Maundy Thursday events at a distance

This morning I posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp just before 'Thought for the Day' as usual. Later on, I watched the live broadcast on telly of the arrival of the Spanish legion in Malaga port. It happens every Maundy Thursday morning, so the legion can perform its traditional escort duty for the trona de la Buen Muerte in tonight's procession. 

The Armada troop transport ship didn't dock in Muelle Uno by the Palmeria de las Sorpresas this year, as when I was here in 2018. It was out on one of the quays used by cruise liners. This meant a couple of kilometres march for the regiment from there to the far end of Muelle Uno, where coaches waited to take them the last stretch to their destination. This way, there aren't the same traffic management problems as a marching column of soldiers would cause.

It was amazing to see the soldiers marching at double time 160-180 paces a minute, with the front rank platoon making 360 degree turns every dozen steps and juggling with rifles over their heads. Much of the footage was shot by a helicopter camera. giving a vivid impression of just how fast the column of soldiers covered ground.

After seeing this we made another grocery shopping trip in an effort to get everything ready before the shops close for Good Friday. Clare cooked some large pieces of merluza in a creamy gingery salsa for lunch, a nice contrast to the pequinitas we had yesterday.

At five thirty I went down to St Andrew's to take part in the Lord's Supper Eucharist, led by Fr William, the chaplaincy's home grown NSM Curate. He celebrated, preached and did the foot washing. I was in the congregation along with ten others, and was invited to have a foot washed. The altar was stripped at the end, but there was no Watch of the Passion, and strangely no reference to Christ's Gethsemane vigil.

Afterwards, I went down to Los Boliches Parish Church, which was full to the doors. The parish priest was in the midst of the sermon. I didn't stay long, but it was good to see a well attended Maundy Thursday service. I went back to watching the live broadcast events from Malaga. I don't have the extra energy to go and watch in the streets, due to my unstable ankle, as I did nine years ago. Opportunities to watch events on telly are richer now than in times past thanks to improved broadcast and production technologies. It's not nearly as emotionally powerful, but more informative from what I can make out from the commentary.

We ony just realised Kath, Anto and Rhiannon are coming on Saturday morning, not tomorrow. We'd both mis-read the original booking message Kath sent us. When I checked with Owain what time his flight would arrive on Saturday, he looked at his phone booking app and discovered he booked his flights the wrong way around, return flight on Saturday, outward flight on Wednesday. Fortunately he hasn't yet checked in, and flights can be changed up to 24 hours before departure, so that's given him an urgent task to do this evening. And he's gigging tonight. Poor guy!

A favourite fish treat

Today, a return to bright clear sky and pleasant warmth. I walked to St Andrew's to celebrate Eucharist and preach about the last of the bible studies on Psalms of lament. I nearly forgot to record it for distribution, and had to restart the sermon after reading a few lines to be sure of having the whole of it. There were nine of us again. 

Clare joined us later for coffee and chat after doing some planned shopping to cater for the family arriving Friday. Recently she's been knitting baby blanket squares lately for a Canton parish effort, but has run out of wool since arriving. We googled and found a mereceria we've walked past many times, without noticing, just opposite the Municipal Market, and it was open this morning.

For lunch I bought and cooked merluzas pequinitas (baby hake). I steam them, to make the most of their delicate flavour, something I learned many years ago on locum duty, maybe in Nerja, maybe here. 

It must be something to do with getting old, that we spend so much more time planning ahead. Ten weeks here already, one more to go. Quite apart from another big catering expedition to Aldi's this afternoon, for the coming family weekend, our return journey and planning the final handover and train to the airport, eight days from now needed to be arranged. For the first time since last December I tracked down our separate booking confirmation details for the flight to Bristol, checked us both in and acquired the boarding passes. Fiddly, but no glitches thankfully.

With Ruth's email of Easter week Morning prayer texts, I was in a position to record the office to go with the biblical Reflection already recorded. I'll be able to finish the job tomorrow and that will be the last of my preparatory tasks until I return to Cardiff.

Time relaxing in front of the telly after supper with a mix of Semana Santa and old car restoration programmes. Nothing too stimulation after the demands of EasyJet's confusing booking website, with its plethora of choices you don't need if all you need to do is fly!

Semana Santa begins

Thankfully it didn't matter that I forgot to set an alarm as I woke up at seven thirty, ate breakfast and was out of the house on my way to Calahonda for the first service of the morning by five to nine. There were eighteen of us for the Palm Sunday Eucharist. We made a procession around the inside of the church and three of us read the unedited long St Matthew Passion gospel text neatly printed in six pages of a special booklet. I found it hard work reading such small print. A sign of ageing eyes and brain.

The service was twenty minutes longer than usual which put pressure on me to drive back to Los Boliches for eleven thirty. I reached there with ten instead of twenty minutes to spare and only then realised I'd left behind my mini homily. In an effort to start on time, I forgot the Palm Gospel entirely, and we went straight into the procession, out of the church back door, along the pavement and back in through the main entrance. 

When we came to to Passion Gospel reading, Peter Hammond took the narrating voice, I did the Jesus parts as is traditional, and the third voice for all other parts was read with verve by St Andrew's last full-time Chaplain David Sutch, who just happened to be in the congregation. He retired in November 2013. I succeeded him as locum pastor. Somehow it all held together. There were thirty-six of us, and a presentation was made of Easter gifts to the two Finnish children who have been in the congregation this year. I think the family is moving back home some time this week. They have brought much delight to the church and will be missed.

I was tired out by the end of two Palm Sunday liturgies in a row. It's tough going and with the hay fever it makes me feel doubly my age. It seems the pollen count is low, but the pollution monitoring service in my phone weather app says that the mould spore concentration is high. If it reaches you it hits you hard with constant runny nose, as the body tries to expel the nasties by flushing them out of the sinuses. This afternoon, Ann has been hit hard by the same affliction, and it's distressing for her as she has a return flight to catch tomorrow lunchtime.

After church we went for lunch at the Restaurant Bahia in plaza San Rafael just above Playa Gaviota. We had an excellent meal. I ordered half a pollo asado which looked much bigger on the plate than I expected it to be, so I wondered if I'd get through it. Fortunately it had a bed of four veggies beneath it making it look bigger than it was, but I would have settled happily for a smaller portion. Just as well I had a small breakfast.

