Grand Slam weekend fiesta

Clare went for a swim and gym session yesterday morning and we met for lunch afterwards in John Lewis' restaurant, before I walked back to Riverside Clinic for my daily dressing appointment, at a  later time than usual. Already the influx of green shirted rugby fans was noticeable, standing outside pubs, drinking and chatting in the damp afternoon air, enjoying the weekend around tomorrow's six nations final match. A quarter of a million people are expected to descend on Cardiff to watch inside the Principality Stadium, or outside.

This morning I walked to Lidl's in Leckwith to get some bargain packs of cashew nuts, which mixed with olive oil and a dash of salt can be blended into a deliciously tasty butter substitute. Walking there and back along 150 metres of footpath alongside the park next to the store, I collected around fifty discarded cans, bottles and paper cups, disfiguring the greensward. The sight of this offends me, and still the best way to cope with the resentment this arouses in me is to do some 'wombling' as the family call it. 

Returning up Llandaff Road, I saw small groups of mainly men dressed in red shirts walking towards town, chatting about the prospects for the day. They walk in, rather than driving and attempting to park close in to the centre. Bus services become rather erratic on days of high congestion like this one, and stop altogether two hours before the match, so those with stadium tickets won't risk being held up - and they need time for a few beers as well.

The earlier wind brought first drizzle, then a steady downpour of rain, so going out and walking into town to savour the atmosphere lost all its appeal.  I watched the second half of the match on TV and was astonished at how superbly the Welsh team played to claim its fourteenth victory in a row, not to mention its fourth Grand Slam victory in the new millennium. Cardiff will be a happy rowdy place tonight. I dread to think about the amount of litter that will be generated. For the most part it will have been cleared away by lunchtime tomorrow. If only the same effort and focus were applied to tidying all the city's parks and public spaces! 

Because I walk the same streets almost daily, on my way to the clinic or the shops, I am aware that dropped or parked bottles, cans, cups and cartons lie in the same place for days, even weeks at a time. I don't think that the thinly distributed array of local litter bins get emptied more than once a week either. By the time the weekend arrives, park bins may already on their way to being full, and by Sunday night are overflowing. Our filthy streets are a testimony to consumer carelessness and to cutbacks in municipal spending.

The evening, the last couple of episodes of Icelandic crimmie 'Trapped' were shown on BBC Four. An impressive and touching drama, full of interesting characters with tragic family secrets, topical social issues, and a backdrop of amazing scenery. People I know have spoken highly of the holiday visits to Iceland. I don't think I could enjoy the clouds and rain however. Cross country skiing in midwinter would be great, but for the short days and long nights, so it won't feature on my tourism wish list any time soon. At the moment all I can hope for is to be fit enough and able to travel again.

Sunday missed

A leisurely family supper last night was followed by an equally leisurely family breakfast. I think we all enjoyed it so much that we're contemplating arranging another hotel weekend together for a repeat gathering. When Rachel and Jasmine next come over maybe? 

We parted company just after eleven, Owain returning with Kath, Anto and Rhiannon to Bristol and showing them his new flat, and us heading back to Cardiff. High winds disrupted traffic using the main Severn crossing, the old bridge was closed. This meant lane closures and traffic queuing on the M69 to get on to the M4 westbound,adding twenty minutes to our journey. Although I had been very comfortable driving on Friday afternoon, I couldn't get comfortable at all during this journey, so we stopped at Magor services so that Clare could drive, as my distress was impairing my concentration. It's impossible to why this set back occurred, except that I was still feeling tired and stiff from sitting around so much yesterday, bouts of exercise notwithstanding.

The demise of advertised eight o'clock Communion services at churches within reach of the hotel and the long family breakfast meant having to miss the Sunday Eucharist altogether. I wasn't happy about this but simply had to accept it, and be sure to add the Liturgy of the Word for Lent One into my saying of the Daily Office. I was disappointed not to be able to worship as a visitor in a church I haven't been to before. This doesn't happen very often, and it's an opportunity to learn something new about congregational life in changing times.

