Imitation dinosaurs

Another cloudy day, but warmer at 21C. Pleased to say that I decided to renew the car tax for another year yesterday on time, though I'm not sure how cost effective a form of transport it is when we use it so little. It costs us about a thousand pounds a year to keep standing outside the house most of the time, just to use a couple of times a week mostly for convenience, and in town. I have established that our Polo is ULEZ compliant, so if Cardiff opts to establish a clean air city centre zone, there'll be no additional running costs. I estimate paying for taxis over a year would amount to much the same, although hiring a car holiday travel to places not easy to reach by public transport would add to the overall expense.

After breakfast I worked until lunch on Morning Prayer and a Reflection for Holy Cross Day two weeks hence. Lunch was quick and easy, consisting of the other half of a chicken dish I prepared yesterday with pasta instead of rice, while Clare had the second portion of the hake fillets she cooked yesterday with veg.

As I was entering the park for my afternoon walk, I was stopped by a man who asked me how to get to the City centre through the Park, so I accompanied him as far Pontcanna Fields, pointing him to Blackweir Bridge and the way into Bute Park and the Castle. Then he took off, walking faster than I. We chatted as we walked. He was an extravert African American and told me his name was Less (short for Lesslie) and that he was from California but had worked in Europe as a restauranteur for over than fifteen years, first in Norway then in Madeira. He'd fallen for a Welsh woman and that brought him to Cardiff, where he'd fallen out with her and fallen for another Welsh woman. All this in a few minutes walk!

On impulse, I walked down the Taff footpath to the Millennium Bridge and crossed over into Bute Park then walked right around the fence in Cooper's Field enclosing this year's 'Dinosaurs in Bute Park' kids exhibition with life sized replicas of over forty different creatures based on analysis of paleontological research findings, complete with calling sounds (based on the size of inner skull cavities), with a guess at their possible colours. The show last appeared here in 2021, after the first in 2018. Return in 2020 was ruled out by the pandemic lockdown.

In keeping with the ancient tradition of mechanical automatons, the necks, jaws and tails of the beasts are equipped to move on their own. Not exactly lifelike. Their roaring sounds hilarious, a cross between someone throwing up after a boozy night out, and an ancient toilet being flushed. Fun for children, fascinated with monstrous beats from an early age, but impossible for an adult not to laugh at the synthetic nature of their skin, and the noises they make. A family outing ticket for four people costs over forty pounds, plus the ice creams sweets and fizzy drinks. It didn't seem all that busy to me. I wonder if the show makes a profit? 

On my way back home the grass mower was at work on the triangular meadow between Pontcanna and Llandaff Fields, left to grow wild unmown until now. The scent of cut grass in the warm air was a delight.  It reminded me of my stay in Taormina at the end of 2012, when several of the largest palms close to the church were cut down to reduce risk on them falling in a wind and damaging the building. Palms aren't trees but giant grasses. When cut they exude the same sweet aroma.

After supper I uploaded dinosaur photos to the cloud and added them to the album of similar photos taken two years ago just after the show had closed and the exhibits dismantled for removal. Then I joined Clare in watching tonight's BBC promenade concert featuring the celebrated multi ethnic Chineke orchestra playing a mix of standard classic pieces and several of black composers of the 20th century whose work is being rediscovered and performed again. Such energy and coherence among the seventy strong ensemble, and a breathtaking young trumpet virtuoso making the most of his proms debut! A real treat, and then early to bed.

Eid in the park

Clare was up early before me this morning cooking pancakes for breakfast. A sign that her back pain is a bit easier to cope with. Naturally she's eager to resume normal activity, but what's possible is driven by the level of pain to be coped with. We went for a two hour walk along the Taff afterwards, enjoying the huge variety of birdsong that makes our urban woodland so special. 

A carpet of wild garlic flowers has spread extensively under the trees this past week or so, and the slightly pungent aroma hangs in the mild air. Perhaps because of the changes in season, garlic flowers have proliferated more than usual this year. Ramadan ends today. It was delightful to see a Muslim family at one of the bench tables in Bute Park, unpacking food dishes prepared for a picnic to celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr, their faces radiant with festive joy. 

I cooked lunch when we got back, then sat down to do my Duo Lingo exercises, only to wake up an hour and a half later. I hadn't intended this, and didn't feel tired, that's what's so strange. So much for my good intentions. We went out for another walk before tea, this time for couple of circuits of Thompson's Park. Car excursions are out of the question until Clare's back pain eases further. We're just fortunate to live in such a lovely green environment.

Another couple of hours wasted in front of the telly this evening, then an hour of reading and revising my novel. On checking files, I found that the first draft I'm now working on was completed in January last year. It was written during the period that four of my five rounds of surgery took place, when it was difficult to sit in front of a computer and write for any length of time. Somehow the challenge of life with wound discomfort stimulated me creatively, but once it got easier to live with, the impulse to edit what I'd written went away. Perhaps I needed time for the project to cool down, so to speak, so I could get a measure of perspective and sharp focus on it, to start revising. I'm a third of the way through in a short time, and enjoying the task.

