Automatic renewal: opt-in or opt-out?

When I switched my phone on before breakfast this morning, I was shocked to receive an email from the Staysure travel insurance company with my new policy document and confirmation of payment on this the date of renewal. A payment had been taken from my account without authorisation, and this immediately aroused a sense of alarm in me. It didn't seem to be a scam. I've had a set of documents by email like this every year since I started insuring with them, which must be ten years or more now. 

My first thought was to go to the only HSBC bank branch in the city centre and block the payment if it wasn't too late already. Then I found a phone number for Staysure and explained what he happened. The call hander was very helpful, and a brief discussion revealed that policy renewal was automatic and had to be opted out of, not op-in. I hadn't notice this when buying a policy this time last year. I expressed concern at this, as their protocol includes medical screening in establishing the correct price quotation. 

In every other year pre-covid, renewal hadn't been automatic. My euro-locum duties and our river holiday cruises had been on different dates, and insurance booked to start before the first outing of the year. I always took an annual policy expecting to go abroad more than once a year, one way or another, making it slightly cheaper than shorter duration policies. How this happened I have no idea. I can't have noticed it on the Staysure website when I paid last year. Anyway the call handler said that a case worker would call me back some time soon. 

I walked down to Cowbridge Road, and caught the 62 bus the rest of the way to go to HSBC bank, and a call came through from Staysure's case worker just as I was getting off the bus outside the HMRC building. I explained that I cannot use an insurance police abroad for the time being due to commitments keeping me in Britain. I hadn't responded to the usual renewal reminder emails as I wasn't ready to renew, and would need to update my medical screening details at the time the policy was due to start. I was asked if I wanted to cancel the policy, which obviously I did, and that concluded the conversation.

I visited HSBC bank and asked if it was possible to stop money being taken without my authorisation and was told it wasn't, and given a printout stating that the payment is 'pending' - issued at 07.30 today - although banking transactions for the day aren't concluded until late afternoon. I was told nothing could be done, but I could track payment using on-line apps. Which I don't and won't with HSBC anyway. What if it had been a scam? A fraudulent transaction of which I was unaware? I found this extremely unhelpful. 

Fortunately by the time I left the bank, Staysure emailed me confirmation of cancellation of the policy and reversal of the direct debit, though how long it will take is anybody's guess. At least it's a standard feature of such insurance policies to give the purchaser time to change their mind and cancel or modify the policy taken out. This opt-out of automatic renewal issue is cause for disquiet. It's one which is used by Amazon Prime to retain subscribers, by making it hard to find the opt-out option. I'll need to be much more careful in future when closing the deal on any policy of this kind.

I went straight home on the bus and did my share of the housework as Clare was cooking lunch. Later, I went for a walk in the park, chatted at length on the phone with Owain and Rufus. Then I started watching the last of the four newest episodes of 'Beck' on iPlayer, before they are screened live, before and after supper. 

Again, very good drama. Peter Haber who plays Beck is a fine actor. He's getting on in years himself now, but plays the part of the elder statesman among detectives superbly, portraying a wise intelligent sensitive team leader, but exposing the vulnerability that's part of growing old, wanting to do things which physically he can't sustain any longer because the stress is debilitating, and there's not enough energy sustaining adrenaline flowing through the body. It's something I can identify with.

Beck Back

Sunshine returned today, pleased for Owain as he's gone to Cornwall for the weekend. After getting up late we sang him a Happy Birthday greeting on WhatsApp, and then Clare cooked waffles for breakfast. Then 

I went to Tesco's to buy some offerings for the foodbank and drop them off at St John's Church, as I had a set of keys with me. If didn't need them however, as the door was open. Sounds of loud voices and music could be heard outside. I was greeted at the door by a smartly dressed young man and a smiling young lady at the door wearing a badge bearing the legend 'Usher'. 

