Another Boris crisis

After breakfast this morning, I completed the on-line check-in for next Tuesday's flight and downloaded the PDF of the boarding card to my phone. Then Clare reminded me of the need to carry a vaccination certificate as well. That was less than straightforward. Initially the NHS app failed me, as it's less than clear at the outset that NHS Wales is not served by the app. You have to look for the NHS Wales website and follow the procedure from there to obtain the vaccination certificate PDF, delivered by a mobile phone text message containing a web-link to the download. It could be more straightforward than it is. Anyway I have all the necessary travel documents now. All I have to do now is sort out travel money, and that's for tomorrow or the day after.

Clare had a dentist's visit mid morning, so I did the weekly grocery shopping trip to the Co-op, and then cooked lunch. I had chaplaincy emails to respond to after lunch. It sounds as if I will be collected from the airport instead of having to take the coach to Estepona. I'm grateful for this as there's likely to be a higher risk of catching covid on a crowded coach than on a 'plane with a much higher standard air conditioning system. One risk is better than two. I just have to stay away from busy crowded places this week. We won't see Jasmine as everyone around her has covid, but not her so far, but the risk she'll catch it and transmit it is still high. It's very sad but inevitable.

We went for a walk around Llandaff Fields and down to Blackweir for a drink at the TukTuk cafeteria, a motor tricycle equipped to sell drinks, which parks the other side of the bridge. The guy running it told us he's an architecture student, and we had an interesting chat, with him telling us as he lives with dyslexia for which he has developed a successful coping strategy.

There was a fascinating programme on Sky Arts this evening about the 20th century artist M C Escher whose extraordinary body of paintings and prints featuring unfathomable geometric patterns with tricks of perspective embedded in them. His art has been influential on designers as well as other artists since the sixties when he came to public attention by designing an album cover for a Rolling Stones LP.

Today's news centres yet again on a crisis around Boris Johnson's leadership and judgement in appointing MP Chris Pincher as Deputy Chief Whip when he was known to have a reputation as a sex pest. He's accused of two sexual assaults last week, and when this came to light he resigned his position and had the Tory Whip withdrawn. During the day Johnson has been openly criticised for lying by a retired senior civil servant, and lost two senior members of his cabinet. He's made excuses for his action in appointing Pincher that were hardly credible, and is coming for criticism from all sides. Opinion is turning against the Prime Minister in conservative media and among the public. There's no sign of Johnson resigning, so it remains to be seen if the Tory Party finds a way to dislodge him.

UN goes to Kremlin

I woke up to news that the UN General Secretary Antonio Gutierrez is in Moscow to see Putin and Lavrov. He's come in for some criticism for not visiting Ukraine first to see for himself the impact of the war, but he goes in full knowledge of the situation and the fact that Russia's action is condemned by the majority of member nations. His official role is to inform Putin that Russian actions in Ukraine violate  the UN Charter. It is proper to convey this formally in person and keep channels of communication open. At the moment, Putin's attitude is that Russia stands fast against a hostile world. And that's a very dangerous position when Russia has armaments that could destroy it completely.

The Russians are upping the rhetoric stating that NATO is conducting a proxy war in Ukraine, supplying weapons to strengthen resistance against aggression. Germany is sending fifty tanks to  the Ukrainian army, aircraft and missiles are also on the way. Some Ukrainian railway stations have been attacked by missiles, as if to show that importing war supplies will not go unopposed. Destroying rail infrastructure is not in the Russians military's best interests when gaining control would be more beneficial to them. Amazingly, the onslaught on the Donbas region isn't yet gathering full momentum. It seems that some of Ukraine's best forces are already embedded in defending the region.

America is also upping the rhetoric by stating the aim should be to degrade Russia's ability to act aggressively against any country. It's been said that the conflict so far has been more damaging to the Russian war machine than Putin anticipated, which could prolong the war beyond the target date of May 9th, associated with the Russian victory over the Nazis, and celebrated annually as such. Not being able to call his Ukraine exploit a swift success will be embarrassing as political and economic pressure starts to affect people more widely. But what impact will this have on the hold his regime has? 

