Ty am Ddim

Rain overnight, then a humid day with occasional showers, a refreshing change. I celebrated the Eucharist with seven others at St Catherine's this morning, then walked over to Chapter Arts Centre to collect this week's veggie bag. Early lunch, then picked up and taken to Thornhill to take a funeral. The deceased had been a keen golfer so the Briwnant Chapel was filled with former colleagues and golf club members as well as next of kin. It was possible to proceed at a leisurely pace with time at the end to sit through Elgar's Enigma variation the recessional music specially chosen.

When I got back from Thornhill, I did the main weekly grocery shopping at the Coop, then had a long chat with Martin, still rejoicing in his marvellous birthday party Sunday evening last. After supper I went for a walk in the park, appreciating the cool fresh air following an afternoon rain shower. Clare was watching a programme on S4C called 'Ty Am Dim' (Free House), about the renovation of a cottage in a rural village in Ceredigion, acquired at low cost because of its poor condition. The house was much more expensive to restore than anticipated, so the profit made when it was sold was reduced. It must have been satisfying to achieve the building transformation, but was it worthwhile for the workers at the heart of the story?

My understanding of spoken Welsh is pretty threadbare, I'm ashamed to say, but I was able to follow it, as much of the technical vocabulary to do with house building was in English. The Welsh spoken in West Wales is clear, making it fairly easy to follow the dialogue and maintain interest in the story told. It makes me think that I should put more effort into acquiring Welsh language. Despite several efforts at learning over the years, I've never succeeded in being able to do more than hear and partly understand and pronounce words correctly. Social conversation is still embarrassingly out of my reach.

Foraging in Porthkerry

We had a lie in, followed by our Saturday pancake breakfast this morning, then we drove to under a blue sky to visit Porthkerry Country Park for a walk along the coast path. We've walked there from Cold Knap in Barry several times, but I'm not sure if we've driven there before. A wooded valley with a broad grassy meadow runs down to pebbled beach through a saline marshy area, with different vegetation, albeit dried out at this time of year. A nice new boardwalk has been constructed running from the cafe to the beach, about three hundred metres, excellent for wheelchair users. I don't think it was there when we last visited three years ago. 

The entire domain is very well managed and litter free. The cafe is run Italian style with a wide range of usual snacks, but also offering a range of canoli worthy of a Montalbano story. The car park has Pay and Display machines, a pound for two hours. These incorporate contact-less pay devices linked to the mobile phone network I think. It worked fine, although the payment signal sent to the banking network took about a minute for verification to be transmitted. I stood peering at the rather dim black and white screen waiting for my ticket to be produced, and a kind lady stopped and asked if I needed help. I wondered if she'd often seen older people peering at the device trying to figure out how it works.

The coast path heads up from the beach, a stiff climb of about 70 metres. As the tide was at its lowest, we could have walked along the beach, but big pebbles make for a slow ankle twisting trudge, so the climb was the lesser of two evils. I say this as two years of park walking on the flat have reduced my climbing fitness, so my legs feel very stiff and take ages to loosen up. Clare went up faster than me, as she uses her exercise cycle several times a week. I wish we lived nearer some really steep hills for daily walking.

The Coast Path route takes you through Porthkerry Leisure Park, with over a hundred chalets owned if not rented on the clifftop and in a quarry cut into the cliff facing the sea. We walked to a headland on the far side of the Park and ate out picnic lunch there. Considering how close the coast is here to the flight path from Rhoose it was fairly quiet. I noted only two planes taking off, one Vueling and one KLM. It would be much busier in a normal summer season. I saw three different butterflies,white brown and blue. There were swallows and swifts in the air. A big black furry bumble bee was browsing the undergrowth at my feet and then I watched it take off. One of several passing swifts snatched it before my eyes. Something I've never seen before.

We didn't go much further on the coast path as we'd already walked for an hour, but we stopped to pick blackberries, from the abundance of bushes along the way, a pound and a quarter. On the way back to the car we stopped for coffee and canoli. There was a ten minute queue to be served, but it was worthwhile. I had to go and sit down and leave Clare in the queue as my feet were hurting more than usual, perhaps the wrong choice of walking shoes? Anyway, it didn't stop us from calling at Lidl's for groceries and wine on the way home.

We had a wonderful salmon soup for supper, from the bones of the filleted fish which arrived yesterday. The blackberries plus some apples we bought went on to cook, and then left overnight in the filtering bag used to make fruit jelly. Wonderful seasonal stuff! Then we watched a recording of Elin Fflur on S4C performing superbly before an audience in Bangor. Her show featured Eden, a trio of clog dancers, with an original way of dialoguing with the rock band, like a second drummer. The sound is different from the Irish folk style, in which musicians are more of a backing group for the dancers, an element of Welsh pop which isn't an echo of other genres of pop music.

