A new start

I woke up refreshed from a good eight hours of relaxed sleep for the first time in a year without discomfort from an irritable bowel or bladder awake only for an hour - my first night without aggressive medication working its way through my body upsetting my digestive system. I'm slightly light headed but without feeling faint or drowsy. Clare thinks the buttock wound has closed.  I'll wear a dressing a bit longer as a precaution. Her study group arrived after breakfast so I stayed in the front room and worked on transcribing my Ulster travel diary until lunchtime.

The meditation group Clare belongs to met chez nous this afternoon. I joined the two that came. Two more gave their apologies. I went for a walk after lunch before the session started. It was good to experience an  improvement in open air spatial awareness in the absence of the drug which has had such a soporific effect over the nine months I've been taking it. I didn't go to sleep during meditation and kept focus on the text chosen from Isaiah 30.15, 'In returning and rest you shall be saved, in quietness and trust shall be your strength.' So my concentration is better too. What a blessing, hallelujah!

A tea time shopping trip to Tesco's for chicken, kefir and a bunch of roses for Clare, and after supper a short walk in the dark to stretch my legs and complete my step quota for the day. I watched the last episode of 'Marbella' again as I wasn't sure if I understood how the conclusion was reached, nor for that matter what the point was of the anti-hero dodgy lawyer's apologia for his support role in the glitzy world of organised Costa del Sol crime. Was this comic irony? Re-watching left me none the wiser. Then I watched another episode of 'Ludwig', quirky, funny, very much a British whodunnit. A world of difference.

All too soon, bed time after a drug free day, although I have been straightforwardly light headed. I wonder if this will wear off when the dipyridamole is completely out of my system, or if it's the aftermath of the stroke and the terrible time I had in hospital? It's a matter of wait and see.

Unexpected relief

Waking up after a good night's sleep to a hazy sky and pale autumnal sunshine. St Matthew's feast day today, the evangelist whose story has accompanied and maybe influenced me throughout the years of my ordained ministry. I'm annoyed with myself for omitting to lay the breakfast table before going to bed last night. It's a routine in which preparing the next day's medication is embedded, a discipline to counter forgetfulness, but tiredness got the better of me last night. An odd start to the day for Clare as well. After eating breakfast she started preparing to welcome her study group, thinking it was Tuesday. We're both creatures of routine. How does this happen? If we'd been listening to the nine o'clock news perhaps we'd have noticed the Monday morning discussion programme 'Start the Week' was broadcasting. It was interesting with a philosophic exchange between physicist Carlo Rovelli and poet Lavinia Greenlaw. 

Rovelli's new book 'The Equality of all Things' asks what can we really know about the world around us, whether from observation or mathematical theorising. He remind us of the many angles from which we consider anything and everything - he uses the example of a glass of water, its chemistry and physical properties, the function of water in biology, economics, in cosmic evolution. There are many simple factual ways to describe what we see. A poet's imagination adds more ways of describing how we perceive and understand the same glass of water. Rovelli doesn't speak about the mystery of existence as such, but says that ideas of reality are shaped by a continuous play of reflections illuminating each other. Even so, how we choose to describe things matters. In describing things we interpret them to ourselves, give them meaning and purpose, enter into the creative process simply by observing creation itself. The question is - where does this take us next? And how?

My head was clear until I took my meds, with breakfast. Then light headed drowsiness slowed me down and blunted my perception of everything. I jotted down a few notes about symptoms to take with me to the doctors this afternoon, then pushed myself to work on compiling transcribed chapters of 'Esmeralda and the Magus' into a single Word document. It's a slow task - copying and pasting files formatted on a word processor from twenty five years ago, full of redundant hard spaces and carriage returns needing to be removed. In addition there are small consistent typos running through the text due to a touch typist trained on mechanical machines not fully used to an AT digital keyboard. I'm editing the text as I go. Reviewing it can wait until later.

Clare cooked mackerel with veg for lunch. I snoozed for a while afterwards then walked to the surgery for my appointment. Dr Jordan reported on her discussion with the stroke treatment team. It's acknowledged my sensitivity to the dipyridamole is doing me more harm than good, so I no longer have to continue taking it. I continue taking aspirin. No alternative medication is proposed. I could hardly believe what she was saying, and concluded that as long as I keep taking the statin and aspirin, the risk of another stroke or a coronary after a year is much lower as long as my blood pressure stays under control. I hope that's the case anyway. Such good news, what a relief!

Clare went to a Welsh conversation group after an early supper. I walked for three quarters of an hour in Llandaff Fields. Rachel called me on my way home and we chatted for an hour. She's settling into her new abode in Cottonwood. It's a smaller space that she has all her worldly goods crammed into, but the beauty of the rural setting compensates for this. I'm wondering how recovery from discontinuing dipyridamole will affect me as I go to bed tonight.

Unfinished rediscovered

A good night's sleep again, waking up to hazy clouds and sunshine. Today is the fifty seventh anniversary of my ordination to the diaconate, when I was made a 'Clerk in holy Orders' and wore a clerical collar for the first time. 

I never felt comfortable about being a Minister of Religion identified by a uniform, preferring to be known personally by relationships made as a pastor in the community I served. I gave up the clerical collar altogether when we lived in Geneva where a legacy by-law banning the wearing of clerical garb in public was no longer enforced. It was common for Catholic and Protestant clergy to wear a cross with civilian clothes and that was what I did. As I have withdrawn from public ministry over the past year,  I've not done this. There's no longer a need to make myself visible to strangers as a pastor. I used to feel it was a special kind of witness to advertise myself as an approachable trustworthy person of good-will by wearing a cross, but somehow it doesn't matter now. I'm not ashamed of what I am, or what I was when I dedicated my life to the service of the Gospel and other people, but what have I to offer now with my attention and concentration randomly impaired by the medication I take?

