Adrenalin excess impact

Another bright cold autumnal day. I slept fairly well but not as long as I hoped for. I posted the YouTube link to today's Morning Prayer on WhatsApp and got up at nine. We were eight for the Saint Catherine's Eucharist. I left the veg bag collection to Clare as I had a blood test at the surgery after the service. After a savoury lunch of lentils, carrots fried with onions and rice, I walked to Parkwood clinic for an acupuncture appointment with Peter Butcher. Physically speaking I'm a lot better for his treatment of my kidneys, but my confidence has taken a knock, and left me anxious about making on-line payments. There's a water bill to pay and I couldn't face doing it on-line. I found the pdf of the invoice and printed it off later in the day, so it can be paid at the Post Office counter instead, to minimise the possibility of error. I've never been in a state of mind like this before, and woke up feeling anxious about it in the early morning. 

Fortunately, Peter is an experienced therapist. It was helpful talking things through with him. The events of the past five weeks have led to surviving crisis after crisis on sheer adrenaline, so when things don't work out as intended or I encounter difficulties I don't understand, the fight - fright - flight animal instinct kicks in irrationally and maybe without reason, affecting me physically. It's a vicious cycle I have to learn how to break. I feel I need a respite and try to avoid facing things. Hence a workaround solution with bill paying. 

Peter said that kidneys have adrenal glands located on top of them which regulate blood pressure, metabolism, and stress response. They've been working flat out. As the kidneys recover so do the glands. On times they may discharge and generate negative sensations or trauma flashbacks, a bit like a cat or dog shudders as it recovers from loud firework bangs. This offers a valuable insight into what I've been going through. I have to be patient and give it time.

After the session my head was clear and calm. I enjoyed a walk in Llandaff Fields on my way home the hour before sunset. Clare made delicious soup for supper, with freshly harvested beetroot from this week's veg bag. After supper I started work on next Wednesday's Advent Morning Prayer. It has come around so soon! The CofE Daily Prayer app hasn't yet been updated to include the first week of a new liturgical year. The Church in Wales lectionary app was able to supply the proper readings, and I found in my archive the Advent daily office liturgical framework. A fiddly job, but the text is now ready to record.

I learned from the Church Times report on the latest meeting of the Church in Wales Governing Body that there was an impasse in the process of nominating a new Bishop of Bangor, following the controversy and contention aroused by scandal at Bangor Cathedral which led to the resignation of Archbishop Andy John. It's been decided to appoint an interim Bishop of Bangor familiar with the Province but from outside. It would be someone who is already a Bishop, who is prepared to guide the diocese through the painfully difficult and unenviable task of reviewing its life and understanding what went wrong.

I spent the rest of the evening pondering on my conversation with Peter, and resolved to take the next step of facing my phobic reactions slowly, carefully when I feel the time is right and not throw myself at this problem and end up going out of control again.

Sleep loss

By the time I went to bed last night I started worrying about our decision to have solar panels installed and whether we'd given it enough thought. As a result I lay awake for half the night on top of the usual sleep interruptions to empty my bladder. It's no wonder I felt poorly during this morning's Parish Eucharist.  My fitbit is warning me about overdoing it too. I left straight after the service, bought potatoes and grapes in the Co-op and came straight home. 

The congregation was double its usual size with family, friends and lots of extra children attending a baby's baptism. It's good to see that many families are still following social conventions if not faith conviction when it comes to family christenings. It's clear many of the adults are not used to participating in regular worship. I hope they come away from church with a good impression. The pandemic hit church attendance hard, baptism, weddings and funerals included. Church survey reports speak of small signs of reversal in the attendance decline, but nothing yet to impact on the catastrophic decline witnessed in my lifetime.

I confess I would have preferred a quieter Early Communion service instead today. Clare opted to attend the afternoon Welsh language Eucharist instead. After lunch I slept in the armchair for an hour and then walked for three quarters of an hour, and slept in the chair again when I returned. Today has felt like being on an overnight long haul flight, striving to get some rest, and a little exercise walking up and down the aisle to stretch the legs and maintain blood circulation. 

I watched the Matthew Bourne production of Tchaikovsky's 'Sleeping Beauty' after a lighter supper of fruit and chicken only, determined to avoid my digestion working overtime, and allowing me a better night's sleep. I certainly need it.

Virtual SIM virtues

Another cloudy day, comfortably warm. I woke up just before my phone notification sounded to remind me to post today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to the Parish Whats app group, and got up after the eight o'clock news.

As usual I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. We were eleven plus baby Sebastian who was brought by his grandpa for the first time today. It's his first birthday tomorrow, which means he's been in church on Wednesdays almost every week that the family has been in Cardiff for the past eleven months, much to the pleasure of all the regular oldies who make up the congregation. I collected this week's veggie bag from Chapter on my way home, and cooked a pasta dish with the flavoursome black beans which I tried for the first time last week.

