Something completely different to watch

It was a cold night until first light, then the air temperature rose from near zero to ten degrees, and I had to discard the extra blanket in order to be comfortably warm, not overheated. Overcast cloud again all day, however. After breakfast I made a video slide show to go with the podcast interview, so I could upload it to YouTube for posting on the Daily Prayer WhatsApp thread. I thought the visuals could help to make the content more recognisable. There may be more useful podcast hosting sites which I've yet to discover, but I'm not thinking of wider circulation, just the target user group in the Ministry Area. We'll see how it goes.

There was a coffee morning at St John's, so I went there and had soup, sausage rolls and a mince pie for lunch. Clare had already gone to the Fountain School Christmas Fayre in Llandaff North, and got back from there, just as I was setting out for my walk in the park. When I got back Clare was busy baking cake and then moved on to making mince pies ready for our four day rural Christmas holiday party. I scanned two more folders of negatives. One was from a hike up the mountain behind La Baume in Haute Savoie in 1997, and the other from a holiday locum in Howarth, Bronte Country in 1985, when it rained a lot, though we did have a few fair days to judge by the photos I took of a walk alongside the Leeds to Liverpool Canal.

I made supper early, as I was feeling really hungry after a snack lunch - mussels with brown rice and peas. Then I edited the scanned photos and uploaded them. Looking for something to watch to finish the day, I found a BBC Four drama series called 'Lykkeland' or 'State of Happiness in English, telling the story of the birth of the Norwegian Oil industry in the 1980's, and how this transformed the country's economy.  

There are three series in twenty four episodes. Having been predominantly a port with canning fish as its key industry Stavanger became its oil capital. The story of its development is told from the standpoint of locals and American oil prospectors, family domestic drama and the dangerous world of heavy industry meet. It's a superbly acted immaculately portrayed period piece about life before the internet at a time when huge upheavals are about to take place at every level of society affecting individuals differently. Is it the Scandinavian equivalent of Dallas? Maybe not. It has a solid historical basis, even if character driven story-lines are fictional. It's so different from your usual Scandi-Noir crimmies. I look forward to the other twenty two episodes there are to watch in weeks to come.

Stirring early for Christmas

Another long night's sleep. Overnight rain, but warmer and clouds slowly displaced by sunshine as the day went on. We had pancakes for breakfast, then I worked on tomorrow's sermon. Coincidentally the Gospel is Matthew's version of Jesus' encounter with the Syro-Phoenician woman and the same story from Mark's Gospel is the lesson at Morning Prayer a week Thursday. Small differences between the versions made it interesting to work with, so I ended up preparing a reflection on Mark's text and a sermon on Matthew's, even though it took me a lot longer than usual.

While I was working, Clare filled the house with the aroma of brandy and spices, as she made Christmas puddings and steamed them. She called me away from the computer to help stir the mixture. A welcome pleasure. It's another three months until 'Stir-up Sunday', but this is a good time of year to allow extra time for maturing them in time for this coming Christmas Day. Once they were cooking nicely, I got to work on cooking us lunch.

Recently I've exchanged messages with Rhiannon on Instagram about her Italian train trip, reminiscing about our first continental train journey from London to Brindisi on the way to Greece by ferry boat, back in 1967. Three years ago I transcribed our travel diary from that adventure. I've just emailed it to her, as she's expressed interest in reading it, now she has her own experience to put alongside it.

I finished writing at four and went for a walk. While I was out in the park I had a WhatsApp video call from my sister June, using her tablet. I installed it for her ages ago but she never really understood how it works. Today, Kath drove down to visit her and gave her some computer coaching. I suspect she's much better than me at doing this, as she's been training to work with elderly people in the field of movement and dance in recent years. It was great to see the two of them together, enjoying each other's company.

After supper we watched a movie on BBC Four called 'Radiation', telling the life story of Marie and Pierre Curie, and their scientific discoveries that transformed medicine during their time and long after, but also spotlighted the consequences of the development of nuclear weapons and the danger inherent in nuclear power in vignettes of a future unforeseen by them. Fin de siècle chemistry laboratory work, when almost everything had to be done manually, was well portrayed, reminding me of my time as a science student, before electronic analytic technologies taken for granted today became tools in common use. How much the world of science has changed since then!

Unexpected indoor slip

The alarm got me out of bed at seven fifteen and walking to St Catherine's by half past seven. I expected the ground to be icy, but not wet and slushy. It seems there was a heavy downpour in the night flooding the drains, with a spell of drizzle as it tailed off, turning to sleet and then a light flurry of snow, coating gardens and parked cars. Quite a surprise. There were only five of us for the service, half the usual early Communion congregation. 

Back home for breakfast, then a drive across town to St German's for the eleven o'clock Solemn Mass. Twenty of us instead of the usual thirty. I will miss being here for Christmas. Bless them, they gave me a lovely bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape for a Christmas present.

The road home across town skirting the city centre was far less congested than last Sunday so I was home by one. My lunch was waiting for me, but Clare had gone for a siesta, bearing in mind the demands of the afternoon. We left at two for the drive to Llantwit Major, collecting Mother Frances from the Rectory on the way. I was grateful the air temperature was 3C and the roads ice free. They stayed that way when we drove home in the dark later.

