State of Alarm - day Seventy Eight

Cooler today, thought humid, clouds and wind, rumbles of thunder and a sudden cloudburst in the afternoon. Such a contrast to the clear skies of the past few days.

Rosie came by in the morning to collect the chaplaincy mobile phone for SIM upgrading, and brought bags of freshly picked apricots for Anthony and I.

With Anthony's help, recording the Isaiah passage for Sunday, and Clare recording another, I had all the components of the Trinity Sunday 1662 Communion service to edit and complete the job a lot earlier than usual. I'm not sure why, but my workflow seems to have improved this past few weeks despite encroaching illness.

I cooked lunch for the two of us - fish, ratatouille and spaghetti. Afterwards, I collected the water containers for a refill run to St Josep, but after the cloudburst I decided not to go, and went for a walk instead, enjoying the fresh scent of the countryside after rain. After a couple of kilometers, I turned back, having left without carrying a phone. Not a good idea. It didn't rain properly again, but enough raindrops fell for an hour or so to give the impression that it was about to start again, so I did my lock-down circuit walk around the house instead, so I could quickly dash for shelter.

I found it had quite a calming effect walking the same uneventful predictable path over and over again. Heaven knows I need that, as the shadow of anxiety lurks behind the slightest discomfort. The swelling is still there close ot the wound but not painful. Tomorrow I'll rendezvous with Jane at the Urgencias in Sant Antoni, and have a doctor check it out. I may need more antibiotics.

State of Alarm - day Seventy Seven

A cloudy start to the day, with wind blowing the clouds away during the morning leaving a clear blue sky. It was 25C but the wind was cooling and refreshing. Mid morning I started to have some ideas for a Trinity Sunday sermon and set to work on it. I had a full draft by the time Anthony came up with a lunch he'd prepared of pork and spuds done in olive oil. Delicious. We are some of Sarah's left-over apricot crumble for pudding.

Sister in Law Ann rang and we had a good long chat about getting through the next two weeks and preparing for the flight home. Helpful advice from one who has suffered from PTSD over the four years since since Eddie died. The wound is quiet, about the same as yesterday, still a bit swollen. Hopefully exercise will help it to discharge some more. 

An operator from the phone company which issued the Chaplain's phone SIM called to say that it had to be replaced. I passed on the message to Dave, and later Rosi got in touch to say she would collect the phone tomorrow.

My afternoon walk took me roughly on the same route as yesterday. On the rocky foreshore south of Cala de Bou the breeding colony of penguins was all assembled, five adult females on shore and two on the small rocky island nearby. Visible at high magnification in the photos I took of the pair on the little island, is the beak of one chick, in a nest out of sight on the far side from the shore. I wonder if the females take it in turns to go out there and lay eggs? The body of one of the females on shore was almost all white, others just had white chest patches. It's something I've seen before in colonies on the Costa del Sol.

The large holiday village shows no signs of getting ready to open up for visitors yet, though there are more cars parked down there now, so maybe people are working away out of sight. The car park was eerily empty when I walked through it as lock-down began. The beach at Cala des Torrents was again busy with children. The wooden sunbeds have now acquired their mattresses, and the beach cafe was definitely open with a few people sitting at table and background disco music throbbing inside. Slowly, cautiously, nobody is in a hurry, there's not a lot of business to be done yet.

State of Alarm - day Seventy Five

A warm night, broken but relaxed sleep, awakening to a cloudy day with a warm wind, tolerably humid. The wound is quiet almost pain free, still a little swelling, but I am feeling better than I have done for several weeks This is indeed 'watch and wait' time as Dr Jordan would say. Will it continue to improve or deteriorate? I returned to bed after breakfast, and thought about this week's Bible Study about which I've done nothing yet.

Chapter 20 looked promising so eventually I got up and started writing a reflection on its content. I was surprised at how quickly it came together. I had a recording done, and sent to Dave for uploading by half past one.

I cooked lunch for Anthony and myself. Having someone other than myself to feed for a change was a pleasure, ensuring that I sat down to eat. Nice that I can sit long enough to eat once more without much discomfort or pain.

After a siesta and a long chat with Clare, I walked down to the sea near Cala de Bou, then along the  coastal track to Cala des Torrents. Because the foreshore is rocky and inhospitable, there's a huge water-park on the land behind it. On the sea side there's a narrow 100m long splash pool with about twenty apartments facing directly on to the pool, each with its own set of steps. You can get out of bed, if you're a kid, and run straight into the water. The pool is in winter emptiness at the moment and won't be filled until holiday-makers arrive and apartments are booked.

The Cala des Torrents beach looked almost normal with a dozen families out enjoying sun sand and sea, all locals. Some wooden sunbeds had been put out. I think a beach cafe was open but nobody was sitting outside imbibing. Opening of bars and restaurants is happening slowly cautiously and according to government lock-down de-escalation rules.
 
On my return walk, up a long unmetalled road past a large urbanizacion, a man of my age stopped his car, smiled and offered me a lift, I thanked him and declined, explaining 'Yo camino para mi salud' which he acknowledged with another smile and went his way. I guess he was feeling in good spirits with the signs of a return to normality, and maybe just wanted someone to chat to.

It was lovely to hear happy sounds and see children playing on the beach, with not harsh voice of rebuke.  I hope it stays like that.