I walked to Cowbridge Road East and took a bus to town, aiming to go to John Lewis' and check out a phone I'm thinking of buying - another Moto G. Its abiding appeal, like the one I have currently, is a version of Android which isn't laden with software unwanted to get rid of as soon as I set it up. There's a G24 on offer in the summer sale which is an improvement on mine, which I may offer. It has an added extra in the form of an eSIM, a digital software device which hosts software that emulates a physical SIM. With this I'd be able to buy a second phone number giving me as much data and phone time as I need plus free data roaming in Europe. 

Last year in Nerja I bought a physical SIM and two months worth of data for €20, covering eight of the ten weeks of my stay, a quarter of the cost of paying for EE data roaming. It was Kath's idea. When she and Anto were in Australia they bought an eSIM which covered the weeks of their stay and a lot more too. It's possible to de-activate an eSIM and retain what's left of our data allowance to use on another foreign trip. I'll buy a new phone before our Duoro cruise and add an eSIM there, where the mobile coverage along the Duoro will probably cover the borderlands of Portugal and Spain. Having checked the information, price and availability of the Moto G24, I made my way back to the Holiday Inn bus stop to return home. There are several phone shops in Grand Arcade, each with their own range of phone brands and contract to offer. I was bemused to notice that the EE/BT shop displayed no phones around its walls at all. Customers have to sit down with a store assistant to discuss their needs or wants, and then maybe look at selected ones on screen. The chosen phone is then retrieved when a deal is done from a stock room behind the scenes. It's possible for a customer to order on line and collect their purchase ad lib. An interesting variation in retail practice as it has evolved and grown since Covid.

Clare was walking up the row of shops on Penhill Road as I arrived there from the bus so we walked home together. She surprised, producing at short notice, carrot and coriander soup for supper with the surfeit of carrots available today. After we'd eaten, I went out for some fresh air, following a short spell of drizzle that made the evening smell as clean as at first light. For the rest of the evening I worked my way through my birdsong recordings, editing them, amplifying the sound and cleaning tracks of background noise. This robs them of any natural environment sounds but delivers the essential melody. Very useful if you want to memorise it and identify the bird in question. Fiddly, but worthwhile.

Swedish Advent

Cold cloudy and damp once more today. There were over fifty of us at St Catherine's for this morning's Eucharist. The children performed a short and simple nativity pageant at the end of the service. Half of them are under five, so it was a wee bit chaotic, but nobody minded. It was just lovely to see them take part in performing together for the rest of the congregation, some of them for the first time in their lives I imagine.

After lunch, I went for my afternoon walk, returning before sunset. Once it was dark I found the link that Sara sent me on St Lucy's Day for watching the 'Lucia Morgan' recorded concert on Swedish TV, as she's done over the years. It's a lovely musical occasion with children's and youth choirs, a barbershop singing group and a duo playing violin and nyckelharpa, which is a Swedish bowed instrument about the size of a viola with a keyboard to press the strings down on the neck as finger normally do. It's also called a keyed fiddle or key harp. It's an instrument I've never seen before. 

It takes place, or is meant to take place before dawn in candlelit darkness. It's the Swedish equivalent of a carol service and an initiation ritual event for young girls especially in their schooling. I don't suppose it happens at the crack on dawn in schools! It was a delight to see a sprinkling of snow in Sala where it was filmed this year - a location where there was once a historic silver mine, a site populated by historic buildings. As I was watching, Sara sent me a message and picture from St Andrew's Gothenburg, where she and Gunnar had joined the congregation for the Anglican Nine Lessons and Carols service. As a port city facing Scotland across the North Sea, it's not surprising there's been a chaplaincy there since 1857, six years before St Peter and St Sigfrid's Stockholm, a testimony to maritime trade routes back then I guess.

After supper we watched the Antiques Roadshow, then I read for an hour and a half before early bed.

Advent awakening recalled

It rained in the night, but cleared for a while in the morning and the sun broke through the clouds. A good eight hours sleep, following an early night. I benefit from going to bed early but struggle to change my routine, as I enjoy remembering reflecting and writing while I relax at the end of the day.

I drove to St German's for Mass for a change and joined a congregation of thirty for a traditional Advent Sunday Liturgy. Fr Jarel didn't preach, as a Parish bring and share lunch was going to follow the service, combined with a group conversation envisaging the next ten years in church life, leading up to the 150th anniversary celebrations. I didn't know this was happening and didn't consider staying on. I am after all part of the past fourteen years of St German's and may not live long enough to see the day. At least the sun shone during the service, always a consolation in such a beautiful light filled building. 

I set out for home half an hour earlier than I normally would. The traffic across the city centre was very slow and took fifteen minutes longer than the journey there. I arrived earlier than Clare expected, so she'd been late starting lunch, not that it mattered., I opened a bottle of Italian Merlot that I won at the Christmas Fayre last week and listened to the news once I laid the table. 

The sky clouded over again by the time I went for an afternoon walk in the park. There was a lot of water on the roads from earlier showers and my lower half got soaked by a car driving through a water filled pothole. Later on there was a ten minute shower of rain, soaking my top jacket. Although my trousers dried out while I was walking, they needed washing as roadside puddle water is inevitably dirty water.