By ten to three all the Fountain Choir singers were in place, attending to lighting and taking a quick run through of some of the pieces, in a warm up session. Then at half past three an audience began to gather. Around a hundred people altogether. Filling the nave. Anna talked them through each of the pieces before we sang, and then we gave it our best effort. It was a spirited performance, flawed by minor errors which Anna and singers may have spotted, but hopefully few of the audience.

Welcoming us at the end of the concert was Philip Morris, retired Archdeacon of Margam, attending with his wife Sheila, a couple we've known for more than fifty years, since I was in St Mike's, when we got to know his parents. Clare taught him English in Whitchurch High, during her first teaching job. They live now in Llantwit and he helps out as I do, most Sundays. He was standing in for Edwin Counsell, Rector, but as a choral music fan would have come anyway. He said it was the first concert of fourteenth century in Llanilltud Fawr anyone could recall. Music from the same century in which the church in its present form was re-built. Our audience was most appreciative which pleased us all. Next Sunday we're singing in St Catherine's, but will there be quite such a good audience I wonder?

We got home at twenty to seven. Before we ate, I had a belated bereavement phone call to make, which I did upstairs. Clare called me down and as I neared the bottom, slipped on the last but one step and my back leg caught on the third step twisting my leg and ankle up behind me. Agony overnight but pain slow to recede. Luckily nothing is broken or torn,  dislocation avoided, and it can bear weight but free movement hurts, so I'm laid up with an aching ankle. I think I'll be limping for a while once I get moving.

While laid up after supper with a foot bandage, an ice pack and a glass of wine, I watch a full length performance of Schubert's 24 song 'Winterreise' cycle on BBC Four. Two youngish musicians Baritone Benjamin Appl and pianist James Baillieu  perform in a pop-up theatre on top of the 2,250 m Julier Pass in the Swiss Engadine, built as a temporary structure for a series of summer festivals. It cannot be used in winter for public performances due to snow, but the recital was filmed in and around the place, with the singer role playing Schubert walking in the snowy wastes in between indoor shots. An unusual arty music video lasting 90 mins, with a few clips of musicians talking with shining eyes. A lovely distraction from the unpleasant discomfort of my twisted ankle. 

Egyptology comes alive.

Another rainy start to the day. Monday housework after breakfast. While trying to decide what to do with the rest of the day, Clare had a call from Kay Saunders, saying she had an appointment cancelled and was able to fit her in, early afternoon. I cooked pasta for lunch, then we drove to Newport. While Clare had her treatment, I went for a walk in Beechwood Park nearby. 

Unfortunately I slipped on a grassy slope which looked more stable than it was and pulled a muscle in my upper right leg. It hurt but the injury wasn't so bad that I couldn't walk. I ended on my back and jarred my hip joint. My rain jacket and trousers were covered in mud generated by my slide.  I limped to the cafe nearby, cleaned up, had a coffee and rang Kay while I recovered my composure. 

When I got back to Kay's place, she examined me and set my pelvis right. Fortunately my knee and ankle joint escaped injury, only my right quad muscle was over stretched and painful. I was truly grateful to be able to have this injury examined straightaway and reassured that I hadn't done anything really serious. It reminded me of leaving Mallorca to take the ferry to Ibiza in March 2020, when I did a similar slope slide on a greasy pavement and injured my left thigh, which still bears the marks, though I don't remember that it hurt much at the time. Hopefully I'll recover from this with the passage of time, but it was a shock right out of the blue, and could have been really life-changing. Such random occurrences can happen even when you're totally prepared and being very careful. Real life intrudes on the most careful plans laid.

We drove home, then I went to the shops, as there were a few things I hoped to buy on our way home, to see if I could walk without too much pain or loss of movement. The important thing however was a dose of arnica, pills and ointment rubbed into the thigh. I coped, but rested as much as I could afterwards. 

After supper I watched a programme on BBC Four called 'Eternal Egypt' one in a series telling the story of Egyptian civilisation in a way that interpreted the Egyptian dynasties' own historical record written on its walls and monuments in hieroglyphs. It was presented by Egyptologist Joanne Fletcher, visiting professor of Archaology at York University. It was wonderful to see her narration accompanied by annotated images of hieroglyphs highlighted when referred to in her narration. Not only that but her visits to sites rarely seen by the average tourist, plus stunning photography. In her hands the four thousand year history of ancient Egypt came alive as if she was reporting on current political and social events in today's world. I now need to watch episode one on iPlayer. Then I watched another packed puzzling episode of 'The Blacklist' and turned in early.

Singing in Llanilltud Fawr

A pancake breakfast this morning, then a drive to Llantwit Major for a choir rehearsal in St Illtud's Parish Church, the fifth century cradle of Christian mission in South Wales. It must be twenty years since I last visited, and much has changed. The delapidated Galilee Chapel at the west end of the building has been splendidly renovated and developed as a modern visitor centre. It still houses its collection of ancient Celtic crosses, but in an enhanced well lit setting. My photos are here,

We practiced some pretty challenging music for three hours, then went for a pub lunch at the nearby Old Swan pub, then drove home. I had a few things to obtain for my sister and went into town after returning. After supper, I printed tomorrow's two sermons and then we watched a double episode 'KaDeWe' on BBC Four, a serialised story with German subtitles about Germany after the World War One, and the rise of the Nazis and anti-semitism. 

