Ibiza Good News

Oh dear, grey skies, rain and blustery winds for Bank Holiday Monday. I forgot what day it was and went down to Tourotech this morning to buy Clare a new laptop, capable of running Zoom conferences without melt-down. The store was shut, as were all the businesses just about on Cowbridge Road East. It looked just like another winter day in lock-down

I was delighted to receive a message from Rosi Todd in Ibiza this morning, announcing the name of their new Chaplain Adrian Green, a Church of Ireland parish priest working currently in East Belfast. He'll start his ministry there in mid-July, after a two year long vacancy, and a year with not even a locum chaplain. Yet, they've held together and continued with lay led services on-line and more recently as lock-down has lifted at Can Truy retreat centre. A credit to the Gospel, and to their patience for sure. 

We had mussels again, with rice and spinach from the garden for lunch. Then I went for a walk, dressed in full rain-gear, defying the heavens to pour on me. It rained as I turned for home, but the wind was more of a challenge, blowing dead twigs out of the trees and covering the ground with pink and white blossom. Then, an hour spent editing my Parish WhatsApp reflections for next week. It was worth the effort, as I now have them all down to just about same length on the page. Next step, record the audio version. After supper, I indulged myself with three episodes of NCIS back to back. Nothing better to do. How dull. 

Blackweir bridge open again!

Woke up just as Thought for the Day was starting, then uploaded my reflection to the Parish WhatsApp thread, with ease. After breakfast a quick trip to Tesco's on an errand for Clare, then time before and after lunch working on tomorrow's reflection, done in the same way. This also took me a long time, so it was almost four when I set out for my walk. Thankfully sunset now is almost at six o'clock, so I'm not having to finish my day's walk in the dark.

I was delighted to find that Blackweir Bridge has reopened today. I thought it was meant to be tomorrow, but Wednesday makes sense, for a University maintained bridge, given that the afternoon is reserved for sporting activities and Pontcanna Fields are well used to that end. Not that many teams can play officially at the moment, but individuals on training regimes can benefit from running circuits I guess. I was out rather late, so didn't see if anyone was actually out training earlier in the day.

Rules for bridge use are spelled out in bi-lingual notices - single file, well spaced, walking not lingering on the bridge. There were only a handful on the bridge when I walked to and fro, movement of the bridge deck was noticeable. The more people crossing the less vibration seems noticeable. It'll be good to walk in the Bute Park woodland again on a regular basis, more conveniently that it has been over the past year.

I had lovely messages from Rosi and Sarah in Ibiza, recalling my arrival there this Wednesday a year ago. I'm so glad they have a pastor wanting to serve them, and hope the formalities and eventual move don't take too long. Brexit and covid restrictions mean there are going to be hurdles to surmount unfortunately. The long wait to fill ministerial vacancies continues all over the euro-diocese, as it does in UK.

Having prepared tomorrow's funeral service this evening, I continued to work on the other two for next week, especially the bi-lingual one. I'll need to practice reading this one through a great deal until it feels right. I'd find it easier to do this in French or Spanish, sad to say about my native language. My first girl friend was a native Welsh speaker. I learned a few things from her, but we never got around to conversing in Welsh. More's the pity. I feel ashamed of myself.

Virus hunting in the sewers

Although I had another long night's sleep, it didn't take me quite so long to wake up and get active, so I walked for an hour before and and hour after lunch today, as I have done several times lately. It seems to work well. I went to Thompsons Park and spotted a single coot on the pond among the scores of warring mallard drakes, alternating between chasing off mating rivals and pursuing the smaller number of ducks. Conflict and courtship look much the same to an untrained eye. Mallards make a display posture, standing out of the water with wings a flutter in a controlled pose which doesn't lead to them taking off. Drakes do it most often, but also the ducks from time to time. When I tried to photograph this behaviour, it was as if they all went on strike and refused to display for the benefit of the camera.

I was glad to l earn this morning that interviews are finally taking place for the post of Chaplain in Ibiza, after two year wait, what with pandemic disruption and the new hurdles of managing appointments and employing a British, if not another expat with post brexit regulations now effective. A great deal of persistence and prayer has been invested in keeping church fellowship going there, not least seven months without even a visit from locum priest. I'd like to think that kind of spiritual determination is being showed elsewhere, not only in the diocese in Europe but in those parts of the Church in Wales feeling the impact of clergy shortages and parochial rationalisation.

It's good to hear that covid infection and hospitalisation rates are starting to slow, a little quicker in Wales than in England, perhaps because the earlier Welsh lock-down offered a head start. Now there's a new worry however, as the South African covid variant has been identified in eight different postcode areas of England in routine testing, perhaps a hundred cases in all. Most worrying is that eleven infected people had no contact with anyone coming in from South Africa. They may have acquired it from an unknown third party - so called 'community transmission' of the virus. The entire population in an area now has to be tested to identify whoever carries the virus without symptoms and is infecting others. It's an unending nightmare for public health officials. 

It was very interesting to hear a passing mention of testing sewage water for covid, being employed to identify areas where the new variants have or haven't taken hold. It's public health procedure that's been used to trace many kinds of toxins over the years. When the West was getting hysterical at the onset of the pandemic this time last year and wanting to blame Wuhan exclusively for the covid19 outbreak, sewage testing revealed that the covid19 strain had been found in the waters of certain municipalities in Europe and other parts of the world dating back three months before the Wuhan outbreak. A fact so conveniently ignored by Trump's non-diplomacy. 

It's not necessarily the case that a fast spreading virus mutation comes to life exclusively in one location. Or at least, the multiple origin factor must be disproved. Ecosystem breakdown all over the planet is thought to be a contributory factor to viruses crossing the special barrier to humans and then evolving. A healthy biosphere normally neutralises this possibility in its complex interaction with many such toxins, but biosphere failures aren't unique to one place if the same conditions persist in different places, due to pollution and global warming. I think we'll be hearing a lot more about sewage testing as part of an early warning system for new virus variants in the coming months. Thank heavens there are now five different successfully proven vaccines in the global mass production line. We need them all.

Ashley called to tell me he'd been offered a vaccine shot, through his GP practice in Riverside. I'm four months older than he is, so it may not be long before we hear from our GPs. It all depends on how each post code age category is organised I guess. Clare rang up to find out if there was a stand-by list we could get our names on, but it seems that what happened to Diana and Pete last week was a one-off, as there was a batch of Pfizer vaccines which needed to be used up more rapidly than had been scheduled for, and this was already finished. More than eight million vaccinations done to date. The pace is pick up from day to day as the distribution and workflow improves. An impressive feat indeed.

