Market Microcosm

St David's Day is the first day of 'meteorological' spring, three weeks before the spring equinox, and what a lovely start! Bright blue sky and sunshine all day with the temperature rising from zero to eight degrees. I slept a good eight hours and found Clare was up before me, making breakfast pancakes. 

After a late start, the morning slid by while I was occupied with making the video slideshow to go with Ash Wednesday's Morning Prayer. Clare made soup for lunch as we're booked to visit The Conway for a pub supper with Kath this evening. Then we went into town by bus for a walk around to see if there were any special activities other than the St David's Day Procession, which we missed as it started while we were still at home. Apart from a few people in variants of the national costume, or wearing dragon hats or daffodil headbands, there was nothing of special interest going on. 

The Market was very crowded and buzzing with activity and a riot of colour. There were people queuing to buy Welsh cakes on all four sides of the stall, about three dozen I reckon. It reminds me of markets in Spain, except there's more variety on top of bread, meat, fish and veg stalls. In addition to the established snack bar, there are fresh fast food takeaway stalls, both British and Asian. It's the non food stalls that are of interest however. A traditional gents drapers, a haberdashery, an ironmongery, a watch repairer's, a jeweller's, an electrical goods stall and second hand stalls for records and books. 

All under one roof, which has seen the city's department stores come and go over the past 130 years, it's a microcosm of an entire city centre or high street retail offering, as varied as it was of fifty years ago. It has had its ups and downs over the years, but has changed with the times and kept its character, a cultural treasure which really is a practical amenity. It pleased me to think that my great grandmother Annie John was a stall holder there at the turn of the 20th century. It was good to recall this in telling my grandfather's story. I love the place. After a drink in John Lewis', a visit to Beanfreaks for flour, then we took the bus home, went to the Coop for fruit and veg on our way home. Then I had a short walk in Llandaff Fields as the sun was setting, and by the time I got back Kath had arrived to spend the night with us.

Our pub supper was good. I tried alcohol free Guinness for the first time and was impressed. It went down well with bacon, faggots, peas, gravy and mashed potatoes. It was very noisy at 'The Conway', packed with drinkers and diners, but with a pleasant friendly atmosphere, much the same as it was before it closed eighteen months ago. It's not been given a huge makeover in appearance, but it has improved kitchen and storage facilities. Pleased to see that it's regaining popularity as a local hostelry. 

We were back home by half past eight. Clare and Kath went to bed early. I stayed up and watched the last episode of 'The One that Got Away' before calling it a day. By the way, I didn't guess the perpetrator correctly, there was another sinister hidden layer to the plot.

Watch rescue

Another day of strong winds, clouds and occasional light showers, but not as bad as the past few days. We are promised warmer weather later in the week, for how long, I wonder? This week, the Parish offering of Morning Prayer six days a week starts on rotation between three lay people, Fr Rhys, Mthr Frances, now back at work half time, and myself. This seems to me a good idea, with the variety of voices, and thoughts in a brief reflection as part of the Daily Office. It would be great to add even more lay contributors as time passes and others get used to the idea that they can do it too.

Last night, I had an email request from my sister June to shop for some special 'pill' batteries for a digital clock, as she can't get out to hunt for them herself. With difficulty she'd identified the serial number on the dead battery and sent it to me. I googled the serial number and got the impression that it shouldn't be too difficult to track this type down. I went to Tesco's where I knew a variety of common battery types were on sale. There was nothing with the same serial number on the rack, but when I googled again on my phone standing awkwardly by the shelf, I found info about the serial numbers for equivalent batteries, and that made it easy to buy the right type.

I popped home and put the purchase in an envelope, then took it to the Post Office, as the envelope wasn't thin enough to travel on a single first class stamp. The counter clerk quoted me £3.50 to send the envelope but I was even more surprised when when she pushed a customs declaration towards me. "Since when" I asked, "Since when was it necessary to declare the contents of anything going from Wales to London?" Then the penny dropped "Oh, I thought you said France." she said, staring blankly at the address on the envelope.