After breakfast this morning, I stripped the bed linen for washing and re-made the bed. It's not such an easy task as the bed and mattress are very heavy, and in an awkward position. Joint pains in my hands make this an unpleasant exercise unfortunately.  Then I went out to do the weekly grocery shopping at the Co-op, and cooked lunch when I returned. Clare's back pain is easing slightly, and this afternoon she had an acupuncture treatment which seemed to help.

On my walk alongside the river Taff, I heard a warbler and a chaffinch, as well as the usual robins, tits, wrens and blackbirds. I saw a dipper speeding across from one river bank to another, with its distinctive flight pattern. It's the first one I've seen in the stretch between Western Avenue and Blackweir.

Another fascinating couple of programmes this evening on Sky Arts. The first was a documentary about the 16th century painter Raphael. The second was about the trafficking of archaeological artefacts looted from ancient Roman sites in Italy. 

A 60cm high group figure of three seated gods in marble was reported discovered in a clandestine excavation and taken illegally to Switzerland. The gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva were the principal deities of Rome, depicted in a huge temple on the Capitol Hill, little of which remains today. Smaller scale versions of the original figures were thought to have existed and given pride of place in the homes of rich Roman citizens, but none had ever been found. 

The person reporting the discovery made an 'identikit' drawing of the figure, which gave the Carabinieri detectives some idea of what they were looking for, but nobody had ever seen it or anything like it. By a stroke of misfortune for the thieves, an arm from the figure broke off and was lost during excavation. The finder returned to the site secretly and discovered the missing piece among the rubble, and was then caught by the police who were monitoring his activity. The arm, lost and found, was physical evidence confirming the report of the find. A high risk press conference gave global publicity to the theft, making it impossible for art traffickers to sell the figure to any museum. This resulted in its clandestine recovery from the gang of traffickers, for whom the figure had become worthless. None were arrested, but the figure eventually found its home in the town museum at Montecelio, close to where it was discovered. 

Several times during the programme, mention was made of the true value of an artefact being not just in its original beauty, but the story it was part of. It reminded me of why programmes such as 'The Repair Shop' and 'Antiques Road Show' are so popular, because of the stories connected to objects shown.

Then, with nothing better to do, I watched the second episode of 'Life after Life', a faultless depiction of life in middle class Britain in the 1920s, and the story of a young girl's suffering as she grows up and gets married. This too is good story telling.

Stinging in the rain

Another day of prolonged heavy rain showers, and when I started out for St German's I found there were traffic lights at the T-junction of Llanfair and Llandaff roads, just around the corner from home. Later I learned that trench was being dug across Llandaff Road to lay a new gas main extension into the housing development on the the Sussex house site on the other side. Not knowing what measure of congestion and queuing lay just out of sight, I turned the car in the opposite direction, to reach Penhill and Cardiff Road in order to get to St German's via Western Avenue and North Road. There was a quarter of a mile build up of Sunday traffic back from where the road was being dug up, but in the direction I was headed it flowed free and I got to St German's in fifteen instead of the usual twenty minutes.

Father Geraint John curate of Llangynwyd with Maesteg came to church for his Sunday off. He celebrated and I preached in honour of St German on his feast day. Geraint spent three years at St German's for his training placement. He was made deacon and ordained priest while pandemic restrictions were in force, so he left the Parish without a proper farewell. Today was finally an opportunity for the congregation to make a gift to him and express their appreciation for his pioneering ministry, especially in getting the wintertime night shelter for the homeless up and running. He was given a long round of applause after Mass as well as a cheque with a card.

Then we adjourned to the church hall for the AGM meeting of St German's Friends Association, the first in two years. There was a reception to follow, but as it ran later than I anticipated, I left straight after and went home for lunch, and was still late, due to the traffic and roads awash with rain.