No telly tonight, just for a change.

Slow down, stop, look and listen

A cold and overcast day. I wish it was warmer as my stiff muscles would relax more readily. It takes me longer and requires more effort to get mobile and active while coping with pelvis and back pain. Recently, my Fitbit app tells me that although I may walk a certain number of paces each day, I am covering slightly less distance in the same amount of time elapsed. I reckon the reason is that I walk a little slower and my average stride is slightly shorter due to the condition of my back. On my way to an old man's shuffle.

This afternoon I walked up to Llandaff Cathedral and was delighted to discover that it was open for private prayer between two and four, with a couple of stewards on duty directing visitors to the hand sanitizer station next to to the multilingual visitor pamphlets. It's the first time I've been in a church since my visit with Solvieg to Sta Agnès de Corona the church in the Ibiceno village where she lives nearly two months ago. It had just opened for private prayer the day lock-down restrictions were eased in Ibiza.

It was lovely to see the doors wide open and the 'Croeso' notice outside, along with the usual health and safety notices, all correctly in place. I'd thought about this moment during home quarantine, before it was yet possible. It marked homecoming in a very special way. Standing in prayer in the spot where I was ordained fifty years ago, the place from where I was sent, to become a missionary priest before I fully understood what that meant for life ahead of me. A moment of quiet everyday joy to cherish with gratitude.

Rufus called me for a catch-up chat this evening. It was lovely to hear him in good spirits, enjoying the normal challenges of rural team ministry with the abnormal challenge of ministering to people in this time of plague. He told me about all the preparations he had to make in order to abide by the strict guidelines laid down for public worship, which officially was allowed again last Sunday. I felt a sense of relief at not having to be on the front line of service delivery any more, happy to follow the example of others and learn best practice, should I be called upon to exercise priestly ministry at the liturgy. That's now extremely unlikely, as anyone, cleric or lay over the age of seventy with a official role in public services won't be able to resume in that ministry unless they are given special permission. To receive this they'd need to be fit and well with no vulnerability other than their age.

As a significant proportion of services are taken by retired clergy over seventy in many dioceses, this insistence will either add to the pressure on serving clerics and lay people or lead to reduction in the offering of public worship, further decline in support for parish ministry and church closures. He told me that decline was already being experienced in requests for funeral services in Hereford diocese where he now serves. Restrictions on numbers attending church funerals, especially in the case of smaller buildings is leading funeral directors to call on the services of humanist celebrants more often, as they only bound by restrictions in place at public cemeteries and crematoria. They can adapt to a bereaved family's requirements more flexibly.

Whether this is a general trend or not remains to be seen, it's too early to say. No doubt the Church's requirements will adapt to changing circumstances, for better or for worse, but will the response to quick enough to fend off even greater decline in support? Much has been made of the way in which on-line liturgies have attracted far greater numbers than attendance at public worship. I have yet to see this properly analysed, to reveal how many page view hits have led to the visitor staying for all or even some part of the service offered, and how many people downloading religious podcasts go on to listen to the whole thing.

I know that over ten years this blog has had over 300,000 page hits without any kind of promotion, but that means nothing, set against the number of actual 'followers' notified when I post anything new, with no idea of whether visitors read all or part of any post. All that can be relied upon is personal relationships with individuals and communities over a period of time and in places where we live, work and take our leisure.

Much is made of relationships established in on-line communities but their fruitfulness comes from meetings and actions produced in the real world. No point in kidding ourselves about a revival of interest in what the church has hitherto offered. Covid-19 has brutally forced Christians into creative rediscovery of what the church does best, but it also exposes weaknesses which will take time to tackle well. To my mind the greatest weakness is the withdrawal of pastoral presence from so many communities at grassroots level.

There are interesting signs of hope however. Tina Beattie a Catholic writer and theologian, speaking yesterday on 'Thought for the Day' reflected on how during lock-down, Italian Christian women, often regular frequent Mass attenders, deprived of their main spiritual resource, had been driven to discover afresh 'the church in the home', household spirituality, prayer and devotion in the family circle. Very much a return to Judaeo-Christian roots. I wonder if this is a widespread phenomenon among the steadfast minority of faithful believers across secular Europe? Statistics cannot be relied upon. I think it will be quite a while before the fruit of a renewed spirituality appropriate for our times bears noticeable fruit. All I can do is watch and pray, think and write.

Quarantine Cymru - day Twelve

Another day of clouds, cooling wind and occasional rain, more like March than midsummer. I woke up early, prayed and listened to Radio Four's Sunday Worship programme with John Bell of the Iona community. He took the witness of Hebrew prophets as a theme, and quoting from prophetic oracles showed how many of the critical issues of their time are much like what we are experiencing today. A good start to the day. Canton Benefice on-line Eucharist started earlier than I realised, so rather than joining in late, I prayed through the service on my own, and later found and listened to Mother Francis' homily.

Then there was an after-church Coffee and Chat session using Zoom, to welcome Benedict our new Assistant Curate, an enjoyable half hour of seeing familiar faces again and saying Hello, especially Revd Emma, Nick and their two lovely kids. Clare alerted me to last Tuesday's on-line meditative act of worship, for which I had videoed myself reading the Parable of the Good Samaritan, without knowing where it would be used. The surprise came at the end, when the last frame displayed the message 'Welcome Home Father Keith'. I was very touched by this.

Later in the morning I had a message from Rosi in Ibiza to say they have alternative arrangements for on-line audio Sunday services in place. It's good to hear they've been working on that. I wonder what I'll find to do by way of new ministry hereafter? Strange to think that the past seventeen weeks of offering worship to church members in Ibiza is the longest continuous spell of locum service I have ever offered, and two of those weeks from here in quarantine. 

It could be the last time I do a Euro-locum, given the vast change in social conditions imposed by the pandemic. In seven of the eight previous years I have spent at least two months a year working abroad. Good to be working at all at my age! If it became possible to resume locum duties in future, a long spell would be out of the question. I'll only go for as long as Clare is willing to accompany me, and that will be less time than I'd like to go for, as she has so many more local commitments than me. I've never minded travelling and staying places on my own, as it's so easy to be in touch daily, but the pandemic has reminded me of my age and vulnerability, and more importantly of the fragility of life's most precious relationships. All to be treasured while we still can! 

