Loss of a mainstay

A cloudless sky today and glorious sunshine, warming the house when the curtains are open. From the bedroom, I saw a pair of pied wagtails foraging beside the swimming pool below along with a blackbird, while a collared dove was cooing somewhere in the background. A good start to the day. I worked on next week's Morning Prayer reflection after breakfast, then sat admittedly indoors basking in a pool of sunlight while my laptop was recharging. 

Then an email arrived telling me of the death of Oswald Barnes, former churchwarden of St John's City Parish Church. He was a lovely man, a former senior local government officer, and fountain of knowledge about Cardiff's governance and civil life, an essential companion to a priest ministering in the historic heart of the city. So sad I'll be unable to attend his funeral.

Not long after I'd made another lunch of leftovers, John arrived with the newly repaired car. Both front tyres needed replacing because they weren't a matching pair, as well as the spare. John's own car had been left by Jen around the corner first thing this morning before she was collected for the long drive to Calpe for the Synod. As we were chatting, a local man whose daughter is a neighbour came to greet John and I was introduced to him. The three of us chatted in a mixture of English and Spanish, which was fun. 

On the lunchtime news a survey reported on the third anniversary of Brexit that most people in all but three of the country's political constituencies now think it was a mistake. Not surprising really, a process that was rushed and botched, engaged in with promises of beneficial opportunities with a clear idea of what these would be and how they would be achieved. Freedom for those who felt they lacked enough of it, but freedom to what real end?

I did some creative lunchtime cooking with recent leftovers and after eating went for a walk, exploring an enterprise zone which runs in a site next to the autovia but 50 metres above it. It's comprised entirely of large car showrooms and possibly some workshops as well. At its far end there was a gate into a field with two horses in it. Slightly incongruous to my mind the sort of thing you find on the edge of an urban area in many countries I guess.

I then went down to St Andrew's to check out where everything required for tomorrow's celebration of Communion is kept, checking if I could open the office safe to retrieve the Communion vessels then hunting for the bread and wine. Having established this wasn't kept in the office, I searched in church, and eventually found the kitchen cupboard where wine and wafers are stored. Better to know tonight than at twenty past ten tomorrow!

Five hundred metres up the road from the church is a Roman archaeological site, and I waked up there for a look around before going to the shops. There are remains of a bath house, part of a villa lost long ago under road works, but more interestingly a small industrial site, with a small salted fish processing factory, and a pottery right next to it. Indications of what drove the economy here on the coast two thousand years ago if not longer, given the Phoenicians traded here well before that. The site is well explained and laid out with a park and interpretation centre next door, plus a terrace cafe that overlooks the excavated site. 

Then went hunting in nearby Chinese emporiums to see if I could find a filter coffee cone to buy, as the house kitchen possesses filter papers but no cone, strangely enough. There may be a filter coffee device tucked away somewhere which I've yet to find. After a few days of lengthy paseos and after a shorter night's sleep, I didn't feel like walking much further, so I got back to the house before sunset.

One of my Google accounts says it's 75% full, mostly photos, so I spent the evening pruning albums, downloading them to zipped files, to store on an empty 32GB pen drive I brought with me, which is more than enough, though not as convenient to view as when they're in the Cloud.

On Sunday Rhiannon sent me a WhatsApp message asking for help charging the old Lumix camera I gave her a couple of years ago. I suspected she might be using the wrong lead, but it seems she didn't and the camera simply wouldn't switch on after charging, and wouldn't work without a battery whilst attached to a power cable. Dead, sad to say, and only ten years old.

Clare was out at a choir rehearsal tonight, so we only spoke briefly, just before we both started getting ready for bed. Both of us tired.

Brexit breakthrough

I woke up in good time again to upload the Morning Prayer video and stayed in bed a whille longer as it was yet another dark miserable rainy day outside. After breakfast, I went to the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were ten of us. Emma and Dominic are back on duty, which is very good news for the Parish. After lunch I collected the organic veg bag from Conway Road, crowned with a well populated stalk of Brussels sprouts a winter and a Christmas favourite plus lots of freshly root veg. 

I underestimated how heavily it was raining. My waterproof jacket and trousers were sodden by the time I got back. I had to change both. I decided to relax for a few minutes and listen to the news before going out again to walk the rest of my daily mileage. I slept for more than an hour before going out into the rain again. With such low cloud, it got dark very quickly. I don't think I've ever seen such huge pools of water on Llandaff Fields. It's just as well that the Taff is much less likely to burst out of its watercourse and flood the fields, now that the banks have been cleared of excess vegetation, improving the speed at which huge volumes of excess water drain away. With fields so waterlogged, flood waters would travel much further towards housing areas.

At last today, good news from the negotiations between the European Commission and UK government. Agreement has now been reached on every aspect of future relations and last of all and most importantly trading terms, which negotiators have been struggling with over the past six month or more. Nothing is agreed until everything is agreed. That's the accepted principle. No detail of the trade deal have been released yet. Some details are still being worked out now that principles and procedures, two thousand pages of them, have been agreed, but political leaders and commentators are sounding more positive than they have for many months. Compromises have been made and it won't be long before there will be reactions from noisy hardened separatists both sides of the Channel.

The number of lorries still stuck and waiting to cross the Channel after border closures is now over four thousand. It's due to the sharp rise in a mutant strain of coronavirus cases recently identifies as behind the latest surge. The French government has agreed to let lorries and their drivers continue their journeys once they've been tested for the virus. It's causing huge frustration and resentment among both drivers and local residents whose lives are disrupted by a 24/7 traffic jam on their doorstep. Getting the tests done quickly  is a logistic nightmare. It's giving the region a foretaste of what could happen without or even with a brexit deal, as there's so much bureaucracy attached to any country not part of the Common Market. Brexiteers will get what they voted for, perhaps not quite what they wished. I can't imagine that resentment against them will fade any time soon. Political efforts to reconcile leavers and remainers seem destined to fail with things the way they are. 

Vaccination marathon at the start line

At bed time last night I took off my Fitbit for re-charging. It only takes about an hour, and I can rely upon waking up every couple of hours, to retrieve it and wear it again. Yes, I wear it at night as it has its motion sensing chip is programmed to monitor sleep patterns, an interesting thing to review from time to time. In fact I slept longer than usual and forgot to put it back on until gone six. So according to the smartwatch app, I only slept an hour. This reading can happen once a week, but the Fitbit and the app doesn't admit the need to re-charge. When it sends me my weekly health review, my sleep time average is reported as seven hours instead of the 'recommended' eight, even though I usually sleep eight hours plus every night. Worse still, it sends a digital reproach telling me I'm not getting enough sleep. Smart monitoring? What a joke!