After a quick lunch when we arrived home, Clare was collected and taken to Bristol for her monthly study session. I went to bed and watched last night's double episode of Icelandic crimmie 'Trapped' on my Chromebook. There wasn't much either of us fancied watching in the evening, apart from an episode of 'Allo! Allo!', which always makes us laugh out loud, tiredness notwithstanding. Then early bed, desperate for more sleep. 

Welcome home Rhys

This morning at St Catherine's Fr Rhys Jenkins presided and baptised at the Parish Eucharist. It's his first Sunday as NSM Associate Priest in the Benefice, a welcome addition to the team, as he lives in the community and is already well known and loved. Although this was a Sunday off for Emma, she took part in the celebration, welcoming Rhys at the start and administering Communion with him.

After an early lunch, I went to the wound clinic in St David's. Only on my way back did I realise that I had no appointment booked for tomorrow. I called the nursing helpline, but they were unable to fix one for me, as this team doesn't have access to the clinic's booking diary. I found St David's hospital reception number on-line, however, and was able to contact the clinic and obtain a date. It seems to me that the NHS suffers greatly from not having an computer data management system handling all the information of every department in an integrated way. It's not an impossible thing to achieve. 

The problem is, that the use of computer systems in hospital medicine evolved at different rates in different departments over decades. And each is a law unto itself. Many existing systems are out of date. Also they are not as secure as they need to be against malicious hackers. In other countries it seems, integrated information systems have been the norm for decades. Attempts to do the same in the UK have so far been expensive failures. To what extent, I wonder, does this reflect lack of shared vision about the future of the service offered? A bit like the failure of the brexit process to declare unequivocally what kind of future the UK wants, as opposed to what brexiteers are clear they don't want in future. 'Without a vision people perish' as the saying goes, as we spiral into chaos.

We didn't go out together in the afternoon. It rained. After a siesta, Clare had a school meeting from four until six with her eurythmy colleague Jacquie, so Russell came over with her, to drink coffee and chat for the duration. It was good to welcome him here for a change. 

After supper I watched the last episode of ITV's Inspector Morse prequel 'Endeavour', and very good it was too, telling a story of police corruption in the seventies. Before and after I watched on iPlayer the two episodes of the Icelandic crimmie 'Trapped', missed last night. It continues to develop interestingly, touching on current themes of multinational industry colonialism, environmental pollution, homophobia and political corruption, xenophobia and nationalist extremism. So many themes, tightly played out in a constricted social setting with awesome landscapes. Very much a modern Icelandic saga.

Exploring Atlantic Wharf

I spent a good part of Friday in the office, the Owain arrived early evening and we went out for a drink and brought home a very nice pizza for supper from 'La Cabrisella', a small Italian run place down on Cowbridge Road, and drank rather a lot of wine together while we talked. He stayed the night and then spent the day looking up friends and watching the rugby in a cup with friends.

The weather was good, so in the afternoon I made the effort to go into town, undecided about whether to catch a bus somewhere or walk to Penarth, but decided go and photograph some of the new buildings across the London-Paddington railway line, where the new Central Cardiff Enterprise Zone developing in the vicinity of the stylish if daftly named 'Smart Bridge' pedestrian railway crossing. 

Historically, this was an area of dockland industries and poor housing called 'Newtown', being one of the first areas of the city to expand with Irish migrant labourers in the early nineteenth century. There's no trace of its early history, as it was a poor area, and it has been built over several times since then. Only the name on map serves as a reminder of its story.  

Then, my eye drew me past newish Tyndall Street hotels, down Schooner Way, with the Novotel on the corner, interestingly combining old warehouse with new-build glass and steel.

There's now the huge Waterside residential area in the old dockyard terrain between Atlantic Wharf and Lloyd George Avenue, with new-build houses, attractively interlinked with canals flanked by footpaths. The ancient Glamorganshire canal, which still runs concealed across the city centre, still supplies water to this network. Many if not all of the waterways would originally transported goods off-loaded from ships in Atlantic wharf to warehouse storage nearby. All are lined in brick and stone and bridged strategically for use of residents. 

