Who owns John Doe?

A return to cloud and sunshine today after a cool damp night with occasional brief showers during the day. We went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's, there were about forty of us. Clare's hip pain has worsened in the past few days. She was determined to walk there, but asked for a lift to return home. Hip surgery day is tomorrow. We've been asked to arrive at the Nuffield Hospital in Pendoylan at six thirty, an hour early than initially informed. That means very early rising for the thirty minute journey there.

At Communion during the Eucharist Fr Sion laid hands on Clare and prayed for her healing. I intended to ask him if he'd do this before the service, but didn't see him beforehand. I was grateful to think that his pastoral instinct resonated with mine on this occasion. After the service I had an interesting chat with his son Pwyll, who is a newly qualified EasyJet pilot, currently flying to a variety of European destinations. 

After lunch I listened to a BBC podcast documentary about the trade in body parts, unregulated by the state in America, and therefore open to exploitation and abuse. If a person's body is unclaimed by next of kin because they are loners whose identity is not traceable. The state may opt for means of disposal which include donation of body parts. Entrepreneurs take on the task, and thanks to the internet, advertise parts for sale to medical research institutions world-wide. It's a practice wide open to abuse. A family may not learn of a relative's death until well after the body has been dissected and monetized.  It raises the ethical question of what are the limits that govern proper disposal of a body? Voluntary donation of organs for transplant, and donation of the body to science are accepted norms, with cremation or burial to follow, but what about fragmenting bodies to trade for profit, as Americans are free to do? When does a person cease to be regarded as an entity in life and in death? It's something I've never thought of before.

On my afternoon walk along the Taff I saw a little egret wading by the island of stones below the weir, an unusual sight in this setting. Seconds later I had a rare view of a kingfisher gliding in to land in a spot below, out of view in a clump of grass beside the water. On the few occasions I've seen one in flight before it's been speeding along, in its characteristic undulating straight path, its wings beating fast, so that was a nice afternoon treat.

After supper I watched a new episode of Swedish crimmie 'Beck' on iPlayer. Commissioner Martin Beck's grandson Vilhelm followed in his footsteps as a cop, and seems to have inherited his grandpa's instinct as an investigator, and finds himself transferred to the murder squad after a burglary with a homicide. It's an interesting development in a TV series lasting nearly thirty years with fifty three episodes aired. Early bed for both of us tonight. Early start tomorrow.

Faith under fire in Gaza

Rain in the night, cool and overcast with even more persistent rain through to the evening. The news continues to be bleak with the Israeli military now fighting for complete control of Gaza city and the overthrow of the Hamas regime. There seems to be no clear plan following the yet to be established interim military rule of Gaza to ensure civilian governance of the Strip with the consent of the surviving population. Hundreds of thousands of civilians are trapped inside an active war zone unable to move to a place of safety. Israeli government spokespeople continue to deny there is a state of famine despite evidence to the contrary from international aid agencies. The compounds of Gaza's Latin Rite Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches are crammed with hundreds of refugees. Clergy and lay workers have refused to abandon those entrusted to them, the majority are Muslim, ready to die with their flocks if fighting overwhelms the compounds.

Meanwhile Trump stands by in detached silence, doing nothing to restrain Netanyahu's destructive zeal, or engage in finding a diplomatic solution to secure Palestine's future. He's made things worse by ordering the withholding of visas for President Mahmoud Abbas and the 80 strong membership of the Palestinian UN delegation due to visit next month's UN General Assembly for a key debate about prompt recognition of Palestine as a member state. He is becoming more dictatorial in his actions and policy decisions day by day. His purge of state officialdom is removing anyone whose expertise contradicts his ideology, and he's taking revenge on political critics and adversaries. No good can come of this.

A big bowl of fresh fruit salad for breakfast this morning instead of Saturday pancakes, inspired by cruise catering. The rain deterred us from going out anywhere together. The morning just slipped away doing nothing of consequence, apart from starting a fresh batch of bread. Clare cooked a curry for lunch with veg chopping and rice cooking support from me. Very good it was too.  I dozed for a while in the chair afterwards, and then went out to buy some fruit. Rain described in the weather app as 'light' was persistent enough to soak my jacket hat and trousers. Serves me right for not taking a brolly. There was decisive break in the rain at seven and the sky cleared driven by a strong breeze. Only then was it possible to go out and walk without getting wet a second time.

All the padel courts were  with quartets of players. I saw people arriving with bats under their arms hoping for a game. The courts are open from seven in the morning until ten at night. The new 35,000 square foot facility is branded 'Smash Padel'. Why such a violent name beggars belief. It's as idiotic as Starmer's 'Smash the Gangs'. An hour and a half court booking costs £39 I understand, plus bat hire if you don't have your own. I was surprised to see a group of cricketers attempting to play a game on a pitch near the courts. They were accompanied by supporters who were cooking barbecue food at the edge of the pitch. I don't imagine they'd been playing during the rain earlier. I walked past the pitch on my way up to the Cathedral for a change, and when I returned twenty minutes later the game had been abandoned and only the people making the barbecue under their gazebos remained. 

By the time I got home it was dusk. I joined Clare watching a documentary by historian Bettany Hughes on the entrepreneural Nabatean Arabs, whose control of the incense trade two millennia ago made them very rich indeed. Stunning scenery throughout and some fascinating archaeology revealing a Nabatean trading post twenty centuries ago on the Bay of Naples in Italy with its unique temple, at the other end of the Mediterranean from Syria, Palestine and Jordan, then part of the Nabatean Empire. Then, after a spell of writing, early to bed.

Jazz at St Catherine's Hall

Another day of sunshine and occasional showers, after a good night's sleep. I had the house to myself after breakfast as Clare went into town, so I wrote a reflection to go with Morning Prayer the week after next and recorded the audio for the occasion. Then I cooked lunch and afterwards edited the audio and made a start on the video slide show. As the day in question celebrates two reformation pioneers who translated the Bible and Book of Common Prayer into Welsh, William Salesbury and William Morgan, I wanted an image that portrayed them side by side, but couldn't find one, so I found one of each man and made a jpeg of their portraits side by side, using the latest version of the Gimp image editor, which I had to download to use. Gimp is still as complex and not very user friendly for novices as it always was, but step by step learning how to use its immense resources delivers the image you need eventually. There are quicker ways to do the same thing, but when I use Gimp I learn new things every time - and often forget them too!

Having taken the slide show as far as I needed, I went to the shops to buy some sauerkraut. We've started to eat it regularly this past few months as small amounts each day seem to be beneficial for the digestion. Then I walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour before supper. I noticed that all six of the newly completed courts were hosting padel players for the first time.  It looked to me like a session by invitation only to try out the facility and identify and snagging issues before a formal opening ceremony on a date yet to be announced. Landscaping the ground outside and paving the entrance area is still a work in progress.

After a quick snack supper we went to St Catherine's Church hall for an hour's fund raising concert of American popular song by the Gershwin brothers, by local jazz sextet 'Heads Up'. It was a delight which took me back to teenage years, growing up in a musical household where listening to jazz was as common as classical music with brother in law Geoff playing regularly in a dance band.

My sister June had a record player and scoutmaster Penry (who fancied my sister) had a collection of modern jazz records which amazingly he was willing to lend to interested teens like me. Every song played was a reminder for those years that helped shape my musical taste for life. So many half remembered lyrics, but always perfectly recalled melodies and accompaniments. That's what my mind has always excelled at, along with visual imagery, more so than literary texts. Ah the things that shape the life we end up living!

After the concert we returned home. I spent the rest of the evening watching another episode of 'Inspector Gerri', a detective investigation set in Puglia about organised crime involving baby trafficking, intertwined with a tale of romance between two strong and independent loners destined to work together while growing into a relationship and, as ever, facing their past. Full of insight into relationships and several laugh out loud moments despite the tragic depths of the stories told.

A cataract op date at last!

Cool cloudy with occasional showers throughout the day. It's Kath's birthday today, so we sang her a birthday greeting on WhatsApp as soon as we got up. She and Anto are celebrating in Santa Pola, with two new fans installed in their apartment. After breakfast, I took Clare to the Nuffield hospital in Cardiff Bay for a round of blood tests preparing for next Monday's hip operation. She'd been told this was when she should pay the medical fees, so she went to the Co-op Bank in town yesterday to alert them to this outlay from her account. She was told she would receive a request for transaction confirmation by email when she made the payment with her debit card, but nothing happened as arranged. After the appointment she had to go back into town to the bank and make the payment in person. Such incompetence, really annoying.

When we got home two NHS letters were waiting for me. One was a reminder to cancel an appointment for a telephone consultation if I no longer needed it. The other was an appointment for my second cataract replacement op on the 17th September. So pleased about this. Now I can make plans to meet up with Veronica and John when they come to Britain in two weeks time.

While Clare went to the bank, I cooked lunch, anticipating her having a long wait in the bank, luckily I got the timing just right. I slept for an hour in the chair after lunch and dozed for even longer. Then I went out to post a letter, buy plant milks, fruit, nectarines, grapes and a huge honeydew melon. A heavy load to carry home. Then a second trip for a bottle of red wine for a change. During the hot weather we've drunk mostly white at home. In the air conditioned comfort of the cruise ship I sampled most of the excellent wines served, whites and reds but seldom the pink ones on offer. We ate fruit at every meal on board, and many of the reds as well as whites went well with it.