It's been a cold day, so I switched over to my ancient padded ski jacket for my daily exercise, and in doing so left my keys in the pocket of my rain jacket. Before heading to the park, I took a kilo of used batteries to recycle in Tesco Metro after lunch, then had a much needed haircut, my first for three months. On the way to the park I called in at home, and that was when I realised I didn't have my keys. Clare had already gone out for her walk of the day. Oops! But never mind, she's more than likely to be there when I return as she doesn't walk for as long as I do. Changing coats tends to be a nightmare if you rely heavily on pockets rather than a bag to carry your stuff around, as I do. 

Today, the first batch of covid-19 vaccines arrived in Welsh hospitals, as they did all over the rest of the UK thanks to a phenomenally efficient logistic operation which has brought supplies from Belgium over the weekend, flown in I believe by military transport. Initially, medical and care workers will receive their jabs starting from tomorrow, then most susceptible people by virtue of their age or medical condition. Half the population of Wales should receive the vaccine by Easter next year. Meanwhile, cases continue to rise in Wales whose infection rate is now the highest in the UK. 

No idea when Clare and I will get vaccinated, and it's clear that no matter when that happens, our present lifestyle and precautions will need to continue well beyond gaining hoped for immunity, and the decimation of the infection rate. I don't think this is understood very widely yet, perhaps because mixed messages conveyed by the government and tabloid press tend to raise false hopes of an early return to normality. This may be the beginning of the end, but as the top medics are saying, "This isn't a sprint, but a marathon" And one could add that it's a marathon over an obstacle course. 

Vaccinating half to two thirds of the UK population is not only complex to deliver through a winter with all its weather hazards, there's also brexit from the end of this month promising major disruption to the transport of goods internationally putting the food supply chain as well as industrial productiveness at risk. Unemployment is already rising due to known uncertainities. If the economy collapses, resulting in increased poverty and deprivation, it will exacerbate existing conditions favourable to the spread of virus contagion. Brexit is destined to undermine the resilience and health of the population, just as it needs all possible help to recover. As scripture says "Without a vision the people perish", and even more so when vision is blurred and blinded by lies and false promises.

An hour after sunset, I think I caught a glimpse of Saturn and Jupiter appearing in close proximity to each other above the south eastern horizon, so close that to the unaided eye and a poorly configured camera, they appear as one bright light. It wasn't for long as high level cloud soon moved in obscuring stars and planets alike, I wonder if weather will permit a proper look before the end of the month as this conjunction of planets that hasn't been seen on earth for nearly 800 years? Maybe I'll have time to learn how to optimise the capabilities of my cameras and their telephoto lenses, tripod mounted.

Oxwich bound

 By midday with the car packed and we were on our way to the Gower under an overcast sky, driving slowly as far as Bridgend on the A48, stopping in Ewenny for a picnic lunch. By the time we reached Oxwich the sun broke out of the clouds and warmed the afternoon. To my relief, there was only light traffic entering the Gower, once we’d made our way along the coast road through Swansea’s still redeveloping former dockland area. 

We were a little early for our four o’clock check-in and walked on the shore for a while. The tide was almost at its lowest, four hundred metres from the top of the golden sandy beach. I was surprised there weren’t more people sitting out on the or walking, a few hundred maybe, certainly not thousands. Incredible in the high summer holidaymaking season and the year of the ‘staycation’. It’s so lovely here, and not at all built up, thanks to the SSSI conservation area of dunes and marine wetland. Nature is fee to flourish, along with all nature lovers.

Our static caravan is much bigger than I’d imagined with a generously sized master bedroom and a smaller twin bedded room, bathroom and kitchen area with an equally generous lounge with sofas and dining area. Kath, Anto and Rhiannon will have the one next door when they arrive tomorrow. Owain will have a choice of twin beds with us. There are ten static vans in a field surrounded by high leylandia hedges, run by Oxwich Bay hotel. As soon as re-opening was made official, Clare received an email notification and immediately booked for the family. A stroke of genius! We’ll have three midweek days together in a quiet un-crowded place we all love to enjoy, something I couldn’t dare dream of when I was trying to leave Ibiza.

After unloading, setting up the kitchen and unpacking, well, in my case, just the Sony Alpha 68 DSLR camera in my case, we went for a long walk on the beach, as far as the river outflow and back. Two third of the way there we came across a family of nine oystercatchers feeding. There was something wonderful and moving about hearing them call out to each other in their distinctive voice, the sound of ‘Croeso i Gymru a’r lan y mor’ - Welcome to Wales by the sea.

Since arriving we walked over fourteen kilometres - a couple of these walking around to find a phone signal sweet spot, as much of the area of the village under the hill is not in line of sight of the mast above, so you have to walk towards the beach. I listened to the Archers on a phone, standing in a recess the roadside. And the same for communicating with the kids, as I’ve been exchanging messages and sending them caravan photos since we arrived.

After so much exercise, fresh air and quietness, we shall sleep well tonight.

Passport delivered

With no locum duties yesterday, I went to the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's with Clare. After lunch, a dozy afternoon, rather missing out on the bright sunshine and clear skies. I walked late in the park, as the sun was going down. I got a few beautiful sunset pictures.

This morning my new passport arrived by courier post while I was visiting the city centre Santander Bank branch, to organise the fee payment for my necessary Spanish police check. An IBAN payment to the Spanish Ministry of the Interior for €3.78 was required for this, a little tricky for the bank clerk to execute, but I came away with a couple of official receipts to send with the application. Best of all, the £15 or £30 charge for the service, due to be abolished in April, was waived by the bank! 

It's only ten days since I applied on-line, a third of the time it took to process a paper application a decade ago. A very impressive improvement. I feel very sad however, that the passport no longer says 'European Community' across the top. But at least I have a burgundy coloured one as the proposed dark blue replacement covers aren't yet in use. It least, it'll be possible not to stand out in a Euro border queue. 

All I have to do now is fill in the application form and get it in the post. It'll have to wait until tomorrow when I'm fresh. I don't relish having to fill in a form by hand. Writing small to fill in little boxes is something I now find difficult. Even with reading glasses on it's an effort. I would prefer to fill in a form digitally but on-line wasn't an option, and the form is a .pdf. 

You need Adobe Acrobat to edit a pdf, which I don't have. It's not free software. There are lots of on-line apps for doing this, claiming to be free, but they aren't. Either they deliver a watermarked copy and you have to pay for a clean one, or you have to 'subscribe' and have your email address spammed. It's easy to make a .pdf format file, but there doesn't seem to be a genuinely free means of editing them.