After an early supper we went to St Catherine's for the Advent Carol service. Nearly four dozen people attended. There was meant to be a bidding prayer at the start of the service, but it didn't happen. I suspect nobody reminded Fr Sion that he needed to provide his own text for this. There is a suitable one in the Oxford Carols for Choirs, which needs to be provided for the officiating cleric, or they need to be told in advance so that they come prepared. I've been nearly caught out by this before and glad that I'm no longer responsible and facing the congregation for worship.

Being in the congregation for Advent Sunday holds a special memory for me. In my first term as an undergraduate, I attended a silent retreat at a convent in Salisbury which catalysed a spiritual awakening in me that opened a way to contemplate the mystery of God. As a child I went to the early Communion service with my mother and this made an impression on me. I connect these two experiences as markers on my journey which set me in the direction life has taken me. 

Fifty seven years of active participation in the church's mission and ministry later, in response to a call which first came to me through others, I still wonder if I made the right choice. I never felt comfortable about being in the social role of a clergyman and it took time to feel completely at ease acting as a priest and preacher representing the church before God, and God's Word to the church. It's a matter of learning to pray all over again when performing the priestly role. When you no longer occupy the role it's a matter of re-discovering if not learning, how to pray as an individual member of the Body, blessed with the time and space in which to do so.

And now, another effort to get to bed earlier and change my habit!

Storm Bert fills the Taff to overflowing

Rain in the night and lighter rain most of the morning flood warnings galore. Miserable. We went to Saint Catherine's for the Eucharist. With the Sunday school children, wearing paper crowns in honour of Christ the King at the end, we were over forty. Despite the weather yesterday's Christmas Fayre exceeded last year's revenue by more than ten percent. Hilary remarked on the number of older non churchgoing people from the neighbourhood, among those making the effort to attend the Fayre. It's a positive indication about the good will the church enjoys locally. 

After lunch, I took a brolly and my camera for a walk in the rain down to Blackweir. As expected after two days of continuous rain, often heavy was exceptionally high, high enough to break through the banks on both sides, flooding the fields. It was worse this time than when the fields last flooded, with water this time reaching up as far as the initial west side flood protection dyke where the ground level rises sharply by about a metre. The last time this happened on 17th Feb 2020, during storm 'Dennis'. I'm not sure without checking the photos I took then if it was as bad then. I need to check my photo archive. Then I walked up to the Western Avenue road bridge and there the water was spilling over on both sides of the river, and the Taff Trail was awash. 

Up until now remedial work on a few places on the banks and riverbed undertaken after the last big inundation have contained heavy flow pretty well. The volume of water and the speed at which it's being dumped by storm 'Bert' suggest a higher scale of magnitude, such as was seen recently in Valencia, on a much bigger scale given the size of the mountains and area of the watershed. I wonder what more can be done in the flood plain occupied by the city, to improve flood protection further? 

I got home just after sunset, a mile short of my daily target. I didn't want to get any wetter than I already was. In the evening we watched Antiques Road show, and then BBC's Young Jazz Musician of the Year. A brilliant and inspiring display of musicianship from competitors aged between 18 and 22. This year a new performance item was added to the programme, in which all four finalists performed a Charlie Parker tune which they'd learned to play together from scratch in the previous 48 hours. Such a joy!

Noticeboard update at long last

Another dull cloudy start to the day. It's Kath's birthday, so I sang a Happy Birthday message to her over WhatsApp, as soon as I got out of bed. At the moment she's sending us lots of photos of scenic places she and Anto have been visiting during their Santa Pola holiday. It's 35C in Alicante Province at the moment, so many of the pictures feature cool tree lined watery places inland.

After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's and was delighted to see a new updated church notice board just installed. It's bi-lingual, with names and email addresses of Fr Andrew and Fr Sion. It even has the QR code for the church website. It was last updated when the former Rectorial Benefice was in place, and Fr Mark was team leader. He moved on five and a half years ago. By that time the existing notice board had been there ten years. Service time changes and new Team Vicars meant changes to the content were effected with a strip of tape over the original. A poor statement about being 'church for others' in our Parish. The update is due to an ex-public relations professional now as priest in charge.

On my way to fetch the veggie bag from Chapter, I shopped for foodbank groceries in Tesco's and dropped them off at St John's. Clare was already cooking a prawn stir fry with rice for lunch when I arrived home. Despite a good night's sleep and not feeling tired, I slept in the chair for three quarters of an hour after we'd eaten. Some days I relax after a meal and don't fall asleep and other days I do. There seems to be no logic to it.

Later in the afternoon I went out and did the week's Coop grocery shopping, then want to Thompson's Park before supper to check on the Moorhens. There was no sight of the chicks or the male bird, only the female dabbling in the mud under the reed bed. I wonder where they have gone?

For a change we watched two engaging programmes on live telly: 'The Repair Shop' and 'Fake or Fortune'. Impressive demonstrations of artisan skills in the first and investigative art expertise in the second. In the evening news, the Israeli army has turned its attention to Iranian backed armed groups in refugee camps in Palestinian West Bank territory in the worst military incursion in twenty years. 