The usual seating area of the church was full of worshippers, being addressed by a woman from a platform lectern decorated with a drape on which was printed 'Remnant Christian Network'. I was told that a ten hour prayer vigil was taking place and invited to stay. I said that I'd only come to drop off my foodbank offering and offered words of encouragement as I took my leave. I'd like to have stayed, but the amplified noise level was taxing on my ears. The atmosphere was one of exuberant joy and serenity, so characteristic of black Christian congregations. I was reminded of my years in Saint Paul's Bristol, and occasions when I had the pleasure of sharing in West Indian Pentecostal services there. 

When I reached home, I googled the name of the group, and found they are a branch of the Seventh Day Adventist missionary movement,  which was born in the 19th century in the USA and has spread world-wide since then. UK groups in the 'Network' appear to have their origin in Nigeria, but the movement is active and present in mission all over Africa, except perhaps in the North.

It's good to know the parish is offering hospitality to a Christian group of this kind. During and after covid the Russian Orthodox Exarchate congregation worshipped in St John's, while their normal home base in the Catholic chapel at Nazareth House was closed to the public. It was amusing for a while to find notices on the toilet doors in Russian as well as English. So sad that they didn't stay with us although they did give the church a lovely icon of St John and Our Lady at the foot of the cross, as a permanent reminder of their sojourn.

Mission accomplished I returned for lunch, which included among the veggies carrot plant tops fried with olive oil and garlic, something we've never tried before. It wasn't a great success as they were very chewy, maybe undercooked? But Clare had followed the recipe correctly as she always does. Next time I think I would steam or stew them until easy to cut, then fry with olive oil and garlic to see if it made a difference.

After lunch, I had a snooze, printed off my sermon ready for tomorrow and went to the shops to get a few things I'd forgotten earlier. Then a quick visit to Thompson's Park to check on the moorhens. There's no longer any sign of them sadly. At tea-time, I drove Clare to Penarth to a party with an ex-Steiner School colleague, but didn't stay, as I didn't share in the experience of the group welcoming her return visit. Back home again I ate an early supper and watched two fine episodes of Swedish crimmie 'Beck'. 

The stories all show how team work in policing functions at its best, sometimes despite the weaknesses and failings of team members. It exposes their humanity when faced with tragic events which they have to cope with as they labour on in a disciplined and methodical way. There are fifty lengthy episodes in this series going back twenty six years, when Beck (played by Peter Haber) was a middle aged detective. He's retirement age now, overseeing the team that has grown up around him. Interesting to compare and contrast this with Gibbs and the NCIS team running for twenty years with 458 hour long episodes, and much more action and personality centred. I love the understated dramatic nature of 'Beck' even more than that of the Swedish version of Wallander. I wonder if that series will ever be re-run?

Then after three solid hours of watching on my Chromebook it was time to call it a day

Open air concert season

Another lovely day of spring sunshine started with an early pancake breakfast, then a lie-in before walking to Llandaff and visiting the Cathedral for the first time in ages. All is back to normal now and there's a trickle of visitors. Gerwyn the Dean announced his resignation last week, after being on sick leave and being in dispute with the Bishop for the past two years. I wonder if he will take on a new job in ministry, or give up on the church altogether? I wonder too who will replace him? The Cathedral has been an unhappy place of late. Whoever takes his place is going to have a difficult time reconciling and rebuilding the community. 

Clare fancied a takeaway for lunch and left me to go and hunt for an Indian meal, but I couldn't find an Indian takeaway open for business in Canton. Our usual fish 'n chip shop was also closed, but eventually I found one that was open and took home freshly cooked chips and two gigantic pieces of cod. We sat out in our sun-filled garden to eat them, and drank a palatable Chilean Pinot Noir to go with the meal, just right,  not too heavy. It was so pleasantly warm that I sat outside and read for an hour while Clare had a siesta, taking advantage of the bright light to read a couple of chapters from 'Invierno en Madrid'. So much better for the eyes than artificial light.