At the end of the St Catherine's Eucharist this morning Fr Sion told the congregation about yesterday's brief encounter and I was given a brief round of congratulatory applause. I felt embarrassed by this. I don't think I've taken a Sunday service since Sion became our parish priest. In that time there's been a turnover in congregational members and young families. Few of them know who I am and vice versa. It's mainly the older long standing members who have been on the receiving end of my ministry. With the passage of time, I become a stranger in my home church. It's also true of the turnover of neighbours in our street. Time passes, people change, things change.

It was one of those days when the medication left me feeling so drowsy after lunch the only thing I felt I could do to overcome it was walking in the park. Our friend Marc was giving a violin recital on Penarth Pier. I didn't feel well enough to go with her.  I didn't think I could sit through a concert without falling asleep, so Clare went to Penarth by taxi on her own. Walking for an hour was an effort physically tiring as if my body was complaining after a night out on the dance floor. Another toxic side effect with the medication. I have a GP appointment tomorrow to discuss my referral for a medication review. I have no idea what this entails as it's not with a medication specialist.

After suppper, I watched another episode of 'Marbella'. Then Rachel called. She told me that during her move she found the original typed copy of my novel for kids 'Esmeralda and the Magus' which Kay the church secretary in Halesowen transcribed into a digital version twenty five years ago. I never got around to combining the separate chapters into one file, but the original digital transcripts have been tucked away on my hard drive archive ever since. Now that's another task awaiting me, combining and editing them into a publishable version. Before I think about doing more I must get some sleep. I'm tired tonight. 

Full circle

A good night's sleep, a damp cloudy morning, pancakes for breakfast. The meds didn't have such a strong soporific impact on me today, Don't know why. I went shopping for cooking apples and cauliflower before lunch. A memory from student days surfaced and surprised me, learning to make a sauce for a cauliflower cheese dish under Clare's supervision on the little stove she shared with others in Manor Hall Clifton, sixty years ago. Some elements of basic cooking I learned at home and in the Boy Scouts. Others I learned as a student when I got together with Clare. 

When I returned from the greengrocer's, I found Clare was making a cheese flan for lunch. While I was waiting to have my gall bladder removed I dare not eat eggs or cheese on their own or in any combination. Eighteen months later, I can eat cheese and even cheese flan without distressing my digestion. I'm OK with eggs in cake and pancakes, but have yet to try boiled or scrambled eggs and omelettes. I'm proceeding with caution, enjoying familiar food tastes anew, as long as I don't overdo it.

I slept for half an hour after lunch, then went out for a walk. Today is the fifty-sixth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood by Archbishop Glyn Simon in Llandaff Cathedral, so I made a pilgrimage there, visited the cemetery and prayed where he and two of his successors are buried. On my way I met Fr Sion and his wife and daughter taking their dog for a walk, and told them where I was headed.

I have so much to give thanks for over those years as an 'Ambassador for Christ' at home and abroad, as an urban missioner in multi-cultural inner city communities in Birmingham Bristol and Cardiff, as a pastor in expatriate congregations in Switzerland, France and Spain, as an itinerant adult educator representing USPG all over Wales. Such a variety of experiences and opportunities in my working life and as a voluntary priest in retirement. And now in my latter years, I'm on the receiving end, back where I started, a member of the laity, praying in the pew, waiting on God for whatever comes next.

After supper, we watched another episode of Kabul, which seems agonisingly slow in its portrayal of panic chaos and menace, as Afghans and expats attempt to flee the country as the Taliban take control of the country. Then, I watched an episode and a half of 'Beck' until it was time for bed.

Ulster visits recalled

It seems like I'm settling into a more consistent pattern of seven and a half to eight hours of sleep a night. It doesn't stop the meds from causing light headedness, drowsiness and slowing my thinking.  For the most part my head is clear enough to enable me to cope with the ill effects, but it frustrates efforts to live at my natural relaxed pace. 

I received a message from my old friend Frank in Puerto Rico responding to a photo I found of Barbara his first wife, taken on our wedding day in 1966. He reminisced about a seaside family holiday they shared with us when our children were young. Barbara was living with a brain tumour which reached crisis point when we were together. She had to be air lifted to London's Guy's Hospital for treatment. We looked after their son Sasha who continued playing on the beach with our girls while Frank was away. Later I assisted at Barbara's funeral. She was Roman Catholic and it was a ground breaking privilege to be invited to take part at that time, soon after Vatican II.

I spent time before lunch transcribing a couple of pages of my Northern Ireland travel diary, in particular a section describing my ascent of Slieve Donard. I didn't have a camera at that time so there are no photos to remind me of the beauty I sought to express in my account. Memories of staying in Northern Ireland are rather vague fifty years on. I did two summer locum stints in Newcastle. Frank, Barbara and Sasha were with us on one occasion, but which one I can't work out. The travel diary is from 1974 so probably it was in 1973, as the 1974 text ends speculating about a return from chaplaincy to parish ministry.

Clare cooked butternut squash and broccoli to go with fish for a potato free lunch. I went Jason's greengrocers after eating to buy some blueberries, then walked in Llandaff Fields. After supper, another episode of 'Kabul', then Ashley rang for a chat, followed by Rachel as she drove to buy an item of kitchen furniture. The signal was so poor and intermittent, it sometimes stretched a gap between syllables in a word. Bizarre transmission latency. 

I stated watching an episode of Swedish crimmie 'Beck', a new season, but it was longer than I expected and stopped half way, as I didn't want to go to bed late.