Gourmet anniversary

Despite rain overnight and early clouds, the sun broke through and shone brightly mid morning, a most welcome enhancement on this feast of Christ's Transfiguration, our fifty-fifth wedding anniversary. Clare received a congratulatory text message from Amanda by breakfast time. 

We drove to Penarth Marina to see if we could get a table for lunch. Last night I went to book one on the La Marina restaurant website, but was disturbed to find that full card details including the security number on the back were required to obtain a booking, so proceded no further. Although the page in question states the card details are stored in a secure location, there's no way of vetting its security credentials. No way of knowing it's not open to hacking, or a scam. Anyway we arrived at midday and able to book a table for one without any problem.

La Marina is located inside the restored 19th century Custom House building, and has a table capacity of around a hundred. It has an authentic Spanish ethos with an ordering counter where you can see the meat or fish to choose from on display, next to the kitchen. The service was good and the food excellent. Clare had grilled asparagus and swordfish, I had fish soup, the best I have ever tasted, and huge piece of tender belly pork with caramelised onions - plus perfectly cooked veg. A feast worthy of the celebration.

We walked along the cliff top afterwards in a strong breeze, thankfully not too cool, then headed home, thinking that our next family feast in Cardiff must be at La Marina.

This evening we watched the on-line National Eisteddfod ceremony for the chairing of this year's bard. It's the poetry competition in which ancient strict rules of poetic form are the medium for expression of the chosen theme - this year, 'Awakening'. Gwenallt Llwyd Ifan was the winner. Coincidentally, he is the chair of the Tregaron Eisteddfod committee which was meant to host last year's event, cancelled due to covid, It's hoped that Tregaron will be able to host the next Eisteddfod in summer 2022, an event to look forward to in whatever shape it takes in the 'new normal'.

Autumnal words recalled

Another uninviting rainy overcast day. I fell sound asleep after saying morning prayer following breakfast for nearly an hour and a half. I think I'm going into hibernation mode! As Clare said, I must need the extra time out, as the post-op bruising has been quite painful these past few days, though it is subsiding now.

Finally I got around to making a batch of annual charitable donations in-line, using a debit card which I don't often use for this purpose. The first two payments went through OK, the bank security system stalled on the third. I called their hotline and the robot asked for account details and a telephone banking security number. I'm not sure I ever set one for this account, but used one I thought might be correct if I ever did. After three tries I was locked out of the system but got through to a real human being, who was patient and friendly towards a highly irate me. 

It seems that HSBC's 'Verified by Visa' security routine for card payments has changed, now texting a one time pass-code for any transaction to your mobile number, a routine I'm used to with Santander Bank. Once sorted out, the third payment went through automatically, and I was able to make a fourth using the new system immediately. I also registered for voice recognition i/d to save hassles with security PIN codes in future. It seems my account details didn't include my mobile phone number, even though I've had that number since I was given my first phone, an old Nokia, back in 2001. When I start the phone, it still displays 'Orange F' before switching to EE, as the phone was first registered to me when we were in Monaco. A curious but treasured quirk of my personal tech' history.

In the afternoon, the rain slackened to a drizzle and then stopped once we'd put on our rain trousers for a walk around the park together, but it remained dark and overcast. Two lines of autumnal poetry have been going around in my head recently, things I learned in school, but couldn't properly recall, let alone identify the authors. Clare's memory was equally deficient, although she too had studied them, either in school or University. 

I yielded to the temptation to google the respective lines, and found that one was the opening line of Grey's Elegy in a Country Churchyard: The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. The other line was from an autumnal Shakespeare sonnet: Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang. That's a good description of most of the big trees in park now. It was lovely to re-connect with these classic poems sixty years after O Level English.

We watched a lovely nature programme on S4C in the evening shot entirely in low light conditions after sunset and before dawn around the year, showcasing in spectacular video footage the range of nocturnal creatures that inhabit the wilder parts of Wales. Hedgehogs are the exception. The rural population has decreased worryingly, whereas numbers in domestic gardens and urban parks have grown, perhaps due to the greater biodiversity they conserve, and the willingness of householders to feed them. There are foxes too, well established in urban areas, where they raid rubbish bins for food like the hordes of gulls that no longer live on our sea shores but forage and breed inland, and make a nuisance of themselves.