We drove back up to the house, then Clare and I went for a walk up Calle la Loma before supper. I began watching live broadcasts of Málaga's Semana Santa processions on telly and on my laptop with earphones when the others complained I was being anti-social. Improved Spanish comprehension is making it possible to understand and appreciate much more than in previous years. While there's nothing to equal being there in the crowd in the flesh, the many faceted perspectives of live edited video feeds on several channels not only from Málaga but Seville, Cordoba, Granada, Almeria, gives an impression of the wide spread of this remarkable cultural as much as spiritual tradition. It gives such a strong witness to tradition, community and co-operation with a higher understanding of aims and values, in contrast to the egotistical individualism common in our times. I may not be able to visit Málaga in the week ahead to savour the live experience from the crowd, but am most grateful for what's on offer in the mass media. It's not often I say that!

An unusual celebration

We got up late and I made breakfast. I wasn't feeling that good, so Clare and Ann let me and went down to Los Boliches beach while I sorted myself out. I should know better, but at this time of year when it starts to get warmer and is less humid, I forget to drink enough water to compensate, and slowly the effect of dehydration creeps up on me. The trouble is that I never feel thirsty, and had to make myself drink extra. I learn a lesson which I later forget. Anyway, once I'd regained equilibrium I walked down to join them, and we had a drink and something to eat in the Granier cafe by the Mercado Municipal. 

Since she arrived and started playing it Clare's been having problems with the house piano. It's not terribly out of tune, but a third of the ivory/plastic key covers are detached from their wooden levers. Not she's on a mission to restore them to working order. She went to a Los Boliches ferreteria and bought some araldite with the aim of sticking them together. The challenge is ridding them of their layer of glue that no longer does the job. How to get rid of it is what she needs to find out next.

I cooked myself a very late lunch of past with a veggie sauce, leaving a portion for Ann at supper time, as I was being picked up at six thirty to be taken to the Cerros del Águila urbanizacion where a new street is being named in memory of Val Artachio, founder of Marbella's English International College. It's located on a hillside about five kilometres out of town, overlooking the Fuengirola river valley and the Sierra de Mijas with a superb view. A group of two dozen of of gathered, family, friends, colleagues from school including young children and one nonogenarian. A name plaque at the entrance to the street was unveiled by Val's husband, and I let the prayers of dedication which I'd prepared, wishing that I'd had time to render them in Spanish, as it was evidently a bi-lingual congregation.

Afterwards everyone went to the restaurant which is the social centre of the urbanizacion, where a long table to accommodate the assembly, had been laid out for drinks and tapas. It was a most enjoyable experience, giving me an opportunity to listen to Spanish social conversation and understand what was being said, plus an opportunity to converse in English and occasionally Spanish with a largely bi-lingual gathering. It was an unique event and experience for me, which I couldn't have imagined taking place forty eight hours ago. Val's brother and sister drove me home. After an evening of talk and drinking Rioja joven, I was so glad that I didn't have to drive.

Dedication invitation

Despite making an effort last night not to go to bed late, getting into a relaxed sleep was difficult. I woke with the alarm I'd set, but started the day feeling tired. I got to Calahonda in good time for the first of the two services of the day. There were seventeen of us present. I didn't stop for coffee afterwards as I drive to St Andrew's via the chaplaincy house to collect Clare for the service. I was glad that Peter and Linda were there to greet her, amongst others of course, but it meant I could ask Peter to read the over-long Gospel passage about the raising of Lazarus. Reading that and then preaching about it earlier took a lot of energy on a morning when I felt I didn't have much to spare.

Among the people in church after the service was José Artacho, whose wife Val had been a key member of St Andrew's when we were here last. On my first stint in Fuengirola at the end of 2013, I stayed in a flat which they owned in Urbanización Albañil for eight weeks.  In the following year Val had been part of the group which negotiated the purchase of Casa de la Esperanza and furnished it as a Chaplain's residence. As locum priest at the time, Clare and I were the first occupants. 

A year later Val died unexpected of an aggressive form of ovarian cancer. Now, some seven years later, a suburban street of new houses between La Cala de Mijas and Fuengirola has been named in memory. She and Jose were involved in founding Marbella's English International College, so naming a street after her is a form of public acknowledgement of her services to Costa del Sol residents. Jose asked if I would be willing to devise a dedication ceremony for the unveiling. I was naturally delighted to be asked, given that we'd met and worked together on the house. Val's sister is here at the moment with José for this occasion, and we agreed I'd attend and perform the ceremony this Tuesday evening. 

On the way back from church we called at the greengrocer's shop opposite Mercadona, as Clare was keen to start stocking up on food, as Ann arrives to stay tomorrow morning. Lunch of veggies with trout fillets was quickly prepared when we returned. Afterwards we walked down to the Paseo Maritime and shopped for a few more necessities in Chinese stores which were open, including a proper peeling knife, as the one from the kitchen drawer went missing before my time.

Ann from church called by at supper time with more bedding to supply what's lacking for the two beds she arranged to be delivered on Friday. The house can now accommodate as many as four guests, which hopefully will be an advantage for an incoming chaplain eventually.

Stocking up

It's a week today since I hurt my back. Getting started wasn't so challenging, as I've got used to various workarounds to stay functional. I still can't bend down comfortable enough to put socks on, but barefoot with sandals is quite acceptable. After breakfast, I walked down to St Andrew's, celebrated the Eucharist with eight others, and preached. 

I called at Mercadona on my way back, getting the larder well stocked in preparation for Clare's coming. Then I edited the audio recording of my homily for the Zoom Bible Study group the receive in advance, and made lunch. Most of the afternoon was spent writing another Wednesday homily, and preparing to record next Thursday's Morning Prayer and Reflection. It was approaching sunset at seven by the time I went out for a walk over to the Arroyo Real and back. Clare and I chatted while I was walking, and I arrived back at the house at dusk, just in time to listen to 'The Archers'.

After supper, I watched telly for a while, then recorded and edited what I had prepared earlier in the day. All in all, quite a productive day despite back ache from sitting down to work. No wonder I'm tired.

Grief remembered

I was grateful for a slow start this morning with a late service at Alhaurin. Once I was behind the wheel of the car, my nervousness dissipated, and the drive to church was uneventful. There were thirteen of us for the service, but the car park surrounding was full of cars, possibly because the thanatorio next door was hosting a pre-funeral 'viewing', when relatives and friends can gather to pay their respects and pray around the body of the deceased. What took us by surprise after the service was the arrival of a couple of funeral company workers to get the chapel ready for another funeral service. 