Stiff fingers

Despite going to bed late I slept well, over eight hours, with the bedroom window open. It gave me a fairly clear headed start to the day, but by mid morning medication side effects closed in on me like bad weather, slowing me down, affecting my spatial awareness, making me feel nervous when on my feet.

In the day's news, Iranian backed Houthi forces have made significant advances, taking control of the Yemeni coastline and the Bab al Mandeb gateway to the Red Sea. The pipeline which made it possible to export Saudi oil using this route is out of action after a missile strike. With traffic through the Straight of Hormuz restricted and vulnerable to attack, the price of oil has risen further with widespread economic impacts especially on fuel prices.

Trump claims optimistically that Iran is open to a peace deal. It's impossible to believe anything he says. He's trying to cheer up voters ahead of the US mid-term elections at a time when his popularity is at an all time low. The US Congress has voted for the third time to halt progress in the war without its approval, with some Republicans voting with Democrats. The war has cost America $38 billion so far and depleted its military arsenal. Unfortunately Trump can veto any war time decision Congress makes, but the longer the conflict continues and inflation rises, the less likely Trump will be re-elected when the time comes.

I made an effort to play my Tatay guitar today. Remembering chords and melodies wasn't a concern but my left hand and fingers are so stiff that it's much harder to stretch them and press down on the finger board to make clean chord shapes and change them in the correct sequence when playing a piece of music I recall. Serves me right for failing to play for so long, not to mention cutting my fingernails. The Tatay is over sixty years old and has a beautiful mature resonant sound. It holds memories of music-making stretching back over my entire adult life. What a treasure!

We had cold pre-cooked sausages and veg for lunch, then went into town together to find a replacement for the broken metal foil in my electric razor. I remember seeing them on sale a few years ago. Neither Boots nor John Lewis had them in stock. Now it seems they are only available on-line. We had a cup of tea in John Lewis' top floor restaurant, and then returned home.

After supper we watched another episode of 'Kabul'. Then I watched the finale of 'Vigil' - a happy ending of sorts, but I'm not quite sure how it was reached as yet another layer of criminal conspiracy was exposed on top of the spy stories embedded in previous episodes - never mind, bed time already.

Catch up with former colleagues

I slept well again last night, but it took a long time to wake up properly. I didn't feel breathless, but rather as if I'd been sleeping in a room with no fresh air circulating. Well, I suppose that may be true. I don't keep a window open all night as the weather can change. When the temperature drops, I wake up feeling the cold, then it takes me ages to return to sleep.

I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's after breakfast. Fr Sion is in Sweden on a diocesan twinning visit this week, so Canon Jenny Wigley took the service. We were colleagues in the city centre team ministry in the years for a while before my retirement. She moved on to Radyr Parish and I helped her out by taking services there occasionally. It must be ten years or more since our paths last crossed. She's a white haired granny now, but possesses the same exuberant spirit as she did twenty five years ago.

On the way back home I met Paula who lives in a nearby street. She contributes regularly to the Parish Daily Prayer WhatsApp thread, and I worked with her at the start of publishing Ministry Area information on Microsoft Sway. I haven't seen her since then, eighteen months ago. We chatted about our ailments and coming to terms with the vulnerabilities of old age. It's what people in our age bracket do, after all.

I had an acupuncture appointment booked for one o'clock, which thanks to Clare involved a hastily cooked lunch and a brisk walk to get to Parkwood clinic on time. When I arrived there I had no response from ringing the reception door bell. I phoned and got Peter's answering machine, so left him a text message. He called back an hour later apologising for having given me in haste an incorrect appointment time when changing the appointment time a few days earlier. We've re-booked for next week, the day after my GP appointment about a medication review, which could be useful, as I've discussed medication with him previously. 

After supper, I watched a couple of episodes of 'Vigil', combining a murder and a spy thriller with two female British detectives caught up with British, Chinese, Russian secret services and the CIA competing for control over the discovery of strategic energy assets in the Arctic Circle. It's such a complex story of lies, deceit and political intrigue it's hard to follow. The protagonists sometimes look puzzled too as they try to figure out what's happening, who's doing what to whom. Set on the island of Svalbard in the Barents Sea, the landscape is gaunt and treeless, covered with ice and snow even in summer. Aerial photography using a fashionable drone camera is impressive, showing viewers a place that few are ever likely to visit. It was engaging enough to watch that I stayed up later than I intended.

Autumnal

Another good night's sleep. That's three days in a row that I've slept for more than eight hours. It certainly makes a difference when it comes to coping with the ill effects of medication. Clare went off by taxi to her study group in Penarth, leaving me to re-hang the portrait of young Auntie Betty above the dining room table after Clare had a change of mind, tried it elsewhere, then decided it was OK where it was in the first place. It's not so easy a job, reinstating the necessary picture hooks.

I went out to buy wound dressing from Boots, and chicken legs to roast from Tesco's and cooked lunch when she returned -  veg and sausages, vegetarian for Clare, pork for me. I slept for twenty minutes in my arm chair, then went for a walk in Llandaff Fields after a cup of tea. The pale green Maple tree near the Western Avenue exit has turned yellow now. Chestnuts litter the grass. Most of the other trees remain olive green with a scattering of leaves sun scorched brown. One patch of grass near a tree stump has scores of round white mushrooms that resemble those appearing in packages on supermarket shelves. Autumn is nearly here.

After supper we watched another episode of Kabul and then one of Vigil, both on iPlayer. I found the dialogue isn't clear when watching on telly, so I switched to watching on Chromebook and using headphones which was quite an improvement.  Then late to bed.

