State of Alarm - day Eighty Five

Back to cloudless skies and hot sun today. After breakfast and prayers, I continued working on Sunday's service. Anthony came up and recorded the Gospel, and I wrote some new intercessions to record. By lunchtime the files were ready for uploading, nice and early, as I have to clean and tidy the house before finding everything I have to pack. The more time I take, the more thorough I can be. I wish I could have done more in the garden, but i was limited to what I could do manually, as safe use of a petrol driven strimmer or lawn mower is not in my skill set. Learning to accept one's limitations is definitely part of growing old!

Anthony cooked an impressive pile of spaghetti and a pork bolognaise sauce for lunch, and it went down well after a constructive morning's work.

I walked down to the sea at the end of the afternoon when it started to cool down, and took some movie footage with my HX90 to accompany my next discursive prayer video. Then I went to Suma supermarket and bought some replacement stocks for the food cupboard. On return I cooked some of the remaining vegetables into a chick pea stew for Anthony and myself to free up time over the weekend for other tasks. Tomorrow we are invited out to lunch and I have someone coming to see me at tea time as well Such a change recently, after so many weeks of solitude.

Rosella rang me from Málaga, full of joy, to tell me that their prospective chaplain candidate had been to visit, met St George's Chaplaincy Council, and expressed delight with the apartment. It was pleased to hear this, as during my locum duty spells living in that apartment I became convinced that it was entirely the right place for a chaplain to be, and not living way out in the suburbs, as two previous chaplains insisted on doing. 

It was a matter of finding a priest for whom urban apartment living was normal and natural. As such a person would be more at home with the opportunities a ministry in that setting would offer. An announcement will be made very soon. Next time I get to visit Málaga, when it is safe to do so again, it will be for a proper holiday

After supper I went out again for a twilight walk up the track, and heard the sound of stone curlews calling each other, quite close to where I was for a while. No chance of seeing them in the dark however. In any case, my eyes aren't as sharp as they were that last time I was in Spain, and I have more difficulty focusing rapidly enough to be able to recognise the distinctive features of most birds. I wonder if I'll be recommended for a cataract operation this year?

  

Disconcerting news

I was saddened to learn yesterday evening that Malaga is soon to be without a priest again, as things didn't work out for Fr Paul with the congregations there, so he's moving to Gran Canaria next month. After such high hopes of a new beginning last Pentecost, this is a crushing blow for the church there. Fifteen months ago it was suggested that I might go there for an interim year of ministry to help the church move on from a succession of shortened ministries and long interregna. A part of me regrets not taking up this idea. At present I'm not in a position offer them any kind of help, which adds to the regret. Well, I can still pray for the resurgence of new life despite everything going on.

I had an email from Emma today asking if I could do a funeral in two weeks time, when she and all the serving clergy of the diocese are at Clergy School in Santiago de Compostela. This takes 'Pilgrimage' as its theme, though why it's necessary to fly everyone to Spain for a few days for this when you could do the same at St Beuno's in Denbighshire or St David's in Pembrokeshire puzzles me. This comes as Parliament debates the global climate change emergency and people are on the streets protesting that not enough is being done in response to the crisis of this magnitude. Increasing the diocesan carbon footprint to such an extent won't do anything to enhance the credibility of the church at this moment in history. I see it as a spectacular own goal.

Emma told me that the appointment process to find a new Team Rector was unsuccessful and will have to be run again. So the interregnum is now set to continue into the autumn. She also asked me to do a Christening at St Luke's next month, on the day of the Benefice Confirmation service. It's one of those situations when it's not practical to do this during a main service. I'm happy to help out with this. This a rare treat for me these days. I did one last summer in Montreux, and one the previous autumn in Villars, and before that, I cannot recall.

It was otherwise a routine day, with a visit to the wound clinic, the weekly grocery shopping to do, and bereavement visit arrangements to make. I needed extra rest too, as the weekend's travel drained my reserves. I still can't get used to this, and hope it's nothing more than a consequence of on-going wound healing.
   

Promise of the Spirit fulfilled

There was something very satisfying about celebrating the Eucharist at St George's this morning as Rosella announced the appointment of Canon Paul Wignall as Chaplain. Just perfect for Pentecost Sunday as it enable me to preach on the many ways in which the Spirit works in our lives and in that of the whole church.

There was a happy and relieved atmosphere, during the after-church fellowship. I found myself on the receiving end of appreciative remarks, for having supported the broad conviction of many in the chaplaincy that it was better to look for the priest who'd be happy to be planted and flourish in the appointed dwelling, rather than live with the anxiety of hunting for a costly alternative that fills rather more than the necessary requirements. 

Fr Paul certainly understood this and was willing to take things as he finds them, and work from there. Some thought I'd been successful in persuading him about the job and the apartment, but truth to tell, we talked the same language about mission and ministry, like kindred spirits. He was already sensing a new adventure ahead. To me, this is how the Spirit works, so often. God provides the right place, at the right time, and all else unfolds.

Afterwards, I was taken out for a farewell lunch and final chat, and chose sardinas for the second time in the past fortnight. Again disappointingly they were far too over-salted for my palate which detracted from their delicate taste. To be avoided in future for sure. I'll buy and cook them on my own terms next time. But never mind, the company was good, and the house Rioja was good.

After parting company, I returned to the apartment and started the final clean and tidy jobs, with the first of two loads of bed linen and towels. The effort made me feel quite tired so I only walked down to the port and back. In the cruise terminal, Marella Spirit, a regular visitor had arrived again early morning, also at much the same time, one of the newest cruise ships in the Med., the Seabourn Ovation, launched just nine months ago. I guess it was worth the effort, just for that. Lots more to do tomorrow to be ready to depart before dawn on Tuesday.

  

Busy port and an Elders' fiesta

When I went out yesterday afternoon, I was surprised to see a film crew setting up outside the Parish Church of St Gabriel, at the bottom of Calle Cervantes. I've no idea what for, but several equipment vans, cordoned areas and lighting columns suggested this wasn't a new crew at work, as these days they tend to travel light. 

Down in the open space at Muelle Uno, last weekend's art installation had gone, and in its place a basketball area with seating on two sides for a hundred people was being constructed, to host a tournament sponsored by Movistar Telecoms. 

Before the wooden retail huts were installed for the month of April, there was a Google Marketing roadshow there, and another four events have been staged there since then. And so it continues. The city makes good use of its open air spaces for nine months of the year. It must all help to pay the bills. There were two cruise ships in the terminal area, Silver Spirit and Silver Muse, sister ships of the Silversea cruise line, with about 500 passengers each. After just a week away at sea, exclusive super luxury cruise ship Star Breeze was back again, moored at the Palmeria de las Sorpresas quay. 

