New railway excursion and an outdoor gig

Today a shopping expedition was required to buy some last  minute items for Rhiannon, who is off to Arnheim in Holland on Monday for a school exchange visit. We took the train there, rather than use the car or the bus, in order to use the restored rail passenger service on the branch line running from Coventry to Leamington, which was discontinued over fifty years ago. Over the past couple of years a completely new station has been constructed in Kenilworth. There's one train an hour, and so far just, one diesel railcar plying to and fro. It's ten minutes from Kenilworth to either Coventry or Leamington. It makes for a much quicker and more predictable access to mainline train services for commuters, so demand is expected to grow, and house prices set to rise, reflecting the convenience of the location.

Most of the route to Leamington passes through rolling green landscape. So nice to be able to gaze out of the window, and not having to concentrate on the road ahead. While the others went hunting for swimming costumes, I tracked down a nearby specialist camera shop in search of a protective bag for Rhiannon's camera, but there was nothing the right size, so I have ended up giving her my camera bag, in the hope that I can find something suitable as a replacement in Cardiff. Actually, her Song H400 is slightly bigger than my HX300 though much the same shape, and my donated bag fits her camera better than mine.

Before the return journey, we had a picnic lunch in a park over the road from the Leamington Spa Pump Room buildings. The elegantly decorated main hall has been restored and is used for a variety of cultural and social functions. Other large rooms within the building have been transformed into a small museum and art gallery, and a modern library extension has been added, a neat combination of repurposed historic Georgian with modern buildings, ensuring continued public use.

In the evening we accompanied Kath and Anto to a gig at Leamington's rugby club, which is located a mile or so across the A46 from Kenilworth. The 'Just Imagine Music Festival' was an all day music festival arranged by a supporters association for people with learning difficulties, with a stage and sound system set up on the patio outside the club-house. Grateful for the benefit of good weather, they performed for about an hour, so we were back in the house just after nine. Often they have more than a hour's journey to get to the gig venue, so this was an easy assignment for them. It wasn't easy either, working as a duo instead of the full Sonrisa band, as most of the audience were seated on the field below the patio, ten metres away from the stage. Here are some photos I took.

Indoor Sunday

Another rainy day here, with two dozen people for the Sunday Eucharist. Afterwards I spoke with the elder sister of a teenager who's started singing in the choir. They're from Bulgaria. The lad is still in school, but his sister who's been here longer, has run her own restaurant in Montreux, and is now setting up a new business to import niche market food and drink products from back home, aware of the growing interest in traditional hand crafted products in Western Europe. It's good to meet a young entrepreneur in tune with contemporary interests.

After a leisurely lunch and siesta I was ready to go out for a stroll, but rain persisted, so I stayed in did some writing, and listened to a BBC local radio webcast in which the release of Kath and Anto's new Sonrisa album 'From Today' was mentioned and a track from it played for the first time. Clare has been in Kenilworth looking after Rhiannon this weekend and she returned home with the album CD. I greatly look forward to hearing this when I return in ten days time, as the track broadcasted was a beautiful piece of music. craftsmanship. It makes me very proud.

I watched another episode of McMafia, summarised in a quote I read somewhere as 'English toffs and the Russian underworld'. Oh really? Well maybe. I can't quite suspend disbelief, although I can accept how complex is the web of international financial trading within which criminal enterprises hide, and how it's possible to snoop on people, know just where they are in this interconnected world, and do nasty things to them. But surely this applies to crime fighters as well as criminals. Can crooks really do bad things, so often with impunity? Is it true that law enforcement world wide is so under-funded that it's unable to keep track, so their adversaries are always one jump ahead?

There was an interesting 'File on Four' radio programme this afternoon about criminal organisations which issue fake university degree certificates, to people who want to buy professional qualification credentials they think will do them some good in the job market. As if this isn't lucrative enough, perpetrators turn to extortion and blackmail of clients, threatening to expose them to authorities and cost them their jobs and maybe residence permits unless they pay extra. 

