Wriggle triumphant

This morning after breakfast Kath and Rhiannon accompanied us for the drive to Warwick University Arts Centre car parking prior to the final Wriggledance performance of 'Squidge' in the studio theatre, with enough space for equipment and two dozen children with parents to participate in the interactive performance. It was wonderful to witness the live performance and the response of the very young audience to the two dancers who played their part so beautifully. 

Anto, as the accompanying musician and sound effects man was in his element, a real Pied Piper on stage. It was very gentle and sensitive in approach to allowing children to join in on their own terms, either playing or just sitting an wondering at the ever changing stage lights and movement of the artists. The 28 stage tour has been a lot of hard work, fraught with technical difficulty, and thankfully it's been very well received. Quite a feat to attract audiences at the tail end of a pandemic.

Taking photos in a high contrast studio environment with lots of movement was quite a challenge. I was a bit nervous about the task at first, sitting at the back on a chair, shooting over the audience heads, but the Olympus responded well most of the time. My photos are here.

After the show, we took Rhiannon back to Kenilworth and bought food for a picnic lunch on the journey home. Kath and Anto had to stay behind to strike the set and pack up all the equipment. And when that's done, there'll be reports to write for the Arts Council. What next from Wriggledance I wonder?

There were a few rain showers as we drove south and west. We stopped to eat in a Costa coffee car park outside Evesham, reached home after four and then went for a walk in the park before supper. It was a relief to find that Clare coped well with the two and a half hour journey and only one break en route in both directions. That's more time sitting without pain and discomfort than has been possible until now, a positive step on the way to full recovery.

Later in the evening I watched yesterday's episode of 'Silent Witness' before watching this evening's, the fourth of a series of six episodes which seem to be linked together by some sort of spy thriller intrigue sub plot alongside the usual run of forensic investigation into untimely deaths. Some interesting new characters in the current series, as well as the return of Amanda Burton reprising her previous role - or is she? Always the goodie two shoes in the early years of this long running dramatic marathon, now she seems to have changed, and it's not just a question of being twenty years older.

Business phone no more

Cold and cloudy today, so different from yesterday. For me, a duty free Sunday. We went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's, and while we were singing the first hymn, Fr Rhys came up to the back of the nave to where were standing and asked if I'd assist him with the chalice, as the regular assistant minister of the Eucharist wasn't there. 

Later during the offertory hymn, I went to the sacristy and borrowed a stole to wear over my shirt and trousers to identify myself to anyone who might wonder who I was popping up out of nowhere, although most people in church probably have some idea who I am. I think we were about thirty adults and half a dozen children. Interestingly only about half the communicants received the chalice, an indication of persistent nervousness about contagion. Very few are wearing masks in church now, but it's good that nobody feels the need to conform one way or another, such is the respect people have for each other. 

St Catherine's is hosting a Parish Platinum Jubilee garden party next Saturday, then a Summer Fayre two weeks later. That's an immense amount of work for a relatively small number of people, but to judge by previous post-lockdown open air events, it will draw in people from the neighbourhood and further afield.

After lunch, I spent another hour reading 'Invierno en Madrid' before we went for a walk in the park together. Clare's back pain has diminished significantly in the past few days, and she's just left with a dull ache when she rests. It's really cheering news. While we were out, I noticed that my Blackberry was no longer able to send or receive calls and messages. Finally, a month after Ashley requested termination of service, BT acted. Last month Cardiff Business Safe was finally wound up and struck off the Companies' House register. I let Ashley know and we discussed whether or not I could just exchange SIM cards with my PAYG phone. Before supper, I made the swap and found that the Blackberry worked perfectly with the PAYG SIM. 

I have a dim recollection of being told that BT didn't lock its phones to a specific SIM any more. I think this would be necessary for someone who might travel abroad and want to use a native SIM instead of a UK SIM, as is the case for people owning a dual SIM phone. All I needed to do was install WhatsApp on the Blackberry. Most of the archived messages appeared to have transferred, but on close examination a couple of weeks worth were missing, perhaps because they hadn't yet been back up. Not that it matters, there's little of importance that hasn't already been copied elsewhere. 

Then it was a case of decommissioning my six year old Samsung, ready to donate to a recycling charity, when I can find one that will accept it. Fortunately there was nothing on telly that I felt was worth watching, so I finished and uploaded next Thursday's Morning Prayer video, which took me a little longer than I expected. Time to go to bed earlier than usual. Tomorrow, after a visit to our National Museum's collection of motor vehicles not on public display, we go to Kenilworth to stay overnight in order to attend the last performance of 'Squidge' on Tuesday, right at the end of their country-wide tour of a show that's gone down very well indeed with children and parents who have seen it..

Just as I was about to post this, an email came in from Rachel with the ,WAV file of her song 'Chocolate' for which I put together a promotional video slide show a few weeks ago. This is a high quality sound file, YouTube ready. All I had to do was replace the MP3 file in the saved video edit file and send to to her. Now I am pleased with the result.

Booster invite

I woke up early and posted the link to WhatsApp for today's Morning Prayer before Thought for the Day. I got up and made breakfast, but in the course of putting things on the table accidentally dropped a jar of orange blossom honey, Clare's favourite. Such a sad loss, first thing in the morning, and so messy to clear up, shards of glass mixed in with orange stickiness on the floor by the table. Then I went to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist with four others. 

