Opera showcased at RWCMD

More rain overnight, but a dry day with blue skies and sunshine most of the time, but colder now after so much rain this week. I spent an hour on the phone to my sister June after breakfast. So pleased to hear that the latest medication she's been prescribed seem to be working and at last she's sleeping better. Then I got to work on my Sunday sermon. We had lunch early so we could walk to RWCMD for a two o'clock show in which opera students show cased their term's work, by performing different scenes from a wide range of operas all presented in the same stage setting with no scene changes, just some changes of costume by the singers, and a continuous flow from one scene to another. Cleverly done

It took place in the Richard Burton Theatre, and it's the first time I've been in there, let alone to a show. It's a smallish auditorium with stalls and two encircling galleries and the stage framed by a proscenium arch. At first the show was a little confusing, as the form of presentation was unexpected, and there was no time to read the programme beforehand. 

There were eleven scenes, from composers of the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries plus a contemporary work by an unheard of composer. A quintet, quartets, trios, duets of singers performed and the eleven members of the complete company rendered a beautiful Handel Chorus I'd never heard before. An amazing variety packed into a ninety minute programme, performed with charm, gusto, good humour with superb acting and singing by everyone. 

I was glad the sun was shining brightly when we walked back through Bute Park. We called at the Secret Garden cafe for a drink. It was rather cold sitting outdoors and it was necessary to walk briskly the rest of the way. The river at Blackweir Bridge wasn't quite as high as yesterday but still pretty full. When we got back I completed my sermon before cooking a lentil porridge with broccoli spears in it for supper. There was only one thing I wanted to watch at nine, plus the evening news, so after we'd eaten with time to spare I prepared liturgical material for next week, then read another chapter of Diana's novel before Norwegian crimmie 'For Life' came on.

More foreign nationals are being let out of Gaza, including a group of Brits today, but still the killing of civilians continues. Hassan Nazrallah the head of heavily armed Hezbollah islamist militants in Lebanon has spoken publicly today about the situations in Gaza, warning of regional escalation but not committing Hezbollah to do more than it already is, with distractive surprise attacks along the the Israeli border. He stated that Hamas in Gaza had acted unilaterally without any of its allies knowing its plans, in some sense disowning his group of any responsibility but not criticising the outrage. Hezbollah's army is much more powerful and larger than that of Hamas, but for the moment, not interested in joining this fight. Netanyahu shows no sign of agreeing to a humanitarian pause, and cease-fire is not an option, regardless of the scale of non-combatant losses. It's just as insane as the mass murder of Israelis which precipitated this war. And the world seems helpless in the face of such ruthlessness. 

Lord have mercy upon us.

Homage to MIles Davis

A refreshing night's sleep, then pancakes for breakast again. Clare spotted an interesting Jazz concert at the Royal Welsh College tonight featuring the music of trumpeter Miles Davies. We succeeded in booking a couple of tickets for this on-line. At the end of the morning we drove to Penarth and had lunch in on the terrace of a bar/restaurant on the promenade called Pickfords. It was as a delightful experience sitting out in bright clear sun, overlooking the Bristol Channel with the tide full out, exposing riverbed sand and rock beneath the beach of pebbles.

As we were about to order, Fran called about a meeting with a former colleague and was delighted to learn that we were in the vicinity. She and Marc came down to join us for a drink at the end of the meal and then we walked around for a while before heading home for a pre-concert siesta and supper.

We walked through Bute Park to reach the Royal Welsh College, arriving in good time for the seven thirty concert. It's part of a week long Jazz festival feature performance from students past and present in honour od the head of Jazz Paula Gardiner, retiring after 23 years at the College. Tonight's was a celebration of the 1960s music of Miles Davis by a Welsh quintet, headed by trumpeter Tomos Williams. The auditorium was full, predominantly with white haired people, as a lady sitting next to me remarked, as we reminisced about when we first heard his albums on the iconic Verve label. 

The band performed superbly a range of tunes, some of which were familiar, others not. The ensemble was very tight and the soloists for the most part, good. The only non-Welsh group member was a percussionist from Birmingham whose versatility was very impressive, in terms of variety and sensitivity, even if his solos were a little too long on times, for my taste. A great evening out, even if we were pretty tired by the time we walked into town to catch a bus home, and go straight to bed.

