Old Chapel Tenby Initiative

Another overcast day, waking up just in time for 'Thought of the Day'. After breakfast I went with Clare to the pool for her daily dip. Yesterday evening I took photos of my recent drawings and discovered that with Google Photos editing facility it's possible to intensify the lines and to some extent the colours drawn on paper. It would take a lot longer to do this by hand, assuming I had the right quality of coloured pencils to use. Admittedly it's possible to allege this is cheating, but it's my art work, I'm free to do whatever I like with it. If I wanted to make prints this would make for a better quality image in the end. It's all part of the creative learning process after all. And great holiday fun as well.

Neither of us felt like going out this morning. We had an early lunch and then went out, with the intention of walking on South Beach, after exploring side streets behind the town wall, but there were strong gusts of wind and this deterred us from going further. We made our way back along Upper Frog Street, a name which sticks in my memory as one of my contemporaries at St Mike's lived in this exotic location when he was sent to Tenby to serve his first Curacy. My attention was caught by a church building with a hanging sign outside saying 'The Old Chapel', a Christian bookshop and coffee shop. There are several eye catching notice boards on the wall either side of the entrance ,indicating that it's still a place of worship as well, but presenting itself as a far from conventional religious building. 

We went in and were delighted to discover a welcoming colourful decorated interior, whose south wall is lined with bookshelves, and other walls are lined with a variety of posters, banners and bric a brac. Near the door is a counter laden with delicious looking cakes, serving coffee and tea. The floor space is given over to sofas and armchairs in circles, like a collection of colourful comfortable domestic sitting rooms, arranged for relaxing and conversation. Above this warm and welcoming place of hospitality is a worship space, where a communion service is held on a Sunday morning and a preaching service in the evening, plus a ministry to children and bible classes, branded as 'The Upper Room'. 

A community of missionary entrepreneurs running this initiative describes itself thus: "We are a non-denominational, independent gathering of evangelical Christian believers who have received grace from God, and who aim to show grace to one another." Who they are and where they come from is another story to be discovered another time. I learned from chatting to a few people that the chapel was originally sold on for use as a children's soft play centre. When this didn't work out, it was sold to a small group of believers who wanted to reclaim its Christian identity, but in a fresh imaginative way. 

Whoever had the vision certainly has design and marketing skill to place at the service of the Gospel. This is such a lovely people friendly place. Volunteers are a mixture of believers and non-disciples of all ages. Apart from worship, teaching and hospitality, there's a ministry to children and a food bank operating at Old Chapel. Such a refreshing and engaging offer of Christian service, not bound by historical institutionalised norms but by desire to be authentic and creatively free according the the values of early Christian fellowship and mission.

As an Anglican missionary priest, with rare exceptions, I dedicated my life in ministry to work within an historic church in an effort to reform and renew its offer to the world. It doesn't seem to have worked, but I still don't believe it can be dispensed with. Its witness to stability, orthodox doctrine with high standards of disciplined critical thinking about the meaning, purpose and value of life together as human beings on planet earth, thanks to the teaching and self sacrificial life of Jesus of Nazareth, are indispensable as far as I'm concerned even if its institutions leave much to be desired. The Gospel message of Jesus offers space to return to biblical essentials and re-think in creative ways the way the call to faith in God is made. 

In the beginning the church was no more than a collection of self supporting groups sharing a new found faith in God. The Apostles helped these groups to network with one another and develop shared teaching and values, and a heritage of organisational structures evolved from those simple beginnings, adapting to different cultures as it developed. But this has not been the only way in which Christian community and organisation has developed. 

From early on there were independent thinking groups regarded as sectarian, heretical, toxic. Monastic and missionary communities developed with a life of their own without becoming disconnected from the mainstream of institutional life. In reality, the church evolved into an eco-system of communities sharing similar values and purpose. Not always good at recognising each other's authenticity however. 20th century ecumenism encouraged Christian groups to think differently about each other. Unity now doesn't mean uniformity, but demands respect and celebrating diversity. And how lovely it is to have come across one local creative expression of church in mission to rejoice in, not simply more of the same in disguise.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor after our visit, as Clare was feeling out of sorts. I needed to walk further, so I went in the opposite direction to the junction where we turned into the road where our apartment is located, then turned left and went downhill to reach the town centre by another route, making a circuit of a couple of miles to bring me back to where I started. I now have a better sense of the town's overall layout as a result.

After supper I made another sketch based on a photo I took of the view from up the hill behind Bryn y Mor with Caldey Island  in the distance. It wasn't easy are there was too much dark green in the scene and it was hard to emulate with the pencils I have to work with. But never mind, I enjoyed  making the effort again. First I must build confidence in having a go at a subject, regardless of how difficult it might be with so little technique to rely on. You can learn by doing, and accept with gratitude any advice you get along the way. I remember grammar school art classes, and learning to resent a teacher who was only interested in the few who had a flare for it and were quick learners. It was discouraging to have ones efforts ignored and never to receive comment, favourable or otherwise. It put me off doing any kind of visual art until I was old enough to take an interest in photography, thanks to my sister June's passion for it. In latter years I have spent hours scanning negatives and slides, building a digital library of lifetime's worth of her holiday pictures before she bought a digital camera. 

