Scarf and gloves day

As expected, yesterday's spell of physical labour left me feeling quite stiff and tired. It was an effort to get to St Catherine's on time for the Parish Eucharist, but we made it OK. In Conway Road a large lorry and street clean-up team were at work collecting leaves heaped into piles by neighbours along the 400 yards of of tree lined street, working around parked cars. This is one of our local leafy avenues that needs clearing several times in the autumn, when heavy rains lead to blocked drains and waterlogged gutters for weeks on end. There aren't so many trees in our neighbourhood, so I don't think we were visited by the clean up team. Last autumn, a few north easterly gale force winds drown tons of leaves from Llandaff Fields right down Llanfair Road and on some sections of pavement they were knee high. Not so thus far this year.

After lunch I slept for an hour and a half waking up in time for Choral Evensong from Westminster Abbey. I listened to this in headphones with my Blackberry walking around Llandaff Fields for an hour. It was noticeably colder. It's the first time I felt I needed to wear scarf and gloves this autumn, but I hadn't given it a second thought when leaving the house. The wind was strong enough on times to impair the sound quality as I listened. The earphones are good enough for normal domestic use, but not it seems capable of reducing much background noise outdoors.

It was good to listen to the Westminster Abbey choir, however. The place is well rigged for making high quality sound recordings and the choir sings Anglican chant with amazingly clear diction, which takes full advantage of the fact. The highlight for me was the first performance of a new setting of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis written for the Abbey by Errolyn Wallen a distinguished composer from Belize, currently Artist in residence at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Two contrasting emotionally powerful pieces of music which capture the mysteriously wonderful character of the text.

I was back home by the end of Evensong, to collect my cassock surplice and stole to go to St John's and take part in a memorial service for bereaved families, held now in many church during November. Only ten people invited from about a hundred sent out. Mourning seems to have become more of a private individual affair these days. With families gathering for a funeral and then dispersing, there's less of an incentive to returning to a place where there has been as much if not more grief experienced than there was consolation offered. People set up memorial websites and share their feelings on social networks from the comfort of their home, rather than don scarf and gloves to venture out on a cold dark night.

The service was themed around the Ecclesiastes text 'to everything there is a season' - fair enough, but to my mind not enough. Nothing about the mystery of Christ's resurrection or eternity or communion. As St Paul wrote "If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied."  I was in charge of reading the names of the departed and offering the prayers on the service sheet. At least it gave me an opportunity to remember my cousin Godfrey. Only after did my misgiving emerge. I should have read the text through weeks ago when I first received it, but didn't.

There was nothing interesting enough to watch on telly, so I spent another evening reading the novel I started yesterday, and went to bed later than intended with a few more chapters to finish. It's got so complicated I'm not sure I gather where it's leading. Not enough to be worth burn the midnight oil to finish anyway.

A Sunday Parish Feast

This morning I joined Clare in the choir for the Sung Eucharist at St Catherine's, with Fr Colin celebrating and a congregation of about thirty. It was the first day for the resumption of Sunday School and there were half a dozen children in church with their parents at the end when we sang a whacky tongue twisting take on the Benedicite Omnia Opera canticle called 'O ye badgers and hedgehogs bless the Lord.' I think the adults enjoyed it even more than the kids judging by the round of applause we got.

Straight after the service I drove to St German's and arrived just in time for the recitation of the Angelus. Fr Stewart had celebrated and preached, and we had a chat afterwards about interregnum arrangements. I then joined the congregation in the church hall for a three course parish lunch with wine, laid on simply to celebrate the end of restrictions on such social activities. I think there were about forty of us present, all very happy about this return to normality. 

I was on the retired clerics table with Fr Roy Doxsey and Fr Paul Bigmore, who was telling us about the launch next month of the fourth compendium of hymns he's written and published. Roy has been retired eight years, but Paul had to take early retirement after a stroke greatly limited his mobility. He's mostly confined to his apartment on Fitzhamon Embankment nowadays and unable to minister publicly, so he pours all his creative energy into hymn writing. It's so good that he was able to come.

Choral Evensong from St David's Cathedral started on the radio as I was driving home. The Collect for Peace and the Blessing were said in Welsh, which was very pleasing. I would have liked to hear a bit more in Welsh, but suppose the BBC barons would be averse to this as it's nationally networked. At least we in the Church in Wales have this expression of ancient diversity, being constitutionally bi-lingual, and with our first translation of the Book of Common Prayer dating from shortly after 1662, along with the French version, the earliest renderings of reformation vernacular liturgy.