The Jacaranda trees in Plaza de la Merced and other corners of the city have come into full blossom this past week, bringing a delightful dark blue colour to the townscape. The Calle Alcazabilla is hosting an interesting outdoor photo exhibition this week, promoting historic site tourism in the Aragón region of northern Spain. There's always something new and colourful to catch the eye here.

This morning I drove to the care home where Ruth lives in Macharaviyaya to give her Communion. On the return trip down the Paseo Maritime, I noticed three large cruise ships out at the terminal, which hadn't been there yesterday. Several days can pass when there are no big ships and then comes a rapid turnover of ships within days of each other. Mein Schiff 5 has 2,790 passengers and 1030 crew and was in for just the day. 

Later, I walked up to the Gibralfaro to get photos of the cruise terminal from above, then walked down the road on other side and into the Old Town, before heading for the port. At six I watched Mein Schill 5 leave port, an exercise which would have brought other marine traffic to a halt for a quarter of an hour, at least. At nearly 300m long, manouvering in port must be a tricky job.

I could hear music coming from across the road behind the quay at the open air auditorium on the Paseo del Parque, and went to investigate. There was an event going on there which celebrated the role and cultural activities of  older people in Malaguenian society. A stylishly dressed women's choir lined up for a photo opportunity. The Alcalde de Málaga (the Mayor) was on stage giving a thankyou speech. This is the 24th Semana del Mayor annual event. After the speeches a group of seven women danced a rumba on stage, and were clearly having a lot of fun before an appreciative audience of mostly Malagueños, rather than visitors.

This is not done for the tourists, but, like many other events, it's part of normal of life in an open air culture, for people who don't need to quarantine their community life from the constant presence of large numbers of strangers.

In the evening, I completed my last Sunday sermon, and my end of stay report for the diocese. It's not easy to summarise eleven memorable weeks in one side of A4, but if anyone wanted more detail there's plenty to be found here, and in my photos. Stories I love to tell.

    

Ascension up-country and an Artsenal concert

On his last visit, Owain accompanied me to the service in Salinas, and we continued afterward to spend the night and following day in Grenada. This time, he was content to have a lie-in and then go for a swim, so I set out for church at ten thirty, spent a while chatting with people arriving for the service at St George's, then set off for Salinas. using the back street route through La Meced to get to El Molinillo to follow the east bank main road along the rio Guadalmedina to reach the A45. Once again, this itinerary led to a set back, as a street linking the barrios was blocked by a cement pouring vehicle with no diversion signs in place. I had no option but to double back and take the longer route out to the autovia via the Avenida Andalucia. How frustrating!

Apart from that, the journey was uneventful, and unlike my other two Salinas trips, there was no rain just bright sunshine all the way. Much of the large parking area opposite the chapel was occupied by a big tent. It's the weekend of the San Isidro Laborador fiesta as well as Ascension Sunday. Inside the chapel entrance was a processional trona with the image of San Isidro from the side altar at the back mounted on it, ready for action, some time later in the day, I guess. A few families were setting up tents or canopies among the olive trees adjacent to the building for their festive picnics.

Today only half a dozen worshippers turned up, a third of the usual congregation. The entire choir and its leader was absent. Instead of the church being open at midday for choir practice, it remained locked until twenty past, which made me wish I'd gone to the toilet at the service station en route, where I stopped for petrol. A couple of visitors from Alicante turned up, and learned they were over an hour late for the Catholic Mass of the day. I was pleased to have an opportunity to speak Spanish with then, but they didn't stay for our service.

It was only after our Eucharist had begun that I realised that the reading which had been prepared and printed were for Ascension Day and not for Ascension Sunday, which I'd prepared for, and this meant I had to improvise around what I'd prepared to preach, not satisfactorily, from my perspective. This caught me off guard unfortunately. Singing everything unaccompanied was something I'm more used to thankfully. Afterwards, all the worshippers made for their cars, and there was no suggestion of retiring to Manolo's bar. I guess it might have been much busier than usual too, on account of the fiesta. It meant I could return immediately to Málaga to re-join Owain for lunch, however, an hour earlier than expected, and this compensated somewhat for the mishaps.

Later, we walked over to Artsenal at Muelle Uno to hear a live performance from a digital music artist from Madrid called 'Looping Greice' (aka Gracia Texidor). She relies on minimal percussion voice and occasional guitar to construct a live digitally recorded backing track against which she sings. It's a remarkable technique, which she's polished to create a sustained consistent performance. Here's an example from YouTube, and there are others! The sound system at Artsenal is very good, although an outdoor venue with people casually coming and going is less than favourable to a solo performer. Yet, she managed to hold an appreciative, if dispersed audience for an hour and a half, with nothing more than a bottle of water for sustenance. I'd like to see her perform in a club venue in her home setting, where the energy she emits would be less dissipated.

We then returned to La Malagueta and finished the day with a drink and tapas at Restaurant Flor across the road from the apartment, and talked over a bottle of once until midnight yet again. Not a good idea when you have an early start, but at least, when he gets back to Bristol Owain will have the rest of the day to recover as he doesn't work on Mondays. We both wish he could have stayed longer, even if neither of us could sustain the weekend's pace of stimulus for much longer.

Ascension Day Good News and a late arrival

It was a beautifully warm and sunny day to celebrate our Lord's Ascension, yesterday, with no commitments until the evening, apart from getting things ready for Owain's late night arrival. My Tuesday visitors sent a message to ask if they could come by this afternoon and make some measurements, a sign that meetings yesterday and today led to an appointment being made at last.

It'll be made public here and back in their home parish on Pentecost Sunday, that's my last day of duty here. I am so happy for the Chaplaincy, and delighted about the choice of a priest who has plenty of the right kind of experience for this place, plus the willingness to pursue a fresh adventure in ministry when many would be happy just to retire and settle into domestic obscurity.

Out of the 120+ weeks of interregnum, I'll have spent 23 weeks here on locum duty here. It's been a wonderful experience, getting to know the three church congregations, and work with Doreen as her ordained ministry has continued to develop, regardless of being deprived of supervision in ministry since she was ordained. Her previous experience as a religious, church missioner and social worker certainly sustained her, and we've had some good conversations about ministry, in hours spent on the phone and fairly occasional meetings in her busy schedule. A bit like being back at St Mike's for me. But, as my time draws to a close, I realise how much I've come to love the life of this city, its people and their cultures. I'm going to miss this place.