Spring scenes

Another glorious sunny day and quite warm for this time of year too at fifteen degrees. Clare's study group arrived mid morning. I spent an hour scanning the opera tickets for the next season,which Clare received in the post, to store for convenience in my phone. Then I went out to walk for an hour before lunch. First, I caught the bus to the end of Cathedral Road, then walked into Bute Park to take pictures of the flowing trees on the east side of a Gorsedd Circle - a spectacular sight at this time of year.

I wasn't able to take as many photos that I hoped for, as my camera battery ran out of charge. After lunch I started work on next week's biblical reflection, now focusing on the Exodus story. It made me look again at the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt and notice something I hadn't seen before. 

Joseph's policy for managing the famine involved selling the wheat surplus rather than giving it away, a prudent way to cover the cost involved in building and maintaining storage facilities. It was successful enough to enable Egypt and surrounding territory to survive the food crisis. As a result, Egypt saw a return on its investment. It was reasonable enough when people could afford to pay, but as the famine continued, impoverishment led needy people to sell their land and physical labour to the Egyptian state for the price of grain - economic enslavement. Time passed, after the death of Joseph, the privileged position of the Hebrews in Goshen was gradually forgotten. They too became economically entrapped. An ironic instance of the unintended consequences of Joseph's creative management plans.

It also occurred to me that unlike Joseph, who acquired dual identity by virtue of making the most of being enslaved, Moses the liberator from slavery acquired his dual identity by being rescued from the Nile and raised in the household of an Egyptian princess, while being care for by his Hebrew mother. The ability of both men in different situations relies on being able to bridge the culture gap in their own lived experience. Both know the importance of patience, humility and persistence to achieve anything worthwhile. 

I walked in Llandaff Fields before supper, enjoying the fact that it's mild enough not to need a top coat. The children's playground is busy and lots of people are out walking their dogs, or sitting on the grass making the most of their time after work or school. A big grass mowing machine towed by a tractors was out and about, tidying the playing fields reading for cricketers to practice before their first matches.

In the evening I watched several more episodes of Finnish crimmie 'All the sins', which I didn't realise until now has a second series, which strangely tells about events relating to some of the first series characters fifteen years earlier. It's intriguing. So far the reason for this isn't apparent.

Bute Park lock-down

When Clare left for her study group, I went out, charged with finding some red candles for our Advent table wreath. I couldn't find anything suitable in the Cowbridge Road shops, but on the way back called into Beti Biggs, a small boutique, on Romilly Crescent, not far from home and found exactly what I had been looking for. It's not a shop I've ever been in before, specialising in small gifts and things and glitter at this time of year. I though it might have closed for goof during lock-down but it bounced back, which is encouraging to hear.

I cooked lunch in time for Clare's return, then went into town to buy Christmas cards for sending with our annual newsletter, which I have yet to write. Bute Park, apart from the east west cycle route is closed to pedestrians and cyclists, as the arboretum zone is being used for the illuminated night walk - pay to enter. This will not be a popular move though it's within the Council's rights to allow this disruption, as it's not public realm in the sense that streets are. It forces a change to people's everyday routines however, obliging many to walk further than they can or wish to. We wait to see if this initiative covers the cost outlay, and if not, who picks up the bill.

Winter Wonderland in front of the Museum and City Hall is now a fun fair including a ski slope, and is extended to Castle grounds, given over to a skating rink under a large tented canopy, with an open air extension in the form of a circular piste. In the middle of the enclosure are the four light sculptures of reindeer which in previous years were installed on the grass in the castle moat. All the refreshment stalls are inside the Castle walls now and there are just the usual coloured table benches. I guess outdoor drinkers from the hostelries on the other side of Castle Street can sit there, if they are willing to take their lives into their hands crossing the way where two way traffic reigns once more. I think this Winter Womderland was set up like this last year, but covid restrictions prevented it coming into use. 

In the evening I watched another episode of 'Crossing Borders' on My5 catch-up. It's another euro-crimmie showcasing an elite international team of detectives working on cross border crimes. It's rather idealised, in representing people with different policing cultures, jurisdiction hopping without upsetting the status quo, but the bad thing about it is that the key actors all speak English. The difference between their mother tongues has almost no impact on their accents. There's hardly foreign language speech, so it's subtitle free, and hardly any misunderstandings. A low budget series evidently.

Lost in the woods

A routine start to the week with cleaning chores after breakfast, and a re-write of mt Thursday morning reflection on the difficult passage in Matthew ten in which Jesus talks about his ministry causing division, an uncomfortable message. Thursday is the start of the UN's annual campaign against violence to women, a sixteen period marked by supporters wearing a white ribbon. It proved possible link this to Safeguarding in the church, and back to the Gospel. Once I'd made the connection, writing and recording was easy.

