Covid sabotages reunion

We had a message from John, Jasmine's dad last night, to say they'd all got covid after a family wedding last week. When I saw photos of the wedding party my first thought was of a potential disaster waiting to happen. If Jasmine doesn't test negative midweek, she may not visit us as planned. If she did come anyway. I'd need to avoid seeing her, as I can't risk covid stopping me from travelling. It's going to be risky enough getting on a 'plane knowing that on average half a dozen people flying will have covid whether they know it or not. I'll need to be very careful en route to be fit for work when I arrive. If I do arrive that is, given current flight cancellations and delays. Had I seen this coming before booking, I would have preferred to pay extra to travel all the way by train, even if it does take twenty hours, and cost double the price of a flight.

Yesterday, I bought a new clock radio and CD player for Clare. It was proving frustratingly difficult for her to follow the setup instructions and get the thing to work properly. After breakfast I had a go at the job, and fiddled about with the controls to try and figure out what each did. A bit hit and miss, but I managed to get a few key DAB stations to work, but it's doing to be an uphill struggle to get the FM stations tuned in as well. The system has twenty pre-set buttons but with no clear indication of how to add or delete pre-set stations. How ridiculous to make quite an expensive domestic item so user unfriendly.

It was raining when we both set out for church, so I gave Clare a life to St Catherine's and then went on to St German's. There were only two dozen of us this morning. The holiday season is upon us. We kept the feast of St Thomas the Apostle, and as the readings with quite short and my sermon wasn't too long, I was back home for lunch by one.

After Clare's siesta we went for a walk through Llandaff Fields and along the Taff, where I saw an egret fishing again in much the same spot as I spotted one a fortnight ago. Later I caught a glimpse of a heron flying down river, a magnificent overview too brief to photograph. If you see them flying over you with  neck folded in and legs protruding beyond the tail, they look a bit odd, ungainly, but from above their four foot wingspan is a wonder of elegance to behold.

This evening I watched the Vienna Philharmonic's outdoor summer concert from Vienna's Schoenbrunn Palace. A magnificent affair, bringing to mind their 2020 summer concert, as European concert venues  just started to resume public performances. That was postponed until the end of September, and was a huge organisational challenge to arrange after months of rehearsals punctuated by covid testing. I found that event most moving, as a symbol of resilience in the world wide artistic community. And here we are nearly two years on, better protected after a succession of four vaccinations, but still capable of getting infected by one or other of the contagious omicron variants doing the rounds. Will it ever end?

I woke up this morning still thinking about last night's episode of Inspector Montalbano. I believe it was the one that started filming around the time that the pandemic broke out, and completion was subject to long delay. I thought this might account for the deserted outdoor scenes, but as I pondered upon it further it struck me that in many previous episodes few street scenes were populated with anyone other than the actors involved. I thought there may be different reasons for this. 

From a film producer's viewpoint, filming a populated street scene is expensive on crowd extras, road closures and security personnel. Scenes are often shot in daytime when it can be hot, and people stay indoors out of the sun, so an empty daytime street would be normal. Then there's the possibility that the producer choses to do this, because many ancient small towns and hill villages in Italy are depopulated by emigration, or contain holiday homes only periodically used. Empty properties have cropped up in story lines from time to time as well, so it's possible streets are empty most of the time, and the film portrays this. One way to inform the speculation would be to read all the novels, as they describe the setting of the fictional Vigata. I've only read one of the three dozen so far.

Surprise disappointment

Saturday breakfast didn't go according to plan this morning, as the waffle maker has developed a fault and made a baked mess stuck to the metal surface, so Clare cooked the batter into thick pancakes instead, quite acceptable. I completed next Thursday's Morning Prayer video before we went to town to look for a new waffle iron, but we were unsuccessful in finding one. We had a drink in John Lewis and Clare had a curry for lunch before we returned home. I cooked a veggie sauce to go with spaghetti for myself, for a late lunch as I didn't fancy anything on offer in John Lewis. Then I went for a walk in the park. 

Clare went out to an early evening concert with Ruth leaving me to my own devices. I started work on a reflection for my first week in Spain, as I don't know how busy I'll be when I get there, and printed off tomorrow's sermon. Having soaked some butter beans overnight, I pressure cooked them, and made an experimental dish of hummous using a handful of them, with a spoonful of tahini, olive oil, lemon and black pepper. It tasted bland without garlic, but there was no time to add any, as Inspector Montalbano was about to start - the last episode to have been made so far, though not the last possible episode. We'll see.

Unfortunately billed by the Beeb as the last ever how would Montalbano end? Bumped off or married off? Neither, it turns out. He falls for a much younger female colleague, and calls it a day with Livia after 20 years. Mid-life crisis, or a moment of truth leading to him settling down eventually? It was another comic and quirky episode with a really puzzling whodunnit shot through with romance. Rather an anticlimax I'm sad to say.

Training on Zoom

After breakfast this morning, it took me a while to work out exactly the best place to install myself for the Diocese in Europe Zoom training session on Safeguarding, to ensure were I could get a stable signal, and be visible to other participants. There were seventeen of us including the three trainers, from Chaplaincies in Turkey, Norway, Hungary, Germany, Holland, Italy, France and Switzerland. Chaplains, Lay Readers, musicians and other officers, Wardens, an ordinand and a Catholic priest preparing for Anglican ministry, a fine cross section of people engaged in the diocese. It all worked without a hitch, and was a worthwhile session. The homework is to watch two hours worth of video about sex offender Bishop Peter Ball, and all the safeguarding concerns surrounding that notorious case.

After my last disaster involving this training when I got the time wrong, I was nervous about it happening again, or something else technical sabotaging the occasion. The added complication was Clare having a Skype session with her Jazz piano teacher, whose time overlapped with mine - what if two internet video calls simultaneously created problems for us both? Well, it didn't, but Clare had a separate problem with her call, as she kept on losing the audio, although her video was unaffected. In the end she had to give up and troubleshoot. It turned out that her method of attaching her tablet to stand so she could chat hands free while playing was blocking the tiny aperture containing the microphone. Problem solved. She completed her lesson later in the afternoon.