By the time I got to St George's at six, Doreen had everything organised and prepared for the evening's Confirmation Eucharist, with seating for half a dozen robed clergy to cater for, and last minute preparation with the three adults and four children to complete along with Gilly. There was a good turnout from the Velez congregation, supporting their one adult candidate. The rest were of Nigerian origin, two mothers, and four children. One of the mothers has a young baby, looked after by others at the back of church during the service. A couple of times she slipped out of her seat and took care of the child's need, then returned. It was all so natural and easy going.

At six thirty, Bishop David arrived, and I was able to meet him briefly, for the first time in the eight years since I've been doing locum work in the diocese  Then I joined the choir to rehearse the anthem for the service, before joining the Bishop, clergy and choir for the entrance procession. That was all I had to do. It was pleasantly relaxing, as Doreen's preparation bore fruit and everything went as well as it could do. It's the first Confirmation service here in nine years, and one which everyone present is bound to remember well.

Bishop David surprised us all, in the way he administered the Confirmation rite, speaking personally to each candidate about the meaning of the personal name which he would use when he laid hands on each of them. Nearly all of them were biblical, but he spoke of 'name' as a gift which carried with it characteristics that could be applied in the life of faith. I'd never heard of any Bishop doing this before. Not only surprising but personally encouraging, and inspiring to everyone present.

Afterwards, I stayed around to socialise only for a while, as I had to rendezvous at the airport with Owain. I used bus and metro to arrive there but before eleven. His flight was fifteen minutes early, and we were re-united at half past. Delayed by a long passport queue, we missed the 23.24 train and had half an hour to wait for the next. We picked up a bus from near the station within minutes. It was one of the circular night buses, but not the one I thought it was. Instead of getting off at the Paseo del Parque, expecting it to go down Paseo de Reding we stayed on, and it took us down the tunnel to  a stop on Calle Victoria. This meant we had to walk back through the tunnel, so it was nearly half past midnight when we arrived at the apartment. And then, we ate, drank and talked ....

The writing on the wall

Another Wednesday morning, again nobody turned up at St George's to share in the Eucharist with me so I prayed the Ministry of the Word on my own. As I was about to leave, I met a couple of men on the steps outside, a father and son. Their accent told me they were South Walians like me, from Porthcawl. I soon learned. They were visiting from Benalmadena, where Dad lives, and had come to St George's to place flowers in the columbarium niche in the church nave south wall, where the old man's wife's cremated remains were laid to rest. Soon, he's moving back to Porthcawl for the rest of his days, after decades spent here. It's become too lonely for him. Glad I was there to wish him well on his return home. 

On my afternoon paseo, I returned to Calle Alcazabilla to get a photo of the tower like Ben Gabirol interpretation centre, which I'd omitted to take on Monday. On the wall of the patio opposite, in the lattl area still know by its mediaeval name La Juderia, a commemorative plaque had recently been fixed.

There's more of a story to tell than a summary that speaks of her as a holocaust survivor and witness against anti-semitism. Born in Romanian Transylvania, deported to this extermination camp at 14, she lost most of her family, but survived. After the war she lived in Canada and Venezuela, before moving to Spain in 1965. In 1985 she took legal action for defamation against an ex Waffen SS officer, who was published holocaust denier. She eventually won, the matter ending up in Spain's Constitutional Court.

The ensuing judgement in 1991 set a precedent for the reform of Spain's Penal Code on matters of anti-semitism and holocaust denial. It was an admirable achievement with far reaching impact in these troubling times when we're witnessing a global resurgence of anti-semitism. The truth will out, sooner or later, but needs steadfast support to prevent it being suppressed or forgotten. 'If the echo of their voices fades away, we will perish', as it says in the writing on the wall. 

I found that luxury superyacht Sea Dream was back in port, picking up its select small complement of passengers again, and nearby was berthed Madeira registered 'Ocean Majesty', which is a larger high end of market cruise ship, with up to 620 passengers and 250 crew. In the cruise terminal was berthed another of the modern hybrid sale/diesel electric cruise ships, like the Club Med series but with one less mast, Bahamas registered 'Wind Star', which gave its name to an exclusive cruise line. This caterer for just 148 passengers. Curious that there should be a collection of different sized high end luxury cruise ships in port at the same time. Is there a reason, or is it a coincidence, I wonder?

Surprise Sunday concert

The Chaplaincy held its AGM today, following a joint service for the St George's and Velez Malaga congregations with Doreen celebrating and me preaching. I was meant to have a confirmation class afterwards but one of the candidates was obliged to work and couldn't come, so I handed over my teaching notes which I give out at the end, and we'll have a catch-up Q&A session next week. Apart from putting everything away and helping to arrange the furniture for the meeting in church, there was no more for me to do. As a locum priest, I'm not obliged to attend such meetings as I have no part to play, so I was free to return to the apartment and cook lunch.

I went out for my late afternoon paseo around the port, and then into the Old Town where a spotted a modest poster advertising a series of concerts by a visiting Norwegian choir from Oslo in four different city centre churches, with them singing today at the Cathedral evening Mass. I'm not normally inclined to hear Mass in church other than the one I belong to, twice on the same weekend, but the thought of hearing a Missa Cantata appealed, so I went along.

The choir was a mixed adult group of two dozen, and sang from within the huge 16th century Quire in the middle of the vast vaulted building. I gathered from chatting to one of the basses afterwards that normally they sing in conventionally sized modern parish church, so this was a challenge of a different order. Their sound was soft, sweet and mellow and if they seemed to be a little on the quiet side, it's a consequence of the size of the nave in the middle of which which the Quire is located. No amplification, but beautifully clear, and quite a different sound to what might normally be regarded as a bright vigorous 'Cathedral choir' sound, in the UK or further south.

They opened with a Jubilate Deo, and curiously used the first half of 'Locus Iste' as a Gospel Acclamation. Sadly, they didn't sing a Mass setting, except the Agnus Dei during Communion, and as an Offertory, sang an English version of the Lord's Prayer. They finished off with something in Norwegian. It wasn't a Missa Cantata after all, but nevertheless an unusual occasion, and I'm glad I was there. The same priest presided as last night. I found I was a little better able to tune in to his preaching voice, though still not able to do more than get the gist of what he was saying. Much work on Spanish comprehension still to do.

In the south transept a trona had been planted bearing the statue of Nuestra Señora de la Victoria. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and lit candles, and afterwards many people visited and took photos. It wasn't set up for devotional purposes, however, just parked there. I believe that it had been brought in procession during the afternoon, as I don't recall having seen it there at last night's Mass. I understand that the diocese of Malaga and the city have Nuestra Señora de la Victoria as a patron saint as well as the Dos Martires, so this appearance might be the result of a procession earlier.