State of Alarm - day Seventy Four

A cloudy windy day again, with a few spots of rain, but not too humid thankfully. My last day of antibiotics too, with a small amount of improvement. I'm just about back to where I was a week ago in terms of swelling. I wonder if I will need more anti-biotics and a blood test. Another visit to the doctor's in Sant Antoni is something I need to arrange.

Sarah drove over with a ready cooked oxtail stew, mashed potatoes and apricot crumble to share with Anthony and me this lunchtime. It was a delicious meal, and good to sit and talk at table again, only the second time since lock-down began. It left me quite tired, and needing an hour's siesta.

After an evening walk, I had a good chat with our Vicar Emma, a fellow fistula sufferer. She had a series of infections, and it was interesting to hear her account of outbreaks of infection occurring at a time when she was under severe stress. This entirely corresponds to my experience. 

Clearly I need to take extra precautions to avoid or minimise stress from now on. Ironic really, after a life working so often under stress, even needing a degree of stress to achieve things I had to do but didn't relish. How to defend myself against the uncertainties of waiting until my sixth booked flight home, and the uncertainties of travel itself, is what I have to work out.

State of Alarm - day Seventy Three

Today was a little cooler and cloudier, with light wind, which I suppose is just right for Pentecost Sunday. I woke up late for first antibiotic of the day, ate a little, then as the sun was starting to rise and the dawn chorus competition between cockerels and dogs was starting, against the background of the dawn chorus, I had this idea.

I stood the Sony HX90 on the balcony railing and held it there while it ran in movie mode for just over three minutes, to record these early morning sounds. I thought this would be a good setting for a Pentecost Prayer, which I had yet to write but had ideas for. Although I haven't really had the time and energy to master the Windows 10 video editing app, I noticed that it gave to option of adding a sound track, and thought I'd experiment. I returned to bed and dozed for two hours,  then listened to BBC Radio 4 Sunday Worship, coming from Cardiff's Elim Pentecostal Church in my former parish of St John the Baptist. It was nice to hear local accents again.

After saying Morning Prayer and the words of the Pentecost liturgy, I couldn't stay awake. Although I didn't feel physically tired, I was still very sleepy, and didn't get up until midday. I assume this is just part of recovery. After lunch, I recorded the script for the prayer which I'd written in dribs and drabs through the morning when awake, then added the audio to the trimmed video file. It turned out to be simpler than I thought, except that there no instructions to speak of, and I had to work it out by trial and error. I was pleased with the outcome, uploaded it to YouTube and sent the link to Dave at teat time. I was pleased to be able to honour the day in this way, even if nobody but me would have minded if I didn't upload anything. Soli Deo gloriam. 

No serious return of the sensations of trauma just suggestions, linked to wound discomfort. While the wound is still swollen and sore, it is less so, and requires a lot of attention to keep comfortable and fend off those dark anxious clouds which had dogged me for two weeks without realising what was happening. Know your enemy! I did a 7km evening walk with no difficulty, and as ever the exercise did me good, plus the extra dose of fresh air we got today.

Anthony came over for another chat this evening, he'll be moving in downstairs tomorrow, once he has handed over a dog he's been looking after. This will change things for me, hopefully take my mind off the dark clouds. Taking plenty of extra rest seems to be vital.


 returned to bed

State of Alarm- day Seventy Two

I woke up to more physical improvement on day five of the antibiotics after a good night's sleep, but still with a sense of anxiety and insecurity clouding my brain. threatening to drive me to tears with nothing specific to cry over. Things are sorting themselves out slowly. Anthony is coming to stay in the spare flat down at ground level in this house, a 'just in case' measure suggested by the chaplaincy council, as there's no guarantee that improvement won't be followed by another setback. It will be nice to have company. I think this is a good idea.

Solveig came, bringing a cooked lunch with her. I was already cooking having forgotten she'd said this. She also brought me my next lot of prescription meds, and a pack of wound dressings to try out, as the one's I brought with me for eight weeks are coming to end. After lunch, I felt the need to lie down and relax quietly for a moment while the coffee was brewing. I relaxed but wasn't aware of falling asleep, perhaps I did. Solveig went out on an errand. In fact, throughout I felt fully awake and relaxed in the still silence as if in a trance. When Solveig returned I heard her and got up, aware that the toxic dark emotional cloud had gone from my mind, leaving me feeling clear sharp and ... as normal as I'll ever be.

As far as I am concerned, only God hands out gifts like this, far more discretely than Santa! But I do know that I'm being prayed for here across Ibiza, in Cardiff, at my beloved Ty Mawr Convent, and other places too. Lying there conscious was like the sensation you can get, floating perfectly in a swimming pool. Upheld by prayer? No doubt. In the past few days when I didn't have energy to read the Daily Office, all I could do is say the Jesus Prayer and our Lord's own prayer, and let myself be carried on the prayers of others. 'Members of one another' St Paul calls it.

Then we drove down to Cala Conta and walked along the bear to the 17th century watch tower I took a photo of from the top of Sa'Atalaya. It's a three kilometer trek to the headland along the pine clad cliff edge, stunningly beautiful in perfect weather. All my photos are here. In the harbour boats were full of local youngsters partying. Speed boats were out joyriding, and paddle boarders were out enjoying the absence of wind and waves. 