Ashley and I met for a drink at the Saffron Cafe at tea time, then I returned home and remembered that I'd not collected my prescription medication, so I had to go out again to the surgery to pick up the script, and take it to the pharmacy across the road from the surgery, which fortunately was still open. Now I'm fully equipped for my stay in Spain. I did the same before going to Ibiza, though I only took two months worth of medication with me and due to my extended stay, had to secure a prescription in situ and pay for medication. To succeed in this I had to contact the surgery and ask them to find out what the name of the equivalent drug would be in Spain. Bless them, it took a couple of days but I got a useful reply that satisfied the need. Looking back, I'm amazed to think that I navigated my way through all that.

Clare went to the last Amser Jazz session of the term at RWCMD, while I waited for her to return for supper, I watched another episode of 'Coroner' on More Four, and then more after supper. The plot gets more complex and confusing in a seemingly never ending story of professional lives overlaid with  family dysfunction - the price that's paid for being excellent at the job - it's a theme which often seems to crop up in police and medical procedural sagas. A reflection of our era maybe?

It's Owain's fortyfourth birthday today and he's out in Switzerland staying with his friend Ludo in Nyon. He posted a lovely picture of Lac Leman on Instagram this evening. As I expected, the weather has been kind, and he's been 'wild' swimming today in one of the most civilised places to do so. Quite a number of the lakeside Communes with beaches have proper changing rooms with showers, picnic areas and barbequeue areas. It's been like that for the past half century at least. I love that lake.

Getting ready to go

Up early, posting the link to today's Morning Prayer video, then after breakfast I walked to the surgery to hand in my prescription renewal form on the way to St John's for the Eucharist with nine others. After the customary post-service cup of coffee, I went to the Post Office to see if I could still get in International Drivers Permit, and was pleased to find that this counter facility was still offered. Although I thought there was a passport sized photo in my wallet there wasn't, so I had to go home and find one - there were still four left in my study desk drawer from the last time I obtained one in February 2000. 

Clare was still out, shopping in town, so I went back to the Post Office and got the permit straightaway. Then I cooked lunch in good time for Clare's return, and felt pleased with myself for starting the next stage of preparations for my Costa de Sol assignment. It's two weeks since I applied for my GHIC card. I wonder if it will arrive before I leave? Tomorrow morning I have the first of my two Safeguarding training sessions on Zoom. Then I must book myself some travel insurance.

While Clare had a siesta after lunch, I recorded and edited the audio for next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection. Then we went out for a walk in the park together. It started with a mishap. We reached the end of the street and I noticed that one of the lenses from Clare's sunglasses was missing. Moments before she realised something was wrong and took the sunglasses off and then put them back on without realising that the lens (a plain dark one) was missing until I pointed it out. We searched the pavement and went back into the house to look but to no avail. When she went to return them to their case, there she found the lens!

After supper, I binge watched several episodes of 'Coroner', which has several interesting story threads running through it across episodes as well as cases within episodes. The acting isn't noteworthy and much of the dialogue is mumbled. Set in Canada, the accents are different from those of the average US movie, a little closer to British discourse, but unfortunately this doesn't make for clarity.

Cataract op news

Another cool damp and cloudy day, but with no heavy rain. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's after breakfast. There were nine of us celebrating St Peter the Apostle in the church hall again as the decorators working in church haven't completed the job by the scheduled date. I chatted briefly with Mother Frances afterwards. It's confirmed that Mother Emma will serve both St Catherine's and St Peter's Fairwater in future, though we're unlikely to see her on Wednesdays as there's also a service at St Peter's. The prospect of exchanging weekdays with St John's so that Emma could be at St Catherine's on a Thursday hasn't been welcomed. Congregations are rather set in their routines it seems. 

It won't be easy to find substitute clergy for weeks when Mother Frances can't cover long term. While I'm always willing to plug the gap, sustainable arrangements have to be made that don't depend on retired clergy. Father Hugh at Fairwater will cover the weeks when Emma is at St. Catherine's, but like me he's retired. I suppose for now we'll just muddle along. 

I went straight from St Catherine's to pick up this week's veggie bag. By the time I got home, Clare had cooked a delicious pinto bean curry for lunch, using the other half of the can I opened yesterday. All I had to do was cook the brown rice to go with it.

I was delighted to receive a call from St Joseph's Hospital about arranging a cataract operation date. It has to be in the Autumn. I thought it wouldn't be a good idea to have it as soon as we return from Spain just in case I'm unlucky enough to contract another dose of covid on the return trip, so we agreed on the 22nd September, which would give me enough time to recover if the worst happened, and give the hospital more time to rearrange the booked slot if I did have to cancel.

We went to Beanfreaks together mid afternoon so that Clare could buy stocks of different kinds of flour and I could lug the heavy shopping trolley home. A strange sort of outing! Then I worked on next week's Morning Prayer and reflection before walking in the park for an hour. With nothing of interest on telly, I decided to use the time scanning negatives. There's still a pile of old photo wallets to get through, and no idea what they may contain until I start of them.

I spent an enjoyable evening scanning a packet ot really old negatives dating back to our time in St Paul's Bristol, including lovely black and white ones of baby Owain from 1979, some of our wedding and first visit to Clare's family home in Ewell with baby Owain and his sisters. Such happy memories!

Drama on screen and on court

Clare went to her study group after breakfast and I did the first of two shopping trips of the day, to refill a couple of bottles with laundry and cleaning fluids, which are available locally. The specialist shop in the Corp turned out to be closed, and not reopening until early next year. No idea why. Thankfully Beanfreaks also offers refills, so mission accomplished. I improvised a pasta sauce with aubergines, carrots, onions, mushrooms and pinto beans, as I found a can of them tucked away in the cupboard.

After lunch on impulse, I read a chapter of 'Invierno en Madrid', instead of reading in bed and nodding off. I'm nearly at the end now, and enjoying the climax of the story. It's taken more than a year to get through this six hundred page novel, but I have learned a lot from doing so. Then I walked in the park for an hour before dealing with emails and preparing supper, while Clare was out at meditation group.

