Wasted viewing time

I slept quite well last night and woke up at six thinking I had an hour and a half to snooze before listening to 'Thought for the Day'. The next time I looked at the clock it was eight fifteen, half an hour too late to hear it live. I'm most thankful for the BBC Sounds app, enabling me to catch-up. It's go easier and easier to use as it has developed over the past decade. Streaming BBC broadcast content, audio and video began fourteen years ago, and has become very comprehensive and sophisticated beneath its several changes of name and appearance since then. A triumph for free public service broadcasting. I'd be lost without it.

For lunch, I cooked a spicy chickpea and veggy stew with potatoes, then walked for an hour and a half around the Fields. Another overcast but mild day. Outside the SWALEC stadium were were lots of parking stewards in hi-viz jackets hanging about, waiting for cars to arrive and park for which I presume is an evening cricket match. There were no signs yet of spectators arriving on foot. BBC news is driving me crazy, obsessing about tonight's soccer game between England and Germany. Meanwhile, Wimbledon and cricket get relegated. 

It's as if we our faces are being thrust into the hype around the Big Game, as if it represented something significant for the future of the country post-brexit. There's been so many backward glances at the 1966 World Cup final in which England beat Germany. I find it quite disturbing, subtle propaganda surrounding justification for leaving the EU, insinuation that Britain is better than all of them over the Channel, as the heavy price for departure is already starting to be paid, politically and economically. A slow awakening is taking place to the reality of the deceit. You can't fool all of the people all of the time.

We had a call from Owain this afternoon. He's taking a few days of his week's leave making techno tracks with a mate in a recording studio with a view down in Devon, then coming to us to celebrate his birthday on the weekend. At least, that was the plan. His NHS app pinged him for having been in contact with a covid infected person - he thinks it's a vinyl record store owner in Bristol. He now has to self isolate for five days when he returns to Bristol tomorrow, and won't be with us for his birthday after all. We're all disappointed. Another Zoom or WhatsApp birthday party instead, but no means to get a cake to share with him on the day. At least, he doesn't think he's infected, but he'll have to get tested at the end of his quarantine period, before normality can take hold again. What bad luck. 

Since I bought the Honor laptop the Friday before going to Aberaeron and installed the essential apps that I bought it to be able to use better, I've not switched it on and used it, despite taking it with me. Doing a full Windows 10 setup with one's own accounts take time and concentration. On purchase, the laptop was set up for a single user, independently of any Microsoft account, an option when a factory reset is done if you don;t want to commit the device to an account holder with an established file system. The task I have been putting off since setting it up initially was to make the laptop an account holder to the same account as I have on my desktop machine. It took me over an hour to work out how to do this and get it to mirror my desktop. 

I'm pleased with it now. It's quick and has a beautiful crisp display. I can now consider converting my desktop machine to Linux Mint. It will never run Windows as quickly as the laptop unless I change the hard drive for a SSD, I'm not sure how to do that. Besides, it's unlikely to run as fast as a much younger laptop with higher specifications. On the other hand, I've already found at that the desktop will run much faster using Linux Mint, as its not as dependent on high specification hardware. Windows 11 is about to be released, and I get the impression that it may not work or maybe work less well on my desktop device, but I'm confident of a better outcome and a longer life for a five year old machine using Linux. It's a matter of finding time to do the job.

Clare returned from her afternoon walk with four pounds of strawberries, on special offer at the Co-op. After supper I got to work preparing them for cooking, a very pleasant task enveloped in the aroma of fresh summer fruit. Fruit is now stewed, jam tomorrow!

After supper I finished watching 'Time is the killer' - not so much a psychological thriller as promoted as a complex whodunnit with some surprising twists. The whole story could have been told in six rather than eight episodes, to prevent boredom setting in. The worst aspect was actually the implausibility of the central narrative thread, entailing the forcible abduction and incarceration in isolation of an innocent bereaved mother presumed killer for 25 years, without her going insane or succeding in escaping. Worse still, her face has no sign of ageing despite her long grey hair, and she looks acceptably clean and tidy in her secret prison. Totally incredibly ridiculous. And this key element of stupidity was evident from episode five of eight. Pathetic.