Normally, the island beaches are full of foreign holidaymakers, and these young people are working to serve them. Holiday flights aren't likely to re-start for several more weeks and there's no work. Lock-down has eased enough except at urban beaches to enable local people to treat this free time as a holiday respite before the work season begins. The competing heavy sounds of disco music pulsating from different craft isn't my taste, but happy voices laughing and chattering certainly is.
For a few moments at the start of the walk I wondered if I'd be OK, if I'd drunk enough water etc, but this gave way to the rhythm of the walk and taking pictures, The clearheadedness remained and there was no hint of fatigue. What a blessing! 

If the cloud returns, I know what I need to to do prevent it from having a nasty impact on me. I have long known how to let my head clear. It's not a technique I can describe to others, but it's wherever God is - a still silent holy place inside. It's what St John of the Cross speaks of in his poem made into the  Taize chant. 'De noche, eremos de noche, que para encontrar la fuente' This Spanish phrase aroused my interest in learning the language. I'm still taken with the fact that 'encontrar' is used both for 'to meet' and 'to find' - 'We go by night to meet/find the Source ..' only thirst lights the way. It's enough to give space to this need, to put it first, then God acts in God's unique subtle way  

Mild PTSD symptoms due to this ailment of mine are part of what I must live with until the physical causes are put right and even if there's no recurrence, there's no cure for those memories. Letting go of them straight away, not letting myself to be distracted by anything else is essential. It's just as you'd do if you accidentally took a poison, you'd quickly make yourself get rid of it. But on your own it's impossible, and it's fatal if you don't see the need.

By the grace of God today I broke out of a toxic vicious cycle I didn't know I was in. The Almighty is a practical teacher if needs be, but His aim is to enable you to learn for yourself, remember and use what you've learned.

After supper Anthony called around to say hello. I haven't seen him since that first Sunday lunch at Sarah's after I arrived, just before lock-down. We chatted for an hour and agreed it would make a welcome change to have company and a neighbour to chat to. He moves in on Monday.

State of Alarm - day Seventy One

I had a broken night's sleep, partly due to the wound exuding messily in the dead of night, but also as a result of this sense of anxiety, which may be related to the vagus nerve stimulus, rather than my state of mind. I got up and took my first pill of the day at six, but couldn't settle, so I got into work mode, and by lunchtime had completed and sent off the week's audio uploads. My mind is now clear and sharp again and I can think. I'd been dithering over a sermon for days, but when I began writing I had a satisfactory draft quicker than usual. 

I was preoccupied by the notion that if I continued to feel this unwell, I might fail to deliver. I'm sure everyone would be kind and understanding if I did, but increasingly, reflecting upon my life has taught me how fear of failure is a driving force, even though long ago I have 'given myself permission to fail' as psycho-babble jargon asserts.

As the day wore on the wound leaked a lot more, inconveniently as I had an idea about taking a taxi to St Antoni for a medical check up. Leakage resulted in improvement of my physical condition through the day, and once I was relived that my work load was done, I thought I would relax, but not so. I was intermittently and uncharacteristically weepy, and still replaying events and prospects in my mind with an internal sense of dread. I've been here before, I thought. I was in the same state of mind when I was alone and sick in Montreux with two important weddings to see through, two Sunday and two weekday services to do before my home flight. I was in pain and full of infection which was untreated, despite the surgeon I saw getting drainage going. Déjà vu.

The same pattern of circumstances, the same feeling of helplessness trapped by my own infirmity while trying to deliver promised services driven by fear of failure. Well, well, well PTSD embedded in my own habitual behaviour, and me not recognising it. It's bad enough, not being able to see the wound which has given me such trouble, but not to notice the emotional wound! I know what healing needs to be prayed for now. And that's a start, breaking the vicious cycle.

I had a surprise call from Archdeacon David who'd evidently had news of my misfortunes, and also a call from my sister June, as even worried about her 'little brother'. Pauline is still hanging on in there, but is weak and will take an age to recover if they get the treatment right.

State of Alarm - day Seventy

Slowly the pain subsides, but the swelling diminishes more slowly. There's a lot of nasty fluid to be discharged yet. I worry about it and wonder if I should return to Urgencias and ask to be examined again. I wish I could do something about my high anxiety level. It's bearable if I have work to focus on, preparing for Sunday, but sometimes I am just too tired to be busy. I try to sleep, and normally I can relax deeply in 26C heat, but not now.

I was able, despite the discomfort in sitting, able to craft an Gospel Alleluia acclamation and Psalm 150, using texts recorded by herself in German, and her ancient local parish priest, in Castellano and Ibiceno, the local dialect. I was surprised and delighted at the outcome. Given my state of mind I expected this task to be hard labour, but somehow it wasn't. The Lord and all those people praying for me kept me going, doubtless.

Talking of which I had a message from one of the Ty Mawr sisters to tell me I had been prayed for at Evensong the night before. Associates and Oblate's names are each written down on an origami paper crane kept in a basket on the chapel altar. Each night one is drawn to be prayed for. It couldn't  be more timely.

Amazingly my sister Pauline is still alive, conscious and conversing, even talking about a return to home in Weston when she recovers. She's a strong spirit, accepting that her time is near, yet glad to be given a few days extra time. We may speak again, but will I ever see her again in this life?

At teatime, Jayne called by with groceries and pills I'd asked her to get for me. I can't drive if I can't sit down. Such a nuisance, but I am so grateful for her help.