Then a young priest arrived, and we chatted in a mix of English and Spanish as he hunted through the 'Catholic' cupboard for the Communion set, wine and wafers. Apparently he was a visitor, unfamiliar with the set-up. He told me he was officiating at a funeral Mass for his abuela. A tough call for a young cleric. I was reminded of my own early years in ministry when I lost both parents, grandfather, uncle and father in law within twenty months. It's fifty years ago already. The intensity of the memory fades, but it never completely fades away.

As he was about to go into the chapel and start the service, another young priest arrived and had to hunt for vestments to wear. There was a distinct resemblance between the two of them. I wondered if they were perhaps brothers or cousins, in which case granny would have been very proud of them both. The service had started by the time we had  finished packing our kit away, signing the book, and so on as we slipped out the side door. The chapel was full, a hundred and fifty to two hundred people.

There was no social gathering after the service this week, which was a relief, as I'd been on my feet for two hours without sitting down. I didn't want to take the risk of struggling to get up and tottering during the service, and was fine on my feet. I didn't have any problems getting in and out of the car fortunately, by moving slowly and carefully. The injury isn't better yet, but I'm getting better at living with it.

I had a meal pre-cooked from yesterday to warm up when I got back, and in the spirit of Refreshment Sunday, opened a bottle of Rioja left for me when I arrived. Apart from at Communion, it was my first drink of wine, or any other alcohol this year. Needless to say, when I sat on the couch after the meal, relaxed and dozed off listening to the Early Music programme on Radio Three. I woke up just in time to listen to Choral Evensong. Then, suitably refreshed, I walked along the Paseo Maritime, to Torreblanca and back. 

In this stretch of beach there are two more brand new brightly painted cabins on raised platforms for life guards and first aiders. Each is placed in the vicinity of a cubic shaped structure topped with a platform. I suspect these are the remains of previous cabins whose wooden components were destroyed by winter weather or removed some time ago. 

The evening after supper slipped by with the slow upload of photos, a little writing and trying to follow a movie set in Turkey, dubbed into Spanish. Not exactly compelling viewing as it was mostly face to face dialogue with almost no other activity, but somehow I ended up going to be later than usual, perhaps because today wasn't quite as tiring, as previous days have been.

Demanding duties

An early start this morning, awake at seven fifteen to get ready to leave for Calahonda by a quarter to nine for the nine thirty service. There were eighteen of us for the Eucharist. The service was somewhat longer  due to the Gospel reading about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well being twice as long as usual. After a quick cup of coffee and a chat I had to drive quickly back to Los Boliches for the second Eucharist of the day, at which there were thirty eight of us. By the time I got back to the house I felt quite tired. 

After cooking a tuna steak with veggies for lunch, I decided to rest and recover some energy before going out for a walk. I dozed on the sofa for a while, then started wondering about next Sunday, and looked up the readings. These gave me ideas about a sermon, so I sat down and drafted one straight away. It was six by the time I went out. 

I walked over the hill, having just missed the L3 bus, but caught up with it at the next stop, and rode to the Merca Centro stop by the Cercania station. From there I walked to the fishing port to look around. There's a fleet of more than a dozen modest sized trawlers in the harbour, with a commercial fish market on site as well as over a hundred and fifty berths for recreational fishing boats. The sun was about to set, so I walked back to Los Boliches along the Paseo Maritime, and just missed the L3 bus to take me up the hill on the last stretch and save energy.

Clare and I chatted for a while, then I had supper and watched a Clint Eastwood movie dubbed into Spanish on telly to find about how much of it I could understand, given the familiarity of its dialogue in English. It struck me how dated it seemed irrespective of language, and how brutally violent it was. I'm not impressed by the quality of most programmes on free-to-air TV channels I have access to here.

Return of the rain

I woke up to find the sky overcast again, with rain threatened for later. After breakfast I started checking what I'd already prepared for the homily at Wednesday's Communion service, and realised that I'd made an error I'd not noticed before. When preparing the print ready pdf files for each week's bible study notes, I'd missed this Wednesday's set of notes, duplicating the following week's notes instead. No sooner than I had discovered this than Caroline emailed me to point this out. I was able to rectify it quickly enough, but the notes printed out already well need the dates on them hand corrected when I go into the office tomorrow. Then I had to write this week's homily to match the bible study texts, but I now have next week's homily already done.

An email arrived from Emma in diocesan HQ to ask if I'd be free and able take on a summer locum job in Lausanne. Lovely to be asked, but under these damned stupid Schengen visa rules, my first period of 180 days doesn't expire until the last week in July, so I couldn't offer two full months as required. Such a shame. I'm pretty sure I'll be asked to cover clergy summer holiday absences back home then as well.

I cooked lunch, using up almost all the remaining veggies in the fridge, and then walked to Mercadona to stock up again for the week. I chatted with Clare for half an hour when I returned to the house. She told me about the very unusual premiere of Mozart's 'Magic Flute' which she saw with Ann and Chris yesterday afternoon. There was quite different take on the staging and libretto in this production, she said. The Guardian's review of it was very critical, but it still sounds like something that would be worth going to see if the opportunity arose. It may well have suffered from being at the beginning of its run of performances, being so different, no matter how well rehearsed such an occasion always is. Not being there for this was the one big sacrifice I had to make in order to come here.

I then set about going into Fuengirola by train to buy myself a new shirt in Dunne's Stores, as I saw one I fancied a few weeks ago but still haven't got around to returning and making the purchase. Rain was in the weather forecast, so I wore my rain coat. It was only drizzling slightly when I left, but by the time I reached Los Boliches it picked up and turned into a downpour which went on for more than an hour. 

I decided to abandon the trip to Dunne's Stores, and ended up with a cup of coffee in the Granier panaderia next to the municipal market, waiting for it to stop. It didn't, but it slackened sufficiently to allow me to return to the house without getting totally soaked. Then after a while, heavy rain returned and continued throughout the evening. It's the first spell of rain in five weeks. Like it is in Britain this year, that's an unusually long winter dry spell. Rain has meant that I wasn't able to walk my full quota today. My rain coat needs to dry out in case there's more rain tomorrow.

After supper, I watched the news on telly for a while, and a programme in English which I found on a specialist channel, but soon lost interest. The internet went down for no apparent reason, so I rebooted the router and all was well. It's the first time I've had to do that since I'm here. Don't feel like reading, so another early night I think, listening to the rain.