After an extra long walk yesterday, quite tired today, so early bed.

Fish fresh from the quay

A good long night's sleep but waking up to light rain and low cloud. Thankfully the sea reflects more light than any urban landscape, so it's not nearly as gloomy. As 'Bryn y Mor' has its own swimming pool, Clare booked herself a slot for herself at ten, after breakfast.  Not that she's allowed to exercise for several weeks apart from walking after her eye operation, but she can walk around in the water for the variety of muscle activity to mitigate the deterioration that comes with not being able to do vigorous exercise. Having said that, we walked seven miles yesterday, with no ill effect. The pool is in a modern annexe to the building with glass walls, and a sauna. It's uniformly four feet deep and twenty five feet long. Not an athlete's pool, but just right for old people and children learning to swim. I went with her and sat beside the pool and read the news on my phone. Half an hour was enough to start with, so a slot for each of the three days we have left was booked before we returned for coffee.

We walked into town and climbed up on to the promontory overlooking the harbour, where there's a statue of Prince Albert the Good as it says on the base, Queen Victoria's Consort. There's a great view from there of St Catherine's Island and Caldey Island, as well as the full extent of North Beach and Carmarthen Bay. It's got the town museum and the old Coastguard's house too. A lovely place to take photos too. We went to the fishmonger's small shop above the quary, with every kind of fresh fish caught in the area on display and labelled colourfully with the prices. 

Clare bought a couple of Dab fillets and a couple of pieces of sewin - sea trout fished near the river mouths along this coast. The back to Bryn y Mor for lunch: rice and veg with the Dab fillets. They are like a small version plaice, light and delicate, needing nothing added for just about any herb or garlic would spoil the taste. You'd really need a lot of them to make a full meal, but it was lovely to try something neither of us have had before. It's been an age since either of us have had trout, let alone sea trout, but that's for tomorrow.

Clare had a snooze while I uploaded and edited the photos I'd taken, then we went for a walk uphill on the old Amroth Road which runs under a canopy of trees and lined with hedges, parallel to the path into the cemetery. It then continues in a straight up to the top, in a gently winding way until it joins a newer metalled road at a bend. Next to the bend a new housing estate of luxury dwellings, perhaps on a piece of farmland sold for housing development to finance the family business. Who knows? It was a stiff climb but rewarding for its hidden beauty.

After supper, I took one of the photos from earlier in the day and made an attempt to draw it.The detail was even harder to reproduce than in the picture I drew yesterday, but it was great fun just to try. Then I got around to watching the final forty minutes of 'Bordertown' which had its happy resolve, but then an inconclusive ending, begging the question of whether there's another series in the pipeline. It became hard to follow in the end as there were several sets of complex relationships connecting different people to the perpetrator of several murders, requiring the viewer to remember a lot of strange names and their context, a story of who was who among the victims. Hard going with too much time dwelling on the sleuth in charge pondering with a puzzled vacant look on his face. 

Tenby's own brew

Colder and cloudy for most of the day, but no rain. I woke up to another nosebleed in the night with blood slowly trickling down the back of my throat, so I was able to get to the bathroom without making a mess everywhere. A repeat of last Monday. I don't understand what triggers this, but it might be writing late in the day, and yesterday I spent extra time drawing, lots pf 'brain' work with not enough physical activity to balance. These bursts don't last as long as they used to as my diastolic blood pressure is averagely lower nowadays, but the systolic pressure does go up with effort, and prolonged concentration. I may get tired, but not necessarily relaxed enough to mitigate the effects of too much 'brain' work.

After breakfast we walked to St Mary's for the 10.00am Eucharist. It was pleasing to join a congregation of over seventy, including a choir of twenty, which sang a couple of anthems very nicely plus two clergy and a lay reader, who preached. It's a lovely church with three aisles. The high altar is elevated up twelve steps, and the Vicar Fr Steve Brett faced eastwards. It made sense in that physical setting. Everything was well ordered and harmonious. Just what a Parish Liturgy should be. When he greeted us after the service, he asked my first name and his eyes lit up when he pronounced my surname. "I thought I recognised you!" He said. I visited St John's when you were Vicar there." I think that was before he was ordained. What a unexpected surprise now that I'm getting to the age where I reckon few people remember me in the church apart from those in churches I have ministered to. Anyway we'll meet again for a chat after the Wednesday Midday Eucharist.

We had two hours to squander before our lunch date at the Hope and Anchor, most of wandering around parts of the old town, a half hour spent over an expensive coffee, a half hour in the quayside chapel dedicated to St Julian the Hospitaller, patron saint of ferrymen, innkeepers and circus artists before we arrived on time for lunch, only to discover that lobster wasn't on the lunchtime menu. And lobster was to be Clare's special treat. So we re-booked for supper with lobster at six. 

A third of the way back Clare realised she's lost a ring she was wearing, most likely in the toilet, so we went back to look for it, but to no avail. Sad, because it was one she made for herself. When we got back she had a light snack and then a siesta. I cooked Canelli beans with onion, tomato and chunks of chorizo, as I was feeling really hungry. With a couple of slices of home mead bread this was enough to keep me going until supper time. I then slept for an hour and a half, making up for what I missed last night. The 'Hope and Anchor' was far less crowded at six. Clare had half a lobster, I had a gammon steak with pineapple, salad and pembrokeshire new potatoes, washed down with a pint of Tenby Best Bitter, brewed somewhere within the very town itself. Nice and malty, a good ale very locally sourced!