Later, we went for another walk, around Thompson's Park this time. It was unusually quiet. I wondered if young families had gone to the beach. Then I remembered that there's a big Ed Sheeran concert on at the Principality Stadium in town. There's an American rock band playing in the SWALEC stadium too, at the same hour. I noticed that a canopied stage had been erected on the cricket pitch when I was passing by a few days ago. Well, the weather is certainly kind for hosting big open air events at the moment.

After supper I watched Rick Stein's 'Long Weekend' programme, this time set in Thessaloniki. It was a lovely reminder of the rich variety of cooking in a region influenced by centuries of Ottoman rule. We went there in the nineties, travelling by ship from Tinos, where we'd spent a few days. We only stopped a day and a couple of nights, then took the slow train journey down to Athens - a lovely experience. I'm not sure we'd have the stamina to do that kind of trip nowadays, even though the travel conditions are likely to be somewhat improved. There are high speed trains nowadays and the fastest only takes four hours for the 500km journey non stop. That's half the time it took thirty years ago. 

Then another episode of 'Beck' about a cop with extreme views of how to respond to social disorder in a changing world, and resentment towards his superiors which turns murderous. We've had corrupt cops before in this series, but this episode explored how someone with a personality disorder could somehow continue working as a policeman without this being noticed. This is a Swedish crimmie, but reflects the same concern arising in British policing in which racist and sexist behaviour persist despite efforts made to root them out.

Cricket lovely cricket

As Clare's back pain is happily diminishing at last, I proposed a trip to Dyffryn Gardens at breakfast this morning. By eleven we were on our way there, and the weather was just right. All the trees are now in full leaf and the arboretum with all its colourful diversity looks magnificent. Since our last visit in January this year, more work has been done on sections of the garden, and they too are full of colour. I took over sixty photos. You can see them here.

There are some sections that are closed off and left fallow with plants that will fix nitrogen in the soil and help to loosen it after years of compaction. The healthier the soil becomes, the less prone it will be to harbouring pests and colonising weeds that spread in poor exhausted ground. This way, soil can be regenerated without using fertiliser and readied for re-planting with flowers and bushes after two years of rest. It's much more wholesome process than using manufacture fertiliser and weed killer. We stayed until lunchtime, had a drink and a snack and then came home so that Clare could rest.

Then I went for a walk around Llandaff Fields. Three cricket matches were going on at the same time, and yesterday evening when I was out, the practice nets were occupied, and there was a large group of children on the adjacent pitch being taught how to play cricket by several adults. It's wonderful to see such enthusiasm for the amateur game.

In his gastro-tourist series of programme, Rick Stein was in Cadiz tonight, an amazing ancient city on the Atlantic facing section of coastal Spain, said to have been founded by the Phoenicians some three thousand years ago. It was all about the seafood dishes made possible by the diversity of fish caught and landed there. Some of the recipes he extolled I think I could make from memory. It's an hour and a half journey to get there from Estepona, so who knows, I may be able to visit there while I'm on locum duty. I told my friend Roy Thomas who now lives in Madrid about my forthcoming sojourn in Spain and he's promising to come and visit me, We were nearer to each other when I was in Ibiza and he in Alicante, but lock-down prevented us from getting together.

After this, another episode of Swedish crimmie 'Beck' about a hostage situation in a TV studio involving Alex, Beck's deputy chief. Although his murder squad team was ordered not get involved in the situation their behind-the-scenes swift researching of facts about people involved prevented a massacre even through it still ended tragically. A successful resolution marred by a failure, and as Alex says at the very end, it's the failures that haunt you. That makes sense to me.