The episodes were, to my mind overloaded with fairly explicit sex scenes which added little to the advancement of the story. I didn't much see the point of this, except to delight voyeurs in the audience. Curiously background street scenes, slightly out of focus, were of modern Berlin, with the actors in the foreground. I wasn't sure what the point of this was, apart from huge savings in period piece vehicle and film extra costume hire. It other respects it wasn't a low budget movie.

Op delayed

If left early for St Catherine's this morning as I had to open up the church and prepare to celebrate the Eucharist without the support of Clive whose away this week in St David's. There were only three of us today. Two thirds of the regulars were also away as well. I was glad there were a couple of people there, as the feast of St Matthew the Evangelist is special to me, as I was ordained Deacon and Priest in the two days beforehand in different years. No coffee and chat this morning, so I came home, has a coffee and then went collect this week's veggie bag.

After lunch I worked for a couple of hours on next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection for Michaelmas Day, then went to the Co-op for this week's grocery shopping. Then I had a phone call from St Joseph's hospital to say that tomorrow's cataract op is postponed as surgeon Andrew is off sick. Clare heard at the meditation group last night that he was absent because he was unwell, so I wasn't surprised at the news, only disappointed that I have to wait another month. 

The new date I've been given is 20th October, right in the middle of our Gower holiday with Ann. I have to drive back the evening before as the appointment is at 7.00 on Thursday morning. I'm not sure I'll be recovered enough to return and drive them home on Saturday, so unfortunately they'll have to return to Cardiff by train. I called Martin. He and Chris will give me a bed on Wednesday and Thursday nights and ferry me to and from the hospital. It's fortunate they only live a few miles from St Joseph's.

Clare went to a Pilates class at six and returned in time for supper and 'The Archers'. Afterwards I watched a Physics programme about the part played by temperature in making the universe, called 'Ice and Fire'. A lot of information, perhaps a bit too much was packed into an hour on the physics of low temperature. It was presented Dr Helen Czerski. Her enthusiastic style reminded me of Brian Cox. Then there was a programme about the history of the Second World War and how interpretation of its events has changed over decades in the light new historical research. Also interesting to watch. Altogether an educational rather than entertaining evening.

Need for order

I woke up at dawn and posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp an hour earlier than usual.  After breakfast I went to Carrefour to re-stock food items we'd used while Clare did her physio exercises and then went for a swim. By the time she returned from the pool I'd made progress in cooking our lunch.

Patricia sent me a message about the possibility of using the office computer for the Powerpoint slides at Sunday worship. I've not used it, as I discovered early on that its set-up and updating process had stalled. As it was going to be needed at some point soon, I took another look at it. Three hours of the afternoon later it had finished the process and was running as smoothly as was possible for a twelve year old laptop running Windows 10. Its version of MS Office is still unregistered, and its OneDrive account inaccessible or simply unused, but it runs Powerpoint presentations properly, even if it's a bit slow getting to the point where it can.

I realise that some of the problems I've had about finding relevant information since I've been here are due to it not being accessible how I expect it to be. The chaplaincy handbook, wedding and baptism register weren't in designated places. There's no compendium of information about the household. It's all there, but in piecemeal fashion. Loads of detailed directory information about who does what, displayed in a small print paper file pinned to a notice board, hard for me to read at the moment. 

None of this  information could I find available on the chaplain's computer. For someone unfamiliar with the setup arriving, with few people to ask and get explanations from, while getting on with the job, this has made life difficult. It would have helped if the study had been tidy and everything put away in the designated place. I didn't realise that the first thing I needed to do at the outset was tidy up. So much chaplaincy business is now conducted on-line that ordering the workspace, including a functional office computer is still desirable. This may have been no problem for returning locum clergy, but coming in from scratch is another matter. I've enjoyed the work challenges, but understand now why it's all felt so precarious on times.

We went for a walk on the senda litoral before supper. I watched a classic movie on BBC Four called Witness for the Prosecution, a classic British 1957 courtroom drama with remarkable twists at the end, starring Marlene Dietrich, Charles Laughton and Tyrone Power. Great entertainment, like going to the theatre.

Closure

I woke up at half past six but fell asleep again until half past eight this morning, when I posed today's link to Morning Prayer on WhatsApp. After breakfast I left early for church to shop for food bank items on my way to St John's for the Eucharist, together with nine others. 

Ashley and I arranged to meet following a appointment of his at St David's hospital. We met and walked to the Saffron Cafe at Canton Cross, where he had a very late breakfast after a fasting blood test, and I had a cup of coffee. It's the first time I've been in there. It was quite busy, but the lady in charge was very welcoming, and it didn't take long for Ashley to get served, so we had three quarters of an hour together to talk about finally clearing the CBS office, now the business is wound up and the place must be vacated. Then I returned home for lunch.

To my surprise, considering that I had a a full night's sleep, I slept for another hour in the chair after doing my DuoLingo Spanish exercise of the day. I suppose I must need the extra sleep to make up for nights when my sleep is more broken. Then, a walk around Llandaff Fields before supper. 

Later in the evening, after I'd finished and printed my service sheet for tomorrow's funeral, we watched 'The African Queen', that classic movie from 1951 with Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn. I recalled from when I saw it in my teens that it was a drama set in colonial Africa, but had forgotten that it was essentially a romantic comedy adventure. Very much a period piece, but entertaining all the same.