After supper I went out for a short walk to complete my day's step quota, and then watched the final episode and a half of 'The Darkness'. I got used to it being in English, but needed to concentrate on the dialogue, being used to sub-titles with foreign films. It was another of these crimmies in which the beautifully filmed landscape played a great part in setting the mood of the drama. Mountain glaciers, sea shore with distant town-scape, and inevitable drone shots of wilderness and urban road networks. 

It tells a complex story about refugees, people trafficking and local mafia, but buried within are deaths that look like accidents, not properly investigated and turn out to be the work of a serial killer. All this is unravelled by a detective on the verge of retirement, with her own history of secrets and suffering. In an unusual plot twist she is murdered in the penultimate scene, having saved the life of an abuser's victim. Reviews I read on IMDB are strongly pro or anti. The cast was mainly Icelandic actors. At least the Icelandic English accents were plausible as a result, and there's one detective ostensibly raised in the UK with a British English accent, but an Icelandic name.  I certainly kept my attention throughout.

After exchanging messages with Kath and Veronica, we've settled on a rendezvous on 20th September. Glad we've got that sorted.

MOT

Rain in the night again and occasional showers to start with, then clear sky and sunshine for the rest of the day. I posted this week's YouTube link to WhatsApp, listened to Thought for the Day and then got up to make breakfast. Straight after breakfast I took the car over to NG Motors in Splott for its MOT. There was little traffic, as the school commuter rush hour hasn't resumed yet. 

I was home in an hour after a twenty minute walk to Newport Road then two buses to get from there back to Pontcanna in time to attend the Eucharist at St Catherine's. At coffee afterwards, Hilary presented me with a special jar of damson jam, made with fruit foraged last week from a wild tree on Strumble head near St Davids. She remembers from last year my enthusiasm for jam with this unusual provenance! And I recompensed her accordingly.

I collected this week's veg bag on the way home and then cooked lunch plus an extra batch of tomato and mushroom sugo for freezing thanks to a surfeit of tomatoes in the veg bag and from the garden. Clare had gone to town, and when I realised she'd be back late I had time to spare and started work preparing another Morning Prayer text for two weeks hence. I could have done with a siesta after lunch, but we received a message from Phil at NG Motors to say the car was ready, so I set out by bus to retrieve it. This took me ten minutes longer as I narrowly missed an 11 bus to take me as close to the garage as possible. The car passed the test without problem. No minor repairs needed. It's not surprising, I doubt if we've added more than a couple of thousand miles in the past twelve months.

I think I may have picked up a virus during our cruise week. As well as feeling unusually tired, my nose has been running a lot and I've been coughing up phlegm. It started the day the Douro valley was filled with wild fire smoke. Initially I believed it was smoke mildly irritating my lungs, but since then it developed gradually, like a cold in some respects, but with no temperature or added aches and pains. After supper I watched a couple of episodes of 'The Darkness' chatted to Rachel, and went to bed early to watch one of them, so I could get to sleep right away.

Hairdo with Chris

I heard rain dripping from the gutter outside my window when I woke up in the night, but when I woke up at seven the sun was shining and rain clouds were being blown away by the west wind. When Clare went out after breakfast, I set about recording next week's audio. I found myself stumbling over my words, as if I was half asleep, and had to correct myself as I proceeded, thankful that audio editing is now something I can do with ease. If I make incorrect edits, the undo button comes in very handy. 

I went out for half an hour's a brisk walk around Llandaff Fields to make sure I was fully awake before starting the audio edit, and felt better for the fresh morning air. Then I cooked lunch, and made the video slide show to accompany the audio while Clare was having a siesta after we'd eaten. Then we drove to Rumney for a hairdo appointment with Chris. We were home again by five looking neater and smarter.

Then a walk in Thompson's Park. A notice has been posted on the railings around the pond displaying a health warning. The algae which has covered the water surface for the past month has been identified as the toxic blue-green variety. The growth occurs in hot weather when there's a high concentration of nitrate in the water. It's a product of bacteria which naturally lives in the depths of the pond, and produces a prodigious growth of algae on the surface in exceptional weather conditions. It's a real problem all over the country in freshwater lakes, ponds, and low level water courses flowing more slowly than usual.

I walked for an hour, then returned to make a slide show video to upload for next week's Morning Prayer. It came together quickly and finished before supper. Afterwards I watched another episode of Inspector Gerri, and then the first episode of a new Icelandic crimmie 'The Darkness'. Disappointingly, the dialogue was spoken in Danish-American accented English, and it didn't look as if it was dubbed, but I'll look more closely when I watch the next one. Before turning in for the night, I took a short walk to complete my step count for the day and get some fresh air.

Quiet weekend

Perfect bank holiday weather today. Clear blue sky 27C and a pleasant cooling breeze. We're both tired, still recovering from our cruise. Although I slept fairly well and woke up a bit more relaxed, it was an effort to get through housework and cooking lunch. I had some writing to do as well. It was too hot to go out immediately after lunch, and it was gone four when we ventured out. For the first hour I could only walk slowly and needed to stop often. I wasn't in pain or breathless, but stiff legs took a long time to warm up for walking at a natural pace, which is admittedly much slower than it used to be. Once warmed up, I dared to make more of a demand on my legs, adopting what in my youth was called Scouts Pace, jogging twenty steps, walking twenty steps etc, to see how my body would respond. Nothing nasty happened, just slightly elevated breathing and pulse. Am I losing my general fitness level because I'm not making enough effort? I wonder.

There's been surprisingly little traffic on the main road over the weekend and today. The parks weren't all that busy either. A quiet time all round. After supper I prepared the texts and a reflection ready to record for next Wednesday's Morning Prayer, and rather than watch something or read, then decided what I most need is more sleep.

Beware of religious populists

A  good night's sleep mercifully, with a cloudy start to the day but warm, 24C by midday. We went to the St Catherine's Eucharist on St Bartholomew's Day. The congregation was a little depleted by bank holiday weekend absences, but there were lots of church garden veg on sale afterwards, and four huge pumpkins rescued from an abandoned allotment by green fingered Keith.

After lunch I slept for an extra hour, I'm still making up for the deficit of sleep on board ship. Then a walk in Llandaff Fields, which was quieter than expected. Many families may have gone to the seaside for the day if not abroad. Even so, there was no shortage of litter abandoned nowhere near a bin, left on benches tossed in grass verges. I picked up a dozen cans, plastic bottles and crisp packets without going out of my way to search for offending items. The news reported a recent increase in the use of plastic bags for the first time since the 'bag tax' was introduced a decade ago. This is a result of the increase in new automated domestic food delivery services using them to enhance efficiency and speed of response. Yet again convenient consumerism blights our environment. I couldn't help noticing how rubbish free the River Douro was, and the streets of Porto and Vila Nova de Gaia.

This morning Fr Sion preached about the dangers of arrogance and competitiveness in the life of the church, mentioning a recent story about the conviction of the abusive charismatic leader of youth outreach to Sheffield's night life with the infamous Nine O'Clock service at St Thomas Crookes church forty years ago. After supper I read through the 'Thinking Anglicans' blog which lists articles and commentary about this affair, discussing the failure of episcopal discernment and leadership confronted with a trendy charismatic evangelical renewal leader, a religious populist with inadequate accountability to the wider church, without checks and balances, ending up in effect a cult leader. I think it was sociologist Bryan Wilson back in the sixties who wrote about reaction to the decline of the church resulting in the increased tendency for some churches to exhibit cult like behaviour, exclusive and defensive of their teaching and way of life. And with cult-like behaviour, abuse is never far away.

I witnessed the early days of charismatic renewal in the seventies when I was St Francis Hall Chaplain in Birmingham, and in the two decades following in different situations. Having met Professor Walter Hollenweger, expert on third world Pentecostalism, and studied under him, I learned very early on about the charismatic ethos over-relying on dominant personalities in worship and teaching, how how this could be a limitation and a risk. He had been a Pentecostal pastor, but this led him to the Swiss Reformed Church, full theological education and an understanding of the need for democracy and participation in church leadership with some sort of hierarchy if needs be. Sadly Anglican hierarchy isn't always alert to the pastoral need for critical scrutiny as well as affirmative pastoral oversight. It's taken far too long to establish a church safeguarding discipline and apply it universally to all in positions of trust. I hope we've now understood that nobody can fool all the people all of the time

After reading, I watched another episode of 'Inspector Gerri' on Walter Presents and went to bed early, still unusually tired.

Every picture tells a story

Another warm sunny day to enjoy, I didn't wake up refreshed from sleep however, but still tired, lacking energy, not fully recovered from our week of travelling and intense experience. Clare had prepared batter for breakfast pancakes and I cooked them, eating them with fresh melon and grapes for a change.

I spent the morning on my Douro photos, annotating ones I didn't get around to yesterday, selecting 186 of the 433 photos taken during the week that were fit to keep, for an album to share with family and tell our story. It took me until lunchtime. Clare cooked lunch - sea bass fillets with beans from the garden, with a slice of apple pie and grapes to follow. Just right. We both dozed in the chair for an hour afterwards, then walked together to Pontcanna Fields and had a drink in the campsite cafe. 