I listened to the first half in the car and the second half at home. It was gone five by the time I went out to walk off that generous lunch, as I fell asleep for an hour in the chair after the service finished. After supper, there was a two hour programme on BBC Four about the history of artist's self-portraiture from the Renaissance to present times. It was absorbing watching for the range of paintings shown, described and interpreted by art historian Laura Cummings. 

I was glad to spend time looking and listening to an expert whose insight in the personalities and spirit of an era in which personal individuality evolved and flourished was most worthwhile. Clare thought the content could have been packed into an hour long programme, but she was conflicted about such a long watch as she'd just embarked on a tricky sewing project to turn a set of four armchair covers inside out to improve the colour match.

After the programme, I completed and uploaded to YouTube this week's Thursday Office and Reflection. The time taken to put visuals together with the completed audio is reducing thankfully, the more I do this. The habit of regular video production is improving my ability to judge timings between the visual elements. Sure, I could plan properly by doing a paper time-line and stop-watch components of the audio, but that seems like such an effort. Real life event timing is not nearly as mechanical. It has a feel to it, just like playing something on a musical instrument. Now I get all the components roughly in place and play with what I see and hear until it feels right. Somehow that's much more rewarding than trying to engineer the product.

Beyond credibility

It was one degree when I woke up this morning and overcast. By the time I'd had breakfast and prayed my way through Matins and the Eucharist on my own, light snow was starting to fall, so I went for a walk and took some photos. It wasn't cold enough for the snow to stick for long, but it looked pretty and it was such a delightful change to walk in. The parks were very busy with people looking more cheerful than usual, enjoying the respite from the seemingly endless rain we've had all through January. 

By mid afternoon, when I went out again snow had become light drizzle and though the temperature had only gone up two degrees it felt even chillier. While I walked, I listened to Choral Evensong on my phone with the BBC Sounds app. BBC live outside broadcasts have continued since the first on 7th October 1926 and is the longest live outside broadcast series running.  The pandemic has disrupted but not put an end to this tradition. They are now fewer and further between for health and safety if not logistical reasons. Recourse is made to the Beeb's vast archive of recorded services. Today it was a service recorded in St Paul's Cathedral on 26th January 2015. It's not the same as having the actual liturgy of the day - a bit like having yesterday's toast you might say, like all re-runs of recorded worship services. It makes Choral Evensong, more a sacred concert, but it'll do. 

The quality of the recording from St Paul's was exceptionally good. The audio recording infrastructure may be a permanent feature which the Beeb attaches to its network. There's a long echo to contend with, but the microphones are well positioned for maximum clarity. I could hear clearly the words of both the Psalms and Canticles sung, and the hear the echo during the pauses in the chant. From some Cathedrals the sound is muddy or distant due to the building acoustic and microphone positioning. So this service was an audio treat, and I found it was easy to pray along with as I walked without distraction away from traffic. It's amazing how the noise of car tyres on the road swamps the sound emitting from a pair of headphones. We're used to this, our brains filter it out, what a waste of energy. When lock-down greatly restricted all road and air traffic, many people commented on how peaceful the world became. It doesn't take long for the noise to return. Such a pity.

I whiled away the late afternoon watching the rest of the Norwegian 'Monster' crimmie. I'm still trying to figure out who murdered whom and what the relationship was between the fundamentalist Christian sect and an esoteric nature cult. They don't call it a 'mystery' for nothing, but my main criticism was the reality of some of its scenes. Two mildly obese sexegenarian men tumble out of a sauna naked and fight on snow packed ground until they knock each other out or faint with exhaustion. Night passes and at least one of them is alive enough to get in his car naked and drive himself to hospital where he's put into intensive care and lives to tell the tale. Frostbite? Thermal shock or Hypothermia surely? No evidence. 

Then two women fight on the surf at the edge of the sea, and get soaking wet. One of them walks into the ocean, and when the other realises she walks back into the sea fully clad in cold soaked clothing looking to rescue the other. She's as skinny as a rake, and not shivering or teeth chattering. Then there's the cop who tampers twice with evidence to avoid sanction for drug taking and an accidental shooting, entering a forensic lab and later a morgue undetected, both unlocked and not covered by CCTV. All ridiculous. If there is a second series. the only reason to watch it would be to see how many more totally implausible scenes there are, and pour scorn on.