Meanwhile, I have tens of thousands of photos and memories of places I've visited and stayed in for longe than I ever would as a tourist. Such a lot to reflect on and give thanks for, while all the time wondering what God has in store for me next.

  

Quarantine Cymru day Ten

Thankfully it rained in the night cooling down the air comfortably, although it did make today more humid than yesterday. In the morning I emailed Dave with Sunday's service and a short appreciative article for the chaplaincy magazine, then continued work on my end-of-stay report. I was about to send it off when an email arrived from Emma the locum secretary I was just about to send it to.

It was an advisory email from the diocese in Europe to locums about preparations which are now necessary before taking on a duty. Changes in private insurance requirements, the possible end of EHIC cover when the UK leaves the EU at the end of this year etc. Another document outlined two main health risk categories was also sent. I don't fall into the extremely vulnerable category, and only fall into the moderately vulnerable because I'm over seventy.

My surgical condition doesn't feature among medical conditions considered a vulnerability factor, unless the long drawn out wait for surgery is now making me more prone to repeat infection. On that matter we shall see. It means I'm able to live a normal life and go out subject to necessary precautions which ought to be taken in any case. That's all I need. My habitual restlessness is subjugated for now, perhaps for good

I emailed the GP surgery this afternoon to check if the results of my swab test had been returned. I had a phone call from my doctor at six, and had a discussion which means yet another course of antibiotics. Clare had to rush around to the surgery at the last minute before closure to pick up the prescription. It seems I'm not clear of infection yet, even if I don't feel sick. I think my immune system has yet to recover fully from all I went through in Ibiza. Perhaps it started much earlier but was slow to build up. Who can tell? What I do know is that I'd be a lot better off if I didn't still have to wait an undetermined time to have the wound closed.

Fascinating to transcribe this evening my account of a betrothal feast in an off-road Cretan mountain village, as it reminded me of something totally forgotten - the singing of a traditional resistance song dating back to the struggle to be liberated from Turkish occupation, if not the Venetians before them.  And right then, in 1967, Crete quietly but stubbornly resisted the influence of the ruling military junta in Athens. The lyrics are bloodthirsty so I was told at the time, and reminded of when listening to that BBC documentary about Cretan music yesterday. Then I thought of our own Welsh national anthem, exalting 'brave warriors, fine patriots shedding their blood for freedom' in its first verse. Romance around the use of violence, rather than regret, persists around the world.

This evening I had an email from my niece Nicky with the text she and Jules had devised for their mother Pauline's funeral eulogy, for me to record. Another little challenge to make the best job of that I can, as I'll be unable to attend, given Wales' recommended travel restrictions, although that my change between now and next Friday. As numbers attending are restricted however, it's much better that Owain goes and represents us, and I contribute by video, not in person.

Quarantine Cymru - day Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quarantine Cymru - day Eight

Another blue sky hot day to rejoice and relax in, St John Baptist's Day in fact. I received two audio files from Sarah and was able to complete work on next Sunday's audio service - this must be record time for me. The benefit of being at home perhaps, and wonderfully looked after by Clare?

I had a long catch-up phone call with Martin, who shared with me the work he is doing on a farewell sermon for Fr Derek Belcher a contemporary of his, now retiring from his House for Duty post rather earlier than expected for reasons over which he had no control. The force majeure at work in the church isn't covid-19, but rather the financial and structural crisis precipitated by the implosion of church membership over the past forty years. 

I cannot get my head around the idea of clergy being made in effect redundant, and after a lifetime of service being treated no longer as an office holder supported by the church or supporting themselves, but rather treated as an employee with responsibilities but with limited rights. Something isn't right about the reforming process that's been working over the past decade.

We're seeing the withdrawal of a church pastoral presence from rural communities and impoverished valleys,with resources redeployed into a range of missionary initiatives aiming at creating new worshipping communities 'fresh expressions of church' as they are called, allied to new specialisms in ministry, to generate fresh support, meaning financial support. Will this work, now that the world and its economies are being turned upside down by the pandemic? 

Recent emphasis seems to me to have been on ensuring the institutional church as we've known it for several centuries can survive, even if in a slimmed down form. Unanswered remains the question of how the church can become 'devoid of means of power, ready too share with all ...' (to quote the 1970 Joyful News from the Taize community). A church of the poor and for the poor, open to all.

Martin's pertinent observations about the culture shift that's being going on in the church as it has been in society, losing its rich depth and rootedness in the best values and endeavours of society,  certainly resonated with me. I was reminded of things James Baldwin said in last night's viewing of the Arena documentary 'I am not a Negro'. It turned out that Martin also watched and had been inspired by it.

This evening I made an effort to tidy up and file away all the digital documents and finished audio projects I'd made in Ibiza. It took me ages to do this as I worked rather messily and didn't do much tidying up as I went along. Serves me right.

Quarantine Cymru - day Six

A pleasantly cool night up in my attic room, waking up to clouds and warm sunshine. After prayers and breakfast, I started work on next Sunday's sermon.  Plenty of ideas, concentrating them into a reasonable length homily will take up most of the time I need to spend on it.

I continue to walk my 5k daily quota indoors and in the garden. I find the constraint very frustrating with lots of twists and turns not doing my joints much good, although much stair climbing makes up for that. It's a challenge to maintain the discipline.

Before Clare went for her daily walk she helped me take a wound swab sample for our GP to send for pathogen testing, and then took it around to the surgery after her walk. The wound seems to have dried and closed even more recently. Clare noticed the difference since she took a photo last Friday for a GP to examine. Sitting without a good cushion for long periods is still uncomfortable, but less so, which is encouraging, since it's highly probable that I'll have to wait an even longer time for that final round of surgery. The easier it is to live with the better. 

An email arrived this afternoon from a member of Ibiza's consular staff, inviting me to an on-line meeting to discuss if the Consulate could could assist or support the Chaplaincy in any way. Very good to think that they are taking an interest. The news that I have returned to Britain hasn't yet registered there. I forwarded it to churchwardens Jayne and Rosi to respond to, surprised that the message hadn't been copied to them. I wonder if the Consulate might help find a venue for worship which doesn't need to be shared with other congregations, as this would make it so much easier to arrange services under the essential new regime of anti-virus precautions.