Before bed Ashley called, we haven;t chatted for more than a week. It was Julie our Secretary, who reads this blog (hello Julie!), who alerted him to the downturn in my condition. It's lovely when friends write or call, and therapeutic to respond to talk with them, except that it leaves me fighting off exhaustion, I don't understand why.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Nine

Woke up with some slight general improvement. I can move around without muscle agony for the most part, but am still swollen and can't set down. The draining continues, hopeful faster than it is building up. Trusting the antibiotic to do the job is all I can do.

Got some of the preparatory work for Pentecost Sunday moving. I have the seeds of the sermon but not a lot of creative energy surplus at the moment. It's probably being used up on managing anxiety, which can be generated by vagus nerve stimulation from localised pain. Up until last week it had all but disappeared. The new inflammation has brought it back, but not yet as bad as before.

The result of representations made to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office from Kevin Brennan our MP and Eluned Morgan via the WAG has resulted in a response from the Consular office head trouble shooter. Hundreds and hundreds of words and hyperlinks, merely cut and pasted from government sources accessed by our family over the past couple of months. Flights today and on Friday are mentioned without acknowledgement of the fact that we were conned into booking BAe by the promise of none stop flights. Fridays takes 24 hours in three stages.

The government tries to suffocate people with too much information which avoids answering the question and confuses issues. I wrote a detailed reply sayings and complaining about the lack of proper accountability when it comes to accuracy of information provided by HMG and FCO . I don't suppose it will achieve anything, but I felt the need to give critical feedback, and vent my ire. I am joining the ranks of the legendary 'Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells'

Jules rang at teatime to say his mother probably didn't  have long to live after the heart attack she had the other night. He said I could ring her as was conscious and lucid, but for how much longer he wasn't sure. I phoned her and we chatted a few minutes. As she was wearing an oxygen mask her voice was muffled, but it gave me a chance to tell her I love her and had always appreciated her as a big sister. I asked if she'd like me to pray a blessing over her and she said yes please eagerly. As I prayed I broke down in tears so I'm not sure she understood everything, but she knew I was praying, and will continue to do so, until I hear she's died.

I was grateful knowing that it wasn't a covid death, and that she has been conscious of heart trouble for months past, because we spoke of it when I rang her on her birthday. The day of my arrival in Ibiza. Yet, with son Jules and her brother at the end of a phone and not holding her hand, he and I joined the world's grieving legions separated from family and friends in time of need, having to entrust their beloved to strangers. Thank God Nicky has been there, her pillar of strength.

By this time I really needed fresh air and a walk, I went to 'Es Cuco' for fruit and frozen fish, having found an insulated bag in the back of the car, although it turned out the be falling apart. I made do with it to buy some salmon, just this once. That was just enough. Grief is exhausting.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Eight, later

A day of warm winds, sun and cloud. I woke up early, took my antibiotic and returned to bed for another three hours. The improvement is slow and steady, and the amount of washing of self and clothes needed increased. I relieved myself of the need to keep checking the cistern is full enough by turning the well pump on for half an hour. It's now completely full.

The toxic pain in my head is less, but down below is still very swollen and painful. I seem to have plenty of strength but need to tackle everything at a modest pace. Solveig came over to check me out in the evening, and bring me some things I needed from the Pharmacy. She also brought some delicious goodies for supper, including a wondrous bowl of ripe apricots, I shall cook them, half a dozen at a time, in a little water without sugar, but maybe experimenting with different spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, chilli?

I had an email from my nephew Jules in Dubai late Monday, or was it Tuesday? My time-line is fractured at the moment, to say his mother, my sister Pauline is seriously ill in Bristol Royal infirmary. And it's not covid-19. Her local general hospital in Weston super Mare is over-run with covid patients and closed to all others. Her daughter Nicky is able to be with her but Jules is stuck in Dubai, under strict lock-down rules.

Afterwards we walked several kilometers and enjoyed the sunset. Impossible not to feel sad at the thought of not seeing my lovely elder sister again in this world.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Eight

I work up yesterday after more than ten hours of sleep, aware that painful swelling had developed in the muscles close to the wound, with my head still foggy and hurting. This confirmed the worst fear which I had when I arrived at Can Misses yesterday. It was just the way I felt when things went bad for me in Montreux two years ago, Maybe there was nothing for the examining doctor to feel or see. There is now. I spent the day lying down or walking around the house to check if it was changing. No chance of being about to sit down.

In the evening, Jayne drove me to the Urgencias in St Antoni, and the doctor who examined me soon realised the truth of what I was saying. He gave me a week's course of antibiotics also some pain killers. By ten thirty I was back at the house, eating a nice dish of veggie pasta which Jayne thoughtfully brought with her.

I slept, and as ever I woke up several times, each time my head was clearer and ached less, evidence that the antibiotics were starting to work. The wound leaked nasty looking fluid and hurt horribly. It might have been even worse without the pain killer I took before sleeping. After ten hours in bed, I got up and had breakfast, grateful to have physical strength and a clearer head. The main thing now is to be very disciplined about taking the pills and doing enough gentle exercise to help the muscle to expel the rest of its nasty payload.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Seven

Saturday I wasn't feeling as good as I usually do in hot weather, with a slight headache, unusual for me. By lunchtime Sunday, after morning prayer and worship, I felt worse, so I went for a walk and felt worse still. I wondered if I was de-hydated and drank lots of water, but it made no difference. In the evening Solveig came over so we could walk along the coast path. I asked her if she could bring a thermometer and a blood pressure machine with her, so that I could check my vital signs, just in case I'm harbouring some wound related infection.