Election apprehension

Yesterday, I didn't feel well enough to go to Mass, but Clare drove me over the University School of Optometry in the afternoon to collect two new pairs of glasses, one for driving and one intermediate pair which are good for standing at the lectern or altar and reading text. Having posted my electoral vote last week, I had nothing else to do today. Still feeling aching and exhausted by the 'flu, the only thing I could manage to do was write a few more pages of my novel and revise other elements. I have avoided listening to the news quite as much as I usually do this week. 

The media have done the British public an immense disservice by treating the election as an English version of a Presidential election race, between Boris and Corbyn. Britain is still not being told the truth about the practicalities of 'getting brexit done'. Corbyn's political reputation has been slurred if not rendered into impotency by all the allegations of anti-semitism made against him personally. He and his inner circle thinks he's done enough and try to keep the public gaze on Labour policies instead. He's behaved with patience and dignity patiently presenting his party's offer and presenting himself as an enabler and dictator. The public isn't convinced by Labour's neutral brexit policy. It's hard to see how Labour can overcome the emotionally manipulative slogan wielding Boris. All glib charm, none of the mature profundity to be seen in Corbyn.

I dread the worst, and an grateful that I'm not feeling well enough to consider staying up to listen to the election results come in.

    

Not brexit, but All Hallows Eve

Well, we got to Brexit day, and we're still in the European Union. Despite the blustering rhetoric and political gaming of Boris Johnson and his cronies, the rule of law and persistent critical efforts of most parliamentarians has so far prevented Great Britain from being hoodwinked into a departure from the EU, which one way or another will lead to continued imbalance in wealth, power and social injustice, no matter what 'deal' is brokered and push on the referendum majority.

Whatever sacred status is given to a first past the post referendum, it should never be regarded as more than advisory in my view, an expression of public opinion to be taken seriously, but weighed against the consensus of expert analysis of what is really in the common good for all citizens. It's bound to be complex and a difficult to reach a stable conclusion in an ever moving social and economic global environment.

After three years of trying to establish what the country really wants from brexit, and hopes for in an autonomous future, it's still worryingly unclear what lies ahead apart from a damaging impact on the British economy which may take a decade to recover from. Only opportunist optimists are convinced we'd be better off freed from the checks and balances of Europe wide governance and accountability.

What is sovereignty in reality? The reins of power in Britain are in the hands of a successful moneyed elite that can manipulate the way in which common people perceive the world, through control of the mass media. How much do they really know, let alone care about the privations of poorer people?

We are now faced with another general election, and already the media seems to be framing this as an opportunity to vote in a parliament which will 'get brexit done', another content-less mantra like Mrs May's 'brexit means brexit', inviting trust in those who got the country into this mess in the first place, by proposing a referendum.

It was intended to free Britain from the inevitable difficulties faced in its continued dialogue with a European system of governance that many Europeans already agree is highly unsatisfactory and in need of reform. Disengaging from that process is the last thing Britain should have considered.  But it happened. Whether we brexit or not in the New Year, Europe will not be any better for the absence of a critical British voice in the collective conversation, and Britain will be harder to re-unite that the same opportunist optimists think. It'll take more than World Cup Rugby glory to do that.

More low cloud, strong wind today and chilly dampness in the air. I needed more wound care supplies, so in the afternoon we drove to the nearest pharmacist in the village of Scurlage on the way to Port Eynon. We wanted to look around as well. It's twenty five years since we holidayed there, on leave from Geneva. It's changed very little but all the houses look more spruce, better cared for. The car park was empty, and the wind was so strong, blowing at us from the sea out of white mist and low cloud, that fine sand was piling up all around the roundabout on the car park approach road. A slightly dystopian image of a seaside holiday resort - admittedly without the usual litter!

In Scurlage, opposite the village mini-market, is a modern GP surgery with a pharmacy attached. It's called 'The Well Pharmacy' - a completely new name to me, but it turns out that Co-operative group of pharmacies changed hands and was re-branded as 'Well', and its the third largest group in Britain now, and the largest in Wales. An interesting discovery. We were 'well' impressed by the service we received.

Mission accomplished, we returned and then walked to the village shop to have a drink and buy a card to send to Emma and Nick, congratulating them on the safe arrival of their daughter of Eleanor Renee. It's been a tough pregnancy for Emma, and it's just great to know that everything has turned out the way we all hoped it would.

More political upheaval and uncertainty

One of the builder's craftsmen came yesterday to finish off a few small outstanding details on the renovated rear of the house. Both walls have been painted right up to the roof in magnolia and a little extra light is reflected into the garden as a result. A tree surgeon wielding a chainsaw was at work in the garden opposite ours, reducing the size of some of its trees. This will also let in a bit more light, although it will mean less cover for small birds until they grow back. As we saw after several gardens were drastically pruned a few years ago, this leads to a reduction in small birds and the dominance of gulls, crows, pigeons and magpies, not to mention cats. Vegetation grows back after a couple of years but sadly, small birds are slower to return.

I spotted swifts and swallows foraging in the air above Pontcanna Fields when I took my daily work, also a family of pied wagtails, and the older heron, trying out a vantage point on the east river bank, different from its usual habitat by Blackweir bridge. The younger heron stand there on watch more often these days. I wonder if this is the younger bird ousting the elder (perhaps its parent?) from the prime site for hunting,

We continue to follow the Parliamentary crisis with astonishment and dread. There's simply no let-up in the uncertainty clouding the future direction of the country. Boris Johnson has lost a great deal of credibility this week in the eyes of party members who recently elected him. The speculation is that if he could call an election soon, his party would win, probably because of the support he receives from movers and shakers from brexit backing newspaper industry. 

Opposition to him and his plans grows, adding to divisions in the Tory party as well as in the country. Parliament has now voted to outlaw the no-deal conclusion the government seems to favour, and stop an election being called before the October 31st deadline. Given the lack of evidence of a realistic negotiating strategy for withdrawal, this throws a spoke into the wheel of the Johnson juggernaut. His tactics amount to little more than bullying and bluff. At last members of Parliament, even of his own party, are expressing their disgust, heaven knows where this is going to lead.

Another episode of 'Non Uccidere tonight, on More Four. This week's episode focused on a Tunisian Muslim immigrant family and the commnity context in which an honour crime was committed. It also portrayed an Italian man about to separate from his wife, converting to Islam, in reaction against the piety of his Catholic wife, having falling in love and having an affair with the crime victim. An interesting twist to the tale.
  

  

 

Waiting time again

It was good to return to celebrating the midweek Eucharist with seven regulars this morning. I've not done much over the past couple of days, apart from routine shopping and my daily walk, but have slipped into waiting mode.

It's been good to see some Parliamentarians expressing their concerns about the hard right Boris Johnson government's behaviour. Some have put their career on the line, voting against their own party line.