Later in the day, I switched to transcribing our 1967 Greek travel diary. It's intriguing to read about what we did and recover detail from rather hazy recollections of events fifty three years ago, and fascinating how a sketchy handwritten narrative is able to conjure up emotional memories attached to places.

Quarantine Cymru - day Three

It rained for most of the day, confining me again to pacing around the house for exercise until mid afternoon when I stopped and dried out so that I could walk in the fresh air. Such a relief!

Clare brings me meals upstairs. I'm still trying to find the most comfortable and convenient spot in which to eat. That may sound daft, but sometimes, wound discomfort obliges me to eat standing up, and having a chair and table at the right height for sitting and eating isn't easy in the confined space of an attic bedroom.

I thought I should make contact with our GPs and find out what it takes to get examined and tested to make sure the infection has gone, and to see what can be done about blood pressure fluctuations and slow heartbeat. I don't feel unwell, but better safe than sorry. I rang the surgery and was asked to send a a photo of the wound, and a request for a phone call from a GP. 

Dr Dyban rang me at tea time, and the outcome of the conversation is that I'll do swab test at home Monday morning. I will also receive a visit from one of their team who will do an ECG at home and check my vital signs. I'm not sure how that will work, but it's impressive that despite covid-19 they are working away at resuming their usual high standard of care.

I completed work on next Sunday's service, with the exception of adding music. Having installed Audacity on my Windows PC yesterday, I was disappointed to discover I couldn't directly record YouTube audio clips with it, the audio input device wasn't activated by default, as there's no built in microphone. Digging down into the software layer to change that is something I haven't needed to do for years and calls for research. I vaguely recalled that I could do this with the Chromebook, but was unable to remember how. Rather than waste time, I emailed service files without music this week.

Quarantine Cymru - day Two

Rain all day today, so I've been confined to the house, unable to walk out into the garden. At least it has enabled me to concentrate on recording and editing the service for next Sunday. When it came to sound editing, I went through the usual routine, established in Ibiza, of converting files to MP3 format on my Linux laptop before editing the files using Audacity on my Windows PC. Curiosity made me install Audacity on the Linux laptop and try it out. 

I was surprised to discover that despite the laptop's age, Audacity ran smoothly and quickly. Also it worked, loading several different audio file formats with none of the error messages associated with a more complex Windows Audacity installation. I finished the sound edit in record time, pleased with this small discovery. The ancient laptop I converted to Linux in Ibiza may not have been quite powerful enough to achieve smooth editing, as a 32 bit machine, but it never occurred to me to try, and the routine I established switching from machine to machine was rather a time waster. Just as well I had time on my hands then!

Thinking about what else I can do to occupy my time in confinement, there are lots of old travel journals that need transcribing, and thousands of photo negatives to scan, telling stories from past decades which it'll be a pleasure to recall in detail. Small anecdotes and pictures awaken dormant memories and emotions in a marvellous way. Digitising our past may be of little interest to anyone but me, but the effort I find is an enriching and enjoyable way to wander down memory lane.

It was good to be welcomed home with a phone call from Ashley this evening. He's still clearing the CBS office slowly, and says that Motorpoint arena is deserted, apart from security staff at the gate. When will it be able to re-open? Will it ever be able to re-open given the financial damage caused to its entire operation by the pandemic?

Some time ago there was talk of the site being redeveloped with a new arena and conference centre being built elsewhere. It's hard to imagine what will happen in terms of future investment ambitions in central Cardiff, especially with the ten and a half year old St David shopping centre struggling to survive without becoming insolvent. 

Well, in fits and starts through the day, I walked my temporary 5k daily target again, this time indoors, including climbing the thirty odd stairs to the attic many times. I need to count the number of climbs I do. It's different exercise from walking on the flat, and maybe makes up for not walking so far in expended energy. I'm determined not to lose the fitness level I've gained as I feel so much better for it.
    

Quarantine Cymru - day One

I wonder if I ever slept in our attic bedroom before, but now I'm living in it for the next two weeks. The bed is very comfortable and I slept well, waking with the sun rising into a clear blue sky and the neighbourhood blackbird singing its heart out. It's a tiny precious thread linking me to my fourteen week sojourn in Can Bagot. There, the blackbird sang from the neighbouring Torrent a little further away, its song slightly muted by intervening trees. In this urban setting where we're mostly shielded from traffic noise, the blackbird's song echoes off the terraced houses making it that much more vivid to hear.  

Just being home again with Clare is such a blessing. All the tension of travel in such strange conditions seems to have drained away. No nightmares, no flashbacks, nothing to worry about coping with, just gently relaxing, like being on holiday in the last week, after accumulated work stresses have finally evaporated. 

Clare is being very strict with me about confinement, doing everything for me, which is going to take some adjustment, as I'm so used to fending for myself, and also like to think that ordinarily we collaborate well on many domestic tasks. Kath teasingly said as she departed yesterday, "I wonder how long it will be before you drive each other crazy?"

My attic room is kitted out so that I can make drinks for myself. I have use of my study and the bathroom while Clare uses all of the downstairs, kitchen and shower room. We can both sit out in the garden - socially distanced of course. She brings meals up for me on a tray, really delicious meals, home made bread, raspberries from the garden with breakfast porridge, home grown salad to add to the organic veggies from Core Hills Organics. And best of all, blackcurrant crumble made with currants freshly picked from the little bush in our garden. It's done well this year with a 300 gram harvest.

My first task was to update my Windows 10 PC, after fifteen weeks of idleness. I must say that the Windows update process has improved. It took about four hours to clear the backlog of half a dozen outstanding items. I can remember times when I returned from being away for eight weeks and the updating would take more than a day, with several 'fails' thrown in. My Linux laptop only too ten minutes to clear the backlog, by way of contrast. Both Chromebooks updated instantly, as they are designed to, and these are with me in the attic, as they are light and don't take up much space, vital given that the double bed occupies nearly half the floor space.

It was almost exactly twenty four hours after passing through UK Border control that I received an quarantine advisory email from Public Health Wales setting out the rules. Twenty four hours. If I was infected, which I don't think I am, given the 'hygienically safe corridor' I've passed along since leaving self-isolation in the Ibiza Chaplaincy house, how many people might I have infected in the time elapsed if I was ignorant of the facts in the time elapsed? 

Most annoyingly, I am confined to house and garden for the next fortnight. The advisory presumes everyone has a garden - such a bourgeois bureaucratic assumption. Medical researchers think that people confined indoors may become vitamin D deficient and less able to cope with covid-19 infection. I can sit out in the garden all day I suppose, except when it rains as it does here, more than I appreciated. My exercise regime has to change. 