The eye of the beholder

After rising early, my annoying start to the day with Google Blogger was made more annoying by receiving a text message purporting to be a Pay Pal security alert, saying my account was blocked and needed unblocking with a clickable link to a URL to follow through. The text message header gave a full UK mobile number from which it originated, like the alert, most likely a fake, or else a number used to harvest phone numbers from people wanting to check it out. If spam text messages are sent to randomly generated phone numbers, harvesting responses is a way of finding out which numbers out of the random set generated are actually in use. Information that can be sold to other scammers. Either that or some cyber scammer has my mobile number, siphoned off in a hack attack on a website containing my mobile number - probably TalkTalk - at some time or another, but when? 

Only recently I set up a Pay Pal account, but didn't get as far as adding bank details to it. I've had almost daily nags to do so ever since. Enough to make me ask - do I really need this extra convenient financial facility? Isn't it just going to be one more set of emails I don't need, another area of cyber vulnerability I can well do without? So I closed the new account. I wonder how long it will take the email nags from Pay Pay to dry up?

In the mail today an envelope from the TV licensing authority telling us that we have to re-apply for a TV license: i.e. pay up in full within two months or else. It's only four months ago when I reached 75 that I became eligible for a free license and was refunded eight months worth of subscription money paid out in December last. The new license will expire end of July 2021. Well, I had four months for free, and never minded having to afford the license fee payment, because of the invaluable content and web services the Beeb provides, which we use every day. I greatly resent the government starving the Corporation of funds, and resulting cutbacks in content. It will in my opinion contribute further to the decline of British influence in the world. Just like brexit.

Clare and I cooked and ate lunch together, then I went out to the local shops for a few items, before a walk in the park. Clare went out to a meditation group at six, so we ate supper later than usual when she got back. We watched a fascinating hour long programme in Welsh 'Cefn Gwlad' (Back Country in English) about a very traditional Snowdonia sheep farm showing a shepherd's work around the year in great detail. 

The programme must have been made about twenty five years ago. The screen aspect ratio was 3:2 and the colour cast wasn't nearly as vivid  and saturated as prevalent nowadays. It made me wonder if it had been filmed rather than videoed on VHS. It made a pleasant and restful change from today's over bright, hyper-real HD screen colours. A resurgence of interest in 35mm film cameras and photography suggests a dissatisfaction with the digital given, as it seems un-natural, hard on the eyes. Nature's colours are far more varied and subtle than human attempts to emulate them digitally.

S4C shines

 Another lovely summer day to rejoice in. Pancakes for breakfast, then a walk together around the Fields and down to Blackweir, where the sun's angle made the waters of the Taff sparkle. We sat on a bench for ten minutes and enjoyed the moment. A dutiful heron stood on the opposite side of the island of pebbles in the river, neck completely outstretched ready to spot and catch a passing fish. It was a long way away but the photo I took at almost full zoom length wasn't blurred as they often are. Not surprising really as the auto focus shutter speed was 1/320, as it was so bright.

After lunch in the garden we took a siesta, then I went down to the local shops for a few items each of us needed. In Tesco's I found a bottle of Reinhessen Pinot Noir one of Clare's favourites and mine, rate to see on a supermarket shelf here. The last time we drank a glass of this was on our 2018 Rhine Cruise in Rudesheim. We haven't spent a great deal of time in Germany over the years, just a handful of visits, but drinking a glass the country's Pinot Noir in particular hold special memories of those times.

Although the garden was in shade, it was warm enough to eat supper outdoors. We have been blessed with many more healthy looking roses than usual this year and abundant flowers of different kinds that are well frequented by bees and cabbage white butterflies. The runner beans which Clare planted in pots and in a corner of the flowerbed are growing tall and flowering nicely. A solitary sparrow it seems has taken up residence and sings from the climbing rose bush which covers the other side of the garden wall trellis. For once in my life I'm not restless and content to be just where I am.

We watched a concert on S4C recently recorded concert as lock-down restrictions were eased. This year's National Eisteddfod moved entirely on-line. This concert was arranged in place of the final gala event I believe. Performers were all socially distanced, singers on stage and backing musicians under separate stylish open sided tents. The swinging Llaregub brass ensemble stood well spaced in the open simply choreographed and uniformed like a carnival marching band. Excellent performances, a handful of them done via video not recorded on site, with several numbers from Bryn Terfel to finish off with. It was an outstanding S4C production technically and content-wise, and deserves far wider recognition than it will probably get, as it's all in Welsh.

Two continuity presenters were scripted with poetic links between performances. Apart from 'memory lane' numbers many of the songs seem to have been written, certainly during lock-down, if not for this particular concert. It held together seamlessly as a production, and was really impressive with thoughtful content. I was struck by the expression of spiritual longing and searching, with mentions of God. A setting of the Benedictus from the Ordinary of the Mass was sung, and that was the only church/religious item to be included. Wales may now be a largely secular society, but its creatives are still looking above and beyond themselves for hope and meaning.

