No more lies

A really long sleep, and then a brisk breakfast to be ready to walk over to St Luke's to preach, while Fr Rhys celebrated. For the first time since the pandemic took hold he were officially allowed to sing hymns again - behind our masks. There were sixteen of us in a church that can holy two hundred and fifty. I think it will wake a while to get back into the habit of singing heartily. I had some favourable comments about my rather sober reflective sermon afterwards. It's difficult to know how to be a sort of spiritual cheerleader when the world is in such a mess. How to be appropriately penitential in thought, word and deed is what we must now learn.

When we returned yesterday Clare picked a pound of blackcurrants from the plants in her garden, enough for a couple of dishes of blackcurrant and apple crumble, one of my most favourite dishes. After salmon and roast veggies for lunch we had a first serving of what is to my mind one of the tastiest of all puddings. Normally I don't bother at all with pudding, but blackcurrant and apple crumble I find irresistible!

I walked for over an hour in the park after lunch, surprised at how few people were out compared to the usual Sunday afternoon. It was cloudy, mild and a little windy - were people staying indoors to watch a football match? Or gone to the beach, I wonder?

After the weekend's exposure of health secretary Matt Hancock, caught on camera kissing one of his aides behind locked doors, spied upon by a secret camera, he has announced his resignation and the end of his marriage in one statement. But not before Boris Johnston had refused to sack him and insisted this was of no importance to the job in hand. He totally misjudged the growing mood of indignation from the public and from some fellow Tory MPs openly calling on Hancock to resign. Naturally an enquiry is now taking place to discover not only who put the camera there, but how the security video footage was leaked to the news media. As if the affair of Dominic Cummings breaking lockdown rules wasn't enough to expose the belief of the ruling elite that they are exceptions to the the rules they make. The Prime Minister's error of judgement undermines the credibility of his government. How long will he last after this?

When I got back from my walk, there was a Radio Four investigative programme called 'File on Four' which reported on an exchange of emails involving Cummings and Hancock around the time the first UK lock-down was imposed, in which a piece of work was commissioned from a health statistics company to monitor pandemic data independently of work already being carried out by another quasi NHS body that is working on digitzing NHS services. The exchange of emails concerned a sum of half a million pounds in advance of work to be commissioned immediately (because of the crisis) without any scrutiny process in place about the objectives or outcome of the work or its value for money. 

Moreover, this was to happen secretly without proper government consultation and presented as a fait accompli, justified by the urgency of the situation. The scandal of undermining good governance is augmented by the fact that there seem to be a certain conflict of interest due to the relationships between the service providers and Hancock. It will be interesting to see how this plays out in the news this coming week. Already the government has come in for serious criticism about irresponsible and erroneous expenditure in the procurement of PPE in the first critical months of the pandemic. 

As a weekend op-ed in the Guardian stated today, lies, deceit and false promises which resulted in the success of the brexit vote laid a foundation for the perpetuation of this culture in the ensuing years. Not only does it undermine the credibility of the government, but in removing the possibility of honest discourse on issues which require thorough and well informed debate, it undermines the whole democratic process. I can only hope and pray that citizens generally will awaken to this disturbing nature of this damaging reality and start demanding a return to more honourable and honest ways in public service.

This evening I watched the first episode of a French psychological thriller on More Four Walter Presents, in between phone calls with Owain and Rachel. This one's set in Corsica, and the French is clear and very easy to follow, which makes for easy watching, as the sub-titles are less than essential.

Twelfth night lockdown

A cold clear bright day. Clare was out for her daily walk  this morning while I stayed in bed, listening to the news and dozing, as I do habitually before getting up for breakfast. 

Today's news centres on the impact of school closures on children and families under new restrictions announced yesterday. Less prominent in the headlines are changes being implemented as a result of brexit. Lorry delays get publicised, but less so expats not allowed to return to their homes abroad because they haven't got documents updating their status as non-EU citizens. 

Some mail order companies in the EU, and other importers are stopping trade with the UK because they're obliged to register for UK VAT - time and money consuming procedures leading to the conclusion it's not worth bothering to trade with Britain. Announcements on line to this effect have attracted nasty comments from sleepwalking brexiteers, waking up to the reality of what they've been shouting for and blaming all others but themselves. We starting to pay the price paid for the fantasy of complete sovereign autonomy, and it well get worse as more unforeseen consequences emerge. As ever, poorer people will suffer most.