When I left the house to go for a walk the rain seemed to have stopped or was only a light drizzle slowing to a pause in the rain for an hour or so. I was almost at the entrance to Thompson's Park when the heavens opened again and it rained heavily for a quarter of an hour, so heavily I stood under a tree overhanging the footpath rather than make a run for it to a more sheltered spot. I got fairly wet but not soaked through, so kept on walking through Thompson's Park and then through Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields to Blackweir and back home. The sun came out and I was more or less dry leaving the park, then the heavens opened again and soaked me in the last five hnndred metres.

While I was out walking I felt a sharp burning pain at two points in my right thigh muscles, as if someone was pushing a hot needle under the skin. There was no convenient place where I could drop my trousers and examine my left until I found a thicket of bushes by the riverside. I had two puncture wounds, one of which seemed bloody at first inspection, but when I got home it turned out to be the read end of a creature that had stung me, possibly a bee. I think it may have crawled up my trouser left while I sheltered from the rain in search of warmth and shelter. When I felt the sting I rubbed my leg and finished it off, then it fell out leaving only a small amount of tissue and its venom. What an odd occurrence!

After supper we watched on Sky Arts the recording of a concert made in 2002 by friends of Beatle George Harrison celebrating on the first anniversary of his death wide rang of compositions. The band had, I think, half a dozen guitarists, including George's son Dhani, then 24, looking like a much younger version of his father. There were four, maybe five drummers, two keyboard players, a brass and strings orchestra and a host of backing singers. It was a wonderful feast of musical nostalgia, featuring rock stars of the Beatles era all in their sixties and still playing wonderfully.  This happened just as we were settling in at St John's after our nine years in Europe. It awakened many mixed memories of the thirty years of ministry preceding - some of the music that was the backing track to our lives.

Banksy interpreted

I'm enjoying better nights of sleep these days, as my wound closes and heals. Less discomfort, pain and irritation, and I can sit properly for much longer as well. Somehow the change leaves me more relaxed, not so driven by the impulse to survive and cope with normal everyday living. This may sound odd, but it is what I have realised is a consequence of the easing of stress on the vagus nerve system that runs through the body from top to bottom and drives fight/flight reactions. With a wound so close to the core of this, it isn't surprising that that the body physically reacts to this as a threat. Ancient iconography portrays the devil poking his pitchfork into the backside of the condemned to drive them into hell. With good reason. Any impact on one of the most sensitive parts of the body is experienced as an evil threat,

I took the funeral of an ex-professional soldier this lunchtime at Thornhill Crem. Although the family hadn't given much attention to this aspect of his life, I asked if Elgar's Enigma variation 'Nimrod' could be played after the eulogy. Also I spoke the allocution 'They shall not grow old...', as I thought this was appropriate. Afterwards, the lady who provided the material for the eulogy expressed appreciation for this. It seems the deceased had mentioned this to his in his last days as something he'd like at his funeral, but she hadn't remembered this in the rush to prepare the service.

I arrived home to find that Clare had returned from her study group and had just put lunch on the table, although we'd agreed to have a snack and cook this evening. That was a nice surprise. Then I went to the bank and continued with a walk down to Blackweir where I took some more photos of the resident heron, standing fishing in the same place as yesterday.

Before supper, I recorded the components of Thursday's Morning Prayer and Reflection and edited them together afterwards. I can produce the final version with slides for upload to YouTube tomorrow.

An excellent two hour long documentary about street art on the Sky Arts channel later in the evening, much of it about the career of Banksy, though not exclusively. It's not often you can sit through a serious programme about art, and spend much of the time laughing at what you see. So much of Banksy's work is a humorous insightful commentary into the contemporary world and a critique of accepted values. As the early part of the programme charted his nurture in the alternative creative Bristol scene of graffiti and hip hop music, it portrayed a city we know well and lived in as students and when I was a Parish Priest in St Paul's. 

In those days I was more into reggae and black artistic development and hardly aware of what was emerging in the neighbouring inner city white working class barrio of Barton Hill. Owain was born in St Paul's, and now lives the other side of Barton Hill in Redfield, a rising gentrifying multi-cultural place, less deprived than his birthplace. It's fascinating to look back on our time there after forty years, and how everything has changed since.