Afterwards I went out to stretch my legs and get some fresh air before bed. Some people were still sat on the grass chatting in the twilight under a clear blue sky as the stars came out.

A feat of organisation

I celebrated the Eucharist with five others this morning. As it's half term, several regulars were away. We were expecting an ex-colleague of Clare's and his family for lunch, but they had to cancel at the last minute, so we ate half of the special vegan recipe quiche Clare cooked to try out for the occasion, and will be able to enjoy the other half later in the week, since it proved to be a success.

After a siesta, there was work to do on preparing the orders of service for next weeks funerals, then I went into town and took a few more photos of the St David's site, as the very last bay of the building had been reduced to half its height since yesterday, and the last section of scaffolding surrounding it was being dismantled. A huge mound of rubble remains to be cleared, but I noticed when I peeked through the gate at the east end of the site that half has already been cleared to ground level.

Quietly, each working day a fleet of lorries plies discreetly to and fro, slipping into the stream of city buses using the narrow streets north of Wood Street as their turning circle and stop-over spot when changing drivers. Despite occasional hiccups and delays, the bus services out of the city centre keep running, and demolition detritus keeps moving away to landfill, an impressive feat of organisation. A couple of weeks more and the site will be flat and empty, ready for turning into a public open space with trees and paving. Then perhaps, work on the new bus station will start in earnest.

In the evening, we watched a S4C programme of highlights from the Urdd Eisteddfod performances of the day. Hundreds of children from Welsh language schools all over Wales, mostly in small groups, enthusiastically singing their hearts out with expressive shining eyes. What a delight!

Dramatic climaxes

Having decided to go over to Bristol and visit Amanda yesterday afternoon, we left early and diverted from the M4 on to the A48 after Newport, for a leisurely drive through a favourite part of Gwent, for a pub lunch at the Groeswen Inn, near Penhow. It made a pleasant change to a routine journey. Amanda was in good spirits, and getting used to a different routine, now that James is away at University and living in a student flat on the UWE Fishponds campus. 

We drove home after dark, and although the weather conditions were reasonable, I didn't enjoy driving, as road traffic out of Bristol north goes rather quicker at night than I've been used to recently, driving in Spain in the dark. Urban and rural road speed limits there are lower, and having adjusted to that, it's not so easy to revert. I think we're be better off with lower speed limits here around all towns and villages for safety, noise and pollution reasons, even though it would mean a bit culture change for the majority of motorists.

We were back in time for late supper before watching the last episode of 'Modus'. All in all, this BBC Four Scandi-crime drama offering disappointed - a plot that was somewhat implausible, leading actors lacking in sparkle and presence. But then, portraying a crime psychologist mother of two or a divorced cop must be hard going when similar roles have been well filled in other series by those who excel at 'character' parts. Also, there were too many lingering nightscape shots of Uppsala, which was, I believe, the mise-en-scène. We've seen clever photography in semi-darkness a bit too often in recent years for that sort of landscape to play much of a part in creating a mood for the occasion. Unlike 'Y Gwyll', on tomorrow night (final series episode), where the Cambrian coast and mountain scenery inland does contribute to generating the mood, and making the series so superbly watchable. 

I was on duty at St Catherine's for the eight o'clock again this morning, and at St German's at eleven. On my way to the latter, I drove via the municipal waste and re-cycling centre in Hadfield Road, to get rid of seven bin bags of thick foam, the remnants of a dismantled mattress from the bed that James used to sleep in. He doesn't have or drive a car, and Bristol Council rubbish collection makes pre-disposal demands which are difficult for a disabled person living alone to meet. The bags filled the back seats of the car and the boot. Leaving them outside the house until collection day would not have guaranteed their removal. Some things are deemed by public service officials to be 'too hard', whether in reality they are or not. Government and public services can force citizens to care about much that's considered in the public interest, but the obligation to care for disadvantaged people doesn't always work as well as the law advocates.

The last episode of  'Y Gwyll' on S4C was indeed masterly drama. Dialogue was sparse, but a great deal was achieved through acutely observed actors' faces reacting to things they'd just learned - the power of the unsaid drawn out by the camera. And the landscape, mostly in grey wintry daylight, made its own statement about rural poverty and neglect, speaking about a region left behind after previous industrial and social upheavals, subsisting on agriculture and tourism. It's not the whole story of rural mid and north Wales by any means, but it does reflect the series title in English - 'Hinterland'. 

The final shot, after DCI Matthias had seen justice done by the victims of child abuse by a top policeman, was a coup de grace, as the cop himself, stands lonely, on the beach at Aberystwyth, looking at photos of his estranged family, so painfully sad after a moment of professional triumph which leaves him satisfied but quite unmoved. Will there be another series, with EC funding cut-backs likely in the future? Thankfully the multiple plot lines in the series of all three serials shown this past couple of years have reached a resolution. The only unresolved issues concern the lives of main characters, that I for one have developed a sense of concern for. Such a sense of emotional involvement in fictional says a great deal about about the high quality of story telling running through this home produced series. Well done Wales, very well done!