Lethal violence by illegal Israeli settlers driving Palestinians from their homes and land has continued unchecked for years. All this contributes to undermining the governing Palestinian Authority and reflects the Netanyahu government's rejection of any settlement leading to a Palestinian state. Total outrageous disregard for the welfare of millions of Palestinians makes the risk of total war in the Middle East seems closer than ever as a result. It's heartbreaking foolishness.

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.

Watery Sunday

Another day of continuous rain and strong gusts of wind. I preached at St Catherine's parish Eucharist this morning and Fr Rhys celebrated. Coincidentally, the Gospel for this Creation Sunday was about Jesus stilling the storm. We sang amongst other things '... Those in peril on the sea', an anthem on the text 'Save me O God for the waters have come up unto my soul' and Colin's recessional voluntary was from Handel's Water music.

It rained so much that I didn't go out for a walk until the sun had set and weather seemed to be changing with the rain and wind starting and stopping a few times. I walked down to the Taff in the dark and for the first time saw the water had risen up on to the footpath along the bank by Blackweir bridge. There was an obstruction, maybe a tree in the middle below the weir and the water was shooting up four to five metres from the river bed into the air. I was made at myself for not taking a camera. My Blackbery camera isn't sophisticated enough to take night shots. What a spectacle!

Confined to the house most of the day, I got out the scanner and did another batch of nineties negatives - Owain's 21st birthday, a Geneva visit by Rachel on back of her boyfriend's motorbike, some of the holiday Rachel and Clare had in the Cyclades in 1999, while I was viting Mongolia on an eco-tourism project assessment, pictures of Eddy and Ann in Geneva and East Anglia. Lovely memories.

To tried installing the scanner on the new desktop machine but failed as the only driver update was going to cost me nearly as much as a new scanner. But it still works with my old  2009 Vista workstation. I found that I could connect it up to the old Sony TV sitting in the attic doing nothing. I used a HDMI cable I didn't know I had until today. More convenient than using my regular PC monitor. I stopped scanning at nine to watch another tense episode of 'Trigger Point', then spent an hour sorting and sharing files of digitised photos before turning in for the night.

Accession Day seventy

Another Sunday on the receiving end, sitting in a pew at St Catherine's for the Parish Eucharist, and by the looks of it, another week ahead without a funeral to take. Archbishop Rowan was also in the congregation, and afterwards we both said what a relief it was, not to be on duty. There were eighteen Sunday School children in church and over three dozen adults as well. Let's hope that attendance will continue to grow, now that Wales has gone back to Alert Level 0.

Today is the 70th anniversary of the Queen's accession to the throne on the death of King George VI, her father. I remember hearing about it from my mother as a nearly seven year old, after it was announced on the BBC Home Service. Fr Rhys preached about the call to discipleship, but I don't understand how he could have failed fail to mention the Queen's ministry by example as the head lay person of the Church of England, especially when she has so often made it clear that her commitment to service is rooted in her Christian  faith. He did, however mention mention the Jubilee in the intercessions, and Colin played 'God save the Queen' as people got up to leave after the Dismissal, and many of the congregation (especially the older ones) stood and sang, albeit informally. I felt that somehow this was not thought through beforehand.

When I got home afterwards, I resumed working on scanning negatives of Clare's winter journey to North Sweden with Owain in 1987. Half the negatives were actually of their stop-over in Itzehoe, near Hamburg. They'd taken the ferry there from the U.K. and flown to Stockholm before flying up to the Arctic Circle, but the travel details are a little hazy. I continued after lunch until I had nearly seventy digital photos, with just a few discarded because the camera used hadn't worked properly, maybe a flash issue. It's funny that I don't recall seeing any of them before. I may have seen them, but they're not rooted in my memory as I wasn't there and didn't take the pictures.

Though the weather had been fine thought cloudy, I didn't go out for a walk until four. When I stepped out of the house it began to rain, but didn't persist for long. A chill north wind blew, driving the clouds away as I walked. There must have been a lot of rain in the night as the water level in the Taff had risen by half a metre since yesterday.

Clare called Kath for the first time since she caught covid. She's been afflicted with a painful sore throat for days, and while it's subsiding now, the question is how long will it be before she tests negative and can return to work, having been obliged to cancel classes and stay away from show rehearsals all last week.

After supper, we watched the day's reports from the Winter Olympics and a historically fascinating edition of Antiques Roadshow together. Then I watched tonight's episode of the new ITV drama 'Trigger point'. Half way through its six episodes, and still the air of mystery and dramatic tension is being sustained, though some of the dialogue is mumbled and far from clear, and this sabotages the plot development. Such a shame.

Memento mori again

A walk to St Catherine's after breakfast to celebrate St Paul and his companions Timothy and Titus in one go, with eight others. Then, on to St John's for the day's funeral. I emailed the Coop FD yesterday evening to ask if they could give me a lift to the cemetery but got no response. With covid health and safety nerves I wasn't sure they'd be able to agree, so I went home got the car and parked it near St John's just in case. It wasn't a big a funeral as anticipated, as Traveller families often are - forty in church and at the cemetery.