I was introduced to Miles' music aged seventeen by our Scoutmaster Penry Jones, who'd recently finished his National Service and returned to work in the Valleys with a record player and a selection of the latest Jazz albums. Sister June had already introduced me to Jazz and taken me to live concerts in Cardiff five years earlier, and brother-in law Geoff played saxophone in a dance band. I was lucky to have been raised in a music household.

Aftermath

I slept reasonably well, if a little less longer than usual, due to the need to change dressings in the night. The wound is open without the suture now, but at least it can heal properly at last. We had our Saturday pancake breakfast early, then went back to bed for a lie in and snooze until eleven. I walked for an hour and then cooked lunch. Today the wound is more painful and inflamed so I need to take several doses of Neurofen and one of paracetamol to minimise discomfort and pain. I've also needed to alternate activity and rest, to use my energy sparingly and not get exhausted. In other words, be sensible. 

When I was briefly awake in the small hours I remembered being anaesthetised and having a tight fitting mask imposed that was gently pushing air into my lungs, moments before I blacked out. I then recalled the same sensation when I was operated upon at the Spire last November - a mask like the one that scuba divers wear. On previous occasions the mask was more loose fitting with a tube into my mouth that was taken out when I re-surfaced. So, I wonder if this reflects the proliferation of the technique for assisted breathing with the oxygen or enriched oxygen mix being pumped in under low pressure, widely used to treat covid patients? It would certainly explain why I wasn't at all groggy when I came to, but felt as fresh and bright as I do when I sleep under an open window our outdoors in a tent. Extra oxygen to aid recovery maybe? A strange thing to be thinking about in between sleeps in the middle of the night.

I rested in the afternoon, then walked to Texco's for a bottle of wine and some olives, as Kath is coming tomorrow, driving their brand new Skoda mini-SUV on its first long journey, having collected it from the showrooms this morning. It'll be great to see her again in the flesh as opposed to on Zoom. Yesterday Clare took part in an all day symposium Kath ran about using dance with early years children. An very impressive piece of work. We're very proud of what she's doing.

Talking of early years work, Mark our violinist friend came around this afternoon to be briefed by Clare about accompanying her when she does her kindergarten eurythmy story telling session in school. It was lovely to see the two of them out in the sunshine on the patio piecing together the performance. Working with kids in this way is a new adventure for him, although he's no stranger making music with them,

This evening Clare had tickets for a Schubert Schwanengesange recital, by Gerard Finley accompanied by Simon Lepper in the Dora Stutzker concert hall at the Royal Welsh College, followed by a Q&A with the artists. I listened lying down on the bed for an hour and a half and then needed more fresh air before bed. For the first time, perhaps since the last operation, I can't remember offhand, I needed Clare to put a plaster over the wound before bed. It's slow drying out now the adrenalin which aids clotting has left my body. There's no escaping the aftermath of invasive surgery. It creates an opportunity for nature to take its course again in a wholesome way, and that's what counts in the end.

Great craftsmanship - musical and artisan

I spent most of yesterday working on my ever expanding story, partly trying to work out how to bring its principal character back home from his travels, now that it's become more and more elaborate. In the evening, we walked over the the Royal Welsh College for an Opera Gala Night. All the graduate students on the opera course perform selected acts from great works, accompanied by the WNO's orchestra, conducted by Carol Rizzi, a well known and much loved musical figure not only in Cardiff but on the international operatic scene.

We were treated to a portion of Humperdink's 'Hansel and Gretel', two portions of Puccini, one from 'La Boeme' and a scene from the one act opera 'Suor Angelica', with the finale from Mozart's 'Cosi Fan Tutte, involving a dozen different singers and an opera chorus made up of students. Our seats were in the third row. The music wasn't too loud, but what was very powerful was being so close to these young opera singers, being able to see them act convincingly, and experiencing the full impact of them living their parts. So powerful, I was moved to tears. A night to remember!

Today, with the promise of fair weather, we ventured out to Brecon for the fist time in several years.
The higher mountains had snow on them after the recent rains, and the reservoirs alongside the A470 were full. The town band was playing Christmas music in a small square and people were collecting for charities. The section of the main street in the vicinity of St Mary's parish church contained two 50 metre marquees sheltering stalls selling Christmas craft goods, in addition to the Market Hall we were heading for.