It makes use of thousands of websites, and uses VOIP telephone contact with enquirers which can spoof caller i/d, and ensure the real life location of the scammers is very hard for non-experts to trace. It's just like the people who ring up and tell you they're from TalkTalk, troubleshooting your compromised internet router, using real phone numbers gleaned from a hack of the company subscriber database a couple of years back. These new technologies are very capable, but have made crime and deception possible on a mass scale, and internationally, in a way few thought possible at the turn of the 21st century.

Tech service London expedition

Out of the house by twenty to eight, and walking to Sophia Gardens to get the eight fifteen coach to London, on another warm and sunny morning. The coach arrived, but the designated driver was stuck in traffic on his way to work, so we set out twenty minutes late. We were most fortunate to have a clear run and made up the time, arriving at noon. Although I hadn't slept well, I didn't drop off to sleep as I usually do on this journey. Thanks to the coach's wi-fi, I passed the time reading the news and sending emails from my phone.

This time, June was in better shape, getting out and about again, she'd shopped for a ready meal curries to share for lunch, so before getting down to work, we ate and caught up on the latest news. Afterwards an inspection of her computer revealed that updates were working properly and nothing was amiss, but there was something of a puzzle. All I needed to do was update her Libre Office installation. It's very quick loading on her speedy machine. 

When June bought her new ten inch Samsung Galaxy Tab, she'd sought setup help in the shop. This proved not possible at the first step of registering the device using her Gmail account, for no apparent reason. She tried several different possible passwords without success. Yet, she had no problem accessing emails on her computer, using the password it had first been set up with, some time ago. Truth to tell, she'd not signed out of the account for a long time, so had never encountered any problem. 

I requested a new password from Google, according to June's wishes and we both made a note of it. I was able to guide her through the tablet set up and basic usage stages, but couldn't give her longer to explain how to change settings, so she'll have to play with it herself and learn by doing. I may be daunting, as a touchscreen quite so sensitive takes a while to get used to, especially when its default screen time-out setting is too brief for someone who learns carefully and stops to ponder before action. 

In Wandsworth Borough a discount taxi fare card system operates for elderly and disabled people, to ensure they can afford to get to medical appointments, which can often require patients to travel some distance and awkward routes. June had failed to register this card with the web booking service run by a Taxi company on behalf of Wandsworth Council. With the discount card was a leaflet instructing the card holder how to register and use it to book at taxi in advance. 

I followed the same registration instructions as June had, and also failed to compete the task. It was a rather strange requirement, that according to the given instructions, one should register the number of the card issued to the holder, and use as a password, the local phone number printed on the back of the actual Taxi Card, which was that of the company running the scheme. A bit like issuing a bank card and printing its PIN number on the back of it, I thought to myself. Anyway, we sent the company an email and auto-response said June would hear from them in a day or so. What can be wrong here?

I left June a half past six and was on a train for London Victoria at twenty to seven. Only then did I check my ticket and realise the coach was at seven not half past! What a fool. The train arrived at nine minutes to seven, and I ran through the station, up and across Buckingham Palace Road, hoping and praying my legs and lungs would hold out, arriving with two minutes to spare, relieved and triumphant. That's done my physical confidence a power of good, even if I pay for this with stiffness tomorrow. 

The coach arrived on time at ten fifteen. Again, I didn't fall asleep during the journey. It must be Spring energy buoying me up at the moment. I walked home in twenty minutes, had supper, then we listened to a recording of Kath and Anto's band 'Sonrisa' being interviewed and playing two of their songs on BBC local Radio Coventry & Warwickshire, a delightful conclusion to a successful day out.

  

  

Congregational choreography

Up at first light, to be sure of getting out of the house to walk to St Nicholas' Kenilworth for the eight o'clock Communion service for the feast of Candlemas, which is being observed in the CofE today. It's next week in the Church in Wales calendar. Interestingly the 'Sunday Worship' smartphone app gives Candlemas readings as an alternative for this week and next, as the fortieth day of Christmastide is this Thursday, so it can be observed in anticipation or retrospectively. It keeps us on our toes, I guess.