Surprise meeting with a former chaplain

It was overcast when I woke up this morning and stayed overcast, though it wasn't as cold as yesterday. I benefited from a late start this morning, listening to Sunday Worship of Radio Four over breakfast, then getting a load of washing done and out to dry before it was time to leave for the eleven thirty Eucharist at St Andrew's. 

We were forty five this morning and the unaccompanied singing was hearty in an almost full church. In the congregation was Fr David Sutch and his wife who was both Archdeacon and Chaplain in 2013 and retired that autumn. That was what led to my first series of long locum duties here in the Costa del Sol East Chaplaincy. 

David was Vicar of Yate in the diocese of Bristol when I was serving in St Paul's, but our paths didn't cross at that time. In fact, this was the first time we'd ever met. When I was an undergraduate in Bristol David's father Christopher was a priest in Bristol diocese, and I came across him when I was attending the University Chaplaincy Church of St Paul's Clifton.

When I returned, I cooked a tuna steak with veggies for lunch, and then went for a walk over the hill, up the road to Mijas and back to the house through the La Loma housing area. From the ridge overlooking the AP7 I could see a dozen big beef cattle grazing a patch of open land, still used for its ancient purpose, not yet swallowed up by the encroachment of housing estates. The preacher at this morning's service on the radio was talking about the place he grew up in, where there was a similar stretch of little used land in between suburb and countryside, where he took quiet refuge as a teenager. It's interesting this image registered with me, even though I can't recall what point he was making at the time.

This evening I had a conference video call with both daughters and both grand daughters. Kenilworth, Tempe and Fuengirola all linked by WhatsApp. Amazingly the line didn't drop, as it often does when I call Clare. How good to see and hear them all at once. This afternoon, Clare and Ann are at the opera. 

At the outset of the call, Rachel had been asking about a photo I posted yesterday of a quotation from a poem by Frederico Garcia Lorca I saw on a wall in a back street of Málaga yesterday: 'Las estrellas no tienen un novio'. The stars don't have a boyfriend (or bridegroom depending on context). It's a bit cryptic either way. I googled it and found a poem 'called Estampa del Cielo' - picture (or imprint) of heaven in which this is the first line. I couldn't resist making a translation of it, just for pleasure. It makes a change from Duo Lingo drills. I'm just going to concentrate on the Duo Lingo podcast series from now on, and watch Spanish telly instead. Over supper I listened to the story of a transgender activist's fight for recognition in Costa Rica and found it most insightful.

It took me the best part of an hour to upload and edit thirty photos from the last couple of days. I spoke briefly with Clare who'd just got in from the opera, a new modern production of Mozart's 'Magic Flute'. We didn't talk for long as she and Ann had just started supper. I'll get the full story tomorrow. After posting a few photos of breakdancing I saw in Malaga Puerto yesterday, I was too tired to read or watch telly, so took myself off to bed.

  

Busy Ash Wednesday

A beautiful day with sunshine, clear sky, no wind, and the temperature hovering around 20C. I rose early and sang a birthday greeting to Rhiannon on WhatsApp before getting up for breakfast. It turns out that it's also Mother Frances' birthday, and that of Craig, one of St Andrew's 'swallows' who has served me at the altar since I found out he's from the Black Country Anglo-Catholic Parish of Kingswinford, not far from Halesowen where I was Team Rector in the eighties.

Then I walked to St Andrews to celebrate the Eucharist of the day. Father William joined me, assisting at the altar and reading the Gospel. There were twenty one of us. The first Lenten bible study was scheduled for a time after people got their coffee and cake, and caught up with their friends. I distributed all the study sheets Caroline had photocopied for me, but only two people were able to stay on to discuss Psalm 51 with me. Nevertheless, it was a lively and interesting discussion for three quarters of an hour. 

I wonder if a Wednesday morning is really the best time for this, or if there is a viable alternative time. Maybe people are actually happier with reading the study material for themselves, especially as my weekly homily serves as an introduction to the session. We'll see how it develops from here.

I  was late cooking and eating lunch when I returned, but still had some time to work on Sunday's sermon before driving up to Alhaurin for the second service of the day at six, for which there were eleven of us. We sat on benches arranged in a semi-circle in front of the altar. It works nicely for a small number of people. The microphone that's needed when there's a much larger congregation had to be disconnected as the connecting cable's insulation had fractured, leaving the device intermittently making a loud distracting buzz. Just as well we didn't need it.

The sun had just set as I drove down the switchback of a mountain highway back to Fuengirola on a forty minute slow journey, not just thanks to speed limits but my own caution. I had forgotten quite what a steep and winding road this is. It will take several more trips up and down the mountain. Alhaurin el Grande is a thousand feet above sea level. By the time you reach Mijas Golf course on the maritime plain, to follow the rio Fuengirola to the coast, your ears are popping. I was quite tired when I reached the house, just in time for the Archers and supper, and needed a half hour's walk afterwards to stretch my legs and clear my head. 

Ashley called as I was setting out and we chatted as I strolled. Then I called Clare and found she was still chatting with people at St Luke's where she'd gone for the evening Eucharist. We talked again later when she got home, and I heard reports of the current discussion about the desirability of welcoming a church planting expert to establish a base at St Luke's to work on fresh initiatives in ministry to young people. Evidently there are fears there will be a takeover of the building that will lead to a complete loss of its Catholic Anglican heritage, much as happened to St Teilo's under Bishop June. I feel confident Mother Emma is capable of negotiating a compromise agreement and sticking to it, as long as Bishop Mary is equally clear about supporting this. 

St Luke's has a century of Anglo Catholic urban missionary history behind it, but is much depleted and won't be able to pay its way much longer. During the pandemic the building was shared with one of Cardiff's two Romanian Orthodox congregations. This no longer happens, but it showed what's possible with a modicum of good-will on all sides. I wonder what kind of research has been done to establish  there's a need and an opportunity to be taken in this part the city. 

Evangelical outreach initiatives can and do attract people to form an eclectic congregation. As St Luke's did in its heyday. The Victoria Park area isn't the easiest place for parking at the best of times even if it is well served by buses. At least St Teilo's is well placed in a largely student area, across the railway tracks from the University Campus. Can the same be said to exist in Canton as it rapidly gentrifies? It's true there's a growing number of first time home buyers and young families in the vicinity, which the church needs to reach out to in order to secure its future. This is a moving target however, as turnover in jobs and the housing market don't necessary result in longer term commitment to this local church. It's a big and risky decision, for the host community and for those behind the initiative under discussion.