After returning home together, I went out and walked some more in Llandaff Fields. While we were away a permanent security fence has gone up around the Padel Courts, and an earth bank is being added inside this boundary to prevent the movement of passers-by from distracting players, and deter spectators. We'll see how well it works once the place is open for business.

It was past seven when I got back, just in time for supper. I spent the entire evening clearing space in one of my Google Photos accounts, as I'd had a warning nag about running out of space and urging me to buy extra. I downloaded three gigabytes of pictures in a dozen separate labelled albums, and copied them on to a spare  SD card for off-line storage. So many stories told in pictures over the past twenty years, of family times and visiting beautiful places, only a fragment of my total collection on and off-line. And now, time for bed again, hoping for a more restorative night's sleep.

Recovering

I slept soundly, grateful to awaken in sunshine, but feeling physically very tired, somewhat dehydrated. Unpacking, then food shopping, mostly fruit and veg, making lunch, feeling really old. I started work on my photos, selecting the keepers for uploading to Google Photos. Normally I do this while I'm away, but flaky internet and lack of spare time with our busy schedule meant that I didn't. It took me a long time, but being this tired meant that I had no spare energy to walk my usual quota. I wrote yesterday's blog today, listened to Beethoven's Ninth at the proms and that was all I felt fit for. Now it's time for bed again.

An unusual day of waiting

Another short night's sleep, with the sound of people getting up extra early to get ready to leave for early flights. We were the last flight departure of the day, but had to be packed and out of our cabins soon after breakfast to allow the cleaners to prepare for the next cruise. A coach took us to a hotel on the other side of the Douro, a half hour's rush hour journey up and down hill to reach the Pont de San Luis and then along the riverside for a mile to the hotel Rocco, near the electric tram dept, now turned into museum, where we could stay and have our hand baggage looked after for the next seven hours until the airport coach came to collect us.  

Two trams stopped outside, the #1 which went along the riverside down to the sea I think, and #18 which turned left and climbed the hill to the university area. Clare and I set out to walk up the the park indicated on the tourist map, but underestimated the distance and ease of access, so we didn't get far. The hill was very steep. Clare's hip hurt and I lacked the energy for a hike. She returned to the hotel and I took the #18 tram to the top. The area was heaving with tourists, and there were insufficient signs to tell you how to get to notable places, like the elaborate train station and the Cathedral, so after taking a few photos I returned on the same tram. The ride was a worthwhile experience, dating back a century, noisy, uncomfortable, with etched glass ventilation windows, wood panelled walls and seats, and an overhead cable bell pull with a real live working bell which went 'ting'. I walked around the neighbourhood some more, then it was time for lunch.

We would have gone to the in-house restaurant for lunch, but when we arrived at the advertised time it was empty and no staff were there to welcome us. On the recommendation of the doorman we walked a few hundred metres to a small bar restaurant with an outdoor patio right on the street. We went inside, as it was rather noisy with traffic outdoors. The space was small with a dozen table and a modest menu, and I think we were the only people who didn't live in the neighbourhood, to judge by the Portuguese conversations around us. Clare had salad and grilled sea bass slightly burned, she said. I had stewed pork and red beans with veg, and it was both tasty and plentiful. The only non-gourmet cooked meal I've had all week, such a delight. The afternoon passed slowly, somewhat sleepily in the heat. I'm not sure the capacious entrance area where we waited was air conditioned. I think the area may have once been used for industrial purposes, joined to the rest of the building by corridors with ramps to access lifts and toilets. It felt strangely empty rather than convivial.

The coach arrived as expected 20 minutes late, but got us to the airport by six. When we checked in Clare decided to ask for assistance to minimise walking. We were pointed to a service called 'My Way' and we were taken by wheelchair with an attendant following check-in through security and passport controls into the large open departure area with shops, bars, eateries and surprisingly few departure information panels. It was unnervingly different from conventional departure areas. We had a snack supper at an eaterie near our departure gate, and joined up to wait with two others in wheelchairs, once the flight arrived. There was one attendant and three of us on wheels. He took the single woman awaiting a knee replacement, another lady wheeled her husband, and I wheeled Clare - my first experience of steering a wheel chair, down two steep ramps to the aircraft, hands on brakes all the way.

I think I slept for an hour during the one hour fifty flight. If it left ten minutes late, It was due to the three assisted passengers having to take their seats first. We arrived at eleven, were ushered through passport control, collected our hold baggage and got to the very busy new transport hub by eleven thirty. It meant we had plenty of time before our coach to Cardiff at ten past midnight, arriving in Sophia Gardens at one forty. We picked up a taxi to take us home, from the entrance road. By two o'clock, I was in bed unpacking only my toothbrush, 

Return to Porto

When I woke up at first light and peeped out of the window, there was mist over the river and the quay. A coach sightseeing trip of Porto had been arranged, leaving at eight thirty. Clare had no intention of going, but I thought I would, but by the time we arrived in time for breakfast together, the  coach countdown had started. It was a question of going on the trip or missing breakfast. Breakfast won. I stayed on the ship and enjoyed the final three hours sailing the Douro instead. By the time we entered the Crestuma lock, the sky was cloudless blue and the temperature a pleasant 20C with a light breeze.

It was good to see more riverside beach resorts on our way, and denser populated settlements in Porto's outer suburban sprawl. Buildings on both banks of the river reflect 19th - 20th century industrial growth, and the expansion of warehouse storage for the country's Port wine companies, some of the buildings over 200 years old. The ship passed right through the heart of the city and went down river for a mile or so to turn around at the point where the river widens to meet the sea. 

Thus we passed beneath all six of the city's bridges, one of them, the iconic cast iron Ponte San Luiz was designed  by a student of Gustav Eiffel in the mid 19th century, most of the rest are late 20th or 21st century. At the highest level runs a railway track and a pedestrian path. The city's metro runs frequent services on it today, linking Porto on the north bank with Vila Nova de Gaia on the south, Riviera ships are berthed at Cais de Gaia. 

After arrival, our ship was sandwiched between two others, which meant we no longer had a view from our cabin, which was sad. I left the ship for an exploratory walk along a quay very busy with tourists taking photos of the view, shopping at the dozens of craft and souvenir stalls along the water's edge. Many of the Port companies have a retail front end to their warehouses geared as much to tourists as to buyers in the wine trade. I walked past them all as far as the Pont San Luiz and crossed over the 300 metre span at ground level, busy with road traffic and tourists on narrow pavements both sides taking photos, disrupting the flow of walkers. Across the narrow road from the north end of the bridge there's a funicular railway, rising 150 metres to city centre level, costing six euros. 

On the Gaia side a cable car runs from the quay to the town on the south side. Dozens of boats take tourists up and down river, most have a characteristic design which reflects the shape of the craft which used to transport barrels of Port from wineries up river, used up until the fifties. Things changed when the five hydro-electric barrages were constructed 1960s-70s, removing the need for sailors to steer through dangerous rapids using just huge oars to control their descent. Last night we were shown clips from a 1950s documentary film of the historic wine transporters at work. Nowadays there's an extensive motorway network and wine casks are moved by lorry from wineries to maturing in storage. Along one stretch of the Cais de Gaia two dozen masts host wine company banners. Moored nearby are some well restored examples of historic boats in company livery. Mature confident marketing of premium products is nothing new here. The iconic Sandeman Port branding originated with the company founded in 1790. 

I returned to the ship for lunch, then took Clare out for a walk along the quay before tea. Then it was time to pack our cases ready for an early dis-embarcation in the morning at 09.30am. I had a panic when I couldn't find our little first aid kit, as it wasn;t where I thought I'd left it. I scoured the cabin without it turning up, and wondered if one of the morning shift of cleaners had mistakenly taken as part of her kit, so I reported it to the cruise manager, and returned to the cabin for a third look around. This time I found it, in an obscure place where I'd looked twice before without detecting it. Just as I did so, the head of the cleaning team was at the door with the cruise manager, much to my embarrassment! They were so kind and gracious about it, bless them, for being so good at their jobs and relating to clients. The world needs more people like this, treating each other decently.

Hold baggage must be left outside the cabin door at eight. Four separate colour coded channels of luggage for separate collection. Two flight departures are desperately early. The other two are afternoon and evening, ours the final one at 21.45. We'll be taken from the ship to the Vincci hotel on the Porto side of the river and given lunch before departure for the airport at 17.15. This gives us in effect, five hours freedom to explore Porto on foot or public transport if we with. What a superb piece of logistic organisation. 

We were treated to a final five course dinner this evening and sat with a widowed lady from Swansea, a frequent cruiser, used to travelling alone. For me, a main course of roast duck, which went well with an aromatic red wine and an extra glass of equally fragrant Port to finish. Then back to the cabin to finish packing and make sure the red transit label was securely fixed, ready for the dreaded 08.00 bag drop.

Morning at Mateus Palace

I woke up at first light to a bright blue sky, but something wasn't quite right. The river was running in the opposite direction to the way I thought we were heading. Only later did I learn that at the Caes de Regua ships are required to park facing upstream on the left bank and down stream on the right, confirmed later by our ship doing a 180 degree turn on its axis in a wide stretch of river.

After breakfast, a 25 minute coach trip to the Mateus Palace estate,  outside Vila Real, famous for its pink wine for as long as either of us can remember. A family manor house built in the 18th and 19th centuries with an elaborate Italianate rococco chapel alongside it, and extensive English and French style gardens., plus a new section of organic garden, celebrating biodiversity. 