Thoughts on MInistry Sunday

Another early start this morning, as I was asked to cover the 8.00am Eucharist at St Catherine's, another traditional Book of Common Prayer start to the day, only this time the 1984 Church in Wales revision, another liturgy I know off by heart. Clare came too, so we there walked together in the pre-dawn twilight. By the time I reached the altar for the Offertory, the sun had risen enough to shine in through the churchyard trees, and light up the brickwork in the north west corner of the church. Lovely. There were seven of us for the service. I read Archbishop Barry's Ministry Sunday letter, his last before he retires in February, commending the new Ministry Area strategy for the Church in Wales and all this will mean for the vocations of both lay and ordained people as it develops. 

With fewer than ever clergy doing more of the same, in a world where more and more technical management skills and experience are required on top of pastoral and spiritual gifts, it's difficult to see at this stage exactly how responsibility for the whole life and mission of the church is going to be shared between laity and clergy in ways that are not already happening. Maybe at this stage it's a matter of muddling through, adjusting, making better efforts to communicate better and build effective personal relationships, not just trusting that every stakeholder lay person or cleric is happy to be organised and work in a way that's different from that is habitual to them. 

In my experience a community will rally around and grow through tackling a cause or project which everyone recognises as a key issue around which to rally and muster resources. Adapting buildings to cater for changing need is one thing, restoring beloved places of worship in crisis is another, reaching out to identifiable needy groups of people is another, social and natural environmental concern is yet another. What's more difficult, when it comes to working together in genuine missionary enterprise, isn't practical responses to material need, but the spiritual dimensions of life.

Without a vision the people perish (Prov 29:18), immediately comes to mind. Every changing scene of life, every new experience, Christians are challenged yet again to return to Scripture and Tradition, and seek new understanding about how the life of faith engages afresh with reality, not just as individuals but as a community sharing thoughts and insights about the meaning of life and our relationship with God as a fresh stimulus to creative imagination.

The appeal of Christian faith to heart, mind and will has been profoundly weakened by ideologies emerging from secular materialistic thought, so that now Christian faith is dismissed as unworthy of consideration by perhaps a majority of people, who, if they have any religious or spiritual inclinations at all, prefer the DIY approach and make it up as they go along, their individualism unchallenged. Populism, be it religious, social or political may be a kind of reaction against that, but a disciplined challenge to the truth and validity of either from Christian thinking has very limited impact. Believers have a great deal to learn from the failure of the church to commend its faith to a greater audience, and a need to re-engage differently in persuasive argument for the adoption of Christian life and faith.  

Those who take the lead in matters of ministry teach and remind the church of its calling and purpose, but they are also learners, who need enable others to think for themselves, imagine and share their ideas and insights. That means taking time to listen, for them, for the whole community. Whatever practical preparation we make for anything we do is only as good as the quality of preparation we put into it, together. And that's so hard when we're so busy with so much to be done. In retirement I now look back and think about things I could have spent more time on and done better. Now I have spare time, wondering what to do with it is what exercises me most, for now.

Thankfully, after several hours of battery charging, the car started without difficulty. Why it discharged when it's not that old, is another issue to keep an eye on. Anyway, I got to St German's nice and early and enjoyed chatting with people arriving for the service. Churchwarden Peter read out Archbishop Barry's Ministry letter, and I preached about it. To my mind, St German's is a church community that is ready to face a changing future in a ministry area, as they have learned to work hard together to sustain its community facing activities, as well as buildings and worship for several years, this has continued throughout its extended period of life without a regular parish priest. I hope a new priest will be able to recognise this and build upon it, whenever one is appointed, and hopefully sooner, if a new ministry area in the 'southern arc' of Cardiff's parishes is to be realised.

After lunch, Clare went off to her final concert rehearsal, and I followed her to the Fountain Steiner School in Llandaff North a couple of hours later for the later afternoon performance. The school hall was full of families, and the choir was drawn from teachers, parents nd friends of the school. They'd spent the term rehearsing a selection of pieces from Benjamin Britten's 'Ceremony of Carols', quite a tough challenging work to develop from scratch in over three months, but I know how much Clare has enjoyed it, and is now enjoying singing lessons, taken to improve her vocal technique. I wouldn't mind joining the choir, except that it means on Tuesdays, clashing with Chi Gung, and I'm looking forward to re-starting that in the New Year.