We got back just before eight, and I made another attempt to draw a view of the end of South Beach of which I had taken a photo earlier, something straightforward I thought, until I realised it wasn't. It was a challenge, but worth the effort for three quarters of an hour, before writing this and making proper time to decompress before going to bed...

Back to the drawing

A blue sky sunny day to wake up to with the added backdrop of the sea behind the town below us. After breakfast we walked down into the old town and explored shops and the main street in which St Mary's Parish church the jewel in the crown. It's one of Wales's largest parish churches with a 152ft spire. It was built between the 13th and 15th centuries, beautifully designed to produce a well lit interior, noticeable on a sunny day. We'll be here again for the Eucharist tomorrow morning. 

There's a delightful market hall on the same street with a superb organic wholefood shop at the main entrance in addition to the range of craft stalls including one that sells a variety of unusual jams and chutneys. At some stage, the hall roof has been renovated to admit as much light as possible and a light coloured wooden panelling ceiling surround adds to the interior brightness. It's a venerable old trading space which breathes variety and colour, a credit to its conservators. I had a chat with the man running the wholefood shop and expressed my delight at finding such an excellent retail offer, better than Beanfreaks, in fact. He seemed pleased to get such positive feedback.

When we started thinking about returning for lunch, we were standing outside a pub called 'The Hope and Anchor' opposite the house where Admiral Lord Nelson is said to have stayed when off duty I suppose, when his fleet was anchored in Milford Haven eighteen miles away by road, but probably quicker by boat two hundred years ago. The pub was busy, so Clare suggested lunch there tomorrow after church, and we booked a table. A lobster treat for her, hopefully. Heaven knows what for me, until I see the menu.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor and had sea bass for lunch. The, while Clare was having a siesta I sat in the sun outside and made a couple of efforts to sketch the most interesting part of the townscape that I could see in the distance. It's the first time I've done this since the turn of the century, I think. Challenging, but also satisfying. Then we walked down the hill to the place where the footpath to Amroth starts. It goes up the hill alongside a municipal cemetery dating back to the early 19th century. The old cemetery chapel has been converted into a dwelling. Some of the older monuments still remain, others have been laid flat or demolished, but the higher up the hill you go the graves start to be dated in the 20th century. One family grave had been reopened a few months ago for a 21st century burial. 

The older sections reveal an interesting array of names and professions of Parish residents. Many non-local people buried here were military men and their families retired from serving with colonial forces. This helps explain why there are so many fine residential buildings in the area above the harbour adjacent to the medieval town walls. In addition there are occasional tombstones of men from both World Wars. At the top end, there's a path through a boundary hedge to an all new section, with a garden area for cremated remains and a big area of uniform sized tombstones in black marble. Some parts of the older section are no longer fully maintained, where there are no longer relatives to visit or help with upkeep. These are now overgrown and provide a refuge for wildlife. Who could possibly object?

Clare want to return and recover from the half mile hill climb. I ventured further into town, to rediscover the area inside the medieval walls. It's been mostly taken over by restaurants, pubs, clubs and takeaways, and the town's young people and visitors were turning out in force as evening was approaching, for a night of festive fun and leisure. I turned for home and arrived just as the sun reached the horizon. Earlier the sky clouded over and there were a few light showers of rain but it didn't last long. As the clouds broke up, they turned pick in the sight of the setting sun. When I took a photo the waxing gibbous moon stood right over the spire of St Mary's church. A wond'rous sight.

Supper, then some writing, and then more 'Bordertown' to finish the day.

On holiday in Tenby

Nice to wake up to sunshine on a day when we're travelling westbound. Kath is even further west than we will be in Tenby. She flew to Dublin yesterday for a conference in Galway for those working with Early Years children in the Arts, and was travelling by coach to her destination into the setting sun, as we were having supper. 

After breakfast, a morning spent finding things and packing what I need to take with me - equipment and clothes. Clare started two days ago on personal baggage and food for the week, as we're self catering. It took us all morning to pack the car. Instead of taking a picnic we had lunch at home and left at one thirty. With one stop at Pont Abraham, we made it to Tenby and 'Bryn y Mor', our holiday apartment by four fifteen. It's spacious, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms on the ground floor of a four storey mansion, probably Edwardian, set on a hill, facing the sea, a mile from the town centre, facing south, so the terrace outside the lounge cum kitchen-diner benefits from sunshine most of the day.

The down side was unloading the car. Six trips up to the terrace from the assigned parking place. Aerobic exercise after nearly three hours driving! The other down side was the absence of toilet paper, with no BYO alert in the booking material. I left Clare to unpack food supplies, and walked a mile down the main  road to find the nearest shops, just before closing time at five. Tenby is far less busy at this time of year so there's less need to stay open late. It gets two and a half million visitors a year, and needs recovery time off-season. Not only did I acquire toilet paper, but a sketch pad and a couple of black pencils, as I propose to do some sketching while I'm here, and with this in mind, packed some coloured pencils, secreted in the bottom draw of my study.