We had a superb soup and sandwich lunch in the Hatter's Tea Shop, and the lamb cawl I had was the very best I have eaten anywhere. It's a family business, and the matriarch heads the cooking team. She told us that she'd learned to cook cawl from her Grandmother, who always insisted on using fresh vegetables and good quality meat. Cawl is a traditional poor peasant dish, not expecting to use the best meat, but my goodness, what a difference it makes when you do!

Clare was on a mission to visit the a stall there where she knew she could meet the artistic wood turner Bernard Dite, two of whose beautiful wooden bowls we bought from his stall at  St Fagans craft fair last summer. She wanted to buy one as a wedding present for her godson Florian, and this was the only opportunity we could be sure of, as his next St Fagan's date isn't advertised yet. She ended up buying three bowls for presents, beautiful yet practical objects. The ones we bought last summer are in daily use chez nous.

We got back home as it was getting dark, and in the evening I watched the final double episode of French crimmie 'Spiral', which came more or less to the expected conclusion, but with enough of an unfinished plot line to suggest another series. Well, I already knew Series eight was being made. In fact, it may even be aired on Canal Plus in French only now. I wonder how long we will have to wait?

Musical delight

We heard today that Clare's Godmother, Auntie Daphne died this morning, a few days after her 88th birthday. She suffered a severely disabling stroke several years ago and was bed-ridden in a nursing home outside Exeter. Having been an independent active person all her life, infirmity was crippling to her spirit, and she hated needing so much help from others. I hope and pray that she was able to welcome death as a merciful release from her misery. 

My afternoon visit to the wound clinic saw me returning home laden with extra nursing supplies to take us through our planned weekend stay in Weston for sister Pauline's 90th birthday. The nurses have been ever so helpful in helping us prepare for this. 

For much of the day it was windy and it rained intermittently, but by early evening the weather calmed down, so we were able to walk to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama for a concert by the Welsh Sinfonia chamber orchestra. This is an Cardiff based ensemble of professional musicians, which tours around Wales to perform, and works with school music projects. The concert  programme included first symphonies by C.P.E. Bach and Beethoven, a rather odd 20th century piece by Charles Ives, plus Haydn's 'Cello concerto with Sheku Kanneh-Mason as the soloist. 

Three years ago he was Young Musician of the Year and is now in his second year studying at the Royal Academy of Music, in between gigs on the international concert circuit. I was perversely pleased the concert notes made no mention of him performing at last year's Royal Wedding, which made him somewhat a celebrity outside the music world. His status as a musician lies in continued recognition of his musicianship, all over the world. His playing was beautiful, exquisite in emotional maturity and sensitivity, as well as technical brilliance. What a wonderful musical treat!

  

Post-op - day four

Clare cooked waffles for breakfast in honour of Rhiannon's stay, one of her favourites. The two of them went to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama at lunchtime, to attend a play reading which is part of a drama student practical project. Clare got to hear about it as a member of the 'Connect' friends of RWCMD organisation. 

Student groups design and present several short plays for a specific little theatre venue (reproduced physically in the College), working with the real life theatre director and producer whose venue it is. At the end of the project, the plays are done in the intended location, the Gate Theatre, Notting Hill. It's a brilliant educational idea, as they can pause, analyse and reflect at each stage of the process with the help of staff and an actual theatre director, without being under the usual commercial time pressure of a real-time situation. It's a RWCMD innovation, now emulated by other performing arts places around Britain. As Rhiannon is keen on performing arts and design, we thought this would be of interest, and so she was!

A District Nurse came at the end of the morning, and agreed I was in a fit enough state to attend the wound clinic tomorrow. Later in the day she rang through with an appointment time. They may need me to attend daily for a while. I don't mind, as it allows me to structure my day to include a walk. 

After lunch and a siesta, I walked around Pontcanna Fields and visited Blackweir Bridge for the first time since the op. It was mild and the sun shone in a cloudless sky, and I felt pretty good, elated in fact, about being alive and this well, just four days into recovery. I walked two and  a half miles, and didn't feel exhausted afterwards.

Martin phoned me while I was out and told me about the sudden death of a near contemporary, John Lewis, Dean of Llandaff who retired in 2012. He had suffered from heart trouble while in office but regained health sufficiently to live out his three score years and ten. His death reminds me that I too am on borrowed time, more so, after six months of surviving in such an infection prone state. There's no telling how long we have to live. It's a matter of being grateful for what we get. Especially extra time, which is extra quality time, like today.

