Muddy Fields

The day started with rain, but cleared up later, with the addition of strong gusts of wind. I worked most of the day on preparing Morning Prayer video upload material. First to cover for Fr Rhys this Friday, to give him some covid respite time doing nothing. I know how much I needed it this time last week. Then there's next Thursday's in addition. All the Exodus texts I've worked on lately have not been easy to reflect on, as there's so much in each that needs analysing and explaining, and extracting an overall threat from each is an unsatisfactory task. It's just small fragments from a much bigger exercise which might be entitled 'how to make intellectual and spiritual sense of the Exodus story if you're not Jewish'. We might have somewhat different priorities, especially with a war going on in Europe, about whose background us Brits have scant understanding.

After lunch I collected this week's veggie bag, had a siesta and then  walked to the Taff at tea time, where the last of the Urdd rugby tournament matches were being played on the couple of pitches that remained in action. The others already had their flags and goal safety buffers removed by this time. As it had rained, great brown mud patches were evident on many of the pitches. Players being collected by parents were hobbling to the car park in their boots with very muddy legs and sports kit, unlike the two previous days. The starlings crows and gulls would be happy with the scuffed up turf on the pitches, as it exposes insects and worms for them to eat. The footpath down to the river was treacherously slippy with mud, unlike other days. Let's hope it gets cleaned off soon, in the best interests of public safety. Still, a lovely event which I'm sure would have made a lot of people happy.

After supper, more preparation work, and then a couple of hours relaxation with the last two episodes of the Welsh crimmie 'Hidden' - very thoughtful and unsensational drama, if slow moving. Its portrayal of a man with learning needs was possible through some fine acting which gave the character dignity and depth - you admired him rather than feeling sorry for him. Well done BBC Cymru.    

Turmoil in Orthodox lands

Our Spanish neighbour Miriam called for Clare this morning at nine when I was having breakfast, and the two of them went for a swim together. I received a second email from my friend Valdo within a few days of the last one, which I hadn't yet got around to reading. This one told me something surprising about a previous colleague of ours from my time in Geneva. Père Jean Renneteau an Orthodox priest of the Russian Exarchate Archdiocese of Western Europe was a member of our local ministers fraternal. He hailed from Bordeaux and had trained for the Orthodox priesthood in the renowned St Sergius Institute in Paris. 

Jean was then pastor to the French speaking congregation at the international Orthodox centre in nearby Chambésy, which had two dozen nationalities among its membership. Attending the Easter Liturgy there was a wonderful multi-lingual experience with Russian liturgical music I learned to sing in English as a young student, sung there in French. Since then, Jean's responsibilities had widened considerably, both among the Orthodox in Switzerland, internationally and ecumenically. He was ordained Bishop in 2016, elected by the Oecumenical Patriarchal Synod in Istanbul, then consecrated in the church at Chambésy. I don't think I was aware of this, but it doesn't surprise me that it happened. He was then appointed Exarch - in effect, leading Bishop of the Oecumenical Patriarchate's Russian Orthodox congregations in Western Europe.

What surprised me however, was to learn that in 2019 he was received into communion with the Patriarch in Moscow, and made Archbishop of all its Russian Orthodox congregations of Western Europe. This happened a year after the Ukrainian Orthodox church unilaterally declared itself independent of Moscow. It was formally recognised by the Oecumenical Patriarchate Père Jean had been ordained to serve. The Ukrainian church initiative resulted in Moscow breaking off communion with the Oecumenical Patriarch (not that this hasn't happened before in the strained history of Orthodox international relations), but was this of sufficient concern to lead Père Jean to change allegiance? After all Père Jean isn't a native Russian speaker. Moscow lays claim to all Russian Orthodox congregations of the Exarchate in Europe whether they are Russian speaking or not. Many Exarchate congregations refuse this claim however. Is Père Jean ministering now to all the congregations or just those loyal to Moscow? It's a right puzzle, and I'm not sure how I can get any satisfactory answer.