The mansion is well known in the world at large as its image appears in Mateus branded wine labels. The traditional form of bottle, a beloved accessory in sixties UK as a lamp base or candlestick was modelled on an 18th century soldier's water canteen. An early triumph in brand marketing. Tours of the house were beautifully organised, given the limited space, and informative. The Mateus dynasty's noble founder was a professional military man, educated in Germany, inspired by Enlightenment ideas to be a social reformer and cultural entrepreneur, who spent a decade as governor of the colony Sao Paolo in Brazil, where he founded the opera house in the late 18th century. He was also a high ranking officer in the Peninsula wars, ousting Napoleon's army from Portugal.

We returned from Vila Real in time for lunch, and while we were eating the ship turned around in a wide stretch of river to take us on the last leg of the return journey to Porto. Our attention was drawn to the change in landscape as we travelled south west out of the higher mountainous region into a region that's more exposed to Atlantic winds and weather. It was noticeable in the differences in trees and vegetation. 

Wine is still the major crop but the patterns in which vines are planted looks different. In every case the angle of the hillside, its height and the type of grape used determine what is more productive. Villages are more frequent, and there are stretches of waterside with beaches and inlets with marinas, holiday homes and camp sites out in the countryside. At half past three we passed through the 35m Carrapatelo lock. I recorded the sound of water draining from the lock as the ship descended to the next level. At the Cais do Leverinho we moored for the night, within sight of Crestuma lock, the last of the five we have passed through in both directions.

We received a briefing about tomorrow's sightseeing options in Porto. It was confusing with too much information delivered at once, followed by another briefing on dis-embarcation proceedings. Two of the four flights require a very early start, our flight is in the evening. We'll be taken to an hotel near the port and given lunch, and set free to do what we like until it's time to take the coach to the airport. It's all very well thought out.

An apero was served before supper with an opportunity to toast the health of the staff teams and say thank you, We were then treated to another five course dinner with a beef main course (yet again!) and a different but well matched red wine to drink with it. All very well done, well intended, but far more than we needed at the end of such an eventful gastronomic week. I'm already looking forward to returning to simpler fare at home, guaranteed organic and dairy free. To be fair, tonight's menu was in effect dairy free, apart from an amuse bouche of camembert. We asked, but that's the only reason why we know.

After an idle afternoon I was mildly desperate for exercise after we'd eaten so I got off the ship and paced up and down the quay for twenty minutes, A Portuguese folk group was performing when I got back on board. I listened to a few songs, then joined Clare in our cabin, to write up the day and get an early night, overwhelmed and drained by so much stimulus. This is our third cruise, and all have been enjoyable in different ways, but truth be told, apart from the impressive organisation that makes things go as well as they do, I'm not really into package holidays at all. It's too exhausting.

Double excursion

A cooler day today, 28C, high cloud and sunshine for the return journey to Porto. I woke up at first light, half past five, cloudy, but no longer with smoke haze to blight the view across the river. Yesterday night and again this morning, hordes of swifts foraging for insects over water, looking like a swarm of gnats there were so many in view at any time. 

My digestion seems to be recovering from its overdose of unassimilated fat at lunch in Salamanca. I'm none the worse for throwing up last evening, a clear head after a decent night's sleep despite waking up very early. At seven thirty the ship started moving, and the extraordinary variation in landscape unfurled before us in reverse with two big locks before lunch. At the spot where the ship had taken twenty minutes to pass under a railway bridge, I went to the front deck and saw everyone pointing their phones skywards, well, towards the  house, folded down so that the ship could pass beneath it. Nothing to do with waiting for another ship to pass, the slowdown is inevitable for safety's sake.

I missed the daily briefing about excursions, and the cookery demonstration on making pasta de nata. Twice I've eaten mashed potato this past few days, and not considered that butter and cream may have been used for smoothness. I'll avoid them altogether next time. The cumulative effect has an impact on my ability to process non-dairy fat. Lots of salad and fruit for lunch, with a main course of red snapper and green beans avoiding the mashed potato, with a lovely organic wine with a kosher label from Casa Rodrigo.

The on-board internet speed is reasonable considering the mountainous territory surrounding the river valley, but sometimes during the day it's so slow as to be considered not working. With over 150 users on board with one or more devices each, some of them videoing as they go, rarely constantly, it's not surprising the provision is so variable. The added demand of AI on bandwidth adds to a problem which is only destined to get worse. 

Not everyone can or wants to afford a 5G phone let alone a 4G one for the kind of default connectivity everyone looks for. It's a tower of Babel situation and massively ambitious vanity project which collapses under its own weight in the days of clay and bitumen is echoed in the digital age in which we're fed with the illusion of omniscience if not omnipotence by the profiteers of this foolish age, so much like others.

After lunch we were taken on an hour's drive by coach to visit the city of Lamego in the central region of the Douro river, another town which has grown thanks to the 20th century wine industry. It has a 12th century cathedral of a diocese founded about 570 with a 12th century tower, but the rest of the building dates from the 16th and 17th century. On a hill above is the pilgrimage sanctuary of Our Lady of Remedies, a roccoco style building approached by a flight of 686 steps from the town below. What  was originally a chapel dedicated to St Stephen was replaced by a building dedicated to Our Lady started in 1750 and completed in 1905. Over the early years it became renowned as a place for healing miracles, hence its unusual dedication to Our Lady of Remedies. The coach took us up the hill to park close to the sanctuary . I chose to walk down to the Cathedral to the rendezvous for those who weren't interested in the religious side of the tour. I was delighted that my leg muscles and ankle joints worked as the good Lord intended all the way down. even if I was a bit wobbly getting off the bus later in the trip.

Once the coach group had assembled we were taken to a place near the foot of the steps for a tasting of  local espumanto wine, with a tapa of jamon, lomo, bread and cheese. Quite a full bodied white similar to a pinot noir, pressed for its white juice, not for its skin, plenty of bubbles. Don't mention champagne! This is more exclusive, given the more localised character of production, like so many of the Portuguese wines which are outside the mass production market. Way out of our affordability range.

We were back at the ship at six, and out again in smart casuals at seven for another bus trip of 20 minutes to the winery of Quinta da Pacheca hosting a supper for our ship's party showcasing their white and tawny ports, and wines derived from the same range of grapes. For the second time this week I found myself tucking into roast beef with a well matched fine wine. 

The event was accompanied by a keyboard player and a violinist who knew every popular song in the 20th-21at century canon, and chose them to great effect, getting diners on to their feet to dance and sing along to all the golden oldies with great delight and much sentiment. Superb professionalism. Musicians worthy of their hire. We got back to the ship just after half past ten. I was very tired after two excursions. Clare stayed on the ship and missed Lamego, but the evening was tiring for her and went on a bit too long for comfort. Nevertheless, it was marvellous to see fellow passengers unwind and have such a happy time. I confess to taking more interest in the music making than in participating, and was in no mood to get on my feet and dance without Clare.

Salamanca

 At last, a good eight hours of sleep, up and about at seven for early breakfast and departure at eight fifteen. Clare decided to have a quiet day on the ship, not just because of all the walking in the heat of Salamanca, but the total of three and a half hours coach journey there and back. The first twenty minutes of the drive is the ascent to the Castilian plain, sometimes rolling, sometimes flat, few villages, pale yellow grassland dotted with dark green trees, mostly standing on their own. Perhaps they are managed like that, as there's less chance of fire spreading from one to another. From a distance they resemble the rounded trees drawn by young children, an unusual landscape. 

A great deal of grain is grown here in fields of immense fields. The sight of bales of straw indicates the grain harvest has already taken place. There was just one area of a couple of kilometres square which was black and scorched, the trees look as if they were little affected. Tree canopies are mostly rounded, except above the ground where they're flat. I wonder if it's something to do with cattle grazing beneath them taking shelter from the sun, and grazing above their heads?

We reached Salamanca's city centre just before ten. Rather than join the guided tour, I made straight for the Cathedral hoping to attend Mass. I heard the Angelus being rung at a distance - it's midday in Spain on Central European Time, unlike Portugal which is in the same time zone as the UK. I didn't need to pay the tourist entry fee, I just asked in Spanish if I could attend Mass and was let in. The liturgy of the Word had just started and I was able to follow, having already checked out the readings in the Anglican lectionary, which is more or less the same. Much of the sermon I understood too, about getting through tough times supported by faith in Christ, with side references to Assumption of Mary, whose fiesta was Friday last. A small girls choir sang the responsorial Psalm, Alleluia, Sanctus and Agnus Dei. At the end of Mass the Salve Regina was sung, and the image of Maria Assunta, up behind the altar was solemnly censed - a nice touch I thought. At a guess, a couple of hundred communicants. Instead of a collection bag being passed around at the Offertory, people were invited to go up to the altar and drop their dineros on a plate at the altar steps. Another nice touch. In fact the whole celebration made my day a pilgrimage more than a tourism experience.

Our tour group met outside the Cathedral to be guided to the Casino for lunch. It was once a nobleman's town house, then a gambling joint and finally taken on by the municipality and used as a banqueting hall and social function venue. About seventy metres square with a minstrels 'gallery surrounding it, enough room for two hundred to eat at tables seating ten. We queued for an assortment of tapas, but were then served a soup, followed by a portion of slow cooked belly pork with mashed potatoes. Ice cream with portion of unidentifiable sweet tart to finish, and a choice of three very nice wines to try. 