My temperature was slightly higher than normal, but my systolic pressure was higher than it was when I came home sick from Montreux the September before last. There was no alternative but to call for an ambulance, which appeared after an hour with a driver and a paramedic on board. I was pnly partly able to communicate in Spanish as my brain was scrambed, so I very grateful Solveig was there to translate. I was taken to the 'Urgencias' department of Can Misses hospital in Ibiza, and arrived about half past nine.

I was checked by a nurse, and thankfully my systolic pressure was dropping below danger level. I had to wait a while to see a doctor. There was one other patient in the ambulatory treatment room, sitting up on a chair, anchored to a drip, so it was quiet. The first doctor I was was a young woman who spoke far too fast and not very clearly, perhaps she was tired. She gave up trying and went to look for an English speaking doctor. He was also young and his English excellent, which meant that I was able to describe accurately what had been happening. He also examined my wound and found it to be in good condition, so unlikely to have picked up an infection. 

After a thoroughgoing conversation, his opinion was that my symptoms were those severe stress, due to the multiple traumas of changed flight bookings in the past week, plus the persistent effect of chronic low level pain from the wound, and not being able to sit and relax for any length of time. No medication needed, just rest, and herb teas, he suggested! 

As I've not been into Ibiza before and have no idea of where Can Misses hospital is, it felt surreal to step out on to the hospital concourse, a rather anonymous place, and no know how to recognise a taxi rank. I was advised however to ask the receptionist to call one for me which I did, and get back to the house just before midnight. I slept ten and a half hours, and think I'll have to spend the rest of today, lying on the bed doing as little as possible out of range of normal communications devices.

I got the medical examination and reassurance I needed, and could have done with when travel plans first fell apart. Sooner or later the impact of these uncontrollable events catch up on you, even if you're covid-19 free, and think you're doing OK. For the moment, the headache is a reminder that I'm not as good as I thought I was. 

State of Alarm - day Sixty Six

That was the first night since I have been here, that I failed to sleep, or at least it felt like it. Remind me not to listen to the news last thing at night in future. It leaves me feeling so outraged and upset, in contrast to the long succession of peaceful nights I've had in this house, with the moon shining in through the shutters, and the occasional owl or other mysterious spooky bird in the distance.

'Onwards and upwards', as the saying goes. I made an effort to go and do my weekend shopping at 'Es Cuco' before lunch. For the first time I had to queue outside before being admitted. I didn't mind as I had a tiny sliver of shade under the shop's toldo to shield me from the bright hot sun, 26C today. I couldn't find soya milk - probably looking in the wrong place, and I forgot to buy a pack of beer, so after lunch I walked down to Sumo to get these. 

In between times I got to work on next week's Acts Chapter 19 bible study. It was very interesting to research, and got me reflecting on aspects of the content of the Acts which Pentecostal theologian Professor Walter Hollenweger taught his mission seminar students about in the Selly Oak Colleges thirty five years ago. He was a remarkable man, having found his faith in a post war Pentecostal church and being blessed with a remarkable inquisitive intellect. His published doctorate reviewed the field-work he'd done investigating third world Pentecostal churches, which contributed to the development of poor communities in an amazing way, through literacy and agricultural education schemes, often branded 'communist by US client states. I first heard him talk about third world Pentecostalism at a student conference in the early seventies. 

Maybe my memory is faulty, but I have a recollection that his formation as a theologian was influenced by Karl Barth, one of the great 20th century protestant reformers of thought. He offered students a very different way into thinking about biblical truth, not abstract and idealistic but rooted in the foundations of Hebrew thinking and acting. There's still a lot to learn!

I had a call from a congregation member who's been accompanying the family and friends of a friend suffering from coronavirus, who'd finally succumbed. He's been asked to go with them to the crematorium and 'say a few words'. It's what people often say when they ask a Funeral Director to recruit a parson for them, a trusted role which is a privilege to occupy and which I often do at home willingly. The trauma which the family has experienced seemed to me not to call for a stranger to be inserted into their time of grief, when there was a trusted Christian friend there with them, so I offered some resources from scripture and the Anglican prayer book for use at the crem. At my age, I'm less interested in performing my traditional role than I am in encouraging and supporting others as they are drawn into ministry by the Spirit. If we don't, I think the church will die anyway.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Five

I was enjoying a bright hot sunny morning on the day I was supposed to be taking a delayed flight home at the end of my locum duty here.

Then I had a call from Kath telling me that the Jet2 flight, the fifth re-booked flight in a matter of three weeks, the one she booked for me yesterday, has already been cancelled. Another blow, but what bad luck. If I had hummed and aahed over the booking and slept on it first, this wouldn't have happened. More hassle.

What we think is happening is that UK government policy about enforcing two weeks quarantine on people arriving from UK flights is actually deterring people from booking flights, not so much short stay holiday makers as business and domestic travellers wanting to return home or go to their jobs after a long time away. If there's not enough to cover the cost of running the flight, it gets cancelled. None of the airlines seem willing to be honest with the public and keep promoting flight bookings competitively as if it was still 2019. Such competition to get people's booking money in the face of a global crisis, instead of partnership is a lethal recipe for a dark anarchic future.

As Kath and Lucy run Wriggledance Theatre from their home offices, they are very skilled at digital research. Kath set about investigating which regular scheduled UK flights are running to judge from the published flight arrival boards of various airports, and seeing how that matched up with flight prices being asked - the higher, means the greater demand. It seems that Barcelona has a couple of daily flights to London which do run and are well populated. So, with the same connecting flight to Barcelona from here cancelled on 28th April I have a flight from Barcelona to London on 16th June.