While I was searching for an only sketch pad with unused sheets in it, I looked at a file folder of drawing made twenty five years ago, before I became obsessed with digital photography. I was surprised to find how many drawings I did, mostly in the years we were in Geneva, not only in Haute Savoie, but Greece and Ty Mawr convent. I'm certainly not tired of photography, but long to do something different, ring the changes a bit, and definitely develop better drawing technique. We'll see.

After supper, I watched another couple of episodes of 'Bordertown'. It's interesting in that it portrays the lead investigators in a serious crimes squad working across the Finnish Russian border as high functioning autistic, whose reasoning process is informed by his visual memory and attention to detail. It's very dark stuff, showing the really sordid side of organised crime and its dalliance with legitimate business. 

At first I was puzzled by the manner of storytelling in this series, in which the portrayal of the dramatic conclusion was compressed into a series of video vignettes in the last few minutes with only glimpses of violence and happy reunions after a rescue. Interestingly, this minimises the melodramatic character of unfolding events and emphasises the story told of an investigation with an unusual team of investigators. It's the first time I've really noticed this in crimmies I've watched over recent years. 

Raid on Boots the Chemist

I woke up to a cold dry cloudy day, posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp at half past seven, listened to 'Thought for the Day', and didn't drop off to sleep again, so got up and made breakfast. Clare went into town later, and I went to Boots again to retrieve the rest of her ordered prescription. Again the pharmacy was busy and I was told I had to wait half an hour. It was more like an hour and a half, just before one when the counter closes for an hour at lunchtime, that I learned the prescription had been made up and ready to take away. As well as having supply chain problems and 'flu jab bookings at this time of year, this branch is seriously under-staffed. And in more ways than one.

While I was waiting a man came into the aisle of shelves at one end of which I was sitting. He walked up and down and I thought he was about to talk out again when he discarded his rucksack, have extracted a large 'bag for life' from it, then walked back up the aisle until he was standing at a shelf a metre away from me, with a large display of packets of nicotine chewing gum, which he then proceeded to empty into the bag. Then he moved swiftly back down the aisle and started on another shelf, when the shop's alarm began to sound and then he ran out. With so many customers, the staff, mostly women, were slow to react. One young man noticed, attempted to block his path, then thought better of it, and all this was going on right in front of my eyes. Having been sat down waiting so long to be served I was in a stupor. It happened so fast and so boldly I had difficulty believing what I was witnessing and didn't react. A surreal experience.

The pharmacist who handed me Clare's medication pack said this happens a few times every day, but more so when there's no security guard on duty. Staff are instructed not to intervene. Not even a security guard has to risk exposure to violence. If they are strong enough to tackle or detain a thief physically they can be at risk of an assault allegation by the offender. Shoplifting both spontaneous and done to order by criminal gangs is now an epidemic nationwide. It's disturbing to think that it's driven not so much by poverty or hunger, but by the desperate cravings of alcohol and drug dependent individuals.

As soon as I reached home, much later than expected, I started cooking lunch. Clare got home late as there was a long gap between buses, so it was ready by the time she arrived. When we'd eaten I completed an article about the phenomenon of Marian apparitions, their popular influence over the centuries, how they relate to times of crisis or profound change, and their occurrence among the poor and unlettered at the margins of church life, rather than at the heart of its institutions. Then I went out for a walk which took me to Aldi's on Western Avenue to buy some wine and a few food items to take with us to Tenby tomorrow.

At supper time a much publicised episode of 'The Archers' at which miscreant George Grundy is in court for sentencing, having been charged with dangerous driving and perverting the course of justice. He gets two years in prison, which seems about right and may be released on license after sixteen months. It seems about right to me, but I think an even better lawyer might have made a mitigation plea on the grounds of accident trauma triggering the immature impulse to cover up his errors of judgement, as this has happened on previous occasions when he's made a mistake or done something wrong of a less serious nature. 

In jail he's not going to learn what he needs to amend his behaviour. As an immature late adolescent held in a male prison rather than a young offenders institution, he's at risk of becoming a hardened criminal instead. I look forward to the debate that arises from this piece of socially targeted drama, at a time when British prisons are in crisis and penal reform hindered by inadequate funding. After this, I spent the rest of the evening watching two more episodes of 'Bordertown'. More about organised crime and designer drugs and the chaos these unleash among the young.

On duty at St John's

A dry day, with sun occasionally piercing the cloud. Aware that I'd be back late for lunch, I started cooking a tomato sugo after breakfast to go with chicken pieces cooked earlier in the week. I went to St Catherine's to pick up keys from Fr Sion before the service for the St John's midday Eucharist. It's three months since I last took a service there, but I had no problem preparing the altar as nothing has changed in the sacristy arrangements. There were six of us today, as three of the regulars were away. 

On the way home I collected the veg bag from Chapter. The bags are stored in a large wooden chest in the courtyard. Recently a small chest has appeared next to it, but I had no desire to look what was inside it until today as our bag was always to be found in the main chest. But not today. Having inspected the bag labels in the larger chest twice without success, I wondered if we'd been forgotten, until I inspected the other one and found ours, much to my relief.