I rode to Western cemetery wedged into the back seat of a new high topped hearse powered by a hybrid engine. An expensive American style casket was used, so big that was it hard for the bearers to handle, as one of them said quietly - heaver than the lady inside. Its size made it hard to get the main wreaths alongside it or on top without squashing them,

The grave digger welcomed me with a smile - twice in a week - we bantered with each other. He looked after the funeral I did on Monday. All worked as intended, except  the chief mourner said that I'd got one of the sibling's names wrong. He wasn't much bothered and I apologised, but later when I checked the photo of the I received, it turned out it wasn't my transcription error but most likely a dictation error. Someone had heard and written down 'Bettie' when the person mentioned was called 'Beatie'. The name was written three times in clear handwriting, so there was no doubt about this. The text wasn't checked for errors before sending. Ah well, these things happen, if there's no possibility of face to face contact beforehand. 

Technology cannot deliver us from simple communications errors, as I was reminded yesterday listening to the fourth Reith Lecture on AI. With a phenomenally powerful AI managed system one simple program error could be catastrophic, indeed we've seen this with very smart aircraft navigation systems causing hundreds of lives. It's the old sorcerer's apprentice conundrum writ large.

Then back to Canton to collect the car and drive home for a late lunch of curried chick peas and veggies, most welcome on a cold day. As our regular organic veggie bag pick up point was near where I left the car, I collected it en route. Later, after a restorative snooze, I walked to Beanfreaks to collect this week's dairy free grocery order, while Clare continued to work on re-painting the kitchen, which she's done in stages since the damp area re-plastering had dried out for sure. No change in paint colour, we still really like what we decided upon eleven years ago before we moved in.

We watched an amazing 'Winterwatch' programme again this evening, which featured unique footage from a heat sensitive camera of a fox attacking and killing a stoat. One predator preying on another, in effect removing competition for a share of smaller victims in the same territory. Also wonderful shots of Hen Harriers coming to roost in the same location in winter. 

This was followed by a powerful edition of 'Storyville' on BBC Four called 'The man who saw too much.' in which Alan Yentob interviewed a 106 year old Slovenian man Boris Pahor, the last living survivor of a Nazi death camp in Alsace, telling his nightmare of a story story. He may only have survive because we spoke Slovenian, Italian and French and was spared to serve as a translator. He's written several book and quotes from them were included, powerful, moving, poetic, eloquent in stark simplicity. An appropriate programme choice ahead of Holocaust Memorial day commemorations tomorrow.

On the verge of Christmas.

After six hours sleep and breakfast, we drove home practicing the anthem 'And the glory of the Lord' from the Messiah, by singing along to it on YouTube in the car. After a late lunch, we collected our Christmas veggie bag and groceries. We were due at St Catherine's for a four thirty choir rehearsal ahead of a six o'clock Nine Lessons and Carol service. With all the rushing around we were both dog tired, and gave it our best effort, but three hours of singing felt more like an ordeal than a celebration. 

A hundred adults and children turned up and the choir was double its usual numbers. Considering how under-rehearsed it was, the service went quite well, driven by Colin our director of music and organist at a brisk pace. Children were supposed to sing at the crib, but I'm not sure if many did, they were so quiet and just stared at the congregation, as if they were in a Nativity tableau. It might have been easier if they'd been encouraged to turn to the crib behind them. Room for improvement here for next year.

I couldn't help wondering about the spread of the omicron covid variant. Apart from the kids, everyone in church was masked, apart from choristers when singing, socially distanced, sort of. It seems however, that Wales infections are still predominantly the delta variant which hasn't yet been swamped by omicron. There are more new restrictions on public events and advice about domestic social mixing from Welsh First Minister Mark Drakeford, much clearer than the English government's comparatively muddled messaging. This won't have much impact on the majority of Christmas family gatherings. Use of lateral flow tests is recommended as a precaution, although there had been some supply issues, as the demand is naturally very high.

Today after three weeks of set-backs is having her engineer broken gas central heating boiler replaced at last. The incompetence with which British Gas dealt with her plight until she kicked up a rumpus is truly phenomenal. The equipment is being installed, but will anyone explain to her exactly and in detail how it works, and most importantly, can be controlled?

Yesterday night I received an email request to provide a job reference for Rufus, and drafted this after returning from the carol service, although I would preferred to go to bed early, but promised to deliver by tomorrow. I needed a brisk walk in the dark to rid myself of accumulated tension before turning in. Singing in the Parish Carol service after driving home with no respite in between was pretty exhausting. To be avoided with better planning in future. Christmas hasn't started yet.

Christmas disappointment

Although I was up in time this morning, I was later than usual posting the link to this week's video as I got distracted, by an early call. We were told to expect the arrival of the boiler repair man between eleven and one. This meant I couldn't attend Mass at St John's, but I went down there anyway to take our food bank offerings, only to find that there was no collection this week. Ruth took it instead to add to offerings for Ty Bronna, the local Church Army supported youth homelessness centre, which also relies on donations. There's no end to the need of people who've fallen on hard times in and around our city.