I'm up and down to the attic dozens of times now, and feeling the benefit of weight and strong legs, which is good for me, but getting up to 5k a day (with stairs) still means a lot of pounding around the place and risking annoying Clare. And if it rains, I am even more confined. I've been told I should be thankful that I don't live in an apartment under lock-down. But I wouldn't willingly make an apartment my home. Many enjoy the benefits of apartment living, make this their choice, and in these circumstances suffer in a way they wouldn't have expected to. 

In the evening I started working on a sermon for next Sunday. I'll continue to offer audio services to Ibiza until they come up with an arrangement that serves people better. It's something I can do to express my appreciation for the support I received while I was there.

State of Alarm - day Ninety

I woke up after a comfortable night's sleep, prayed, ate my breakfast sandwiches, and was paying my bill dead on time to take a taxi to the airport at ten to nine. The vast area of check-in desks at Terminal One was almost deserted, just one slim queue visible for a Vueling internal flight. I had to hunt to find the British Airways check-in desk, having been waved roughly in the right direction by one of many masked officers, either Proteccion Civile or Policia. The desk wasn't yet open but one check-in clerk was briefing another about the flight, as I arrived, second in the queue.

Then three cops arrived with a big burly middle aged Brit and a lady, who might have been a spouse or an interpreter. This party jumped the queue, and the guy who was the centre of attention produced a sheaf of papers which he handed over to the check-in clerk. After a few minutes they were handed back to him with what looked like a couple of tickets. At a guess, I suspect he was under arrest, due to appear in court, and would miss his flight unless he could change his ticket. By a quarter to ten, I had been checked in an given a paper ticket. The clerk wasn't interested in in the boarding pass that I displayed on the BA smartphone app, especially installed. With so few customers, there was no need for modern smart solutions to old ticketing requirements.

This time I was ready to pass through security and did so smoothly. I had an hour to wait for the flight boarding gate to be announced, and spent the time walking the vast length and breadth of the almost deserted wings of Terminal One Sector D, and taking photos of this uniquely empty place. You can see them here.  Today's flight destination board showed fifteen flights scheduled instead of a daily total of over seven hundred. Six of these were internal flights and nine international. 

Today the suspension of the Schengen open borders policy is lifted, though I suspect it will take some time to be implemented on every means of transport. Looking at the people waiting to board our flight to Heathrow, travellers seemed to be mainly domestic rather than business users - people like me wanting to get back to their families after lock-down. If any holidaymakers were travelling, it's more likely they'd be people stuck in Spain an now returning, than people going on leave. 

For the moment, despite the media talking up the prospects of summer holiday travel, nervousness is more likely to inhibit all but the ignorant and the daredevil from leisure travel at the moment. The one exception is perhaps those who have holiday homes in another country, and the traffic for those who can afford it, is two way. I suspect it will be a while longer before things really start to get really busy again at airports around the world. More and more people are wondering - is my journey really necessary?

As I board the 'plane, I wonder how long it will be before I get to visit Spain again. A country that I've so much grown to love in the past twenty years. My long locum days are probably over, as I'm now more conscious of the risk of being away on my own, and can't expect Clare to put her life and work on hold for an extended period to suit me. So who knows what the future will hold?

We arrived ten minutes early in Heathrow Terminal Five. It's a long walk to baggage reclaim, made more difficult to know where your baggage carousel is, as there are so few travellers in this vast public area. Normally you just follow the herd of people you vaguely recall as being on your flight to find the place. I missed it altogether and had to back track to find it.

After a long walk to the arrivals gate, and then another walk in the car park, Kath and I met in level three, which was 5-10% occupied by vehicles. By a quarter past four we were in Meadow Street back in Cardiff, after a smooth journey home. We were both struck by the amount of speed limited roadworks on the M4 as far as Reading. In addition to road widening, new new digital infrastructure is being install to control the heavy commuter traffic flows into London from a 50 mile radius. What we don't yet know is what impact this pandemic will have on this state of affairs. It seems that the lock-down is demonstrating the benefits of working from home to new people, who may well decide this offers a better quality of life than driving to an office every day. We shall see!

After a cup or tea and some cake, Kath headed off for Kenilworth. I spent the evening adjusting to life in our attic bedroom under lock-down. I'm unused to such a limited space, and unpacking was a nightmare. Where to put everything in my suitcase? And now I have to bring my one miserable Windows 10 computer up to day, which will take many hours and hog internet connectivity until it has done its thing.

Apart from that, and the on-going battle to overcome Covid-19, all manner of things are well in my small world. I have been blessed by a smooth well organised three stage journey home, surrounded by the good-will and prayers of so many people in Spain, Britain and elsewhere. It'll take me quite a while to digest all I have learned. Thank you friends everywhere!

Hmm - when I wake up tomorrow, my life will no longer be governed by Spain's declared 'State of Alarm'. The UK government's general crisis management seems dangerously sloppy in contrast to Spain and other EU nations. What have I come home to? How do I entitle my blog from tomorrow? I'll have to sleep on it.

  

State of Alarm - day Eighty Nine

Up at seven thirty in bright morning sunshine, the last jobs to do, apart from squeeing the last items into my suitcase and re-checking everything. First, sheets into the washing machine, then sweeping the floors, and sorting the contents of food cupboard and fridge into unopened for storage or opened for giving away, relatively easy as I finished off all the fresh veg in the weekend's cooking.

Kath emailed me my BA boarding pass for tomorrow's flight, and somewhat reluctantly I loaded the BA app on to my Blackberry which displays it conveniently, saving me having to print it out. That's what I already did with the Vueling boarding pass to be sure. The BA website actually say that you don't need to have a printed version.

Then came a surprise email from EasyJet, saying that they were about to refund my home flight of 28th April. That took seven weeks! That will offset the cost of the BA home flight tomorrow, just as the Vueling flight cancellation credit offsets the cost of today's to Barcelona. There's actually not that much difference. I have a night in a hotel to to pay for, but as this was forced by Vueling's cancellation of the Tuesday flight without notice, I think making a complaint will cover that cost!

Jayne arrived at noon, with her lovely little grandson Oliver on board. She's looking after him, and he's no stranger to the airport. Such a pity there are too few flights taking off for his delight today. As I took leave of Anthony, he was still doing battle with getting the sheets washed. The machine's routine had been interrupted and restarted, and seemed to have taken all morning to finish its load. Just when you least want it to!