How much of the old has been restored and how much is new-build imitation is hard to tell. 

After twenty years trees and gardens have matured and the new domestic environment has established itself. It's very quiet, well quiet I suppose, because most people would be indoors despite the congenial weather watching Wales nearly catch up and beat England in their six nation rugby match. Nearly, but not quite. In the middle of the actual Atlantic Wharf waterfront, quite close to a Holiday Inn Express hotel is a large pub called 'The Wharf'.

It is an extensive adaptation of the shells of two fine nineteenth century industrial buildings, with bars, a restaurant, and function suites in one half and offices, sadly empty, in the other. Built by Cardiff's native brewery S A Brain, it's just been sold, as it has failed to make a hoped for profit, being less of a social hub for its upwardly and outwardly mobile local residents than was expected.

Other fine old brick built warehouse buildings in this area have been turned into apartments.

There are many empty offices too, and I wonder how the current expansion in the old 'Newtown' area, not to mention the Central Square development hopes to draw in new business. Such faith in progress, so easily shaken by downturns in the global economy. What's needed so much more than empty office space is affordable housing, for rent or for sale. The revenue may be smaller for any who invest, but in the long terms it is sustainable. Time and time again, get rick quick schemes provide sustainable for the few, at the expense of the many. When will be ever learn?

The final pair of episodes of 'Trapped' were on tonight. Compelling watching. All was resolved intelligibly, our small town detective hero was vindicated, but sadly walked away a lonely man at the end, with his dignity and self respect intact. We were spared the media mobbing and acclaim of the successful sluth. Great acting, so much done with looks and subtle facial expressions, caught by beautiful camera work, as much on the landscape as the actors. Will there be a sequel, I wonder?

  

Coed Ely discovered

More time spent in the office yesterday, then out in the evening to St John's Canton for a concert in aid of Pedal Power, the local cycling charity. Two prolific and popular young Welsh singer songwriters performing under the name 'Brigyn' were the main act, and they were very good. Supporting them, however, was singer Heather Jones, one of the first generation singers of the modern Welsh popular song revival, with a career spanning fifty years. She's about the same age as Clare and I, but looking twenty years younger, with a voice that has the purity and beauty the distinguishes Joan Baez. 

She was rightly hailed as 'legendary' by the compere, with such a distinguished career behind her. She says she's now in semi- retirement. Her songs were all in Welsh but she spoke about her life in music as she introduced songs bilingually. When we spoke with her at the end of the concert she said that it was unusual for her to introduce her music bi-lingually. Raised an English speaker, she learned Welsh and kept Welsh speaking company from her school days onward in her life in music. What a wonderful performer, well known in Wales, but sadly not so well in the English speaking world of popular song.

Today, the weather was sunny if cold, perfect for a nice long walk. We drove out to Llantrisant, to the Ely river valley on the road to Tonyrefail, and then explored the walking paths of the 600ft wooded hill that rises to the west of the river, named Coed Ely, which means Ely wood. I was please to snap this Chiffchaff, just as it was taking off

We walked for a hour on the south side, then went for an excellent pub lunch at 'The Bear' in Llantrisant's main square. The pub is in fine fettle, but it's so sad to see that ancient hill town looking quite down at heel these days, with a number of empty shops - commercial life has drained away downhill to the Talbot Green retail park.

In the afternoon we returned to Coed Ely, having earlier found the north side car park, and we walked the forest trails for an hour or so, which occasionally gave us views north into the Valleys.

We walked right over the top to the south side, where trees give way to fields, with a view across the Severn Estuary fifteen miles away, as far as North Devon. Fortunately the rain didn't overtake us.

We returned home for tea and a nice relaxed evening, just right after some vigorous exercise. With a sermon already prepared yesterday, after cooking, I had time to watch 'Spooks' on catch-up, before it was time for the penultimate double episode of 'Trapped'. Despite its near black and white filmic environment, being shot mostly in extreme snowy weather, it holds the attention well, not only with its engaging plot line, but also with some fine acting on the part of all the principals. Altogether, a refreshing day off.