The Reverend Stella, a confident and outgoing priest, seemed a little tentative about keeping two dozen eight o'clockers on their toes, when at the start of the service she asked communicants to approach the rail and fill it from left to right, instead of the other way round. Exit from the high altar through a side chapel is to the right, and this simple logical measure could possibly serve to decongest the area before the sanctuary, so long as people standing in the choir stayed put until there was a pause in the flow from the rail. 

Habits formed over decades of routine worship are not easy to change. Success depends on people's ability to hear and obey one week, remember the next, and so on. It presupposes a degree of awareness of others which is going to vary depending on who's in the congregation, and who follows whom up to the rail. Having a steward place to direct worshippers may or may not be helpful, depending on their experience and tactfulness. Giving choreographic directions to a congregation isn't easy at the best of times. I sympathised with the Vicar's nervousness, something I recall well when trying to do something differently during my life in charge of a Parish. 

The change seemed to work as proposed. Perhaps there'd been a survey or a discussion leading to this? It's such a small thing, but an early, said service in an English Parish church is a model of respect and good manners. Participants, whether they are complete strangers or have known each other at church for a lifetime, give each other space and silence to be completely inward, engaged with the liturgy as much or as little as they desire. The peace is exchanged, as it has been for some years at St Nicholas', done briefly with warmth, courtesy and few words. I wish it were the same at every church service.

I enjoy the early morning walk to church here as the sun rises. The Reverend Stella preaches a modest length, well prepared sermon. Early birds don't get Liturgy Lite. Talking of which, on my way up the avenue of lime trees to the church, I saw several thrushes on the ground, plus a pair of blackbirds, one with a worm in its beak just tugged out of the ground. I haven't seen that since family camping days.

The house was quiet for a good hour or more after I returned, before the family awoke and came down for breakfast, well brunch. Then it was time for me to head back to Wales, as early afternoon they were going to Coventry to meet a student film crew, making a music video to accompany one of the songs on Sonrisa's forthcoming album, being crafted by Anto and the band in the attic sound studio above their house. It rained all the way back to Cardiff, but the roads weren't crowded.

Looking at news and photos on Facebook later, I was reminded that this afternoon was Archbishop Barry's farewell at Llandaff Cathedral. The place was packed with clergy and representatives from all over the diocese. Even if I'd been able to get home in time, I doubt if there'd have been a free space for me, and I wasn't aware in advance of how I might get one. Some time ago I decided to settle for sending him a personal letter of appreciation and farewell. He'll certainly remain in my prayers as he makes the transition from being a very public servant of the church to private citizen who happens to be a retired priest. May God bless and prosper him in his new way of life.

        

Syncing and sandals

This morning, I took Clare to catch a train to take her to Coventry and a weekend looking after Rhiannon, while Kath and Anto travel north and east into Lincolnshire for the last of their back to back Rural Touring gigs with Sonrisa. She's now added Instagram to the band's Twitter account, and posts photos from the towns the visit, and when they're setting up. Good publicity, naturally, but also a pleasure for the family to see where they are working away. 

I stayed at home for much of the day, as there was nothing much I could contribute to the radio distribution now in full swing, until there's a pile of equipment receipts to supply more information to key into the new database. The efforts of the last few days intense concentration left me feeling quite drained and in need of respite. And there was still the OneDrive sync problem to puzzle over. It was late afternoon when the penny finally dropped, and I was running the same routine on my home computer. As ever it was was something trivial and quite misleading. The file being worked on, ostensibly within a web browser, was downloading and being opened from the hard drive and saved to 'Downloads'. Thanks to the speediness of the particular machine in use, this routine could be done without noticing where exactly the file was opening and saving from. On a slower machine this was visible.

I went down to the office and found no fewer than eight copies of the data file in 'Downloads', the result of repeated attempts by both Julie and I to ascertain how the update was not taking place as expected. Just one of them was slightly larger than the others, the first downloaded version worked on fully up to date. What a relief! Restoring this to its proper place on 'OneDrive' was trivial, as was texting Julie a brief explanation of what neither of us had noticed or understood. So we learn the hard way that while some files can easily open and close and be worked on in a browser, others cannot. The expectation isn't transferable, and the necessary cautious alertness easily forgotten if you're distracted or in a hurry.