About a kilometre away from Nuestra Señora de la Victoria is the huge 17th century Minor Basilica of Nuestra Señora de la Victoria, established in the 16th century, then rebuilt, on the sight where the forces of Ferdinand and Isabella camped during the siege of the city which resulted in its liberation from the Moors. Success was attributed to 'Our Lady of Victories'. Several of the key cofradias that maintain Semana Santa observations are based at this church.

Patronal Sunday

Although St George's Day is tomorrow, we celebrated him as part of celebrating the Easter mysteries this morning. After the Eucharist and fellowship time, I met with two of our adult candidates for Confirmation for a session about prayer. This was, as I suspected it would be, less than easy, as their everyday life is conducted far more in Spanish than English or their mother tongue. They can speak English and participate well in services, but engaging in discussion on a new topic, is another thing altogether. I needed to keep checking that my questions had been understood. It made me realise how out of practice in teaching I am nowadays.

After a late lunch, I walked to the port alongside Playa La Malagueta, and was surprised to discover another street market, selling clothes, jewellery, trinkets etc., about fifty stalls altogether. It looks a bit more downmarket than the extensive stylish array of stalls along the port, but clearly there's going to be demand, even before the peak holiday season arrives, as the beach is full of weekenders.

Down at Muelle Uno the market stalls there were also busy, and the Artsenal was hosting a couple of DJs with a live guitarist jamming together on the open air stage, and there was hardly an empty seat around the bar or the performance area. I took the opportunity to walk through and take a look at some of the 'alternative' sculptures and paintings on display. A striking and disturbing painting of a naked woman, hands bound, wearing an anonymising face mask caught my attention. It portrays symbolically the dehumanisation of women and children trafficked, enslaved by prostitution and pornography, reflecting Malaga's current theme of community solidarity with abuse victims, which provocatively overlaps with this weekend's Festival of Spanish Film.

Later in the day, it clouded over and there was a lengthy outbreak of thunderstorms with wind and rain, as it got dark. I had a grandstand view of this, sitting in the lounge. Slowly the weather is getting decently warmer, but not without protest it seems from intermittent bouts of cold damp air, afflicting many other parts of western Europe also.

  

Battery bother

Yesterday, I arranged to visit Mike and Patricia who live outside Competa, and celebrate a Eucharist with them, as they've been unable to get to church since Palm Sunday. I was bewildered to find that the car wouldn't start, its battery was completely dead, so dead that the digital clock wouldn't display the time. I discovered that I'd left the car lights on, after driving back from Salinas two weeks ago, as it was raining when I got back into the city. The lights on warning buzzer either didn't work, or I ignored it in my rush to leave the car and get ready to go and meet Fr Geoff at the airport later.

Rosella alerted the car insurance emergency response technico, and within an hour a man arrived and quickly got the car going, so that I could get on my way and let the battery recharge itself during the 100km round trip. I drove the car around to the front of the church and get out to lock the door, switching off the engine, as car and church key were on the same ring. The car wouldn't restart. It hadn't been running long enough to accumulate even minimal charge, illustrated by the car clock, which hadn't been reset went from showing 15 minutes run time back to zero. 

I tried bump starting it with the aid of two young men who work as cemetery tour guides, and failed, as there was insufficient charge to power up the car's system electronics on which so much depends. 

The technico had left, and was on his way to his next assignment. Rosella had to repeat the call out procedure, and this time it took longer. Moreover, a different technico came driving a grua (tow-truck), just in case there was an undiagnosed problem. He couldn't drive into the cemetery, as his vehicle was too big for the narrow entrance and path. It took ages for him to find a temporary legal parking place and then find his way to the car, stalled at the top of the steep slope up to the church.

Once more it started instantly. He looked at the battery specification and declared that as it was a high capacity battery, needing a lot more re-charge time to become minimally functional again, 15-30 minutes, before it could be confidently stopped and re-started. On reflection, when it had been started the first time around, of its 15 minutes running time, ten had been supplemented by the technico's mobile charging pack. The car had only run independently under its own power for five minutes. That was a fatal error. 

There was no way that I could risk driving out into traffic, just in case I stalled and couldn't re-start the car in the first crucial 15 minutes of re-charging, so I was obliged to postpone my trip to Competa, and leave the car locked with its engine running to bring it back to safe usability. I went back to the apartment, cooked and ate lunch. When I finally switched the engine off, it had run for over two hours, and re-started normally. I had someone else to check the battery later in the evening with a charge tester, just to make sure it was holding its own, and it was, thankfully.

Late afternoon, I went for my usual paseo and saw that the very large cruise ship MSC Calypso that had arrived overnight had already left, and in its place there was a Dutch registered cruise ship, plus in the port a hundred berth Spanish registered private yacht 'Clio' for hire, berthed at the Palmeria quay, half the size of the millionaire's 165 apartment floating hotel ship 'The World', which left the day before. An amazing amount of cruise ship traffic visits Malaga, although often it seems to be in fits and starts. 

Lunchtime today I had a visit from a fontanero (plumber) called Luis, who came to replace the main water valve in the older of the two toilets. He had to give up after an hour's struggle, as the forty year old cistern had seized joints, requiring a hacksaw, and other equipment he didn't have, so he'll return tomorrow morning. So, after lunch, I set off for Mike and Patricia's in Competa.

This is a lovely mountain drive, albeit challenging in places, as the width varies and there are many hairpin bends. I was pleased to have remembered my way quite well since my visit in July last year and arrived in time for tea. We chatted at length and then celebrated Mass at a table on the veranda accompanied by birdsong throughout. Such a pleasure. It's like that in St George's too, despite being right in the middle of town.

As the road is still unfamiliar, I felt cautious enough not to want to drive back in the dark or with sun in my face, so set out for Malaga after a stay of about three hours, while the light was good. Not that it was any insurance against misfortune. As I entered the mediaeval pueblo blanco of Sayalonga, which is blessed or cursed (depending on your point of view) with traffic calming measures (speed humps), I was hit from behind and propelled on to the speed hump I was slowing down for, by a small gold coloured Peugeot. It was quite a low speed collision, so I avoided whiplash. The Golf was undamaged, I don't know about the other car, whose driver pulled alongside and gesticulated, as if he was asking if I was alright, while I was still feeling bewildered trying to work out what had just happened, and then he drove off, at speed.