Even more remarkable Père Jean is among the group of Orthodox theologians that has recently spoken out against the war in Ukraine and being deeply critical of the presumptions behind Putin's justification for his actions. Patriarch Kyril of Moscow has been notably silent thus far. Is Père Jean acting as his voice, or just voicing the views of the Russian Orthodox diaspora in Western Europe? It's an amazing turn of events. Père Jean is a remarkable Orthodox pastor, ecumenist, internationalist. It could be that he has the trust of each party in this ecclesiastical dispute with serious political repercussions. And to think that thirty years ago we used to have lunch together every few months in an ordinary Suisse auberge in Versoix!

I went to St Catherine's at ten, my head trying to take in these intriguing thoughts, to celebrate the Eucharist, with the usual group of ten that regularly attend. We chatted long over coffee after church and on the way back. By the time I returned home Clare was cooking lunch. Afterwards, I walked around Llandaff Fields, and then returned to see what else I could find out about the situation with the Russian Exarchate congregations in Europe. 

Curiosity then led me to see if there was any new news about Mar Johanna Ibrahim, the Archbishop of Aleppo, kidnapped with a Roman Greek Catholic Bishop, both on a hostage negotiating mission, when Aleppo was being fought over and destroyed. A couple of articles allege that both were murdered by their abductors in 2013, but neither of their bodies have been found, and the researcher's findings are unsubstantiated. Will the truth ever be known, I wonder? It's heart breaking to think that the population of indigenous Oriental Orthodox Christians in Middle Eastern Countries is a tenth of what it was at the turn of the century, due to war of islamist persecution, after one and a half millennia of co-existence.

This evening we watched 'The Repair Shop' and then the first episode of the third series of bilingual Welsh (Cymru Du) crimmie 'Hidden'. Another slow burner, I'm afraid, but atmospheric and beautifully produced.

Welsh art showcased

It's getting light earlier each day, but I'm still not taking advantage of this and getting up earlier, as I find it hard to get to bed before midnight. By the time I've finished my morning routines it's time for coffee and really I've not done anything extra. It's a pity that some of the more watchable TV shows, especially the news, are on quite late if you want to watch them live.

Anyway, before lunch I went for a walk in Thompson's park with my Sony Alpha DSLR. The buds on the magnolia tree by the pond are shedding their exterior cladding and revealing their light purple colour. The highest of the buds are already starting to open into full flower. That's happened just over the weekend.

I had a telephone conversation about my blood pressure medication top up prescription with a GP who is new, working part-time in our local practice. He gave me a good hearing and agreed to prescribe two lots of doxazosin of different daily dosages, so that I can vary the amount I take in an attempt to reduce the high systolic and minimise side effects. As it happens today has turned out to be a day with less intense side effects than usual, though I haven't bothered to check my blood pressure, just enjoyed feeling good.

Then, I went out for another walk down to the river and back, taking my Olympus with the telephoto lens, determined to make an effort to learn how to get the best results form it, as it's quite different from other long lenses I work with. Knowing one's equipment, taking the same subjects with different cameras is an experiential way of learning which works well for me, and gives me a basis for understanding the theory of lens optics better. But it's a slow job!

Before supper, Clare and I sat down with a computer, and filled in the digital census form together. We'd been in this house about a year at the time of the last census. It's strange that I can't remember anything about it. It must have been a slim paper form at that time, and maybe simpler. This time around it took somewhat longer to complete, half an hour altogether, despite saying "only ten minutes" at the outset. There are multiple choice questions about identity - marital status, ethnicity, gender identity - reflecting the preoccupations of the age, I guess. Glad that's out of the way now.

We watched an excellent edition of 'Fake or Fortune' this evening, about authenticating two works thought to be by Paul Gauguin. Recently, there's been a series of three programmes about Welsh art and artists on BBC2 Wales on Tuesday nights and the final one followed on from this on BBC Two Wales. I started watching late and re-started on iPlayer once I tracked them down. The presenter Huw Stephens who works for Radio Cymru/Wales is the son of Meic Stevens, renowned Welsh language activist and author. At 17 Huw was the youngest ever Radio One Welsh language presenter. He's well known for his promotion and documentation of Welsh music, and clearly enjoys talking about Welsh art as well. I look forward to watching the other programmes later in the week.