I watched the last in Iolo Williams's series of wildlife programmes on Anglesey on catch-up while waiting for the last episode of 'Sherwood' to be broadcast live. It was superb, powerful in the way it focussed not on the ultimate arrest of the murderer, but on the community meeting which followed, in which the shared memory of divisions and wounds generated during the 1980's miners' strike were aired. A five minute long scene in the same room, with minimal changes in camera shots. You could have been looking at a film of a play on stage. Definitely the best piece of British crime drama I've seen in recent years. There was a lot in it that echoed the impact on community life of the loss of the pits in South Wales, persisting still today.

With nothing better to do just before and after this I dipped into the  tennis match between Harmony Tan and Serena Williams at Wimbledon with some exciting tennis played between a rising star and a veteran champion who eventually lost in what was only a first round match, Well, eventually the older must make way for the younger, no matter how we feel about that.

Valued visit

After breakfast, the usual Monday housework tasks. While Clare was out at her Pilates assessment session, I finished this week's Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube, before cooking lunch in time for her return. 

Owain arrived just after we'd eaten, and was happy to eat just a sandwich, as he prefers a cooked meal in the evening. Last week he had his induction into his new job with the Insolvency Commission. Thursday he's off to Geneva for a birthday long weekend, planned before the new job came up, so his new bosses had to honour the leave time he'd been granted. 

We went for a walk together over to Bute Park and had a drink at the Secret Garden Cafe on the way round. Then it was time to give him a lift to the station for his return to Bristol. A brief but much valued visit. He lives a full and busy life, and we're fortunate that he wants to visit us as often as he does.

After supper, I went for short walk in Llandaff Fields. There was a circle of fifteen people standing under the trees working with a yoga teacher. The sight of them all standing on one leg and bowing in salutation was quite striking. I felt a bit awkward about taking a photo of them, and wished I had done by the time I turned around and headed for home. They'd dispersed by the time I passed the place where they gathered. A missed opportunity.

I watched some of Andy Murray's first round match at Wimbledon while waiting for the fifth episode of 'Sherwood' whose plot continues to deliver surprises, even if its extended flashbacks to 1984 are a bit hard to follow on times. Sixth and final episode tomorrow night.

At least eighteen people were killed and dozens more unaccounted for in a missile attack on a shopping centre in Ukraine today, 80 miles away from the conflict in Donbass in a town where there were no military assets to target. It's not the first time civilians have been targeted. G7 summit leaders have branded it as a war crime. Putin's forces are acting in blatant disregard for the laws of war, as if they can never be punished. The aim seems to be to wear the Ukrainians down and force them to submit, regardless of the cost in lost lives and cities razed to the ground. It's causing outrage internationally, leading to an increase in the military support Ukraine gets, but will it be enough to create a situation where Putin realises he cannot win? Or will he be ousted by others who realise this but cannot convince him?

Dream come true

Less dramatic weather today, cloudy with sunshine, fairly warm and no rain. I had a night of broken sleep, perhaps on account of having to be out of the house an hour earlier than usual to drive to St Michael's to preside at their Parish Eucharist. I woke up out of a very anxious nightmare around six, in which I was just arriving at the church only to find it didn't look at all as I remembered it from twelve years ago, my last visit. It was surrounded by building sites, and I couldn't figure out how to gain access to the main entrance. I kept on rehearsing the familiar route as I dozed thereafter.

When I drove the route an hour and half later, I couldn't help laughing out loud in the last half mile. It was just how it had been in my nightmare! The length of Cathays terrace has a bike lane under construction, hemmed in by Heras fencing and big plastic blocks. The Carnegie Library at the junction with Whitchurch Road is swathed in scaffolding and plastic sheets. When I turned left on to Whitchurch Road itself, the entire campus containing St Monica's (VA) Primary and Gladstone Primary schools is also covered in scaffolding, as it has been for the past three years I was later told. Maybe my subconscious mind had noted this and fed it into my nightmare. St Michael's is dwarfed by the neighbouring scaffolding, but still stands out in traditional dark red brick. It's 25 years this year since the church was consecrated. It's testimony to the work of my predecessor Canon Mac Ellis when he was Rector of Central Cardiff.

Including children, we were thirty for the Eucharist, half a dozen of them I remember from my time as Rector, lovely hard working people, with strong confident commitment to growing a lively welcoming congregation of all ages. Edwina one of the team of Lay Readers preached nicely, others led prayers and read lessons. Thanks to a legacy it's been possible to mount a screen on the wall beside the altar where can be seen by all (except the president!) with a video projector out of the way high up on a balcony. Hymns and liturgical words are displayed on screen, and in the absence of an organist, the hymns are recordings from  YouTube with the words displayed. 

The whole service is streamed live. People all around the world watch regularly. I was told of a rural head teacher in Uganda who joins in remotely every Sunday. There's no regular pastoral ministry on the ground in his district. One of the reasons he watches regularly is to hear words of absolution and blessing spoken by a minister. He sent a message after the service to thank me for ministering to him in this way. There's also a separate Zoom live service in the afternoon with a regular congregation, many of whom are housebound. As a result of on-line ministry during the pandemic several new members have joined and attend in person. It's great to see how a familiar congregation has remained in good heart despite all the upheavals of Ministry Area impositions, and is continued to move on and develop.

I got back home at midday and for once in a while was able to cook Sunday lunch for Clare. WE went for a walk afterwards and harvested equisitum (horsetail) plants along the riverside woodland path. We got eight hundred grams between us, and there's pleny more out there. Clare is going to use them in applying a traditional herbal remedy to the problem of diminishing bone density. Some German research has shown that these are no less effective than today's 'innovative' treatments. It's good to be pro-active than it is to sit and worry. We washed all the plants and dried them using the kitchen salad spinner. Some are packaged up and stored in the freezer, others will be left to dessicate naturally and others boiled up for use in a therapeutic bath. Well, it makes a change from foraging for crab apples and blackberries!