Half an hour later we were at the airport and I was checking in. My case weighed sixteen kilos, that's the heaviest I can recall for a locum journey, but it did contain cold weather clothes, raincoat and travel food. Jayne and Oliver stayed with me until the security check gates opened for business before we parted company. The waiting area has a large picture window overlooking the runway, and beyond it the Salinas, which I visited with Sarah and Anthony on last Wednesday. No takeoffs for Oliver, but we were treated to a yellow ambulance 'Samu' helicopter practicing landings, right in front of the window 200 metres away.

Nearly found months since I last passed through airport security, and I made a mess of it. Usually, I arrive well prepared and breeze through, but not this time. The worst thing was having to take off my belt. Trousers which fitted my when I arrived, I now had to hold up to get through, and forgot all about dinero in by back pocket. The staff were very patient with me. They weren't under pressure with so few passengers boarding the first of only five flights today.

No bars or restaurants were open, only automatic soft drink and vending machines. The were lit up and gave the illusion of working, but rejected cash and card payments for others many times before delivering the goods. Figuring out how it worked was a guessing game for the uninitiated. I waited near a machine and saw many would be customers give up and walk away in frustration.

The flight left ten minutes early, so we landed at El Prat at five to two. It was wonderful taking off over the Salinas, and being able to look down on the coloured patchwork of salt pans displaying different levels of mineral concentration. A pity my cameras were packed away for the few fleeting seconds of our ascending passage. The sight with stick in my memory. Next time, I'll at least have a smartphone camera in my hand.

We landed the far side of the airport from baggage reclaim and the exit which takes you to public transport, more than a kilometre to walk. I rang the hotel and was told the shuttle bus is no longer running. Too few users to making it worthwhile offering the service, I guess. There was a bus, but it would have meant waiting 20 minutes in the heat, so I took a €20 taxi instead and the poor driver missed his turning. He got lost in a warehouse zone and had to use Google maps to bale himself out! That awful voice which anglicises if not mispronounces foreign name places. He told me he was from Pakistan, but we spoke in Spanish.

It was good to check in, to have a quiet room where I could clean up, and eat the rest of my lunch at tea time. Then I went for a walk down Avinguda Remolar on which Hotel Ciutat del Prat is located. Only a handful of food shops were open, there was continuous stream of light traffic not many people were walking, and all were masked. I felt good about walking out on a fairly normal main street again. The last time I did was three months ago when I went into Ibiza order my police check certificate. Since then I've only been into San Josep and Sant Antoni a few times, and there were few people out and about on any occasion.

When I got back to the hotel, as the bar and restaurant area was quiet, I went an ordered a Vaso de Tinto, my first wine since before I got sick three weeks ago, a Penedes Cabernet Sauvignon. It was good and I really enjoyed the simple pleasure. One was enough.

I ate my evening picnic, talked with Clare for an hour, then walked around neighbouring streets for half an hour as it got dark. There's a giant Mercadona and a Lidl side by side about 300m from the hotel, and opposite them a huge chemical factory. I can't imagine what's made there. El Prat del Llobregat isn't far from the sea shore, as I recall, but the town has expanded inland into the vast industrial zone of the coastal plain south of Barcelona. This area has heavy industries, but much of the land is taken up with warehousing and distribution centres. Every brand name you can think of is there somewhere, but its all rather soulless and ugly. And when sea levels rise, there will be big trouble for the local economy in a region which was once salt marshes and is now mostly under concrete or asphalt. 

State of Alarm - day Eighty Eight

Another blue sky sunny day. BBC Radio Four Sunday Worship was from Westminster Cathedral this morning, Mass offered by Cardinal Vincent Nicholls with two socially distanced assistants. It's such a huge church building, that with a priest at the altar and assistants at lecterns on either side, there could be ten metres between each of them! Previous recordings of the Ordinary of the Latin Mass sung in situ by the Cathedral choir made it special, and the Cardinal preached well, remembering the victims of the Grenfell tower tragedy on this the third anniversary and reflecting on the shared experience of doing without the Eucharist and Communion over the past three months, just as the churches are allowed once more to be open for private prayer.

Rosi came around for a farewell chat at midday, reminding me that hereafter I will be known as the 'Lockdown Locum Chaplain', whether anyone remembers my name or not. I cooked curried chicken and potatoes for lunch, and made a starter using mussles, olives and chopped apples. Interesting!

After siesta I walked down to Cala de Bou again and along the shoreline to Cala des Torrents. After some days of absence the little colony of cormorants was back on their rocky outcrop in  the sea. I photographed them just before lock-down three months ago, and now again on my farewell visit. Clare sent me a photo showing a cormorant on a stony shoal in the river Taff, plus the Goosander family which lives there, near the cricket ground, if my memory serves me right.

I completed and printed off the UK government form required for entry at Heathrow so I can be traced in quarantine. The instruction says you can keep it on your 'phone, supposedly if you can't get a print out. Three sheets of A4! It's illegible on anything but a tablet to anyone checking at Border control. Why on earth the can't reduce the essential details it to a QR code that can be scanned from your phone or a piece of paper, like with an airline ticket, heaven knows. A nicely laid out Web 2 style form, leading to a finish that's more trouble than it's worth. All I need now is my boarding pass for the UK bound flight, available tomorrow morning I think, then I am fully ready.

I've made up two thirds of a loaf of rye bread into jamon and hummous sandwiches to sustain me during my sojourn, then I don't have to go out and look for food, effectively quarantining myself in Barcelona to be on the safe side. Then there was the food cupboard to sort out, so unopened packets can be kept in store and opened ones given away. The house is going to be shut down until the next locum can arrive safely, probably in the autumn. Such a strange turn of events.

State of Alarm - day Eighty Seven

Another bright and sunny day with occasional gusts of cooling wind. As I was finishing breakfast I had a message from Jules to say that his mother, my sister Pauline had just died, seventeen days since she was admitted to hospital after a heart attack. She wasn't expected to live then, and we were all surprised that she rallied and looked as if she would pull through. Over the past week however, she began to deteriorate and was in such pain that she was given morphine and finally slipped away, ninety one years and three months old, and ready to go, as she said herself.