This morning I prepared the order of service for Thursday's funeral and accepted to do another one in two weeks time. Elderly covid patient deaths. Canton ward still has the second highest number of infections. A high proportion of elderly people in the population, several care homes, but also an area with a significant number of BAME households, and a densely populated area. So it's only to be expected, I guess.

When I went out for my walk around the Fields, neighbourhood pavements were strewn with discarded Christmas trees awaiting collection by the Council, a reminder that already it's Twelfth night. Clare stripped our little tree this morning, ready to go back into the garden, as it has live roots. I felt sad not to have a last burn of the candle stubs this evening before dismantling, but never mind. How quickly the festive season has slipped behind the cloud of covid angst. 

Nevertheless started by visiting the local greengrocer to see if he'd yet taken his delivery of this year's organic Seville oranges. Last time I called before Christmas, he though the consignment had been held up at the Channel crossing. I had to queue in the cold on the pavement for five minutes to enter but endurance was rewarded by the sight of a large box of naranjas sevillanas, by the counter. I bought three kilos worth for just under six quid, took them home, and left them for Clare, who was still having a siesta. When I got back the exquisite aroma of bitter oranges cooking greeted me and transported me to Andalusia despite lockdown. A wonderful Epiphany gift.

On the tree lined avenue through the park, I spotted the first daffodil shoots with buds about to burst and the first snowdrops fully formed and ready to open. That's five days earlier than when I noticed the earliest new year winter flowerings I'd ever seen five years ago, and posted them on Instagram, not long after I opened my account.

This evening, I caught up with another episode of the latest German crimmie in the oddly English titled in the Channel Four Walter Presents 'Nordic Murders', when it's set on the North German Baltic coast. The German heading for the series mentions the Nordsee Usedom archipelago as the story line setting. Not so difficult for foreigners, unless you're not so keen to advertise your location to movie buffs! Seven hours away by ferry is the town of Ystad, the setting for the Wallander stories, is now much visited by movie tourists. There's a price to be paid for becoming a real-life film-set, and it's not paid by the producers but by the locals. The well acted series continues to retain interest, containing a strong element of family and community relationships, sensitively portrayed, reaching back over decades. I have another episode in reserve, for the next uninteresting evening of telly viewing.

Year's end reached

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    

Hebrew World Heritage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selfish tunnel vision

Another day of persistent low cloud and rain, although not so heavy. I walked down to the shops on Cowbridge Road East before lunch, to confirm when I'd pick up our turkey order, and there were long queues outside Tesco's and one of the butchers, though not ours, perhaps because it's concentrating on orders rather than on every day meat purchases. It's interesting to observe that not everyone queuing wears a mask until they're actually ready to enter the store. Most aren't queuing two metres apart. 

There was an interesting interview on the BBC 'World at One' news programme with a head teacher in Kent. It seems that the new covid variant is having far less impact on younger children than on teenagers. I've been puzzling over this since. It strikes me that younger children are more likely to remain compliant with social hygiene instructions than older ones who are finding their freedom and keen to challenge any boundaries imposed by authority. 

When I was out walking in Llandaff Fields after lunch I noticed more than a dozen teenagers gathered around the bowling green club house, not invisible but certainly a more secluded spot to stand and chat close up and have a drink together. No matter how well organised safety measures may be in school, and no matter how compliant older children may be, it's what happens when they are out of CCTV range, in the toilets, behind the bike sheds etc; that poses a risk to kids keen to break the rules, and succumb to the temptation to risk getting up close and personal. The problem persists if schools are closed and kids have to stay home as it's impossible to stop them roaming outdoors and socialising.

The closure of international borders to any kind of traffic from Britain is causing chaos for the transport of goods in both directions, with a tenfold increase since yesterday in the number of lorries parked, awaiting the re-opening of ferry services in the region around Dover and Folkestone. Not only does this have an impact on 'just in time' food supply delivery but is a serious concern for the welfare of 1,500 drivers, most stuck far away from home. 