Then a hour's free time to wander and take photos of the city centre's magnificent collegiate buildings and chapels. This place is the Spanish equivalent of Oxford or Cambridge, almost as old, whose significance grew hugely when it became the educational centre for religious orders with a missionary interest. In the heat of the afternoon at 40C most places were shut and few residents were out and about. With the Cathedral as our meeting point for departure to the coaches, I returned early and rested in the shade before the hour and three quarter return journey. The ship had moved from the Spanish quay at Vega de Terron to the Portuguese quay half a mile away across the border at Barca d'Alva, this being the turnaround point for our Douro voyage.

Once we were back at the ship I began to feel nauseous, and a couple of hours later, I parted company with the remains of lunch. Not food poisoning thankfully, but a reaction to more dairy fats in what I'd eaten, perhaps the pudding, or the mashed potato. After that I was truly exhausted, skipped supper and went to bed to recover.

Onwards and upwards

I woke up at six having slept fitfully, with the background noise of two ships moored alongside as the erratic sound track to a night's sleep. Then we were on the move again, but I dozed for another hour before opening the curtains. We were in a narrow gorge with turbulent water, surrounded by giant slabs of schist reaching above us. One of the slabs I noticed has a human head carved on it.

At seven thirty we entered the Valeira lock with 33 metre ascent. I got up and made my way to the front lounge, as the sun deck was closed for transit. Not only were the ship's masts laid flat, but also the ship's wheel house had to be partly collapsed to squeeze under the bridge over the hydroelectric barrage. I saw the captain open a hatch above his head and stand up at the wheel to see ahead, popping up and down like a jack in the box, too fast to catch on camera! There was barely a hands width between the top of the wheelhouse and the bridge it passed under. 

We entered a high sided natural basin where the river took a left turn into another high sided valley. Just then the sun appeared above the ridge. Fish were jumping alongside the ship, both in the lock and in the basin beyond. A scent of liquorice in the hazy morning air. Wonderful.

Then breakfast in a busy dining room, full of people sharing travellers tales. The internet was down, and when it return it ran very slowly. Good connectivity can disappear in mountainous areas where cellular reception, even for the ships powerful antennae, can be patchy.

We reached a railway bridge crossing in a wide stretch of river meeting another Riviera ship going downstream, and moved very slowly for about fifteen minutes. The navigators probably know that normal speed cannot be sustained when passing in certain locations without the ships being disturbed by each other's wake. It meant we were half an hour late arriving at Pocinho lock 22 metres high. The air is still, so haze from wildfires hangs in the air, though the smell of smoke is diminished. There was little wind, so the early morning haze over the river was as much residual wild fire smoke as it was mist, and not dispersing quickly. Not a momentous day for photography, except to record the disturbing impact of global heating our environment. 

We docked at a river port called Vega de Turron, a gateway for regional tourism in the Upper Douro region. Many of the Douro cruise ships stop here overnight. It's just across the Spanish border. You can see Portugal on the opposite bank of a tributary river which marks the border at this place.

We opted to be served lunch in the ship's restaurant today, and had a cooked meal neither of us really needed given that there'll be another five course dinner this evening. Clare had fish, I had piri-piri chicken and chips, and wasn't impressed. On the other hand, having fresh fruit for pudding does make it possible to digest. Lots of protein and fruit seems to suit me at the moment.

At half past two we were taken up into the mountains on the west side of the river to visit an ancient hill village called Castle Rodrigo, three quarters of an hour's drive from the ship up a road which took us up three hundred metres above the river on a constantly winding narrow road, lined with vineyards, olive groves and almond trees, patterning the landscape in beautifully varied ways. At the end of the climb we reached a rolling plain, similarly farmed but with expanses of rocky heathland. The range of colours in this different landscape was of itself a source of delight to see.

The village had once been a strategic border town between the kingdom of Leon and Portugal, until it lost its political significance. The citizens took it upon them selves to destroy the palatial castle and all that remains of it now are the ruins you can see. The 14th century church is unusually dedicated to Our Lady of Rocamadour, a reminder of the establishment of the church by a French religious order back in the day for whom the Provencal town of Rocamadour was home base. It was a key location on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela from France back in the day. It was a small place, just right for a short visit for a group of elderly tourists, a place you can buy locally made products, almond sweets, olive oil, wine, products crafted out of cork grown in this region. If the temperature hadn't been 39C, it would have been a pleasant outing, more than it was an endurance test in the heat for some at least. We were back at the ship in need of a shower and cooling drinks by half past five.

At seven, another gourmet feast with a new selection of excellent red and white wines. It's not been possible to get more than half my usual amount of exercise this past few days, and I certainly paid for it this evening, with a terrible sharp pain in my right ankle, symptomatic of leg muscles not getting enough of a warm up and stretching with so much sitting and not enough distance walked. There was a quiz after supper. We went straight to our rooms, having had enough experience for one day, and needing an early night. Tomorrow a dreadfully early start for Salamanca at eight fifteen. Heaven help us!

We received a briefing about today's visit to the mediaeval hill town of Castel Rodrigo, and a second one about Sunday's visit to Salamanca, which centres on the Plaza Major and the Cathedral fortunately. The down side is an hour and three quarters coach journey both ways, starting at eight fifteen. 

Smoke gets in your eyes

Neither of us slept well after such an unusual travel day, less than five hours for me. No chance of a lie-in when the ship began to manoeuver at six forty five, and start its inland journey up the Douro. Early on, the sky was clear, but became hazy, then ominously cloudy as we passed by places where wildfires are being fought on hillsides many miles away.  Breakfast at eight was a feast of choices, cooked, cold meats, fruit and cereals. At a steady ten miles an hour on an incredible winding river, it was difficult to establish at first which direction we were travelling in, and I felt quite disoriented. My smartphone map was hardly useful, as the GPS signal bounced back and forth in the urbanised area, just occasionally on the river. Soon after breakfast, away from the conurbation with steep woodland on either side, our progress on the map became more obvious.

Our first stop was for Crestuma lock, the first of three hydroelectric barrages to mount this day, a mere 14 metres, just after we'd finished breakfast. The Patricia the cruise director gave us the maritime health and safety briefing, and introduced the schedule for the day. Then a stop for the second Carrapatelo lock, an awesome giant, one of the largest in Western Europe, with an ascent of 35 metres. It's difficult to describe the impact of this, with huge doors opening upwards into a vast void dripping with water. As we waited, several swifts were circulating casually, foraging for insects above and below top deck level. After the ascension, the sun deck was closed to passengers as the vessel's superstructure had to be flattened to pass through the exit portal, given its size. The barrage was built in the sixties when river vessels weren't quite as large as now.

Then we passed for an hour before lunch along a stretch of river where the sky filled with brown clouds of wildfire smoke. We got the stench and the smuts from a blaze many miles away, and saw two firefighting helicopters with buckets fly down and scoop up river water. The sun shone dark orange through smoke clouds above us at one stage. As we sat down to a light buffet lunch, I spotted an osprey circling over the river, stooping to take a fish, unsuccessfully. Two of them, apparently, but we soon passed their fishing spot. As we approached the next barrage I spotted a colony of cormorants occupying an island and water nearby. A place rich with fish no doubt. Then I spotted two large herons on the move, confirming this as a potentially fruitful hunting ground for them too.

With a fruit and veg salad type lunch, I had two glasses with the meal, an interestingly flavoured bitter chocolatey red and a light lemony low impact white. Effectively, local house wines. We get to try the posh stuff at supper time. An hour later we went through the Bagauste lock, an ascent of 28 metres. That means we're now 77 metres, 245 feet higher than we were when we set out this morning. The temperature soared above 35C to 38C on an exposed mountainside when we visited the Quinta San Luis at tea time, for a guided tour of the winery, learning about how red and white port wines are made, with a tasting of both at the end. The winery is located about 150m above the river, with a long winding narrow approach road, handled with supreme confidence by a local coach driver. 

It was only 20C in the winery itself and 18C or less in the place behind where giant oak wine casks as tall as a two storey house stand like silent sentinels in the shadow of the mountain side. Fortified wines are an interesting and pleasant experience, definitely best with fruit or something savoury. Taken on their own, and without a water chaser doesn't do them justice. A couple of hours later, the taste of the aquavit added to halt fermentation, was still burning my tongue, when the distinctive flavour of the wine had departed. Not my sort of everyday drink really.

We descended from the winery to the A222 riverside main road to Pinaho. Our ship went ahead to its planned berth for the night on the quayside by this village, described as being at the heart of the Douro. There's a train that runs the length of the valley, and I glimpsed it passing through as we were about to embark, but too quickly to take a photo. Clare was keen to cool down with dip in the ship's tiny swimming pool. It wasn't really deep enough for a swim however. It's really there for people to go and sit in on a day as hot as this one. At least the wind blew away the smoke and we glimpsed the sky again.

Then a welcome session with a glass of incredibly dry white wine before supper, to introduce the entire staff and crew of MV Douro Elegance. I didn't count but there were about forty altogether I think. Then a gourmet five course meal showcasing the red and white wines of the region selected to go with the evening's meal. All together nicely balanced, although the slab of rare to medium beef we ended up with, went well with the wine, it a was twice as large as it needed to be, it took so long to eat.