It occurred to me that Banksy's work is challenging and critical of contemporary values in a way which prophets of ancient times would have understood. Although words and sentences often appear in his art, it's always in a visual framework juxtaposed with images that make you think. Prophecy is associated with declarations of God's Word in poetic oracles. Sometimes these oracles describe a visual metaphor. In Banksy's work the prophetic Word is expressed primarily in revelatory images. I'm trying to figure out if this is innovative, or if I've just missed something in my view of twenty centuries of art history.

Year's end reached

Indeed there was frost overnight, and the temperature went below zero for the first time this year. One piece of welcome brexit news arrived in the news with the announcement of an agreement between Spain and Britain about cross border arrangements in Gibraltar. Discussions about sovereignty are on hold for the moment, but cross border co-operation is in the best economic and social interests both sides. Gib is a key contributor to the regional economy, due to the reach of its legal and financial services industry. Many local Spanish people cross the frontier to work there. I think it's less last minute than it appears to be, but nothing could be formally agreed and announced until brexit legislation had been passed European and British parliaments. 

If there was any prospect of Gibraltar reverting to Spanish ownership would she have been able to afford such a large strategic naval base, vital to the stability and security of the Mediterranean region? Changing the present status quo isn't in anyone's interests. The brexit bill ensures a large measure of co-operation not only on matters of security, but campaigning against organised crime and terrorism. Common sense has prevailed, thankfully.

Despite the chaotic governmental response to the pandemic crisis throughout this year and unmasking of structural racism and poverty hiding behind the mask of an egalitarian liberal society putting Britain to shame globally, there have been many good things to celebrate about 2020. The crisis has shaken very large number of people out of selfish somnolence and awakened them to the blessing of really caring for each other, making sacrifices for the common good, and not in war or in pursuit of wealth. We can rejoice in the high quality of scientific research which has revealed both the nature of the virus, innovative kinds of treatment, and now vaccines. 

Progress has been made in one year that might normally take four to five years, if not longer. It's a year which has seen a huge resurgence in volunteer activity, and there's no doubt in my mind that the pace of progress in medicine science is due to people working insane hours, putting their own health and sanity at risk from exhaustion. The realisation that 'my welfare exists in looking after your welfare: because you are I am' - the Ubuntu principle, crossing generations, religion race and culture is renewing community, also moral and social awareness and a long avoided debate about the kind of future we really want. 

Much of the change of awareness is the fruit of disrupted personal, familial, and working routines under lock-down. We've had to stop, look, listen, and above all think more deeply, question more courageously what life is all about. It's not led to a major religious revival, but perhaps to a re-valuation of authentic spirituality and discernment of lies, folly and deceit. I hope and pray this will impact on Britain's political life long term and lead us to government which honestly, unselfishly and effectively works to eliminate inequality, prejudice and xenophobia. Then we may be better equipped to re-enter the European Union. By then I believe it will have begun to reform itself and work even more effectively for the common good.

The park was busy with people, despite the cold weather this afternoon. There were big clouds at sunset, and with the temperature going down below zero, I wonder if we'll wake up to snow in the morning? Lots of encouraging and hopeful messages being exchanged today with family, friends, colleagues, church members, everyone's making the effort. No partying tonight, except on telly, and secretly among those who think defying the law and ignoring the common good is a personal right.

Early evening we watched on Sky Arts the short comedy movie 'Dinner for One' that we first encountered in Switzerland. It's a two hander, made in English by two British actors better known in Europe than in the UK, as it's been obligatory to view this as part of New Year's Eve festivities since it was made back in the 1960s in Scandinavia, Switzerland, and Germany where it was made for the North German TV. It's a classic sketch about a waiter who gets drunk while serving dinner, featuring the brilliant clowning of Freddie Frinton. It wasn't until 2018 that it was screened for the first time as a New Year's Eve special on Sky Arts. A nice little touch for the night we leave the EU. We need something to laugh about, when there has been so much to reduce us to tears this year. Then a BBC iPlayer gala concert of operatic music performed recently at Covent Garden, live without an audience, all socially distanced. Singers were on stage, the orchestra occupied the entire stalls area, and the Royal Opera House chorus occupied spaces on two floors of the surrounding balcony seats. Some powerful performances by outstanding singers, most of whose names I don't know.