Off course

I didn't think that I could get myself functional early enough to drive Clare to the singing workshop at Ewenny Priory by ten, and singing is out of the question with my vocal cords so congested with catarrh, so she secured a lift with another singer instead. I woke up feeling somewhat better, but grateful that I didn't need to get up and go quite so early. After breakfast, I took the bus into town to see if the photo exhibition was open. Apparently it did open last evening, and the vernissage seems to have been a success, from the talk I overheard about sales of photobooks yesterday.

The exhibition was quirkily entitled 'Packed Lunch' a reference to the choices individual artists make to sustain them in their work - I think. Two dozen documentary photographers  exhibiting a selection of work on their chosen final year project theme. You were meant to figure out from an artist's collection title what story each was telling. In some cases the subject matter made this clear, in others it was too obscure for me to figure out. There's a Packed Lunch website introducing the artists and their ideas with a 20 minute video of interviews in which many of them mumble nervously to camera. A full gallery of photos will appear at the end of the week for which the exhibition runs.

I returned home and set off just at the right time for Ewenny, to rendezvous with Clare. Unfortunately in haste I failed to confirm to myself that I knew the route, took a wrong turning, and ended up in Llantwit Major, so I had to back track across country and arrived very late indeed, arriving three quarters of an hour late. The phone signal deep in the Vale of Glamorgan is poor in some places, and the satnav app on my phone seemed unable to update properly, causing even more confusion. 

Needless to say, Clare was upset as the delay made her worry that I might have had an accident. I still can't figure out why my mental map of the Vale let me down so badly. It's not as if I haven't been to Ewenny before, but even when I go there I took a wrong turning for the Priory. The brown tourist signs are there, but small and discreet not easy to spot. It was three by the time we reached home and had lunch.

After a short late siesta and a walk in the park, taking photos of the cricket matches being played, we had savoury pancakes for supper for a change, rather than sweet ones for breakfast. Then I watched a film on BBC Four about Tove Janssen, creator of the cartoon characters The Moomins and their surreal world. The woman who played her part looked remarkably like Tove did in her youth. 

She was an immensely gifted person, painter, cartoonist, children's story teller and playwright, and the story told was about her inspirations and intense love life as a woman for whom guilt free sex with women or men didn't bring the stability of mutual loving devotion she craved until relatively late in life. She struggled with the question of which of her talents to concentrate on, until she was finally able to give herself permission to be good at several things.

Partygate reported

I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. There were nine of us present. Mother Frances told us about the life of St Bede and his importance to people in the North East of England. She showed us pictures of pages in the Lindisfarne Gospels, which date from Bede's time, and over coffee afterwards revealed that her PhD study had been on these Gospel books.

When I got back I prepared the text for next week's Morning Prayer, ready for recording, and then cooked lunch. After eating I wrote a reflection on the Gerasene demoniac, remembering as I wrote, the trip Clare and I made to Jerash with Frank Dall back in 1998. 

Then I went and collected this week's grocery order from Beanfreaks, and made a separate trip to buy our weekly food bank donation and leave it at St John's. Jobs done, I went for a walk in the park listening to the five o'clock news on my phone. Finally the Sue Gray report investigating goings on in the offices at 10 Downing Street has been released today, strongly criticising the behaviour of politicians and government staff for ignoring lockdown rules. 

Boris Johnson ate humble pie before Parliament again, but shows no sign of resigning. It remains to be seen if the Tory party decide whether or not to believe that he misled Parliament and remove him. A cross party standards committee is also considering the same issue, and if it decided against him and the Tories didn't, that could further damage their prospects of re-election.

This evening, I watched 'The Repair Shop' again, and then there was a lovely documentary on BBC Four about a hermit who lives beside Loch Treig in highland Scotland. Perhaps he's the last of his kind in Britain. He's lived completely off grid for nearly forty years, foraging, fishing and catching rabbits for food. He makes a day's walk into Fort William for other supplies as there's no road to the lake for anything to be delivered. He keeps a detailed journal of every aspect of his life, having got into the habit of writing as a child, and corresponds with people he's met throughout his life and earlier travels. He also takes beautiful landscape and nature photos using a vintage Zenith SLR. 

He was persuaded to have a satellite linked alarm for emergencies, and when he had a stroke he had to be helicoptered to hospital. Since recovering he returned to his log cabin and now checks in weekly, but wonder if he will be able to live out the rest of his days in the wilderness he loves. He's even been visited by a priest whom he requested to come and bless the piece of ground where he wants to be laid to rest. From what he said about his early life, I reckon he's the same age as us.  An amazing story.

Cricket lovely cricket

As Clare's back pain is happily diminishing at last, I proposed a trip to Dyffryn Gardens at breakfast this morning. By eleven we were on our way there, and the weather was just right. All the trees are now in full leaf and the arboretum with all its colourful diversity looks magnificent. Since our last visit in January this year, more work has been done on sections of the garden, and they too are full of colour. I took over sixty photos. You can see them here.

There are some sections that are closed off and left fallow with plants that will fix nitrogen in the soil and help to loosen it after years of compaction. The healthier the soil becomes, the less prone it will be to harbouring pests and colonising weeds that spread in poor exhausted ground. This way, soil can be regenerated without using fertiliser and readied for re-planting with flowers and bushes after two years of rest. It's much more wholesome process than using manufacture fertiliser and weed killer. We stayed until lunchtime, had a drink and a snack and then came home so that Clare could rest.