Before supper, I watched a very interesting edition of 'Countryfile' on BBC One, all about the movement towards what's called regenerative farming, which aims to wear the crop growing industry off the use of pesticides and artificial fertilizers, which have a huge carbon footprint to manufacture and contribute to soil depletion and water course pollution in a way not properly understood until fairly recently. Ir's a move towards encouraging greater plant biodiversity to improve soil health, even down to growing different kinds of wheat in the same field avoiding a monoculture which can be advantageous to weeds and pests. 

As energy and grain seed prices spiral upwards, it may be possible to make savings to production costs by drastically reducing expenditure on artificial pest control and soul nutrition. Fertilizers manufactured from organic waste materials (from food manufacturing or sewage farms) which are even more effective can be produced at ten per cent of the cost of the chemical kind. A very interesting agricultural revolution is now taking place, it seems.

That was the only thing worth watching on telly tonight. Neither of us have had any interest in listening to all the performances broadcasted live or recorded from this year's Glastonbury festival of which much is being made on air this week. Glad the weather has been fairly decent, and not the news itself. A good time is had by all whatever the climate. Apparently the police are reporting a big drop in crime and it's being attributed to the phenomenal growth of cashless transactions. Far fewer people are carrying money around to get stolen, and there's only so many transactions you can make with an unreported stolen card before you're asked to confirm its PIN number. This is good news, even if I still lament the disuse of real money.

Looking forward to a visit from Owain tomorrow. He's not going to be here for his birthday as he's going to Geneva to see his friends and celebrate there instead, for the first time in a couple of years.

Donner und Blitzen!

I woke up in time for 'Thought for the Day', and listened to Boris Johnson being interviewed by Mishal Hussein on the BBC Radio Four Today programme, being bullishly defiant in the face of the slow trickle of new calls for his resignation from his fellow Tories. I couldn't help notice the way in which he persisted in talking over his interviewer's attempt to question him. A man who doesn't listen or stop to think, but just keeps going regardless of the negative impression this gives of his treatment of female interrogator. I don't think he'd have been able to get away with this if he was up against a man, willing to stand up to his awful boorishness. 

After rising late, we had waffles for breakfast again this morning. Then we decided to drive to Penarth for a walk on the cliff top before lunch in one of the restaurants on the promenade. Half an hour into our walk, it started to thunder and rain heavily, we were compelled to shelter in Cioni's Bistro, the gelateria and snack bar by the children's playground on the cliff top, so we had a snack brunch instead, watching the downpour and listening to rumbles of thunder as we dried out. The sun then returned and we walked down to the pier to meet with Mark and Fran, who told us about the icon presentation they gave in Stroud last weekend to an audience of seventy, while we had a drink together.

We returned home, and while Clare rested, I walked up to the Cathedral and back. Once more dark clouds gathered and just as I left the park, thunder and lightening announced the opening of the heavens, slowly at first, but by the time I reached the front door, pelting rain was joined by heavy hail and more thunder and lightening, persisting for half an hour before sunshine briefly broke through dark grey clouds again before disappearing with another spell of rain. Quite a spectacle! 

As I have an earlier start tomorrow to get to the service I'm leading over in Cathays, I thought it would be a good idea to get an early night, rather than watch the penultimate episode of Inspector Montalbano, which finishes as eleven. As it was already available on iPlayer, we sat and watched it at seven instead. Next week is the premiere of the last ever Montalbano story, according to the BBC (or is it really the latest?) published a year before the death of author Antonio Camillieri in 2019, and filmed in 2021. There are two more published novels, I've discovered, and these haven't yet been turned into movies. After thirty six episodes, the regular characters in the fictional town of Vigata are as familiar and vivid as the cast of 'The Archers'. I wouldn't know about Easternders or Coronation Street characters as we've never watched either series.

Going out in style

I woke up to news this morning of a thousand deaths from an earthquake in Afghanistan,, and there are thousands more left not only bereaved but homeless. Humanitarian aid is already on the way, and efforts are being made to find a way to release the country's assets held by international banks, frozen since the elected government was ousted by the Taliban. An agreement may be possible to transfer government funds in frozen accounts directly to humanitarian agencies. Let's hope so. There have been more calls for Boris Johnson to resign following the loss of two seats in by-elections this week. He's in Rwanda for a Commonwealth heads of state conference with Prince Charles, flatly refusing to yield. Shameless as ever.

I walked to St Luke's for this morning's funeral. About a hundred people attended, and the coffin of the deceased arrived in style in a an old fashioned hearse drawn by two jet black horses with pink plumes on their heads. As the coffin was processed in, a harpist played welcoming music, a church co-worker led the congregational singing of two hymns, both friends of the lady acting as next of kin. She read a lesson, as did her son. She delivered a superb eulogy friend witnessing to the faith they shared. 

The music played for the departure procession was Abba's 'Dancing Queen'. As soon as it started there were smiles, and many of the congregation began to move with the music, including me. I think that's the first time I've moved to the music in a funeral procession. At one moment I thought the bearers were going to catch up on me, and I had to had to do a double step to keep my distance. I was given a lift to Western Cemetery in a car. The return ride was in the back of the extra hearse that accompanied the horse drawn one to carry flowers rather than cram them all in the smaller horse drawn one. One of the drivers told me that the empty hearse travelling ahead of the horse drawn one also drew attention of other motorists to the coming cortege, a prudent message to avoid careless motorists spooking the horses.

I got home just in time for lunch. There was a call while I was out with an urgent request to celebrate the Eucharist at St Michael's Whitchurch Road on Sunday, as both Caroline and Meg, the priests there have gone down with covid. I won't have to prepare a sermon as one of the Parish readers is preaching. It will be the first time I've been there since I retired n 2010. St Michael's was one of the churches under my care in the Central Cardiff Team Ministry, though it normally had a priest of its own, and I'd go there on rotation a few times each quarter. Caroline's husband Glyn briefed me and wondered if covid had reached them through the church congregation. So much for returning to sharing the chalice.