While I was out in town, I bought a pair of Ecco sandals, having had such a comfortable experience with their walking shoes, bought a a couple of months ago. They fitted like a glove. When I went to Nerja on locum duty this time last year, I forgot to pack sandals and bought a chunky comfortable pair for a decent price in a town shoe shop. I started wearing them again a few weeks ago, once the weather warmed up enough, but discovered very soon that the hollow interior of both heels had caved in, and I was traipsing dirt in the house that had been caught in the cavities. They weren't yet uncomfortable to notice the failure for any other reason, but they had to be consigned to the bin, along with another older pair whose heel bases had collapsed rendering them unwearable, which had until now not been thrown out. A third pair also emerged that was unbroken, but they weren't comfortable enough for distance walking, only for popping down the beach. So I was pleased to be pushed into making the effort to acquire a really durable sturdy pair, which could last me several years, for a change.

In the evening, I watched with special interest the programme on Vienna in Rick Stein's 'Long Weekends' series. As a fan of Mediterranean cuisine, I find it all a bit too much 'mean & two veg' for my liking. Nor do the cake and chocolate side of things appeal that much. The white wine is much praised however, Weiner Gemischter Satz, grown on 700 hectares of land within the city's boundaries, made with several grape varieties planted and grown in a mixture in the same field rather than separately and then blended. This relies on the terroir as the French call it, the soil and the setting of vineyard, rather than the character of the grapes. No doubt centuries of experience in choosing the right varietals to take advantage of soil qualities makes for a praiseworthy product. It's something to look forward to.
  

Classic Car Funeral

Monday morning, I tidied the house, cooked lunch for Clare, then collected her from her train at half past midday. Later, a phone call from Kath revealed that Rhiannon had passed her Grade Three flute exam 'with merit', which she took the day Clare arrived. It's lovely to see her making good progress and following in her mother's footsteps. She was learning flute at Rhiannon's age, and still uses it to play occasional solos, as well as singing with their Latino band 'Sonrisa'. On one occasion, Rhiannon was out at a gig with them, and played a solo of her own, much to everyone's delight, and was perhaps less nervous about being on stage than in an examination studio. She just loves performing.

Tuesday morning, I took the car in for a belated MOT, as its tax is due for renewal by the end of the month. Then I walked over to Tredegarville School to touch base with the head teacher about their Holy Week school service in St German's and tell her the news about Fr Dean, one of the school's Foundation Governors. I walked from there to the CBS office and used our new on-line banking facility to pay out Ian's tax and salary for March, against a payslip provided by our accountants. 

Then I had a message to say the car was ready, and walked back to the garage to collect it, in good time to get to St German's, where the funeral of a man who was a friend of the previous incumbent, Fr Roy Doxsey was taking place. I'd invited him to join me in taking the service, such a rarity these days for two of us to share a funeral. David had been an engineer and classic car enthusiast. He'd owned and maintained the same MG Midget since he first bought it 45 years ago. His motoring friends turned up in their outstanding vehicles, XK120 and XK150 Jaguars, a Ford Cortina Mk 1, a Ford Capri, a Ford Escort RS2000, a MGB open top, a Triumph TR4, a Sunbeam Talbot saloon, and a couple more I cannot now remember. They reminded me of the collection of Dinky Toy models I'd had of such cars when I was a child. A dazzling display of old cars escorted the cortege from the church to the crem. He would have been delighted. My dear late departed brother in law Eddie would also have taken great pleasure in such a grand display.

I drove home to rest for a couple of hours before attending the evening's Tai Chi and Chi Gung classes. Just before I was due to leave, a lengthy phone call delayed me. Then, as I was rounding the corner into Romilly Crescent, a 61 bus into town was halted by the lights. Impulsively I started to run, although I knew it was most likely the bus would sail past me and the stop about a hundred yards further on. Fortunately, the driver responded to my gesticulations and compassionately halted, some thirty years away from the bus stop to let me on. This took ten minutes off my walk to St Mary's Hall, so I was only ten minutes late, if pleasantly breathless, and warmed up ready for the session.