Following the Arroyo Real

I finally woke up following a spell of dreams and light sleep when the alarm sounded. Nothing memorable but slightly bewildering, because in each I was much younger than my present age. More than that I can't remember. I was driving to Calahonda by ten to nine, in good time to prepare for the Eucharist and greet people. There were just ten of us this morning. Churchwarden Jen wasn't there as she felt unwell John her husband was due to officiate later at Alharuin.

I got back to Los Boliches for the Eucharist at a quarter past eleven. We were thirty five of us altogether. After the service I met a lady from Bargoed in the Rhymney Valley back home, near Pengam, where I attended Grammar School. I chatted with the Finnish dad who comes with his wife and two children, and got him to teach me how to say 'The Body of Christ' in Finnish, so I can give the family Communion in their mother tongue. It's 'Kristkusen Roomis'.

It was quarter to two by the time I reached home and started cooking lunch, and getting on for four by the time I went out for my daily walk. I went up the hill behind the house and down a lane which goes down to the road that leads up to Mijas Pueblo. Nine years ago, this was a route I'd take if I was going up there. Now there's a new dual carriageway link road from the entrance of our urbanizacion to the Mijas Road and over the hill a new urbanizacion. On the roundabout at the road junction is a statue of someone in working clothes, of indeterminate gender I think.

The inscription on each side of the base reads 'A los sanitarios / A las Sanitarias'. Google translate could only offer a literal translation, but a web search revealed that the statue, dating from August last years honours all those health workers who clean and make safe places we inhabit, both public and private, in particular acknowledging their contribution during the pandemic. I like that.

On the far side of the roundabout run an arroyo, called the Arrroyo Real. It's been built up to serve as a storm drain to take rain water from the sierras above to the sea. It crosses under the main road and where it emerges there's a footpath that follows the watercourse for a kilometre, running past a strip of green parkland, under the N340 and then through a long broad culvert beneath the recinto ferial and railway line down to the sea. 

There were hundreds of people gathered at the top end of the recinto ferial socialising, family groups and individuals. It seems there was a bikers' rally going on, to judge by the number of leather jacketed bearded men and a considerable number and variety of motor bikes in beautiful condition with gleaming chrome and polished leather seats. Most of the area of the recinto ferial, which translates as fairground, was quiet. It's really a huge outdoor gathering place, where the weekly market happens, where camper vans may park legally, either overnight for for an idle season, where fun fairs, circuses and fiestas may happen. The streets running the length and breath of this multi-purpose zone are lined with club houses belonging to professional, sporting and social organisations, and interesting showcase for Fuengirola's range of community organisations.

I made my way down to the sea front, where strong wind makes its presence felt though it's 18C today. All this week sand has blown off the beach on to the paseo maritime, on times requiring a machine with an earth moving bucket on the front to reduce the volume of accumulated sand. Beach entrances have been cordoned off, maybe to deter people from going closer to breaking waves, maybe also because the accumulated sand would make access difficult for someone on wheels or unsteady on their feet. It won't deter those agile enough to climb over the low retaining wall, but it's a way of flagging up that things are not as normal as they usually are. 

This afternoon is the first time I've seen council workers out with brooms and shovels, accompanied by a truck. Not only is there sand to shift, but loads of vegetation torn from palm trees and grasses, littering the road and pavements. As it's a Sunday and the wind isn't as fierce as it was earlier in the week, more people are out taking their paseo and the public realm needs to be as clean and safe as possible, even if it is a losing battle until the wind dies down. In our urbanizacion the wind has torn down some branches and scores of unripe carob pods from the algorrobo tree half way down. It struck me the pods resemble the judia plana I wrote about yesterday. I don't know if there's any direct relationship between the tree and the bean plants, which grow on a vine. The pod device is a means for both to propagate their seeds.

This evening after supper and a chat with Clare, a couple of hours reading before bed. Not watching any telly is quite relaxing really, no matter what I miss.

Costa de Viento indeed!

Another windy night followed by a grey, windier day with gusts from 30 to 60mph. I spent the morning preparing an order of service for next Wednesday's funeral, and after cooking and eating lunch, drove to St Andrew's to join in the first hour and a half of an afternoon of board games with added British High Tea. Despite the terrible bluster conditions, over two dozen people arrived to join in, pleased to have a normal opportunity to socialise after the disruption of recent years.

The church building is on the ground floor of a ten storey corner block and it really got buffeted hard by the wind, so much so that some of the closed external aluminium window blinds rattled themselves loose of their tracks and gradually began to disintegrate. Two complete blinds were lost, torn apart strip by strip as they came out of their tracks both sides flapping like a flag in the wind. Habitually the blinds are left lowered, to deflect the sun, as for much of the year it can over-heat the church. In windy spells they need to be left rolled up, but it wasn't thought of in good time.

I left at three thirty to drive to Calahonda and visit the bereaved mother and daughter, living in a gated complex of apartments with its own garden and pool overlooking the sea. I was nervous about driving in such a strong wind, but this posed no problem. For hundreds of metres off shore the sea was a white mass of boiling foam, with huge waves breaking a kilometre offshore. It looked terribly threatening, but for the moment the complex is twenty metres or so above the beach. Things may be different where the weather is extreme once the sea level rises, I guess.

The family are from Glasgow, having settled here over twenty years ago. Both mother and daughter had strong accents, and it was difficult to understand what they were saying on times. Anyway, I gave them copies of the proposed order of service and they seemed happy within. The son isn't arriving until next Tuesday. He's going to give a tribute to his dad. The choice of music has been left to me. I have some ideas to check out, and suggest to them over the phone.

On the journey back to Fuengirola, there didn't seem to be a huge amount of traffic, but it seemed to be flowing less freely than usual, and I wondered why. When we reached the rocky promontory at El Faro I realised. There's a stretch of highway beneath which beach turns into a narrow rocky outcrop and the sea runs right up to it. The driving East wind dashed the waves against the outcrop, throwing water high into the air, and the wind then blew it over the eastbound carriageway which was wet and intermittently covered with sea spray. Unusual conditions in which nobody was interested in taking any risk.