There were several witnesses who expressed concern for my welfare. I was somewhat lost for words, more puzzled than shocked, relieved that I hadn't made an error while trying to be cautious. So I just shrugged it off and drove on. Then, in El Palo, on the home stretch, a car swerved in my direction as it sought to avoid a vehicle in the opposite lane, causing me to make an instinctual emergency stop and stall the car. Thankfully, traffic behind wasn't close enough to me for this to have consequences, but it did overshadow the conclusion to an otherwise pleasant afternoon outing. You just never know what's going to happen next, do you?

  

Surprise comings and goings

Nobody came to share the midweek Eucharist at St George's this morning. I prayed the Ministry of the Word quietly alone, while a few tourists entered, looked around signed the visitors book and left. Sadly, it's rare for anyone to come in, sit and pray. Perhaps some do, out in the quiet corners of the churchyard. It's beautiful, and full of birdsong. The high wall flanking Avenida de Pries down the hill shields the churchyard traffic noise.

After praying, I stocked up on food at Mercadona, returned to cook lunch, as spent time working on my Sunday sermon. With St George's Day on Monday, I have to weave this extra golden thread into the Paschaltide celebration, which takes pride of place on an Eastertide Sunday, even over a Feast of Title. Having a weekday Patronal Festival celebration, however desirable isn't practicable with such a scattered congregation. I'm just hoping people will make the effort to turn out for the Confirmation on the evening of Ascension Day, other than candidates' families, both to welcome the Bishop and support new members. 

Late afternoon, on my way to stock up on bottled water, I walked to Playa Malagueta and saw over in the port one of the very large cruise ships was docked, Panama registered MSC Fantasia catering for 4,000 passengers, and a third of a kilometre long. Unfortunately, I wasn't carrying a camera. The ship's siren gave several hoots. I wondered if it had just arrived. I completed my errand, and then one more to collect a package from church, then returned to the port with a camera, only to discover that the siren had been a departure signal. The ship had departed for Valencia according to the Marine Traffic Website, and was nowhere to be seen. In a couple of hours that had passed she was already heading past Motril to the Costa Almeria. Life's like that in a busy port city, and full of surprises.

  

Unusual birthday

Cloudy skies, wind and rain, and nothing much of note going on since Sunday. Today's my birthday, and still nothing much going on, except for calls and ecards from friends and family. I celebrated the Eucharist this morning. Only Rosella attended, but out in the churchyard a large party of exuberant school children were doing the cemetery history trail and having fun. There have been gusty winds through the day, but calmer this evening. At least there's been blue skies littered with fully cloud and sunshine making it a bit more like proper April day.

After a visit to the bank and to Mercadona for supplies, I cooked a chicken curry lunch for one, and drank most of a bottle of Cariñena Riserva 2014, inexpensive but agreeable, and followed this with a siesta on the couch. It was gone six when I went out for my daily paseo along the quay and around the Old Town. Today I was a man with a mission, charged with finding a supply of suitable tape with which to bind the spines of broken hymn books, an interesting Spanish vocabulary challenge. I was unsuccessful at an art material shop, which didn't carry anything suitable, but found just what I know works, industrial duct tape, in the Chinese supermarket behind Mercado Atarazanas. Amazing what you can find there if you hunt in the right place, with or without the vocabulary..

Also a fresh supply of Communion wafers was needed. There are two shops at either end of Calle Carretera. The first was out of stock, following Easter demand, I guess, but the other delivered all I wanted. I enjoy making myself understood easily in Spanish, even if my comprehension of what is said to me can be a little hit or miss on time. But being old, I can pretend I'm a bit deaf, and repeat the question.

In the evening I chatted with Kath and Anto, also Owain on WhatsApp. Rachel sent me a song she'd written, as she did on my birthday last year. No many Dads can be that lucky!

  

Travel triumph and embarrassment

I arrived at St George's this morning in time to greet some of the regulars and have a quick chat with Rev Doreen about the adult Confirmation group, before taking the car and heading off to Salinas. As ever Sunday morning, traffic cones restricted flow on the Paseo de Reding. As it was unclear what this would mean for my planned exit route, and to avoid the confusion I experienced this time last month, I turned down on to the coast road, and wound my way around the streets in order to take the Avenida de Andalucia route out to the autovia. It's not as direct and takes a little more time and distance to reach the A45 junction turn for Granada this way, but it's straightforward, with less room for surprise deviations.

The weather was overcast, and as I climbed up the valley that brings the rio Guadalmedina down to the sea, started to rain and continued until I reached Salinas. There were ten in the congregation, somewhat less than usual, with several choir members absent. We sang the ordinary of the Mass to good old Merbecke, with the Peruvian Gloria, and used the Taize version of 'Nada te turbe', which touched me greatly, reminding me of inspirational visits there over decades past, both from Britain and from Geneva. Must return there one of these days, it's fifty three years since our first visit. Even so, it makes me feel young in spirit, just thinking about it.

After a drink and a good chat in Manolo's bar afterwards, I drove back to Malaga, and found my way through the back streets past Plaza de la Merced the most direct way to La Magueta and St George's.

Having lingered a little, I was glad that I'd prepared a pot of stew for a late lunch, as I needed to be out of the house and on my way to the airport to meet my old friend Geoff for an hour, before he left for his flight back to East Midlands airport. He was here overnight, and then taking a service in St Andrews Los Boliches before presiding over the chaplaincy AGM. It was good to catch up with him face to face, and see him looking well, despite his challenging role as 'Voluntary Archdeacon', over the past four years, two of these in retirement.

On the way there, my bus card malfunctioned, not for the first time lately, so I had to pay cash. Later I visited the Malaga public transport website to find help in troubleshooting the problem, and had a rather embarrassing surprise. The malfunction was due to the card running out of money. I thought I had more than enough to cover my journeys, but evidently not. When I bought the card to use during my first visit here eighteen months ago the single fare rate for an hour's trip was €1.07. The website told me that it had gone up to €1.30 in January this year, probably increasing from some rate in between last year. 

So in effect, I'd not been putting enough money on the card, and had run it down faster than I realised. What an idiot! Malaga public transport information services are excellent, but there's nothing on the rolling information panels, or on the bus stop printed schedules to indicate the essential far rate, and you have to dig for it on the website. I suppose a rate increase would be all over the local news, and so most regular users would know. In fact, while I was trying to get the card to work and fumbling for my wallet once the bus driver demanded a fare in cash, a kindly fellow traveller aware of my plight pressed €1.30 into my hand to pay. But as I had cash on me, I thanked him and pressed it back into his hand. Ah los Malaguenos!