In the post this morning, appointment notifications for both of us to attend Splott vaccination centre for our second booster jab next week. I wondered what the impact of this would be so close to having covid, and called the booking line to ask the question. After a ten minute wait, I was told that a delay of twenty eight days was considered acceptable by medical opinion. The appointment would be plus or minus a day that amount of time after contracting the infection. I was given the choice of postponing it, and decided to take an appointment ten days later instead. Clare intends to do the same, given the difficulty of travelling about with her current level of back pain.

Clare took delivery of a special order of fish for freezing from Ashton's and had just finished stowing it away when I arrived home to cook lunch. As Kath is coming this evening to stay for a few days, I then cooked a pasta sauce ready for this evening's meal. Then I recorded next Thursday's Morning Prayer and reflection, before going for a walk in the park. The second Snoopy sculpture in Llandaff Fields has now disappeared. I counted four of them in the city centre a couple of days ago. Easier to keep an eye on with ubiquitous CCTV of course. The plinth on which the sculpture was mounted has been shifted a metre or so, and a tiny picket fence erected around its base. Was it meant to deter little climbers? Too late. Doggone.

Kath arrived just before seven, and after we'd eaten we sat and talked until eleven. It was great to hear stories of the Wriggledance 'Squidge' tour, and all its technical challenges and nightmares, and of the dance workshops she's been doing with people our age and older. It made me very proud and happy indeed.

Birding pleasures

I woke up to another day without covid symptoms. Clare is slowly improving, and we're hoping that she'll be clear by Saturday so we can go to the performance of the new Wriggledance show 'Squidge' in Bath. It was fifteen degrees yesterday, but today it's twelve and overcast, but feels like nine degrees. 

Before lunch, I wrote next week's biblical reflection on the seventh plague in the Exodus story. Interesting to examine the story with fresh eyes and see the catalogue of plagues as symptomatic of ecosystem changes triggered by big weather disturbances. North Africa was once a verdant sub-tropical environment. For a couple of millennia before the time of the Exodus story, Egypt had been populous and wealthy, engaging in big engineering projects to construct cities, temples, monuments pyramids and canal extensions to the Nile waterway. Making a built environment in a huge flood plain region would be bound to have an impact on its ecosystems and on local weather cycles in turn. 

What interests me is how the story tellers portray Moses taking advantage of rare natural occurrences to put pressure on Pharaoh to free the Israelites. The death of the first-born sons doesn't easily fit into this however, although an outbreak of some disease causing child deaths isn't out of the question. But we'll never know whether it was based on fact or is a narrative fiction.

Yesterday I bought a big pack of chicken legs for me to use, and rather than freeze them raw, they went into the oven for lunch today, along with roasted veggies, one of Clare's favourites, taking advantage of the oven's heat. When cooled down there'll be a place for them in the freezer and keep me fed for a week or two.

On my walk down to the Taff later in the afternoon, I spotted two pairs of Goosanders swimming in the pool below Blackweir Bridge, about five hundred metres upstream from their habitual roosting place on a rock outcrop in the river. They looked like Mum and Dad out with last year's daughter with a spare male in tow. They swam in an uneasy formation with Dad positioning himself to shield the females from the interloper's attention. Occasionally Dad would make an aggressive lunge at the interloper. Then the four headed back downstream, and the young female slipped past Mum and Dad and headed off to join the interloper. It made me laugh out loud. A hundred metres downstream, a cormorant was perched on a rock drying its wings by flapping them slowly. A great sight, very photogenic. 

Leaves are bursting out on many of the chestnut trees around the Fields at the moment. This waterside bush was bare when I passed by last week. Very beautiful and uplifting.

Now that many of the species of daffodil, crocuses and snowdrops are past their best. if not vanishing, I've noticed new different flowers in sheltered spots. I can't identify them yet as my botanical knowledge is very limited.

In news of the Ukraine peace negotiations the Russians are proposing to halt the stalled assault on Kyiv and concentrate on a deal regarding the Donbass. Putin will hardly admit the military failure, unless the real Russian casualty toll gets  out to the public. It's regarded as a pause to re-group forces for the next assault. Continued Kremlin reference to the 'denazification' of Ukraine is seen by observers as coded talk about regime change. Nobody trusts Putin or his negotiators anyway. Ukraine is willing to concede neutrality but how this could work without an external monitoring agency is unclear if not impossible to agree at this stage. 

Overheard again

A Saturday lie-in and pancake breakfast to start the day, then we watched on-line the launch of the new Wriggledance Theatre show 'Squidge', which Kath Anto and Lucy have been working on over the past year. The innovative production is hosted Birmingham Hippodrome, and can be played to a live audience of parents and young children, or watched on line, with a pack of sensory resource material that enables children to play along in their own homes for schools. It plays with the texture and sensation of different substances - slime, feathers, bubbles, stretchy string using dancers and stunning visual effects, accompanied by Anto's musical creation. It's very beautiful and I'm in awe of the creative imagination and sheer hard work that's gone into making this. I hope and pray it will prove to be successful far and wide

Then, a brisk walk around Llandaff Fields before lunch. I had another one of those 'overheard' moments that stuck with me. One smartphone toting team saying to another smartphone toting teen "You should try this one, it's addictive!" I'm pretty sure he was speaking about an app or a game on his device, but what made me think was the use of the word 'addictive'. It's a word which often crops up in relation to games or box set movie series. The implication is that once you start you cannot stop using it.