Under present conditions, funeral arrangements will be difficult to make. Jules is unable to leave Dubai and faces a fortnight's quarantine when he gets here. By the time a funeral can be arranged, will it be possible to hold it in Bleadon Hill Parish church, where we said farewell to daughter Kay and husband Geoff? When I get back, I'll be in quarantine for two weeks. Will it be possible to leave Wales and attend the funeral, given that people in Wales are restricted to a travel range of five miles from home? Or will things have changed by then? For Pauline, all is resolved now, but for her family and friends, everything is unresolved. It's impossible at this stage to tell how anything will work out.

Much praying and exchanging of messages for the rest of the morning, then cooking lunch for Anthony and I. Then, I walked down to an area of beach at Cala de Bou which I hadn't seen before, looking directly across to Sant Antoni. The rocky foreshore near the Playa Bella holiday apartment complex has some stretches of fine sandy beach, but there were very few people taking advantage of it this afternoon, perhaps because of the wind.

I started gathering all my possessions, scattered around the house, and packing everything I don't need in my suitcase this evening. Almost everything is clean. One of the pairs of trousers I brought with me is far too large for me now, so These have been washed and will be recycled on one of the clothes repositories you find at every refuse deposit site.  I've stripped one of the beds I used early on, ready to wash the sheets together with Anthony's on Monday morning. If we start early it'll all be dry before I leave at midday.

Having run out of things to do I headed for bed an hour earlier than usual. Now that I've had preliminary notifications for both my flights, I am starting relax a bit. With all the fresh air and exercise I enjoy, getting off to sleep is never a problem here, worried or not.

State of Alarm - day Eighty Six

Another hot blue sky sunny day with a cooling light wind. When I got up to take my six o'clock antibiotic, a solitary blackbird was singing in the ravine beyond the garden, such a joy at this early hour. I was saddened to learn from Clare that my sister Pauline is still with us, but in such pain as her cardio-vascular system deteriorates, that she is now sedated with morphine. A plan to move her to a nursing home near Nicky's home is planned, but would she survive the journey? All we can do is keep watching and praying.

Before turning in last night, after surveying the fresh vegetable content of the fridge, I decided on impulse to cook a chick pea stew for the weekend. The idea, to use up as much as I could, in order to clear the contents and not have to throw food away at the last minute before leaving. I certainly have enough to feed Anthony and I for Saturday and Sunday.

Today Di invited us out to lunch at the Restaurant de Valle, popular with expat residents near Cala des Torrents. Clients are few and far between at the moment, but the place stays open for business, as apparently it through the winter, before lock-down enforced closure. I had sweet and sour pork ribs, followed by pork medallions (again) but in quite a different sauce, made with capers I think, and tarte tatin to follow. Again, it was a good meal in good company. Most enjoyable.

I finished the second course of antibiotics at lunchtime. On sister in law Ann's recommendation I'll continue with the three days surplus supply rather than take a break and wait to see what develops. I feel much better, and the wound is almost back to normal, but the swelling has not gone entirely and exudation hasn't stopped. If I get home as planned the antibiotics in my blood stream should keep me covered until further treatment is possible.

I had another visit from Elke at tea time, bringing a punnet of strawberries and a typical Ibiceno almond flavoured pastry, which I hadn't tasted before. We discussed the impact of the lock-down on the way we experience the world, and what it is teaching us about ourselves. Then we walked to the end of the track and back before parting company.

As I am obliged to submit details of my location during the fortnight's quarantine I have to endure on my return, I hunted down the required form on the internet and began to fill it in. Completion is impossible until 48 hours before the flight, just as in the same way you cannot check in on-line with BAe flights to obtain a boarding pass until 24 hours before. All this digital bureaucracy and there is still no guarantee the plane will fly as scheduled.

After supper to complete my daily distance, I walked down to the shore to catch the sun setting over the sea, but I was too late. I got just a few photographs instead of a lovely red tinged sky with slim strands of stratus clouds instead.

It's a hundred days today since I arrived in Ibiza. How the world has changed since then.

   

State of Alarm - day Eighty Five

Back to cloudless skies and hot sun today. After breakfast and prayers, I continued working on Sunday's service. Anthony came up and recorded the Gospel, and I wrote some new intercessions to record. By lunchtime the files were ready for uploading, nice and early, as I have to clean and tidy the house before finding everything I have to pack. The more time I take, the more thorough I can be. I wish I could have done more in the garden, but i was limited to what I could do manually, as safe use of a petrol driven strimmer or lawn mower is not in my skill set. Learning to accept one's limitations is definitely part of growing old!

Anthony cooked an impressive pile of spaghetti and a pork bolognaise sauce for lunch, and it went down well after a constructive morning's work.

I walked down to the sea at the end of the afternoon when it started to cool down, and took some movie footage with my HX90 to accompany my next discursive prayer video. Then I went to Suma supermarket and bought some replacement stocks for the food cupboard. On return I cooked some of the remaining vegetables into a chick pea stew for Anthony and myself to free up time over the weekend for other tasks. Tomorrow we are invited out to lunch and I have someone coming to see me at tea time as well Such a change recently, after so many weeks of solitude.

Rosella rang me from Málaga, full of joy, to tell me that their prospective chaplain candidate had been to visit, met St George's Chaplaincy Council, and expressed delight with the apartment. It was pleased to hear this, as during my locum duty spells living in that apartment I became convinced that it was entirely the right place for a chaplain to be, and not living way out in the suburbs, as two previous chaplains insisted on doing. 

It was a matter of finding a priest for whom urban apartment living was normal and natural. As such a person would be more at home with the opportunities a ministry in that setting would offer. An announcement will be made very soon. Next time I get to visit Málaga, when it is safe to do so again, it will be for a proper holiday

After supper I went out again for a twilight walk up the track, and heard the sound of stone curlews calling each other, quite close to where I was for a while. No chance of seeing them in the dark however. In any case, my eyes aren't as sharp as they were that last time I was in Spain, and I have more difficulty focusing rapidly enough to be able to recognise the distinctive features of most birds. I wonder if I'll be recommended for a cataract operation this year?

  

State of Alarm - day Eighty Four

Another cool and cloudy day, and for a change, not too late a start. After breakfast and prayers, I did a little more work on the service for Sunday, before Sarah called by at eleven to take Anthony and I on a trip to the Parque Natural Ses Salines and along sections of the south west coast of the island.