A different kind of listening

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning with eight others. Ann and Paul were back in church after a highly enjoyable outing to Milan via Geneva and Montreux. They brought me back a bar of Swiss chocolate as thank you for informing them about the best way they could make use of their few days in the Suisse Romande!

I was glad to have an acupuncture appointment after lunch, after a couple of unpleasant and energy draining days. It certainly did me good, as I walked around Bute park and Pontcanna Fields for two hours before returning home. Clare and I had tickets for a guitar recital at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama in the evening. We missed the bus we were certain would get us to the town centre in good time, so we decided to walk there instead, as we did once before. It took us thirty five minutes - so I reckon I must have walked a good seven miles today, due to the acupuncture boost.

The recitalist was a young Frenchman, Gabriel Blanco. Our seats were several rows from the stage and we could hear every single note perfectly, thanks to the remarkable acoustic design of the Dora Stoutzker Hall. He played music from several 19th and 20th century composers, several of whom I'd never heard of - French, Italian, Argentinian. He devoted the first part of the second half to Bach's Chaconne in D minor, written originally for the violin, but transcribed for piano and guitar several times over the past 250 years.

I'm pretty sure I heard Andres Segovia play it in Bristol's Colston Hall in my teens. It was probably the longest solo piece of music I'd ever listened to at that time. I got to know it very well indeed as a student in Bristol subsequently, as my dear late friend Mike had a record of the violin version, which he played often. Hearing it after several decades took me right back to winter evenings in Churchill Hall, listening over a cup of tea, or while trying to write up and learn lecture notes. I remember the structure of the music far better than I remember the information I was trying to process at the time.

Gabriel Blanco's guitar technique was remarkable, but not just for the fluency and dexterity of his playing. The dynamic range of the sounds he produced, his use of silence, and above all the softness of his tone. The guitar, being a plucked instrument, produces a range of percussive sounds which can produce marvellous rhythms, and the act of plucking can add a sharp edge to the notes produced. A clear soft edged plucking sound brings a gentle lyricism to melody. I find that very special. On top of his notable repertoire of guitar music to engage with, this concert was a different kind of listening experience for me, having been a guitar player of sorts for over fifty years. Such a treat!

Winter music

This morning, with the temperature hovering freezing, I celebrated the midweek Eucharist again at St John's with eight others, then went to Riverside Surgery for a change of dressing before walking home in time for lunch. By teatime, rain was turning into sleet, with snow promised later. We went to town by bus in the evening walking to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama for a piano recital.  By this time, pavements were treacherous and I regretted my choice of footwear.

Llyr Williams played a couple of Schubert's last sonatas, plus two of the elaborations on a couple of songs from his 'Winterreise' cycle by Franz List. A powerful evening's music. Schubert's sonata in B Flat was the subject of BBC Radio 4's 'Soul Music' programme earlier in the week. By coincidence, an unfamiliar musical masterpiece was given its historical context, and its key music themes were already familiar by the time we heard it performed live. And what a performance! 

Wales has to be most proud of one of its great Classical music interpreters and performers. I love his passion and the energy he brings to the work. In performance, he doesn't forget that that Schubert had just passed  thirty when he went through his final phase of creative output, knewing, like Mozart that he didn't have long to live. 

To get home after the concert, we caught a 63 bus going up Cathedral Road. The driver announced a change of route just beyond our stop, avoiding the last and steepest part of Penhill, just in case the falling snow was unsurmountable. Meadow Street looked beautiful and quiet under its fresh white blanket. It never lasts long, but it gives an excuse to get a camera out for some special night shots. 

  

Unfamiliar Lieder

A brief visit to the GP surgery this morning for a blood pressure check. Yet again in the surgery it raises a frown. When I get home, and sit comfortably in an armchair, the readings average out close to the desired norm. Chairs in the surgery have hard surfaces, and without cushion support, pressure on my perineum causes pain. The discomfort leads me to tense my thigh muscles to reduce this. It isn't even the fabled 'white coat syndrome' many people reportedly suffer from in a clinical setting. You'd think the diagnostic process would be attuned to this kind of issue by now. I believe It's only around a century since this was introduced into regular medical practise.