It was gone one by the time I reached home. Clare had eaten earlier, so I finished cooking the sauce and ate it with the rice she had cooked. Much to my surprise, although I slept well last night, I slept deeply for an hour and a quarter when I sat down to read my news feed after lunch. It's not that I felt tired, but I recall the same happening in times past after celebrating the Eucharist. I wonder if it reflects a need for the kind of space and quiet to absorb the experience of celebrating Mass, as it's rarely possible immediately after the service when the priest is expected to be outgoing and chat with members of the congregation.

I woke up refreshed and went on an errand to Boots to collect part of a prescription she'd been told would be ready after lunch when a fresh delivery of supplies came in. Well it wasn't. The delivery had arrived but not been checked or unpacked. Come back tomorrow. A wasted journey. Then I walked up to Sion's house near Llandaff Cathedral to return St John's keys. I spotted Clare walking around the periphery of the field about 200 yards ahead of me, and intercepted her near the far end, much to her surprise. A pause for a kiss, then we went our separate ways, and returned home within minutes of each other half an hour later.

After supper, I completed the Morning Prayer video slideshow of the recording I made yesterday and uploaded to YouTube. Then I watched some more of the 'Bordertown' series I started yesterday until it was time for bed.

Family reunion?

Another day of clouds, sunshine and periodic showers. Last night I succeeded in getting to bed an hour earlier than usual and benefited from an hour's extra sleep. Must do that again! Clare's study group arrived after breakfast. I prepared another Morning Prayer for the week after next, then went for a walk in the rain in Thompson's Park. 

The mother moorhen and three growing chicks were joined by the (presumed) father, dabbling about in the waterlogged grass verge on the edge of the pond. Before I could get them all in the camera viewfinder together, they slipped away to a shaded corner of the pond where they were hardly visible, so I missed the rare family shot. It's the first time since early summer that the male has showed up with the rest of them, leaving the mother to raise the brood on her own. I heard the screech of a parakeet in the trees in two different places, and eventually saw one in flight, but out of snapshot range. I still don't know if there's more than one of them out there.

Clare's study group members were just leaving when I got back, and she was already forging ahead with cooking sea bass lunch. While she was having a siesta afterwards, and the house was quiet, I recorded the text prepared earlier, then quickly wrote an accompanying reflection, recorded that and edited it. It was five by the time I got out of the house, again in the rain, and walked for an hour and a half under a brolly, listening to the evening news on my phone. It's quite a good use of time actually, walking and listening with few interruptions. Fortunately the rain was mostly in light showers, so I didn't get soaked.

After supper I found a new Finnish crimmie about the dark side of life in a Finnish town bordering on Russia and started watching. It's about organised crime the sexploitation of young women and trafficking. I suspect the story reflects how things were before the outbreak of Putin's war against Ukraine, prompting Finland to join NATO. Since then the frontier zone has become a different place altogether I reckon.

Time wasting digital hassles

I paid the price for spending so much time writing and not having a little walk to still my brain before turning in for the night. I woke up after an hour's sleep and felt blood trickling down my throat, rather than out of my nose.. I got out of bed, keeping my head back and managed not to get blood everywhere on my way to the bathroom. The bleed didn't last very long fortunately, not as they did when my blood pressure was much higher, but it came as a shock, and left me feeling odd when I finally got up just before nine. It's frustrating, having a creative surge late in the day and being reluctant to stop, and relax. I'm tired enough to fall asleep soundly, but am not really grounded. That's what happens if I work too late. I'm really not as disciplined as I need to be.

I was slow tackling domestic tasks after breakfast, and was interrupted by a wretched computer issue that needed diagnosing. Kath has sent the family a OneDrive link to a Christmas food planning spreadsheet for our annual celebration - this year in a holiday rental barn conversion near Presteigne, away from it all. All seven of us under one roof, and the nearest shops several miles away, so we have to take everything that we need with us. Hence the spreadsheet.

Clare, however couldn't open it, although the first time the link was used it loaded fine and accepted some additions to the list. The second time, it demanded a Microsoft account sign-in. This is something which she had a long time ago, but no record of it in her comprehensive little password book, nor in her Google Chrome password wallet. She's been a Linux user for the past five years or so, and the browser has never had reason to log into her ancient account. So it has to be set up again. I thought it might be possible from her tablet where she uses Skype, a Microsoft product nowadays. That was when I found the tablet attached to the internet normally for ten seconds and then disconnected, as if the device, once identified was being disabled for some reason by the server. Very strange.

Later on I told Kath what had happened and she told me that Anto had experienced a similar problem, and that she'd had similar problems with other OneDrive shared links. She sent another link to the shared Christmas spreadsheet, which I tested on Clare's computer, and it worked just fine. Both original and revised links work fine on my computer although they are quite different to look at. Even stranger. Is there something Microsoft isn't telling us? 

To add one digital annoyance to another Clare Samsung Galaxy Tab A7 wouldn't hold an internet connection for more than a few seconds despite restarting the table and the router. No idea why. The device first came out five years ago and she's had it just three years this month. It seems on average they last about five years. But when I switched on again this evening to check when the file system was first set up after purchase, it did attach to the internet. It's odd to say the least, and time wasting.