I had a conversation at table with a Bristolian couple with a widowed sister, all of whom were Catholics, all of us of a similar age, and sharing the same experiences of growing up in a different world, grateful for what this taught us. A conversation full of appreciation and gratitude for our different experiences of life. There was entertainment in the lounge to follow, but after such enjoyable conviviality I needed to return to the cabin, upload photos and write, before turning in for the night, recharging my digital devices before re-charging myself with sleep. What an amazing day.

Porto bound

Cloudy again and a bit cooler. I woke up at my usual time, but after last night lateness and a mile of added stressful exercise up and down stairs hunting and packing stray stuff I  expected to be more physically tired, so I stayed in bed until gone nine to ensure a relaxed start to the day.

After breakfast and a shower, I went to the pharmacists for my three monthly batch of medication. Not that I'll run out this week, but since Ibiza in 2020 I take an extra amount just in case.

Lots of fiddly bits to do before closing bags, including securing our self print hold baggage labels issued by Riviera Travel.  Clare started the day painfully, but rallied after analgesics and booked an early taxi to the coach station. In the half hour of spare time left while waiting for our taxi, I finished the Morning Prayer video I was working on and posted it to YouTube. The taxi arrived even earlier, so we had three quarters of an hour to change gear and relax at last into holiday mode at the coch station.

The one o'clock airport coach arrived in Bristo Airport at two forty. Since we were  last here en route to Barcelona in May, a new transport hub has opened comprising a massive car park with a bus and coach station on the roof and a bridge from there to the forecourt of the airport building. No more hill climbs pulling luggage! The bag drop zone is automated as far as possible, but there are friendly helpful staff on hand to help with getting barcode ticket scanners to behave. The security clearance process is now state of the art. No need to extract digital devices etc, just put watches spare change and chip 'n pin cards in your bag. So quick! By the time we'd been body scanned and walked to the end of the conveyor belt, our rucksacks were level with us to take away. Twenty minutes since getting off the coach, half the time a few months ago. And then a three hour wait until take-off.

The flight arrived fifteen minutes late and arrived at  Porto 20.30, already dark. We entered and exited the plane by the back stairs rather than the air bridge, which meant climbing a dozen flights of stairs to get up to the right level for the six minute walk through to passport control. Painfully worrying for Clare but she coped amazingly and I felt the distress too. At baggage reclaim I spotted my bag and incorrectly identified the bag next to it as Clare's, carried it through to arrivals and met with the Riviera Travel tour group from the same plane for transport to the MS Douro Elegance, moored at Gaia on the opposite bank of the Douro to Porto. Thankfully I realised I'd picked up the wrong case before we left, and had to go through security in reverse to reach the baggage reclaim section, where I met with an EasyJet steward with a worried lady, holding Clare's case. The one I took had her wedding garments in it!

Then half an hour's coach trip to the ship where we were welcomed with a light supper of fruit and sweet tart before check-in and a couple of glasses of local dark vino tinto. When we got to our cabin Clare's bag went missing again, causing a panic for us and the ship's stewards. It turned up later, having made it to the ship, but ended up a deck below by mistake. Poor Clare. Twice in one night.

It was gone half past eleven by the time I went up on top deck to take photos of the amazing nightscape of Porto rising above us in dock. By chance, I returned and collected a different camera to compare their performance in the dark.  By this time the half moon had risen and was sitting right above the main bridge over the river. Awesome luck, what a consoling finale to a challenging day. 

Now I can turn into a slumbering pumpkin, worry free.

Looking back again

Cloudy again today and even warmer, 27C. Monday housework after breakfast, then I wrote for a while. As Clare was preparing veg for lunch, two bright green caterpillars fell out of a bunch of leaves. I took a few closeup photos of them before returning to the wild. If they survive they'll turn into butterflies. 

I took over cooking while Clare went for a walk. After lunch Clare and I went into town separately for last minute clothes shopping, and we met for a drink half way through our separate missions. I bought for the first time a pair of wide fitting slip-on trainers. My feet have spread and increased comfort would be welcome. I also found a cotton 'shirt jacket' with top pockets in M&S, just right for hot weather, but not easy to find here. When we returned, I walked in the park for an hour. For the first time in days there was no wind. On the edge of Pontcanna Fields a family barbecue was taking place. I was surprised at how far the pungent odor of charcoal cooked meat diffused throughout the surrounding area. The parks are strangely quiet  in July and August when there's far less bird song, just the occasional warning cry from a bird sensing a threat, squawks from magpies, crows and gulls. This afternoon I heard the bubbly song of a robin for the first time in a month.

After supper I scanned another seventy photo negatives - ten from James' christening in 1996 and sixty from Kath and Anto's wedding back in 1992. None of the aunts and uncles in those photos are alive now, but some of the cousins are. Lovely to look at photos of 14 year old Owain wearing his first grown up suit. Still more of the wedding to scan, and thousands more from the thirty year period of family holidays up to the start of the millennium and my first digital camera. I've been digitising film negatives spasmodically since I retired. It's time consuming even if it rewards us with glimpses of our shared past. It's a special stimulus for Clare as her memory becomes more erratic.

Before turning in for bed, I double checked packed bags added piecemeal during the day and travel  documents. Just as well, as I didn't find my euros where I thought I put them, and panicked. Eventually after a fruitless search elsewhere I found them tucked into the euro driving permit I had no reason to take with me on a river cruise. As as result I got to bed three quarters of an hour later than intended. Ah well !

Self poisoning globally

Partly sunny and pleasantly warm today at 24C, with a few hotter days to come. It'll be just as hot if not more when we arrive in Portugal next Thursday for our cruise. We went to St Catherine's for the Eucharist at the same time as a mother of two who's regularly in church with her husband, together with her third baby, born at home three days ago. The service started with a round of applause to welcome baby Carys into the congregation. A shared moment of great joy and delight. Hilary announced to the congregation at the end of Mass that the sale of church garden produce has resulted in a donation of £150 to church funds. Donations of surplus garden produce has also made it possible to pass on some veg to the Oasis refugee project which hosts a weekly communal meal for asylum seekers. An expanding virtuous circle!

After coffee and a chat we returned for lunch. After we'd eaten, I started preparing the texts for Morning Prayer on the last Wednesday of the lunch and wrote a reflection to go with it. Then a walk in Llandaff Fields and down to the river. As ever there were a couple of cricket matches going on. I was astonished to see the number of empty water bottles littering the grass in the out field of both games. I'd like to think that someone is assigned to collect them and take them to the nearest bin when they finish, but when there are scores of them scattered about, there are always strays which get missed. If only the rules for hiring a pitch made the provision of special recycling bins in a prominent place and obliged team managers to train players to use them. 

Heaven knows what passers by think when they see the mess. It troubles me that so many athletes are so focussed on their game that they lose awareness of the environment and discard drinks containers wherever they are with no thought for the consequences. It's an echo of global competition for power and wealth, focused on achievement with little regard for consequences, leading to oceans over heating and plastics poisoning ecosystems, including our own bodies at the microscopic level. As a species we are in danger of poisoning ourselves to extinction, one way or another.

After supper, I joined Clare watching an interesting BBC Four documentary about master pianist Alfred Brendel, made twenty five years ago when he was seventy. He died two months ago aged 95. Back in the 80's I was given cassette recordings of all his Mozart piano concertos. They were the sound track of my journeys when I was travelling the length and breadth of Wales representing USPG. I digitized them in the '90s and still have them on my mobile phone amongst other places, a musical treasure. 

I then set up my sixteen year old Windows Vista PC and scanner to digitize one of the remaining packs of film negatives from before digital camera days. The film scanner won't work with more modern operating systems, without paying for a driver update. Finding a driver is one thing, finding one that's malware free is another. Either way it's not worth the expense when the original kit still works, albeit slowly. Once I run out of negatives to scan, I can get rid of both computer and film scanner and clear space in my study for the next phase of sorting through stuff to keep and stuff to get rid of. Tonight's digital harvest dates back 29 years. Photos of James' christening plus Amanda and James' Geneva visit in 2000. Thirty frames scanned in an hour, then bed.

Yesteryear's novelty

A sunny day with cloud dispersing in the northerly breeze. I got up at eight thirty, prepared breakfast and cooked garlic mushrooms to go with the buckwheat pancakes I made. Sir Tom Jones' gave a concert at the Cap Roig Festival near Girona on Thursday night. Veronica and John were there and sent photos, plus a set list of the twenty-one songs he sang, his voice still in fine form. She said that one of the stewards at the concert recognised her from her visit to Madremanya church when I took the service there! That prompted me to wonder if they might invite me for a return visit. She had a word with a friend who is a congregation member next morning, and unless they have a more convenient offer lined up already it could happen, but I'm not pinning my hopes on it.

We shared cooking a veggie pasta dish for lunch, then I went out for a walk with my Olympus PEN 8. I've not used it much recently, and was frustrated to find the battery was almost exhausted, so I returned home to put it on charge in my study, but before going out with another camera, made another effort to tidy the assortment of papers on my desk. I get distracted easily when I'm sorting out what to throw away and what to file. On this occasion, I got rid of several empty smartphone boxes that have taken up space for years, and then took out a boxed digital photo frame given me by the staff of Tredegarville school when I retired fifteen years ago. It still works perfectly, loaded with photos of children and grandchildren taken in 2010. 