Palm Sunday music-fest

A dull damp day, but nevertheless how good not to be in lock-down and able to worship together on this Palm Sunday. Sure, we didn't have a hymn singing procession around the grounds, for the second year in a row, but we had palms blessed in our seats, and the socially distanced choir sang a couple of anthems. Best of all, S Mark's Passion was read in dialogue form, steeping us all in the drama of Jesus' last week of ministry. For me this is one of the most important things we ever do as a worshipping community. It was so hard last year, having to read the entirety of Luke's Passion into my phone's voice recorder, before making the audio service offering of the day, wondering who'd listen, and identify with the story and be moved by it. There were thirty in church, four of them children. There's a children's Zoom service this afternoon. I wonder which kind of service will impress itself on their memory?

After lunch I went out for a walk early and readied the BBC sounds app on my phone to listen to Choral Evensong at three. I discovered that the preceding programme was a concert of Bulgarian Orthodox liturgical music, sung by a men's choir in the Patriarchal Cathedral of St Alexander Nevski in Sofia. This gave me a sublime treat of choral music of the 19th and 20th century, all new to me. Evensong came from Wells Cathedral, and included Renaissance canticles and anthems. I arrived home just before four. 

Clare and I then listened to another Palm Sunday special on Radio Three - Bach's St Matthew Passion, in a recording from the Netherlands. It seems the live concert had to be cancelled at short notice because of covid among the musicians. I downloaded a German text of the lyrics with English translation, and Clare downloaded the full score to follow the music, a somewhat bigger challenge. We're both familiar with the music, as we have a recording of it, but it was lovely to have time to sit and absorb the meaning of the text as it was being sung. So often over decades, I have been too bust, working under pressure to get everything ready for Holy Week, unable to relax and drink deeply. Laborare est orare, sure enough, but it's such a blessing to relax and reflect on a deeply spiritual work of musical art.

I watched the second episode of 'Line of Duty' this evening. Last week, the first attracted criticism from the media commentariat about shallow portrayal of some of the characters in the drama, and a remark by the lead investigator about a character he hadn't met being 'oddball' because of evidence found in his flat, and the person turns out to have Downs Syndrome, which he didn't know when the remark was made, and wasn't repeated. Not intended to offend anyone, but portraying perceptions made in real time. Were the critics paying attention to the structure of dramatic development here? Tonight's episode left us guessing who is corrupt here, the accuser or the accused? This series introduces a young police officer who was, as a teenager used as a 'runner' for a criminal network. He's now a corrupt undercover cop, bent on revenge I think, a narrative thread opened in the last series and developing in this. Unfortunately his presence on screen is spoiled by the use of sinister background music. Whose idea was that? Unless he is destined for an early dramatic exit. You never know! The enigmatic 'Line of Duty' is much watched, and just as much scrutinised for clues about how it will turn out.

Beyond credibility

It was one degree when I woke up this morning and overcast. By the time I'd had breakfast and prayed my way through Matins and the Eucharist on my own, light snow was starting to fall, so I went for a walk and took some photos. It wasn't cold enough for the snow to stick for long, but it looked pretty and it was such a delightful change to walk in. The parks were very busy with people looking more cheerful than usual, enjoying the respite from the seemingly endless rain we've had all through January. 

By mid afternoon, when I went out again snow had become light drizzle and though the temperature had only gone up two degrees it felt even chillier. While I walked, I listened to Choral Evensong on my phone with the BBC Sounds app. BBC live outside broadcasts have continued since the first on 7th October 1926 and is the longest live outside broadcast series running.  The pandemic has disrupted but not put an end to this tradition. They are now fewer and further between for health and safety if not logistical reasons. Recourse is made to the Beeb's vast archive of recorded services. Today it was a service recorded in St Paul's Cathedral on 26th January 2015. It's not the same as having the actual liturgy of the day - a bit like having yesterday's toast you might say, like all re-runs of recorded worship services. It makes Choral Evensong, more a sacred concert, but it'll do. 