Nature dictates the agenda

I woke up after a good night's sleep to sunshine and wind driven clouds on the move. It's Amanda's sixty second birthday today, so I sang her a greeting on WhatsApp. I also posted a thank you on the Daily Prayer thread in appreciation of the prayers and support I've received from church members in the year since the stroke. 

I've recovered quite well in many respects, but the preventative medication I have to take robs me of quality of life, and leaves me feeling vulnerable. The medics are slow responding to my concern about this. I didn't do much this morning apart from catching up on the news. I cooked couscous to go with ratatouille and fillets of trout for lunch. 

Afterwards we went grocery shopping together at the Co-op, towing a shopping trolley destabilised by uneven pavements, threatening to overturn, despite the pavements being resurfaced last year. Small patches of grass and weeds have forced their way through to the surface, bright green in colour in contrast to the black surface of the tarmac. It reminds me of the thistle that forced its way up through a crack in the barren concrete back yard of St Agnes Vicarage thirty years ago, a sign of the renewing power of nature, despite what we do to degrade and destroy God's creation.

It was tea time before I remembered to go and and collect my prescription meds from the Pharmacy, well before closing time on this occasion. It's not that I completely forget things I need to do, but the drugs slow down and can interrupt the recall process. I'm better at remembering things as the effect wears off in the afternoon. 

After supper I watched the first episode of a new series of 'Vigil' in BBC iPlayer - an international crime thriller about British police investigation into a murder and a disappearance at a scientific research centre of the Arctic circle. Norwegian, Russian and Chinese strategic interests contend with each other at a time when climate change has made maritime passage through polar regions possible all year round and sea bed prospecting for rare earth metals becomes economically feasible. An interesting take on a rapidly changing environment at the top of the world.

Stroke anniversary reflection

Overcast and drizzly today. I had a good night's sleep and stayed clear headed, even after taking the meds. The newly consecrated Bishop of Bangor, Manon Ceidwen James led 'Sunday Worship' on the radio, reflecting on vocation and pilgrimage.

Clare stayed with Kath while I went to the Parish Eucharist. It's twelve months tomorrow since the stroke ambushed me at the service on Holy Cross Day. Fellow worshippers came to my aid when I stumbled at Communion and became disoriented, more aware of what was happening than I was. The first symptom wasn’t a trapped nerve in my neck as I thought. I had trouble recognising where I was outside my own house. The morning after, I was grateful to Fr Rhys for driving me to UHW A&E and checking me in. There and then began a precarious journey of recovery including an adverse reaction to medication precipitating a heavy nose bleed at home a few days later. I was grateful to Nigel who drove me to A&E for a second stay involving surgery to repair a damaged vein in my nostril. Sixteen days after my first admission I was released to continue recovery at home.

I was much blessed by sacramental visits from parish clergy through this critical period. It brought home to me the mysterious reality of being sustained by the prayers of the church. The consultant who examined me when I was first admitted declared eight months later I was in good health making a good recovery . I’m grateful I didn’t lose strength and balance making it possible to continue walking ten thousand steps a day. Visual impairment stopped me from driving. It’s a relief to be spared the stressful necessity of driving and maintaining a car. We rely on public transport and occasional taxis instead.

The world I inhabit is smaller now, learning to live with limitations unforeseen. Life as a pedestrian in the slow lane allows me time to look and listen, to appreciate and give thanks for the beauty of creation in the passing seasons. For how many years did I rush through life, trying to pack in as much as possible, no matter what the impact might be, as my body aged without me realising? I gave up contributing weekly to Daily Prayer on WhatsApp, when it became too stressful to maintain a regular schedule. I'm not doing anything creative currently to replace this. I have good days and bad days. Fatigue is never far away, mental and physical, and the medication seems to make things worse not better. Being fit and active is a gift and a blessing for much of the time. Restorative rest and sleep are a gift and a blessing too.

There’s no point regretting what I can no longer do, or had to let go of in the interests of a less demanding life. I’ve been given time to think about and understand occasions of failure and error in my life and entrust myself to God’s mercy and pardon. How precious is the Jesus prayer in this regard. I miss leading worship, reading scripture, preaching in church. I may think I still can, but reliability of commitment when there’s no certainty of whether it’s going to be a good day or a bad day, must come first. I accept that after fifty seven years in public ministry, all I have left to offer is thanksgiving. I hope to learn instead from listening to others, and experience the Gospel from a perspective different from the habits of a lifetime. 

Having had such a rich and fulfilling life, illuminated by divine grace and mercy all the way, I have so much to thank God for in all I remember and experience now. One of the earliest sermons I ever preached reflected on St Paul’s statement.“It’s not ourselves that we proclaim, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Christ’s sake.”  This isn’t just about my annus horribilis, it’s about Him at work in the ministry we have to each other in the Body of Christ.

Kath returned to Kenilworth after lunch. It's been good to have her with us this particular weekend. She's been a great practical support this year with problem solving of several kinds, including bidet plumbing. I walked for an hour before tea and another half hour after tea. My right ankle is still giving me trouble and benefits from modest spells of careful exercise. This happens intermittently and may be something to do with my gait, but I've yet to figure out what's happening with ligaments, tendons and cartilage around the painful area.

I spent the evening after supper watching the first episode of 'Kabul' a drama about the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, and the 'Ludwig'. And that was enough for the day.

Carnation mystery

I slept fairly well and when I got up Clare and Kath were up breakfasting on Saturday pancakes. Amazing that Kath was able to find out so much about the painting so quickly. With Clare's help she hung it above the dining room table. It's an imposing feature, like having a new member of the household with us. Kath then set to work fitting the new bidet attachment she sourced to the bathroom toilet. Both she and Rachel are confident, good at reading instructions and prepared to have a go at basic DIY plumbing jobs. I would be anxious about making a mistake and breaking something I can't fix. I'm in awe of my capable practical daughters.