Clare went out early to the University Optometry School that she visits as a glaucoma patient. She volunteers there to be examined by student trainees for a few hours. We met afterwards at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama for lunch and then a recital of two dozen German Lieder sung by a group of a dozen students working with half a dozen accompanists. It was superbly executed, with some remarkable young voices in performance, and challenging accompaniments from masters of the genre, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Mendelssohn. Almost all were unfamiliar, but well chosen for their variety and beauty. Several songs were composed by Clara Schumann and by Fanny Mendelssohn. Their works are gaining recognition nowadays, having been attributed to the men in their lives for the past two centuries.

We then walked into the city centre aiming for our habitual tea and cake in John Lewis', but having got up early, for several days in a row, I ran out of the surplus energy needed to inhabit shops, and headed for home on the 61 bus instead, to lie low for the rest of the day. I'm having to avoid pushing myself to exhaustion these days. Open unhealed wounds drain one's energy reserves, like recovering from surgery, so they say. It's the Feast of St Paul's Conversion today, I was too tired to trek over to St Luke's for the evening Mass, and disappointed about that.

    

Christmas pops

Now Advent is under way, I'm attempting to write a brief reflection on biblical themes found in the liturgical readings. It's a while since I've done anything like this, so if all goes to plan, these should be viewable in the sidebar.

Fran came to tea this afternoon to talk about the research she's embarking upon into the theme of Agia Sofia - no, not Istanbul's fourth century landmark basilica, but the ancient feminine archetype that appears in sacred art, hellenic Jewish literature and platonic philosophy. We've both been asked to offer a brief contribution on this theme at Russell and Jacquie's pre-Christmas celebration in two weeks time. Unfortunately, Fran is away on an icon writing course that day, so this task is left in the hands of Clare and myself. This will be an interesting challenge for both of us.

This evening, we walked to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama for a concert of American popular songs, called 'Christmas on Broadway', performed by fifteen musical theatre students, six men and nine women, with a top notch orchestra of thirty three student musicians. Everyone gave their utmost with much energy and and enthusiasm. It was a quality performance of the highest standard of musicianship, equal to the best any American orchestra could give. 

It's no wonder the College has such a high success rate in seeing its students into employment after graduation. We had balcony seats directly facing the stage, where we benefited from a full on view of the performers. The stage on which the band and singers all performed was decorated with LED lighting columns and globes, which changed colour according to song. A sentimental, delightful and hugely enjoyable damp wintry evening.

  

A different kind of street poetry

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

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

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

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

Musicians to be proud of

Yesterday morning I celebrated the Eucharist with half a dozen others at St Catherines. Afterwards, Clare and I went into town to visit the John Lewis bedding department for me to select a new single mattress to replace the less than satisfactory one on which I currently sleep when I'm in a single bed. Eventually we'll get one to suit Clare, and pair them up on the double bed, which is due to be replaced in the next year or so. These things have a shorter comfort life than we realise. 

Certainly as we get older sleeping comfort seems more essential, because poor mattress support can have a bad impact on body posture in waking life. It's something I've experienced in the course of my locum tours of duty, as I get to sleep in several different beds for extended period through the year. We get less flexible and adaptable, muscles stiffen and take longer to warm up as we age, no matter how much regular exercise we take. Good quality relaxed comfortable sleep, benefits soul and body, regardless of how many times you need to get up in the night and go to the loo.

This morning I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's and bought some home made marmalade and apple chutney to add to our stock. I had a call from Fr Phelim about covering a funeral in two weeks time at St German's, when he has duties which take him away from the Parish. He's also booked me for the first Sunday in October to cover his half term break. So far no autumn european locum duty requests have come up, so there's no reason not to be available for local duties if needed. Variety in ministry is still one of the pleasures of retirement.

If nothing comes up, a trip to Sta Pola to stay in Anto's apartment will be in possible. Missing life in Spain is already a feature of my life, despite summer temperatures here equal to those on the Costas. It's not so much about the weather as the environmental mix of sea, sierras and urban life which I enjoy.