Inspirational Dancers

A lovely sunny start to the day, and as Clare was feeling able to cope with a short car journey, we went to Penarth mid-morning and walked on the coast path for an hour. We walked for a while, seeing and hearing bees and flies but no butterflies. I began to wonder to what extent the population along the coast path was diminishing as widely reported these days, then I spotted a small brown one, then another two. Each posed on a leaf for long enough to let me to take photos. Here's one of them:

We got back for lunch a bit later than usual,  as I made a chicken dish yesterday with enough to last two days. Cooking rice and Swiss chard with a piece of fish for Clare didn't take too long. A trip to Tesco's afterwards to get some extra veggies, as we have all three children coming to stay at different times in the coming week, with Rachel arriving from Phoenix if all goes to plan. It's her first home visit in three years, due to the pandemic.

This evening I watched the BBC's 'Young Dancer of the Year' competition final, featuring ten dancers in training from four different disciplines, classical, contemporary, street dance and tap. A series of earlier programmes showed them learning to work together with choreographers on dance performances that showcase their particular art. I've seen parts of a couple of the episodes in previous weeks, but this was the climax of a development workshop programme that has been going on for a year. There were solo, small group performances and a finale with a special piece involving all ten participants. It was exciting, inspiring and so engaging that it was hard to look away from the screen. I can't imagine and team sports event being so compelling. Each of the dancers spoke with commitment, enthusiasm and humility about what they'd learned and what the experience meant to them. The future is safe in the hands of youngsters like these.

Then by way of contrast, the first in series eight of popular Swedish crimmie 'Beck' - forty six episodes so far. That's ten more than 'Inspector Montalbano' It's been running for 24 years. Beck has gone from being young middle aged to being on the verge of retirement, with many team changes over the years, but with Peter Haber still playing the same role. One of the better 'police procedurals', portraying great teamwork and wise laid back leadership.  Always worth watching.

The Tories have lost over five hundred seats in this week's local elections, and their last County Council in Wales - Monmouth. In Northern Ireland Assembly elections, Sinn Fein has won a majority of seats for the first time in history, taking over from the Democratic Unionists. The Unionist vote is divided between three parties, and as they are opposed to the brexit protocol agreement, they may refuse to enter into a power sharing agreement with Sinn Fein. This will perpetuate a stalemate which has obstructed progress in running the government in Ulster lately, so that critical issues such as the health service and inflation aren't being tackled. 

It's no wonder that the middle ground Alliance party doubled the number of seats it now has, people are looking for an alternative to the political power games of the past, based on sectarian interests and not on seeking the common good, no matter what the parties proclaim. Priorities have changed in Ulster, as they have done everywhere else but some established politicians are unable to adapt or compromise. 

All talk, nothing doing again

I went to St Luke's by bus and on foot to celebrate Mass this morning, but nobody showed up. I said morning prayer and then returned home. We went to the Parish Christmas Fair in St Catherines Hall after lunch. The place was very busy with cakes and other goodies on sale, second hand books and records, and lots of parishioners working hard and apparently enjoying themselves in this congenial atmosphere. I found and bought the Bob Marley CD 'Natural Mystic' on the second hand books and records stall. The songs I remember well from the streets during our time in St Paul's Parish Bristol, though I didn't buy the album. Clare objects when I play music too loud, so I have to wait until she's out to enjoy the benefit of reggae from my hi-fi. Even my ears can't take it quite so loud these days, as in younger days.

After late evening Direct Message to Talktalk last night, complaining about the engineer no-show, another booking slot was agreed for next Monday afternoon with only a vague explanation being offered for yesterday.  Yet another unresolved concern to have to wait patiently to get dealt with.

I had another lengthy Direct Messaging conversation about the router password not working. I still couldn't get a straight answer about any possible change in Talktalk router security policy. I posed the question of whether the lockout could be due to the device being maliciously hacked, and this was dismissed as unlikely, despite us being the target of so many scam calls purporting to come from Talktalk in the time since their big data hacking theft two years ago. The perpetrators were in the news this week as they received prison sentences for their crime. But the damage it caused still rolls out, nevertheless. The only half explanation for router inaccessibility offered was that it was due to the, as yet undiagnosed line fault, a somewhat lame idea in my opinion.