The pre-touchscreen user interface is ingenious if awkward to use, innovative in its day, interesting to play about with, but there was no suitable setting to display photos in our house, with its inconvenient power source a mains transformer, rather than battery. Prints of family photos adorn the fridge door as well as in frames on shelves and walls, lovingly updated by Clare. Before disposing of this device, I decided to remove all 250 photos from it. First I had to find a first generation mini USB-A to USB-B cable of that era. I knew I had one somewhere, but finding it among the many cables accumulated since 2015 took me a while. Eventually I connected it to my workstation and decanted the photos satisfactorily. Then I went out and completed my afternoon walk, arriving home in time for supper.

All series three episodes of 'The Sommerdahl Murders' have now been aired in the Friday evening prime time slot on Channel Four. Series four will follow after a few months break I guess. In the meanwhile a new Italian series 'Inspector Gerri' began yesterday and I watched it this evening. It's another series filmed in and around photogenic Bari in Apulia. The protagonist is of Romani origin, an outsider with his own unconventional way of investigating, providing a pretext to reveal racism among colleagues. He pursues a possible link between the current murder of a teenage girl and a similar cold case with a Romani victim. An unusual start. 

Crime series touching upon racism within the police force that I've watched are few and far between. One was Finnish with a Sami detective, the other Belgian series with a black cop with Francophone African parents investigating smugglers in a Flemish coast area. I liked the description of crime movie fiction in an radio interview last week as being a way to visit a country, not as a tourist, but behind the scenes in the everyday world, portraying issues of social concern and crises people have to face when tragedy strikes.

Occupation outrage opposed

Sunshine and clouds again today, pleasantly warm. Up at eight phoning the GP surgery for an appointment to examine a couple of small growths, one on each cheek, possibly a legacy from past mosquito bites, also to find out the result of the PSA test I had a couple of months ago. I was twelfth in the queue, and luckily landed the last bookable appointment for the day. Then I made breakfast listening to news missed earlier, having switched the radio on at seven and dozing until it was time to call for an appointment.

Reaction to Netanyahu's decision to drive out the remaining residents from Gaza city and occupy the city  militarily is provoking outrage in Israel and internationally. Germany is suspending arms shipments of equipment supplies to the IDF that would support the occupation. Conscious of its history, Germany has remained a steadfast ally of Israel, refraining from open criticism on Israeli policy hitherto. Trump is not expressing an opinion at the moment. In the early days of his presidency he declared himself in favour of re-locating the population of Gaza, in favour of redeveloping the Strip as a holiday venue, showing his interest in the land as real estate, not its occupants.

As an occupation timescale is envisaged over the coming months, some commentators reckon the proposal is intended mainly to put pressure on Hamas to return to the negotiating table, but having lost most of its control of the Gaza Strip, resistance to comply with Israel's demands is one power that remains to Hamas, It continues to drain Israel of resources and exhaust the patience of Israelis wanting the war to end and hostages to return. It could cost the lives of the remaining hostages. The use of force without diplomacy, without any clear vision let alone a plan of the eventual outcome, is doomed to fail. The American fiasco in facing Vietnamese insurgency back in the 1970s is already being remembered as an example. Israeli military leaders may well have this in mind in opposing Netanyahu's plan. It's impossible to see how things will develop from day to day. The only constant is the continuing slaughter of starving Palestinian adults and children. 

Anyway, the doctor said the PSA test was pretty normal for a healthy man of my age. She took a video of my blemished cheeks to send to a maxilio facial consultant to inspect. In the light of this I may get a reassuring opinion or an appointment for an expert hands on examination. 

Clare cooked a salmon and veg soup for lunch while I was out. I slept in the chair for an hour before going to Thompson's Park, and then to Cowbridge Road to meet Ashley for a chat. I took with me a set of still working powerline adaptors, no longer useful to me, but worth giving away rather than throwing away. He'd just bought a case for his new tablet, but forgotten to buy headphones to go with it. He returned home with me for another cup of tea plus an unused spare headphone set gathering dust for years in an office drawer. In times past new phones were issued with headphones. I had an unused set. I rarely used or broke a set so the spares have lasted the life of a succession of phones. Nowadays most people buy fancy wireless noise cancelling sets, which is why they're no longer provided with new phones.

After supper we watched the BBC Proms performance of the Sibelius 'New World' symphony, and I read in Spanish for an hour until bed time

Digital housekeeping

Cloudy with occasional light showers until late afternoon. Up at eight making breakfast. Mid-morning I walked to Lidl's in Leckwith. It's only a mile and a half, but it's an unpleasant walk alongside roads with much traffic. We needed to stock up on fruit and walnuts. In addition I bought a bottle of Spanish white wine to try. It's from Vadlepeñas, made with the Airén grape. Lunch was ready for me when I returned - a mackerel fillet with spuds and carrot. 

Afterwards, I walked to the coach station to get our tickets to Bristol airport a week today. Unfortunately for me the usual booking clerk wasn't in attendance, but there was another staff member, well versed in helping travellers in using the automatic ticket machine, which works much the same as booking from the website on line. The system is efficient and devoted to purchasing tickets, not to dealing with enquiries,  which was the reason I came in person to ask questions before booking. I found it difficult to explain to the kind man who was operating the ticket machine for me, and ended up not getting an open ended ticket for the return journey just in case our late flight was even later arriving home. 

We have an hour and ten minutes from landing to get through passport and baggage reclaim and then down many flights of steps outside, leading to the coach station. It's possible if the flight is on time, which is a gamble. A taxi to Cardiff is as expensive as a short night at the Holiday Inn nearby. The alternative is a three hour wait in the small hours, and booking another ticket, as the ones I bought with aren't changeable. This I could have done if there'd been a booking clerk on duty.

When I got back, I made a copy of the ticket for Clare and a digital version for my Google Wallet, as the driver can scan the QR code with his phone to verify the booking. This works quite well. With all the copies of documents needed for our cruise travelling in convenient paper and digital form, I remembered that I did my tax return but didn't tidy up by transferring a copy of the completed form and submission receipt to my workstation archive. I made the return on my Chromebook, downloaded files and left them to deal with later. I copied them to a flash drive for the move, rather than copying them to the Cloud, so I have a redundant copy on a handy physical device. Convenient when off-line. thanks to a useful flash drive with a USB-C interface that plugs into my phone. Although I've used free Cloud storage since the early days when it was available and don't need to pay for extra, I feel it's important not to rely on it, and keep copies of all I've created on physical devices as insurance against on-line data loss or lockout.

Once that small task was done I tidied the photo files I use for Morning Prayer videos as many of them had been duplicated inadvertently at some time in the past year for no reason I can understand. It's a fiddly job, which needed doing to facilitate file selection. When I finished doing that I joined Clare watching the Eisteddfod Dawns werin performances on S4C, all the way up to bed time.

Anniversary

Sunshine, to start the day but the sky clouded over by lunchtime, but no rain. Clare came with me to the Eucharist at St Catherine's as this Feast of the Transfiguration. There were eleven of us for the service. It's our fifty-ninth wedding anniversary today. When I think about it, of our two families, only my sister June is still alive, who was there at the time, plus a few university friends. Sheila brought cake to share over coffee afterwards as it's her birthday this week. Ann gave me a jar of her marmalade to try, and Clare bought a jar of grape jelly that Hilary made from the fruit of the vine growing in the Robin Hood pub, over the wall from the churchyard. Clare went straight home while I visited Chapter to collect this week's veggie bag, and got home minutes before her. She's walking so much slowly these days.

Instead of going out to eat we had a light lunch instead. I went to the shops for a few things, then went to Thompson's Park. The recent heavy rain has led to the pond water level rising again, submerging the nest where one of the moorhens usually sits. The chicks have developed enough for their first feathers to show through their black fluffy down coat. Before going to Stefanos for supper we looked at our first photo album. Courtship and wedding pictures - student days in Bristol, first holiday together in Cornwall, then wedding and honeymoon, Kath's birth. They're mostly black and white with the odd one in fading colour, all neatly laid out by Clare. When we returned I watched the remaining episodes of 'Classified' until bed time. What a dark tragic story-line, full of betrayal, distrust, murder and conspiracy woven in the shadow world beneath the surface of political relations between nation states. 

Coup d'état

After a cool night, a bright sunny start to the day with wind from the north west blowing clouds across the sky. Up at eight and making breakfast. 

In the news the Israeli cabinet is set approve complete military occupation of Gaza with measures to allow commercial companies to deliver essential supplies, medicines and food. Having reduced the military forces of Hamas to uncontrolled gangs of armed insurgents, the invasion of Gaza will now lead to the overthrow of an elected Palestinian civil administrations. No matter how wickedly Hamas has betrayed the trust of the electorate, Gazans will no longer have any say in what happens to them, robbed of dignity and freedom so cruelly and inhumanely by the Israeli military and the remnant of Hamas clinging to the remaining hostages while refusing to admit defeat.