Urdd showcase

The afternoon Clare went to Dinas Powis to spend the night with her colleague Jacquie, whose late husband Russell's funeral is to be held in the Wenallt Chapel at Thornhill Crematorium next Saturday morning. I accompanied her in the car as far as the outskirts of Penarth, then walked from there down through the Marina to the Barrage.

The tide was right out, and the sea lock was in operation, for the benefit of a few yachts and fishing boats. I stopped and took photos, and found myself transported to far off places by the sound of the lock gates closing and opening, the roar and scent of  fresh water expelled into the sea. Whether it was the Vienna locks on the Danube or Iffezheim am Rhine, it's the same experience. I just love that environment, and look forward to another cruise when I can travel again. Either on the Duoro or the Rhone, hopefully.

Plas Roald Dahl is now fully occupied with Pavilions and pop up fast food places, ready for the start of the Urdd Eisteddfod running all through half term week from the opening concert tomorrow night. A wonderful fiesta of gifted youth, keen to sing and dance and recite in public. It's marvellous that entrance to events and exhibitions on the 'Maes' is free, as it was for the National Eisteddfod last summer. you just pay to get into the Millennium Centre for performances and concerts staged therein. It's a credit to the City Council to invest in Welsh Arts and Culture in this way.

When I arrived home, there was a messing on the answering machine from cousin Ivor, from whom I have heard nothing for over a year. I knew he'd been in hospital with diabetes related illness, and had been deteriorating due to self neglect. I wrote to him at the time, aware of the difficult I might have at calling a mobile phone at his bedside. In fact, I wasn't sure if I had the right number as he'd changed or lost a phone previously and hadn't kept kept the number.

I called him back, pleased to find that I did have the right number, for future reference. He'd gone through a long spell of rehabilitation with success, and is now back at home. Best of all, he's finally writing the biography of his architectural mentor and role model Leslie Martin, something he's been promising himself to get on with ever since he retired, but never got around to. Already he's half way through the writing stage, loving the task and finding renewed enthusiasm for what he does well. Becoming a grandfather this year was a big boost to his spirits. Sarah his daughter has followed in her father's footsteps and qualified as an architect after a first class degree in pottery, and she's already producing work he delights in. Nice to have some good news for a change.
 

In the evening, I watched the last double episode of Canadian crimmie 'Cardinal', with a somewhat predictable ending. The landscape is a beautiful backdrop to the drama, but its seasons and weather don't play a part in this 'back of the beyond' story, as happens in BBC Wales' 'Hinterland' or 'Rebecka Martenson: Arctic Murders', to name two series that get it right.

  

Montreux with Rhiannon - Day One

After a long lie-in Rhiannon emerged, still sleepy and we started breakfast together, then I had to go into town and have my wound attended to. Mr Cotton declared his satisfaction with progress so far, and suggested that now Clare was back, it could be done at home. This would clearly save him time and me money! He's writing a letter for my home GP, and I'll be able to collect the bill for payment in a day or so. While I'm able to benefit in part from use of my EHIC card here in Switzerland, the cost of a significant proportion I will have to pay for an seek reimbursement from my EHIC Plus travel insurance. I don't mind paying whatever it takes, as the relief I'm experiencing now is worth the expense.

I was back again within the hour range of the bus ticket, then the three of us walked into town along the promenade to the Casino, where we visited the Freddy Mercury Experience. This involves a free visit to the recording studio where several of Queen's Albums were made. The walls display photos and a timeline, and there are cabinets of memorabilia on display. Frankly, I lost interest, as I never was a fan of their music, and took  no interest in their affairs. Also I began to feel the aftermath of my wound treatment session, which entailed some painful probing an puncturing to stimulate the release of the residual inflammation fluid, so I walked back to the house and took a rest.