As I was experiencing an unusually high level of swelling and discomfort. My blood pressure was consistently much higher than usual, using a new sphygmometer I bought earlier this week, despite it having been satisfactorily lower than usual when I finished the course of antibiotics I was taking until Thursday last. This bothered me, so I called NHS direct, and had a long conversation in which I explained my recent medical journey and reason for present concerns. This was followed up an hour later with another conversation with a 'nurse consultant' in which I imparted the same information and received no practical advice in return, apart from "Call us if it gets worse, or else 999." That's another couple of unrewarding hours of my life I won't get back. Tough it out until Monday, then go and see my GP. The alternative would be hours and maybe tests in a crowded A&E department with a further risk of no outcome and more wasted time.

The last episode of 'Beck' on BBC Four this evening, an all too short series this time, sad to say.

Parkland refuge

I celebrated Mass at St Luke's this morning, taking the 61 bus to Victoria Park then walking through the park grounds, bathed in golden leaves and morning light. Fr Mark, opened up the church for me, on his way to a clergy meeting, and we met at the door. He told me that the charitable foundation St Luke's Healthcare is the successor to what was St Luke's Hospital for the Clergy when I had a hernia repair done there in September 2007. This could fund or contribute to funding private surgery done locally. They were certainly ready and willing to support him in his hour of need last year, although in the end the NHS, after a long over the preliminaries wait did the job. So, when I got back, I spent the rest of the morning writing an account of the background to my request, in the hope that this will prompt an early yea or nay before the actually process of making an application is required.

Clare and I went for a walk in the afternoon around Thompson's Park, just as it was closing for the night at three thirty, an hour before sunset. It's a pity on a sunny evening for people to lose an hour of outdoor recreation, whether feeding the ducks with their kids or out strolling to enjoy the colours, but there won't be too many Council workers charged with the task of opening several each evening and it does take time to ensure nobody gets locked in, or can get away with camping out, if they're homeless. 

Having said that, there's a lot of open parkland around the city center, where tents are pitched in secluded corners, refuges for some, once soup runs are finished for the night. Some unfortunates coping with mental health issues, possibly hardened by army experience, prefer to stay outdoors as long as the weather permits, as some hostels can be anarchic places after hours, with outbreaks of violence and thieving which impact terribly on vulnerable people, that have lost confidence in the 'care' which society is offering them.

Society never seems to have adequate resources to invest in mending a multitude of poor and broken lives. Never is enough demand, moral or practical, placed on those who acquire more they they could ever need for a comfortable life. The injustice is perennial. No revolution has ever succeeded in redressing the imbalance between rich and poor, but without this the true measure of healing needed will never be achieved.

Another episode of 'Beck' on BBC Four this evening. Peter Haber, who plays Martin Beck doesn't appear much or say much. He's almost in the background, portrayed listening thoughtfully, commenting or advising sparsely, acting mainly with facial expressions. The focus is on members of his team of detective and how their different personalities, skills and styles work together, or don't. It offers an excellent study of positive group activity, set against the chaotic and dysfunctional lives of the people who become perpetrators or victims of crime.
    

A different kind of street poetry

Clare needed to collect some tickets from the Royal Welsh College box office for a show in early December, so we walked over there and intended to have a bite to eat in the cafe. Unfortunately my daily dose of pain and discomfort was quite bad and I didn't feel like eating there and then, but Clare ate and we both had a drink, before walking on and visiting the castle, busy with visitors on the eve of Armistice Day. I added a photo to the collection I look on Wednesday this week of visitors walking around in the field of crosses, bearing dead soldiers' names. By the time we reached home, I was out of my discomfort zone again. Exercise improves it. I am so grateful to be fully mobile. Sitting down for any length of time is what gives me grief.

The second episode of Beck was on BBC Four in the evening. Out of retirement he's now finding his feet at Superintendent of investigative teams, mentoring and deploying resources. It's being portrayed rather interestingly, I must say.