From his professional perspective at the DVSA, Owain has been pointing out for the past year that the transport industry is agreed that whether or not there's a brexit deal, implementing new regulations is bound to generate similar scale delays. There is something pathologicallly obscene about British politicians trying to whip up xenophobic hysteria against the EU, French and Germans (in particular) for exercising their sovereign right to control borders in a time of major crisis, when the brexit initiative has been about insisting on the illusion of British sovereignty. But will voters see through such self centred foolishness? Like it or not, as St Paul said "WE are members of one another." Time to grow up and get used to this.

Ethical reminder

The five UK Anglican Archbishops have spoken out together, strongly criticising the government's post brexit Internal Markets Bill which makes room for a unilateral breach of treaty obligations arising from the Good Friday agreement. At last! Following the example set by Welsh, Irish and Scottish devolved parliaments, rather than giving a prophetic lead. It didn't take long for a handful of opinionated people to weigh in with the usual meme about not mixing religion with politics. But this statement is not as much about political policy as about legality and ethical integrity. I quote:

“If carefully negotiated terms are not honoured and laws can be ‘legally’ broken, on what foundations does our democracy stand? We urge lawmakers to consider this Bill in the light of values and principles we would wish to characterise relationships across these islands long after the transition period.”

Justin Welby has also been outspoken in the House of Lords

Politics must not be reduced to “raw majority power unleashed” that normalises law-breaking" he warned. "The UK will suffer great harm, and peace between the home nations will be compromised."

Underlying this outspokenness is pastoral concern about the impact of government policies on the well being of all citizens, especially the poorest and most disadvantaged. He also says:

“There is no watertight door in relationships between economics and constitutional issues. They overflow from one into the other.”

Pope Francis has for much of his papacy has given a global lead and spoken out on behalf of the poor and challenged the morality of unbridled accumulation of wealth and power. In his latest encyclical 'Fratelli tutti' he warns against the dangers of populist politics. I'm tempted to say to Anglican leaders, "What took you so long?", but that would be unfair. The pandemic has taken an enormous amount of time and energy to address pastorally, overshadowing brexit fall-out. The media are often very selective  and superficial in reporting what church leaders actually say, because of the view that a weakened church in decline has nothing much to say of interest, apart from the occasion curious, bizarre or dramatically sensational tale. It's the marginalised and weak, however, the 'voice crying in the wilderness' that may deliver unpalatable truths about our world we most need to hear.

A case of déjà vu

Yesterday evening, the government re-imposed two's week of self quarantine on those returning from Spain, due to a succession of localised surges in coronavirus cases, mostly in Catalonia and Aragon. It's not a surprise because the possibility was leaked when concern increased. The Balearics and the Canaries, with lower infection rates and outbreaks well controlled, are included in this ban, and it has caused chaos for holidaymakers, many flight cancellations by TUI, not least due to such short notice. Over a third of Spain's holiday economy depends on British tourism. The consequences for travel and tourism will be catastrophic. 

Island tourism is well placed to lead the economic recovery as it's that much safer offshore than in the conurbations of the Peninsula. There's a perverse logic to the position taken by the government. The quarantine kills flight demand, leading to cancellations. That will include direct flights to the islands. Anyone wanting to return to Britain would then be obliged to take a two stage flight via Barcelona or Madrid, both areas of increased risk at the moment, and quarantine on arrival. No government spokesperson has pointed this out, that I've heard.  For me, a case of déjà vu

If excluded from the imposition of quarantine, island direct flights for holidaymakers could continue with negligible additional risk. Another instance of the damaging impact of thoughtlessness in government decision making, with far reaching consequences. Britain is leaving the EU, but leaving behind a trail of ill-will in member states is not a recipe for fruitful future relations.

State of Alarm - day Thirty Six

I was awake at first light this morning, prayed the Office, then went back to sleep. This happens from time to time when I'm mulling over ideas. Later in the morning I wrote a full draft of next Sunday's sermon for recording. It'll take me several more days to concentrate it further. I'd rather do the work before I have to speak into a microphone, and hope not to exceed the listeners' attention span. It's important to me to think about this when I can't interact with a live audience. What a challenge clergy are faced with during the time of lock-down! I wonder how will history remember this time?