Deep divisions of opinion about involvement with Europe are passionately held, and there are many more and different motives among people on each side for holding their position.

A binary referendum of the kind held with its carelessly devised options, revealed a deep fault line covered up by pragmatic compromises for 40 years. It has worked for the most part to the benefit of most people iin idfferent ways they may not always have been aware of. But didn't work well enough to benefit everyone, which I attribute to pre-existing social division and concentration of wealth and power in the London and the South of England.

Parliament is divided between dreaming nostalgic opportunists who think we'd be better off out, and those who realistically consider that we might lose more than we'd ever gain, even if they admit that EU governance needs a big overhaul. Three years have been wasted on power struggle and confrontation between these blocs.

Thank God in a way it's been deadlock and stasis, as desperation may lead from confrontation to dialogue, not only among Parliamentarians, but in the country as a whole, about what we need and hope for in future. Not just those who made the effort to vote, but also those who failed to vote for whatever reason at the time, plus those expats excluded from voting. From genuine dialogue it may be possible to reach a constructive compromise. If not there will be civil strife.

How to get people out of social media echo chambers to engage without nastiness and bullying is the big challenge, the other side of this present stalemated game of chess. But first, the liars bullies and blackmailers holding the country to ransom have to be discredited. An election may not the the answer. Political realignment of MPs, and / or reversing the hard right governmental coup needs to happen before resorting to the polls.

Tomorrow is my third round of surgery at Llandough. I'm a lot better now than I was five months ago, but the mild pain and discomfort coped with most of the time, and caring for an open wound have taken their toll on me.

I dread the thought of having the Seton's suture and/or a new wound for much longer and with no certainty of outcome. It plays on my mind, a bit like being a hostage in the dark chained to a radiator, not knowing what's going to happen, if or when freedom will be restored.

How to say this to Mrs Cornish the surgeon? I don't need sympathy, I need closure, both physical and psychological, to resume a full life before ageing sets in with a vengeance.

  

Failure acknowledged, but what have we learned?

News came this morning of Theresa May's resignation as Prime Minister. This was bound to happen, given the multiple rejections of the deal with the EU negotiated by her government team. She put her heart and soul into efforts to persuade Parliament that it's the only deal possible, but all this did was reveal the depths of intransigence and divisions among parliamentarians throughout the House. This has been coming for weeks, and the media hasn't been slow to speculate already about candidates to succeed her. 

As soon as her speech was over, as tributes from political leaders to her time in office were issued, the clamour of speculation about her successor soon overshadowed all else. The name of media darling Boris Johnston as most popular candidate was predominant. It feels as if the BBC and some sections of the press are lobbying on his behalf. Or is this just a public schoolboy journalism game to set someone in a pedestal in order the try and knock them off it?

Britain's social, cultural and ideological divisions have been exposed by the brexit affair. It's clear the Conservative and Labour parties will suffer badly in the European elections from the inability to reach a consensus or compromise in shaping relationships with the E.C. The political middle ground  has been laid waste by failures which are not entirely the fault of Parliamentarians. The constant clamour and pressure from news media commentariat and the demand for instant reaction to every question thrust upon them creates an unhealthy environment for reasoned discussion and reflection by our elected representatives. It takes time to come to a common mind. More time than politicians may get these days.

Clare had an in-service training session during the day, leaving me to fend for myself, as she had to leave early. It gave me the chance to try a day with a loose dressing instead of the usual plaster, after a night without one. The wound is at last becoming as manageable as it was just before the second round of surgery, and this makes it possible for me to manage on my own. I went into town to take photos of the last phase of the St David's House demolition, then walked home through the fields of Bute Park up to Blackweir. There's still about 20 metres of the building standing, and scaffolders were at work again dismantling another section of the screen behind which the penultimate bay of the old building is being torn down. I should think the remnants of the building will be levelled by this time next week.

   

Seen from the other side

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's yesterday morning, using the altar in the Lady Chapel for the first time, an eastward celebration too, which the congregation of eight enjoyed it seems. Today, I celebrated also at St John's.

On both days I had a nursing appointment, just as the clinic reopened after lunchtime. Yet again this month the shorter working week due to another Bank Holiday has led to disruption in the clinic medical supply chain. We're getting by at home as we've kept a small assortment of dressings of different sizes left over from previous occasions, just in case, so we can try out alternative methods. 

Thankfully I need a change less often as healing progresses, and can even manage with just light cover to allow the air to reach it, and encourage drying out. It must be difficult for the nursing staff, however, as some of their regular patients heal very slowly, if at all, due to the impact of diabetes on them. I complain on times that it's all taking far too long to get better, but must admit just how fortunate I am compared to many others.

This afternoon I was driven to Thornhill to officiate at Sheila's funeral. My driver told me that he's only recently started a part time job with Summers funeralcare, having retired from working in IT at the National Statistics Office  in Newport. What a change of profession! I took with me the beeswax candle given me by Laura to light during the service. Clare ingeniously fixed it in a small glass tea-light candle holder, using a tea-light to provide a stable base. During the welcome, I lit it and said a brief prayer intending to explain its provenance to the congregation of two dozen later. Sheila's sons John and Paul spoke about their mother. Paul mentioned his mother's friendship with Laura and explained the candle, so I didn't need to. 

The funeral ahead of us in the Briwnant Chapel overran by fifteen minutes. As we waited to take over the chapel, I was astonished by the number of people who came out of the chapel after that service, perhaps double the number of seats, and some people stood outside as well. No wonder the delay was quite so long. Our service took thirty five of the forty five minute time slot. I was bothered that we should pass on the discourtesy of overrunning, but it turned out the funeral after ours was running late, because of traffic conditions.

Last night and again tonight BBC Four's Storyville series screened a two part documentary which was recorded live over the past two years of brexit negotiations in and the office of Guy Verhofstadt, former Prime Minister of Belgium, now a key European Parliamentarian. He heads the team on the EU side of the process. The documentary was remarkable for its openness and candour, showing the disciplined effort required to maintain a unified approach with 27 national governments, the European Parliament and Commission, while the British approach from the outset seemed undisciplined, chaotic, lacking clarity. I guess this is a reflection of the Prime Minister's strapline 'Brexit means brexit' a phrase with which anyone can conjure whatever meaning they choose, guaranteeing no consensus, despite parliamentary efforts to create one which everyone can own.