Then I went for a walk around Llandaff Fields. Three cricket matches were going on at the same time, and yesterday evening when I was out, the practice nets were occupied, and there was a large group of children on the adjacent pitch being taught how to play cricket by several adults. It's wonderful to see such enthusiasm for the amateur game.

In his gastro-tourist series of programme, Rick Stein was in Cadiz tonight, an amazing ancient city on the Atlantic facing section of coastal Spain, said to have been founded by the Phoenicians some three thousand years ago. It was all about the seafood dishes made possible by the diversity of fish caught and landed there. Some of the recipes he extolled I think I could make from memory. It's an hour and a half journey to get there from Estepona, so who knows, I may be able to visit there while I'm on locum duty. I told my friend Roy Thomas who now lives in Madrid about my forthcoming sojourn in Spain and he's promising to come and visit me, We were nearer to each other when I was in Ibiza and he in Alicante, but lock-down prevented us from getting together.

After this, another episode of Swedish crimmie 'Beck' about a hostage situation in a TV studio involving Alex, Beck's deputy chief. Although his murder squad team was ordered not get involved in the situation their behind-the-scenes swift researching of facts about people involved prevented a massacre even through it still ended tragically. A successful resolution marred by a failure, and as Alex says at the very end, it's the failures that haunt you. That makes sense to me.

Prince of Muck

Another warm and sunny Spring day with occasional showers. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning with eight of us present. During the day I exchanged emails with chaplaincy representatives in the Costa del Sol, sorting out flight reimbursements and briefing me about Sunday services. There was the veggie bag to collect before making lunch and the Beanfreaks grocery order to collect afterwards with only a short walk around the park late afternoon.

In the evening I watched this weeks edition of 'The Repair Shop' containing a significant item for the team to restore - an ornate Jewish prayer book which had survived. along with its owner, the horrors of the nazi concentration camp at Treblinka. The flyleaf contained the signatures of all who came out alive when it was liberated, such a powerful and cherished family heirloom. The moments of handover of cherished family mementos are often moving occasions, but this one, exceptionally so. Members of the team were equally moved at the response of its owner and the privilege they'd shared in helping conserve a historical document of such significance.

Then a documentary film called 'Prince of Muck' about the Laird of the Hebridean island of Muck, a man in his mid-seventies called Lawrence McEwan, whose great grandfather bought the island which Lawrence inherited over fifty years ago. His life's work has been dedicated to continuing the island's traditional way of life, while accepting technical innovations that improve life for everyone and encourage inhabitants to stay, or if they do go away, to return. 

His son now runs the family farm, but he still has his own small herd of free ranging cattle and looks after them himself. Being a life-long diarist, he read to camera from his journals over the years, and reflected on the changes he's seen in his life while he went on his daily round of chores. He took us to the graveyard where he wishes to be buried alongside other islanders, not in the Laird's exclusive islet Viking burial ground. "There are no walls or fences here." he explained. "My cattle will be able to visit me and walk on my grave."

It was a beautifully made film about a beautiful place and an old man at the end of his days, bearded, bent over, using walking sticks, remembering with love all that mattered most to him. If found that as a contemporary of his, it was easy to identify with him. When the credits ran at the end, it announced that he'd died just before it was shown on BBC Four. I wonder if he saw the finished product and approved of it? 

Covid limbo

Clare was up before me testing herself this morning, and announced that she'd woken up snuffling and had just tested positive for covid-19. No question of an outing to Llantwit Major for a singing workshop this morning. I did a test and had a negative result. We'll both have to quarantine for the coming week, and there's no question of me celebrating Mass at St German's tomorrow, so I contacted Fr Stewart immediately to give him the bad news. Fortunately, Fr Irving from St Martin's was able to step in, which is a relief for me.

We have to think about how we co-exist while I wait to see if I'm going to catch it.  Everything separate, towels dishes, bathrooms and lots of sanitizer - a special visit to stock up was necessary. I'll have to cook and serve all the meals - not a problem. If I catch it, there's just enough time to return a negative Lateral Flow test before I'm due to have my pre-op PCR test unless I am unlucky and recovery is prolonged. As long as I take proper precautions, I can go out to the shops and walk in the park. I have no assignments in the coming week other than tomorrow, so it's a question of riding it out, doing as little as possible and taking no risks for the sake of others.

When I went out to buy sanitizer I walked down Severn Road as I often do. There's a corner shop which was home to a heating boiler business which closed some years ago. For at least the past three years, the burglar alarm inside the property has sounded continuously around the clock. It's noticeable outside, but not terribly loud. The side gate to the property got kicked in years ago and the back part looks run down. When I passed by today, I noticed something different from previously. The front garden was filled with detritus, perhaps from from clearing the interior. As I walked away, I realised the alarm was no longer sounding. Were the inhabitants next door in the terrace not bothered by the noise coming through the party wall? A business probably collapsed, and whoever ran it may well have left without adding the alarm security code to the building's ownership documents. Amazing that it had taken so long to silence.

We encountered another building mystery yesterday. Number eleven has been empty since Liz moved to Minchinhampton six months ago. The house went on the market and was snapped up within days. Then it was put back on the market again, and again. A handyman was in the garden repairing the gate which had blown down. He told Clare that three purchasers had pulled out, due to structural concerns about the stability of the ground. 