After I reached home and had a drink, I decided to get some exercise. Cautiously I made my way down the hill to Los Boliches, to call at St Andrew's and collect a new crime novel to read before strolling down the main street. As it was getting dark, it was nice to see shops lit up and open for business. Back at the church, another shutter was being shredded on the side of the building facing head on into the wind.  It looked as if the whole window and frame might be blown in so two long poles had been propped against the frame and secured in place with tables pushed together. I wonder what it will look like in the morning? Especially if the wind continues.

I made my way uphill, back to the wind this time, a little less hazardous, and made it back to the house without incident. Here in the quiet living room, warm now I've mastered the air blown heating system, the wind moans and howls outside. Time for a read now, and then bed.

Surf's Up!

As soon as I was awake this morning, I posted this week's Morning Prayer link to Whatsapp, then spent a couple of hours recording and editing audio for next week's video before lunch. Then, a call from Caroline about a funeral next Wednesday morning at Fuengirola Crem at 11.30. Fortunately, Fr William is booked to take the Communion service, so there'll be no pressure on me to rush from one to the other. No sooner had I finished the call with Caroline than the funeral director rang and gave me contact details for the widow of the man who died. She was still at the hospital, so I had to wait until late in the afternoon to call her.

After eating I walked down to Fuengirola Puerto along the Paseo Maritime. There was a strong breeze, but the wind was just warm enough to make it pleasantly bracing. The waves rolling into the Playa San Francisco by the port wall were enormous, and the water hosted dozens of surfers making the most of the surf, a spectacular sight. I took the train back to Los Boliches, and stopped at Mercadona on my way back up hill for a second lot of groceries to see me through this week.

On return, I called Alice the widow of the man who died and have arranged to visit her in Calahonda tomorrow afternoon. I chatted with Clare before supper, as she was going out early to a choir practice. Then I called Jen to ask about arrangements for music at Fuengirola Crem, as things may have changed since I was last here. Well, not much as it turns out. Her husband John told me that it's simply a question of bringing your choice of music on a USB stick, and briefing the funeral director to bring his device to play it on. This I can achieve when I meet Alice tomorrow.

The rest of the evening was taken up with uploading just eighteen photos taken this afternoon of surfers and wild sea. Slow internet uploading makes for a lot of machine minding unfortunately. Our internet at home is expensive and set to get much more expensive, but as it's much faster, it's worth the cost.

Free ride

The torrential rain began to ease by the time I had breakfast and got myself ready for church this morning. I was grateful for a large black brolly in the hall stand when I left as it was still doing more than drizzle. The streets were awash as I walked down the hill, but I arrived without being soaked through. There were six of us for the Eucharist, and we prayed for Joan whose funeral as being attended by some regulars just as our service ended. Three others turned up as well, for coffee and a chat afterwards, defying the extreme weather. I bought a card with a photo of St Andrew's stained glass east window in the sanctuary to send to Marion with a message of condolence. I wrote this when I got back for lunch, and posted it on my way out afterwards.

I took the train into Malaga for the sheer pleasure of a free ride and went to El Corte Ingles to find out if the covid years had changed the vast department store in any significant way, bearing in mind that the one in Fuengirola's Las Lagunas has been downgraded to a 'designer outlet' discount store with hypermarket in the basement and all but the supermarket of the much smaller store in Los Boliches has been closed down. But no, the flagship city centre store is as glamorous and well stocked as it ever was. Moreover, all the surrounding road works are now complete, so it's easier to negotiate, even if the vast paved area is an empty desert of roads, pedestrian crossings little else.

Having completed my inspection of the area, I returned to Los Boliches. It was dark by the time I arrived. There was just time to get a few grocery items in Mercadona on my way up the hill and reach the house before supper, 'The Archers' and my evening WhatsApp call to Clare. Then an hour working on next week's biblical reflection, and already it's time for bed.

Lost en route

Up and about just before the phone alarm was due to sound at seven thrity. Another chilly night, but no wind and just a wee bit milder. I allowed myself plenty of time to reach Calahonda and arrived half an hour before the nine thirty service. There were fourteen of us, in a very chilly church. It has incurable bad acoustics, despite a decent sound system. It's best only one of the three microphones used is switch on at any time, I discovered. There wasn't a coffee time afterwards, the church being too cold for socializing in. 

I was on my way to Alhaurin at quarter to eleven for an eleven thirty service. It's a twenty five minute drive. I took the main road to La Cala de Mijas then headed inland on a cross country road that climbs up to Alharin. Everything was familiar. Entrepreneurs selling bags of golf balls to passers by on the way to one of the many golf courses in the foothills of the high sierras. Having heard mention of the 'new road' going uphill not along the coast, I reached a roundabout with a new road and took it. There signs on the roundabout were to golf resorts. There were no road numbers to be seen. I took the wrong road, drove on and upwards around several huge golfing estates and got hopelessly lost. In fact I ended up a the place where the local substance abuse rehab centre is located - too far for anyone to walk, desperate for a fix!

I turned around and headed back downhill. The road in places was not well maintained. Either I caught a pothole or the edge of the tarmac. Either way a had a pneumatico pinchado. I parked next to the rubbish bins outside a finca, next to a bus stop, realising there was no way I could get to Alhaurin in time for the service. I called Caroline to explain my plight. She reassured me that all was not lost as William the curate had arrived for the service with his wife. Providential to say the least! Then I phoned Jen and explained the situation, but didn't really know where I was. I could only tell her the name of the Finca - Fuente la Teja, which also happened to be the name of the bus stop. In twenty minutes she and John drove up to rescue me.

In the meanwhile, a gardener emptying his wheelbarrow into a rubbish bin saw my plight and offered to help me. He got the car jacked up and the wheel nuts off, but failed to free the wheel from its mounting. Then a couple of ciclistas stopped and took an interest in the proceedings, an older married couple who had left home later than usual for their Sunday morning ride, and happened to be passing. It turned out that the caballero was a Renault mechanic! At first he couldn't dislodge the wheel, but the borrowed his wife's water bottle and drenched the stuck wheel with an orange energy drink. A couple of tugs later, the wheel came away and the exchange was completed. This is the view from outside Finca Fuente de Teja.

Jen accompanied me and John drove their car to Alhaurin, to say hello to congregation members having coffee after the service. William and Caroline were there to be thanked personally, and I met several others as well. Their congregation was half its usual size, thanks to the cold. It's a big unheated church, sweltering in summer, a fridge in winter. When we return to car, John noticed that the spare tyre had deflated in the hour since it was  put on. 