Sarah, a neighbour living across the street asked for help to wipe an old computer so it could go to a specialised charity for re-homing old devices. It was Dell desktop machine, ten years old, running Windows 7, quite sprightly for its age, but then it wasn't connected to the internet, which in my experience tends to slow things down a bit, as the device is always checking, calling servers linked to programs in use, 

Sarah's MS Office 365 sub had run out, and she wanted to know if she could get by without it. I pointed her to the OneDrive web app version, which seems to be useable without payment. I suspect some of its more sophisticated features are missing, but it's OK to use for basic tasks. She has a new laptop that she's getting used to, and hadn't yet logged into her existing OneDrive account, so that it would sync with her laptop. I was able to help her with this. She was still a little puzzled by the device which had updated to Windows 11 and changed the look of the user interface. It seemed to be running a bit slow for a two year old machine with a solid state hard drive and eight gigs or RAM, and Ryzen chipset, just like mine. I learned that the house internet connection wasn't all that fast. It really shows, and affects the performance of an otherwise spritely device.

I  was left tired by the morning's ministrations, and found I needed a sleep again after lunch to freshen me up before a walk in the park. After supper I watched the first episode in a second series of 'Coroner', a Canadian production. Then the first in a new series called 'Rig 45 - Murder at Sea' a whodunnit on a North Sea oil rig, and Anglo-Norwegian production. In both cases, dialogue was mumbled and hard to follow, even with the sound turned up extra loud. It's a recipe for boredom if the storyline isn't that easy to follow.

Closure

I woke up at half past six but fell asleep again until half past eight this morning, when I posed today's link to Morning Prayer on WhatsApp. After breakfast I left early for church to shop for food bank items on my way to St John's for the Eucharist, together with nine others. 

Ashley and I arranged to meet following a appointment of his at St David's hospital. We met and walked to the Saffron Cafe at Canton Cross, where he had a very late breakfast after a fasting blood test, and I had a cup of coffee. It's the first time I've been in there. It was quite busy, but the lady in charge was very welcoming, and it didn't take long for Ashley to get served, so we had three quarters of an hour together to talk about finally clearing the CBS office, now the business is wound up and the place must be vacated. Then I returned home for lunch.

To my surprise, considering that I had a a full night's sleep, I slept for another hour in the chair after doing my DuoLingo Spanish exercise of the day. I suppose I must need the extra sleep to make up for nights when my sleep is more broken. Then, a walk around Llandaff Fields before supper. 

Later in the evening, after I'd finished and printed my service sheet for tomorrow's funeral, we watched 'The African Queen', that classic movie from 1951 with Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn. I recalled from when I saw it in my teens that it was a drama set in colonial Africa, but had forgotten that it was essentially a romantic comedy adventure. Very much a period piece, but entertaining all the same.

Love song to Black Britons

I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning, celebrated again in the church hall. This time I was in the congregation of ten. After a chat over coffee, I returned home, worked on next week's reflection for Thursday Morning Prayer and cooked lunch. After lunch I took advantage of the quietness, which Clare was having a siesta to record the audio, as the written text preparation didn't take me long at all. That was pleasing. Then I went for a walk.

In the avenue of trees along the edge of Pontcanna Fields, I noticed that several large tree trunks, felled or fallen, cut into pieces and left in situ four years ago, have been removed, leaving only the imprint on the ground and shards of broken bark. I wonder why these select pieces for broken trees and not others. There's an abundance of them throughout our parkland.

After supper I watched the final episodes of 'Suspect' on catch-up, The ending was a disappointment, as was this week's  catch-up episode of 'Blacklist, although it was only part one of two, it was hard to figure out who was doing what to whom and why. Finally, an hour of illumination with Lenny Henry fronting a short documentary series on the Caribbean contribution to the evolution of British culture despite decades of racism and xenophobia towards black people. Tonight he covered the period from the fifties to the seventies, when we were young. It was a real journey down memory lane. It was great to see interviews with so many prominent black Britons who have distinguished themselves in the creative arts. I loved it as it reminded me of how much I own to the years we spent raising our kids in Bristol's St Paul's Area, where the black community was in many ways so open and trusting to their white parish priest, when he was more of an embarrassment to indigenous Brits.

Equinox

Nice to wake up to sunshine and warm air on Summer Equinox day. Most of the country's rail network is shut down by a big strike, due to an impasse after eighteen months of negotiation over pay and conditions. So much has changed during that time and railway finances have been hit hard by covid losses followed by the knock on inflationary effect of the war in Ukraine. 

Most railway workers haven't had a pay rise in three years and are now falling even further behind. The same is true for other groups of public sector employees. It seems to me that everybody's living standards are destined to fall, except for the relatively rich. We're still a long way from the kind of redistribution of wealth that would make life less miserable for the majority, but nobody who has more than their reasonable share of assets wants gives them up without a fight.

Clare's welcomed her Steiner study group at home the morning, so I made myself scarce for a while and then walked down to the river for an hour before returning to cook lunch. As I walked in Pontcanna Fields, I noticed along the path that runs beside the perimeter wall of the municipal allotments, raspberries were growing in among the bramble bushes. I guess birds at some time or another have helped themselves to fruit from the canes in someone's plot, and taken dispersed seeds beyond the boundary, through their poo. 

Park land management isn't as aggressive as it used to be. More areas are left un-mown for longer, or not cut back, and that really improves environmental for insects and birds alike. It's been a pleasure this last few years of confinement to Cardiff for most of the year, just to realise how much wildlife diversity there is, so close to the heart of the city.

I spotted a Tesco credit card, dropped in the grass at the side of the path from Blackweir Bridge to the main avenue, and decided the best thing I could do with it was to take it to the nearest Tesco branch and give it to the manager. I did this when I went out to do the weekly grocery shopping after lunch. Had it been missed? I wondered, or already reported lost and blocked/cancelled? No point in taking a risk of it being abused, as these day contactless payments can be made of £50 uf not £100 within verification.

When I'd unloaded the shopping and stowed it all away, I got to work preparing Friday's funeral service, and then went out for another walk around Thompson's Park. After supper, another evening with episodes of 'Suspect' and 'Sherwood', both dealing in different ways with the dark underside of British policing, interestingly enough.