After an early lunch we walked to the Big Top tent set up in Sophia Gardens for the latest show by No Fit State Circus entitled 'Carnation'. The troupe of young athletic performers excels at a range of circus arts including juggling with flexible rings, vertical rope work, trapeze, tightrope walking, tumbling, and use of a see-saw to launch performers into gymnastic aerial stunts. It was fast paced and impressive to watch, but difficult to follow the narrative thread or make sense of it. The accompanying musicians and singers were excellent though rather loud. Six months ago I would have been unable to tolerate the noise or intensity of the stimulus and felt compelled to leave. Evidently I have made progress since then!

When we returned home after the performance I cooked a veggie pasta dish for supper, then walked in the dark around the block for half an hour afterwards for some fresh air before bed.

Art detective work

I woke up from a good night's sleep to listen to the news on this 25th anniversary of the attack that destroyed the World Trade Centre in Manhattan killing three thousand people. 'The Reunion' programme on Radio 4 interviewed many witnesses with first hand experience remembering the events, and replayed audio from that tragic day. 

We were living in Monaco back then. I remember well it was a hot and humid day. We sat down to relax after lunch and watched the news coming in with live footage of the second plane crashing into the building, while the camera was focused on showing the fire started by the impact of the first plane. It didn't seem unreal or like a fake news item as it happened. There was genuine shock and horror in the news commentator's voice which no actor could convey.  

It was stunning to witness this, even at a great distance, trying to imagine what it was like for those caught up in this tragedy. A strong contingency of Americans lives in the Principality. That evening and over the days that followed I kept St Paul's church open and stayed around in case anyone wanted to talk or ask for prayer. Few people entered, those who did were lost for words. I guess most people were keeping vigil in front of the TV news or trying to contact family and friends in the hours that followed. By the weekend, the Diocese issued a special order of prayer for the victims, and all touched by the catastrophe for use in public acts of worship and a service took place at St Paul's. Those bleak sad days are a blur in my memory. There's nothing in my sermon archive to suggest I preached. It was a time for silence rather than words. It was already clear the world would not be the same again after such an atrocity, but in what way? Nobody could guess back then.

I went out to buy veg from Jason's greengrocer's before lunch then  started cooking without realising we're meant to be eating a cooked meal this evening when Kath arrives for the weekend. Crossed wires unfortunately. Sometimes my attention to detail fails due to the medication slowing my thought processes. I see things I may be looking for but not recognise them for this reason. I noticed this morning that my weight has dropped by four kilos. I'm convinced this is to do with the bad effect  of the medication on my digestive system. Will I convince the medics concerned with reviewing my medication that it's less beneficial to my health than they think?

I went to the pharmacy just after five to collect the prescription meds ordered on Monday and the place was shuttered at five twenty four, despite a notice in the shop window and on the website stating closure is five thirty. And it's not open again until Monday. It's the second time this has happened to me on a Friday. I was so annoyed.

Kath arrived at supper time, bringing with her a bidet device designed to sit under a toilet seat to attach to the bathroom water supply. Also Kath brought with her a large framed portrait, one metre tall by half a metre wide, of Clare's godmother Esther Ellen Skelton known as 'Auntie' Betty, her mother's cousin. It was painted by an artist named F Morelli when she was a child about seven years old. I recall seeing this on the wall in her dining room  when we visited her house sixty two years ago. She left the painting to Clare in her will. Her nephew Adrian acquired the painting when her house was cleared after her death in 1987, but he now lives in New Zealand. It's taken many years to reach us on a journey which started in Surrey, went to Wolverhampton after her death, then to Owain in Bristol last year. Kath picked it up from Bristol and delivered it to us. 

It's a beautiful work of art in a romantic impressionist style. The face has a recognisable family likeness to it, to judge from my recollection of the old woman I met fifty years  There was a sticker on the frame giving Auntie Betty's dates, and the painter's signature in red is in the bottom left hand corner. Kath fed a photo and the few details we had into Google and identified the artist as  Francesco Morelli a French-Italian painter who specialised in depicting scenes of rural life, but earned his keep from portraits of people commissioned by wealthy families. What a surprise!  By the time all this was revealed it was time for bed.

Real life drama

A good night's sleep, but yet again it hasn't prevented me from being slow thinking and feeling drowsy all morning. I slept in an awkward position as my lower back was painfully stiff. It meant proceeding cautiously all day, consciously correcting my posture to avoid a trapped nerve. Clare went down the Bay to book tickets from WNO's up-coming performance of 'La Boeme' and I cooked lunch.

A fine piece of BBC Radio 4 afternoon drama was broadcast, so tense there was no chance of me dozing in my arm chair after the meal. In 'Welcome to Defiance' a former air traffic controller tells his Nine Eleven story, when all air traffic over America was ordered to land immediately at the nearest airfield following the hijacking and crashing of four planes, with the aim of exposing any other hijacked planes not yet identified. There were 4546 planes in American airspace at the time. 

The play re-enacted the dialogue between the control tower at little used Defiance airfield and ten commercial aircraft queuing in the air to land, as it was the nearest landing strip they could reach. The airfield had no radar and relied on visual contact once a pilot requested clearance to make an approach to land. It was fictionalised account of events giving a vivid impression of what it must have been like to be caught up in such a crisis and what it takes to respond successfully in such an unprecedented situation in total reliance on training, discipline and trust in the working partnership between pilots and ground crew.

Late afternoon my head cleared so I went out for an uncomfortable walk around Llandaff Fields in drizzling rain. For once, I didn't complete my daily distance as I didn't want to make too much demand on my stressed back muscles. After supper I watched another episode of 'Marbella' before turning in for the night.