This is happening in the face of widespread opposition within Israel and the wider world to Netanyahu's policy. How this will free any hostages still alive and how civil administration by an army of occupation can be established successfully in these circumstances is unexplained. Meanwhile an average of 28 children die in Gaza each day, along with scores of people desperately seeking food from the inadequate number of aid convoys and air drops being carried out. The Palestinian death toll in this war now stands at nearly seventy thousand. 

Refusal to let UN famine aid teams take part in relief operations has accelerated this crisis. Trump is one of the world leaders whose support Israel relies upon. He's no fan of the United Nations and cannot be expected to influence Netanyahu's decision about occupation one way or another. Neither of them has any concern about international opinion or international law regarding Palestine. No good can come of it. It's so heart breaking and distressing to think it's been like that for the past half century. It weighs on my mind.

I did very little this morning apart from listening to the radio and editing photos of my visit to the DDR in the weeks leading up to the fall of the Berlin Wall. It's fifteen years since I digitized them and more useful editing tools are available now than back then. They're not high resolution scans, but lifting shadows does reveal hidden detail in photos taken on overcast days while we were there. I think I took my Praktika SLR film camera with me without auto-focus or flash so the results were a bit hit or miss. A few photos are quite sharp however, a reminder of how well the Zeiss lens worked with the Russian made camera. 

We shared cooking lunch, then after a snooze I went out to buy olive oil and inspect some of the local restaurants with a view to dining out tomorrow, our 59th wedding anniversary. Frankly, I wasn't impressed with the menus I looked at. A limited range of dishes with fancy labels in pretentious foodie jargon with high prices, if you could identify the numbers, displayed in small print. I swear it's got worse since one of the local restaurants was awarded a Michelin star. 

On my afternoon walk in Llandaff Fields I inspected progress on the Padel court construction. Four of the six courts are now covered with green astro-turf, and the walk-ways between them are reddish brown. A consignment of concrete slabs has been delivered for paving surrounding the exterior of the courts. As I took photos through the fence, one of the building workers quipped "You're not one of those breaking in are you?" "Too old for that." I replied. Although the site is surrounded with security fencing, its location in a part of the park with no houses overlooking the site must make it attractive to thieves. 

After supper I watched another episode of 'Classified', so packed with deceit and lies it's not easy to follow on times. Then Rachel called and we chatted for an hour until bedtime.

Ruthless

Stormy weather in the north of Britain today, only gusty winds reaching overcast Cardiff and persistent drizzling rain all morning. Housework after breakfast, then cooking a fresh veggie dish to go with rice pasta. I cooked tomatoes with garlic separately for myself, to add to the sugo at the time of serving. So naturally sweet and delicious!

Netanyahu is talking about resuming the offensive in Gaza, as Hamas will not agree to a cease-fire or to hostage release unless Israel agrees to a two state solution. Eighty percent of Israelis are opposed to his proposal, and to withholding of sufficient aid to feed the starving Palestinian population, likewise the international community of nations. There's a genuine risk of many more being killed in a new offensive and of losing any remaining hostages still alive. If a point is reached where Hamas loses what's left of its hold over the populace, there's nothing to stop the slaughter of surviving hostages as an act of revenge. 

In an effort to stop Netanyahu from pursuing his plan, six hundred former senior Israeli security officials have written to Trump urging him to use his influence to dissuade Netanyahu. It's a powerful statement underlining the minority stance of the regime on continuing the war. Can anything come of this? 

After lunch there was shopping to do, as ever, then a walk in Llandaff Fields. The wind had by then driven away the clouds, the sun shone, and the air was scented with floral aroma following the rain earlier. In the evening after supper I watched more episodes of 'Classified'. The story-line is in the classic cold war spy genre, except that it's about the Canadian secret service agency defending its domain, contending with the American CIA. It says something signficant about the perceived ruthlessness of the USA in asserting its dominance, behind the scenes as well as openly, as a superpower determined to maintain position at any cost, no matter who suffers as a result. We see echoes of this in everything that's happened in the Holy Land, not only in the past two years, but for most of my lifetime.

Farewell to Andrew

Warm today, but overcast with a few light showers, but sunshine later in the day. We went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's where Andrew Sims, preached his valedictory sermon. He'll no longer be a regular worshipper in the parish as he starts ordination training at St Padarn's in September. He's already a relaxed public speaker, and he delivered a sermon that was both a personal reflection on a major change in his life after fifteen years as a member of the St John's congregation, and a reflection on two of the three scripture readings for the day. I think he's going to enjoy his two years of study and training.

Afterwards, a bring and share buffet lunch took place at St John's in their honour. About a hundred people took part. Clare went straight there. I popped home first to collect a few books I thought might interest him at some time in the future. I arrived just after Clare had sat down, keeping a place for me at table with Paula, Clive, Hilary, Bill and Sally. Andrew and his partner Martin have been mainstays of St John's  congregation. They'll be greatly missed. It was almost three by the time we got home. After a cup of coffee I recorded and edited Morning Prayer for three weeks hence, then walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour and a half. After supper I made the audio into a video slideshow. I've now got two videos ready to upload eventually. Before bed I watched a couple fo episodes of French Canadian spy thriller series 'Classified'.

Workarounds

Cloudy with sunshine and the same warm wind again today 22C. Clare cooked pancakes with rye flour for breakfast. They turned out very light and delicious. I spent all morning recording and editing audio, in an effort to get well ahead and have videos ready to cover the Wednesdays when we'll be cruising the Duoro.

We decided to visit the Secret Garden cafe for a lunch of veggie samosas and salad. Clare's hip was pretty painful, so we went by bus down to Sophia Gardens, crossed over the Millennium Bridge into Bute Park to curtail the walking distance. Afterwards we walked through the park down to the bus stop opposite the Castle gate to get a return bus, stopping first in the gatehouse cafe for a drink in the sunshine. It was good to devise a workaround in order to go together somewhere away from our locality, while Clare's mobility is limited, but still needing to exercise as much as possible.

Later on I went out and walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour before cooking a light supper of steamed veg with a baked potato, determined to persist with eating less in the evening, as this helps to reduce the number of times I wake up and need to pee. I've realised that maintaining good relaxed sleep quality leads to a clearer head in the morning, but it's hard to put into practice.

After supper I used the audio produced this morning to make the video slideshow of Wednesday Morning Prayer for the week after next then watched yesterday's episode of 'The Sommerdahl Murders' to finish the day.

Tax return day

A warm breezy day with rain clouds driven away to the south east and bright sunshine at 21C. I woke up from a good long night's sleep feeling clear headed for a change, determined to shorten my to-do list. After breakfast I wrote another biblical reflection in advance for the week we're cruising on the Douro. 

Cruise documents from Rivera Travel arrived by email yesterday. I downloaded them for printing. We both like to have paper copies of everything, even if the digital version is more immediately accessible on a working phone. The digital cruise brochure runs to thirty pages, with an alarmingly wasteful amount of empty space on each page. It seems they no longer run to the expense of posting such documents, which is disappointing considering the cost of the trip. 

My HP lazer printer is almost out of ink but works after few taps and shakes of the cartridge to release the last micro-grams of ink to get it to print evenly. I forgot to do this and twenty unreadable pages came out. After doing what I should have done beforehand, copies of vital selected pages including boarding passes were produced as intended. Then it was time to cook lentils and veg with rice for lunch while Clare went out for some exercise.

Then, after we'd eaten, I finally got around to making my tax declaration for the past year. I've been doing this on-line for the past twenty years, and am familiar with navigating my way through the process as my income streams aren't many and change little. This year there's an exception, as there's tax to pay on some of the income from the Aviva bond I cashed back in March. I had the info about it ready to use but couldn't work out where to enter it on the form. I was under the impression that it was taxed under capital gains, but couldn't find a category. Google helped with a suitable explanation that it was an insured bond. Then I  found the right place immediately. 

HMRC's on-line tax declaration has improved greatly over the years. I'm proud to know that Owain is one of a team of hundred if not thousands working behind the scenes to deliver precise and clear explanations of every conceivable aspect of taxation in many hundreds of drop down help menus on the website. It's an unending task, as tax legislation changes happen with every new government budget. Hereafter I may no longer need to fill in a tax return at all. Since retirement some locum duty fees I've received have not been taxed at source, and the information needed to be added at the end in a box provided for other information about income. There's now a box within listed streams of income listed just for this. 

Next year, it's unlikely I will have any occasional income from locum duties to declare. I'm no longer doing funerals, and offers of European long locum duty stays have ceased as the diocese has become more risk averse about making use of clergy my age. Needless to say, I'm very sad about this. The last fourteen years of occasional spells of service abroad have been a great and unforgettable pleasure. 

In future my income will be predictably static, travel limited by what we can afford. The Douro cruise is a one off pleasurable experience both of us felt we'd like to spend savings on. I've been fortunate not to need a joint replacement like some men of my age suffering from the long term impact of youthful sports injury. Clare's savings will pay for her hip replacement. A two year wait with such pain would deprive her un-necessarily of quality of life if not mobility. By then she'll be at the head of the NHS queue to have the other hip replaced, and already she's on that list.

It took me two hours to complete and submit the tax return, then I went out for a long walk until supper time. We watched a BBC Proms concert of Bach's Concerto for Orchestra in D Minor and Mendelssohn's Lobegesang Symphony. Stirring stuff! Then a breath of fresh night air before bed, feeling pleased my to-do list is a little shorter tonight.