Today's news states that EU borders remain closed to all but essential traffic until mid-May. There won't be any international overland public transport services until then. Will flights re-start after the next phase of Spanish lock-down ends on May 9th? When will I ever get home? Thankfully, Jayne has solicited the help of one of the GPs she works with to write a medication prescription for me. My supply of pills runs out in the first week of May. It's not without its difficulties however, as the standard brand diuretic tablet I take is unknown in the Spanish pharma directory. The question in need of resolving is the Spanish brand name equivalent. UK-EU interchangeable prescription arrangements are fortunately still in place in this Brexit transition year. I think this is a key issue for negotiation of the Brexit divorce deal. This crisis time is going to teach Britons a hard lesson about what we are losing that we will have cause to regret.

This afternoon as I walked my 10k, a chill wind sprang up and the temperature dropped by several degrees turning a time of pleasant exercise into an effort. How quickly, I noticed, the house cooled down, calling for heating and an extra pullover. Still strange weather for this time.

My car insurance renewal notice arrived by email from Aviva a few days ago, and this evening I paid it on-line. The Polo is a nice little car, but I wonder how much longer we will keep it as our use of it has decreased so much over the past two years. It's there for the occasional convenience, but it would probably be cost effective to use taxis or hire an electric car when needed, rather than maintain a vehicle of our own, adding to our domestic carbon footprint and local pollution to no good purpose. With the planet in danger, this is no time to be sentimental about such things. Plus it's only a matter of time before Clare's advancing glaucoma will stop her from driving. Would I keep a car, just for myself then? Or just in case? I don't think so. The world will be a different place in any case, by the time I get home.

  

National isolation day one

Nothing in the post from UHW again today. I would have expected to hear by now. It's distressing. It was also annoying to have my Llandaff Diocesan safeguarding CRB check application form returned to me in the post because when I filled it in and did the identifying document check at Llys Esgob two weeks ago I missed a second form authorising consent to digital data sharing for safeguarding. Earlier this week I found the un-filled form and posted it to Sarah the Bishop's chaplain, but she's not in the office this week, so it won't have been dealt with. It's just as well my Llandaff PTO doesn't run out until the end of April, and I requested my application rather than wait to be notified. Both ways on top of Brexit starting at midnight in Brussels yesterday, a rotten start to the weekend.

I still can't believe brexit has started, let alone come to terms with it. It breaks my heart. Separation and division ferment conflict. Eleven months of negotiations now begin in earnest. Isolation makes us vulnerable. I believe those who have a high opinion of Britain's strength and capacity as a lone global player are profoundly mistaken. It's another propaganda con-trick. Just how vulnerable Britain now becomes may well be revealed in the coming years. All of us will suffer, apart from those who can figure out how to make a profit from the country's plight, then cut and run. 

I walked into town, keeping Clare company while she did some shopping in the afternoon. It was a six nations rugby international afternoon, and while Wales were imposing a humiliating defeat on the Italian ream, the streets and shops were very quiet. We saw a stall set up on Queen Street by a Muslim non-violent anti-extremism group wanting to convey to the world that authentic Islam in no way condones the evils perpetrated in its religious name. Good luck to them. I wonder what impact their campaign will have in a society which habitually stereotypes everyone and feeds on fake news poor quality journalism and 'newspeak', fond of calling good things bad and bad things good in a way which would have George Orwell saying "I told you so." from beyond the grave.

More scanning later in the day, this time a roll of film from a Greek island holiday in 2000 and from the wedding feast of Delbert and Ara in Geneva, on which occasion I played guitar with a Mariachi band of Latin American ex-pats in between courses. The daft things I did in those days!

A re-run of a Montalbano episode seen twice before on BBC Four tonight. Brillant slapstick from the inimitable Catarella, but a sad tale of betrayal, jealous passion and compassion, spanning a thousand miles from Sicily to the eastern Italian Alps.

  

  

Imagination at Llandaff Cathedral

After a sunny Sunday, it rained for most of yesterday. I did the grocery shopping in the morning, cooked lunch, then kitted out in full rain gear, went into town on the bus and walked home in the afternoon. I wanted to find a book I'd heard about for Clare's birthday present, and was disappointed to learn that it has only been published in the USA. Even if ordered on Amazon, it's doubtful that it'd arrive by Saturday. I'd prefer to buy from a real bookshop in any case, Instead, I found a CD that I'm confident she'll enjoy, and a card that'll make her smile. Job done. 