It was good that Michel Barnier was filmed speaking with clarity and passion about the European project to build a community which is peaceful prosperous and able to live with differences, admitting it's a constant work in progress. He insists on maintaining due respect for British political endeavours on the part of EU despite politicians and negotiators being bewildered by all the chopping and changing and the inability to reach a UK consensus on what they want and where they want to do. It sheds even more bad light on flight from moderation in Britain over the past decade. To be seen as other see us. Will British political leaders watch this and take a hard look at what they've let the populists get away with these past five years? And repent of their weakness and folly.

After Storyville, the latest episode of 'Berlin Station' was live on More Four. It gets more layered and interesting as it goes along. Worth staying up late for. Oh, I nearly forgot. Our European Parliamentary election postal ballot papers arrived today. I can only hope and pray that people will show by their voting that the last few years have been a nightmarish mistake.

   

Without a vision...

Yesterday, I had a late clinic appointment, so I went into town and took more photos of the St Davids House demolition. A big bucket excavator was at work clearing the mound of rubble and loading it into a lorry to take off to landfill. The site area is too confined for the demolition machine to work at the same time. Lorries park tightly in a cordoned access area where the pavement used to be, next to the site, and buses turn part the site a couple of meters away on a road used in the routine city centre bus turn around. There's scant margin of error for drivers and operators involved in this dance of heavy vehicles.

This morning I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's and straight afterwards was picked up and driven to Thornhill Crem for the funeral of a 92 year old lady, attended by just half a dozen. She was a young back office clerk during the war, helping to keep the airmen operational in the Women's Royal Air Force, so I wore my Royal British Legion chaplain's scarf to show my respect.

Parliament still fails to agree a plan to leave the European Union. As another deadline extension is reached, another delay is being sought. Some eurosceptic politicians and media brexit advocates are starting to admit to misgivings about making it happen, because of the complexity of the process and its impact. Polls indicate that a majority now favour remaining in the EU. As knowledge of the real consequences of the rupture is absorbed, I believe people are realising how misled they were by simplistic rhetoric, downright lies and a failure to envision future relationships between the EU and Britain after brexit.

A former EU diplomat on the radio reflected on the success of the separation of Czech and Slovak republics into separate nations. This was done swiftly and efficiently without disturbing incident and both countries remain EU members. Having acknowledged the peoples' call to undo the legacy of a state created by the secession of two distinct regions from the Austro-Hungarian empire in 1918, the 

negotiations were preceded by discussions about what both regions valued about their heritage and wanted to take with them into the future. 

In other words, they began from a vision of the future, not from a present sense of grievance generated by things they resented and rejected. If only Britain had been so constructive, envisaging a post brexit future! But maybe it's impossible anyway. The European project was born from a desire to create a shared environment in which post-war reconciliation and peace-making could flourish. I cannot understand why this hasn't featured in the brexit rhetoric of the past few years. The persistent idea that 'we won the war' unaided is a fantasy, an illusion. We are as we ever were, 'members of one another'.

  

Waiting on Parliament and on God

I've been following events in Parliament closely this past few days and will do for the rest of this critical week in European politics. I follow just as closely what media reports and the commentariat have to say about it. It's hard to know which group is the more worrying of the two. 

For ages it's seemed to me that MPs are dimly aware or ill informed on all the consequences of decisions they are required to take, often less interested in the common good than in preserving self-interests. Journalists and interviewers often seem poorly briefed, not quite up to date, and utterly devoted to over-simplifying every issue, and enforcing binary options to which an instant response is required from their unfortunate victim. 

I find myself reluctant to trust the majority of public voices, whether elected or employed in the media, to speak the whole truth in the service of all citizens. It's argued that all this disagreement, division and harsh debate about the way forward for the country is what democracy is about. What I see is elite groups struggling for control, not for a unifying consensus, setting a bad example that exacerbates existing social division in the population. It's recipe for civil strife if many on both sides of the brexit debate feel their voices are unheard and don't get what they thought they wanted from the outcome of this agonising process. 

Britain is no longer a society in which Christian moral values and spiritual influence set the tone or give a lead in nurturing a more just and equal society. We have become to a much greater extent a multi-faith and plural culture, tolerant in some respects, but overly lax and permissive in others. The total proportion of people of any faith who practice their religion and apply its teaching is perhaps a quarter of the population. To have a secular environment in which all believers enjoy equal respect and treatment can be beneficial to the common good, but at what price? To have secularism as a dominant ideology fostering individualism, striving to discredit and exclude religious thought and influence from the public debate, poses a grave danger. 

It's all too easy for cultured despisers of religion to dismiss the faith perspective on the grounds of differences in beliefs and the awful conflicts these have generated, and ignore elements of different religious paths on which believers do unite in pursuit of truth justice, equality and goodness. The idea of Christendom is a lost cause, but the spiritual reality of God's kingdom, and human beings as God's children transcends culture and religion. I believe it can and should be worked towards by all people of faith, thinking and working together for the common good, regardless of differences. And to make any fresh impact on the wider world, every household of faith has to set its own house in order, purge itself of deceit, corruption and exploitation. Believers in God have lost so much of their credibility, it's easier said than done to restore it, maybe beyond us humans, but not beyond God. So, it's a matter of watching and waiting on God for the kingdom to break through - yet again.

A crisis of conflicting conviction still unfolding

Last night I watched the BBC Parliament TV channel for the first time in many moons, as it covered the vote on the Government's brexit deal took place. The scale of the defeat seems to have taken the political pundits by surprise. Corbyn tabled a motion of no confidence in the Government and this was debated today. This time the political pundits predicted the motion would fail and it did 52/48% a close run thing like the brexit vote. The country is fairly evenly divided, nobody wants to concede. There's not much likelihood of further changes in the negotiated brexit deal being achieved. It's a very worrying situation. A majority of parliamentarians are opposed to a no-deal brexit. If calls for another General Election continue to fall on deaf ears, arguments for a second referendum continue to gain appeal. But will it happen?

On the BBC Radio Four Thought for the Day this morning, Daniel Greenberg, a Parliamentary legal advisor spoke from his perspective as a practicing Jew about the current political crisis. He observed how despite the polarisation of opinion and passionately held conviction, it was clear to him that Members of Parliament equally desired the country's common good, and that courtesy and respect characterised the ways people treated each other, despite profound disagreement. With these things, he trusted and hoped a way forward, a compromise would ultimately be found. I hope he's right. He also pointed out that while Jewish scripture has many passages in which enemies are hated, derided and spoken evil of, there are also prophetic passages in which this attitude is rebuked. God is greater than all our passionately held opinions. We should never lose sight of that.