As I was busy, Clare cooked lunch. I went to the shops, then recorded and edited my Thursday service. We had supper early, then set out for the Royal Welsh College over Blackweir Bridge and through the park for an opera Gala Night. In trying to reach the cycle path three hundred metres through the woods beyond the bridge, we took the wrong path twice, added twenty minutes to the walk, and arrived dead on seven thirty, as the Welsh National Opera orchestra was tuning up. 

Failure to find the right path, not way-marked for some stupid reason no doubt, while easy in daylight was impossible at night, though we have walked it at night in the past. It's a case of remembering the lie of the land, which changes when the undergrowth is overgrown. Anyway, we walked down the playing fields, couldn't exit by the ambulance station, but found a way out by the new service entrance gate which, though closed wasn't locked. I was pretty certain that there was a permanently open way out of the park at night next to the College, but Clare didn't believe me, though we've walked that way before. It was quite a bizarre predicament to be in, but we laughed our way through it more than we bickered.

The concert was wonderful, Carlo Rizzi conducting the WNO orchestra with great energy and the opera students rising admirably to the challenge in eight extracts from operas, only one of which we knew. The last piece was from the end of Verdi's Falstaff with ten singers on stage singing a fiendishly complex fugue with much gusto. It was offered, as Carolo said, in memory of David Seligman, a long standing patron of the College, and music making generally in Cardiff, who died earlier this year. It was more in keeping with the spirit of the man than a minute's silence, Carlo said.

Sitting in front of us was Eileen, the caretaker at St John's church. She was already at the bus stop to get the 61 home when we arrived there after the performance. It was great to find a fellow enthusiast among our local church members. What a night! Lost in the woods, then arriving in the nick of time.

Dead trees in view

A long night's sleep awakening to a warm day of sun and clouds. After our Saturday pancake breakfast, I wrote a reflection for Thursday's morning prayer and finished tomorrow's sermon. Clare made fish pie for lunch with which we ate some succulent french beans harvested from our garden plants. A few weeks ago, Clare brought home from church a cutting from a large lily root, and planted it in a corner of the garden. It a short time it has grown prodigiously and produced several large flowers, an amazing sight in between the damson tree and the blackcurrant bush. 

After lunch, I walked into town to buy some guitar strings, as both my Spanish guitars have broken a couple of their lower ones. The music shop assistant commented that the most frequently replaced string on an electric guitar is the top E, whereas on a classical guitar it's the D string. When I thought about it, that has been my experience too, over the sixty five years since I started to learn how to play guitar.

Clare had a siesta and then walked into town to do some shopping, so we met at John Lewis' and had a drink together. Then she continued her mission and I walked home through Bute Park. One group of trees on the edge of the rive has been damaged by recent strong gusts of wind, losing the top third of the trunk in two cases, causing more damage as they fell. The entire crown of one of them is in the river. Will it be removed, or just left  until flood waters return (as they inevitably will later in the year) to carry it away and cause problems downstream? Within a hundred metres of this site another large old tree was felled during a storm last year. I wondered if this was a zone whose shape encouraged wind to funnel and gain strength. Last year's drought certainly affected many trees which seemed to snap mid trunk, more often than at the roots. 

It's strange, there's one dead tree which looms at a precarious angle over the foot path by the cricket stadium. It's been like that for several years, and I don't understand why it's not yet been blown down or snapped in two. I've photographed broken trees in our parks for the past three years. Some get cut up and cleared away within days, others are tidied up and their trunks and maybe bigger branches left lying to decompose and provide insects with shelter. Most remarkable are the remains of big ash and beech trees killed by pests. They stand in place and dry out over time, sometimes losing their bark going silvery grey in their permanently wintry appearance.

After supper this evening, I continued working rather than watching telly, to try and get ahead of myself, then went to bed earlier than usual, though it's roughly the same time as usual when the lights go out. 

Butterfingers

Thank heavens the strong winds of the past few days have subsided and the rain has gone away for the moment! All we need now is summer warmth to return. Today the five mile travel restriction advised by the Welsh government is lifted, but we didn't get around to going anywhere.

I walked to and from the city centre again this afternoon, and was pleased to find that my favourite camera shop is open for busness. I needed to enquire about the possibility and cost of repairing my long zoom Sony HX300 as it's been giving me the same ominous fault message which I had on my old HX50 before it died. The internal mechanism driving the barrel of the zoom lens either gets worn or dirty so that auto-focus or exposure electronic sensors cannot function properly. It may be possible to fix, but maybe not. I can take the camera in for examination next time I'm passing, and the hope for the best. 

It was a perverse coincidence that later, when I was taking my HX90 from its bag to take a photo of the closed road at the Kingsway end of the Castle I dropped the camera. The compartment housing the SD card and battery burst open and shed its contents. It still works, but opens and closes with a scrunchy noise now, so how long it will last is anybody guess. Last week I dropped my Blackberry and chipped its outer casing. I've noticed that handling smooth objects has become tricky recently. Lots of precautionary hand-washing is making my finger tips smoother and drier, affecting grip and touch.