   

Theatrical news

Friday morning I had a bereavement visit to make for a funeral next Wednesday. I met the family in one a house on the main stretch of Cathedral Road, one of a few still family owned and occupied that hasn't been converted into flats, offices, clinics, a hotel or a care home. A nice reminder of how life used to be on this street of prestigious looking dwellings.

Clare arrived on the half past two train from Birmingham and I picked her up from the station, pleased to her news of Rhiannon's half term youth theatre workshop 'Playbox'. She was picked to play Titania, Shakespeare's fairy queen in an extract from Midsummer Night's Dream. She's twelve this weekend, unfamilar with Shakesperian language. With much intense work and a little help from Grandma de-coding texts, she did the necessary learning, and delivered an excellent performance last night, playing with other lead actors six years older than herself. We're thrilled to see her enjoy this so much, taking after her Mum and Grandma.

This morning I went to St Mary's Bute Street, now in interregnum due to Fr Graham's retirement, to celebrate Mass with seven people. It's a long while since I took any services there. Since my last visit, the nave seating has been replaced, and chairs are now arranged in a semi-circular pattern around the nave altar. It looks very good indeed, appearing somewhat more prosperous now than when Graham and I visited here as students on placement duties with The Samaritans forty nine years ago.

The weather had turned decidedly miserable, with lashing rain and wind that roared and buffeted the building during the service.  The prospect of an afternoon walk was dashed. More time to work on preparing the Lent blog, but feeling hemmed in all day. I watched the second double episode of BBC4's Icelandic crime serial drama 'Trapped'. It was good, but a bit slow. Nasty weather seems to be one the chief characters in this detective tale. Not the best viewing after a day indoors. A double episode of 'Benidorm' would have been more cheering.

  

Sunny Lent Sunday

It was a lovely cold bright morning, and the sunshine made the interior of St German's glow during the Sunday Mass. We began singing the Lenten Prose, from the back of the Old English hymnal. I haven't sung that for years. What a refreshing change. There was a delicious Parish lunch in the hall afterwards for about thirty people. I sat with Hamid, and slowly, deliberately we spoke about many things. This week he heard that his law firm has dumped his case, but he is not down cast, still full of trust that God has matters in hand, however things turn out for him. He's visiting the City URC Church Asylum Justice service tomorrow, as recommended by his lawyer. 

Later in the day, I emailed Mareika Arthur to see if I could find out who might be dealing with him on arrival, and I forwarded to her the briefing I'd written yesterday about Hamid's case to send to Jo Stevens, the local MP. It's a last ditch effort, but the least we can do. I regret not realising much earlier the finality of the hearing I attended as a witness, and only on reading the final judgement did the gaps in the argument made in his defence became apparent to me. I think his advocate was over-confident the points he'd made were sufficient to win the case. Is a rescue now possible I wonder?

I'd forgotten that Clare had gone over to Bristol to her monthly study group this afternoon, so I went out for a walk to the park and along the Taff to enjoy the sun, with my DSLR camera. The battery exhausted itself after six shots. It loses charge quicker these days and can only manage a third of the number of shots it used to between times, so I'll have to get a new one pretty soon, or a new camera body, as the present one looks and occasionally behaves tired. It's more than five years old now.

After supper, when Clare got home, there was nothing much on telly worth watching, so I caught up with the first two episodes on iPlayer of the new euro-crime drama 'Trapped', set in Iceland. All that darkness and snow, but quite an interesting small time police procedural piece, laced with a sense of chaos and uncontrollable events driven by dark forces. It's in colour, though it looks as if it's in black and white much of the time, because of all the snow. The hero cop is a big burly guy, a bit like Wallander Mark One with a beard, and I'm sure one if not more of the supporting actors also appeared in 'The Bridge'. At least it makes a change from a movie coloured mostly in black and orange.