The car will have to stay in the church car park until tomorrow, when John will return with the repaired tyre and get the spare looked at. He drove me back to Casa de Esperanza, via La Cala, so we could confirm which wrong turning I'd taken. Incredibly bad luck for them. Amazing providence to receive help on a seemingly deserted country road on a Sunday morning.

After lunch I walked for two hours to Torreblanca and back along the Paseo Maritime. There was hardly a soul on the beach. Miles of golden sand bathed in the afternoon sun, and high cirrus clouds lit in different colours by the setting sun. So restorative after that traumatic morning hour. A pasteleria near Los Boliches station was still open, so I popped in and bought myself a tartaleta de manzana. It looked tasty but was excessively sweet, not to my taste at all. Such a disappointment.

The aircon system still wasn't working properly, so I started going through drawers in the lounge and came across the instruction manual, and discovered that any time the controller's batteries are replaced the device needs to be re-booted, which is why the clock kept flashing and the device was  stuck with the previous settings not yet removed from its memory. The hard reset button needed prodding with a sharp point, then the clock stopped flashing and the device worked again as designed. Warm evenings from now on, thankfully without needing to call out an engineer.

After supper and the Archers, I chatted with Clare for a while, and then uploaded the day's photos. Here it's a bit laborious as internet speed is low and subject to errors when overloaded with data. Partly this is to do with uploads being aborted when screen timeout kicks in. So depending on how many photos I have taken, the screen timeout needs adjusting to suit, or else, endless frustration. After such an unusual day, I'm tired out, and ready to turn in early.

Return to Fuengirola

I woke up just before my phone announced that it was time to post the link for today's Morning Prayer to WhatsApp. It's dry and cloudy, the sun looks like it will break through eventually, but sadly my flight to Málaga will start at sunset.

After breakfast, just a few minor adjustments to my travel bags, and then some time to relax and reflect. In the past I've usually been too much in a last minute packing frenzy to sit quietly for a while. I admit that I am nervous, setting out on another long period of locum duty. It's in a familiar pastoral setting, but any ministry has as many unknowns as it does routine activities. The surprise element is what I enjoy. 

Thankfully, I'm well and fairly fit for my age, but still affected by that slip down the lower stairs. My ankle is OK for normal walking. It's at the end of a good long walk that it tends to play up now, but maybe that's just a symptom of old age. I'm looking forward to the coming months, not anxious about travel, but it's just hard getting started, out of the door and on my way, leaving behind set domestic routine, and above all leaving my best beloved Clare. Sadly it'll be two months before she joins me.

We went for a circuit of Thompson's Park together before I collected my bags from the house and we parted company at the end of the street. I had to walk pretty briskly to avoid missing the bus and got there with only five minutes to spare. We underestimated the time our farewell pasito would take. The coach driver in her hi-viz with blonde hair tied back had a passing resemblance to Sarah Lancashire playing Sergeant Catherine Cawood in 'Happy Valley', but with a good Welsh Valleys accent.

There were just eight of us on the coach to the airport. After the third pick-up stop in Newport, I started eating the turkey sandwiches prepared last night. I inadvertently put them in the freezer, not the fridge, and they were far from thawed! Having made haste to catch the coach, and wearing extra winter layers, I was feeling overheated, and  eating the sandwiches cooled me down nicely. The coach arrived at two twenty, and by quarter to three I was in the departure lounge with a two hour wait before me. EasyJet's flight to Malaga left on time and was completely full. A lot of those on board seem to be party guests for someone's big birthday fiesta. Much expensive in-flight booze was consumed, but everyone was quite good natured, except for an adolescent sitting next to me. 

His behaviour was bizarre and childish for a fourteen your old. I suspect he was high on some illegal substance. At first I was quite disturbed that he kept his phone on throughout the flight  taking photos or mini videos, chatting to someone far away, if not to his mate in the seat ahead of him. Then, I realised that a number of people were also on their phones throughout. It seems EasyJet now offer in-flight wi-fi and it's used for passengers to download an on-board sales and order menu. I remember some years back when Kath sent me an in-flight email, from a Norwegian airline's flight, excited about the fact that she could do this for the first time. I couldn't be bothered, and switched off until we were just about to land, and I thought I'd change the time zone.

Jen and John met me at the arrivals gate, and brought me back to Casa de Esperanza, the Chaplaincy House, already warming up to welcome me, with some food in the fridge to tide me over until I can go shopping tomorrow. The house internet has been switched exclusively to fibre broadband. There are no landline phones any longer, all is wi-fi calling using a mobile phone. There is a chaplain's phone, but I won't get that until tomorrow, as Jen forgot to bring it tonight. That will give me an WhatsApp calling circle of people in the chaplaincy orbit, and I guess F.D.s and wedding arrangers, should these be necessary. It took me a while to find the router and password on a piece of paper tucked underneath it. After weeks of non-use, it needed rebooting to work properly. It's not fast by UK standards, but it works. That's all that matters.

I had some tostado with olive oil and some fruit. All I felt I needed for tonight. Now it's time to turn in, with the sound of a cold wind blowing outside.

Andalusia in view

A splendid Saturday breakfast of waffles with marmalade, chocolate sauce, mashed bananas and sunflower seed puree this morning to cheer a damp and cloudy day, though there was the odd break when the sun broke through the gloom for a while. While Clare baked carrot cake, I got on with recording and editing this Thursday's Morning Prayer audio, remembering  Aelred of Hexham a 12th century Cistercian monk whose treatise on Friendship is regarded as a spiritual classic. 

I was interested to learn that his father had been a priest, celibacy wasn't yet obligatory in Britain it seems., but in his father's lifetime a conciliar edict banned sons of clergy from ordination disqualifying them from inheriting a living or property. The work-around solution was for a cleric to bequeath his entitlements to a nephew instead - from which we get the term 'nepotism'. Anyway, Aelred became a lay monk. His ministerial gifts were soon recognised and he rose to the office of Abbot, for which he wasn't obliged to be ordained priest. Communities were more flexible about who could occupy leadership roles back then.