Beyond the airport on the coastal plain is a large area of what once would have been salt marsh, but was industrialised when the Phoenicians first arrived and settled along this part of the coast around 2,800 years ago. Later they moved east across the bay and established a trading port when the Ibiza city now stands. There are roughly 28 square kilometres of salt pans here. Salt is harvested and still exported today as it has been down the centuries. The full range of bird life associated with water of such high salinity is found here, a bird watcher's paradise.

First we went to St Rafel for coffee, but had to double back because I had forgotten to pick up my midday antibiotic pill when I was leaving. I was most annoyed with myself. Then we drove straight to Ses Salines. The visitor centre and observation platforms were closed, but it was still possible to walk on some paths and take the peripheral road right down to the beach restaurant, which went past the 'salt-works' with mountains of salt stored, waiting for transport, and looking like piles of snow with a layer of dirt on top. We spotted black winged stilts, a solitary shelduck, plus flamingos, a few dozen quite close 150m away, and a large colony along the shore side of the lagoon, six kilometres or so away from us, visible as a pinkish white line in the distance. The zoom lens on the HX90 gave us an image showing that they were flamingos, but at that distance the image was blurred. 

Then we doubled back and took another road westward along the southern shore for a brief visit to a see the pier where salt for export is loaded on to a ship. Nearby is a long beach with white sand. In the summer it is very popular and the area is crowded and overrun with parked cars, but not this year so far. It's still mainly locals enjoying time out. 

We then drove to La Caleta, a small cove whose shore is lined with characteristic local fishermen's huts, dug into the tufa on the shore, with wooden extensions on to the beach with slipways over the sand. Sarah and Anthony both said that this cove was unspoilt, and had hardly changed in thirty years. The only visible difference was the modernity of the handful of motor launches and yachts at anchor there. I took a picture which excluded these craft, to capture the sense of a place suspended in time.

From there we drove to Es Cubells, a clifftop village overlooking a beautiful bay with the island of Formentera on the near horizon. It has a lovely church with an open square with a restaurant on the inland side, and another restaurant overlooking the sea. It's a popular place for Anglican wedding blessings to take place. Such a romantic setting. There's also a Carmelite convent above the village. Only two sisters remain there now but the place is used ecumenically for retreats and conferences. The building is very plain looking and geometric, and dates perhaps from the 1930s at a guess. We didn't have time to stop and say hello, as there was one more visit to make before lunch, to a small beach, normally crowded and difficult to navigate due to parked cars on the approaches, but today almost empty. The reason to come here was to get a good view of es Vedra, an imposing tall rocky offshore island, populated by goats and occasionally, I imagine, intrepid human rock climbers.

Then we drove back to San Josep for a restaurant lunch at a reputable place which was open and serving a three course menu del dia. It was an excellent meal with a charming young mesera serving us. Each restaurant that's open for business must have a one way system of entry and exit, and provide a strong alcohol based hand-wash for everyone entering. The staff all wear masks, and tables are set with decent distances between them. All carefully thought out. 

You could only dine out with confidence in the company of a few people you know have lived in isolation and remained virus free, as the tables don't allow for two metre social distancing. Thankfully, weeks have passed now since Ibiza had its last case, although a new one is said to have been detected lately activating a 'trace and test' response from the authorities. There's been no news reports of this in the media yet, however.

After lunch Sarah drove us back to Casa Capellania. It was such a treat to see so much in a four and a hour excursion. Sitting for so long in a car did get uncomfortable towards the end, but was a good trial run for my home journey - a one hour flight, a two and a half hour flight, then a three hour car journey back to Cardiff. I couldn't have managed this a fortnight ago.

It was as the sun was setting in an overcast sky that I went for my daily walk on one of my usual routes, but just fell short of my 10k target, as I didn't walk so much in the house before going out for the day. It's surprising that normally a quarter of the distance I cover daily is in the house.

State of Alarm - day Eighty Three

No wind today, blue skies hung with fluffy white cumulus clouds moving very slowly, sunshine and not too hot, pleasant for walking. After breakfast, I recorded and edited my sermon for Sunday, and then cooked lunch for Anthony and I - salmon with fresh veg and rice. I invented a sauce with some stewed apricots and a lemon, which I was very pleased with, also an apricot pudding with a creamy texture, without cream. Apricots are in season, and so we have plenty to cook with as well as enjoy on their own.

I had a long chat with Roy in Alicante afterwards. He's decided to settle there and work remotely in collaboration with a partner in Cardiff on public relations advocacy matters which he cares about most, and which will shape the post-covid19 future. He's become so disillusion with Britain under the Boris Johnson regime, he doesn't feel he can stay in a brexit Britain. A sad state of affairs.

Later in the afternoon I drove to Sant Antoni to rendezvous with Solveig at Lidl's and then drive out to the country hamlet of Forada in the Buscastell district. From there we drove in her car another kilometer and turned off the road into a wooded valley known as Es Broll. We walked up the valley and back down, using another route for the last kilometer and a half to return to Forada, altogether a hike of eight kilometres.

It's a very beautiful place, with the valley floor and terraced sides up to the edge of the woodland well cultivated with vegetable patches, vineyards and orchards of fruit and nut trees. The distinctive coloured reddish/pinkish soil is rich and productive. There's a Torrent running down the valley and its bed is dry and choked with vegetation at the moment, though normally farmers work together to keep it clear. The distinctive feature of the valley however is the fact that it has water running down its length in artificial channels, delivered to ponds and cisterns on its descent. 

There's a spring in the woods up at the end of the valley, indicating that the water table is unusually high. Below it on the highest farm, is a well head and a small pump house drawing the water up and delivering it into a half metre wide channel that runs down the valley. The construction materials in use are concrete and stone, but what's really interesting is that the design and layout of the channels is said to date back centuries before the Christian era when Ibiza was a Phoenician trading colony. Due to their relationship with North African Carthaginians, Punic farmers came to the island. They settled in the interior and developed it as an agricultural environment, making use of irrigation is technology from back home This valley's irrigation system has been maintained and not allowed to become ruinous, as in other places. Two farms in the valley enjoy the sound of fresh running water all the year round as a result, perhaps unique in an island where water can be a scarce commodity. My photos are here.

Disturbing news from UK, with the revised coronavirus death toll now said to exceed 50,000 on closer inspection of all mortality figures. It exposes the inability of this government to get to grips with the crisis, exacerbated by a decade of debilitating cuts to all health and social care services. How badly the British electorate has been duped into voting a succession of governments into office whose policies have not served the greatest good for the majority of people.