Addiction to drugs, alcohol, pornography, sex, gambling, are recognised as pathological forms of dependency which are damaging to relationships and to personal health. Internet / smartphone addiction is also starting to be seen in the same category. I wonder if those who market products of any kind this way really think about how their promotions are damaging to the mindset of the susceptible, seducing users into trading their freedom for a dependency which seems exciting but detaches them from reality. We have to be so careful about our use of language, St James was right to speak of the dangerous power of one of the body's smallest members - the tongue.

After lunch we went to the first Parish post-lockdown social gathering, a tea and cake party at the Rectory. It had been warm with sunshine and clouds all morning, but rain threatened for the afternoon. There was only a brief shower while we were there fortunately. We went on from there at four, to a second tea party, a farewell one at Jacquie's. She moves to Stroud to live this coming Wednesday. The garden which her husband Russell tended carefully for forty years was looking lovely. I took thirty photos, and will turn the best of them into a photo book she can take with her to remember the place in times to come.

After supper, I finally got around to fitting the new cartridge bought last Saturday for the HP lazer printer. I works OK, although the printer software tells me that it's a non-standard one. I just hope the software doesn't impose sanctions and stop the think from working in future. At least tonight it printed my sermon for tomorrow without complaint.

I watched an episode of Swedish crimmie series  called 'Beck' on BBC Four The Chief Inspector of this name is now near retirement age but keeps working, though in the more recent series he's taken a back seat and the stories have played far more around the members of the team he heads. An interesting take I guess, but I found it slightly dull. Afterwards I went for a walk around Pontcanna Fields in the dark, in need of fresh air and exercise before turning in. Earlier there had been heavyish rain for a while, but it was drying up and the air smelled fresh and clean. I hoped I might hear an owl, but apart from murmured conversation far a away, it was blissfully quiet and traffic free.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Five

I was enjoying a bright hot sunny morning on the day I was supposed to be taking a delayed flight home at the end of my locum duty here.

Then I had a call from Kath telling me that the Jet2 flight, the fifth re-booked flight in a matter of three weeks, the one she booked for me yesterday, has already been cancelled. Another blow, but what bad luck. If I had hummed and aahed over the booking and slept on it first, this wouldn't have happened. More hassle.

What we think is happening is that UK government policy about enforcing two weeks quarantine on people arriving from UK flights is actually deterring people from booking flights, not so much short stay holiday makers as business and domestic travellers wanting to return home or go to their jobs after a long time away. If there's not enough to cover the cost of running the flight, it gets cancelled. None of the airlines seem willing to be honest with the public and keep promoting flight bookings competitively as if it was still 2019. Such competition to get people's booking money in the face of a global crisis, instead of partnership is a lethal recipe for a dark anarchic future.

As Kath and Lucy run Wriggledance Theatre from their home offices, they are very skilled at digital research. Kath set about investigating which regular scheduled UK flights are running to judge from the published flight arrival boards of various airports, and seeing how that matched up with flight prices being asked - the higher, means the greater demand. It seems that Barcelona has a couple of daily flights to London which do run and are well populated. So, with the same connecting flight to Barcelona from here cancelled on 28th April I have a flight from Barcelona to London on 16th June.

I am not confident it will run given the inability of the British Home Secretary to think coherently about the consequences for travellers and airlines of anything she says in a market driven economy.
The way things are, I am being denied the right of return to the country of which I'm supposed to be a citizen. Sure this is an over-riding crisis time, but no thought seems to have been given to actually testing people as they arrive, or having a set up where they are tested before they board and receive a bio-passport, valid for travel within a limited time frame. Too much effort? Wait and see whether the entire British airline industry goes out of business or not.

Although very upset, I made an effort to complete the Sunday service and send it to Dave for web uploading. Early for a change. That at least took my mind off the anger and frustration I feel. I still find it hard to believe the country voted in this government so decisively, plus I am appalled that brexit was voted through as a consequence. Britain has vainly done its own thing rather than work in close partnership with the EU over covid 19, so the UK now has the highest death rate as the price paid for an 'independence' of thought which has not served Britain well at all. 

The temperature rose to 27c in the afternoon when I finished work and headed out for my walk. Not exactly the best conditions. But I have learned that I need to drink far more water to avoid feeling even worse. Clare has written to Kevin Brennan our local MP to ask if he will take up the case with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office of stranded expats let down by airlines needing repatriation now a couple of months after the last repatriation flight left because the reason their reason for not leaving at the time no longer applies. There are Brits domiciled in Ibiza stuck in the UK as well as some others like me, stuck here. Fr Rhys's wife Eluned is an Assembly Member and she has agreed to pursue this through the WAG. I doubt whether any action will ensure, but the government needs to know that their ill considered policies have real world consequences, and that they will be called to account for their foolishness eventually.

Listening to Home Sceretary Priti Parel sounding off on the late evening news before bed made me realised that her words will serve as a deterrent even to existing scheduled flights. I desperately hope mine will run, but my confidence about this is very low. I will rejoice if proved wrong.

Nevertheless, as long as I have to stay, I can continue offering the on-line services until it proves possible to have real proper church celebrations again. It can't be rushed, Everyone is nervous in the wake of two months lock-down. Preparation and planning will take time and much care. I will be ready for whatever comes up. That's my job.

Train outing for a kids' show

After breakfast we walked to Cardiff Central Statio to take a train to Birmingham New Street, then a connecting train to Leamington Spa, a journey of almost three hours, to watch a performance of Kath, Lucy and Anto's Wriggledance Theatre company, as part of a children's arts festival set in the lovely parkland of the town's Jephson's Gardens. Their current touring show 'Out of this World' is a 45 minute fantasy trip into space for under fives. Thus far, it's been done successfully in libraries or community arts venues. 