For lunch I cooked myself some chicken with tomato and onion and Clare had fish to go with veggies she prepared. As it was a sunny afternoon, she decided to walk to UHW for this week's eye appointment and return by taxi. I went out to walk a little later, without a brolly or a top coat, as it was quite mild, but got caught in a brief shower mid way. There was no sign of this little cloudburst on the so called AccuWeather app I rely on, but at least it didn't last long. She had to wait a long time for her checkup with the eye surgery, and we arrived home within minutes of each other.

In the park, saw a tiny brown bird with a distinctive pattern on its back standing on the foot path ahead of me. I slowed down, getting my camera out, as the creature remained standing still. I took one photo and stepped past it, and as I went to take a second photo it ran into the bramble bush it was next to. Such a delight, and intriguing. After supper I went on-line in search of photos to compare with the one I took. It was a Dunnock.  Only the second time I've seen one. The last time was only a fleeting glimpse in Oxwich Bay woodland.

Another thing I noticed recently was the 'For Sale' sign on the recently refurbished house around the corner in Llanfair Road, asking price £600k, is a now marked Sold after just a month on the market. Last year the house next door to us went for £500k, and it has four bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms and loft conversion, as opposed to three. Demand for housing around here has gone crazy this year and prices are reaching heights unimagined. Slowly the number of houses in this street on offer for rent is increasing and a few converted into apartments. As the older generation moves on, these houses become no longer entry level family homes, but dwellings for well off childless couples or individuals. A house with an infant or toddler is a rarity. Children don't play in the street any more.

I've not done much today, nor felt like doing much. Last night's unusual nose bleed was a shock to the system. Early bed tonight.

Wet Sunday writing

Overcast again today, and with the lengthening of the nights, if I do wake up early I'm more likely to doze off and wake up properly even later. Quarter past nine this morning but I felt better for a full eight and a quarter hours of sleep. Days when I feel extremely tired for no obvious reason are those following a run of seven hours sleep. I don't think the fit-bit is all that accurate when it comes to evaluating quality of sleep, but generally speaking my sleep quality doesn't seem to vary a great deal. I think the extra tiredness is due a need for more physical rest and relaxation than I get, given that I'm fairly physically and mentally active much of the time. There's too much to get done to stay inert for long. I have slowed down, but need more rest in order to avoid feeling drained and physically stiff all over. Navigating old age isn't as easy as it seems, post three score years and ten.

Clare also woke up very late this morning and couldn't summon enough energy to get ready in time to go to church, so she stayed behind while I went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. I caught up on food-bank shopping at the Co-op after the service and took a bagful back to church, aware that Jean was loading her car with offerings to deliver to the depot in Splott tomorrow. Lots more donations expected next week on Harvest Festival Sunday, and hopefully another car load. The need isn't diminishing. The cost of food and instability in basic energy costs, are hitting many people on fixed incomes really hard.

After lunch it rained persistently for the next four hours. Clare went out for a walk in the wet. I couldn't face it, so I stayed in and added to my story all afternoon until the rain slowed to a drizzle. Once I was out in the park, the rain stopped and the afternoon sun shone brightly. Rain dripping from the trees glistened in an enchanting way the fields looked fresh and bright, such a contrast to earlier in the day.

I continued writing after supper right through the evening until it was bed time, pleased with the progress I made. I didn't complete my daily walk target however, having been too caught up in writing to remember to go out for a breath of fresh air before bed. It's the first time I've done that in ages. 

WNO's 'Il Trittico' impresses and delights

Clouds and sunshine today, and cold. The usual Saturday pancake breakfast with mushroom added. I made an effort to go for a walk before lunch as I was feeling unusually stiff despite a good night's sleep. We heard from Kath that she's been awarded an Arts Council grant to produce her next show. She wasn't sure she'd be successful in the present economic climate, and can now look forward to realising her plans to bring her creative ideas to life on stage. Naturally we're thrilled for her.

Clare cooked us a prawn stir fry with rice earlier than usual as we had a matinee performance of Puccini's opera 'Il Trittico' starting at three. We walked to the bus stop by Canton Library and caught a number 2 bus that took us all the way to Mermaid Quay in the Bay, a short walk from the Millennium Centre. A convenient route, which we took only because it was the first to arrive at the bus stop. It seemed like a roundabout route, but in reality no more travel time than taking any bus into the city centre and waiting for a number 6 from the centre to the Bay. The down side was a dreadful noisy vibration the vehicle made any time it stopped in traffic queues, at lights or bus stops. It sounded like a pneumatic drill. I had to block my ears, as it was becoming painful. Anyway, we survived in time to have a glass of wine in the patrons' area before curtain up.

'Il Trittico' is three one act operas. It was a new operatic format with which Puccini wanted to experiment. Each one is different. Two tragic, one black comedy. The cast of singers and chorus had roles in all three. The sets were brilliantly conceived and constructed, requiring a half hour interval between each, making it a four hour long show, The singers were superb as was the attention to detail, with movement and visual symbolism reflecting the libretto. The first was about a love triangle leading to a crime of passion on a barge in Paris, a scenario in which the workers have a hard insecure life in grinding poverty. 