After a break from TV to share these thoughts, it's time to count down to 2021. Time flies by so very fast the older I get.

    

Hebrew World Heritage

In the early day news I heard that now the Oxford/AstraZenica vaccine has been authorised for use, the strategic challenge of mass vaccination of the most vulnerable half of the UK population can begin. It's easier to store and transport, so greater volumes of vaccine can be taken where most needed, a great boost to what started with the distribution of the Pfizer/BioNtech vaccine last week. This sign of hope comes at a time of ever more desperate warnings from epidemiologists about the uncontrollable spread of the new virus mutation, threatening to overwhelm the NHS as seriously as it did in the early months of the year. 

Another chilly cloudy morning, reason to stay in bed a bit longer and catch up on those accumulated hours of sleep missed due to intermittent toilet breaks. I caught the third reading of the mid-morning Book of the Week on Radio 4, a book by John Barton called 'The History of the Bible'. It gave a neat overview of the Old Testament, origins and dating, as understood from modern liberal scholarship and an account of the different ways in which Jews and Christians have classified the books in this library of sacred literature. It's not as cut and dried as might appear, classification has changed at different periods of history in different communities. 

The books tradition attributed to Moses don't date from his era, nor do tales of David and Solomon, but are literature of 4-500 years later. Here's all the things we learned about in college but beefed up, with newer scholarship and presented for the interested general reader rather than the scholar. A propos Moses - one

observation was made that never occurred to me before. The Ten Commandments given to a nomadic tribe refer to life in a settled farming culture. Houses rather than tents for instance. There was oral tradition of a community's law long before written literature, but the transcription from the oral is fitted to a more recent culture. I hadn't taken that in before, even though I've been aware than simpler sayings and stories in the bible were elaborated with explanations and comments in ancient times and became part of the text.

I had a funeral to take at Barry crematorium this morning. Having printed off an order of service yesterday I remembered before leaving that I hadn't printed off the eulogy prepared by the daughter of the deceased. I  asked to see it beforehand, but was under the impression she wanted to read it herself. When I checked with her at the crem, it was just as well I had the text, as she was expecting me to read it. Perhaps we were unclear about it at the time. I should have checked with her last night, but in the event I was ready. 

As the time drew near to leave, I switched on my computer, and found the document quickly, but it took far to long to load into Open Office and print off, thanks to the way Windows 10 works, threatening to make me late. The same process on my Linux laptop over ten years old can be done in two minutes not five or six, but at the time the laptop wasn't connected to the printer. Somehow if Windows 10 can obstruct quick efficient working it will. It only runs fast and well on devices a few years old, and it seems to have a preference for quick file loading from its One Drive cloud platform rather than from the computer's hard drive, unless you have a fast modern solid state drive installed.

It wasn't a relaxed drive to the crem. I was stuck in the long slow moving queue of cars, headed by the hearse as it turned out. The Wenvoe bypass is mostly single lane, no overtaking, and I fretted about being late until I spotted the hearse about fifteen cars ahead, very few of them were in the funeral cortège. I got there on time. only to find that a change of topcoat meant I'd omitted to put in a face mask so I had to beg one from the crem attendant. Sight reading the eulogy text was quite challenging, as I had only skimmed through it before, but it came out OK and I was able to ad lib a little to give it a personal relaxed touch. My afternoon walk started with a visit to the nearest store where I could but a couple of spare masks to keep in each of the coats I use. And one in the car. Better safe than sorry.

