in my head, somewhat preferable to the musical offering of BBC Radio 4's Sunday worship from Latimer Minster in South Buckinghamshire, an evangelical initiative describing itself as a 'Missional' church. I arrived early enough to have time to stop and photograph a small herd of cattle grazing by the river Thaw in the autumn sunshine.

I back tracked to St Hilary for the second Eucharist, a congregation still mourning the sudden loss of one of its long standing stalwarts John Curteis, buried outside in the north west corner of the churchyard after a service last Thursday. As he was a prominent public figure, there'll be a memorial service for him in Llandaff Cathedral in a fortnight's time. Before driving home for lunch after the service I went to his grave, still covered with a huge white wreath of flowers, and prayed for the repose of his soul. I'd first met him when I was at St John's, as a fellow member of the Order of St John and the United Services Mess. He will be missed by many.

Owain joined us for lunch. By the end, I could hardly stay awake, and needed a nap. It's been a demanding, busy week. We went out for a stroll and tea in Bute park, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. After supper, we watched another delightful episode of ''Young Montalbano' on iPlayer. Eddie and Ann are fans too.
   

Enter Young Montalbano

On my way into the CBS office yesterday morning I went into St John's City Parish Church to join a congregation of 150 celebrating the golden wedding anniversary of the Reverends Eddie and Sally Davies. Edddie is doing locum duty at St John's these days, but 50 years ago he and Sally were married there, so this was a special double act for them. Archbishop Barry led the service and preached. The choirs of St John's and of Christchurch, where Eddy used to be Vicar and Sally is now doing locum duty, joined forces to lead worship and Cardiff City Male voice choir was there to sing special items as well. It was so good to be there and congratulate them, as well as greet old friends.

Clare and I were back at St John's this afternoon for the 'Friends of St John's' Annual General Meeting, preceded by Evensong at which I'd been asked to officiate. It's the first time I've sung a full Evensong since retiring, although I have said Evensong at Flemingston a couple of times since, but it's not the same as singing the office. I started to do that in Vale country churches  during vacations when I was a student at St Michael's. Sung Evensong is a rarity in parishes nowadays. It was part of normality back then, and something churchgoers often express nostalgia for though not enough to support it regularly any longer.

On the way back from St John's we stopped at 'Almeida', the Portuguese restaurant on Cowbridge Road East, which replaced the Turkish restaurant there, which replaced an Italian one ... It's hard to make a living from a small speciality restaurant at the best of times, even worse in the sixth year of recession. I admire the zeal, courage and belief  of those who invest their lives in giving it a go. The food was good, and so was the Portuguese wine that went with it. The background music was interesting too - a mixture of Fado and Brazilan, or was it contemporary fusion? I wonder. I forgot to ask. Definitely worth another visit.

We arrived home to the surprise discovery that a new Italian crime drama series was just getting under way on BBC4. 'Young Montalbano' is a prequel to the popular and well established 'Inspector Montalbano' series which endeared us to Sicily long before we went to Taormina last December. This series portrays the beginning of the Inspector's career in charge of Vigata Police Station, with an all new cast of actors to portray characters from the book, remaining quite faithful to the way the characters presented themselves in the original series. An impressive piece of work, with hilarious moments and intriguingly complex plots to sustain interest throughout.

Maybe it's something to do with the producer's own approach, but in this series I noticed how clearly everyone spoke and how easy it was to distinguish between the accents of characters, the use of Italian and Sicilian dialect. Over the past few years of European Saturday night drama I've got used to reading subtitles. It's less essential with Italian, however, as I understand much of what I hear. I still struggle with this when the language is Spanish. The challenge of making sense of the spoken word, however, is part of the entertainment pleasure.