Interesting to see many younger people, sitting in groups on the grass outside the Castle inside their individual whitewashed circles, also without benefit of circles, in groups across Cooper's Field and other open spaces in Bute Park. For a while the snack bar near the bridge from the park to the bus station was serving soft drinks and ice cream to passers by from outdoor tables. That, I guess is as much 'take-away' refreshments as they can manage with the kitchen still closed. 

Blackweir Bridge is still closed as it is deemed too narrow for two way traffic, so you have to walk up to the Western Avenue crossing, adding a mile to your journey if you are entering Bute Park from the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. I wonder if we'll get a second crossing at Blackweir? A temporary bridge would make a good training project for a Welsh Army engineers' unit to tackle.

This evening, at my sister June's recommendation I watched the first of three music travelogues by Huey Morgan on Latin American music in its social context. The first was about Brazil. I watched it on iPlayer, aware that the second was on later in the evening, but I got distracted by the discovery of series two of 'Non Uccidere', the Italian crimmie set in and around Torino and focusing on crime in the family. There's plenty of time to catch up on Huey's second programme tomorrow.

Suddenly, insidiously I'm reverting to the old habit of watching too much telly, when I could be doing other things. For the moment, I have a bad back as an excuse for such passivity. Lounging is a lot less uncomfortable than sitting down to write for any length of time. This afternoon I wrote to Mrs Cornish the surgeon to say that I am still alive, and inform her about what has happened in the seven months since last I was last examined, and expressing the hope that my name remains in the long queue for minor surgery. I'm not expecting a response under present circumstances, but I am determined not to be lost in the medical admin system again.

Walls that tell stories

It rained yesterday morning, but the weekly grocery shopping needed to be done so I donned the new pair of waterproof trousers sent me by my sister June, with my elderly jacket, given new life by Clare with a waterproofing solution in our washing machine, and went about my business. Rain was promised after lunch when I went for my afternoon outing in the park, so I dressed up again, but this time it didn't rain. Our weather is ever unpredictable!

As I wait for the next op, a week Thursday, each day it seems that the condition of the wound improves slightly. Most noticeably, I can sit for longer without pain or discomfort. Three hours watching telly on the sofa instead of giving up after a short while and retiring to bed to watch on my tablet instead.

This morning Clare had an X-ray appointment at Cardiff Royal Infirmary, as she has problems with a 'clicky' right hip, maybe due to joint wear and tear. For once I was able to sit comfortably in the car on the way there, and drove back without discomfort. I used a special dense foam cushion to protect me from the ravages of the shaped seat. I've tried using it in the car several times before and it was of no use at all, due to pressure on the open wound. It's healed to such an extent that it can now bear pressure when I'm sitting down. This is real progress as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's still open, leaking gunk from inside me, but far less so, and much easier to manage in everyday life. It makes the wait bearable.

The CRI, as the old central Cardiff hospital is known, is a sprawling ensemble of fine Victorian stone and brick buildings running along the south side of Newport Road. The emergency out of hours GP service is located in one section, and a local GP surgery in another, plus an assortment of specialist services, dealing with mental health, substance abuse, and sexual health which in my seminary days was commonly known as The Pox clinic. There's also an X-ray facility there to which GPs refer patients.

Once we'd found the waiting room, I went hunting for a toilet along the very long corridor which is the building's backbone, and was impressed by the variety of plaques on the walls commemorating the patrons and major donors who funded hospital's construction starting with a Dispensary in 1822. There's one very large marble plaque containing scores of donor names, from a major public fund raising drive between 1840 and 1880. It includes donations from a succession of Mayors, landowners, and clergy including the Bishop of Llandaff. 

One clerical name I especially looked for and found was that of the Rev Charles Thompson. In those days he was Vicar of St John's City Parish Church within whose parish boundaries lay the hospital and nearby Cardiff Gaol, plus the city's military barracks out in Maindy. Thompson was the incumbent at a time of huge population expansion. He took initiatives to start six mission churches, and the addition of side aisles and a chancel to St John's, to accommodate the population increase. 

His name appears near the end of the long list. He can't have been all that long in post at the time the fund raising drive ended. The names of many of the City's great and good in the heyday of Victorian prosperity and expansion are recorded on those donation plaques, so many lives intersecting in a major community humanitarian project. A veritable Victorian Who's Who of Cardiff.

Fortunately there was no delay in Clare's appointment, and by half past ten she was dropping me off in Canton to walk home while she went to her weekly study group. I went home and did some writing until she returned for lunch.

During my afternoon walk along the Taff, I came across two men with cameras near Blackweir Bridge, one of them in a wheelchair. Birdwatchers. In the grassy riverbed patch below the path, among the masses of gulls were an egret and the older heron. We chatted, naturally, and they told me they'd seen and snapped the older and younger heron together. And a Kingfisher, in perfect lighting condition for good photos, on the willow at the water's edge. I saw some of their photos and was pleased for them. Now I know the Kingfisher is a visitor to this spot, I'll keep a keen eye out in future, hoping for a lucky sighting with a camera in hand.