The boiler repair man arrived at noon and the job only took him half an hour. It was a matter of replacing a valve, source of the leak. I had lunch ready for Clare when she returned from kindergarten, with a huge bunch of yellow roses,co a thankyou gift from the children, on her last day of working with them.

We had an email from Jasmine's dad John to say that of necessity, their Christmas holiday trip to had been cancelled, given the on-going covid crisis here. Disappointed, yes - but surprised no. Slowly we're seen the return of restrictions aiming to curb the spread, but really it was too late from the day the first case was noticed. It's likely it spread surreptitiously over weeks beforehand. Only yesterday did I put copies of this year's newsletter in with sixty odd Christmas cards announcing her coming. This afternoon I posted them all anyway, but amended the digital version to send with another sixty email greetings, after devising a Christmas greeting to accompany it. 

After supper we went to choir practice at St Catherine's and worked our way through all the special music for the service of Lessons and Carols a week tonight. It was hard work.

When we returned, I watched the last one of the thirty two episodes of 'Crossing Lines'. It gives no indication of being a closing episode, nor does it give tantalising indications of story lines incomplete, as do some of the movie sagas that have graced our screens this past decade. Well it was above average while it lasted. worth watching to gain insight into the dystopian side of our contemporary world.

Healing progress

I had another good night of sleep in which I only had to get up and go to the toilet once in seven hours. It's such a difference, very much a measure of the continuing healing of the wound in my perineum. I am so grateful for this. This week's Morning Prayer and Reflection link was posted to the Parish WhatsApp at eight, minutes after I woke up, later than usual.

I went to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist with seven others this morning, then returned and cooked lunch in time for Clare's return from her eurythmy session in school. Straight after eating I had to leave on foot to get to Pidgeon's Chapel for a funeral service, after which I was taken to Western Cemetery for the burial. It just started to rain when we arrived there, but with a big funeral director's brolly in hand I didn't get too wet at the graveside.

When I got back I drafted my Sunday sermon before eating an early supper to enable us both to get to choir practice at St Catherine's in time. I really must remember to take a torch next week as I had extra difficulty reading the music, despite the church lights being full on. I just seem to need a lot more light to read printed pages by these days. Then, back home and a couple more 'Crossing Lines' episodes before bed. It's really rather addictive, with a variety of photogenic European locations setting the scene for different and sometimes original stories, even if the use of advanced hi-tech devices and travel time compression risk the plausibility of the tale.

Pub conversion

I uploaded my Morning Prayer video just after Thought for the Day, then got up for breakfast. I was happy to sit in the congregation for the Eucharist at St John's - unusually, only four of us were there with Mother Frances. 

After the service I went and had a look around 'The Corporation', the Victorian pub/hotel on the corner of Canton Cross which has been redeveloped as a small indoor market for sole traders selling books clothes, cards, wine, Italian pastries. There's a bar at the centre of it all, and in the yard outdoors I believe there are street food stalls as well. 

It's been fitted out very simply, with each retail space apportioned off using the kind of heavy gauge steel mesh used in re-enforced concrete structures, clever as the spaces can by adjusted in size if needs be. It has an entrepreneurial hip style to it and is a splendid enhancement to the mix of small shops which still distinguishes Canton as an urban village.

Home then to cook lunch, and afterwards a walk in the park up to Llandaff weir and back. After an early supper we went to choir practice at St Catherine's. At the end I learned that the Advent Carol service for which we were rehearsing is to take place at five a week Sunday, which rules me out for singing as I have an Advent service to take at four over in St German's, so won't be able to do the final rehearsal or turn up on time. Ah well.

Another two part adaptation of a P D James novel in the Channel 5 series 'Dalgleish'. It's quite good, but I'd prefer a two hour movie on one night, rather than having to block time two nights in a row, as seems to be the fashion nowadays.

A busy Armistice Day

Up at seven thirty to post the Morning Prayer link on the Parish WhatsApp thread, then back to bed for an hour before breakfast. Then I went to the Eucharist at St John's, not expecting to celebrate. I got there just in time and found a few people outside waiting with worried looks for a priest to turn up. I didn't have it in my dairy, though intended attending, not sure why. I had my alb with me anyway, as I planned to stay on until it was time to officiate at the funeral of the day, and soon had everything ready for Mass, so we only started five minutes late.

The timing of the Eucharist was just right to to stop for the two minutes silence at eleven, which I was glad about. After the service I realised that I'd forgotten to print out the list of attendees at the funeral needing to be checked in for track and trace purposes, so I had to go home and do that. As ever, Windows was terribly slow, with a five minute job taking fifteen due to a string of updates in the throes of updating, just when I most needed it to be quick. It really is unacceptable, unfit for purpose. Anyway I had enough time to prepare all the veggies for lunch before returning to church with half an hour to spare.