This afternoon we went to a concert given by nine final year piano students at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. They played a wide variety of music from Scarlatti to Schoenberg plus improvisations based on pieces by Hector Villa-Lobos and Chet Baker. What gifted group of musicians, not just in terms of technical prowess but also emotional maturity in their performances. We came away moved and inspired. This truly is a world class conservatoire. So proud that this is a major cultural institution in Cardiff and for Wales. Plus, it's only half an hour's walk from home on the other side of the Taff.
  

Opera weekend

Saturday morning, Clare cousin Nick and his wife Sue arrived to stay with us. They'd flown down from Edinburgh to Bristol and driven a hire car across. Sue's a musician, and some of her students are working or studying in Cardiff, but the real purpose of the outing was a trip to the opera, with an opportunity to hear one of her students playing in the WNO orchestra. They had tickets for Verdi's Forza del Destino, which we'll see in a couple of weeks from now. We booked tickets for the Sunday performance of 'Tosca', long before they made their plans. After a long lunch, they went into town to meet the students and then go to the opera.

They came long after we'd gone to bed. Clare and I were up early, and went to eight o'clock at St Catherine's together. I was booked to celebrate, and Clare, as she was there and handy to ask, read a lesson. Then we returned for a big late breakfast and heard that they'd so much enjoyed their night at the opera, Nick and Sue decided to make the most of the weekend and attempt a late booking for the performance of Tosca. They were successful in getting last minute seats, so we set out together in good time. Their seats were in the Upper Circle and ours were in the middle of the front row within touching distance of the conductor.

After breakfast, despite the cold wind, we walked into town and then up to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama, which Sue was keen to see. Her former student was busy in rehearsal, so couldn't meet us there, but Sue was suitably impressed with the marvellous building. It's only twenty minutes or so across the fields from there back home. Crossing Blackweir Bridge I was relieved to see that the fallen tree was no longer stuck at the top of the weir, but had been washed by a fresh spate of upstream water about a hundred meters further down, where it would cause less trouble. We didn't stop long to look, as the wind was merciless, and we were in need of warming up with a good lunch, before heading out to the Millennium Centre for a four o'clock start.

I think this is the third time I've seen this particular production since we've been back in Cardiff. As ever the singers and orchestra were marvellous. I don't think Nick and Sue were disappointed. After the performance they took us to an Italian restaurant nearby for supper. After that brisk 7k walk and an intense musical experience followed by pasta, were all ready for bed. A delightful weekend.

     

Another Advent begins

Well, the real countdown to Christmas is now under way. To mark the changeover to the new year and its Markan lectionary, I resumed using the book version of the Breviary (as opposed to the on-line app) in daily prayer, Clare has prepared an Advent table wreath, so that every meal can have a little candle light to  bless it.

We went to St Catherine's this morning, where I celebrated and preached at the main Eucharist, with no music or hymns, as the choir and organised had excused themselves with the evening's Advent Carol service to prepare for. I would have liked us to sing a few things unaccompanied, but didn't want to disrupt the sides-persons, who were already distributing service booklets and notice sheets without hymn books. There were thirty adults and fifteen children present, so maybe I could have interrupted the routine, but on by first Sunday back in several months, I wasn't sure this was such a good idea. Why not just let things be different for a change eh, Keith?

Clare went off afterwards to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama afterwards for a midday concert. I went home and cooked lunch, for her to return to. Editing and up-loading photos took up most of the afternoon, then we returned to St Catherine's for the Advent Carol service. The choir did very well, and I was acutely aware of the difference it made, this being a Parish choir, with a strong sense of connection to what they were singing. I was glad to have nothing do do but sit with Clare in the congregation, and enjoy the occasion.

St Fagan's outing and Chapter Arts performance

Today, we took Saralee for a walk around the Museum of Welsh History at St Fagan's. The place is in the throes of a major makeover, thanks to new funding from the Heritage Lottery fund and the Welsh Assembly Government. It's six years since we last visited there with Kath and Rhiannon, so a few more old buildings have been added to the collection apart from the current refurbishment of the main entrance and welcome area.

After a siesta and early supper we walked to Chapter Arts Centre for a performance in the Seligman Studio of a play by final year students from the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama called 'Three Days in the Country' by Patrick Marber. It re-tells in condensed form the Russian classic comedy by Turgenev called a 'A month in the Country'. It was very well presented by the company of young actors, not an easy thing to achieve, given the age generation differences between several of the key characters in the drama.