After the necessary photo opportunity with Freddie Mercury's statue on the quayside by the Place du Marche, the girls returned, and we had a snack. Later on, we took the funicular to Glion to show Rhiannon the amazing, albeit cloudy panorama of the mountains and lake. Then a drink at the gare funiculaire cafe-restaurant, with a boule of chocolate sorbet for Rhiannon, tea for Clare and a biere Bernoise for me, before returning on the funi. As we got out, Clare realised that she'd forgotten her rucksack, and so the girls went back up to retrieve it. Thankfully the two hour fare card still had time on it to make the aller-retour trip at no extra cost.

But the time we got back y wound dressing needed changing, only this time, Clare took charge of it at home, after careful preparation to ensure cleanliness and sterility. Not easy first time, but quite a learning experience for both of us. And she did well. I had a pain free and comfortable evening.

After supper, Rhiannon watched pop music videos on the TV until ten, then I watched the final episode of 'Keeping Faith', which sustained its brilliant sense of tension right to the end, apart from a strangely ambiguous final frame in which the husband who disappeared for a week appears out of nowhere with all three children around him, while she is about to embark on a romantic tussle with a local criminal on her own doorstep. Is this a guilty flashback?

Possibly, if this is a one off serial, but the ambiguity opens the door for a second series, I suppose. Since it first went out in bilingual formal six months ago, I believe a follow up has been commissioned, but this final anomaly was a bit unsatisfactory in my opinion. Nevertheless some brilliant acting from a predominantly female cast, showcasing some of our best Welsh talent - plus the lovely Carmarthenshire landscape. I bet this series will boost tourism in the region. 

Llys Esgob garden party

Midweek Eucharists again at St Catherine's and St John's again on Wednesday and Thursday. Apart from that, much quiet enjoyment of hot sunny days. I had another bereavement meeting today, at Pidgeon's funeral home, for a service a week today. The deceased had worked as a young mother as a domestic cleaner in Llandaff, for a Mr & Mrs Rees of the Old Registry, I learned from preparing her eulogy. The address seemed like a familiar echo from the past, and so it turned out to be when I rang her daughter daughter to check. 

She told me Mum had worked for the Reverend Geoffrey Rees and his wife Lil, who was Principal of St Michael's College when I was training for ministry there. As a toddler she'd accompanied her mother to work early in the morning, and been taken by Mr Rees across the road and into college for breakfast in the big Refectory with the students "Who spoiled me rotten!" she recalled. This was seven years before my time, but nevertheless a lovely connection with my youth, under the caring eye of a priest and pastor for whom I grew to have the highest regard.

In the afternoon, Clare and I walked to Llandaff for a retired clerics' tea party with Bishop June at Llys Esgob. It was lovely to meet a variety of former colleagues and chat with them in the garden, even if it was occasionally difficult to fit names to faces. Just as we were about to finish, the skies darkened, the temperature dropped and we were treated to a few drops of rain, so we caught the bus back home instead of walking. Well, Clare, with her folding brolly, carried on into town on the bus for a quick piece of shopping, and I returned and cooked supper in time for her return. 

Afterwards I watched another episode of Dicte - Crime Reporter, plus a couple of episodes of a new BBC Wales mystery drama 'Keeping Faith' on iPlayer. Excellent acting with an authentic portrayal of a South Wales family stricken by the husband's sudden disappearance. It's now being screened again on BBC One to critical acclaim. Quite something for two serial dramas made in Wales to be screened in the same season.
  