Tomorrow, the three final shows will take place in the foyer of Birmingham Repertory Theatre. Today's was a unique challenge, taking place in a large marquee in daylight, where none of the usual lighting effects would work, and noises off from other events in the vicinity could have been a distraction. In any case, it went very well indeed with about thirty children and a dozen or so adults taking part. I'm so glad we got to see it at last, having learned about the show's development at each stage since its conception as, as a celebration of the 50th anniversary of the first man to set foot on the moon.

It was well worth the travelling, although I found this a bit stressful, as the train seats were narrow and uncomfortable, largely due to wear and tear. It proved very difficult to settle and the effort was a drain on my physical energy. British trains are no match for their European counterparts. As we travelled out of Cardiff to Severn Tunnel Junction, it was interesting to see the extent of progress made on installing the equipment for electrifying the line from Paddington to Cardiff. 

It was gone half past eight when we arrived back in Cardiff. Rather than wait for a bus, we walked home via the 'Rock & Malt' the local chip shop, where we bought what we thought was a small bag of chips for supper, which turned out to be big enough for three of us! It was just the right remedy for tiredness after six hours of train travel.

I often complain about the terrible litter problem we have in our streets, Council workers can never keep up with the task of clearing the mess, except in the city centre, for appearances sake. Little is done to expand the number of strategically placed litter bins either, but extra bins would require more workers to empty, and public spending cut-backs rule this out. I noticed that on Birmingham New Street station, there were no litter bins to be seen anywhere. Plenty of shops selling take away food, however. 

The station is kept clean by a patrolling squad of workers, so passengers discard the cup or sandwich box they have just finished with anywhere they fancy, including perching them on seats which other might want to use. They stay there until collected by the patrolling cleaners, but how long is that in practice? At peak travel times, or shift changeover times? Far more seriously it takes away from travellers a sense of obligation to clear up after themselves. It promotes a culture of dependency on 'the travel system' created by smart modern management. I don't imagine that urban architects conceived of their shiny new icons of progress, with rubbish strewn around their elegant spaces as an adornment. The gulf between the ideal and the reality is immense. No wonder urban society is in such a mess.

Tech talk with Kath

We all slept in and breakfasted late this morning, then went into town on a shopping expedition - well, it was so for Kath, Anto and Rhiannon, as their usual busy work schedule rarely permits such an outing into nearby Coventry, Leamington, or Birmingham. So, bank holiday Monday shopping is on the to-do list, even if there's no urgency to purchase. It's leisure for those who often shop on-line.

While the others took the bus, Kath and I walked in together through the park, taking the opportunity to talk about future Wiggledance plans. They are putting together a project in which they'll work with a research scientist investigating the nature of touch. Dance is an activity which involves a great deal of physical contact between participants, and touch is such an important element in healthy bonding between parents and children. Wriggledance specialises in working with young children in dance, so all sorts of possibilities will emerge as the project develops.

She also told me about her recent experience of becoming an Apple Mac user with her co-director Lucy, as a result of their 'Colours of Me' show. This made use of video projectors driven by software written only for the Mac, requiring the company to procure Mac Minis, which both of them can now use for administrative purposes, in between times. As a small scale arts enterprise they've acquired free Microsoft Office 365 software for the Mac, as this gives them the scale of on-line storage they need for their work. She's delighted with how it all works, now she's got used to the Apple keyboard layout.

The downside of the Mac is that her physical PC back-up drives aren't compatible with the Mac without paying for additional software patches. She still has to rely upon her Windows 10 Acer laptop when she's out and about, and can back up to that from OneDrive cloud storage. You can't be too careful, when there's so much at stake. Despite being reasonably equipped, Windows 10 on the Acer is still a source of frustration to her, because of the latency of some of its file system read and write operations. This had been my experience too. I'm not surprised so many business users don't want to upgrade from Windows 7. It was quicker.

We met up for coffee and a light lunch at the Queen Street Costa Coffe shop, then went to the clothes shops. I took myself off to hunt for a sun-hat to take to Spain with me, as I left the one I usually wear in the Winzerkeller we visited in Rüdesheim last week. I found a suitable white cotton cap of a design I feel at ease in wearing in TK Maxx, after fruitless visits to several other stores. By this time it was drizzling, so I took a 61 bus home, which arrived conveniently, given the diminished holiday service only minutes after reaching the stop.

The others arrived home a short while after me, then Kath, Anto and Rhiannon left for Kenilworth, leaving us to ponder on a happy family weekend, and start thinking about our next travels. I have some flights to book for locum assignments in Montreux and Mojacar, for later in the year.

Run up to Lent

An early start, celebrating the eight o'clock Eucharist of Transfiguration Sunday at St Catherine's, and then on to St German's for the eleven o'clock Mass. After lunch we drove up to Kenilworth, taking Rhiannon home ready to start school after her half term break. Clare will stay for the week to look after her while Mum and Dad complete their final Wriggledance tour dates with 'The Colour of Me' show. It's been a huge success, playing to full houses of parent and their pre-school children all over England.

