Value for money?

A drive to St German's for the midweek Mass after breakfast. There were ten of us celebrating St Matthew a day late. Afterwards some of  the congregation chatted with Robert about his appearance on the Antiques Road Show programme last Sunday. He told us that he didn't think his interview would be included in the show which went out, but then he received a text message a few days earlier to say that it would appear. It seems the show was filmed back in July, soon after re-opening to visitors. 

I'm not surprised Robert's entry was included. It was a stitched sampler made by his great aunt, found discarded in coal cellar of her home when the house was being cleared after her death. It was a classic period piece of domestic craft work. but most importantly included an inscription in Welsh, which he read to camera. An interesting addition to an otherwise all English programme filmed in Dyffryn Gardens.

I collected this week's veggie bag and then cooked lunch when I returned home. My sister June emailed me a copy of a message from friend of hers complaining about the fact that the local clergy no longer visit or even phone up, and how hard it is for elderly people who are not computer literate if the can't make use of the church's offerings of on-line worship. Are clergy worth the amount of money the parish has to find to pay towards their costs? He asked. 

I sent her a lengthy detailed response, giving her a brief approximate account of the cost components in employing a cleric, and an account of what clergy have been up to during the months of the pandemic. I don't think that churchgoers who are now less actively involved in congregational affairs realise how rapidly the church at grass roots level is dying out, even though they will have lived long enough to see the same happening to chapel going communities forty years ago.

Then I went for my walk around the park, and listened to Evensong on my phone. I must remember to take headphones out with me when I go out. The sound is never quite loud enough to hear from my jacket pocket, and often phone conversations suffer from background noise interference. 

I had a message from Martin who is stopping over in Cairo for a few days on his way to St Catherine's Monastery on Mount Sinai for his second visit there. He said that he's booked a ticket for tonight's opera performance of Verdi's 'Aida' in an open air space at Cairo's opera house. According to the reviews I looked at, the entrance hall leading to the stage is decked out like the entrance to an Egyptian Temple. What an experience this must be!

After my walk, I whiled away the rest of the day watching episodes of 'Floodlands'. The story became even more complex as it developed with Chinese Triads attempting to take control over a cross border criminal fraternity claiming to have originated with seventeenth pirates based on the Meuse estuary, but it was primarily about law enforcement corruption and people trafficking. Complex enough for the first quarter of the seventh episode to consist of flashbacks from some story protagonists reprising elements of the narrative which the viewer would have guessed by watching in any case. 

In the end, almost all the baddies were arrested or shot, except the two arch-criminals and the good cops. That may mean there'll be another series eventually, though no sign of it on IMDB at the moment. The whole thing could have been compressed into six episodes if long night driving sequences and dramatic hallucination scenes  had been cut right back. Why do they bother?

Family homeland revisited

Yesterday was unremarkably routine, except that I walked into town in the afternoon to buy a new summer jacket. It's nearly time to switch to a warmer one and my existing jacket is worn out. Sure enough, as it's the end of the season, I found just was I was looking for at a forty percent discount. It'll keep now until next spring, unless there's extra warm weather and a special occasion. There was nothing of interest on telly so I spent evening working on the script I'm writing for the play abut St German. I'm quite pleased at the way it's working out so far.

This morning began with out late Saturday pancake breakfast, and by midday we set out to drive up the A470 to visit Parc Penallta on the mountain above the village where I was born. A large area of the former spoil heap (or coal tip as the locals call it) of Penallta Colliery was stabilized, given a forest makeover and landscaped with two big outdoor installations to mark the arrival of the Millennium. I've never been there before, and thought it was about time we did.

After twenty years the woodland has developed nicely not only with vegetation but birds and insects. We saw buzzards circulating, a greenfinch (I think) a big flock of sparrows, and a red bodied dragonfly - there are several ponds and a wetland area. In one open area there's a huge earth sculpture, best viewed from the air commemorating Sultan one of the Penallta pit ponies. There were dozens of dog walkers up there, and the majority of them seemed to be dachshund owners. I wondered if this was their club rally. There's also a large metal sculpture, a dome shaped frame with cast iron sheet panels at ground level, each one with a set of symbolic images representing valleys life, landscape and history cut out of them. Very effective.

The views from the top up and down the Rhymney Valley, east and west, from Maesycwmer to Treharris are lovely, even on an overcast day like today. I was struck by the black outline on the mountain ridge to the south west of the Llanbradach Colliery tip which grew like a scar on the landscape as I grew up. It was a sight I hated because it made a beautiful mountain look so ugly. Nothing has been done to remove it or clothe it with vegetation. I wonder if it ever will?

After walking up to the pit pony site, had lunch in the Rowan Tree pub on the road between Nelson and Ystrad Mynach close to the site entrance. It has a lovely view across farmland in the valley below and we were able to sit at a table in a conservatory on the terrace. Next to the pub is a butchers shop. Much of the pub grub makes use of fresh meat from the shop, supplied by local farms I imagine. I had faggots, mushy peas and pork chippolates with mashed potatoes, generous helpings of delicious traditional fare washed down with a pint of Stella Artois. The we drove to Penallta hill at the other end of the site, and climbed up to the highest point where the Observatory sculpture is located. On the way down we picked a kilo of blackberries and another kilo of crab apples, to turn into a delicious jelly in the next few days.

After supper, I completed next week's Thursday prayer video, and started watching a 'Walter Presents' crimmie called 'Floodlands' set on the section of Dutch Belgian border along the river Meuse. It's about people trafficking and features a black female detective, so it observes issues of institutional racism and sexism in the police and border forces. I find it interesting to watch partly because it is set on a border, since we lived altogether nine years in border territories in Geneva and Monaco.