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning with a congregation of ten, my first duty of the interregnum. With my condition reasonably stable at the moment, I had enough energy to enjoy resuming a leadership role, and preaching briefly from phrases in the liturgical readings, about the uncertainties attached both to an interregnum and to the brexit process. I enjoyed that. Ann and Paul are off to Geneva for a few days next week and then going by train to Milan for a few more days - the joys of retirement! Ann was picking my brains about places to stay and things to see in Geneva, and when I got back home, I assembled a selection of my masses of Geneva photos, and emailed her a link, to offer an impression of what can easily be seen within a shortish radius of the city centre.

I walked from church to Lidl's in Leckwith to stock up on a few things the store does well, like nuts and cheap soya milk. I mistimed my effort and missed my acupuncture appointment. Fortunately I was able to get another one at five, as Peter had a spare space to fit me in. All that exercise plus an invigorating treatment did me a world of good. I may still be walking wounded but I am decently healthy and fit at the moment. Let's hope it stays like that while I wait the extra month for surgery. 

Not with a bang, but a groan of pain a sigh of hope

Despite waking in the small hours for a second time in a row, with bedclothes and duvet drenched in sweat, with almost no pain, pulse and temperature normal, I had a fair night's sleep and felt better. Clare went out early and secured a necessary GP appointment, as promised to the doctors of the 'out of hours' service yesterday. The appointment was in good time for me attend the appointment booked at Riverside Health Surgery clinic. After examining the wound, my GP acknowledged my reasons for resisting a long wait in UHW A and E at the busiest time of year, and was happy for me to continue with the antibiotics, monitoring any change of condition, calling for an ambulance in the event of any further deterioration. She is resolved to write again to the surgeon and express concern over my condition, and ask if reassignment to another team or NHS hospital is possible. Hope against hope, maybe, but such a relief to know our local medics and nurses are on the case!

At the Riverside wound clinic I then met another of the District Nurse team, who treated me with the same expert confidence and good humour as the others. She observed that the swellings seemed to be draining well the new type of wound dressing as hope for. The GP practice nurse had observed that I was walking better too. Those with a trained eye notice things. I too think I've been walking a little easier since both the recent mini crises - but for how long?. A modest gain with all that pain, I suppose is something to be grateful for.

Clare and Owain were playing Monopoly with Jaz when I got back, and just after we'd had a big dish of soup for lunch made from carrot, swede, parsnip and beetroot, which I helped prepare with a lot of veg dicing, Jaz' step-brother Pete arrived with his wife Jodie and two year old Sam, to collect her and take her to Newbury where she'll stay over New Year until her dad and step-mother arrive back from Venice to take her back too Arizona. People visiting from the States get to see lots of people and experience lots of  parties and treats, it's such an intense time, so exhausting. Hopefully a few twelve hour nights of sleep chez nous will stand her in good stead for the days to come.

The rest of the day was spent reorganising ourselves to resume life as a two person household. Being quite tired, we gave up on the idea of seeing the New Year in and went to bed early. Later that's been a change in pattern for both of us, driven by just about coping until operation day.

Apart from the horror of British political incompetence and the continued rise of far right wing politics in a world which seems to have failed to learn  the bitter lessons of 20th century history, there were lots of good things about 2018. Time well spent in Malaga and Montreux in the first half of the year. Seeing Owain get a permanent job again and find a place of his own to rent and move into, days from now. Seeing Kath flourish with the continued success of Wriggledance Theatre. Having Rachel perform live in our own locality, for the first time in over a decade. Seeing our lovely grandchildren gently crossing the threshold from girlhood to womanhood. In the second half of the year, things my illness has overshadowed everything and narrowed our world, but introduced us to a world of wonderful caring people whose daily job is getting others well again.

NHS workers I salute you! Not quite so sure about the managing classes and medical elites, however. And in three months, the curse of brexit falls due. Or not if the whim of Parliament or even the electorate think otherwise. I hope and pray for a change of heart, mind and will on all sides.

  

Uncertain envisioning

Today seemed just to slip by, as I was preoccupied once more with drafting an advisory document for others to discuss, and engaging in a lengthy email conversation. Although the circumstances were different, both task were concerned with impending change, how to plan and prepare to make the best of a future that is likely to be different from the way things are now. 

The same is also true at a global level, due to the social and political upheaval caused by Brexit, and the Trump presidency in the USA. Negotiations over Britain's withdrawal from the EU are giving rise to widespread concern at many levels, as so little is known about what the British Government approach will be when confronted with the reality of Commission negotiators who seem to be more experienced and determined to defend agreed EU policy and commitments. What if negotiations result in a stalemate, with no practical agreement possible? The uncertainty could generate change of an undesired kind, an unwanted instability, economic and social. That would make it far harder to see justice done for those whose grievances led to the brexit vote, and those newly aggrieved by the unexpected impact of the brexit referendum thus far.

'Without a vision the people perish' says Proverbs 29:18. Britain has become a place of competing visions of how the common good is to be achieved, and much of this is driven by self-interest, even when claimed to be altruistic. The second half of the Proverbs 28:18 continues 'But he that keeps the Law; happy is he.' God's law is the given that provides a frame of reference within which justice, truth and equity are to be pursued, and envisioning occurs. 

What is found in Hebrew scripture is expressed also in the teachings and law codes of Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam. Sadly, we live in an era where the opinion of economic theorists, some secular philosophers and scientists has more influence in setting the values we live by, than any religious teaching does. All too often, the wisdom that comes from schools of faith is little taken into account in envisioning the kind of world which is fit for all to live in. The world is greatly impoverished, if not put at greater risk as a result.

It was well after ten when I left the apartment, to take a walk along the Paseo Maritime and into the Port. There were groups of teenagers hanging out on the beach together, and drinking from cans and bottles. It's not necessarily binge boozing that goes on, just weekend socialising, for those who are not old enough for clubbing or can't afford it. My only concern was whether they collected up their empties and returned them to the location of a rubbish bin. By the end of the day these overflow. The rubbish clean up begins at first light. 

As Owain and I were waiting for the bus, before eight on Tuesday morning, a young woman, perhaps of school leaving age, in florescent city council street gear was sweeping and tidying the street outside the apartment. I wondered if this was her first job, or if she was on a work training scheme. I have seen street sweeping machines in use, but notice that in many cities, municipalities prefer to maintain a workforce, even if wages are low. Machines are less efficient than people who are conscientious, thorough, and capable of picking discarded cans from bushes, wall ledges and flower beds. People are of more value than all our clever machines and robots.

  

Geeky downtime

A lie-in followed by an idle day was just what I needed. I frittered time away attempting to convert an old Memory Stick Duo into a bootable Fedora Linux live medium in a USB card reader. A couple of days ago, I downloaded the latest Fedora ISO, both 32 and 64 bit versions to start with, aiming to try out on live the five year old Acer Core i3 laptop bequeathed me by Kath, currently running Linux Mint rather sweetly. 