We had an interesting conversation with Kath and Ant about the variety of responses they received from audiences in different regions of the country. In some places they experienced more responsiveness and greater interaction between children and dances, in others, children were more passive and inhibited about joining in, a variation which suggests that kindergarten educational culture, also possibly child development are far from uniform across the regions. It's a challenge to them as performers. Even so the appreciation of their show was warm and enthusiastic wherever they went, and this despite some of the technical problems they had with equipment on some occasions.

After Rhiannon left for school Monday morning, Clare and I drove over to Selly Park in Birmingham to see our old friend and neighbour from when we lived there, when I was St Francis Hall Student Chaplain at the University of Birmingham, from 1972-75. Over forty years later and St Francis Hall is still open for business as a multi-faith centre with four campus chaplains, an Anglican, a Methodist, and two Roman Catholic, plus a dozen part timers representing the world's faiths and other Christian denominations. In my day, there were six in the chaplaincy ministry team, and less than half the number of students there are now. It's amazing that it continues to thrive, as its web presence indicates. 

Because our two daughters grew up with Angela and Tom's youngest daughters as near neighbours, we kept in touch over the 42 years since we moved on. Angela now 88, came to our Golden Wedding anniversary with daughter Lydia, and it was a great opportunity to go and visit her, as it's only a three quarters of an hour drive from Kenilworth. The houses in Bournbrook Road have long back gardens, and beyond them, a secluded wooded area with a pond. It was wonderful to see that it remains much as we remembered it, having escaped urban development altogether. I believe the land may be owned by the Cadbury Estate and designated as a conservation area. Angela cooked lunch for us, pasta with a tomato and asparagus sauce - which has given me a new idea to try out when I next have opportunity. Her mind is still active and lively. She reads a lot, including the Tablet and the Catholic Herald, and is keen to discuss current affairs and social issues. Being with her was an inspiration, and made me wonder what I'll be like, if I live that long.

It was dark by the time we got back to Kenilworth, and Kath had supper ready for us. We were in bed earlier than usual for Clare and I, simply because Kath, Anto and Rhiannon must be early risers during school terms. After breakfast, I drove back home, to have the afternoon free to prepare for the evening Mass at St German's in honour of Dewi Sant, kept a day early in the Church in Wales because of its rare co-incidence with Ash Wednesday tomorrow.

There were fourteen of us for the Sung Mass, and we sat in choir, making the most of the wonderful acoustic of the church for some unaccompanied singing. Afterwards there was a Shrove Tuesday party in the church hall. I went into the kitchen to see if I could give a hand waiting on people, but at that moment several people were making drinks, and the stove was on with a couple of frying pans heating up with melted butter in them un-tended at that moment. I stepped in and managed the pans to stop the butter from burning. Then a large jug of batter appeared, so I poured some into both pans and started cooking pancakes. More by luck than judgement, the first two turned out OK, so I carried on cooking. Nobody came in to take over, so I just kept going, soon graduating to a third plan, cooking three at a time until there was no more batter left, and I'd done over forty, much to my own surprise. Sure I have cooked pancakes before, but never so many in one go!

An unusual conclusion to my Mardi Gras.

  

Musical journey

While the romantic world thinks of this as Valentine's day, the churches' calendar celebrates Sts Cyril and Methodius today. Two Greek brothers born in 9th century Salonica, educated in Constantinople, capital of the eastern Byzantine half of the empire. They became missionaries to the Slav tribes of the north eastern borderlands of the empire, learned to speak the language, invented the Glagolithic alphabet based on Greek letters, with extra characters, and produced the first written version of scripture and liturgical texts in Old Slavonic, still widely in use today in Eastern Orthodox Churches. They are regarded as cultural heroes to all who speak Russian and other Slav languages, religious affiliation notwithstanding. The written script is often described as Cyrillic after its inventor.

Methodius was for many years a Deacon but was made a Bishop in Hungary, and died in the Czeck Republic. Cyril was ordained priest. After a career as an imperial civil servant, probably the reason why his literary and scholarly gifts were put to good use, he returned to Rome at the end of his life. Reading part of his story in the Breviary office of the day this morning, I learned how he fell ill, and finally retired. He dressed in his priestly vestment and declared joyfully "I am no longer a servant of the emperor or of any man, but only of God Almighty.", and spent his last days exclusively in praise and worship. If a missionary doesn't get killed on duty, there can be no better way to leave this world, focusing on the one thing that is essential.

Not a romantic sort of Valentine's Day for me this year, but a trip to Kenilworth and overnight stay to look after Rhiannon, while Kath and Anto are away performing the Wriggledance show in Stamford, at the venue where we watched them perform their first show three years ago. How hard they've worked since then to get funding, create a new show and tour it around the country for twice the number of performances, especially in the present economic climate.

First, however, I had a bereavement visit to make out in Coryton, fortunately not far from the north Cardiff M4 interchange, so I was soon on my way up the motorway afterwards, listening to albums of CD recordings by jazz virtuoso pianist Oscar Peterson, from a box set of ten given me recently by my sister June. The second of the two that provided the sound track for my journey came as a surprise, as it featured an All Star band which did a world tour back in the sixties and seventies, accompanying Fred Astaire, singing songs by Irving Berlin, some of which were made famous from their use in his song and dance movies with Ginger Rogers and others.

Two thirds of the nearly two dozen songs on the album were songs I remembered well from my upbringing in a musical household with very eclectic taste, classics, jazz and the great American 20th century songbook. I knew at least half the words of lots of them, and could sing along with. They all conjured up happy memories of childhood and youth in a household never lacking in song.