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I have started reading a book in French, 'Une Rose et un balai' written by Michel Simonet about life working on the streets as a town centre balayeur (street sweeper) in the Swiss city of Fribourg. In his youth, he studied theology, but he found through this a contemplative calling to pursue a much more down to earth métier. His loving attention to detail describing the daily mess he clears up and the people he meets is full of warmth and humour, also word play and poetic alliteration. 

French as it's taught and should be spoken but rarely is can be dry and pedantic. How it's really spoken and used poetically is another thing altogether. This is a beautifully written book, albeit challenging because of its word play and mix of vocabulary. It comes from the pastoral heart of a lowly curator of city streets, interested in the environment, in people and their habits, for good and for ill, finding wonder in all things. I wish it was available in English for a wider audience. It's a masterpiece of incarnational spirituality. Here's a brief interview with him from YouTube.
 

Match day in town

A Saturday afternoon walk into town with Clare, while the Wales v Scotland rugby match was on, leaving the streets relatively quiet. She wanted to buy some new boots, I just wanted exercise. Then  tea in the top floor restaurant at John Lewis before walking back home, having failed to identify if or from where buses were running, just as the match ended, and the streets began to fill with happy Wales supporters, going out to celebrate.

It was dark when we passed along Wood Street. The new buildings are all lit internally. and on the east side of number three Central Square, soon to be fully functional as the headquarters of BBC Wales, a large Boots store has opened, and a Greggs. There's now an alleyway running past them with the construction site of the long awaited new transport hub (aka Bus Station). Little seems to be happening there. I'm not sure if a final plan has been agreed that contractors can work on.

The evening's viewing saw a new Scandie crimmie on BBC Four, series seven of 'Beck', which I find enjoyable watching. It deals frequently with topical issues. This episode dealt with two issues; one the impact of Islamist terrorism on a Turkish migrant family, another was working in retirement.  His quirky sociable neighbour is back. Now they while away their idleness playing chess together.

Beck quit the force at the end of the last series. This time he is in the throes of trying to settle into a new lifestyle when he's called on to advise the team tracking a terror threat, since Beck knows the suspect's family from times past for other reasons. It was lovely to see former colleagues teasing him over his new status. As expected, his experience and knowledge is instrumental in solving the case. Then, he's invited to rejoin the police, but not in his former role - he was always happiest working within a team - but in a more senior supervisory role. Does he really want it? Will he, won't he? We wait until next week to find out.

Tale of two wells and a castle

More dreadful news this morning of an attempted military coup in Turkey, and how it was thwarted by an appeal to the population to take to the streets in protest against the army, made by president Erdogan, broadcasting from a tablet or smartphone, as public broadcasting channels were hijacked by the conspirators. It reminded me of the way the Russian military coup against Boris Yeltsin was made known to the world via the early internet used by the international scientific community back in 1991, robbing the army of a news blackout behind which it could do its worst.

  

In a way this was almost too good to be true, like a modern movie plot, translated into real life. It seems to me that Erdogan was gambling in a crisis. Banking on popular support is a huge risk to take, when public opinion can be so fickle. Opinion pollsters can misread the mind of the masses, although in this case their findings are supportive. The Turkish people have had to endure so much violence, internally and just outside their borders. Past military coups never served the people well, so the public protest expresses 'Enough is enough - army stay out of politics, and stick to your job', whatever the people really think about their president.

So, another morning of TV news watching, but n spite of this I got my Sunday sermon finished and printed, and went for a drive inland in the afternoon. I headed for Ulldecona, but not for the town, but rather its castillo on a prominent hill top outside, overlooking the riu Senia to the south. I saw it from a distance previously, but failed to find the side road up the hill for a visit. 

Now, with time in hand, it was easier to find my way up to the car park. The castle was closed and the lower access gates locked. There was no indication of visiting hours, but it was easy to circumvent the gates on foot and walk up to the castle entrance. There's a modern visitor centre up there, stocked with literature, so evidently in use and open some time or another.