Reformation heroes

As I arrived at St George's this morning, on my way to celebrate the mid-week Eucharist, there was a crowd of three dozen youngsters flocking around the Cemetery gatehouse, just arrived with their teachers for a tour by way of a history lesson. Annoyingly, I'd left the church keys in my raincoat pocket, so couldn't open the church, so had to wait with the couple who'd come for the service for Rosella's arrival, as she had a set of keys. A little too late, I learned that the gatehouse manager also has a set of church keys. Now I know, for another time!

He and the school party followed me up to the church, and he gave them the introductory talk about the history of the cemetery, at first in good English, but reverting to Spanish when he realised that he was losing some of the kids. Then, I found it hard to follow him in Spanish as he spoke at normal pace, too fast for me. They were obviously having a good time, and several of them made an effort to greet me, and a few requested the whereabouts of the toilet, which was good Spanish practice for me. One of the teachers told me they were from a Torremolinos school, and that the class included a group of German kids on an exchange visit. Perhaps partly the reason for starting by addressing the group in English, as German teenagers would have more of a grasp of English at their age, as they'd have started Spanish later. Ah, proper education!

Today's celebration commemorated Thomas Cranmer of Canterbury, along with William Tyndall, my cultural heroes of the English reformation, Tyndall because of his seminal Biblical translation work, Cranmer because of his liturgical translations and innovative thinking behind the creation of the Book of Common Prayer both in 1549 and 1552 versions. Both of them lost their lives, because of their invaluable contributions to worship in our mother tongue, both of them politically murdered, in my opinion. 

I made a point of using the Common Worship Eucharistic Prayer C in traditional language, as this is the closest CW gets to his original 1545 oeuvre. Throughout the service, I could see groups of kids outside, freely exploring and enjoying being out of the classroom for a change. I was amused earlier when one of the local lads asked me how much the church was worth. Son of an estate agent? I wondered.

The four of us attending the Eucharist stayed on for Bible study, then I had to make haste back to the apartment to eat lunch before driving to Velez Malaga for their afternoon Bible study. I only just succeeded in arriving on time as I needed to get some petrol on my way there. There were seven of us for this week's session, and we finished off in a cafe across the main road. I was charged with the task of checking documents for a Safeguarding vetting application for a churchwarden new last year, and the process had for various reasons been delayed. It's a not infrequent issues for office holders in expatriate communities, it seems.

Then back to Malaga, and a fresh attempt to find another of the routes down from the A7 autovia to the Paseo Maritime. It's good to know about them all, as there can so easily be traffic diversions or congestion in a particular spot. The one I found today descends into Pedregalejo, the next commune along to the east along the coast from La Malagueta. The last kilometre or so is down a winding and steep road to a set of traffic lights, so sometimes there can be long queues to get out on to the Paseo Maritime. Next time I go to Velez, I'll have to explore this route in the opposite direction, although it's not going to be quite as straightforward.

   

Visitors and visiting

This morning I drove to Velez Malaga to celebrate the Eucharist for a congregation of eighteen. We had visitors from Berlin, two couples. Curiously, both the women wore scarves over their heads, not in a way that suggested they might be Muslim, but more reminiscent of old time custom for women to cover their heads for worship. There are conservative Christian sects which still do this, but this is uncommon in my experience among modern Lutheran, and one of the men said they were Lutheran, yet they didn't take communion. This is also unusual these days, because of ecumenical agreements between Anglicans and european Lutheran and Reformed Churches. 

Nobody afterwards asked them why they hadn't received communion. I wonder if they thought we were Roman Catholic, as we worshipped in a Catholic chapel? The women may have thought this to be respectful of local custom,  given the widespread observation of head covering among Spanish Catholic women, now rapidly dying out except for special occasions calling for traditional dress.

After a coffee with congregation members in a bar across the main road, I was taken by far to the finca of David and Janice on a steep hillside of the Valle de Torrox, a few kilometres from Torrox Pueblo. The place has spectacular views of the surrounding hills and out to sea beyond the  quite big mediaeval pueblo blanco built along a promontory rising up out of the valley.

The region was settled two millennia before the Moors came and developed the town as a coastal trading gateway to Granada, reached by a network of ridge trails. The valley is patterned with terraces olive tree and fruit orchards. David and Janice's steep hillside garden has orange, lemon, peach, crab apple, almond and avocado trees. After an excellent lunch accompanied by much story-telling, I came away with a bag of lemons and avocados that'll last me a good few weeks to come.

On the return journey, I investigated a route from the A7 autovia that follows the rio Guadalmedina down to the Plaza de la Merced in the Old Town, within easy reach of the apartment, having got this route wrong leaving town last Sunday. I was on course as anticipated until the last stretch. The road I should have turned into was blocked by police, obliging me to cross the river near La Rosaleda, the football stadium. The road signs were so confusing I went around a lengthy one way system a couple of times, none the wiser about how I could find the traffic lane for moving towards the city centre. It was the parking information sign for the city centre El Corte Ingles department store which got me established in the right direction. There was a string of these which led me back to familiar terrain.

Oh yes, the police road-block diverting traffic was due to a full passiontide procession through the streets of Nuestra Senora de la Piedad to and from the barrio Parish Church of the same name. I am learning to navigate the inner city streets by trial and error. Understanding and following the road signage conventions sometimes seems impossible, even though I've been driving in Spain for years.
    

Convent discovery

This morning's news brought the announcement of Professor Stephen Hawking's death at 76, living longer and more creatively, thanks to modern medical medicine and technologies, than any other sufferer of motor neurone disease, fifty five years since diagnosis in fact. Truly one of the greatest creative minds of the twentieth century, trapped in a paralysed body, yet remaining capable to the end of his life of participation in scientific and social life, thanks to a high level of personal care and support. He has inspired several generations of young people to consider the universe with curiosity awe, wonder. There was no room for God in his world of theorisation, but he was never the kind of thinker to discourage others from being curious about the subject, and to think for themselves. What a wonderful legacy.

There were just four of us for the midweek Eucharist this morning, I prayed for Ken Dodd, conveyor of joy and laughter (a churchgoer apparently) and Stephen Hawking communicator of awe and wonder, ( yet an atheist), giving God thanks for two such remarkably different twentieth century lives. We were four for the bible study following the service, but the conversation still made it well worthwhile. When we finished, I went to the bank nearby to cash my cheque al portador for the locum duty fee. It comes in handy as I was just about to run out of the euros I brought with me. I had a long wait to be seen, not because there was a queue, as on other occasions there has been, but because the cajera disappeared with another client, so I had to wait until a colleague noticed my plight and came over to attend to me. As banks here shut at two, it was a relief to me as the hour was far approaching after my wait.