After lunch, I continued recording and editing the accompanying reflection which has some relevance to the episcopal election retreat which will be taking place when the link to today's video upload to YouTube is posted on WhatsApp. With tomorrow's sermon completed and printed out. A message came into from Caroline, the Lay Reader at St Andrew's Fuengirola, inviting me to join their pastoral team meeting on Zoom this Tuesday afternoon. I'm please about this as it will give me an opportunity to meet everyone and receive a briefing from them before I arrive, which is very valuable.

About an hour before sunset we went for a walk down to the river, inspecting early snowdrops and single crocus on our way. Rain kept threatening but never really got past a slight drizzle, though the west wind felt colder than it really was, still around eight degrees, not the usual two degrees for early January. After so many days of rain level of the Taff continues to run within inches of the footpath. I'm not sure if it's still rising or receding.

After supper a lovely programme about the way Andalusia has inspired some great 20th century writers like Frederico Garcia Lorca, Earnest Hemingway, Laurie Lee, and ex pop musician Chris Stewart, whose best selling books about dropping out and living the good life in a remote farmstead in the Alpujarras led to programme presenter Richard E Grant paying him a visit for an interview, with much talk about local food and recipes thrown in. This certainly added to my excitement about this next spell of locum duty.

Then a double episode of Australian crimmie series 'Mystery Road', very slow moving and raw, with spectacular rural landscapes which seem to swallow up signs of human activity in its vastness. The dialogue is sparse, often crude, almost boring at this pace. It takes time just to get used to it, and that doesn't mean to say it's all that good a story in the end. Like other series in which the landscape seems to play as important a part as the characters.

Cards mailed

Minus two overnight and extra time under the duvet after an unintended late night. A pancake breakfast, and then a start on assembling Christmas cards and letters ready for posting. By half past eleven I realised I wasn't going to get them all ready in time to go and buy stamps and post them, so I took half of the forty odd batch down to the Post Office, due to close at twelve fifteen. There was the expected queue, but I was served within ten minutes and posted the cards I had with me.

Then I walked down to St John's for their 'Santa's Grotto' Christmas Fayre, containing lots of home baked cakes and pies on one table, a couple of tables for children's toys and another for small gifts. The place was decorated with small Christmas trees and lights, and the refreshments counter was busy. I wandered around, chatted with people, had a coffee, bought some raffle tickets and then returned for lunch.

Afterwards, I completed the other half of the batch of cards, and took them out to a priority posting box which may be emptied over the weekend, if I'm lucky. The second class posting deadline is on Monday. I have a small number of overseas cards to send, and my long list of digital cards. Clare has approved the design I prepared last night.

It was dark when we went out to the shops again looking for tins of evaporated milk for fudge making, as is customary this time of year. I was going to walk in the park but accompanied her to and from the Coop, as the temperature was descending from 3C towards freezing after spells of rain this afternoon. Now the air is no longer cold and dry, but heavy cold and damp, a chilling combination unless a sub zero night and the return of clear skies reduce atmospheric humidity.

After supper nothing of interest on telly, so first I did some work on drafting the Lent Study series I'm proposing for my next locum stint at St Andrew's Los Boliches then sent it to churchwarden Jen. Then two hours reading my latest Patricia Cornwell crimmie, and a short practice of tomorrow afternoon concert music. It's stretched my music reading to the limit, and I have not been helped by a music layout which repeats the lyrics for each part for separate staves, so I scanned the sheets most difficult to read properly and deleted all text except the line I'm singing to make it less confusing. Here's hoping it works.

Embarrassing oversight

Cloudy with showers during the day, but clearing after dark to reveal the bright waxing moon nearly full. The noise of builders at work next door has ceased this week, and the scaffolding removed from the front. Looking out of the bedroom window this morning, I could see that the back garden makeover is complete. High wooden fences along neighbouring walls, white gravel in the side alley, a white tiled patio in front of the kitchen extension, and the remainder covered with an astro-turf lawn. The beautiful mature magnolia tree in the corner of the garden, flower beds and rose bushes were all destroyed before work on the attic conversion and kitchen extension began, replaced by a few large flower pots. We'll miss the tree and roses poking their heads about the trellis on our side of the wall. A sterile designer desert replaces a small refuge for birds, insects and other garden creatures. Incredibly sad.

After breakfast I had a long conversation on WhatsApp with Church Warden Jen on the Costa del Sol. She's a Welsh speaker hails from Ammanford, and with her husband  John served in Peru with the South American Missionary Society when they were young so both speak Spanish. In later life, John headed the organisation which sent them, and they retired to the Costa del Sol rather than stay in Britain. 

I learned that the chaplaincy now has three worship centres rather than the five which existed last time I was there on locum duty. Saint Andrew's church in Los Boliches has had its hall section renovated recently, and post-covid is getting used socially again, and congregation numbers picking up. I find it interesting that the Costa chaplaincies have similar attendances now to St Catherine's and St John's, about forty in the committed core of membership.

Clare and I shared the cooking of lunch. A nurse arrived as we were about to start eating, to teach Clare how and where to inject herself with the osteoporosis medication prescribed for her by the specialist bone consultant. Afterwards I went to town to bank a cheque in the main HSBC branch, one of the few left in Cardiff. The Canton branch closed last week, and I was saddened to see a work team emptying the building of its automatic machines. A product of the rise of on-line banking, it deprives customers of easy access to personal services, hitting hard those whose digital competence is limited or simply non-existent. Such an injustice.

I found a message from Mother Frances about another funeral the week after next, that I had to decline as we're down in the Gower. Then to my horror I realised that I'd already accepted to do another funeral earlier in the same week. I had to call her and the funeral directors and tell them I couldn't do either. I was mortified, and couldn't understand how I'd not noticed the commitment clash when it was written into my Google Calendar. It took me a while to work it out.

At the top of each calendar page church festivals and public holidays are listed in two separate lines, an engagement lasting over a week sits above them, and isn't so noticeable if the colour contrast doesn't make them noticeable. Too much information completing for attention. I switched off the festivals and holidays display now simplifying the diary page appearance. Now you can't miss any diary entry which spans days. I wish I'd done it before. I feel so ashamed of myself.

There wasn't much of interest on live TV, but I found there's a third series of 'Inspector Borowski' on More Four's 'Walter Presents' series of foreign movies. Old school German police procedural stories mostly focusing on cases where it turns out the perpetrator is a victim of circumstances who loses their grip on themselves, or just plain crazy, un-noticed. There's a fair amount of humour and occasionally surreal moments. I enjoyed the first two series episodes, so it's good there's another set to watch.