I took my Sony HX50 with me, perched on a high window sill, pressed the video record button and left it to its own devices during the Britten, reckoning this might produce a helpful piece of feedback for the conductor to consider later. I was delighted with the result, as the sound is really quite good as well as the video footage. There was a man sitting in front of me who also had a camera and took a few stills. It turned out that inside his smart leather camera case was an identical HX50!

After supper we relaxed together, watching the movie 'Paddington', for the first time, laughing aloud at its mild satirization of British bourgeois life, while at the same time it packs a hard hitting message about the inclusiveness, diversity and welcoming foreign migrants deemed by the author and producer of the film to be characteristic of the British way of life. Nothing could be more timely. It could do with being shown on one channel or another every night at the moment, just to spite the tabloid media. 

This was followed by the penultimate episode of 'Gwyll', which rather shifted gear half way through, going from being slowly paced with a hint of menace, to chain of incidents in which our heroes start to join the dots and make an intelligible picture of the toxic affair of the children's home which has been the cause of so many tragic lives lost, throughout all three sets of episodes of this memorable Celtic noir movie series. I'm left wondering if the producers planned them all in advance, given the difficulties in funding attached to projects of this nature, or whether it evolved following the big international success of the first series. It's been a great credit to the Welsh language creative industry, and S4C. One can only hope we'll see new ventures in future.

    

A St Nicholas Sunday

I woke up early and was out of the house, on my way to Kenilworth's St Nicholas' Parish Church before sunrise this morning to attend the eight o'clock Book of Common Prayer Holy Communion service. It's a refreshing change not to need a book, having memorised it back in my days of BCP early Sunday Communion services in Halesowen, nearly thirty years ago. I was delighted to learn that the Parish now has a new incumbent, the Revd Stella Bailey, inducted on 11th October. 

As this is the Sunday nearest the Parish patronal festival, she started, preaching about St Nicholas, then moved into speaking about the extent of people trafficking, the broad modern designation for slavery of all kinds. She got there by citing a story about St Nicholas secretly providing a dowry for the three daughters of a poor man, about to sell them, as he was unable to afford to keep them and the rest of his family. It's something still happens today, we were reminded. A wholesome remedy against Santa sentiment. Invigorating stuff for a frosty Advent morning,

Rhiannon enjoyed her weekend lie-in, and I cooked us lunch. She then suggested an afternoon walk, and we tramped across the Abbey fields, white with frost, past the lake, where Mallards and a solitary Moorhen were coping with the largely frozen waters, to Kenilworth Castle. Its dark sandstone walls became almost incandescent, lit up by the setting sun - a lovely moment. Then we walked into the town for drinks and a cake in Costa Coffee, a favourite Rhiannon place to go and chat. She told me all about school and the subjects she likes most. She's lucky enough to be taking Spanish and French this year. Her school is in the throes of becoming an academy, she told me, unsure what this would mean, apart from a more prestigious status at this point. Yes indeed, we'll see. I'm not sure either.

Kath and Anto arrived home from their gig in Bournemouth just before eight. I'd already decided that I wouldn't drive back to Cardiff in the dark, as the temperature had dropped below zero, so Rhiannon and eventually Kath and Anto after they'd eaten, watched 'I'm a celebrity ...' together before turning in. I watched the fourth episode of S4C's 'Y Gwyll' (Hinterland) on my tablet. Impressive as ever and far more unmissable. 'Fraid I have no time for any of these celebrity programmes. I'd rather listen to the shipping forecast instead.

     

Christian New Year refreshment

I was glad of extra sleep time and not having early start today. By ten fifteen I was on my way to St German's for the Sunday Mass, with all my favourite Advent hymns being sung. I love the simplicity of this season inside church. It's such a refreshing contrast to the kitsch and craziness of city life during the pre-Christmas rush, not to mention Black Friday weekend consumer frenzy. There was a positive and cheery mood among worshippers too. A new liturgical year, a fresh start, albeit on familiar pathways through the celebration of the mystery of faith, is most welcome in this dark and dreary season.

I got back earlier than usual for lunch, as the church hall was occupied by a social event and there was no after church coffee and chat as usual. In the evening Clare and I went to the Advent celebration of readings and carols by candlelight at St Catherine's. There were seventy people present, with twenty of them singing in the choir.  Several Advent anthems were sung whose musical settings I hadn't heard before which was refreshing. Dominic, one of the St Padarn's Institute students on permanent placement in the parish during his training gave a thoughtful address on Advent waiting, confident and enjoying the moment. 