Apparently the Moors built the first castle on the site of an ancient settlement in the ninth century, and it was conquered in 1142 by an international company of knights on their way to the Holy Land for the second crusade. It was given to the Knights Hospitallers of the Order of St John. Its mediaeval walls, church and large keep were constructed as a place for local inhabitants to settle. Only after a couple of centuries did the town develop which now fills the plain below.

From there, I drove across to the mediaeval hill town of Traiguera, and discovered a side road that revealed the place from a different side, and in addition took me to St Vincent's Well, which I had seen signs for on two previous visits, but not followed, as I didn't know what I was looking for. At the bottom of the north side of the ridge on which the ancient town is built a freshwater source fills a series of large washing troughs, enclosed in this white painted structure. 

Similar ones I've seen in other places are attributed to Moorish water engineering, but this carries a dedication to St Vincent, the fourth century deacon and martyr of Valencia. In a neighbouring wall is a shrine chapel to St Vincent, and  below it, a five spouted drinking water outlet. This area of the town has clearly had some attention in recent years, renovating and tidying it up to attract visitors. A project well worthwhile, in my opinion, even if the inhabitants of Traiguera now have running water and modern appliances in their hilltop homes.

As I was leaving Traiguera, I recalled seeing a signpost to a nearby Ermita, called the Sanctuario Reale de Nuestra Senora de la Fuente de la Salud, which I'd not had opportunity to follow. I re-found the sign, and followed its direction, driving south through olive groves. At the roadside each kilometre there was a cross on a tall pillar, marking the way, four altogether. I was surprised at what I found at my destination.

In a wooded valley, a large church with a cupola, flanked by substantial buildings, whose purpose was to offer hospitality to pilgrims. One is a modern restaurant, the other a heritage visitor centre. The wide open area in front of the church forms an arena, great for outdoor ceremonies. Along the south flank, on a raised terrace, a series of half a dozen fireplaces, arranged for outdoor cooking. A place for pilgrims to come and picnic. It's a royal sanctuary because the original St Mary's Well, as we'd know it in Britain, had been patronised by fourteenth century Spanish royalty and eighteenth century Bourbon rulers of Spain, to whom the present baroque countenance of the interior is owed.

The restaurant had clients, and there were a handful of visitors like me, just looking around. I went into the empty visitor centre and was greeted by a man on duty. Once he'd established that I was OK with Spanish, he started to describe the history of the sanctuary and its royal connections, and offered to show me around the church, which was otherwise locked. The interior was covered with fine baroque frescos, all in excellent condition, likewise all the buildings. It's clearly regarded as a key piece of local heritage. 

Then I learned that the place had suffered badly during the Civil War, as the region was in republican hands, and its was, of course a place with royal history. It had been completely and authentically restored in the fifties and sixties, which explains how it should still be in such good condition. The frescos, apparently were re-painted by two artists from Vinaros, and all the external walls and terraces were done by apprentice stone masons from Traiguera.

The small original fourteenth century shrine and its well, were established after the region's reconquest. They are still preserved, easily accessible to all who pass by. Everything else in this complex has been built around this.

This was in every way a memorable afternoon of catching up on discoveries I might have made on earlier visits. I was also very pleased to have a half an hour's real conversation, all in Spanish, about things that interest me.

It was a treat to return to another excellent episode of 'Beck' in BBC Four Scandinavian TV crime drama series. This was special because characters conversed in a mix of Swedish, English and German, making it even more interesting to follow than usual.

    

Blaenavon duties

I was relieved not to be as tired as I expected to be after my drive to Papworth and back in a day, and glad yesterday not to have a great deal to do, apart from move plants and garden furniture into Liz's garden next door, in preparation for a long awaited makeover, finally to happen in the coming week. So far the weather outlook suggests it's not going to hinder completion in just a few days. 