 

The deceased was in his mid eighties with a big family, but also well known locally, so were more than double the number of attendees listed as signing in for the service. Heaven help us if anything untoward happens. It's very difficult to control a crowd of stubborn people who feel slighted and entitled to enter their parish church, if they are refused - the one they rarely attend, and a large number won't wear a mask since being double or triple vaccination. Even when asked to wear a mask for the safe of others people self-exempt, and not for medical reasons.

Still the service went off fine, apart from the fact that it had the wrong start time on the cover, two typos and the logo of another funeral company on the back. How that happened I don't know, but Pidegons, who arranged the funeral weren't pleased as they hadn't been asked to produce the leaflet, only to hand it out!

When I got back from the cemetery at three, my cooked lunch was warm and waiting for me. Then, a walk in the park before dark and an early supper as we both went to choir practice at St Catherine's, preparing for Advent, before ending the evening with another episode of 'Dalgliesh', this one a two parter finishing tomorrow. Then winding up a surprisingly full and tiring day.

Fruitful Sunday

The traffic was quite light when I drove to St German's to celebrate the Eucharist this morning, though not on the return journey, and again I got back for lunch at half past one. Clare said that St Catherine's organist Colin was late arriving because of traffic, but he would have been on the move half an hour before me and travelling in the different direction. I daresay there is an observable pattern of congested roads at specific times on the weekend, depending on sports events and people's shopping habits, but nothing is predictable with accuracy. It's just necessary to leave plenty of time for possible delays.

We had fish pie made with sweet potato for lunch, followed by strained puréed crab apple pulp. The juice from five pounds of fruit made five half pound jars of very firm jelly, plus three and a half jars of purée, a lot of work following half an hour's picking but worthwhile for the special taste. I'm looking forward to a gammon steak with puréed crab apples!

St German's church council has agreed to a Carol service on the Sunday before Christmas, and asked for a series of Advent evening services using the Great 'O' antiphons. After lunch I found a digital copy of the key Anglican occasional services text of the book 'From Advent to Candlemass', and devised a form of Evening Prayer using material from it, for approval. It's great they're keen to do something. and not just run minimally during the period of ministerial vacancy.

I went for a walk up to the Cathedral mid afternoon, too late to be there for the start of Evensong, but it was lovely as a walked past to hear the choir within singing the Gloria of the Psalm and as I was leaving, the Magnificat. The colours produced by the setting sun as I walked by the side of the Taff were glorious.

As soon as I got back, I recorded and edited the audio for this week's Morning Prayer on Armistice Day and added this to the selection of photos I made straight after lunch and edited the slide timings, uploading to YouTube after supper. Slowly, steadily I'm getting used to this routine, so production has fewer glitches or slow-downs, and the process of creation takes three to four hours a week nowadays.

In the evening, we sat and watched the latest BBC crimmie serial 'Showtrial' together. I didn't watch the first episode last week, as I had other things to do, but having had a satisfactory and productive day so far, I made myself sit and watch something/anything, as last Sunday I worked for too long at the computer and ended up with a nose bleed.

Celebrating Butetown's diversity champion

The central heating fired up automatically early this morning for the first time since spring, as the ambient temperature of the house dropped below its threshold. It was cold yesterday and cold again today, bright and sunny, and thankfully no rain. After breakfast I drove Ann and Clare to the train station before driving to Saint Catherine's to celebrate St Michael and All Angels with six others plugging a gap at Mthr Frances' request. Fr Roy Doxsey agreed to cover St German's, although I was scheduled to be there. Clare stayed in town and went to see the Richard Burton biographical exhibition in the Museum.

After the Eucharist, I collected this week's veggie bag, and completed preparation for next Thursdays Morning Prayer and reflection, ready to record and edit when I got back from my walk around the park. On BBC Wales after supper was a programme about the making of a new statue celebrating the life and work of Butetown's Betty Campbell, Wales' first black head teacher and anti-racist campaigner who died four years ago. Her image was chosen by poll to represent heroic Welsh women in history. She lived, worked and died at the heart of the community she served, and was as proud to call herself a Cardiffian as she was to say she was black.

I was surprised to find when I looked on the Wales on-line website at five o'clock, that there was only a brief mention in the breaking news blog of the unveiling of the statue today, and not even a mention of its location outside the new HMRC building in Wood Street. Admittedly, photos were posted on a new page by six o'clock, but news of the statue unveiling had been run by the BBC on the Today programme in the morning, and on a BBC news web page. The statue itself was featured on Radio Four's 'Front Row' programme at seven fifteen in the evening, on top of the TV programme I saw. The Media Wales building is a hundred and fifty yards along Wood Street from HMRC, how come they were so slow to report on this? I should point out that new BBC Wales HQ is also on Wood Street directly opposite HMRC but why were Media Wales editorial team lagging behind the Beeb, when this was happening on their block?

I think we're in for some terminological wrangling. Wood Street is the main thoroughfare running though that part of the city centre designated as the Central Square Redevelopment. Actually, Central Square is the open paved space with Brunel's Cardiff railway station 1920s facade on the south side and the back entrance of the BBC on the north. On the west side are numbers one and two Central Square, the BBC is number three. The east side of the square is where the new bus station complex is under construction. So Betty's statue is within the Central Square development, though not in Central Square, but Wood Street. If all early news reports omit to mention Wood Street, we can look forward to confusion!