The second is set in an enclosed convent with a severe penitential rule of life dedicated to devotion to the blessed Virgin Mary. A young noblewoman is one of the nuns, dispatched there after she gives birth of a child. Others in the convent, are not nuns but servants. There are suggestions of this being like a Magdalene Laundry. It ends in the noblewoman's suicide, out of grief when she learns her child died two years earlier. In effect it denounces the shame and emotional cruelty which may run through life in a community whose piety is detached from its spiritual roots in the Gospel.

The third is about a bourgeois family squabbling over the legacy of a rich dying relative, talked into concealing his death and re-writing the will, so that his wealth doesn't go to a monastery. They are tricked by the street-wise father of a girl who is being wooed by a younger son of the family, and end up losing the prized assets they were fighting over, and the young couple inherit instead. It's hilariously funny and the behaviour of the greedy family members is played for laughs. The movement and interaction between them is superbly choreographed. I don't think I've ever heard so much laughing out loud throughout the hour long performance. It's a satire on human avarice, observed with great insight. What a performance, by everyone involved! At the curtain call, cast members donned their protest campaign tee shirts for their bows. The applause reassures them their audience doesn't approve of the threatened cut back in orchestra and chorus, forced by government reductions in arts subsidy.

We didn't have long to wait for a number six bus back to the city centre, nor for a 61 bus for the new bus station, so we were home just after eight for a light supper of pasta and pesto with salad.

Baking day

Spells of bright weather don't last long. The sky was clouding over again by the time I got up for breakfast this morning. Clare went off to town to buy some new leather boots. I spent time writing, then started to make a load of bread and cook lunch at the same time. Somehow I managed to multi-task without having a disaster. After we'd eaten, the bread went into the oven and came out again perfectly baked at three. On this occasion, Clare had added the dried yeast to the mixture of flour before leaving, something I normally do. I had to call her and check.  The dough rose more rapidly than usual as it would do on a warm spring or summer day. Clare added more dried yeast than I do. Lesson learned!

I went to the Co-op for groceries, then to Tesco's and Beanfreaks for things on the list not available in the Co-op. The shopping trolley was heavy on the home run and unstable on bumpy pavements due to its poor design. I bought a large pack of chicken breast pieces and put them straight into the oven to cook while I went out and walked for an hour before supper. After we'd eaten I watched two episodes of 'The Chateau Murders' on More Four, set in a snowy Quebec. It seems such a long time since Cardiff was covered with a layer of snow lasting for more than a few hours. The sight made me feel quite nostalgic, remembering winters in Geneva thirty years ago, and the excitement of snow covered rural landscape and the promise of skiing. An experience I never expected to have which came my way for the first time in my late forties and brought with it such joy and wonder.

On the brink

Another lovely sunny autumnal day. I tried a different combination of pillows, as my sleep pattern has been disrupted by neck and shoulder pain on waking from relaxed sleep for some while. I slept a lot better and woke without those unpleasantly sharp pains to deal with. The muscles are still sore and stiff, but a short spell of Chi Gong exercises sorts this out. If I reproduce the pillow arrangement successfully for a while, the chronic stiffness and muscle pain will subside I feel sure. A new mattress would help, but it's such a hassle to do, as it's important to try before buying preferably for a few nights.

I posted the WhatsApp link to today's Morning Prayer on YouTube half an hour earlier than usual, and went back to sleep after an excellent 'Thought for the Day' from Lucy Winkett. After breakfast, Clare went to buy a new hat as she lost hers yesterday getting out of the car at the hospital. Following up on Sion's suggestion yesterday, I wrote a detailed analysis of what I thought was lacking in the diocesan website and sent it to him. 

Then I cooked lunch in time for Clare's return. I had more writing to do after our meal and it was gone four when I went out for a walk. I walked north up the east bank of the Taff as far as Llandaff Weir. Many commuting cyclists overtook me on the way home after work in town. A rather uncomfortable experience as they're almost silent as they approach. Not all of them have a bell to warn pedestrians. Best to avoid the Taff Trail at peak cycle times in future. 

Owain called me when I was walking back home to tell me about his interview for another better paid job with HMRC. He said that suitably qualified candidates out of scores of applicants were being interviewed daily for the next fortnight before he'd know if he was to be on the short list for a further interview, such is the competition for higher level jobs in the Civil Service.

After supper I treated myself to another episode of 'Lolita Lobosco', romantic, funny, as well as a detective story shedding light on poverty in Southern Italy and youth unemployment driving youngsters into crime, often following in their father's footsteps. And it reveals the compassionate desire of some who strive to make a specific difference in a place where they know they can. The stories portray the same ethos as 'Inspector Montalbano' but from a feminine perspective. Heart warming and insightful.

With Iran raining down missiles on Israel, and Israel launching a ground offensive over the Lebanese border as well as targeting Hezbollah military leadership and strategic military assets, the situation in the Middle East seems to get more volatile and uncertain by the day. The suffering of civilians in Gaza is now being reproduced among civilians in Lebanon. All this springs from failure to make progress towards a establishing a Palestinian state in the region in which all three Abrahamic faiths believe they have stake and resist sharing. 