Houses in this area were erected on the layer of ashlar and clay that formed the Cardiff flood plain. The building of the Barrage changed not only flooding risk, but also the water table, and that potentially affects ground stability. The Edwardian sewers in this area are not as stable as they once were and slowly collapse inwards on themselves, so the streets suffer from potholes which need to be filled in from time to time. Not sinkholes, thankfully! So what's happened next door I wonder? Is it something that could affect adjacent properties like ours? If so, I think we'd know by now. 

There are no significant cracks in any of our walls or floors, just a crack in a corner of the ceiling where the main wall meets the bay window. Not unusual, nothing to worry about. We have retained the original configuration of rooms in the house. The solid brick partition wall between front and middle rooms next to was removed to create a bigger space. It's got composite wooden floor panels running throughout. It seems the instability may be underneath this flooring. 

When they were built these houses had brick or flagstone floors laid on the clay. In the first round of post-war modernization, these were taken up and replaced by a layer of concrete in each room. What happened when the partition wall was demolished, I wonder? Was the entire length of the double room properly resurfaced, or just the area where the wall stood? The 'modernized' living room would not be as stable a structure as the original, with two concrete platforms jointed where the wall had been. The slightest subsoil movement in front or back would make the whole floor misaligned enough to de-stabilize its wooden surface. 

Just to confirm this would require a costly removal of the wooden floor and a suitable remedy, something not factored into the rather high selling price on which offers were to be made. I daresay it'll be bought by someone with the resources to get the job done for themselves, maybe someone in the building trade. We'll see eventually.

The mild weather this past few days has brought out many more blossoming trees and leaves on some of them. Our damson sapling in the garden has gone from having tiny buds to sprouting leaves, and the two crab apple trees in Llandaff Fields are covered in leaves now, and tiny pink blossoms are emerging. This photo was taken this afternoon.

With so much blossom around I'm more prone to sneezing and runny nose, though not full hay fever. It's a bit disconcerting when the same symptom could equally indicate the presence of covid. That's why the daily Lateral Flow test is important.

This evening I watched the last of the documentaries about the Arctic on BBC Four, and the second episode of 'Hidden'. It's slow going and I confess to finding it a little hard to follow. The Welsh dialogue has English sub-titles which are quite hard to read as the font is smaller than what is conventionally used in TV drama and the display design is different. I watch a lot of subtitled movies and the readability of this one is the exception. I wonder why?

Pain and Glory

Yesterday was so grey and wet, it was such a delight to wake up at sunrise to a bright clear blue sky. Just right to put me into a good mood. We didn't linger late in bed, but got up to enjoy our Saturday pancakes with sunlight streaming into the kitchen. A special pleasure, almost like being on holiday.

Before lunch, we went for a walk around Thomson's Park. Clare's arthritic hip has been playing her up, and I wanted to take it a bit easier today after long walks in the past two days, so we weren't ambitious to go on a long hike today. Sometimes it feels as if old age is biting chunks out of us. But we're not being shot at, bombed and harassed like Ukraine's septuagenarians. How would we cope if we were driven from our homes in a freezing winter?

I had another short walk in the afternoon, then uploaded photos taken over the past few days, and finished off tomorrow's sermon. Gusts of wind sprang up from the west driving in clouds that covered the sky, and then bouts of rain again. It looks as if it's going to be changeable like this for a few days more, but at least it's not wintry cold now.

BBC Four showed Pedro Almodóvar's 2019 movie 'Dolor y Gloria' this evening. Another masterpiece of story telling about an ageing film maker, reconnecting with old friends and remembering his childhood after a long spell of creative dryness and confidence loss due to his physical ailments. It was beautifully made and very moving in the relationships it portrayed. I was amazed at the extent that I understood the Spanish. The accent was Castilian. I've been learning with the Duo Lingo Spanish app for the past seven years, and I believe its lessons use Latin American Spanish pronunciation. So this was the first time for me to listen at length to European Spanish dialogue, with its slightly different rhythms of speech and nuances. It's the first time I've heard the 's' in words pronounced 'sh'. Fascinating.

Stormy weather ahead

A cold and windy day today, but nearly as bad as it has been in Scotland and the North of England where storm force winds have played havoc with power lines. Another big storm front is expected to hit further south tomorrow, bad enough for flood alerts in the Bristol Channel and recommendations for people to stay home and not travel unless they have to in order to minimise the impact on emergency services. This is the shape of things to come thanks to increased violence and frequency of storms as a result of global heating. In effect, government agencies are making an effort to build national resilience in the face of such a change by developing early warning measures.

I went to the Eucharist at St John's this morning. There were just six of us present. I did some writing when I got back, then cooked lunch for us, then went for a walk down to the river. It was very cold again and the water was running high. The wind was strong enough to push me around in between bouts of calm. I heard a Great Tit calling high up in a tree, with another one answering in the distance, I spotted it among the bare branches and took a few photos like this one. 

Then some preparatory work for next week's Morning Prayer upload, and after supper an evening of binge watching Saturday's BBC Four French crimmie, 'La Promesse' since all six episodes are available on iPlayer. It has developed into a tragic family drama, thrown into crisis by a policeman father's over involvement in a case of abduction in his local village, which he promises to solve and fails. His elder daughter becomes a cop and takes up the cold case while investigating another child abduction twenty years later. You have to get used to the story flashing between past and present, a favourite device with French cinéastes I think.