Mulled wine and mice pies were served in the church hall afterwards. I chatted with Dominic who said he'd preached several times before, but this had been the first occasion to preach from a proper pulpit - six feet above contradicition - as the saying goes. A reminder to me of how pulpits have gone out of use in many churches in favour of lectern or legilium at floor level in the nave. In times past when churches were full all year round, and there was no public address system, the pulpit was the best vantage point for addressing the entire assembly and being heard. With smaller congregations, a more intimate kind of engagement is necessary most of the time, and the pulpit seems too formal a place to stand. Adaptation to circumstances and surroundings is vital for preaching the word, 'in season and out of season'.

We got home in good time to settle down and enjoy another episode of 'Y Gwyll' (Hinterland) on S4C. Watching the full Welsh edition with subtitles is proving helpful to my comprehension of informal everyday Welsh conversation. Because of regional differences in accent and use of dialect words it's far from easy to start with, but over the years I've learned a fair amount of vocabulary I've rarely had an opportunity to make use of socially. Spending so much time in Spain hearing conversation and trying to understand what's being said may have sharpened my listening concentration somewhat. There does seem to be some benefit in working at acquiring different languages, despite the potential for confusion.

Perhaps because it's set in a part of Wales with which I'm familiar, with stories that reflect the impact of rural poverty and decline on families and personal relationships, there's a freshness about the series. Last night's Swedish crime thriller 'Modus' seemed more formulaic, ticking the thematic boxes for another hit TV movie and by the looks of it so far, targeting yet again a far right religious extremist sect as the source of tribulation - well, we'll see as it unfolds. Does this reflect this a collective anxiety in Scandinavian society these days, I wonder?

Sunday reunions

I was up before the alarm went off this morning, set to ensure I'd get to St Catherine's in good time to celebrate the eight o' clock. There were eight of us present, Clare included. I was was joined at the altar by Sam, one of two students on parish placement in Canton for two years of his training in the new St Padarn's Institute, which amalgamates existing ministry training centres of the Church in Wales in a comprehensive organisation aiming to meet the needs of a variety of students with different background experience and ages. He's just started ministry after two formative years as a member of a community under a Benedictine inspired rule living the Parish of Abergavenny, one positive innovation to occur in the Welsh church in recent years.

One the way back afterwards we bought breakfast croissants in the Coop, which I notice has gone through another re-branding re-imaging exercise since I've been away. I wonder what that cost them I why it was thought necessary to revert to something nearer to what used to be the recognisable brand identity?

We ate together in a leisurely way afterwards, before I had to set off to celebrate the St German's Solemn Mass. It was a delight to be welcomed back and step back into a familiar pattern of ritual and worship with a congregation I know well. I love the sense of praying with the people there. So often as a locum priest still getting to know the ways of different congregations, I feel like I'm taking a service for them and it's not quite the same. It's the difference between dancing with a familiar partner and having to learn to dance with someone new. No matter how skilled you may be at adapting, that special sense of spiritual intimacy only grows with familiarity.

Afterwards, I left immediately, to drive straight out of town to the Country House Hotel, Thornhill, to join a lunch party arranged by the Friends of St John's. It was a lovely occasion, re-united with many old friends from my time as Vicar of Cardiff's City Parish Church. Earlier this week I was looking at photos of church outings and glimpsed people who would no longer be at the lunch as they've died over the years since. All those people with whom I shared those amazing years in my final incumbency, I still feel close to, living and departed.

We left for home just after four. The sun was low in the sky and although Cardiff was in shadow and about to be illuminated by street lights, the Severn Estuary was still aglow and silvery with sunshine. It is such a special place to see the entirety of the Cardiff's coastal plain. After supper, we watched the fourth episode of 'Y Gwyll' on S4C. Another finely crafted piece of film drama, it didn't disappoint.
    

Business as usual, and a catch-up treat

Back to St German's this morning to celebrate the 'Class Mass' with two dozen children and teachers from Tredegarville School in addition to the regular congregation of ten. I told them the story of St Martin of Tour, and had them singing songs that I'd used with them before. It was such a pleasure to be back with them again after time away.

I couldn't stop and chat for too long afterwards, as I needed to go home and pick up Clare to drive to Marion's house in Barry for the monthly Ignatian prayer group. Then I had to leave early before lunch and table talk finished, to drive to the School of Optometry in Cathays to collect another pair of reading glasses and consult with the optician about the problem of an experience I call 'dappled vision' that comes and goes, in certain lighting conditions. 

It's probably some kind of eye strain. It's become far less frequent since I started wearing proper specs with a special anti-glare reflective coating, but I felt it was worth checking out. Thankfully, there's been no change in my eyes since my first test. I've been given a list of possible medical conditions to discuss with my GP, but I'll wait to see if there's further recurrence. I've had occasional migraine auras in certain qualities of bright light for 25 years and it's bright light, from a computer screen or outdoors which triggers the bouts of 'dappled vision', so it could be a related low level effect - eyes struggling to cope, due to ageing with lenses clouding, not enough to obscure vision, but just enough to play tricks with the light at certain angles. Like a slightly dirty car windscreen. 