It was decided not to hold a bible study in Velez Malaga this afternoon, as too many of those hoping to come were away this week, or had other urgent duties to perform. I didn't mind, as took time to draft a Sunday sermon, and then take a walk around town with my camera, and see how much more work has been started to erect Semana Santa spectator ranks of seating. I found that work has also started on some sections of the Alameda, and that must be a complex segregation task, given that bus stops in both directions and still operational, not to mention the area cordoned off for Metro line construction.

Scaffolding topped by a platform has been erected in the narrow street between the Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace. It's not for spectator seating, as processions will have to pass beneath it, to enter through the north central doors. Most likely it's for television cameras, given that Semana Santa in Malaga is broadcasted live on a local TV channel.

In a side street between the Cathedral and the Alcazaba, I found open for the first time the 17th century Cistercian Abbey of Sta Ana. There's a Museum of Sacred Art, but the entrance was closed for building work, but the late 19th century church was open. It's a plain small building with grill enclosed west gallery and loft in the south wall above the chancel, for nuns keeping vigil over the Blessed Sacrament, when exposed for adoration. Above the aumbry lies the recumbent image of the dead Christ, before burial, and Mary looking down on him distraught. In its simplicity, it's a powerful image for contemplation. 

Sta Ana closed as a convent in 2009, but is still used as a place of worship. During restoration work, it was discovered that the Abbey had been built on top of the city's ancient Roman baths. Not surprising really, as the remains of the first century Roman theatre are nearby.

Since I've been here, I've put the telly on once to find out how it works. It's attached to a digi-box but I have yet to figure out if it does programmes in any other language than Spanish. Somehow the evenings slip by quickly, listening to or reading the news, editing photos, making a meal. There's no time to get bored.

     

Salinas, in a roundabout way

As I set off from church for the drive to Salinas this morning, I found that the police had temporarily closed the road due to the passage of a fun run. Fortunately I'd left exceptionally early to enjoy the journey, and stop if I fancied, en route. Disconcertingly traffic cones were still blocking the route I wanted to take to get to the main route out of town, through the Alameda to get to the autovia, so I opted for another route which I'd taken before, running around the back of the old town, to a point where the road follows the rio Guadalmedina out of town, past the football stadium to the junction of the A45 autovia, running up the river gorge towards Antequera.

I checked Google Maps, and this gave me a second longer alternative route out through Limonar, for no reason I could understand. I tried to follow it, but soon ran out of motorway signs, and got totally lost in narrow winding hilly back roads and one way streets, in which I became disoriented trying to extricate myself. I found a main road uphill, with almost no signposts. The took me up and over a bridge that crossed the autovia, but offered no side roads to follow and reach a junction. 

There was one signpost only. I said 'Colmenar', which I knew was somewhere up the Guadalmedina Valley, so should be the right direction. Google Maps was again unhelpful, and I need to see the landscape a map refers to, rather than be subject to a barrage of verbal instructions I am reluctant to trust in case they are not up to date, or don't make sense of what I can see. So, I drove on. The next sign I saw said 'Montes de Malaga Parque Natural', and 30km to Colmenar. 

The road climbed 300m from autovia level before dropping down into Colmenar. It ascends and descends in following the ancient ridge road. The views are spectacular, but with a noon deadline, I had no idea how long this detour would add to my journey and if I'd be there before the service started. Also a number of Sunday motorists were out driving at a leisurely pace, as they sought a hostelry for Sunday lunch, plus cyclists, slowing down the park crossing.

I stopped and asked directions to the autovia in Colmenar and was directed to Casabermeja about 15km away. Then there was another half hours journey in haste, plagued by bursts of heavy rain. But, I made it to Salinas by noon. The choir was singing, but they were still rehearsing, strange I thought, why haven't they started the service? 

Then I realised my rush and panic was all in vain, as the service actually starts at 12.30. The journey is only fifty five kilometers by the correct route. I'd done at least seventy by failing to find it. I always allow two hours for a 45 minute trip, just in case there are motorway delays and diversions, but this morning's disorientation was both in time and direction.

There was a congregation of eighteen. The choir sang beautifully, and afterwards most people went to Manolo's to eat and drink. Doreen arrived from Velez Malaga at the end of the service, and after half an hour of socialising, we went into the restaurant for a working lunch, which was nearly as busy as the bar. As it was cold and pouring with rain, the veranda tables outside weren't in use, the reason why it was so crowded inside. It was good for the two of us to catch up, though there wasn't enough time to start planning our post Easter adult confirmation sessions. That'll have to wait until next Sunday when we meet for lunch after our respective celebrations in Malaga and Velez.

The return journey was much more straightforward, following the rio Guadalmedina down to the edge of the old town, then realising why I'd been misled when leaving this morning. What I needed to do was circumnavigate the Plaza de la Merced to get myself in the right direction through the back streets to the road along the river. I know now. I'll have to practice this route at leisure, and not wait until next time I have to travel again up-country.

A suprise visitor

I drove to Velez Malaga's La Esperanza Funerarias Tanatorios this morning for an eleven o'clock start. It's an old municipal cemetery with a smallish traditionally ornate Catholic chapel, not much used these days, as a modern funeral complex has been built next it, with a downstairs chapel that can hold more than a hundred, and viewing rooms. At ground level, there's a spacious reception area a cafe bar, toilets of offices. We were assigned an hour slot, with large funerals before and after, and crowds of people coming, going, lingering, the space immediately outside the entrance doors think with smokers. Not the best planned arrangements to cater for all needs, but a tastefully furnished and well maintained semi-public space.

I arrived ahead of time, as did the widow and her sons and daughters in law. The coffin had already been installed, and several people wanted to view the deceased. By ten past eleven, grandchildren, neighbours and friends entered, so the service could then begin. I was asked to read the widow's tribute to her husband, five grandchildren between them read a farewell poem, and one daughter in law bravely read the scriptures she'd chosen the night before, her voice cracking at the final verse of Roman's eight 'Nothing can separate us from the love of God'. I persuaded the family to let me lead unaccompanied singing, which went well for two of the three hymns, but the final one turned out to be less familiar to more people than anticipated, so it wasn't so lustily sung, despite my best efforts. 

I joined the mourners for a drink and a generous supply of tapas after the service before returning to Malaga. This meant I didn't have to prepare lunch, which I was glad about, as the funeral had left me feeling somewhat drained, and needed a siesta on the sofa. In the past 24 hours I've driven over two hundred kilometres, that's as far as going to Kenilworth. In fact, the last time I drove a car was to make the trip there for Rhiannon's birthday three weeks ago. I don't mind driving, but only do so if I can't use public transport. It's one of the few ways I can reduce my carbon footprint.