Change in musical taste

According to my pedometer app, I walked 8.6km on Thursday, going to the office, around the city and back up the Taff Trail as far as the big Tesco in search of clip on sunglasses. As my diary was empty Friday I thought I'd do another walk. I followed the Taff Trail in the opposite direction down to the Bay Wetland nature reserve and took photos of the resident grebes and coots with their fast growing chicks. I clocked over 10km by the time I reached home, and wasn't too stiff, although I slept even better as a result of the additional exercise. my photos are here

This morning I went into town to  met Rufus for a coffee and a catch up chat in Cafe Zest upstairs in the House of Frazer store. Strange to think that it's been earmarked for closure as a department store because of the group's profit warnings. The increase in commercial market rents is being blamed for this. Will it be redeveloped, as was the David Morgan store, as a mix of retail and private apartments? Or will it perhaps be taken over by another big market name. As a property it's something of a nightmare to envision of future for. It was built in several phases, and enclosed Bethany Baptist chapel, which was converted into a retail space still known as 'The Chapel'. It would be possible to demolish the interior and keep the facade, but as the complex of buildings on the site tells such a fascinating tale of the work of Victorian retail entrepreneur James Howell, there might be conservation orders in place that would hinder this.

The streets were busy with extra people arriving for the third of Ed Sheeran's four in a row stadium concerts tonight. Such is his popularity it was clear from the accents audible on the streets that many visitors had come from all over England, as well as Wales and further afield. I lost interest in popular music decades ago, so I'm unsure if I've heard or could recognise any of his work. Music is deeply important to me, almost all kinds, but truth to tell, I've not been good at decoding pop lyrics post Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel, and the classic American popular Jazz and romantic song genre. As I get older, I find I can listen to 20th century and modern 'classical' music with pleasure, whereas I could make no sense of it when I was young and dismissed what I couldn't make sense of. That's an unexpected aspect of ageing I can't say I expected.

I returned home to rendezvous with Clare and take the bus to the Steiner school for the summer fair, at which the Fountain Community Choir was due to sing, but we missed each other. I caught up with her at the school after taking the next bus to Llandaff North, and we joined in the rehearsal and then an outdoor performance of half a dozen songs, most of which I am still unfamiliar with and don't know all the words. It all felt a little precarious to me, but it was fun. I walked home afterwards to relax, and the pedometer told me that I'd done another 8km, which was pleasing, as my legs weren't complaining too much. No telly tonight. There's so much football on right now, which holds little interest for me, and we watched the dark Welsh crimmie 'Hidden' on Wednesday, since BBC Wales TV previews it, ahead of the Saturday prime time slot.

Wilderness Theatre

Today was another day of clouds and rain, so not a day for another excursion. On the other hand, I needed time to prepare two Sunday sermons, a Candlemass one for Territet and an Epiphany Four one for Villars. In the evening I watched the second episode of the Swedish Crime Drama 'Rebecka Martinsson: Arctic Murders' shown on More 4 channel. There was a full length introductory story last week, in reality a double episode with no titles and credits in the middle. We're down to hour long episodes from now on.

Its main character is a young Stockholm hot shot lawyer, who grew up in a small village up on the Arctic circle near the border with Finland, called Kiruna. She returns there when an old friend is murdered and becomes involved with investigating the crime. After this she starts working while on leave from work for the local CID team as Prosecutor on other cases. A rather curious story line, but maybe less odd if you understand how the Swedish investigative system works.

It's rather like BBC Wales' series 'Y Gwyllt' in that the wild and beautiful landscape plays a starring role in the drama. We see it in its summer glory, as well as harsh winter severity. The photography is breathtaking. Distances between villages along straight roads are immense and filled with forests, lakes, seemingly deserted. It reminds me a little of the Egin Uur region of Mongolia which I got to travel through back in 1999. It's awesomely beautiful, but takes days to get anywhere. Investigative crime drama tends to be slow moving in nature. Pacing it to ensure the viewer or reader is remains interested enough to follow must be particularly challenging with this kind of scenic backdrop. So far so good, I'd say. Looking forward to next Friday's episode, back home in Cardiff.

Quiet weekend

Writing a Sunday sermon, editing and uploading photos, and updating this blog took up most of a sunny day, until late afternoon when I drove Clare to rendezvous with Caroline at Magor services west of Newport on the M4 for their visit to Auntie Daphne. Caroline having flown in from Durban at lunch time had driven down from Birmingham airport, and arrived a minute or so after we'd parked. We laughed at the perfectness of the timing, then drank a coffee and chatted for a while, before going our separate ways.