Then, a lady came up the path, declaring her pleasure in seeing a heron further downstream. It was probably the young bird of the pair. I pointed out the egret and the heron, and shared the delight of the moment. It's gratifying that so many people take pleasure in this surprising wildlife sanctuary, so close to the city centre.

Reunions

Yesterday afternoon, Owain arrived after lunch to be re-united with his sisters and stay overnight. It's a great joy for us to have all three of them together under the same roof with us. It's lovely that they all still get on well together, and can enjoy sitting at table, sharing a meal and chatting. 

This morning, I had an early start to be ready to drive to Splott to celebrate the 9.30am Mass, then the 11.00am Mass afterwards at St German's. This time, my old friend Fr Graham Francis was at church, and concelebrated the Eucharist with me. The last time we were together in this way at the altar was probably in the late 1980s, when he has Vicar of Penrhiwceiber, and I was a guest preacher on behalf of USPG. 

It's fifty years since we were both at St Mike's in training. We were among a small number of college students recruited as volunteers with Cardiff Samaritans, allowed to be be away from College on a weeknight, once a fortnight, I think it was, so that we could do the overnight shift on telephone duty. We both learned a lot from this. It was one of the first student pastoral placements outside of the domain of parochial ministry. A modest innovation in those days, but the start of a practical revolution on ministerial training which happened over the next couple of decades.

Graham lives with stomach cancer. It deprives him of his characteristic energy. He needs to rest a lot, but it doesn't hinder him taking as full a part in the Mass as he can cope with. He can't preside and preach at at Sung Mass any longer, so for most of the service he sits, and reserves himself for concelebrating and sharing the distribution of Communion. At the end, he leads the singing of the Angelus, having pointed out to me that it's an hour earlier than it should be sung, an anomalous custom from times when the St Saviour's Mass finished at noon. Since student days Graham has been a master of liturgical know how, with an immense library of publications accumulated over decades. Not an academic but a practical and creative liturgist, to whom a scholar might resort if they couldn't track down a historic resource in any library or book-shop. It saddens me to think that none of our scholarly or training institutions seem interested in inheriting his collection. He started asking when he retired. He's got publications nobody has got around to digitising or ever will.

We had a super family lunch, when I got home. Then I walked with the kids through Bute Park while Clare had a siesta. We took photos in the park and then had a go at a family selfie in the garden when we returned. I wasn't entirely pleased with the result of the latter, which I attempted to do with my Sony Alpha 68. Setting it up to take timed shots is different from the three other Sony cameras I have, and this proved disconcerting, as did setting up the camera tripod. Thankfully, Kath has a lot more expertise than me, in matters audio-visual, and rescued the situation from a long drawn out wait while dad got things right.

Kath drove Owain to the station at tea time, then headed back for Kenilworth. Time seems to pass so quickly on days like these, re-forging family bonds, with the sun shining and nothing to distract us from being at home together. I'd have liked to be completely well, but despite continued improvement this dreaded affliction still pulls me down, somewhat unawares on occasions. I'm resilient, but not as much as I expect to be. I needed Kath to remind me of how much better I am now than I was last Christmas night, when things really did take a turn for the worse. But also for the better, as I had my first contact with the District Nurses team on Boxing Day morning, and since then, I have everything to give thanks for.

Surprise park meeting

I was glad of a good night's sleep and leisurely start to the day. I went to a mid morning appointment at St David's for a dressing change, then after a post-lunch siesta we walked to Bute Park. While we were having a drink at the nursery end cafe, in came our friend Fran, accompanied by Mark Elton, a local musician we got to know through Rachel when she lived in Cardiff twelve years ago. Not only did he play violin on one of her recordings, but also led a scratch orchestra for a charity sing along 'Messiah' at St John's around the same time. It was a surprise to discover that they know each other.

We chatted for about half an hour, but then I had to take off in haste and walk over to Adamsdown to say Mass at St German's, to give Fr Phelim a small Easter break. It's the first time in a year since I was last able to visit, and wonderful that five of the regulars turned out to welcome me and worship together. I was given a lift back to Canton Cross by one of the regulars who lives in Penarth, which meant that I was back just as The Archers was finishing.

Another quiet evening resting, catching up on iPlayer. That was quite a long walk, and although I can manage 4-5 miles in a day, it does leave me tireder than I'm happy with, as if my energy level and general fitness is on a plateau and not improving. Perhaps it's inevitable  until that new wound really closes. There I go, ever the impatient patient.

    

Another match day in town

Friday was routine and uneventful, a clinic visit, a walk, more whiling away hours streaming 'Walter Presents' crimmies. I've had a couple of photos from Martin, from his hospital bed, before and after the removal of life support tubes, smiling in both, but a bigger grin in the latter. Out of bed walking a little, and if progress is sustained, home after the weekend.

Saturday afternoon Clare was working away at German translation, so I walked out with my Sony Alpha 68 to Blackweir, for more early spring photos through Bute Park and home again. Wales were playing England in the Principality Stadium, and as I was making my way back from Blackweir at a quarter to five, I could her the sound of massed voices a mile away singing the two national anthems before the game.