In the evening I had a surprise social visit from a visiting priest and his wife were spending the weekend in Malaga, someone whose name I knew but hadn't met. We've both done locum duties in the same Spanish chaplaincies since retirement. It was delightful to have someone to compare notes with. It's rare that locums get to meet or contact one another. It would be good if the diocese put on a conference for locum pastors. There's a largeish group that may do several weeks a year, but I find there are others like me, pleased to occupy several months a year offering this ministry in different contexts. The diocese now has a trained group of interim chaplains, intended for long spells of duty, one to two years, managing a period of change. It's a great move, but doesn't involve the itinerants, who could help inform an interim chaplain's mission. Well, maybe that'll come as well eventually. It certainly was a pleasure to spend an evening chatting with a kindred spirit.

  

Digital discovery

Yesterday I had a call from Doreen about a bereavement in Nerja and a funeral in Velez Malaga on Saturday, which Fr Nigel couldn't do, due to his existing commitments. I agreed to do this, which meant a journey there by car this morning to meet the family.

I was given an address, for which Google Maps provided me with a one location when in fact there were two, answering to the same search key word, within half a kilometre of each other in different urbanizaciones in different hilly locations. Consequently, I went to the wrong one first. As I sought to extricate myself from a complex internal one way system, the car signalled that it was running out of petrol, and although it may have had enough fuel, I couldn't take the risk of the engine conking out somewhere on a steep gradient, so I had to divert and get petrol first, making me even later than planned. Not that this was of concern to those waiting for me, as time seems to stand still when you have just lost someone unexpectedly.

Anyway, eventually I arrived. It was already four days since the sudden death. The funeral director had been engaged, but finding an English speaking priest had taken longer than usual. This is one of the unforeseen hazards of expat life, until it happens close to you. It turned out that one of the three daughter-in-laws works as a church administrator back in Britain, used to preparing funeral orders of service. This proved to be very helpful in these circumstances, and she was keen to offer her services in honour of her father-in-law.

As I was in Nerja, I went to Maro and had a pub lunch with Judith, formerly churchwarden of Nerja, who'd seen the chaplaincy there through a demanding two year interregnum, and then after stepping down at the end of an eight year term of office, needed a hip replacement operation, from which she is now recovering well, and in good spirits. Over the course of the Nerja interregnum, I was locum chaplain there for several months in a couple of stints. Judith is one of those people who have a gift for making friends, a memorable church welcomer with a reputation far and wide. It was good to see her face free from lines of pain caused by coping with a deteriorating hip joint. It won't be that long before she's walking again without a stick.

After my return to Malaga, I was sent the agreed draft funeral service order for final scrutiny. Then, half an hour after approving this, a panic call to say that due to a lack of ink, printing was proving impossible. The chaplaincy office printer wasn't up to the job, but it occurred to me that further down the same block in the street is a digital print shop. I went out to check opening hours, and it was still open.

Under instruction from the shop assistant who dealt with me, I emailed the print ready file from my phone to the print shop address, and returned to the apartment ten minutes later with the forty copies requested. The ease and simplicity of this astounded me, as I am prone to getting into a mess when working on rendering a document file into a booklet. It's been possible to achieve this degree of accuracy and simplicity where documents are concerned for the past decade at least, where there are compatible systems. But, with the advent of new mobile technologies, what matters most is that files can be reproduced accurately on any system. Add to this the potential of mobile phones and tablets to work in exactly as desktop computers have done for much longer and you have the latest kind of revolution. I don't need a printer in my workspace for sophisticated tasks any more. I just need a suitably equipped print shop near to where I live or work.
 

In at the deep end

There were eight of us for this morning's midweek celebrations of Communion, and all stayed for a lively bible study on last Sunday's Gospel. Four of those present come out regularly from Britain and stay a good while. Unfortunately they'll be leaving this coming week, so the regular group will be smaller next time.

I stayed chatting afterwards for rather too long, and didn't leave myself quite enough time to cook a meal, and then drive at a leisurely pace to Velez Málaga by three for the bible study session there in the Capilla de San Juan. Even so, I was only a couple of minutes late, but taken aback to find the place locked, and nobody else waiting. Had I come to the wrong place? No, Doreen told me when I rang. I was half an hour early. That meant I could go for a walk up the main street in the direction of the old town. It's a town that sprawls down the plain from the ancient settlement below the moorish castle, probably half an hour's walk, and I only had twenty five minutes available. It wasn't all that interesting a street either, but at least I got some brisk exercise.

One noteworthy feature was a couple of buildings belonging to the Guardia Civil, and a roundabout in the middle of the dual carriageway with a bronze statue of a uniformed Guardia officer. It's an armed military police agency, a member of the European Gendarmerie Force, with public protection and criminal investigative powers exercised in rural areas, on the coast and off-shore. It even plays a part in some international peace keeping operations. It provides accommodation for its members and their families. Britain doesn't have an equivalent civil institution.

Outside the Guardia station stands a memorial to officers killed in the line of duty in the form of a simple stone pillar surmounted by a bronze effigy of the characteristic tricornio ceremonial headgear, the equivalent of a British bobby's helmet. It's a curiosity to passing foreigners who know nothing of this aspect of the culture. In fact, there's a lot that's different about policing and public protection in different European countries for any Brit to get their head around, as I am often reminded when I watch Euro-crimmies on TV.

There were eight of us for the bible study group at three thirty. I enjoyed doing this second one, as it was made up entirely of regular congregation members I'd met before, and the conversations were quite different. I'm looking forward to Sunday worship with them again, a week on Sunday.

On the journey back I stopped at the Carrefour hypermarket and shopping centre beside the MA24 motorway linking the A7 Mediterraneo with the N340 coastal highway. I've passed by many times on my previous stays in Malaga, but this was the first time to negotiate the access roads and take a look inside. I just wanted a simple colander for draining veg. I needed light bulbs as well since both the bedroom ceiling fan light have died. I haven't yet been able to remove the cover and check the type of bulb required, but now I can navigate my way to the 'household goods' aisle to find them without losing track of why I'm visiting. So easy to do that in such a vast cathedral of consumerism.

If I'm passing that way it's as easy to call in as it is to walk into the Old Town and hunt for a shop which has the right kind of bulb. There are many more worthwhile distractions to enjoy there than in any shopping mall. That's the trouble.