The theatre space is usually a gallery, long and narrow, adapted on this occasion with a long central stage with the audience on each extended side of the oblong, accommodating about sixty people. An interesting arrangement which brought the audience right into the heart of the dramatic action. A challenge the players succeeded in rising to.
  

Double duty, then respite

Back to St German's for the Wednesday school Mass, with a class that seems more eager than others to sing at the service. After coffee and a chat in the Day Centre, I had to return home and arrange another bereavement visit, for a funeral on the thirty-first of this month, passed on to me by Fr Phelim. This one, will be that of a young girl who died unexpectedly of a winter bad chest. It's usually people my age and older who succumb to 'the pensioners' friend', except when there's a major epidemic, from which God preserve us. This will doubtless come as a shock to the extended family, and they'll need plenty of time to prepare, so the sooner I can make contact the better. By lunchtime, I had secured a rendezvous for Friday morning at St Catherine's.

Thursday morning, a walk to St John's Canton to celebrate their midweek Eucharist, then a return home to await collection an hour later to return to St John's to officiate at a funeral. This was followed by a journey to Thornhill for the burial, then an hour in the Crem waiting room until my second funeral office of the day was due to start. I used the free time to complete my Duo Lingo daily exercise, as best I could given the flaky signal, and was quite surprised, given the distractions, to get 100% again, eleven days after the last time. I thought the set of exercises were easier than others lately. Difficulty levels in the exercises seem to vary, but so does my ability to avoid typos, memory and attention lapses.

I was home again by five and eating an early supper prepared by Clare, so we could leave early and walk across the Taff to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Clare is a supporting 'Friend' of the College, and gets concert information and ticket concessions. This evening, we heard a performance from an excellent and classy jazz ensemble - piano, bass, drums, alto sax - music students playing standards from the 'cool' era of the fifties and sixties, in a manner of the Dave Brubeck Quartet. This kind of is part of the musical sound track of my early adolescence. I'm familiar enough with the music to know it almost off by heart, to know that they were exploring this music with fresh positive energy. It wasn't just faithful reproduction, it was proper jazz, and had me smiling from ear to ear.

Then we had a solo recital from a brilliant pianist, playing pieces by Debussy, Liszt and Chopin with great sensitivity and passion, making full use of a fine concert instrument, plumbing the depths of its finest subtle sounds in quiet pieces as well as its rich energy in the stormy dramatic moments. I found myself reflecting of the different emotional energies of these contrasting kinds of music for the first time and maybe that's a result of being in a smallish recital room with excellent an acoustic, making for an intimate direct experience of hearing music without the meditation of electronic amplification. The jazz spoke of the delight of playful adventure with simple melody, harmony, rhythm. The classical pieces in all their variety and length, explored the range and depth of powerful emotion, from contemplative awareness to passionate grief and anger. All this comes from the music as much as from the performer, and maybe somewhat from the hearer as well.

    

Learning to be a digital consumer

Owain had gone out to do a gig on Friday evening, as he arrived home before I did last night, but we had the pleasure of his company over a late brunch this morning before he returned to Bristol. In the last ten days he's had three job interviews, and is still waiting to hear from the first one, which he'd most like to win. It's hard to get enthusiastic about further applications when you're uncertain in this way. I so feel for him.

We walked across into Bute Park and had a light lunch in the restaurant of the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. The weather was bright and sunny, but a bitter cold wind made walking a ordeal. We continued into town, toured a few shops, had tea in House of Frazer's Cafe Zest and caught the bus home. A teenage couple standing on the bus chatting animatedly in sign language caught my eye, as their faces shone and their hands moved about eloquently. A moment of enchantment in an otherwise dreary journey in a bus full of dreary countenances.

With jobs done and nothing better to do while waiting for this week's delightful episode of 'Young Montalbano', I watched a YouTube video of a talk Clare wanted me to hear, then tried out some of the live and catchup TV apps for tablet available, to supplement YouView on our TV digital box, which can't be watched on two channels at the same time if there's a schedule clash. A second telly would a waste of space, when tablet media consumption can be continued, doing other things if needs be. It's not so often 'must watch' programmes are on at the same time, and more often that telly gets bypassed for jobs in need of completion. The secret is not to watch too much, or too late, and not to watch for the sake of watching, which I confess I've done a lot of when I've been on my own in Spain. I promise myself I'll make better use of my time, next time around.