The quality of the recording from St Paul's was exceptionally good. The audio recording infrastructure may be a permanent feature which the Beeb attaches to its network. There's a long echo to contend with, but the microphones are well positioned for maximum clarity. I could hear clearly the words of both the Psalms and Canticles sung, and the hear the echo during the pauses in the chant. From some Cathedrals the sound is muddy or distant due to the building acoustic and microphone positioning. So this service was an audio treat, and I found it was easy to pray along with as I walked without distraction away from traffic. It's amazing how the noise of car tyres on the road swamps the sound emitting from a pair of headphones. We're used to this, our brains filter it out, what a waste of energy. When lock-down greatly restricted all road and air traffic, many people commented on how peaceful the world became. It doesn't take long for the noise to return. Such a pity.

I whiled away the late afternoon watching the rest of the Norwegian 'Monster' crimmie. I'm still trying to figure out who murdered whom and what the relationship was between the fundamentalist Christian sect and an esoteric nature cult. They don't call it a 'mystery' for nothing, but my main criticism was the reality of some of its scenes. Two mildly obese sexegenarian men tumble out of a sauna naked and fight on snow packed ground until they knock each other out or faint with exhaustion. Night passes and at least one of them is alive enough to get in his car naked and drive himself to hospital where he's put into intensive care and lives to tell the tale. Frostbite? Thermal shock or Hypothermia surely? No evidence. 

Then two women fight on the surf at the edge of the sea, and get soaking wet. One of them walks into the ocean, and when the other realises she walks back into the sea fully clad in cold soaked clothing looking to rescue the other. She's as skinny as a rake, and not shivering or teeth chattering. Then there's the cop who tampers twice with evidence to avoid sanction for drug taking and an accidental shooting, entering a forensic lab and later a morgue undetected, both unlocked and not covered by CCTV. All ridiculous. If there is a second series. the only reason to watch it would be to see how many more totally implausible scenes there are, and pour scorn on.

Then, after supper more proper telly drama with David Attenborough's essays on threats to our planet from climate change, and another episode of the slightly bizarre bereavement drama verging on sitcom 'Finding Alice'. That's rather an overdose of TV. I was four months without telly in Ibiza and didn't miss it. Perhaps I should give it up for Lent.

Inaugural honesty in a pandemic of swindling as well as covid

A lot of rain overnight. Clare walked down to the Taff before I got up this morning, and remarked how high the water was, I went down to the river before lunch. The water had risen even further, overflowing on to the footpath by the bridge. It's as bad as it was last February, although I think there may have been an overflow a few weeks ago. We've never seen such extreme weather.

I went to our local HSBC branch to bank a cheque after lunch, wondering if it's one of 82 local branches set to close in the latest cost saving round of reduction of local services. It's disturbing to think banking bosses are willing to disregard the needs of people who cannot travel to larger branches and queue to be seen because they don't want to bank on-line or by telephone. The idea is that such clients can use services provided instead by their local Post Office, to bank cheques, make payments, deposit or withdraw cash. 

It seems some sort of deal has been done with the Bank of Ireland which I believe operates a franchise to offer financial services to the Post Office. I wonder if this will lead to clients deciding to transfer accounts to the Bank of Ireland via the Post Office? Certainly in Switzerland and EU countries Post Offices offer a range of banking services including debit and credit cards. Maybe it'll develop like that here too.  

Earlier in the week I received a text message purporting to be from HSBC recognisably a phishing scam. I enquired of the bank if any agency within the HSBC security network was keeping a record of fake phone numbers used for phishing scams. Apparently not. Only if emails purporting to come from HSBC can be forwarded to them, so they their provenance can be tracked. Voice calls and text messages are too many to be logged, and fake identities change very rapidly, so it's impossible to retrieve useful information that enables the source to be tracked. Bank staff have to deal with a growing number of client subjected to fraudulentl solicitations. Some people suspect and need reassurance, others are duped. We get half a dozen spam calls a week at least, sometimes twice a day. A swindling epidemic.