It drizzled most of today as well. Not that it bothered me much, as I was absorbed by the news about the High Court unanimous decision to rule as illegal Boris Johnson's action in proroguing Parliament. This is unique and unprecedented in English history. The consequences are likely to be far reaching.

I walked up the Taff calling in at the Cathedral when it started to rain. There was an exhibition in the St David Chapel presenting course work from eight local architecture students, whose brief was to devise a project proposal with drawings, to transform the site of the Prebendal House, or the site of the ruins of the nearby mediaeval Bishop's Palace into a centre for community music education and recitals, a church hall and offices to support the Cathedral's mission through music.

It's such an imaginative thing to do, given the desire to improve the facilities used by the Cathedral choir, which are less than fit for purpose when it comes to developing new initiatives. Engaging in dialogue of this kind is a creative way to start a conversation in the Cathedral community about what will best serve the future development of its work and witness, and get everyone to take an interest. Much more lively an initiative than any paper consultation exercise!

The choir director and choristers passed through while I was looking at the exhibition, on their way to rehearse for choral evensong. I listened to them singing Wood's Magnificat in D and Burgon's Nunc Dimittis, but didn't stop for the service, as I was only a quarter a way through my walk, and didn't want to get back too soon. The latter piece of music was hauntingly familiar, as it was used as theme music for the BBC version of John le Carre's 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' forty years ago. This is the first time I've heard it used in worship since then. Incredible coincidence or crafty homage to an old TV masterpiece? 

Rush to judgement

How annoying! When I got up this morning, I didn't switch my phone on until after breakfast, and so  missed the calendar alert to take the car over to N G Motors in Splott early for today's MOT text. This left me with not quite enough turn-around time to go to St Catherine's to celebrate the Eucharist. Fortunately, Clare was free and able to do this instead of me. I could just as easily have forgotten to look at a paper diary and have found Google's Calendar app an invaluable replacement in retirement now I'm no longer steered through the working week and year mostly by a set pattern of events. There's a fair amount of routine in my life even so, due to interregnum duties. Just enough to balance the freedom I also value.

Eighteen years today since the destruction of the New York Word Trade Centre towers, an event that changed the modern world irreversibly, and not for the better. It was a violent revelation of the failure of dialogue between modernity and traditional culture, festering wherever people felt marginalised and powerless, and emerging in pathological form in islamist extremism. The Gospel at the Eucharist was that of Jesus a the deaf mute man, a story which for me is chiefly about a miracle of communication which is revealed by his extraordinary ability to look at people and understand what's needed to get through to them, reaching into their isolation and setting them free. He looks, listens, then acts and speaks. He looks without prejudice, without stereotyping the other person, and this is what transforms the man's life.

I arrived at church from listening to a Radio 4 feature about Amanda Knox, accused of the murder of Meredith Kercher in Perugia twelve years ago. It took eight years for Knox to be acquitted of a crime there was no forensic evidence she had a part in, and for which she was initially tried and imprisoned. Her involvement as an accomplice in the crime was attributed to her attitude when confronted by interrogators. She was out of her depth as a 20 year old, and didn't know how to react it seems. 

A psychology research project demonstrated how it's possible in a high proportion of cases to identify a guilty party under interrogation from their body language, whereas this is not so with an innocent party, whose reactions are naturally more ambiguous and influenced by confused feelings about being under examination. An interrogator may read this confusion as evidence of guilt or complicity, but it's a presumption which may not survive scrutiny. It's all down to how we look at and listen to someone, and whether we think we already know about who they are and what they think.

In this era of sound-byte news when information is over-simplified for popular consumption, it's no wonder that Britain is in such a mess of brexit. Dialogue is overwhelmed by simplistic confrontation, and extremists are pushing the country towards open conflict. Parliament is wildly condemned by some for betraying 'the people', who just want to 'get on with it', whatever that means. Parliament is struggling, despite efforts to curtail its responsibilities, to maintain dialogue in a situation of great complexity which cannot be reduced to simplicities, that take time to ensure justice for all. It's taken three years so far and may take much longer to resolve in a way that achieves true common good.

