Caught out

I visited the wound clinic this morning to pick up some supplies, in preparation for our weekend trip to Ascot, where my cousin Lindsay is getting married for the first time in his late sixties. Earlier this year he was confirmed, having found his way to faith in his local CofE parish. I'm delighted for him on both accounts. I wasn't well enough to travel up to his confirmation, and am determined nothing will prevent me being there for his wedding. I've given them the 'Hospitality of Abraham' icon as a wedding present, to bless the home they are making together. It's one I've had and used in prayer for over fifty years. I think I brought home from Greece, but it's hard to remember now. To my mind it's a gift with a certain quality that doesn't come with one bought from a church supplier.

Rachel went for a hairdo in Rumney with Chris at lunch-time and I drove over there to collect her.  We were going to drive on to Newport and visit Martin then, but he texted me to say that he was in bed and unwell after an earlier surgical examination. Rather foolishly, I had omitted to take suitable cushions with me, to protect me from the evil effects of bucket car seats, and I paid for it with a very uncomfortable journey. It was a relief to drive straight home instead. Awkward pressure from the seat left me in pain and discomfort for the rest of the day. I was so annoyed with myself, given that I've made progress in recent weeks, in being able to sit without grief on most kinds of seat with the right protective buffer cushion, the exception being worn out railway carriage seats, of which there are many given the age of so much of rolling stock still in use. 

I'll have to be careful to take with me on Saturday cushions I need for travelling and banqueting. We're going by car, rather than train, to allow us more flexibility, as long as I'm confident I can sit for the required length of time. As the wound draws less attention to itself and its need to be pressure free it's easy to forget simple precautions. I have to plan, and avoid spontaneous impulse, as a matter of self protection. This doesn't come naturally to me!

Tatyana's gift

Thursday and Friday passed by uneventfully, with two surprises. When I went to lock the church on Thursday evening, I discovered on the piano near the side door into the church room a gilded 'Hodigitria' icon of Our Lady, holding up and pointing to Jesus, with a note hastily scribbled on a piece of card saying 'Thank you for a lovely wedding. From Bulgarian Tatyana'.

The couple must have been passing by car on their way back to Britain and dropped by in haste to deliver it. I didn't hear the doorbell, that's for sure.

Friday's surprise was the announcement of a new Priest in Charge for St John the Baptist City Parish Church back home. It's another Canon Sarah Jones, currently Rector of the Ross Team Ministry in Hereford diocese. Having someone with big team experience suggests to me that Bishop June may want to work on making a Central Cardiff Ministry Area grouping of Parishes even larger than the Rectorial Benefice that I inherited and Archbishop Barry saw fit to dissolve. That was another time, when central redevelopment and closing St James' were a major energy draining occupation. A part of consolidation ahead of re-grouping. If this is the plan, let's hope the new priest stays long enough to see it through.

Apart from brief bus trips into town to the shops, all I had to do was look after my wound, so slowly drying out. The swelling is almost all gone now, and one anti- inflammatory pill a day is enough to keep me almost pain free.

Today, I walked into town and back, and walked to Territet port and the tennis club, where the Montreux Ladies Open is taking place, I was delighted with a couple of action shots I was able to take. This is the best! 

I wish I had the photo skills to highlight the ball, as it's just left the racquet, in that microsecond when the player serving is still in the air. It was sheer luck in conditions highly favourable to my Sony HX50, and it made my day.

It's Freddy Mercury's 72nd birthday, had he lived. There are two days of festive events either side of the date and the market hall has been turned into a venue for loud rock concerts. His statue on the Montreux Marché quay is bedecked with a sunflower wreath and an assortment of cards and votive offerings. It's even more of a shrine than usual, and a stream of people want to pose with it. To me it's nothing more than idol worship. Today, however is also the festival Our Lady's birthday. It's an ironic coincidence. No Eucharist for me today, but I was able to light a candle in front of Mary's icon while I said the Office of the day, thanks to Tatyana.

This evening I watched Harry There was a sequence of First World War songs in honour of the 1918 Armistice commemoration. Hearing 'Roses of Picardie' sung reminded me of being at home with the family as a child, listening to my mother playing piano and sisters singing this song. I emailed my sister June. She said she'd been singing along out loud - annoying the neighbours, she hoped for a change, instead of them annoying her. That made me smile.

It's my final Sunday tomorrow, and the announcement of the appointment of a new chaplain. That's three locum assignments in a row where this has happened to me, as I was about to leave. Amazing!