International day

We slept late and then enjoyed our usual Saturday pancake breakfast. I pottered around with my new PC for much of the morning, trying to figure out why it seemed not to accept my Microsoft account identity. Then I stumbled across the correct sequence, calling for the account PIN number after entering a blank enter key press. There's no indication this is what is required to complete the process. I seem to recall that I stumbled across this before when setting up the new laptop, and had forgotten.

After one last check of the little HP mini, I initiated the reset process, a clean wipe and re-installation of Windows 10 from the Cloud. I thought this would be OK to do as we have a faster broadband connection, and thee weren't any glitches downloading and getting started. Even so, the reset process took five hours to complete. How different from a Chromebook Power Wash, which resets the device in two minutes.

Owain arrived at two for a late lunch, and then we watched the Wales v Scotland rugby match on telly. It was an exciting game which Wales just won, thanks to a drop goal. It finished just after the day's Winter Olympic broadcast began - spectacular aerobatic half-pipe snowboarding and down hill racing. We then went out for a walk in the park for an hour before dark, on a drab afternoon, perhaps accentuated by seeing all that snow and blue sky on telly. Then Owain left us to visit friends before returning to Bristol.  

I finished tomorrow's sermon, and delayed printing it out until I we'd watched this evening's new French crimmie on BBC Four, called 'The Promise' set around Bayonne near Biarritz in the beautiful French Basque Country. When it came to printing it out, I had to find and re-install the printer drivers. The operating system had correctly identified the printer and automatically downloaded the right management software to go with it, but didn't automatically look for the drivers to make it work. 

Fortunately the HP desktop app was easy to use and linked to the official download page, from whence it was possible to install the relevant drivers. Installation took ages to complete, so that I wondered if the machine had stalled. It was nearly midnight by the time I could print. At least it's still working well at least ten years since bought it. I should have anticipated this earlier in the day. I could do without this kind of annoyance before bed.

Normal life on hold

We were expecting a painter to arrive this morning at nine, to complete the work on the section of kitchen wall re-plastered to cure rising damp, so Clare got up early to prepare for his arrival. He didn't turn up, and when she called to find out what had happened, he said apologetically that he hadn't realised it was a Bank Holiday Monday when he put the date in his diary. Incredible!

I made a bereavement call to the elderly sister of the deceased in preparation for the funeral I'll be doing of her brother this coming Friday, and drafted an order of service. I can't complete it until I've talked to the social worker who is making arrangements for his aged next of kin, to get a more detailed picture of the deceased. At the moment, I can only get her her voicemail. I guess the new year of normal activity starts tomorrow after a long festive weekend - supposing it will be normal with so many people having to isolate with omicron covid.

Before making lunch, I walked in the park for an hour. The river Taff is still swollen but the tip of a bank of stones in the middle, and another close to the edge emerged as the water level dropped a little. Out in the middle a pair of cormorants were installed, and on the nearer bank a heron was keeping vigil. It's the first time in many weeks I've seen either bird on watch in this part of the river, let alone both at the same time and I took a few photos that captured them both, and narrowly missed a photo of the heron taking off. What I did get was a photo of the heron uncharacteristically crouching low, a fraction of a second before springing upwards into flight.

I fell asleep in the chair for an hour after lunch, something that tends to happen if I've gone to bed later than I need to. Then I took my second hour's walk of the day. As it's a Bank Holiday the streets are quiet. Some sporting events are going on but without crowds in attendance, yet again.

In the evening a re-run of a 2015 edition of 'Fake or Fortune' on BBC Four about the authentication of three paintings by L S Lowry. A fascinating piece of work involving not only letters, photos and art saleroom catalogue entries, but also film footage of the artist being interviewed in the year the painting were alleged to have been made. To the investigators great surprise, two of the paintings under scrutiny could be seen among a batch of paintings awaiting finishing touches in the background of the artist's studio. Great television, this kind of detective story. 

Then a documentary about the life of surrealist master painter Salvador Dali, told by an art historian who  reviewed and made use of excerpts from five decades of movie documentaries and interviews about the artist, to show the complexity of the man and variety of perceptions of different phases of his life's work, so full of contradictions, yet so influential on popular culture. It was pleasing to find that I could understand some of the Spanish spoken in the interview footage, subtitles notwithstanding.

Memorable Musical

This Sunday, the first of the New Year, is the first in the new era of Ministry Areas in Llandaff Diocese, with the historic pastoral area of the parish merged with neighbouring parishes to be 'managed' with a team of clergy assigned to, but not confined to working where they worked before. There is just the one governing council with a few people from each church represented on it, instead of each parish having its own church council. It's not yet clear how the traditional role of church wardens will be exercised, who will be appointed to it or how. Or what the consequences are of abolishing the office. 

It's creating a situation in which fewer lay people have a say in running their church. While it's true that recruiting a full complement of PCC members is more difficult as churches shrink in numbers, that's no reason to remove the opportunity to participate. There's a risk that when members no longer feel they are stakeholders, it'll mean they are less motivated to volunteer for church duties, and a greater burden of responsibility for running local affairs will fall on the clergy. Let's hope I'm wrong about this. I can't honestly pray for success, but can pray it doesn't lead to decline or to hard working clergy being broken by changes wished on them from above.