I am not confident it will run given the inability of the British Home Secretary to think coherently about the consequences for travellers and airlines of anything she says in a market driven economy.
The way things are, I am being denied the right of return to the country of which I'm supposed to be a citizen. Sure this is an over-riding crisis time, but no thought seems to have been given to actually testing people as they arrive, or having a set up where they are tested before they board and receive a bio-passport, valid for travel within a limited time frame. Too much effort? Wait and see whether the entire British airline industry goes out of business or not.

Although very upset, I made an effort to complete the Sunday service and send it to Dave for web uploading. Early for a change. That at least took my mind off the anger and frustration I feel. I still find it hard to believe the country voted in this government so decisively, plus I am appalled that brexit was voted through as a consequence. Britain has vainly done its own thing rather than work in close partnership with the EU over covid 19, so the UK now has the highest death rate as the price paid for an 'independence' of thought which has not served Britain well at all. 

The temperature rose to 27c in the afternoon when I finished work and headed out for my walk. Not exactly the best conditions. But I have learned that I need to drink far more water to avoid feeling even worse. Clare has written to Kevin Brennan our local MP to ask if he will take up the case with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office of stranded expats let down by airlines needing repatriation now a couple of months after the last repatriation flight left because the reason their reason for not leaving at the time no longer applies. There are Brits domiciled in Ibiza stuck in the UK as well as some others like me, stuck here. Fr Rhys's wife Eluned is an Assembly Member and she has agreed to pursue this through the WAG. I doubt whether any action will ensure, but the government needs to know that their ill considered policies have real world consequences, and that they will be called to account for their foolishness eventually.

Listening to Home Sceretary Priti Parel sounding off on the late evening news before bed made me realised that her words will serve as a deterrent even to existing scheduled flights. I desperately hope mine will run, but my confidence about this is very low. I will rejoice if proved wrong.

Nevertheless, as long as I have to stay, I can continue offering the on-line services until it proves possible to have real proper church celebrations again. It can't be rushed, Everyone is nervous in the wake of two months lock-down. Preparation and planning will take time and much care. I will be ready for whatever comes up. That's my job.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Four

A beautiful hot summery day today, bright sunshine and blue skies, with the temperature rising to 26c, just the way I like it. Perfect for celebrating Ascension Day. For the first time in a couple of months I saw the condensation trail of a high flying jet crossing the sky, north west to south west. Just the one long distance flight. In the past couple weeks I've seen a small pale green prop driven monoplane flying around and wondered what it was doing. I've recently learned that it's on fire watch. 

There are observation towers out in forest high places, staffed at critical dry times in the year, but also this aircraft which patrols over the entire island, sometimes responding to complaints about local fires. Farmers will tidy up their land and burn what they don't need and can't store in spring until the end of April, early May, but then the land dries out and the fire risk rises, so burning is banned, and the man in the 'plane keeps an eye on all the vulnerable places.

Palm Sunday weekend, I did a little video in which I blessed this year's Palm Crosses and proposed that they could be received once the lock-down was over. We had no idea then when it would happen but it this year's cross, although it looks like every other, would hold special memories of a time in our journey of faith unlike any other. With easing of restrictions allowing small domestic gatherings it was possible to invite church members to come and collect theirs from the Chaplaincy House and stop for a drink and a chat, while observing social distancing - possible because of the generous and sunny front terrace. During the morning half a dozen people came. I enjoyed meeting new people and the conversations we had. Hopefully this will continue next week and thereafter.

When I checked my phone before lunch afterwards, there was another text message from British Airways cancelling the flight booked for 8th June, That's the fourth. Kath once more undertook to source another flight for me. It's impossible to have any confidence in BAe commitment to serve their European clientele, so she has booked me on a Jet2 flight to Birmingham on 18th June. This flight has been bookable for the past month, once Jet2 announced that they would resume services mid month, in line with the resumption of Schengen open borders policy.

British Airways has been proposing flights and then cancelling them without recourse to the facts. Ibiza airport re-opened to commercial flights last Monday, a date announced only last week, so it's clear that BAe has been speculating and playing with its customers once it has taken their money. It's really shameful behaviour for a flagship British institution. To hell with them. I won't trust them to get me home after this. Ever. I am going to see if I can get his matter raised in Parliament, as the lack of honesty is going to undermine any attempts to keep out airline industry afloat.

Later in the afternoon, I walked down to Cala des Torrents, and found a road I hadn't been on before which linked up with roads I had been on before, so another small piece of my map of the areas falls into place. I made a few pots of strawberry jam after supper, having been given a large punnet of strawberries in the morning by one kind visitor, too many to eat while in their best condition but perfect with a couple of lemons from the tree outside for turning into a fragrant flavoursome jam. Now that's something I didn't expect to be doing when I woke up on Ascension morning! Amazing that this morning I should also be given a fresh baked batch of scones by another visitor. My cup runneth over!

   

State of Alarm - day Sixty Three

I woke up to a lovely warm day and got up slowly, thinking of the Ascensiontide prayer video that I started preparing late last night. Things can be better to return to after sleep, and fortunately this was so when it came to completing the text. As there was a slight breeze, catching the trailing vine and the lemon tree at the front of the house, I positioned my HX90 where it could see both, and set about recording. 