After a quick visit to Lidl's next door to the School of Optometry, I headed for home and cooked supper for us. Then at last, an opportunity to catch up on a high regarded Welsh crime drama series 'Gwyll' or 'Hinterland' in English. I noticed Series 3 was going to launch in October, but S4C's catch up stream wasn't accessible in Spain. I started watching on my tablet, and was surprised to discover it was entirely in Welsh. 

I watched Series 1 and 2 on BBC4 in a bilingual version with subtitles. This portrays lead character DCI Matthias as an English only speaker, with his colleague Mared (her of the famous signature red anorak with the furry collar) as the bi-lingual detective. He's clearly a Welshman, but not being a Welsh speaker suggests he's an outsider to the region, and one learns early on that he has been working with the Met in London. So, the Welsh only version portrays him as less of an outsider. Interesting! I shall watch again on BBC4 when it comes out, curious as to whether this entails straightforward dubbing of sound, or actual re-shooting of scenes. The photography is outstandingly good, as is the acting.

The great blessing of S4C catch up is that it skips the advertising, saving 10-15 minutes of boredom, so we binge watched three episodes in three hours fifteen, the length of one big movie. Well, a bit longer, as I wondered if I was getting the whole plot right with my understanding of spoken Welsh being a lot poorer than my Spanish, plus I couldn't switch on the subtitles, so I switched on telly with our YouView didgy box, felt my way to the correct programme location, switched on the subtitles, and pressed Go. 

Clare came and joined me this time. I gave her my plot summary, surprised to have confirmation from the replay of opening minutes that I had correctly understood what I'd heard and seen. Amazing! Mind you, isetting the murder scene in a chapel helped, as much of my latent Welsh vocabulary relates to church and religion. I can well understand how this crime series has gained audiences world-wide. It's up there with the very best of the euro-crimmies, many of which use several languages, as in real life.

  

Getting back into novel reading

Time slips by quickly. I'm getting right back into a routine that entails a daily visit to the CBS office wedged in between domestic and personal tasks. On Monday after work, I had a replacement screen fitted to my Samsung Galaxy Ace II. Only when I was on my way home on the bus did I discover that although the touch screen itself worked fine, the touch area and home button at the bottom of the screen didn't work. That meant a trip back to the shop on Tuesday morning to get it fixed. The tech guys were charming and apologetic. They were in a rush and I was in a rush at the end of Monday, so neither of us had tested it thoroughly before parting company.

While I was waiting for the second repair I popped into W H Smith, and impulse bought a couple of novels to read - Patricia Cornwell's 'Dust' and John Le Carre's 'A delicate truth', both of which hit my curiosity button, and were a discount bundle. I started the former to kill time, and was soon hooked. Over the past few years I haven't read many books. I simply lost interest. I read a lot of news on line, and get doses of fiction from watching telly, and on Monday that meant the first Episode of the acclaimed 'Hinterland' on BBC Four, which was first produced on S4C, and is gloriously bi-lingual, and for once it's not Danish or Swedish and English, it's Cymraeg - Ardderchog bechgyn! 

Blessed or cursed with a strongly visual way of engaging, I get a lot from well crafted authentic film drama. If you're interested in storyline and its messages, concentration of narrative in visual images saves lots of time. It's another way of saying that I'm impatient with slow convoluted descriptive narrative. If I want that sort of imaginative pleasure from words, I'd choose poetry to conjure with. Now, I like Cornwell's complex story lines, but tend to speed read terse descriptive passages she uses to evoke mood and atmosphere. In this respect, 'Dust' portrays the world in much the same way as in novels she wrote a dozen years ago - wintry, dank and grey for the most part.

I wondered if I still had enough patience and concentration not to get bored with reading a novel. I now realise that when I'm abroad or on holiday I have little taste for reading because there's so much to see take an interest in and take pictures of. Yet, leisure reading is a major industry, and every expatriate community I know of has some kind of book exchange facility, if not a library, so many if not most people do read. When I get stuck into a book, I shut the world out completely and read every spare moment of the day and evening until I fall asleep. That's easy when the world outside resembles the backdrop of a Patricia Cornwell novel, as it has done here lately.

Wednesday morning, I acquired a new office chair for home. It'll do me no end of good, as it sits tall enough at my desk to allow correct typing posture. I should have done this years ago. Ashley and I drove to the PMR offices in Chepstow in the afternoon, to sort out some issues with several radios. The weather had cleared up sufficiently by then to make it a very pleasant drive, with the deciduous trees along the route glamorous with fresh growth of leaves.