Still, it's a great day for the city. I'll be donw there with my camera taking photos tomorrow, under orders from my sister June.

A Sunday Parish Feast

This morning I joined Clare in the choir for the Sung Eucharist at St Catherine's, with Fr Colin celebrating and a congregation of about thirty. It was the first day for the resumption of Sunday School and there were half a dozen children in church with their parents at the end when we sang a whacky tongue twisting take on the Benedicite Omnia Opera canticle called 'O ye badgers and hedgehogs bless the Lord.' I think the adults enjoyed it even more than the kids judging by the round of applause we got.

Straight after the service I drove to St German's and arrived just in time for the recitation of the Angelus. Fr Stewart had celebrated and preached, and we had a chat afterwards about interregnum arrangements. I then joined the congregation in the church hall for a three course parish lunch with wine, laid on simply to celebrate the end of restrictions on such social activities. I think there were about forty of us present, all very happy about this return to normality. 

I was on the retired clerics table with Fr Roy Doxsey and Fr Paul Bigmore, who was telling us about the launch next month of the fourth compendium of hymns he's written and published. Roy has been retired eight years, but Paul had to take early retirement after a stroke greatly limited his mobility. He's mostly confined to his apartment on Fitzhamon Embankment nowadays and unable to minister publicly, so he pours all his creative energy into hymn writing. It's so good that he was able to come.

Choral Evensong from St David's Cathedral started on the radio as I was driving home. The Collect for Peace and the Blessing were said in Welsh, which was very pleasing. I would have liked to hear a bit more in Welsh, but suppose the BBC barons would be averse to this as it's nationally networked. At least we in the Church in Wales have this expression of ancient diversity, being constitutionally bi-lingual, and with our first translation of the Book of Common Prayer dating from shortly after 1662, along with the French version, the earliest renderings of reformation vernacular liturgy.

I listened to the first half in the car and the second half at home. It was gone five by the time I went out to walk off that generous lunch, as I fell asleep for an hour in the chair after the service finished. After supper, there was a two hour programme on BBC Four about the history of artist's self-portraiture from the Renaissance to present times. It was absorbing watching for the range of paintings shown, described and interpreted by art historian Laura Cummings. 

I was glad to spend time looking and listening to an expert whose insight in the personalities and spirit of an era in which personal individuality evolved and flourished was most worthwhile. Clare thought the content could have been packed into an hour long programme, but she was conflicted about such a long watch as she'd just embarked on a tricky sewing project to turn a set of four armchair covers inside out to improve the colour match.

After the programme, I completed and uploaded to YouTube this week's Thursday Office and Reflection. The time taken to put visuals together with the completed audio is reducing thankfully, the more I do this. The habit of regular video production is improving my ability to judge timings between the visual elements. Sure, I could plan properly by doing a paper time-line and stop-watch components of the audio, but that seems like such an effort. Real life event timing is not nearly as mechanical. It has a feel to it, just like playing something on a musical instrument. Now I get all the components roughly in place and play with what I see and hear until it feels right. Somehow that's much more rewarding than trying to engineer the product.

What is a timely death?

While I was posting this morning's video upload to WhatsApp just before 'Thought for the Day', it started to rain heavily. It didn't continue like that all day, showers came and went, giving way to sunshine late afternoon, freshening the air, prompting the birds to sing. We haven't heard much from them recently.

Archbishop George Carey is in the news today together with Rabbi Jonathan Romaine spearheading a debate as part of a campaign to permit assisted dying in certain controlled circumstances. It seems there is a growing tide of opinion in favour of this in Britain, although the majority of religious leaders are opposed to it. It will be interesting to see how Parliament responds to draft bill proposals. 

There are countries where voluntary euthanasia is allowed - Belgium, Luxembourg, Spain, Switzerland, some Australian states, New Zealand and Canada. We have an increasing problem due to medical success in keeping people alive when they might have died earlier naturally. This can so easily prolong someone's helplessness and suffering, so matter how good palliative care can be if available. We have plenty of ideas about what a good life consists of, but don't readily consider what a good death may look like.

I attended the Eucharist at St John's taking the shopping trolley with me, avoiding puddles. Archbishop Rowan celebrated with a dozen of us. On the way back I called at Beanfreaks and collected the groceries Clare ordered yesterday and then forgot to collect. She was in school this morning, fitting the kindergarten class with eurythmy shoes. She brought the entire stock of tiny shoes back home with her for a machine wash. They made a cute sight drying outdoors between showers.

While I was out walking in the park after lunch, the piano tuner came for the first time since the pandemic. The piano wasn't badly out of tune, but it has benefited from some TLC, so Clare is pleased, playing and singing happily in preparation for choir practice at St Catherine's. We had supper early, then went to choir practice together and sang for an hour and a half. I was surprised how tired my voice was by the end, not to mention the rest of me. Early to bed now.