I arrived Kenilworth just as the schools were coming out, and Rhiannon arrived just after I did. After supper and before setting out for Stamford, all were busy with engagements, so there wasn't much for me to do. At nine Kath and Anto set off, and had a clear run all the way for their hour and a half trip. They'll return in time for supper tomorrow, having done two afternoon performances. For once they'll be in a venue where I can imagine them in action.

Colourful dance performance in Warwick

We were out and about bright and early this morning, driving to Warwick University Arts Centre to see the latest Wriggledance Theatre production entitled 'The Colour of Me', which has been devised and co-produced by our Kath and her colleague Lucy, with all the music making, sound effects, both live and recorded from Anto. They are now a third of the way through a tour which takes them to venues all over England, and this has been our first opportunity to see it. When they toured with their first production, a couple of years ago, we didn't get to see it until the very last show, so it was good to be able to share their early pleasure and excitement, with their new creation.

We were blessed with fine weather to travel in both directions. To avoid delays from threatened road works on the Worcester bypass, and ensure arriving in good time, we took a different route from the M50 junction near Strensham, going south three miles to the A46 to Stratford via Evesham instead of north to the A422 turning to Stratford outside Worcester, as we've habitually done for the past fifteen years. It's a quicker road and slightly shorter and easier to drive. The A422 is definitely 'the pretty way' passing as it does through the landscape of 'The Archers' mis-en-scene, but it's a slow slow road in any weather. At a fairly relaxed pace, we arrived in the same time as our usual route takes us to Kenilworth. Amazing, it's taken so many years for me to try an alternative route.

Warwick Arts centre was very crowded, due to a weekend of family arts events taking over the entire building. The multi story car almost full, so it was just as well we got there early enough to spend time hunting for a parking space on every one of the six parking levels. Old fashioned parking space sizes, the abundance of oversized modern saloons and SUVs in this part of the world made it extra difficult. I found a space one floor down from the top, big enough for an ancient Golf to manoeuvre into, not  big enough for a more modern vehicle. Interesting that moans about the size of car parking spaces has been in the national news this week, with excuses from manufacturers, but no serious debate about what can be done either to re-size spaces, make larger car parks, or take steps to reduce the number of vehicles congesting and polluting our environment.

'The Colour of me' is a beautifully crafted hour long exploration of primary colours and the near universal association they have with human emotions, through dance and music. It's both simple and profound, as accessible to parents as it is to young children, the target audience. It makes use of state of the art stage lighting technology to create a stage for an interactive event. I was impressed to see so many under fives relaxed, absorbed and involved in the performance. There was little of the restlessness one might normally associate with a group of children in this age group, being asked to sit of their own free will and watch a performance.

The words 'enchanting' and 'magical' will arise when people think about describing this performance, but what's so wonderful is that this doesn't dominate. It's just a means to create a playful environment that relates to children's real experience. With minor linguistic tweaks it could be taken to any country on earth and appeal to children and their parents. Needless to say, we're immensely proud that our Kath and Anto are part of the core creative team which has made this innovative production possible.

After a quick lunch with Kath and Anto in between performances, we set out for Cardiff again, and reached home as the sun was setting, giving us a complete evening to relax, cook a meal and watch the latest Scandi crime drama on BBC Four before turning in, tired but happy, after a wonderful trip.
   

Thursday celebration and ship tracking

I drove inland again this morning, to celebrate the Eucharist of Saints Simon and Jude a day early at the Aljambra chapel. A fortnight ago, Fr Alan introduced me to a shorter cross country route from the main road into Albox to circumvent the town centre. I took what I thought was the right turning at the autovia exit, then took the wrong cross country road, taking me up into the hills to the north of town, nowhere near my destination. Once I was sure this was so, I turned around, returned to the main road and drove the route I first learned through the town, only to find the road out towards Aljambra was blocked off due to unannounced resurfacing work. 

Once more I turned around and headed back to the edge of town where I knew the turning I'd missed must be near. I rang Fr Alan, but despite his best intentions to direct me, was still bewildered. He was however, in a position to call a member of the congregation awaiting my arrival and explain what had happened. I back-tracked and soon identified the turning I should have taken off the main road. From there, it was easy, and I arrived, but a few minutes later than expected. Arrival was a rare pleasure!

After the Eucharist, I joined the congregation in an excellent lunch served in the chapel itself. This happens every fourth Sunday in the month. It's great. There's always enough to feed anyone else who might just turn up. That's proper Christian hospitality, something I've noticed over the past few years is happening these days at churches in all sorts of places in different ways.

After the meal, I returned to Mojacar, shopping at Lidl's on the way, and later walked along the beach as far as the Parador. Clare called on Whatsapp, as I was reaching the turning point. She's now up in Kenilworth for the weekend with Rhiannon, as Kath and Anto come and go with the Wriggledance performance tour - fifty venues all over England over six months, focussed on times it's possible to garner an audience of parents with pre-school children. I spoke to Kath about the tour, also Clare and Rhiannon, while sitting on a bench across the road from the Parador. "We stayed there a few times, Mojacar's lovely" said Kath. I didn't know they'd been here and enjoyed the place before me.

On the return walk, I caught sight of a cargo ship that had sailed out of Garrucha. It wasn't one of the larger bulk carrier ships but a smaller craft of shallower draft, laden with containers, I think. Its side was emblazoned with the legend WAGENBORG.