I reformatted the Memory Stick and used a Mint utility to install the ISO on it. Neither 32 nor 64 bit versions worked. With trial and error, I realised Fedora's ISO wasn't happy loaded on a FAT16 or FAT32 filesystem. I reformatted to EXT4 filesystem, and the 32 bit ISO proved bootable. I must have a go at the 64 bit version eventually, to see if it will work on this old Core i3 machine. Being able to run any live version this way proved satisfying. I like the way Fedora's Gnome user interface works, and its reasonable performance under the circumstances. So then, I attempted a full installation of Fedora, not on the Acer's hard drive, as I didn't want to mess up Mint, but on the spare hard drive I've had sitting in a USB dock, since I retrieved it from the deceased Dell XPS.

Everything worked fairly well eventually, although Fedora's Anaconda installer bewildered me when it came to assigning full disk space, as I didn't really understand what it was asking me to do, as the drive in question was already partitioned ready for a Linux install, though not in a way Fedora was prepared to make sense of. Deleting the drive partitions and leaving Anaconda to do the rest worked, however, and in the end I was in possession of a bootable USB hard drive. It seems a little slow running to me, but maybe if physically installed in the machine, it would perform better. On the other hand, Gnome is not a lightweight user interface, compared to Mate on Linux Mint. Well, we'll see, when I next have an opportunity to tinker.

At teatime, I went out to Chapter to return two weeks worth of canvas carry bags for our organic veggie order, due tomorrow, then walked to the NatWest ATM on Cowbridge Road, to draw some money out. Since the start of the Triduum, I've had neither time nor opportunity for litter picking. On this journey of just over a mile, I picked up forty four pieces of litter. The forecourt area in front of the bank boasts a generous wheelchair ramp. There was an amazing amount of litter, paper cups, fag packets, a few cans and bottles, paper and plastic in this area, I admit that I wondered when it was last cleaned. But, as this is private property, not public realm, I made no effort to pick anything up. I tweeted about the mess instead, in the hope someone will notice.

After supper, a telly free evening, for a change. Plenty to read and think about, with Teresa May calling a General Election in the hope of increasing support for her brexit intransigence. I keep wondering what the possibility is of the electorate expressing concern and displeasure at the entirely foreseeable consequences of the referendum, and a government unable to agree, announce and implement a coherent strategy, by voting them out of office. A rainbow coalition of opposition parties might succeed in bringing Britain back from the brink, but that would be a miracle of co-operation beyond belief as the campaigning begins. But in these days of social media, six weeks is a very long time in politics, and many things can can, both for better and for worse.

O unhappy day

At lunchtime yesterday I walked to our GP surgery to acquire a blood pressure monitoring device to wear for the next twenty four hours, so that a better idea can be obtained of the apparent fluctuations in my blood pressure through the day. As long as the doctors express concern, I have to go along with this, though it's hard to see how this can be changed. I've lived well enough with this without my life being impaired for a long time. I accept that ageing means slowing down, and limitations on what's possible to consider doing in life. Yet there's still an enormous amount I can do, as long as I sleep well and eat enough and no more than my body needs, and I'm grateful for that.

Ceri, the Practice Nurse initialised the device, fitted the sensory cuff to my upper left arm. There's a digital monitor connected to a pump that drives the sphyngmomanometer, and it's got flash storage to harvest readings at given periods of time during the monitoring exercise. It's about the size and shape of a 200 gram tub of butter, and is packed into holster with an adjustable shoulder strap. Once kitted out the challenge is getting one's clothes back on tidily without disconnecting the the tube joining the components. I decided not to examine it and see what information it could display, and just wear it for twenty four hours. 

Before taking a reading, the device inflates slightly as a one minute warning to get ready, meaning sit down or stand still while the device is working. No sooner had I walked out the surgery than it let me know its intention. The best I could do was stand still. I stopped until it finished, then walked on. But within a minute, a repeat performance. Within another couple of minutes, another repetition. To me it suggested a read failure. Once I was settled at home, writing, it started again, and fell into a rhythm of twenty minutes between readings. 

I felt there was every reason why I should have a normally active day, and not just sit around waiting for the device to take a reading, so I decided to re-start Tai Chi classes. It would be a good test of the stability of my dodgy knee. There were more presumed read errors walking there and back, although I stopped each time I got the signal. During the class it went off twice at the prescribed time, and I just stood still, always easy to do in class, and it seemed to work as prescribed.

I think the device was programmed for a longer timing sequence when I went to bed, as I only recall it taking readings as I was falling asleep, and at first light. There may have been more, but after a marvellous class, starting to learn a new sequence of Tai Chi movements, I was very relaxed and slept well. It didn't seem to be active during breakfast, perhaps it was still programmed for night sequence. I noticed its clock was still set at GMT rather than Summer Time. When I started driving across town to St German's for the week's 'class mass', it started working again, with the same pattern of presumed read errors, and this continued during Mass as well.

After the service I went to check on the office PC, still downloading and installing a year's worth of updates at a stupidly slow pace. If this continues, I'll just take the thing home and update it where I can make sure it doesn't keep choking on the process. I took my jacket off while I worked and in the hour that followed noticed that the device resumed working normally. That was how I discovered that the cuff doesn't like any kind of coverage. The sleeves aren't tight by any means, but basically the device won't work underneath anything except the lightest clothing, which implies that it's usage is going to be restricted to quiet stable environments, unlike real world conditions. At home or in a hospital ward, it's going to be fine, but taking readings from a normally active no sedentary daily life, is another matter altogether. Ah well, now I know. I wrote a note to my GP about this and sent it with the device when I returned it to the surgery.

I walked to Chapter Arts Centre before supper to collect this week's organic veg order, and collected thirteen pieces of street litter on my way there and back, most of them flattened discarded cans from the gutter, including four Carling lager cans strung out along the street where they'd most probably been drunk in between purchase and home. And so many energy drink cans too. As if imbibing their content impairs the awareness of the consumer of the proximity of litter bins, or of any conscience about fouling the environment. A dozen pieces yesterday and Monday as well, while out walking. It's hard not to feel angry about such greedy self-centred carelessness.

Today the formal notification of the UK's intention to quit the EU was delivered. I've listened to the minimum amount of news as the endless reportage on the matter is like having sandpaper rubbed endlessly on the skin. I am angry, frustrated, powerless at the electorate being conned by lies and phobic propaganda from the mass media and the politicians. Around three million expats refused a referendum vote and a matter of high concern for them as UK citizens abroad, and a referendum vote on a simplistic majority rather than a two thirds majority, as is common in other European countries. 