The country's most senior lawyers are considering whether Boris Johnson's proroguing of Parliament for such time is legal or not, and opinion is divided even at the highest level. What best serves the common good? is the issue behind the legal debate. How is is possible to look at this with fresh eyes, without prejudice, without vested interest, without presuming this is typical rather than unique. It's a conversation which needs to happen between people of opposing views throughout our divided land. Urgently.

Travel plan thwarted

Things didn't work out as planned today. We intended to drive up to Kenilworth to celebrate Kath's birthday, after I celebrated Mass at St German's, but Clare was suffering from an inflamed blocked ear, and didn't feel up to the journey, and neither did I after several uncomfortable broken night's sleep. I took the usual buses to Adamsdown instead of driving, but one was five minutes late leaving the city centre, and that made me late arriving at church. As it happened, all except Angela of the regular midweek congregation were either unwell or away, so Angela kindly drove me back home. I was grateful for this as it was raining yet again. Kath postponed her birthday dinner until the weekend as well, as Rhiannon was feeling poorly. Ah well, never mind.

It rained for much of the rest of the day, though not heavily. Most of my afternoon walk followed a course under trees, so I didn't get too wet. Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields were covered by groups of birds grounded by the weather, gulls, crows, magpies, pigeons. No sound in the trees of the starlings I saw yesterday.

The news goes round and round the issue of Boris Johnson proroguing Parliament suppressing debate on whatever his government has to declare (if anything) about brexit deal/no-deal before the deadline on October 31st. All the commentators have ideas about where this will lead, but it's going to take weeks to develop, so there's only so much time to be squandered on crisis reportage and commentary.

With nothing else of interest on telly, I found a German crime series to watch on Channel 4's Walter Presents, with yet another lead female detective 'Helen Dorn'. It's based in the industrial Rhineland in the vicinity of Dusseldorf. Something new to watch, and good to find how much I understand of the dialogue aided by subtitles.
  

Hard decision times

Our artist friend Fran came to lunch yesterday. In recent months she has been working on the initial stages of PhD studies into the iconography of Sofia - Holy Wisdom. For her it's meant lots of reading and the occasional difficult seminar meeting, but no time for painting, so she's decided this path is not for her. She needs a way to enquire which is more praxis oriented, and steeped in dialogue with other practitioners engaged the same theme. The standard scholarly route seems too narrow and head centred to stimulate a creative response. Thankfully she has discovered this before expending a great deal of energy on it. I still look forward to the eventual outcome. She's a wise and thoughtful person.

This morning, Clare went to her study group at Russell's house. I had another dressing change visit to Riverside Clinic after lunch and then I drove to Dinas Powys to drink coffee and chat with Russell about the spiritual impact of modern technology on our lives today. It's something we're both interested in.

Clare went off to choir practice not long after I got back. I don't have enough spare energy to be able to acquit myself usefully in group singing. It's a disappointment, but I cannot tell from one day to another what impact the behaviour of my wounds will have on me, as it's so variable. After several quietish days with minimal pain and discomfort, today wasn't a good one.

More brexit votes in Parliament this evening. I'd be amazed if these result in a breakthrough, given the insistences already given by the EU that further changes to the negotiated withdrawal agreement are out of the question. No only that, but also deep seated division of opinion and political power plays being made by MPs make consensus seem unreachable. Meanwhile the day of withdrawal gets ever closer, and with it, heaven knows what kind of chaos.

  

Early preparation

A clear bright and windy day with a touch of autumnal chill about it. I woke up thinking about the week ahead, my last and perhaps busiest here, with two Remembrance Sunday services, one on Thursday and another on Friday for Armistice Day. For each occasion the readings are different, there are four different sermons to prepare, so after breakfast I put my thinking cap on, and started work. 

After I stopped for lunch, there was an afternoon play on BBC Radio Four about a man who suffered from agoraphobia, dramatised with the afflicted man speaking in the first person, about his efforts to overcome his fears and live a normal life, not confined to living at working at home. It was very well conceived and allowed the listener to enter into his experience and feel his distress, and it helped me to think about something from a pastoral perspective that I'd never considered before. Now that is truly powerful radio theatre, so well able to make use of initimacy with the listener.