An on-line check later told me Royal Wagenborg is a diverse Dutch shipping company with global interests and hundreds of ships. I'd never heard of it before. Being curious about its cargo, I googled the company, then sent them an email enquiry to find out what the ship had come to collect from Garrucha and where it was bound. 

Enquiring of the Puerto de Garrucha website didn't give me what I wanted to know, but set me on on another search, until I got a fascinating glimpse into port arrivals and departures. The local marine traffic website is most informative and user friendly, so one can easily find information about local commercial shipping traffic. Such an amazing, unexpected evening diversion.

    

Arts support

Today, I spent the morning writing at home, and the afternoon in the office. While I was there I had a panic stricken call from Kath, saying that she'd just tipped some coffee over her computer, and there'd been a little spark ... exactly what happened to me last autumn. In just the same way, she could hear the hard drive still spinning, and the screen was blank, but she was unable to switch off the machine, and had to take out the battery. All are indications of a circuitry failure, dead by any other name. 

As it was her work machine, she was much distressed about what to do next. Thankfully most of her stuff is backed up to OneDrive, and a supplementary hard drive. Since she's a performing artist, running her Wriggledance children's theater project on a shoestring budget, I couldn't resist offering to pay for a new machine, and sent her off to Staples to buy the same model Acer E510 as I acquired for my sister June last autumn, confident that it has the speed, capacity and good keyboard, as well as a decent price. 

After work, I walked over to St German's for the Stations of the Cross. There were ten of us present again. As it was slightly warmer in church, we were able to sit together for slightly longer before the reserved sacrament in silent adoration for the fifteenth station of the Resurrection. I hope that in the coming weeks, it'll just just a little bit warmer, to enable us to sit for just a little longer. In this era of hyperactivity, places where silent adoration in a group is regularly practiced are fewer. Joining in with the Franciscan Missionary Sisters in Taormina for their daily Holy Hour before Vespers, when I was there three years ago, made a strong impression on me. It's not often there's an opportunity to share this with others, these days.
   

Contemplative play

I woke up at half past four this morning, still full of impressions from yesterday, so I got up and wrote for two hours before sinking back into deep sleep and waking up several hours later than usual.

Yesterday, after meeting with Phil and Rufus, we drove to Kenilworth to meet Rhiannon from school and take her to a dance event in a studio theatre in Coventry University's Ellen Terry building. By sheer co-incidence this was Rhiannon's second visit to the city centre of the day, as her class had been on a visit to the Cathedral and its museum, as part of their study of the Second World War. Kath and Anto had a Wriggledance gig in Oxford, but as she knew we were coming she arranged for us to go to this particular event which she was bound to miss.

One of the people making the show was Tim Rubidge, a friend of ours from nearly forty years ago, when he and three partners were forming a dance group and needing accommodation in Bristol. They were recommended to us by Jane Winearls, doyenne of the contemporary dance scene whom I met in my Birmingham days and worked with as a University chaplain. The four lived in attic servants' quarters atop our vast St Agnes Vicarage for two years. There were two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom, and a living room floor large enough to double as a dance studio. We all got on well, and I guess having dancers in the house influenced Katherine, then of nursery age, as she and Tim now share the same profession. She and he met up in Hexam last autumn during the Wriggledance tour, where Tim now lives. It was wonderful to see him after a quarter of a century, now a dance guru with white hair, not quite as athletic as he was in his youth, but still moving nicely.

The show was a work in progress, born of what participants call 'The Pneuma Project'. It's an extended creative reflection on the nature of pneuma = breath/life/spirit, improvisations in music and dance, in a given setting, lightly defined by its stage props - a curtain of white muslin cotton strips blown randomly by a fan offstage, lit occasionally with projected images of random curves and lines, painting light patterns on the curtain and on performers. Apart from this, the empty space with a few lights was occupied by dancers moving in response to the sounds being created by two instrumentalists.

Two accordion players began by walking slowly around the stage drawing air into their instruments and expelling it, resembling the sound of living breath for many minutes of silence, before moving making and developing the soundscape with musical notes. Tim first appeared moving slowly, carrying over his shoulder a long bare dry branch from a tree in perfect balance, an exercise in mindfulness setting the scene for unfolding improvised dance movements against the soundscape with no overall narrative to define the evolving whole, but driven by the dancers; response to their environment and to a lesser extent, each other.

The focussed stillness of the audience of about thirty, mostly dance students, was remarkably intense for the forty-five minutes of the performance. It was an amazing rich experiment in sound and movement in which time seemed to be suspended, or determined by the rhythm of breathing alone. Very much like being inside a meditation, though without the formal structure. Not quite dream-like, though full of a sense of mystery and wonder. A spiritual experience? Yes, but without the usual defining conceptual boundaries. Simply playing with silence and breath in whatever way emerged in that space and time. An expression of pure spiritual freedom born of trust in each other and trust in the process.

It was offered as a work in progress presented to an audience for the first time, therefore a learning experience for all involved. It was very much the kind of experiment I wish Christians and other religious adventurers could get into and work on to discover new depths in the living relationship between the Word and the Spirit.

Despite late rising we got Rhiannon out and ready for her youth theatre workshop in time, and picked her up from Warwick University Arts Centre afterwards. After a lazy dozy afternoon, Kath and Anto arrived triumphant from their penultimate Wriggledance tour gig, and we went out to supper at Zizzi's to celebrate Anto's birthday.