Parliament has voted to approve the brexit bill, fruit of several year's worth of negotiations, right down to the last minute. As far as I'm concerned, this is a sad day for Britain. I feel dispossessed of a certain kind of freedom as a European citizen that I'd come to cherish over the past forty years. Travel abroad, living and working abroad will now be subject more regulation and bureaucracy, and in the end more expense. I really dont't think anyone really knows what we've let ourselves in for.

Out walking in the park at sunset, I was conscious of the temperature plummeting suddenly. Frost tonight I expect. After supper another remarkable programme Sky Arts Channel, a documentary about the musical derived from the play 'Fiddler on the Roof', and how the story it tells of like in a Russian Jewish shetl community and how it gets disrupted and dispersed by anti-semitic pogroms. Remarkable was the account of how it got performed successfully by a mixed race school group in the USA in the early days of the civil rights campaign, also by groups in Thailand, Japan, in South Africa, all speaking of how relevant it was to their life experiences. It's reckoned somewhere in the world every day the musical is performed, that's how popular it is. Jewish humour, common sense, compassion and wisdom touches human hearts everywhere. Still striving to be what God called them to be, despite their failings, and despite the hostility they still have to live with around the world.

On leaving something to the imagination

Owain stayed with us until lunchtime, then I drove him to Grangetown to call on a friend for a socially distanced chat over the fence, on his way to the station. He was back home in Bristol just after half past three, having returned thankfully on an almost empty train - quiet a relief for us to know that.

We went out for a brisk walk in chilly damp air around the park together after a post-lunch siesta, it was busy with people socialising at a safe distance, if not walking their dogs or jogging. I seem to need a lot of sleep at the moment. On returning, a bout of curiosity prompted me to potter around with my HP Windows desktop PC to see if I could access its BIOS settings and change the boot order, to allow me to run a Linux Mint live distro. It was a matter of trial and error, as tracking down which BIOS version applies to this device, and how to access it, is less onerous than googling it when you don't have that info to hand. 

I found out what I needed to know, changed the settings, booted Linux Mint without a hitch, and was astonished how fast it loaded and what a crisp screen display it gave me. Now, shall I convert it to a dual boot system, or decant my data make a fresh start? The device is a 2005 Core-i3, the youngest I've ever tried Linux with, and the operating system doesn't get in the way of performance or annoying update ritual like Windows. Trouble is, if I abolish Windows I'll have no idea how to help others if something goes wrong and they ask my help.

In the evening we watched a play based on Charlotte Bronte's novel 'Jayne Eyre' on the Sky Arts channel. It was a National Theatre co-production with Bristol Old Vic, superbly done with minimal staging and powerful acting, laced with humour, showcasing uncompromising integrity of its heroin, reflecting the emergence of feminist thinking in the early nineteenth century. It was nearly four hours long, but well worth a late bed-time. I'd forgotten just how inspiring live theatre is, and how it leaves freedom for the imagination to work. 

We've become opera buffs over the past twenty five years, and rarely go out to watch a play. Nowadays, we watch movies, probably far too many, and in many if not most of them, too little is left for the imagination. Too much is inevitably mediated by the film director's perspective, and reliance on real life film locations. If a setting has symbolic significance in terms of the story-line, it may not necessarily add value to the plot. In the past few years we've had movie series in which the the clothing or car driven by the heroine has evoked as much comment as the actor and narrative. Authentic portrayal of period pieces is much praised, until someone spots and comments on an anachronism. Theatre, opera and ballet use open symbolism and settings artistically to stimulate memory and free the imagination. 

Funnily enough, what I found superb about this live audience production was the camera work which drew you right into the stage in a natural way without being intrusive, and made the choreography visible, and there's much movement by the cast on two level stage with ladders. A prime example of the powerful use of symbolic stage sets was in Matthew Bourne's masterpiece ballet production of 'The Red Shoes' on Christmas night. It supported the narrative without imposing itself on the performance. Owain a vocational 'vinylist' is fond of pointing out how many great record albums since the 1950s featured cover designs of artistic merit, inseparable from the content, and there's been a renaissance of this kind of art in the techno scene of late. Fascinating.