By bed-time I had drafts of three sermons, feeling pleased I'd made the effort, and got into the flow of creative work. Daily exercise consisted of nothing more than a walk to Mercadona and back to get a few items to tide me over until I can take the car out tomorrow and shop for the rest of my time here. 

The sunset sky was remarkable. A cirro-cumulus cloud formation would usually be called a 'mackerel sky' but as it was orangey pink during most of the walk there, it would be best described as a 'salmon sky', wonderful to behold. Sadly, I hadn't bothered to carry a camera. It was still windy, and I regretted not taking the extra chill factor into account and putting on an extra layer.

The United States goes to the poll tomorrow to elect a new President. The campaign has released so much poisonous resentment and hatred, just as the Brexit affair has in Britain. Farage is promising to rally a 100,000 followers outside the building where the Supreme Court will review the  Law Lords' judgement. Is this an attempt to influence an objective reasoned examination of a decision based on agreed established fact? Or is it an attempt to intimidate the judiciary under the same alibi of free speech used by the tabloid press to justify its hate speech and (in my opinion) contempt of court. It has the same dynamic as the politics of a Nazi era, and the British government has lurched to far to the right in its crowd pleasing efforts to maintain its hold on power, that its effort to defend constitutional rule are too little and too late. The tail of the politically extreme right is starting to wag the Conservative dog. Worrying.

       

Finally, a Hoopoe day

Another overcast day, and a morning spent reading news reports on reactions to yesterday's Law Lords' judgement on the need for the British Parliament to be consulted before the Brexit process is started. The tabloid newspapers hysterical and misleading denunciation of long established legal authority and process is deeply disturbing. If these newspaper owners and their editors claim to be the 'voice of the people' what they are doing is preaching anarchy and calling for mob rule. It's worrying to witness truth being cast aside in favour of unsubstantiated, inaccurate oft repeated opinionation, and its happening all over the western world these days. It's every bit as evil as religious fundamentalism in its many guises, and is re-enforcing social divisions by the day. So disheartening.

Finally, after lunch, I summoned the effort to shrug off worldly despair and get out for a walk. I crossed the rio Aguas bridge and then turned into the complex of hotels and apartments and golf course that are part of the prestigious Marina Club Golf resort. I've walked through parts of the resort a few times before, but this time I climbed up as high as I could, to a ridge about 70m above sea level, where there are several very classy architect designed luxury dwellings with fantastic views inland and out to sea. 

The course extends down on to the plain the other side of the ridge, cutting a huge green grassy enclave out of an inland plain of pale sandy soil. In season I guess this would be normally used to grow cereal crops. It was hard to avoid overhearing a snatch of conversation between two golfing gents talking loudly in their electric buggy on their return trip. "I spent two hundred and fifty thousand." Then "Did you say two hundred and sixty thousand ....?" Yes, it's that sort of place. But already, something else had caught my eye.

Looking out over part of the golf course on the sea side towards Puerto Garrucha, its loading dock empty since the departure of the bulk carrier 'Sun Vita' after sunset last night, a distinctive bird flew out of the shadows, then settled again on a green further away. I first saw a Hoopoe take to the air when I surprised one on a track in the pinewoods near El Chaparal golf course, La Cala de Mijas in the winter of 2013. Several times later, I glimpsed one in the foothills of the Alpujarras behind Nerja, where I got one lucky, but slightly blurred photo of the bird on the wing. It was only recognisable Hoopoe photo until now. This was among the first I took today.

A perimeter fence post at shoulder height enabled me to stabilise my trusty Sony HX50, so that I could shoot near the limit of its 30x zoom if needed. The bird obligingly allowed itself to be photographed in the company of a pied wagtail, and what I think was a Rock Pipit. Then, even better. I spotted a second and third Hoopoe foraging on the same green. I got a good clear picture of two together out of three, the other was just out of sight. 

So unexpectedly in a few minutes, a dull day turned to delight and exultation. I've hunted for Hoopoes to photograph, each duty tour in Spain for the past three and a half years, so taken was I by my first El Chaparal encounter.