Paternal pride

A damp grey Low Sunday. We went to the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's. The regular clergy were away and there was a retired priest on duty I didn't know. It was so good to be on the receiving end for a change, and to hear a good sermon. I always enjoy Low Sunday, whether I'm working or resting. The great intensity of the Holy Triduum is released into joyful celebration, and what follows is a calm contemplative period of realisation, absorbing living the eternal mystery. The challenge is to stay like that for the rest of Eastertide. 

Before lunch  we went to Riverside Market to get fruit, veggies and cheese for the week - Caerphilly Cheese of course, soon to have its own unique apellation controlle status label. So nice to come home to tastes as special as any good thing one can find in Spain.

The afternoon floated by, writing, uploading photos to Picasaweb and labelling them. We heard from a chirpy Rachel on Skype, delighted to hear she's getting more singing gigs and recognition over in Arizona, to the point where her songs are getting air time now on a local radio station. Kath told us when we were in Spain that her small company has got Arts Council funding to take their dance show for children on another Wriggledance Theatre national tour. That's a major professional achievement for her and her partners. She'll be working hard in the coming months, and we'll get to look after Rhiannon when they're on tour.

  

Owain came around in the evening and shared a bottle of wine, some olives and chorizo, and chatted about jobs he was pursuing. How he copes with the daunting experience of being short listed so often and not selected, is hard to imagine. It's fortunate his creative side is so strong. Making music and writing about the techno scene on his music and arts blog are channels in which he continues to develop his experience, skills and gifts personally. He's philosophical about his trials and tribulations, except for the occasional panic. He doesn't give up and that makes me as proud of him as his sisters.

Gaudete Sunday

We woke up at six thirty this morning to the sound of Rhiannon and Jasmine playing in the adjacent bedroom making the most of their cousins' special time together. We got up an hour later and went to the eight o'clock Communion at St Nicholas Parish Church, a rare opportunity for us when staying in Kenilworth was so often we are looking after Rhiannon when her parents are on tour.

After breakfast Anto drove us home to Cardiff, where he was headed for a 'Third Uncles' band rehearsal in preparation for next Friday's gig at Chapter Arts Centre. We were home in time for lunch and a quiet day to ourselves, as Rachel and Jasmine stayed on and will be using our car to get themselves back to Cardiff on Tuesday. The rest of the day I spent relaxing, editing and uploading photos of yesterday's Wriggledance performance and a few dozen of Stamford town. I was impressed with what my Lumix DMC-LX5 was able to make of high contrast low light conditions, even though there are not that many photos that really capture the occasion as well as it merited. I need more experience of shooting indoor performances without flash to do justice to the subject in view.

 

Wriggledance in Stamford

Rhiannon and Jasmine got to bed in good time last night, and were awake early chatting and even playing well before breakfast. In mercifully decent conditions, we all squeezed into the car and drove northwards to reach Stamford in Lincolnshire by lunchtime for an early afternoon performance of Wriggledance Theatre's 'Once in a Blue Moon', the last of this year's tour. We had plenty of time for a wander around and a bite to eat and some photos beforehand.

Stamford, with the river Welland running through it, is on the route of the ancient Great North Road, and at one time the rive was navigable this far, so it prospered as a mediaeval centre of commerce, with half a dozen substantial churches for a town now numbering 20,000 inhabitants, built between the 12th and 14th centuries. There are lots of 17th-18th century buildings as well, making it an attractive and still prosperous looking town.

 

Four of the six mediaeval churches are still open for worship and daily for visitors. One dedicated to St John the Baptist is in the care of the the historic churches conservation trust, and was hosting a 'Cards for Good Causes' shop. Another had been sold for redevelopment and converted into six retail units. Two thirds of the space was given over to Vision Express and Boots opticians' shops side by side, and one third to the Nationwide building society.

Stamford is a place that would be a pleasure to visit for a weekend and take time to explore properly, also Market Harborough, which we passed through on our journey. It has small but ancient arcaded market hall in the square next to the church, and was surrounded by stalls with a band playing Christmas carols. Pity we couldn't break our journey there but we had to press on, uncertain how long it would take from there.

The Wriggledance performance was wonderful, with around thirty children and even more adults. Our girls were thoroughly enchanted and joined in the playful elements enthusiastically. 

I'm so proud to have a dancing daughter and a musician son-in-law with such creative gifts and innovative drive to bring to the small team of four dancers, plus the technical crew that made up the roadshow.

 

The performance only lasted an hour, so we were back on the road to Kenilworth by four, and only the last part of the journey was in the dark. Kath and Anto were an hour behind us and we celebrated the day with a family meal, then watching the X Factor semi-final together. This felt rather artificial and bizarre after the joyous fiesta of child's play in the afternoon's performance.

Cousins re-united

We drove up to Kenilworth this morning, to meet and eat with Kath and Anto before they left for the final Wriggledance performance in this season's tour of 'Once in a Blue Moon' in Stamford Lincolnshire tomorrow afternoon. Clare, Rachel, Jasmine and I went to collect Rhiannon at home-time in the rain. Thank goodness Kath and Anto don't live far away from the school..

The reunion, after two years separation of our two grand-daughters Rhiannon and Jasmine was a joy to behold. Clare brought a set of nativity figures for the girls to arrange together at home. They ended up surrounded by Santas in a former fireplace. What more could grandparents ask? 

While all these important engagements were happening, I was dealing with a succession of emails and calls to do with outstanding issues between Cardiff Business Safe and the City Council, which were arriving by mobile phone, needing urgent attention. Juggling between these two tugs on my life was quite a challenge.