Even the Church in Wales has a two thirds rule for electing a Bishop. The process failed to deliver in Llandaff diocese, and the Bench of Bishops has made a mess of using its executive powers leading to the whole process now being subject to legal scrutiny. Falling just short of the two thirds majority could have been read by the Bishops, if they couldn't agree on an appointment, as a sign of the need to re-convene an Electoral College and let them try again. Or even not appoint until the Electoral College can agree. It may come to a re-run of the Electoral College anyway in the end. If it does, it won't be without rancour and bitterness en route. 

Narrow simple majority voting is like a statistical game of chance, and the margin in either direction can fluctuate, for all sorts of reasons unconnected with the purpose of the vote. When there's a clear consensus speedily reached, it's reason for rejoicing. But life isn't always so simple, so reaching a consensual position in any kind of decision making may take more time and be inconvenient, but it does causes people to think further, to be more aware of a breadth of issues and consequences which may be obscured by fears or ambitions at the the start. 

Malaga outing, and the man on the bus

I took the coach into Malaga this morning to go and book by train for Friday. I could have booked on the internet, but with euros to spare, it was a good excuse for an outing to the city. The return fare was €8.18. Bus travel in Spain is cheap and pretty punctual. The main bus station is opposite Maria Zambrano station, and the booking hall a short walk a way. I was pleased with myself for being able to buy my ticket entirely in Spanish.

Not far from the station is the barrio Mercado del Carmen, and I found my way there for a visit to the wonderful market bar, which does an impressive range of fresh cooked fish tapas. There were cockles on the counter, alive and moving. That's how fresh they were. I chose a racion of baby merluza to have with a glass of Alhambra beer, and they were cooked while I drank. So fresh, hot and crispy with the lightest of coatings of olive oil and flour. This alone was worth the journey.

I walked around for an hour or so, along the road next to the harbour, as far as the Alameda, then did a brief inspection of El Corte Ingles technology department, always a favourite, then return to the station to take the metro out to the airport, to see if I could change my flight bookings face to face, rather than struggle with finding out how to on-line. Again I was successful doing it all in Spanish. All I have to do now is acquire a new boarding pass on line. I hope it's worked!

I had to queue for ages to change my open ticket to catch the five o'clock coach back to Nerja. At one of the two places at the counter a young woman was arguing loudly and aggressively with the booking clerk. So much so I wondered when the long arm of the law would turn up. The coach on which I was booked was destined for Almeria, another 250km from Malaga, and it had come from Algeceiras, down west beyond Gibraltar.

I sat next to a man of my age destined for Almuñécar. He asked if I was German, and when I said British he laughed and chanted "Shall I stay or shall I go?", saying how crazy he thought the brexit vote had been, dividing the country like that. I could only agree and say that 48% of us didn't vote Leave. Well, if the man on the bus thinks that, what are the politicians and bankers of Europe thinking? I would like Mr Cameron to have been in my set instead of peddling ridiculous optimism in front of a divided House of Commons consuming itself with in-fighting.

What has Britain done?

I only stayed down on the beach for half an hour, last night, long enough for the firework display and lighting of the grand midsummer bonfire on the beach and for taking photos. There were many hundreds of people again this year, with their own family fires, barbecues and booze. Dozens went into the sea at midnight for luck. I saw some young lads jumping over the fire, another ancient custom. I thought I heard Irish accents, but also lots of young Scandinavian voices as well. This night is a big favourite in Scandinavia as well, whether or not it's as dry and warm as it is here.

I was back at the house again by quarter to one, feeling well exercised by the late night three mile brisk walk. It left me feeling far to tired to keep vigil by the telly, and after the first few results and ensuing chatter, I crawled into bed.

I was up by seven and switched on the telly, even before making coffee. News of the brexit victory came as a shock. I knew it would be a close call, around 52% to 48%, but to be the opposite way around to what I'd hoped and prayed for was hard to take in, like a sudden death in the family. Like Jo Cox's death. As predicted, the pound had already slumped in world exchange markets by the time I got up. The politicians put on their brave reputation saving faces, and talked lamely about making an effort to unite the country to implement the will of the people's referendum. The damage is done, however, and could be irrevocable.

I believe Britain will pay with even more social division, and who knows? Maybe unrest too, given the anger and disappointment, on one side for losing and on the other for the rising tide of ill will generated by winning with opponents struggling to accept graciously. For the first time in my life, I feel deeply ashamed of being Welsh, given the scale of the Principality's brexit vote. Cardiff alone voted to remain. The outcome is being interpreted as the nation's way of punishing its politicians for years of austerity and being so London-centric that regions, both industrial and post-industrial, feel neglected, their most urgent priorities by-passed or delayed.

Cameron was rightly quick to fall on his sword, having pandered to the brexit pressure groups with too much naive trust and optimism that Remain support would prevail. He campaigned more honourably than his opponents, but his failure was strategic, in that he didn't kick the idea of this referendum into touch in the first place, leave to the next government to cool out, rather than make it a lethal manifesto promise. Corbyn now faces challenges to his leadership for his lack-lustre performance in support of Remain. He looks old and tired. Labour needs, but didn't seem to have any inspirational leaders to unite left-wing support into effective opposition, able to expose disinformation and media manipulation relied on by brexiters to give them victory.

The alternatives to Cameron are grim and more right wing than he is. All over Europe the right wing parties will heed this result and motivate them to lobby for their own exit referendum where they are. Today, I am very pessimistic about the future. Even if European governance is in some respects not that fit for purpose, it is far superior to the way European nations behaved before the World Wars of the 20th century. The only way to get anything more fit for purpose is to maintain a reasoned critique, and sustain dialogue with the aim of reform. For Britain to have no say in affairs which are bound to have continued impact on it, simply because we're a major EU trading partner, is a colossal act of national self-harm.

A few days ago worry was expressed on the news about prisoners indefinitely detained self-harming in despair at their situation. The potentially damaging nature of the brexit vote is a cry of despair from those who feel dispossessed, disempowered by the current economic and political status quo. It reaches back decades, through all those years when London's development as a hub of economic globalisation has been like a black hole, sucking the life out of the rest of the country. 

I had a late morning meeting with a couple wanting to celebrate 32 years of marriage with a renewal of wedding vows, surrounded by family and friends this Sunday afternoon. They too had voted Remain by post before leaving for Spain, and were just as shocked and distressed as me. I arrived late, somewhat in a daze, and thankfully missed an interview session with a local report for a Costa del Sol English newspaper. I couldn't have coped with that. But now, I've said what I need to, and can carry on wondering. Where do we go from here?

Normally on this day, I remember with affection and prayer the two parish churches I served that were dedicated to St John the Baptist. Today, I find it hard to pray at all.