After half a minute a car and some cyclists passed. Stopped and re-started. Then another half a minute into recording another car in the opposite direction. This time I paused to let it go past, then repeated the section which was being drowned out. It's what I have to do when I make a mistake with audio, and edit the errors out later, so why not with video? It was easier said than done. 

The Windows 10 video editing app is simply laid out, but far less easy to use than the old Windows Movie Maker which I have at home. There's simply not enough on screen help to use its editing tools, or it presumes you know exactly how it works. Well, you learn by trial and error hands on. Who wants to spend ages on YouTube bombarded by irrelevant ads and suggested videos, just to access a simple 'how to' guide? 

In my vocabulary the word 'trim' refers to removal of some kind of excess - hair, overgrown hedge -

using the 'trim' tool left me with only the bit of video I didn't want. How perverse is that! After several attempts, I worked out how to remove the redundant section of video, and then it was ready for uploading. Will I retain this information the next time I come to use it?

After a late lunch, I walked to the village nearest to the house, 3.5km away, St Agosti des Vedrà. It's perched on a ridge above the main road, with the 19th century Parish Church in a prominent position with a large patio just up from the village store. The whole area is being re-paved at the moment, in a way that complements the essential simplicity of the building. Its architecture is in the traditional Ibiceno style, thick fortress like walls with tiny square windows, like the older houses. In fact, I could only find one window in the north wall and none at all in the south. I'd love to have seen the interior, but it was locked. There was a notice stating that a capilla could be found at the east end of the building for personal prayer.

As with other churches I've seen here, the priest's house is behind the sanctuary, with its front door opening on to a patio with a tree shaded garden area beyond that. The door was open, and the lobby inside had been turned into a prayer room. I'm not sure how that would work in terms of social distancing, but in a country village few people would visit at the same time anyway. I wondered if a priest lived in the house or perhaps a caretaker, and if it was possible for people to arrange to consult with him. My photos are here.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Two

I'm still needing a lot of extra sleep at the moment, returning to bed and dozing for another hour after morning prayer and breakfast, eight and a half hours if not more. It seems to be doing me good, I think I'm starting to decompress now, and can work at things without getting stressed.

This morning's 'Thought for the Day' on Radio Four was from Dr Jane Leach, principal of Wesley House, Cambridge. She's one of the Beeb's regulars and usually original and insightful. Like most of the contributors at the moment she was reflecting on her experience of lock-down, working from home, looking after the kids. 

She spoke about how time-out changed perspectives on life in, but also how invasive fatigue has started to creep in. Lock-down made space to do new things and be creative, but some ambitions don't come to fruit. There's still not enough time in the day, but worst of all is the depletion of energy as time goes on. 

She said how important it was not to struggle against this, but to yield, accept the tiredness, simply to let go, let God keep you safe. 'Underneath are the everlasting arms' as it says in Deuteronomy. It was such a blessing to hear this. It 'spoke to my condition', as Quaker George Fox would have said. If you struggle you risk depression and burn-out, the very things to avoid in a time of crisis. Well, this much I have learned, or maybe it's just my survival instinct, having lived and worked under pressure for many years, just like my father when he held key safety responsibilities underground. I well remember him saying to me as a teenager; "Whatever you do, don't take a job in a production industry. Your life is never your own." I saw the sense in this but didn't escape. The world into which I emerged became preoccupied with productivity or creativity in every direction, even the church. It was an effort and a challenge to learn just how to be.

Refreshed and relaxed, I enjoyed finishing off this week's bible study, and then putting together a BCP Communion service for Ascension Day, this Thursday, and then thinking about making a little prayer video for Ascensiontide as well. Everything's easier when I start in good time and don't have to rush. After lunch, I drove to St Josep to do some grocery shopping, then filled up seven canisters of drinking water, and returned, feeling pleased with the achievement, and went for a pleasant walk down to the sea shore and back. Rest, exercise, another attempt at an early night .. life continues and may even improve if I can figure out how not to overdo it.

My friend Roy, over in Alicante has recently been working on a project called 'Ideas World Cup 2020' inviting innovative young people to think of creative initiatives that could help the world get through the covid-19 pandemic. A fifteen year old lad from Cardiff is one of the finalists, proposing an idea that harnesses digital phone technology to virtual running events in cities around the world. An extension of what Clare is familiar with down the gym, where the treadmill screen lets you exercise at your own pace in scenic places, to forestall boredom. In principle it has a much lower carbon footprint than any current running tourism event. Amazing!

  

State of Alarm - day Sixty One

A good night's sleep, and a quiet time of worship, which included listening to BBC Radio Four's Sunday Service, as well as praying the Offices of Matins and Holy Communion. This morning radio service reflected on the seven fold gifts of the Spirit, and offered profound food for thought. 

Prepared by a Scottish team, it's the second time in recent weeks that I've listened to a non liturgical non-Eucharistic act of worship from Catholic presenters. As there are plenty of on-line streamed Masses available for people to attend, it's really good Catholic broadcast media isn't duplicating these offerings but creatively stepping out of comfortable routine, drawing on the immense wealth of spirituality which perhaps would only be easily accessible to people in an organised retreat, or else willing to go on line and hunt for it. It's true we've all got more time to think at the moment, what's impressive is the quality of the offerings being made by faith communities.