At St German's this morning baby Abigail was baptized during the Mass. With her parents was her Nan who flew in for the occasion from Amritsar. The couple are here for studies without family or friends to be here with them. Dad was keen to video parts of the service to send to relatives back home. Given the initial uncertainties surrounding new Ministry Area arrangements, it was a real blessing to welcome a new member into the Body of Christ, especially one whose Christian identity is rooted in the Indian sub-continent. Business as usual, in other words.

Covid restrictions have led to the suspension of after service refreshments for the moment, which was a pity as it meant we couldn't celebrate with Abigail's family before going home. But at least it meant I could reach home for lunch by one after getting soaked in a cloudburst walking from the church back door to my car parked at the front.

Afterwards I walked around Thompson's Park and then down to the Taff, listening again to yesterday's New Year concert in Vienna from the podcast I downloaded to my phone. Rain threatened again, but didn't materialise. The weather is changeable and temperatures dropping after a spell of unseasonable mildness. At the top entrance of Pontcanna Fields I found the first snowdrops of the year and the first tender leaf shoots of emerging daffodils in places where I have photographed them in previous years, so very early in the year.

Before supper, Clare and I sat and listened to Jazz CDs, then in the evening watched the new production of the 1936 American musical comedy 'Anything Goes' filmed in London's Barbican. It was delightful, brilliantly conceived and performed with inspiring dance routines and witty comic dialogue. It reminded me of the film of the stage show, one of many musicals watched on black and white TV as a youngster. Happy memories of going to bed as a kid, with the music continuing to play in my head as I fell asleep. The same thing now too.

Sea Sunday

After breakfast we walked up to St Decuman's church for the Bible Sunday Parish Eucharist. This week it was a retired locum priest who celebrated, arriving just as we reached the church after our brisk uphill walk. He was fully vested after celebrating at another church. Instead of the organ, our hymn singing was accompanied by piano and violin, played by older members of the congregation. Everyone sang heartily. There were two dozen present, including another retired priest and his wife. She read the Epistle with great care and thoughtfulness, he assisted the celebrant by holding the chalice for dipping the host during the distribution of Communion.

We had bacon sandwiches for a light lunch as Clare and Ann were due to go swimming at three. I went for a walk and got some good photos from the promontory behind the east cliff of the last train of the day for Bishops Lydeard, passing through the cutting after the station. As I returned, the sun reached the horizon and I got some pleasing photos of the port. 

After the quick installation of a minor Windows 10 update, I found that internet speed had picked up again allowing photos to upload and not stall with the line dropping. Could an epidemic of forced Windows updates be a contributory factor in catastrophic network slowdowns, especially if several users were being updated at roughly the same time?

There was an ecumenical Sea Sunday service at the Methodist Church by the station at six tonight. I had thought of going, but lost track of time when I was taking pictures. The sea came into focus later on when we watched a documentary on BBC Four about the making of a play called 'Salt', written by a black Brummie about the impact of the experience of slavery on continuing racism and black identity. 

Artist Selina Thompson retraced the sea journeys made by enslaved Africans on the transatlantic slave trade triangle, travelling on a cargo ship, reflecting on the absolute power over the centuries of a ship's master benefiting from sustaining human trafficking. Much of her essay centred on the question 'Where are you from' depending on context and working at several levels in terms of personal identity. It highlighted the extent that western society's wealth and culture rests on foundations of violent exploitation. I found it most thoughtful and deeply challenging. 

Royal integrity

I woke up feeling exhausted this morning. Owain and I talked until well after midnight, and then as I was getting ready for bed I heard the sound of water dripping and a wet floor in the bathroom. It didn't take me long to find that the joint connecting the hot water pipe to the tap was leaking. I got some tools and made an attempt to tighten the joint, but another nose bleed started, due to the awkwardness of the position in which I was bending over to do this. 

Fortunately Owain took over and slowed the leak from one drop a second to three drops a minute, so it was safe to leave with a bucket underneath it to catch the drips. Fortunately too, the nose bleed didn't last for long, the lesion is closing progressively, I just have to be careful about bending over, and my sleeping position. I went to sleep sitting up, around one fifteen, and slept poorly. It was ten by the time we all surfaced for our Saturday pancake breakfast, and afterwards I returned to bed and dozed until lunchtime. I didn't fully recover until I'd walked in the park for an hour and a half.

Owain left us before lunch as he had engagements later in the day back in Bristol. After a chick pea curry for supper, we three watched 'The King's Decision' on BBC Four. I think the last time I watched it was on Channel Four. It's a powerful film, beautifully made about the Nazi occupation of Norway, and the refusal of King Haakon to deal with Hitler without consultation and the agreement of the legally elected government. 

He was the first monarch to be chosen by citizens after Norway regained its independence from Sweden in 1905. His sole sovereign intervention was a threat to abdicate if the cabinet agreed to negotiate with Quisling, the author of the Nazi coup d'etat in Norway. His role as king, he believed, was to uphold the democratic system which chose him as head of state. The royal family took refuge in the USA for the rest of the war, while the king and his entourage got to London and from there worked to support the Norwegian resistance campaign. It's an impressive royal story by any account, and interesting to set alongside recent revelations about the role of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. They had their own  network of relationships with Europe's royal families and made use of them independently of the British government to gather information from abroad and feed it back into the war effort. Because there were a few Nazi sympathisers in the royal family before the war, Hitler was convinced the King could be won over. The reality was different. The fool who thinks he's king is not the one who is called to be king