I don't normally watch sport, but on this occasion, after arriving home and having a cup of tea, I did switch on the telly, and watched three quarters of what turned out to be a marvellous exciting game, which Wales won. Cardiff city centre will be a very happy place, full of inebriated souls tonight!

BBC Four showed the second double episode of 'Trapped' at nine and I watched with interest, as the slow moving plot line unfolds with ominous twists and turns. Again, as was first said about the Welsh crimmie 'Y Gwyllt' the landscape (in this case Icelandic) is as much a star as the actors.

Rachel's Homecoming

Much of our Monday was spent getting ready for Rachel's arrival tomorrow, although I met with a bereaved family at Pidgeons funeral home in the afternoon, to prepare a funeral service with them for a 94 year old, who'd served on HMS Renown as a teenage carpenter during the World War Two, and met Sir Winston Churchill, who travelled on the battleship to secret meetings with Allied leaders. Like many others, after demobilisation, he was happy to settle down back home, raise a family and stay in the same job for forty years. Many youngsters are far better travelled by the time they are twenty these days, but is their life experience of consumer holidays and educational visits as rich and powerful, leaving them as content with stable ordinary life?

Rachel's flight arrived slightly ahead of schedule enabling her to get the coach she'd booked on with ease, so she got home, joyful but tired in time for lunch. Afterwards she insisted that the first thing she wanted to do was to walk along the Taff and through Bute Park. She much prefers the cooler British climate, compared to an Arizona summer, and misses the extensive summer greenery which we take for granted. It was lovely to see her so happy to be home, even if we are going through what passes for a heat wave (28-30C) here at the moment. I've got used to hot weather this past few years so this level of heat is just about right for me, while others complain about getting in a sweat.

Annoyingly, Rachel's hold luggage didn't arrive with her after a change of flights in Houston, so she needed to borrow from Mum and buy some underwear, but it wasn't too long before she took out her guitar, checked the spare one Anto had brought for her to use last weekend, and was re-tuning them to the special settings she uses for accompanying her songs. Then, out came her Grandpa's beloved 'cello for some improvised duetting with Mum on the piano. Such a domestic delight!

Catch-up viewing language lesson

Feeling somewhat better on Friday, I worked on my Sunday sermon, worked on next Tuesday's funeral and then went into town in the afternoon, for a catch-up meeting with Ashley. On the way there I walked around the Central Square development site and took photos It's ten weeks since I was last here and the major visual change is the extent of the external glazing of the buildings. On a bright but cloudy day, the reflections look very decorative. Not so wonderful on one of Cardiff's many low grey cloud days, I suspect.

This afternoon, Clare and I walked our usual circuit along the Taff through Bute Park and back. It was pleasantly warm, and there was an open air concert going on in the car park of the SWALEC stadium, with a wild sounding jazz big band playing.

In the evening I decided to catch up watching the latest BBC Four serialised euro-crime, a Spanish production called 'Sé quién eres', (I know who you are), rather than drop in and watch the most recent double episode. I got through four of the eight published episodes in one go, as not only was it an engaging story line with good acting, but to my amazement, my last couple of years of hard work using the Duo Lingo language app is now paying off in terms of being able to follow dialogue, and see how it relates to the sub-titles. It was like a four hour lesson in colloquial speech. I learned a lot about how common phrases and interjections are actually used. It was most rewarding.

The plot concerns a tough ruthless well connected lawyer who loses his memory in a car accident and finds afterwards that his car is a crime scene, and he is chief suspect in the disappearance of his student aged niece. He is totally reliant on what his family and colleagues tell him about what kind of person he is. Finds find this leaves him feeling unhappy with himself. He no longer wants to be that kind of person. Yet he has to recover a sense of himself and his memory to defend himself against allegations which promise to ruin his life. 

The thought provoking story of how this happens is convoluted and interesting, and the theme of family loyalty runs through it, as well as that of corrupt practices in the legal profession. I think it's set in Barcelona. Thankfully the discourse is in Castilian rather than Catalan, or I would have far less chance of following it and getting so much out of it. That's the first time I've watched any TV or video since I went to Malaga, two months ago. Amazing how one can live without entertainment when everyday life on the street is so interesting to be part of.

Euro-weekend

Clare's choir conductor Anna and her husband Klaus came to join us for lunch yesterday. We talked of our shared passion for sacred music and things European. Anna is Italian and Klaus German. We heard how both of them had made the effort to obtain UK nationality well before the brexit vote, sensing the wind of euro-skepticism chilling the climate of openness which has prevailed for the past forty years. We heard how lengthy and expensive a process it was, and how intricate legislation makes it hard for some long standing European residents to prove to the satisfaction of the Home Office, that they have been here living and contributing to society through work and taxes for decades. The system is loaded against the poor and not so well informed, who nevertheless play a full part in making Britain the place it is, or should I say was. I am unhappy about the movement of the country away from moderation and fairness, toward right wing elitist dominance. 