After lunch, I walked into town and visited the digital watch stall in Central Market with both my Casio broken watches in hand, to see if the repair guy there could make one good watch out of the parts of two. He took the older one apart and inserted a new battery, but the LED screen wouldn't display fully. In working on it, he had an insight into why the one he tried to fix two weeks ago wasn't working properly. He took that one apart, fiddled about with it, and got the control buttons to work properly. Last time he changed the battery but refused to take payment because it didn't work as intended. This time I insisted on paying him although he was reluctant to let me. I'm glad to have it working again. This means I have two watches to choose from now for the first time in my life.

I rang the Public Health covid Screening centre to confirm my attendance on Tuesday, and mentioned the fact that the facility doesn't show up on Google maps, wile asking for the post code and street location, to be sure I can go straight there without having to stop and ask anyone. From this evening on I'm going to avoid others, apart from Clare, eighteen hours ahead of the test. I'm not taking any risks with surgery at last on Friday this week.

This evening I watched another episode of 'Rocco Schiavone' on Walter Presents. It's another one of those series in which the landscape is as much a star as the actors. It's interesting to have a storyline running in between episodes revealing that this tough detective with unconventional often rule breaking methods and a certain way with the women in his life is also a grieving widower who cannot let go of his wife. He has conversations with his wife about his cases and his life alone which are often philosophical and poetic and that distinguishes this series from other crimmies. Inspector Montalbano is another Italian detective with whom it's tempting to make comparison, and episodes so far have similar richness, complexity and social observations to them. It'll be interesting to see how Rocco's character develops in the dozen remaining episodes to come and how this portrayal compares with that of Montalbano. 

A matter of taste

Another day of bright sunshine and could, cold currents of air and sudden outbursts of torrential rain and even hail; weather that can be very destructive of crops. Clare's french beans continue to flourish indoors. She's like to put them outside to acclimatize before transplanting them, but unpredictable conditions are a bit of a deterrent at the moment, to we talk to the plants instead, as if they were pets. 

I went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist after breakfast and was greeted by Fr Benedict at the church gate. Mother Emma had lost her voice, could I stand in for her? He'd prepared everything, in case I didn't turn up, to take a service of the Word and administer the reserved sacrament. All I had to do was say yes, and then find an alb that fitted in the sacristy cupboard. For once, I'd left my phone switched off after charging and missed an email, a WhatsApp message and a call from Fr Benedict, causing mild panic, although he's more than capable of doing what he was ready to do. It's really nice to have an assistant Curate who really understands what it means to be in Deacon's orders.

After the service, I started walking into town to visit the market and get the batteries changed in a couple of watches - one with a conventional face which my sister June gave me, and a classic Casio cheap digital watch I've worn for past forty years. It's curious that my late sister Pauline gave me the Casio about fifteen years ago. It was identical to the two identical ones I'd had over the twenty five years before that which became unserviceable. 

My late brother in law Geoff was a life-long watch fanatic with a huge collection. He'd learned the watchmaker's art from his father. His son, my nephew Jules is also a keen collector. At some time in the past my cheap Casio digital must have attracted comment, leading to me justifying my attachment to this little un-stylish device. Pauline heard this and didn't forget.

The Casio digital was one of the early cheap electronic consumer designs that persisted for the past forty years or so. Batteries and straps have been replaced several times on each of my watches every three or four years. It's not the most streamlined shape, the design could be more stylish but its plastic and metal shell shows little sign of wear and tear. That makes it a superior example of consumer industrial design, reliable, durable, simple to operate. What does it matter if some people think it's a bit naff to wear one?

Anyway, as I set out, it started to rain heavily, so I took a 17 bus from Cowbridge Road East. It's the first time since last autumn that I've taken one. It was so good to see Cardiff Market bustling with life again, and the watch repair stall lit up and busy. There was good news and sad news. The analogue watch works fine, but my Casio doesn't work properly any longer. Last week the watch face went dead. After the watch mender worked on it, he still couldn't get it to display. As I have another with a dead battery and no strap at home, we agreed that I'd bring that one in and he'd see if he could make one working watch from two. When I got home and took the watch from pocket, the display worked. The time was almost right, though not the day or date. One of its control buttons was so recessed into the case it's no wonder it didn't work properly. Well, I may get lucky I guess, when I take both dead Casios with me on my next visit. We'll see.