A monster of our own creation

Another night when I slept fairly well but not for long enough, leaving me drowsy and light headed before I took my medication. After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were a dozen of us this morning. At Clare's request I called at Linda's house after the service to see if there was anything I could do to help deal with her compromised email account, but nobody was in. Linda called later, email panic over thanks to troubleshooting by BT. 

Alarm is being raised about the dangers posed by Artificial Intelligence devices so sophisticated they not only solve maths problems hitherto considered unsolvable, but can act independently of their authors to hack into secure systems and conceal their processes and solutions from those monitoring them. Experts are seriously concerned these devices, alarmed that are quickly self evolving and may pose a 10% risk of gaining control over everything digital the world depends on, with catastrophic consequences, to the point of exterminating humankind. What is happening is being compared to designing an aircraft without safety features and expecting people to travel on it. There are no guarantees that safety and security policies and features built into AI algorithms are adequate to prevent humans from losing control of their creation. In simple terms, there's no 'kill switch' built in. Already trillions of dollars are invested in AI data processing centres world wide consuming an immense amount of resources and impacting on our environment. Greed and ambition have conspired to create a monster threatening to destroy us, one way or another.

I bought smoked mackerel for lunch on the way home and cooked veg to go with it. After eating I dozed for a while, then walked in Llandaff Fields for about an hour before supper. Afterwards I watched another episode of 'Marbella'. It's a crimmie about the wheelings and dealings of a dodgy lawyer who also presents himself as an observer of underworld life in the Costa del Sol and the city in particular, whose comments resemble the discourse a social anthropologist might deliver. Curious but entertaining.

Illegal occupation denounced

A good night's sleep, waking up to sunshine and clouds. Clare's study group arrived after breakfast. I sat in the lounge and finished my stroke anniversary reflection. Clare was busy cooking after they left while I was still writing. After lunch I dozed in my armchair for half an hour then went out shopping for groceries.

In Parliament this afternoon, Jewish MP David Milliband denounced ethnic cleansing by Israeli settlers in Gaza and the Palestinian Territories condoned by the Israeli government. He proposed economic sanctions banning goods from illegal West Bank settlements. Strong language about illegal occupation as well as the sanctions has provoked a furious reaction from Israel. Diplomatic repercussions include the closure of the UK Consulate in East Jerusalem. Other European nations are adopting the sanctions, but Trump's regime won't. The Chief Rabbi is concerned sanctions will lead to an increase in antisemitic attacks on Britain's Jewish communities. It's a serious worry as there's so much anger and desire for revenge in every direction. Where can reconciliation begin when so much evil has been done on all sides?

I went out again after supper for a sunset walk up and down Llandaff Fields. The sky was fairly clear so the light didn't fade as quickly as last night, but the wind was colder. I could have done with a pullover or a warmer jacket to keep the chill away. 

Clare's friend Linda rang up in a panic as she had unwittingly compromised her BT email account. He address book had been compromised and it was now sending out toxic spam. I advised her as best I could over the phone, and urged her to call BT to rescue her account, and warn all her contacts by Gmail. Such a distressing occurrence for someone with limited technical understanding.

Rachel sent us a video clip of her new apartment, piled high with boxes from her weekend move, and then a second one showing the progress she's already made in making a living space for herself, with Zeke miaowing us a welcome greeting. I can sleep easier knowing that Rachel's relocation to Cottonwood is now safely behind her and a new way of life lies open for her.

Reviewing the year

I didn't sleep well due to pain in my lower bowel keeping me awake, then when I got up, diarrhea associated with the medication, so a slow start to the day. Thankfully the bum wound continues to heal. Coincidentally I had a message from the GP surgery to book an appointment to discuss my recent referral - but which one? I hope it's about the medication. I phoned to arrange one after breakfast and will have to wait a fortnight to find out. 

A walk to the shops before lunch to buy swabs and a Cayenne pepper refill. Clare bought Cayenne pepper on her shopping trip, another co-incidence.

After lunch, I went to the Kings Road pharmacy with a prescription renewal request for blood pressure medication. It won't be ready until Friday. I remembered this in good time with a week's supply in hand. Renewal of various meds aren't synchronised, so I need to be vigilant about stock taking. 

Next Monday it'll be a year since the stroke. I wrote a reflective piece on the life changing nature of the experience and the end of my public ministry, to post on the Parish WhatsApp Daily Prayer thread. I don't know if anyone will read it. So few actually listened to my contribution on YouTube that I often wondered if it was worth doing just for its own sake. Servants of God's Word can never be sure if anyone has been listening to them, let alone understood, but it's what we're called to do no matter what the result. That's the nature of giving witness to the mystery of God with us.

Clare went to choir practice at supper time. After eating I completed my daily walk in Llandaff Fields as it was getting dark. Being out at this time of evening awakens memories of the early weeks of living with the stroke when I went out and walked at dusk in an effort to establish how limiting the effect of visual impairment would be. Despite my apprehension I risked the possibility of getting myself into trouble, losing my way, falling or banging into something un-noticed and injuring myself. Only once did I bruise my left arm, bumping into the projecting edge of a gateway parapet. 

I found a Spanish crimmie to watch on Walter Presents, a story set in Marbella showcasing its reputation as the capital of the 'costa del crime'. A bit far fetched, but I enjoyed listening to the dialogue and being able to follow most of it.

A clearer head

After a good night's sleep, the longest I've had since taking note of it, I woke up to blue sky and sunshine feeling clear headed, and the effect of the meds wasn't as unpleasant and hard to cope with as it has been this past few months. 