Then, after supper more proper telly drama with David Attenborough's essays on threats to our planet from climate change, and another episode of the slightly bizarre bereavement drama verging on sitcom 'Finding Alice'. That's rather an overdose of TV. I was four months without telly in Ibiza and didn't miss it. Perhaps I should give it up for Lent.

Retirement Deferred

A chilly morning, with clouds and sunshine. On the way to St Catherine's midweek Eucharist, I called at the surgery and picked up my prescription and took it to the chemist's opposite. There were a dozen of us for the service, in which we commemorated the 16th century Anglican priest poet John Donne. Mother Frances read us his sonnet beginning 'Batter my heart three person'd God', a nice touch.

After lunch I went and collected this week's organic veggie bag from a new pickup point in Conway Road which replaces the one in Chapter Arts Centre. It's out of use for a while as it's located in an enclosed outdoor area no longer directly accessible from the Chapter car park. Another pandemic casualty. It's only recently Chapter has been able to open at all, and thenonly in a limited way. It's a disaster economically and socially, as it's much used as a community eating and meeting place as well as for cultural activities. 

Then I went for a walk around Llandaff Fields and down to the weir, where I took a couple of photos of a heron stretching its wings on one of the long reefs of stone in the middle of the river. As they were about forty metres away from me, I had to use almost full telephoto reach with my little Sony HX90, and was surprised they both came out with negligible motion blur. Sometimes you just get lucky! 

When I got back, the clock told me that the regular Wednesday choral Evensong was still running, but three quarters completed. I listened on BBC sounds, as it allows you to roll back to the beginning. A very traditional service with some modern musical settings of the responses and canticles. The Old Testament lesson was beautifully read by a young man with a north country accent. This really suited the use of the King James Version of the Biblical text. The second was equally beautifully read by a young woman with a gentle rural Ulster accent. The service came live from Clare College Cambridge, so live that a very loud fire alarm went of for 15 seconds during the lesson. She continued reading perfectly without any lapse of concentration as if nothing had happened. Very impressive.

Mother Frances is away next week, and as both her colleagues are off work at the moment she asked if I could cover the Parish Morning Prayer services on WhatsApp. It's the first week of Advent, so I'll enjoy putting six services of fiver or so minutes duration. I also get to celebrate two of three weekday Masses in the Parish, another unexpected pleasure. I started work on the content this evening, but the delivery is of more concern - how to present a video in a way that isn't annoying or distracting. I'd be a lot happier if it were just audio, but hey ho, another little challenge. Retirement is on hold again, and I'm happy that the op has freed up some energy occupied for too long in keeping low level infection at bay. I have a lot to be thankful for. 

Day of rest

Gail accompanied Clare and I to the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning. It was lovely to be welcomed back so warmly, as it was also to relax and worship in the congregation. I accompanied Gail to Cardiff Central station after the service, in good time for her return train to Worcester, then returned for lunch. We didn't go out for our usual Sunday afternoon walk but siesta'd instead, as we both felt tired. While I lay on the bed I listened to choral evensong on the radio. Rest is good for my recovery I hope. Each day brings small improvements as the course of penicillin continues. It seems, from checking, that my blood pressure is reducing to what the medics consider 'normal', which is unexpected. Perhaps it's I have nothing to do but relax and get well again at the moment. 

In the evening, we watched the fifth episode of 'Bodyguard'. It's clear a multi-layered conspiracy is afoot in the storyline, but there are few clues so far about the author and extent of it. Next week is the final episode, when all will be revealed - unless much is revealed though not all, to pave the way for a series two. There's been quite a lot of this in TV movies these past few years. It's disappointing not to have plot closure. Another series with the same scenario and dramatis personae would be fine but a completely rounded conclusion to the story is, to my mind, preferable.

  

No subtitles on radio

Saturday morning, I drove to Kenilworth to look after Rhiannon, while Kath and Anto went to do a gig with their band 'Sonrisa' down in Hampshire, driving home in the early hours of the morning. Rhiannon received Monopoly among her Christmas gifts and is now a keen player, so we spent the afternoon playing the game. After supper of fish and chips we watched a TV game show and several episodes of 'Last of the Summer Wine', contentedly snuggled up on the sofa together, while she constructed virtual houses on her iPad. Clare emailed to say she's been given a date for her shoulder operation at last, the 26th February. Now we can start planning ahead once more.