Walking back through Bute Park there was a team of gardeners out tidying the flower beds, making space ready for the next round of planting. We see the results of their work daily, but don't often see the people who do the work, so I stopped and said thank you for the good cheer their work offered during lock-down. Then I had a chat with one of the litter picking team working nearby. We both wondered if it would ever be possible to educate citizens to dealing responsibly with their own rubbish and not just leaving it for others to deal with. It's the sort of moan we old geezers have among ourselves.

I collected this week's organic veggy bag from Conway Road. We were glad to find some fine radishes in this week's delivery for the first time this season, freshly pulled this morning and with their greenery still bright and fresh. Are these greens eatable she wondered, and googled for an answer. As a result she later made a jar of pesto using radish leaves, almonds, olive oil, lemon juice and pepper. An interesting taste, a little on the bitter side, so choosing what to eat with the pesto is worth considering carefully. The radishes themselves, however, go well with smoked salmon.

It's funny how long it can take you to get around to tackling small issues, which causing mild annoyance. Last year when I was pacing around the garden of the Chaplain's residence in Ibiza, I spent a lot of time listening to Jazz and Latin American music on my phone. One of several Buena Vista Social Club albums on the phone's SD card had duplicate tracks. I thought there was something I didn't understand about the MP3 player I was using, put up with it, and then forgot about it for a long while. This afternoon while I was writing, I revisited the album, got annoyed and resolved to figure out what the problem was. 

No, it wasn't the MP3 player, as it turned out, but a duplicate album reluctant to show up in searches. At some stage in an effort to tidy up my music library, I must have copied the album to a new location instead of moving it. Well, now it's fixed, but what a fiddle! It took me half an hour to figure it out as I couldn't do it just on my phone. With the aid of the new USB-C link cable I bought a couple of weeks ago, linking the phone to my Chromebook to view its file system made the hidden duplicate. easier to spot. How anyone can live their on-line lives just on a phone, I'll never know.

Farewell letter

This morning, despite feeling under the weather, for no reason I can understand, there was work to do. A funeral office to prepare for next Thursday, a sermon for Sunday, and the monthly diocesan Ad Clerum to be read, containing Archbishop Barry's touching farewell letter to his clergy before he steps down next month. Retirement for him must look very different now from what he might have imagined or planned just a couple of years ago, since his wife Hilary died, and he himself has just come through cancer surgery. Everyone hopes and prays that he'll have some time left to re-discover the blessings of life in all its beauty and simplicity after so many of his later years being devoted to high office with a national public profile. He has served the Church in Wales wonderfully well, and led the faithful in facing up to the challenges of change and decline with intelligence, integrity and courage. Such distinguished exemplary leadership.

I had intended to go to Martin Jones' funeral in St Woolos Cathedral this morning, but didn't feel up to the drive. Only after lunch did I begin to feel like my usual self.  Later, I took advantage of the improvement in the condition of my knee, to get some fresh air, walking into town to Motorpoint Arena via the covered market and back, a distance of over 6km. I visited the new speciality cheese stall in the market, called the Cheese Pantry, selling goat and sheep cheese made in Britain. Jolly good they are too. I do hope this venture will be successful. It's a great addition to a new generation of high quality food stalls which are so good for its reputation as a must visit venue for 'foodies'. All the market needs now is a high class restaurant on-site to showcase these products. 

The visit to Motorpoint took me to the Lodge, to retrieve the Blackberry, no longer of use to CBS, as it was already redundant, replaced automatically by BT with another phone last spring. I find it amazing that equipment gets automatically upgraded, even when it's working well. Redundancy is an accepted accountancy policy. Equipment is devalued over just three years, when its working life could be three times that or longer. It's very wasteful, something I've long disapproved of and resisted. I've been given the Blackberry, because it will last a good while longer. As its connectivity is so good when I'm abroad I plan to get a PAYG SIM account with a euro account to use with it when I'm next away.