We went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. Sunday school has re-started so after Communion, a group of exuberant under tens rejoined the congregation. We were introduced to Beth, our new ordinand on pastoral placement who conducted the Ministry of the Word with Siôn preaching. She spoke about herself at the end of the service against the background of kids being noisy, which made her barely audible - partly lack of experience with the lectern microphone, partly my diminished ability to hear high pitched voices clearly. Practice makes perfect hopefully. 

We learned that Jeremy our previous ordinand on placement is stuck in Indonesia where he went to get married last month. An eruption of the Mount Anak Krakatoa volcano has closed the airspace. Let's hope he can return in time to be ordained Deacon at Michaelmass.

After lunch and a rest we walked around Llandaff Fields. It's noticeably warmer this afternoon, and another heat wave is promised this week. We  went in search of a functioning ATM to withdraw cash. They are fewer and further between these days. The one in Kings Road Co-op was out of action as usual, but Clare was able to get cashback when she bought a few food items there.

After supper, a chat with Owain at the end of his long weekend in Nerja, then a short walk at dusk, enjoying the mild evening air with my head almost clear of the medication side effects.

Improvement

A better night's sleep, waking up to blue sky and 20C temperature, leaving me clear headed, less impacted by the meds than I usually am. Clare made the usual Saturday pancakes for breakfast. I made a paella with Ashton's fish pie mix for lunch. I took advantage of feeling sharper to collect, sort and file bank statements accumulated over the past year. All too often my concentration has been too poor to deal with them and put them away properly. Just one of several dimensions to chaos in the aftermath of the stroke.

A top Israeli official Israel Katz says that Palestinian inhabitants of Gaza should be removed. The Israeli army has already forcibly displaced much of the population into restricted areas, killing more than 900 during a so-called cease-fire in the face of resistance from remaining Hamas militias. Israeli settlers are driving Palestinian settlers from West Bank land under the gaze of the army. Altogether it's nothing more or less than ethnic cleansing. Religious extremists claim from Hebrew scripture the right to resettle in the promised land by driving out its present inhabitants. How can any good come out of this for anyone?

A walk in Llandaff Fields for nearly two hours after lunch, then in the evening we were invited to Clive and Hilary's golden wedding anniversary party with their friends and church members. The atmosphere was very convivial but I found it tiring having to cope with being in a crowd of people, many of whom I didn't know feeling slightly light headed, so we didn't stop until the end. We returned home at half past nine and started getting ready for bed straightaway. Better not to overdo it after an improved day.

Poor communication

Overcast today. I slept fairly well, but I didn't feel refreshed on waking up and felt unwell after taking the meds, which clouded my head and left me feeling drowsy for most of the day. There was a missed phone call from British Gas Home Care and an email flagging up the cancellation of our direct debit, notifying us of cancellation fees. Our bank account shows a cancellation fee has been taken. We are still waiting for the confirmation of that cancellation. Two weeks ago I wrote to British Gas customer services to notify them of the cancellation of our direct debit, but had no acknowledgement. This is distressing and not easy to cope with when I'm feeling unwell. I emailed a copy of the letter to a customer services address with a request for clarification about what I owe now. Looking back, engaging in the contract happened rather too smoothly and easily for me to question at the time. Or maybe the problem is that I can't think fast enough there days to take in all the details.

Then I had a notification from the NHS app to say I've been removed from the 'Rehabilitation Medicine' waiting list I was informed I'm on last week, with no idea of why I'd been put on that list to start with. Having to approach the GP surgery staff to ask for clarification can be pretty futile. The medics make the referral and may not be available to ask without the hassle of booking an appointment and wasting their time. In my spam folder I found a dodgy email purporting to come from NHS app administrators. Either Android or Chrome OS is leaking information to third party crook somewhere in cyberspace.

Posters for the next Sonrisa Arts 'Dance in the Dark' tour arrived in the post, for us to put up in the church hall, on Chapter's community noticeboard, and Canton library children's section. After lunch I went to the library and asked if I could put up a poster. I was disconcerted and disappointed to be denied permission as the poster isn't bi-lingual. Considering it's a dance performance with sound and movement, without speech I thought this was mean spirited, even if it is compliant to the letter of the law. Clare is thinking about how she can modify the poster to make it bi-lingual. If it had been thought about and prepared from scratch, the cost of translation, design and production would be prohibitive on a modest budget.

After this set-back I went out to buy veggies. By that time both local greengrocers were closed, so I went and bought what we needed in Tesco's instead. After supper I walked up and down Llandaff Fields for three quarters of an hour at sunset, dark by eight o'clock. At last my head is clear after a miserable foggy brain day. Bed beckons.

LPA dispatched

Going to bed earlier didn't make any difference to the amount of sleep I got - less than I really need. I felt unwell in addition. I needed to drink more water than usual. Despite my daily effort to drink sufficiently, it never seems to be enough. Dehydration creeps in due to the diuretic effect of medication and it takes a few hours for the ill effects to disappear after drinking a litre.

When Clare went for her hairdo with Chris yesterday, she took with her my Lasting Power of Attorney application document for him to sign. His signature was the last one to be added before I sign and date it. As we've not seen him for a while the application neared its time expiry date, and I received a chase-up reminder to get on with the job. After breakfast I did the signing and then took the two documents to the Post Office. They cost twenty one pounds first class recorded delivery. I just hope there are no un-noticed errors in them.

A message arrived on the NHS app to say that I'm now on a General Surgery waiting list. It informed me that the average wait time for a consultation is ten weeks and that ten per cent of people waiting have to wait twenty nine weeks. For treatment, the wait is twenty one weeks and that ten percent of people have to wait seventy one weeks! 