This morning drove to St John's Canton to celebrate and preach at the Parish Eucharist this morning before going on to St German's for the Solemn Mass. This morning in worship we used incense that I'd been given by Dr Laura Ciobanu on her visits, as I had enough to use for a full service in small packs of the same kind, originating from Mount Athos in Greece. It had the characteristic aroma of roses, ad a few people with sensitive noses noticed and commented favourably on the change.

After lunch and a siesta, we walked both banks of the river Taff as far as the Millennium footbridge, enjoying the birds and wild flowers in Bute Park arboretum. Bluebells are starting to diminish now, but alium (wild garlic) is flourishing, carpeting the grass under the trees with vivid white blooms. 

No sign of Mallard ducklings today, just an assortment of adult couples and same sex pairs. A bit like the human leisure seekers, out enjoying the sun in great numbers.

In the evening I watched the second episode of 'Lanester' on the tablet's All Four app.  It was just a two part drama not a series, adapted from a single novel - disappointing, as the main characters were potentially worth exploring further. Interestingly enough the German 'Inspector Borowski' series and 'Lanester' portray a gifted senior detective, workaholic, single and 50+. Both find themselves working with and needing to relate to a capable and highly intelligent woman, old enough to be a daughter. In the former the woman is a detective. In the latter, a Parisienne cabbie. Gender and generation differences are the underlying relationship issues not sexuality, for a change. 

Perhaps French TV moguls felt their thunder had been stolen by the German series, and didn't bother to pursue the theme further. Although, come to think of it, there was another French crime drama series in 2015 called 'Disparue' set in Lyon, which also has another workaholic middle aged detective, Bertrand Morel, divorced, and obliged to relate to his feisty teenage daughter who prefers to live with papa, who's more laid back than maman. All these story lines portray men who, despite being lonely, obsessed with solving hard and complex cases, are superb team leaders, yet with messed up personal lives. The role of these different confident modern women portrayed challenges the men with positive outcomes in the crime stories, and humanises the solitary male. It's not the romantic tale of heroic knights of old with an admiring lady gazing nobly from afar. It's more like a real world contradiction of this theme.

   

St Agnes postponed

I went to St John's Canton this morning to offer a 10.30 Eucharist, relocated from its usual venue at St Luke's as the heating there is broken. There was a coffee morning going on at the other end of the church and nobody turned up to worship, so I prayed and read the Liturgy of the Word on my own, which I was quite happy to do. It's St Agnes Day today, but I'll be celebrating it tomorrow in any case.

Afterwards, Clare and I took advantage of another day of sunshine and went for a long walk around the park. I half recognised up to a dozen different kinds of birdsong, which was encouraging. I spotted a wren and a robin, and photographed a heron on the Bute Park river bank, and two large cormorants perched on different stones in the river, eyes fixed, like the heron on the water beneath them, hunting for fish, possibly salmon on the move to their spawning ground up-river. Strangely, yesterday, I heard and saw few birds apart from the ubiquitous crows, magpies and pigeons. Yet, the weather was the same as today. Getting to know the riverside parkland as wildlife habitat requires lots of walks and observation in the same locations time and time again, to build up a proper picture and understand it. It's nice to have much more time to look these days.

The rest of the day was uneventful and the evening spent watching the rubbish TV. The only thing of interest I found to read was an article about how groups of academics and computer geeks in the USA have been working around to clock to download and archive the content of American government Environmental protection agency data, before the new President takes office, suspecting that he will act to suppress volumes of published scientific data which confirms climate change. Trump is a declared denier and skeptic, who looks set to relegate climate change action to the bottom of his priority list. In other tech news, on his first day in office with executive power, the tech media are already reporting that US government web information on environmental and climate issues is no longer accessible. This is a worrying sign of dangerous times to come. If the truth is meant to set us free, suppressing the truth is surely meant to enslave us. But, as Trump sows, so will he reap. Suppress the facts and they could well return and cause your fall eventually.

      

Long walk between shops

Another late and lazy Saturday morning, time to complete downloading and then uploading to our Golden Wedding Anniversary web album the series of photos emailed to me by Richard Johnson over the past few late nights. He's a late bird, as I am, and we talk about computers and Linux in our email exchanges, one of the few regular users I know. 

Just after an early lunch, Clare was collected by taxi,  for an afternoon at the University School of Optometry, where she had agreed to let her eye condition be examined by different post graduate students, as part of their training. With a free afternoon, and a couple of small shopping errands, one in Canton and one in Gabalfa, I went out on a long walk connecting the two. First, down Llandaff Road to the Apothecary Shop, then along Cowbridge Road East, over the Taff River bridge and into the Castle grounds. The weather was mild and the rain stayed away, but there was a slight mist in the air, letting you know it was winter. Bute Park was busy with people walking dogs or shepherding children, taking advantage of a break in the wet weather. We're so fortunate to have this resource, right at the heart of the city. 