Locum challenge

Another Monday, with housework to do after breakfast. Then, I completed and uploaded to YouTube the Morning Prayer video for Thursday, before cooking lunch. 

It occurred to me that if I'm going to do what I've done previously on a locum trip to Spain, and take my Chromebook with me, that I should check to see if there's a suitable app to use that will enable me to make the usual Morning Prayer video using the Chromebook while I'm there. I propose to continue my weekly offering, with reflections relating to issues of interest about the place where I minister. 

The first one is a real no brainer, as the chaplain's house is in San Pedro, a town and its surrounding area named after a sixteenth century Spanish ascetic, Pedro de Alcántara, a Catholic monastic reformer who encouraged Teresa of Avila to reform women's religious orders. I think she's better known than he. Nevertheless, an interesting man. I won't know what else there'll be to reflect on until I get there and immerse myself in a new environment.

Anyway there's no guarantee that the chaplaincy provides an up to date device with Windows 10, whose basic (and very useful) video editor is what I've learned to use with ease. I spent an hour looking at the on-line options that Chromebook can run, testing them with this week's file of pictures and audio, but didn't achieve anything that exactly matched its capability. An unproductive hour maybe, although I did learn a few new things in the process.

I walked in the park mid-afternoon, and caught sight of an egret on the east bank of the Taff a few hundred metres below Western Avenue bridge, much the same place as I saw one last, two years ago. It hopped about in the water near the edge, as if it was unsettled by something. Then a heron flew in and landed quite near, and the egret went into hiding, only emerging when there was a safe distance between them. A moment later, a cormorant appeared, diving for fish. I missed getting a photo of them together, thanks to the cormorant being very industrious. It occurred to me that they'd turned up in the same small location because it was a spot where elvers and small fish could still be found. The river level is very low at the moment.

Clare called me as I was on my way home to say that her telephone appointment with one of our GPs had revealed that she was advanced spinal osteoporosis. She's been urgently referred to a specialist for examination a a treatment plan. Under the circumstances, the doctor was impressed she'd made such a good recovery from her back injury twelve weeks ago, Her general fitness and physical mobility are a key factor in this, thankfully.

After supper I watched a couple of episodes of 'Suspect' as all are available on the channel four website, then watched 'Sherwood' live. Its portrayal of the conflict between NUM and UDM miners in the 1980's and its legacy of bitterness and broken relationships feels very authentic, written by one who knows the Nottinghamshire pit villages from first hand experience.

Invasion of Snoopies

Another overcast day. The town centre was busy when I drove through on my way to St German's, with people arriving at the castle for the second day of the Tafwyl festival. I celebrated the Mass of Corpus Christi, a real pleasure with a few moments during the Eucharstic prayer when the sun peeped through the clouds. 

I take the sacrament first to people in the congregation who cannot walk up to receive. A man was there with his carer, severely disabled by a stroke. When I reached him, he'd fallen asleep. A few minutes later, as I was communicating the last of the congregation, the carer joined the queue, and told me Peter was now awake, so I went down to him a second time. It's lovely to be in a church which is so relaxed in prayer, that nobody pays any attention when something unusual happens.

I talked with a lady afterwards whose husband died during the pandemic, but not of covid, but due to his unexpected reaction to the second dose of vaccine. He was diabetic, and receiving the injection seems to have coincided with rapid deterioration of his vascular system, requiring amputations and eventual heart failure, all in a couple of months. It sounded to me as if the trauma of those months left more of an impact on her than she might realise. It's good she's coming to church and finding a welcome and a place of peace where she can be carried by the prayer of others.

Home for lunch, and then, while Clare had a siesta, I recorded and edited next Thursday's Morning Prayer audio, ready to finish off tomorrow. We then walked to the National Museum, hoping to see the painting of Sir Tom Jones, but it's still on loan to the National Portrait gallery in London. I asked in the shop if any postcards of the painting were available, and was told they're not sold, as the copyright is owned by Sky Arts TV which hosts the Portrait Artist of the Year competition. What a shame!

Outside the museum, all forty of the Snoopy sculptures which proved so vulnerable when on open display in public spaces, are assembled and displayed for this weekend in a temporary enclosure, labelled 'Farewell to Snoopy'. 

It was a completely surreal sight, all these brightly coloured fibre glass pooch replicas in serried ranks. There was a charge of four quid each to get inside the enclosure and walk around among them, but I didn't see the point of that, when I could take a few photos from outside to mark this bizarre occasion.

We called in to the Tafwyl Festival at the castle - four stages and dozens of fast food vans and tents of other organisations showcasing Welsh language artistic endeavours. The festival has grown in size and popularity in recent years and is clearly no longer just a Cardiff thing with people travelling in for this fiesta of Welsh language music and snacks in the hand. While we were there I received phone calls from Owain and Rachel to wish me a happy Father's Day. This, plus a card from Kath leaves me feeling very blessed.

We had a cup of tea, then listen to 'Brigyn' or at least, one half of the folksy duo, substituting for a band scheduled to appear which had to pull out at the last minute due to illness. After twenty minutes listening we caught a bus to Canton Cross, then walked home the last half mile.

After supper, another programme on BBC Four about the history of British music making in the 20th century with a feature on violinist Yehudi Menuin and sitar maestro Ravi Shankar, illustrating the impact of Indian music in the sixties, and the innovative fusion of different styles of music which began in that decade. Then there was a live concert from the Hoddinott Hall at the Millennium Centre from, with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, with Mendelssohn's violin concerto and Tchaikovski's Fourth symphony. 

At nine I switched over to watch the first double episode of 'Suspect', with some powerful acting and the tragic story about the death of a detective's estranged daughter. He's convinced it's murder when outwardly the evidence points to suicide. Who is right? We shall see.

A musical nation

Clouds and drizzle this morning, and it's ten degrees cooler than yesterday. When I went down to breakfast I was surprised to find that instead of Saturday pancakes, Clare had cooked waffles to a vegan recipe for a change. They were delicious, and destined to become a firm favourite, I think.