After preparing and eating lunch I went to Jason's greengrocer's to stock up on veg, still in a drowsy toxic haze, feeling as if I am sleepwalking. It's not good for confidence when walking outdoors. Another NHS app message arrived offering a consultation on 9th November, nine weeks from now. And that's the result of an 'urgent' referral. As for nursing support for the bum boil, forget it. Fortunately the wound is behaving healthily so far. A general surgery examination and scan might identify vulnerability in a wound scar that can be dealt with, or lead to some infection preventative measure.

We walked together in Llandaff Fields for half an hour before supper, then watched a documentary on iPlayer about jazz creative genius Miles Davis called 'Birth of the Cool', the title of his first record album. Listening to tracks accompanying the storytelling took me back to being sixteen again and hearing this new music for the first time on scoutmaster Penry Jones's record player. Marvellous memories.

Kafkaesque NHS

It rained during the night, with a drop in temperature and an increase in humidity enough to wake me up feeling slightly chilled. I put on a warm dressing gown but didn't sleep well thereafter and felt tired all day. A wet overcast day. Each time there's been a torrential downpour lately water has been overshooting the gutter and running down the wall outside the kitchen window. The gutter along the edge of the roof was set too close to the edge of the  bottom tile - possibly a consequence of the re-roofing job done a few years ago. The gutter needed re-aligning in relation to the tiles and set at a different gradient to improve water run-off. It's become more noticeable with the increase of extreme weather events this past year or so. Clare arranged for a visit from a guttering specialist. A morning's work in persistent drizzle for two men - £400. I stayed in with her while the job was being done and missed the Wednesday Eucharist at St Catherine's. We won't know how successful the adjustment made to the guttering will be until there's another torrential downpour.

After lunch I set out on foot for an acupuncture appointment at Parkwood Clinic feeling very lethargic and stiff, so I took the bus from the stop opposite the Half Way pub. The treatment boosted my energy enough for me to walk over the Riverside clinic on my way back home, to check with a wound treatment nurse if my referral for treatment had been received. That was how I learned the district nurses' treatment room is now at St David's hospital. The receptionist gave me the phone number for the district nurse 'hub' which I called when I got home. 

I wasn't able to find out if I'd been referred for treatment, or when I would hear about an appointment. I was advised to call the GP surgery which I did. The receptionist was unable to help as Dr Mullaney, who made the 'urgent' referral, wasn't on duty to ask. All I know from the app is that I'm on a 'Rehabilitation Medicine' waiting list, whatever that is, but no information is communicated about how long the queue is, or what it leads to. It's like being inside a novel by Kafka. It seems the left hand of NHS services doesn't know what the right hand is doing. Just as well the wound seems to be drying out and isn't inflamed at the moment.

The drizzling rain eased off mid afternoon. I walked up and down Llandaff Fields for an hour before supper to clear my head and complete my daily step quota, despite physical tiredness. Without the acupuncture treatment I wouldn't have been able to summon the effort. Bed even earlier tonight.

NHS digtal shambles

A fairly good night's sleep, waking up to a cloudy sky and the prospect of rain again. I waited twenty minutes in the GP surgery telephone queue to get an appointment this afternoon for a wound inspection and referral to the Riverside clinic. I'd like to relieve Clare of the daily pressure of looking after something I can't take care of on my own.

The NHS app sent me a text message notification about messages awaiting me, so I logged in to my phone account and found half a dozen notifications from a six month period informing me that I was being sent a 'letter' about appointments with different specialist consultancies, with with insufficient detail about who I was meant to see in the specified department, be it cardiology or rehab. None of these corresponded with any letter I have received in the mail, although a couple of SMS notifications requesting confirmation of attendance did correspond. The latest notification relates to the appointment requested at Riverside wound clinic earlier this morning, except that I was told when I called the surgery earlier that the GP would have to authorise it. As I had an appointment this afternoon, I assumed it would be dealt with there and then. 

I don't know why, but after lunch the medication made me light headed and drowsy. I felt uncomfortably as if I was sleepwalking my way to the surgery to be examined by Dr Mullaney. She reassured me the buttock wound was behaving and that I wouldn't need more antibiotics. She then proceeded to flag up a visit to the wound clinic as 'urgent'

While waiting to be seen, I asked the receptionist about 'letter' notifications received on the NHS app and was told letters aren't being mailed out but sent electronically. Not that recipients have been informed of what to expect! I tried to log in on my phone to show messages received and the app refused to open in the surgery! I admit that the stroke and the meds I take mess cause my memory to work erratically at times, but the level of confusion generated by chaotic communication from the NHS is enough to make me think I have 'mental health issues'. I said this to Dr Mullaney. She smiled, with a look of resignation. I felt better for getting this off my chest I must admit.

After supper I walked up and down Llandaff Fields just after sunset under an overcast sky as it was getting dark. Then I joined Clare watching David Attenborough reminiscing and reflecting on his pioneering wildlife documentary series 'Life on Earth'. What a remarkable historic contribution to broadcasting he and his colleagues have made over the past half century, spanning the era in which colour television evolved from being a technical experiment to the default medium, making the innovative series even more attractive to watch from the outset.

A thousand people are now confirmed dead after the flash floods in the Nepalese Himalayas and 4,400 are still missing, whole villages wiped off the map. 900 school children were spared thanks to a timely alert from a staff member of a river of mud and debris sweeping down the valley destroying everything in its path. Hundreds of workers are trapped in tunnels belonging to a hydroelectric construction project buried by mud. How many glaciated landscapes around the world are now unstable because of global warming driving inhabitants down to lower safer altitudes? Together with eventual sea level rise, this reduces the area of land which earth's population can occupy with unforeseen economic and social consequences.