Conservative religious culture is part of the problem, but so is a growing secularity that is ambivalent about sustaining universal moral and spiritual values. The end doesn't justify the means when it is so inhumanely cruel and unjust. We're in a time of great spiritual crisis on many fronts where war and violent crime make life impossible for powerless people. We haven't learned lessons from history, nor from religious prophets and poets who denounce the futility of causing suffering to others. Climate crisis is telling us the same thing. Perhaps climate catastrophe will in the end force the warmongers to halt and there will be no winners.

Communication frustration

A cold but sunny autumn day. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were seven of us. Our two eldest much loved regular attenders were missing. One becoming increasingly housebound, the other in hospital with a chest infection. I chatted with Fr Siôn after the service, expressing my frustration at the non appearance of the quarterly download of the Intercessions file on the Diocesan website. Instead of being available before the due date it's often several days late in appearing. 

It's been like this for years. A good idea thoughtlessly delivered. In past years, the information delivered could be badly out of date. There's been an improvement this past years, but punctuality fails regularly. I've complained before and never had a response from those who manage the site. It sends a poor message about the value and priority of a shared commitment to pray for each other. The 'Prayer Intentions' page is hard to find, and has been relocated several times with new versions of the website. It's not on the home  page. You must navigate down three page layers to find it, of you can find the drop down menu icon you start from. It's yellow on white, when it needs to be in a high contrast colours. It's in a sub section called 'Explore Faith', when it needs to be under 'Faith Commitments'. But why isn't an intercession link visible on the landing page? As it is on the Diocese in Europe website nowadays, and before its due date.

Starting a rebuild from scratch without reassessing priorities in the messages the website delivers leads to cosmetic changes which make no difference if the overall presentation conveys the impression of muddled values and priorities. So much of church content output whether it's liturgical texts or relevant information bears the hallmark of creation by committee rather than skilled experienced artisans. Poets of the word, visual designers, information analysts who manage content delivery. 

I started to understand this much better in latter years, thanks to conversation with Owain, working on government websites and my lawyer friend Roy, whose trade is public relations and advocacy. When I was young I sensed if something was not right about a communication, but have learned a little about examining content since then. A little late in life maybe! Anyway, Siôn has asked me to write to him a message he can pass on to the diocesan officer overseeing the website, outlining my concerns.

I collected this week's veggie bag from Chapter on my way home. Clare was already well advanced with cooking a chick pea dish for lunch. Diana arrived at the same time as I did to return the draft copy of my Dai Troubadour novel, with warm encouragement to seek publication. This feels like more of a hard task than writing it!

Clare had been frustrated by wasting time requesting her next eye appointment at UHW, being passed on the phone from one department to another, so we drove there to find someone in charge of the booking diary. I dropped her off, and drove around the block several times feeling guilty about adding to traffic congestion rather than parking, but ten minutes later she emerged from the entrance in triumph. We were lucky that the round trip only took forty minutes. 

We then went straight to the main GPO sorting office to pay for and collect an item labelled 'insufficient postage'. This little round trip of equal distance from home took us fifty minutes. Traffic congestion was far worse, an hour later. As suspected, the offending item was a square birthday card, not quite narrow enough to fit in the standard rate slot. It had a stamp on it, but ordinary second class rate is not enough, so you get charged first class rate. The recipient is therefore penalised. 

I wonder how the GPO would think if tens of thousands of people decided not to collect these cursed greetings cards and their sorting shelves were stuffed with them. How much would that end up costing them to dispose of? Or if card shoppers took a template of the regulation slot size with them, to try before they buy, and the retailer ended up with loads of unsold non standard stock? Cards may well be manufactured in a country with no regard for differences in national size standards. One of the annoying side effects of industrialisation and globalisation, sad to say.

When we got back, I walked in the park until supper time, a lovely dry evening. I spent the evening adding to my latest short story about my Grandfather's American adventure at the turn of the 20th century.  Putting memories from childhood into words is quite a pleasure.

Creative spurt

Cold and cloudy again today. After breakfast, Clare went to her study group, this week in Penarth. I had a conversation about spirituality with a neighbour over coffee at Lufkin in Thompson's Park, then returned to cook lunch, a little later than usual, so it wasn't ready when Clare arrived home. While she was having a siesta, I started work on another Morning Prayer and reflection, this time for the week we're in Tenby on holiday. By the time I went out for a walk at five, the whole thing was written and recorded.

While I was out in the park, I started having ideas for a haiku about the spiritual journey described by Sta Teresa de Avila in the canticle 'Iremos de noche ...' and stopped to make a note of it. Then I had an idea for another, and another. All of these I finished later at home. These little creative spurts come as a surprise, but are welcome for the pleasure they give when I make the effort.

Three Haiku for the solo voyager

Held in love’s presence / is enough any moment / when fear is aroused.

Venturing by night / Searching for the source of life / thirst alone our guide.

Sightless unknowing / if this is darkness or light / driven by longing.

After supper, the last episode of series four of 'Grace' to round off the day. As I predicted from the story line, the protagonist is left with the care of an eight year old son he's never met, and hasn't yet appeared in the series. So a series five is to be expected in due course. Ah well.