Today, on a cold and frosty morning, I walked to the eight o'clock Communion service at St Nicholas' Parish Church. Since I was last here a fortnight ago, snowdrops have come out fully in the churchyard, pristine white in early light.

It's not a good photo, as it's taken with my phone which only performs decently in good lighting conditions, but it gives an impression.

After breakfast, Rhiannon and I played Monopoly again for a couple of hours, then I drove home with the sun in my face, listening to Choral Evensong from St Paul's Cathedral on Radio Three, with an amazing, hard to sing contemporary setting of the Latin Magnificat text by Giles Swayne. All well and good, but the complexity of the music made the words hard to hear and understand.

I rejoice in the creative adventure that is a feature of 20th and 21st century church music. I love the fact that we can use Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, French and various kinds of English in our acts of worship, but there's still a streak of reformation soul in me that wants things to be understood in our mother tongue as well. Not least for the sake of those hearing these texts being sung for the first time.  A broadcast on TV or the web could stream a readable text easily enough. With Radio music there are no subtitles. Now there's a challenge!

We watched an interesting late evening programme called 'Finding Shakespeare' in which Lenny Henry spoke about discovering Shakespeare in adult life, acting on stage for the first time in 'Othello' and recently in  'Comedy of Errors'. Schooling had left him with the idea that Shakespeare belonged to elitist high-brow culture, not relevant to a working class black kid. As an adult he worked his way over six years through an O.U. degree in English literature, which gave him a different appreciation of texts that were aimed at all levels of people in a mixed society, from this he made his first venture into the world of straight theatre, after the best part of thirty years on the comedy stage. A fascinating insight into the way education has contributed to the stratification of society and culture.
   

Ascensiontide baptism

My first service of this morning was the nine fifteen Mass at St Timothy's in Caerau with Ely Parish. When the server-sacristan was doing the announcements at the end, I was surprised to hear him mention the Dean of Llandaff's resignation, then inviting people to remember her and the Cathedral in prayer. I wondered if this concern is being repeated elsewhere, in with the notices about Christian Aid week collections?

It spent quite a bit of time editing my sermon to make it more concise for the occasion, as I felt that I should be finished and ready to leave in an hour and five minutes with no lingering for a cup of tea. During the week I had a request from Fr Derek Belcher to take a Eucharist and Baptism in Llansannor Parish Church, as the regular retired cleric who helps out there was unavailable. It's nearly a year since I was last out there and I gladly agreed, although a safe gap between services would require no dithering in between. I immediately lost five minutes taking a wrong turn in exiting the housing estate on my way to the main A48 road out of town. There are few places where it's possible to do this, and I was annoyed at the error. The rest of the journey was unhindered, however and I arrived at ten to eleven, with plenty of time to get organised.

There were thrice the normal congregation numbers present. A grandson of the church warden Dr J.P.R. Williams was being baptised. The people sang well and were responsive participants in the liturgy, with 32 people receiving communion. After Communion, I offered a thankgiving prayer for the Ruby Wedding Anniversary of Drs John and Cilla, which coincided with the chosen baptism date. Fr Derek tipped me off with an email sent yesterday after midnight, which I looked as just before setting out from home. It meant I could print off a copy of something appropriate from my archive to take with me. His 'just in case' phone call arrived as I was sitting listening to the 9.00am news outside St Tim's. I was pleased to report that I was ready for the occasion, if only due to timing luck.

After a brief visit to the Williams' household not far from the church, I was on my way home for a late lunch and an afternoon home alone to recover, as Clare went over to Bristol for her monthly study group. While I was writing, I tuned in to an Ascensiontide BBC Choral Evensong, from St John's College Cambridge. A Latin polyphonic Magificat and plainsong Nunc Dimittis, then for the Anthem, Bach's Ascensiontide Cantata with orchestral support, and lots of familiar tunes. Such a musical delight.

It also meant I could sit and watch without reproach the ridiculously naff horror disaster movie remake of 'Godzilla' with all its hyper-real computer graphics animation. The script was so bad it failed to convey any sense of the sheer trauma of a cataclysmic event. Disgracefully, it made reference to the events of 9/11. How much more chilling was the raw film footage of reality, shown on TV last evening, as opposed to that of a fantasy disaster. Entertaining only for bad movie fans. The original Japanese version was also a bad film with added hilarity. You could see and laugh at puppetry strings attached to the monster in some scenes. I can't imagine paying to see the re-make in a movie theatre, though I think I saw the original as a teenager.