I returned to enjoy a quiet evening, watching a high octane 'Spooks' re-run, all about a flying visit from US President Bush to London, and the security hassles surrounding that. Co-incidentally, US President Obama is in town this weekend, being forthright about the consequence of the UK not leaving the EU, much to the annoyance of the Brexit lobby. With so many international figures speaking against Brexit, its campaigners are increasingly sounding as if their arguments are being lamed by a body of opinon that says the known risk from staying in the EU is more tolerable that the unknown potential risk of leaving. As if the world needs any more uncertainty in these still wobbly economic times.

'Spooks' was followed by the start of series two of 'Hinterland', which was like a slow motion movie after the frenetic pace of the former. Welsh 'film noir' it's being called. Yeah, OK, but it wasn't the much hoped for third series showing, but a re-run of series two on the national network. BBC Wales showed series two earlier this year. It was good to watch first time around, but seemed even slower this time, and didn't hold my attention nearly as much. Roll on series three. Soon.

Central Square redevelopment - the long view

It's taken me a while to get around to it, but at last I've uploaded the photos I've been taking over the past six months of redevelopment work in Central Square, the area in front of Cardiff Central railway station. You can find them here. The area used to house the city's main bus and coach station, and the east side will, in a few years from now, eventually house the next generation bus and coach terminal, once Marland House and the car park occupying that site have been demolished, and built over. This site is interesting from a historical perspective.

With a somewhat longer memory than contemporary planners and developers, I recall from my time as Vicar of the City Centre Parish Church, that this is the site which, prior to its present unprepossessing edifices dating back to the 1960s, was the crowded site of older buildings, business and residential, dating back to the early nineteenth century. These were on the ancient water-front of the Taff, later re-routed in the heyday of Victorian expansion. They took over land which from the eleventh to the eighteenth century was the churchyard of the original St Mary's Priory, planted by the Benedictine Monks of Tewkesbury, right on the edge of the river where trade ships from around the Severn Estuary and further afield unloaded their wares. 

St Mary's Priory, on the present site of the Prince of Wales pub on the corner of St Mary Street and Wood Street, was reduced to ruins due to flooding, and a new church at the north end of Bute Street was built to replace it in the 1850s. As the riverside area was so prone to flooding, the course of the Taff through the coastal flood plain was straightened and acquired embankments to reduce the risk, much as we see it today. I wonder who benefited from this cemetery land-grab, which led to the Victorian reconfiguration of the ancient port of Cardiff into the familiar layout of today's townscape.

In a couple of years it'll all look different again. I understand the new BBC Wales headquarters is to be built on the old bus station site, now being cleared. A new office block nears completion next to the site on the west side, where once stood a brutalist 1960's County Council building, and prior to that St Dyfrig's Parish Church, next to the road bridge across the river into Tudor Street. 

St Dyfrig's was a Parish with a small dense urban footprint - a fine costly building, someone's vanity project maybe? The site was compulsorily purchased for redevelopment in the name of social progress, and few contested this. Again I wonder, who benefited? There are few left alive now who worshipped there in its last days. It was still standing when I was a youth. I know its last Vicar Bruce Davies, who was University Chaplain. I recall how each year it hosted an outdoor nativity scene behind the church railings segregating the building from the street. When we instituted the same kind of arrangement at St John's City Parish Church, thanks to the City Council a dozen years ago, St Dyfrig's was in my mind, with good reason.

These days, Tabernacle Baptist Church on the Hayes hosts a live re-telling of the Nativity Story several times daily for visitors to the city centre. It's a massive voluntary enterprise, driven by Christian vision and good-will, reaching far beyond the simple figurines behind church railings, accessible to passers by and vandals alike. The St David centre commercial redevelopment has made possible a regular throughput of hundreds of thousands of shoppers to the city centre. I wonder how many will be touched in some way by this energetic contemporary witness, very much a response to the challenges of our very secularised day and age?