I watched two episodes of 'Beck' this evening, the first one, on iPlayer, which I missed when we were in North Wales, and the second, live on BBC Four. The second was about the tragic outcome of hidden infidelity between colleagues on a doctor's family. This occurs at a time when a married colleague of Beck's seems keen to develop and affair with him. His alcoholic neighbour tries to encourage him to engage in a little sexual adventurism, as he himself leaves for a Baltic cruise in search of a fling. It's quite heartening to observe Beck thinking about his own behaviour in the light of the tragedy he has uncovered, and disengaging before anything untoward develops between him and his colleague. Well acted, in an understated way.

This morning's assignments were in Blaenavon, two Eucharists standing in for Rufus, on holiday in Italy. The last time I made this trip was for Rufus' first Mass. The hour's drive there and back was made most enjoyable by the array of autumnal colours in thickly wooded green valleys, bathed in bright sunlight. The first service was in 200 year old St Peter's, associated with the town's history as one of the birth places of the iron and steel industry. There was a congregation of three dozen, who sang with great enthusiasm. Craig the organist is also a local funeral director with his own company. I first met him ten years ago when he was working for one of the Cardiff FDs, when he drove me to a burial in Cathays Cemetery, if my memory serves me well.

Then, on up the hill to St Paul's, for an old fashioned High Church solemn Mass for eighteen people, eastward facing, with Angelus at the end of the service. Nothing that I'm unused to, except for having to change from wearing a cope for the Ministry of the Word, to an ancient fiddleback chasuble for the Eucharist. Funny, I thought, the last time I wore one of these was at the Benalmadena Eucharist in the Costa del Sol East chaplaincy last year. There were a handful of them in the sacristy cupboard of the basement chapel we used for worship. I said to the St Paul's sacristan that the lat time I'd worn one for Mass was in Spain. He looked at me, rather bemused.

Clare returned early evening by train from Birmingham, having been collected by Kath from Papworth, and driven there. The good news is that Eddie shows signs of improvement, very slowly stirring from a state of deep anaethesia. If all goes well it'll be a long journey back to recovery.

Tale of two new fathers

A Saturday afternoon walk in the sunshine through Bute Park took us into town to end up having a look around and tea in John Lewis'. It's our default outing  when we can't summon up the energy to go further. Walking across the fields to the Blackweir Bridge, I spotted one bird in a small group of crows which resembled the others physically, but was black with speckles and rough patches of white as if someone had thrown bleach over it, rather than the regular pale markings of the carrion crow. It had a crow's beak however. An albino?

 

No road closures today, but still there were lots of rugby fans in town again, to watch televised games in the Cardiff Arms Park stadium 'Fanzone'. Apparently it's been very popular. Cardiff businesses have certainly benefited from the additional influx of visitors this past few weeks, and construction projects are becoming a feature of city centre life again, as the Central Square redevelopment gets under way.

I've been thinking of Spain quite a lot recently, having much enjoyed autumnal living in Andalusia, and it prompted me to cook paella for supper. Curiously, it's something I rarely cooked in Spain, and it seems quite a while since I last did so here. With sermons ready to preach tomorrow, the only thing worth watching on TV was  Swedish crime drama 'Beck', with a case that explored insightfully the use of illegal migrant labour in Sweden. I liked the well drawn parallels between a young detective, an expectant father, and an illegal Chechen refugee expectant father. With ironic synchronicity both babies end up delivered in the same maternity unit. One father is free, the other injured and under arrest. What was interesting and different was the background stories of the 'illegals', their countries of origin and reasons for being far from home, vulnerable to exploitation. 

The same story could be told, based here in Britain. The differences would be in the countries of origin. Needs are much the same - refuge from conflict, need to earning money to support family back home. The understandable fear expressed by police is that terrorists hide behind vulnerable people, who hide anyway, not just from law enforcement, but from xenophobics, determined not to welcome them or let them be. Everybody suffers. The global failure to tackle inequality and poverty condemns us to a vicious cycle of violence, which even the most practical of idealists still cannot get a grip on.