This morning the impulse returned to work on my short-story-turned-into-a-novel again. I had intended to write more while I was here but this is only the second time I have loaded the file in fifteen weeks. Funny how it's possible to get into the flow write thousands of words and forget to insert chapter headings! That's where I left it back in February. What I needed to do, was to help Clare who is reading the first draft to navigate the second half of the 73k words of text.

When I was out walking yesterday I understood what I needed to write in order to turn the story towards conclusion. I only had a vague idea up until now. It's grown and grown as the lives of the characters have unfolded in my imagination since I started writing seven months ago. It was quite a surprise that it developed the way it did, and so easily.

I found it refreshing to work on something different and creative, just for the sake of it. Eventually I went out for my daily walk, and just had enough time for supper before our family Zoom call, so refreshing to see them all enjoying each other's company again.

Confirmed in the news this evening is that the Spanish government is re-opening eight airports to commercial flights as of tomorrow. Ibiza is one of them. The national State of Alarm with phased removal of restrictions depending on regional infection rates, and government powers to act without consultation have been further extended for two weeks, so there's no guarantee that airport opening will not be reversed if conditions require. Does it mean British Airways will now honour my home flight booking for the 8th June? I don't trust them. Pero ya veremos.

  

State of Alarm - day Sixty

The emotional upheaval of two flight cancellations in four days has left me feeling drained, needing to hunt for resilience, which normally I don't lack. Thankfully I am sleeping well and have plenty of physical energy, but any time I stop to think during the day, I start to doze off. So I need to yield to this and take a few days retreat. 'Underneath are the everlasting arms' as Deuteronomy 33.27 says. Stopping, relaxing, being silent, being attentive to life's simple physical rhythms and not pushing at anything, a bit like floating instead of swimming. Not easy if you're nervous about sinking!

After breakfast, I walked down to the sea shore road at Cala de Bou and found a bay I hadn't visited before. The shore line is built up with holiday apartments, but there's not a great expanse of beach, as it's very rocky, with old eroded volcanic material I think. What did catch my eye was one of the five island 17th century watch towers, constructed like others on Spain's Mediterranean shore at a time when Berber pirates from North Africa were a significant threat in the region. I have seen them on remote cliff top promontories and just above isolated beaches. I took a long range photo of one we could see further south along the coast when we climbed St Josep sa Atalaya on Wednesday. This one is set against a development of holiday apartments, thoroughly domesticated. 

In the evening, Kath Anto and Rhiannon invited family and friends to a WhatsApp party to share in the streamed replacement programme for this year's cancelled Eurovision song contest, called 'Love Shine a Light', bringing  artists together via a live video link from all the 42 participating countries. It wasn't a competition, and only featured extracts from all the songs which would have taken part. It featured solidarity greetings from artists and musicians involved, a few of them veterans of the contest 40-50 years ago. A superb idea, brilliantly executed technically speaking, the message simply being, a morale boosting 'We'll keep on singing, we will survive this together.' 

I watched with interest, even though most of the music and performances were not to my taste, I love the energy of young enthusiastic artists. I had no energy to participate in the WhatsApp fiesta. Apparently over four hundred messages were exchanged in a couple of hours. Morale was definitely boosted back home. And across Europe and the rest of the watching world, I hope.

State of Alarm - day Fifty Nine

Another decent night's sleep, but waking up feeling tired again. I continued working on the Sunday service service after breakfast, and not long after I'd got started, I had another text message from British Airways to say that my flight into London City Airport on June 1st is cancelled. Before my head stated spinning with that 'out of control' feeling of anxiety - which I didn't need with half a day's work ahead of me and not much energy left after Wednesday's airline fracaso, I took Kath up on her promise to deal with re-booking, and fight my corner for me, and forwarded the text message to her immediately.

Perhaps it is because she has fast broadband and is in the UK, or because BAe have fixed their page loading problem, but this time she got on to the re-booking page immediately, and booked a place on a IBX-LCY flight on June 8th instead. That's now three cancellations in ten days.

Will June 8th be repatriation day? I have no confidence left in BA's proposals. No doubt the changing statistics of the pandemic both in Ibiza and UK create new uncertainties all the time. There are probably not enough people wanting to fly in or out of Ibiza to London to make the cost of a two way flight with social distancing viable.

Schengen open border provisions are supposed to be resumed on June 15th, and after that date some measure of a return to scheduled flights is being proposed. We'll see if it's delivered by any airline, let alone BA. If only they had enough moral integrity as a company to advise people of the fluidity of the situation. They'll take your money and cancel your flight often enough to make you wonder if you'd unwittingly fallen into one of those covid-19 scams.

This means I'll have to obtain prescription medication again, and this time around wound dressings as well, as I am likely to run out of all I brought with me by then. I have made a two month's supply stretch to three so far, as the wound has been easier to manage. Meanwhile I have to cope with the emotional exhaustion associated with such a roller-coaster ride, and it's certainly taking it's toll on me. If I wasn't fit and well enough to get two hours of fresh air and exercise each day, I dread to think what kind of state I'd be in. Space to adjust and resign myself to a situation I have no control over, is all I need at the moment.

Once I'd completed most of the work needed on the Sunday service, I walked to Sumo supermarket to get a few things I couldn't find at Es Cuco, and returned with a heavy rucksack of supplies to see me through the weekend. Staff there are also cheery and pleasant. No doubt they are glad to be able to work when so many cannot. The positivity of people in the face of such a deadly crisis with such an uncertain future ahead is quite inspirational. I wonder what it's like in BA's back offices?