I walked out at the far end of Bute Park, and along the trail that leads to the retail zone, that is home to Staples, my second port of call, to buy another flash drive so I can experiment with doing a system back up, something I've not done so far with Windows 10 on any of my machines. These no longer seem to come with a separate partition for system backup/restore files. It stands to reason that a drive failure could make it impossible to perform a system restoration from a partition on the same hard disk. Yet hard drives may well outlast the usefulness of a computer in an ordinary domestic context, and maybe most offices too. Pre-installing operating system software and not setting up a recovery partition saves manufacturing costs, making for cheaper mass market pricing. 

Users get nagged about making their own system backup these days, but it's not easy. Even when using a separate hard drive, this process has a reputation for failing, and requires a certain measure of experience and confidence. I suspect many people don't bother, if not forget to, like me. I have not been motivated by anything other and wanting to learn how to do so. Any Windows operating system which fails on a machine of mine will simply get replaced by Linux, sooner or later. Anyway, I got a 32GB flash drive for just £6.99, the January sales are on with a vengeance now, shelves to be cleared to make way for new stock, with threatened price increases due to the weaker pound. Pity there's no longer anything I need.

Clare called to say she was home, just as I got to Staples, so I got back as quickly as I could, my poor knee performing better than yesterday. When I arrived, Google Fit told me that I'd done 7.2km and exceeded (for the first time) the 10,000 steps daily target, and by 10%, in a hundred minutes walk. I was pleased with that, but it's not something I'll have enough time to repeat every day. I was pretty tired and sore footed, too tired to go out to Fr Roy's 'at home' as intended this evening. I had to settle for taking it easy, preparing a sermon, investigating backup image making. The two good crime series on telly were both repeats of episodes seen a couple of times already. It gets easier and easier to spend an entire evening without feeling compelled to switch it on.

What I did discover about Google Fit, when later in the evening I looked at the day's data on first the phone and then the tablet was that only the walking time elapsed was correct and the same on both devices. The distance walked, on the phone was half what it had shown when I'd stopped walking earlier, and on the tablet, a tenth of the amount. Both devices had been in the same location all the evening, and only the tablet moved, very occasionally. Very odd behaviour indeed. I wonder why? Perhaps the GPS tracking gets muddled inside a house where it may be masked. Or not quite as smart an app as it seems?

    

Autumnal city

After a constructive start to the day, with tomorrow's sermon completed and printed by mid-morning. Then we walked briskly into the city centre alongside the Taff, through Bute Park. It was bright and chilly and a feast for the eyes wherever you looked. I spotted a Cormorant flying up and down the river hunting for a meal. Near the SWALEC stadium, a Jay walked through the grass grass verge. It seemed quite unconcerned by our proximity. The footpath was momentarily quiet, so there was nothing to startle it. We stopped and observed it quietly for a little while. For once, I wasn't carrying a camera, and regretted it, though I think Clare was relieved at not have to stop and wait for me to catch her up. 

The majority of the leaves have turned yellow rather than red or brown this autumn. The rain and wind of recent days, has laid a gorgeous carpet of colours over the grass, while leaves still clinging to trees light up the blue sky with flecks of gold. I will need to do this walk again with a camera on Monday to try and capture the scene, before the leaf gathering machines move in. Weather permitting. The centre was busy, more crowded that usual, pending the start of the Wales v Japan Rugby international match. We wandered the shops for an hour or so, then went to the House of Frazer's Cafe Zest for a drink and a sandwich before walking home again.

I noticed there was a new Australian crime drama series to watch on BBC Four called 'Deep Waters', which started last week with a double episode, so I watched those on iPlayer, while awaiting episodes three and four to be shown.  Set on and around Bondi beach, it was about the investigation of a series of hate crimes against gay men, reaching back from present murders to cold cases of thirty years ago. It was fairly straightforward with few twists and turns no background police 'n politics intrigue. A decent effort, but for me, it lacked sparkle, the dialogue seemed flat and uninspired. But it could simply be that Australian culture and English speech feels more foreign to me than anything European regardless of the language differences.
      

Family visit

Kath and Rhiannon arrived for an overnight stay at lunchtime yesterday. We walked over to Bute Park, enjoying the sunshine, to visit the new fitness trail installations and provide an opportunity for mother and daughter to try them out. Everything I tried defeated me. My balance skills are lousy these days but at least I got some nice photos.

This morning the weather wasn't so good, so we headed for the National Museum of Wales and did a kids exploration trail, taking us through several galleries, laid out now in an imaginative way to showcase a variety of informative exhibits. A great asset for the summer holidays. The place was crowded, with even more parents and children than tourists - a credit to the Museum's education programme. It was lovely to share this palace of wonders with Rhiannon.

Sixty years ago it was part of my childhood discovery of the wider world, in an era that had far less money to invest in the learning potential of so many remarkable historic and scientific artifacts. Only a few weeks ago, Kath took Rhiannon to the British Museum in London - they often visit London for a day outing from Kenilworth. I was four years older than Rhiannon before I made my first trip to London by train from Cardiff on my own to see my sister June. I'm not sure how safe it would be considered for a thirteen year old to do that trip in our current climate of insecurity today.