This afternoon, an hour of sheer delight listening on BBC Sounds catch-up to Choral Vespers in Latin from the London Oratory. A lovely gift for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. By the time it was over the US Presidential inauguration ceremony had started, so I switched channels and listened to Joe Biden's speech on catch-up. It was a moving powerful appeal for American unity in facing the challenge posed by the pandemic and its economic impact. He was open in declaring himself to be a man of faith, appealing to the heart of faith in others. It was a powerful secular sermon, delivered by an active Catholic. No religious piety displayed, but a deep commitment to truth, justice, equality and reconciliation. 

He was an inspiring contrast to the divisive self centred rhetoric of Trump. His parting speech wasn't inflammatory, simply a rehearsal of what he considered to be his achievements, couched in vague references to the improvement in 'numbers' on his watch. Now Trump has gone to Florida, with no intention of retiring or staying out of public life, who knows what will happen next?

This evening, Clare and I watched 'Staged', the entire first series of comedy shorts about rehearsing a play via Zoom under lock-down, starring David Tennant and Michael Sheen, with a cameo appearance in the sixth episode of Dame Judi Dench, sending herself up, as did David and Michael throughout. We laughed out loud throughout  from start to finish. A refreshing inspired contemporary on-line drama production. 

Quarantine Cymru - day Nine

A really hot day 25C for much of the time, so keeping a cool breeze flowing through the attic was essential. With atmospheric pollution level much reduced by less aerial traffic, weather warnings of high ultra violet levels were issued, so I needed to exercise in the shade as much as possible.

Everything slows down in the heat and the days pass more slowly. I am really missing going out for a long walk. I'm bored with walking around the house in circles. It's trying my patience and Clare's!

I'm roughly half way through transcribing my Greek travel journal now. We've started hitch-hiking around Crete after several days spent on island beaches in the Cyclades and have been befriended by an olive farmer called Yanni Motakis in Platanes in the middle of Crete's north coast. Through him we were introduced to village life and fiestas, and to traditional Cretan music.

Co-incidentally as I was getting to this passage there was a radio article from a BBC correspondent in Crete giving an account of the importance of this unique form of music and song. I wanted Clare to hear this, but failed to find it on BBC Sounds. Instead, I found an hour long documentary made by the same woman, related to the article I'd heard. What a treasure! I tingled all over as I listened and wrote. 

It took me back fifty three years to the profound educational experience of spending time with Clare as the only guests in a rural Greek village community far from existing tourism, and the hippie trail emerging at that time. I learned that Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell were among youngsters who hung out in the Matala cave houses of the ancient Minoan port of Gortys, a bay with a beach we didn't go to when we hitched from Heracleon to Platanes. 

We returned to Platanes for a three week stay in the summer, and stayed in touch with Yanni for several years. It was difficult as he had so little English and my Greek was more New Testament than contemporary. The next time we returned to look for Yanni was thirty years later. We met his nephew Niko, who told us over a glass of raki that he had died ten years earlier. All we were able to do was visit his grave and express our appreciation for the influence of his hospitality on us when we were still discovering the kind of adults we wanted to be. 

His legacy has certainly been a great blessing to the local economy, as he drove the development of land he owned for the benefit of visitors in the seventies after the fall of the Colonels' junta - the Motakis Holiday Village bears the family name. The olive press where I bedded down for the night is now a discotheque. The once deserted shore behind the long beach is lined with apartments and  frequented by package tourists from all over Europe and further afield. 

It might not have occurred to Yanni at first that anyone might be willing to pay to stay. He was just  interested in people from other places, and several of our friends who followed us backpacking in Crete, visited him in passing. He never married, his mother was widowed early with ten children, and he took his duty seriously as the eldest son, making friends with many people instead. I wonder if we'll ever return to Crete, now that the world we helped to remake as we grew up is turned upside down by this pandemic?

In the evening, I started reviewing my time in Ibiza and making notes, as I have to write an end-of-stay report to write for the diocese, and this stay was not only my longest spell in Spain, but also the most different from any other, with lots to think about and learn from, as the 'new normal' becomes a context for mission and ministry in way we never thought of before.