Later, we went for a walk through Bute Park and had a snack lunch at the Secret Garden cafe. Thankfully the drizzle held off, so we didn't get wet. There was a man with a lively dog in the cafe. The hound was dragging a large stick of dead wood around, which made a conspicuous noise when dropped. It stood by the doorway, occasionally picking up and dropping the stick. Then it would take a few steps back, looking eagerly for a response from its master, absorbed in his phone and drinking coffee. This attention seeking behaviour was reproduced at least half a dozen times in ten minutes, each time the hound took a few steps nearer until it reached its master's feet and started whimpering to get attention. An impressive fear of persistent nagging, even though it fell on deaf ears!

The cloud cover remained low, and though it threatened to rain again after morning showers, it didn't. We then went to the summer fayre in St Catherine's church grounds. All the usual stalls and activities, were there and the place was busy with a steady stream of visitors. An event that's a credit to the congregation. We had some strawberries without cream, and a go on the bottle staff. Clare won a can of coffee flavoured stout branded by Guinness. Neither of us fancied it, so I surreptitiously returned it for someone else to win and then won a can of quite strong IPA, but no lucky wine wins this time. I did buy a jar of plum jam and a fresh one of churchyard blackcurrant jam to replace the one I'm slowly savouring at the moment from last autumn's fayre. You can't have enough blackcurrant jam, in my estimation!

Clare then went down to the Castle for the annual Tafwyl festival, featuring some top Welsh language singers, including singer songwriter Meinyr Gwilym of whom she's a fan. I went home, and cooked us a pasta meal using the butter beans Clare cooked yesterday. I was pleased with the result, and only needed to cook the pasta when Clare arrived home after the performance. After supper we watched on S4C this year's Welsh national youth choir competition. There were some stunning performances from choirs up to fifty strong. Such vital energy, discipline, enthusiasm and musicianship. One of the judges, an Italian musical maestro I think, speaking in English, praised the uniqueness of Wales' choral music culture. All this with Sir Tom Jones and the Stereophonics singing tonight at the Principality Stadium. "Praise the Lord, we are a musical nation", as the Reverend Eli Jenkins said in Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood.

We have the first of three Inspector Montalbano episodes on BBC Four over the next fortnight. The first two are re-runs of the last available episodes. The third is the last ever Montalbano story, of the thirty six. It was made into a movie after the death of his creator Antonio Camillieri, who wouldn't let it be published while he was alive. That way the authentic character dies with him. A unique inimitable body of work. The mixture of sadness and humour, with vignettes exposing the poverty and corruption which still plague Sicilian life is portrayed in a most thought provoking way. The wait to see how it all ends for Montalbano will not be easy - like waiting for a friend to die. The story teller who can generate such a bond between his characters and audience is a true maestro with words.

Reflecting on the Annunciation

I stayed in bed until nine and caught up on lost sleep. After breakfast I worked on my Sunday sermon, then cooked lunch and went for a walk in the park. 

Fran and Mark came at three, and gave us a preview of their reflective presentation on the icon of the Annunciation, which they'll be offering to a live audience over in Stroud this weekend. We were privileged to have a preview, and offer comments. Fran talks about the meaning of the icon she painted and Mark plays interludes from a baroque passacaglica, with a full recital at the end of the forty minute talk. How they present words and music is still a work in progress for them. It's great to have been invited to be part of the process.

Early evening, Clare went out to Conway Road Methodist church for a concert by RWCMD students of excerpts from German operas. I had already reserved my place in front of the telly for the season finale of 'Usedom-Krimi'. Top class telly, and most of the German was easy enough to understand whether or not you looked at the sub-titles. If only it was so easy when travelling in the FDR. There's enough unfinished relational issues in this storyline (crimes notwithstanding), to ensure another season, maybe next year. 

This evening's episode centred on the domestic life of a trio of ageing hippies, and a tragic incident connected by chance to a failed suicide attempt by a terminally sick man, who then loses his memory. At the heart of it is the pastoral approach of the series heroine to engaging with people overtaken by events they fail to control, and not for the first time in this series. Clare got back from the concert in time to sit and watch the first half with me, and drink a glass of pinot noir. She's feeling better for sure, but still being careful with her back.

Blackcurrant jam on Corpus Christi

I woke up early and posted my Corpus Christi Morning Prayer link to WhatsApp  before 'Thought for the Day'.. It's a day that happily reminds me of occasions in Spain when I've witnessed or been part of a street procession with the \blessed Sacrament over the years; in Sta Pola, Nerja and Malaga.  

In the news, Lord Guite Boris Johnson's ethics advisor, has resigned, finally prompted by a request from the Prime Minister to give an opinion on modifying the existing ministerial code of conduct in a way that would neutralise its value. In the eyes of many Boris has done more than enough to flout the code of conduct regarding his own and his ministers' behaviour. Enough is enough for Lord Guite, but will Boris submit to calls for his resignation now? I don't suppose so. He's so self centred, seeing himself exclusively as able to steer the country through this time of change. It's creeping dictatorship, and high time the Tories got rid of him. New Boris scandals keep hitting the headlines, He's become as much of a contentious issue as his policies. Tory credibility sinks further towards un-electabiliy. As the late great Bob Marley once sang:  'Whosoever diggeth a pit; shall bury in it.'

I went to St John's this morning for the Corpus Christi Eucharist along with eight others. Again I wasn't in the rota to do this, but th rota seems to have unravelled a bit in recent weeks, with Fr Colin still recovering from covid, and Frances away, so I was ready to celebrate if needed. Clare had already started cooking when I arrived home, so I went into the garden and harvested a pound of blackcurrants from our small bush. It was just enough to make five small pots of delicious jam. I really know it's summer when the aroma of stewing blackcurrants is in the air. It reminds me of life as a child back home. Dad had several bushes yielding several more pounds of fruit for jam and/or crumble for pudding, and I used to pick them. It's still one of my all time favourite fruits.

After lunch I wrote next Thursday's reflection, ready for recording, then succumbed to sleep for an hour as I didn't sleep so well last night or the night before. Before supper I walked for an hour and a half, and saw the last episode of the season's 'Springwatch' programmes, and another documentary on Bradford's social problems and the people who del with them - PCSOs and the Council's homelessness team. 

It showed the industrial scale farming of illegal cannabis in derelict mill buildings and spoke about people trafficked and locked into a mill with rudimentary bedroom, kitchen and toilet facilities once the vast indoor greenhouses were set up, each at a cost of tens of thousands in equipment. West Yorkshire Police have found and destroyed over a thousand cannabis farms in the past year, we were told. It's a multi million pound business, tax free, completely outside the law. Legalising cannabis, one PCSO said, would change everything for the better. But what British government would be willing to do that?

Welsh and proud

This week, St Catherine's chancel is being redecorated, the service was held in the church hall instead and I celebrated with eight others. We agreed, chatting over coffee after that it had been a pleasant experience, sitting in a semi-circle closed by a table serving as an altar. Before the church was built in the 1880s the 'tin tabernacle' had been erected and used an an all purpose mission hall, for Sunday school, and various church groups as well as Sunday worship. 

Its roof has been replaced, not sure about the corrugated iron walls, though they have been re-painted a sympathetic green, with a modern kitchen and toilets added in the new century. The interior is still wooden panelled, and in good repair. It's a nice Victorian period piece of vernacular architecture, often used for location filming on top of its other parochial engagements. The acoustic is good, as well, which actually helps to make it a good worship space. We wondered how long it is since a service was last held in the hall instead of the church.

We chatted until quite late, so when Clare returned from a therapy session and a trip to town, I'd not been for this week's veggie bag, and lunch wasn't ready. She cooked while I went out to fetch it. After lunch I walked over the St Luke's to meet the lady I'd talked to on the phone yesterday, and continue preparations for the funeral of her friend next week. When I returned home I drafted and sent her an order of service to work on, and then we had supper early so we could get to the Royal Welsh College in time for a concert,

This afternoon, St John's City Parish Church hosted a civic service of thanksgiving for all that had been achieved in Wales by people serving together to combat the covid pandemic. The NHS, the military and police, and a host of voluntary organisations, with an emphasis on Wales's ethnic minority population which suffered disproportionately from covid, not least as so many work in the NHS in public service organisations, transport and food retailing. The concert which followed in RWCMD was organised by the Indian Consul in Wales, and was a celebration of good will and diversity. 

It included a College Jazz ensemble, another band of students led by a composer/songwriter of Welsh African, which played her compositions. Then, a wonderful display of classical Indian dancing by two dozen young woman, and to conclude, the Royal Welsh Regiment band's corps of drummers. Just three of them dressed in their traditional dark navy blue uniforms with helmets, pointed like a police helmet. At first I wondered if they were from a police band, but not so. Their drumsticks were illuminated with a red and a blue LED, and house lights were cut while they played, producing an amazing light-show that changed according to the rhythm they tapped out.

There were speeches of course, including one from First Minister Mark Drakeford, who was warmly received when he spoke, telling a few succint heart warming stories, and celebrating the way everyone in Wales, regardless of cultural background pulled together, thinking of others, working for the common good in ways great and small. He spoke about a government anti-racism policy which aims by 2030 to ensure that everyone in Wales has equal opportunities, regardless of their ethnicity. It seems we're the first nation in the world to formulate such a policy. 

We also heard from another speaker that measures taken to limit the spread of covid in Wales resulted in Wales having the lowest death rate, something remarkable considering levels of deprivation in post industrial areas. All attributed to careful monitoring and people making an effort to comply with public health requirements. Yes indeed, such a lot to give thanks for, and to be proud that we've had the extraordinary servant leadership exercised by our First Minister, who has continued undeterred on the government team's collaborative approach which has got us where we hope to go, and is now taking us into recovery, with a new vision for the future. I couldn't be any prouder than I am.

Good News amidst the grief

I didn't get up this morning until gone nine, after a broken night's sleep, so I had a slow start to the day. Clare was at her study group in Penarth this morning. She left me with a shopping list for the weekly visit to the Co-op for groceries so I did this before cooking lunch. 

While waiting for her to return, I phoned the person acting as next of kin for arrangements to make for next Friday's funeral at St Luke's. I learned that the woman who died had been, in effect, abandoned by her family to life in the old Ely Hospital, where people with a range of long term physical and mental disabilities were looked after before 'care in the community' dispersed them to sheltered accommodation units with carers. 

The lady I was speaking to had been a volunteer at Ely hospital before it closed and formed a close bond with the deceased, so much so that she took her into her own family and fostered her, an experience which changed the course of both lives. From incarceration in hospital subdued by drugs, to a place of her own and semi-independent living over the course of some, nourished by a sense of belonging to a family that had chosen to have her as one of their own. 

This experience led to her family fostering others during the years, and for her, a new career in counselling and disability advocacy. As a member of City Church, the Pentecostal congregation next to the old Westgate pub in town, she wants the funeral to be held close to where the deceased lived, and said she wants it to be a positive occasion of witness to neighbours and friends she made in the vicinity. A resurrection story, the way I heard it. She spoke with the warmth and affection of someone who really understands and lives the Gospel. I look forward to this service, aware that a couple of musicians from City Church want to contribute, and the lady herself wants to give the eulogy.

I went for a walk around Llandaff Fields mid-afternoon, returned for tea, uploaded photos taken in the past few days, prepared supper and ate alone, listening to the Archers, as Clare had gone to a meditation group. Then I went for another walk in Thompson's Park, and when I got back, Clare was eating supper, listening to the Archers on catch-up.

My sister June rang to tell me to watch a Sky Arts documentary about 2019 Portrait Artist of the year Duncan Shoosmith painting Sir Tom Jones for the National Museum of Wales portrait gallery. It's a very fine painting, though I've yet to see it in situ - somehow I missed it on my visit last month, I must go in there again and find out exactly where the painting is currently.

Then the second episode of 'Sherwood', with more surprises, and realistic authentic pit village dialogue from a community divided by its response the the miners' strike. It's getting excellent reviews in the press, well deserved.