Another little surprise of the past few days has been the appearance of a pair of pied wagtails around the rio Aguas watercourse. They were there again as a made my way back to the apartment, as the sun was going down. Separately, they fly out of the reed beds, alight on an isolated clump of reed in the water, then fly around in tight circles, returning to the same spot, presumably insect gathering. 

Being a bit bigger and brighter coloured than other reed bed denizens, wagtails are quite distinctive. Most of the time they are sociable. I once counted two dozen together in the Asda Leckwith car park. Not when they're mating to reproduce however. They seem to count on the absence of predators to hang out in a twosome around the watercourse at this time of year.

Tonight, I look at the photos with pleasure, but also a little disappointment. Might I have got better pics with my Sony HX300, with greater magnification, but essentially the same camera innards? Shooting at extreme zoom lengths and getting decent images is a chancy business. Now I know where to find  those Hoopoes, should I return there tomorrow with the other camera? Really, I could do with a camera with a bigger sensor as well as a decent zoom, but at this point the cost of my little diversion start escalating unreasonably. Fair quality on a modest budget is a factor in my measure of hobby satisfaction, but real pleasure is to be found in the surprise gift of a moment unexpected.

       

Surprise supper

A quiet morning spent reading responses to the news about the Law Lords' conclusion that Parliament has to be consulted, not informed about Brexit proposals. The more the decision to leave the EU and its ensuing consequences come under scrutiny, the more likely it is that those who voted in favour of it may realise they were duped by lies and un-deliverable promises, and start demanding a way out. Already, before any strategic plan for withdrawal negotiations has been formulated, let alone debated or agreed upon, discussion on limiting the impact damage from Brexit is being aired. You could say that an early attitude of bullishness among our leaders is turning into sheepishness.

I walked to the Mercadona to buy some chicken to cook for lunch, for a change. Afterwards I chatted with Rachel and Jasmine over in Phoenix using Viber, and then with Clare in Cardiff. I was glad to learn that she's now been given a firm January date for the operation on her other eye. It's good to have something to plan everything else around. She's expecting a weekend visit from Ann tomorrow, when it will be a year to the day since Eddie was laid to rest. How quickly that year has sped by. Living at opposite ends of the country, we didn't see a great deal of each other except for family gatherings and holiday visits, but an abiding sense of his quiet, untroubled, thoughtful, assuring presence makes it hard to absorb the fact that he's no longer with us.

Just as I was thinking about having supper I had a phone call from Pam and Alwyn inviting me to join them for supper in a restaurant with Archdeacon Geoff and his wife Carol, who'd spent the afternoon with them on their week long whistle stop pastoral tour of Costa Chaplaincy visits. Such a welcome surprise! It's a couple of years since I last saw Geoff of Carol in the course of looking after Nerja on locum duty. Though Geoff and I skype each other and exchange emails from time to time, there's nothing as good as catching up face to face. And great to see them both looking so well. The Derbyshire country air is doing them good.

We went to the Bella Vista restaurant, one of Mojácar's most recommended eateries. The food was very good and the price for a very varied set menu most reasonable. I had sopa de mariscos and sardinas. The waitress laughed as she corrected me saying sopa de marineros - literally - seaman soup, instead of fish soup, but nevertheless expressed appreciation for my effort at ordering in Spanish. How kind! It was a lovely convivial evening, with friends old and new.

      

Settling in

First, time to get acquainted with the chaplain's office again. A new HP Windows 10 computer, set up with an old school user interface. Getting started with wi-fi on my various devices proved to be a nightmare case of deja-vu. The 20 digit password seemed familiar from last time. My Blackberry just remembered it, the Samsung phone I was using here last time had amnesia. The Nexus wasn't with me last time, so it had to be entered manually, but wouldn't take. Eventually I came across an information page about office passwords, which showed that the 'O' was really a zero. I had quite forgotten this annoying little tripwire. The lettering on the underside of the Thomson router is so small it's impossible to distinguish between an 'O' and a zero. Fancy me forgetting! Will I remember next time? 

Getting the Chromebook online, once I'd realised the problem, was quick and simple. I could then continue with the sermon preparation I began a couple of days ago. The completed file transferred to the Windows 10 machine for printing, but the Epson SX130 printer didn't work, complaining of both paper jam and ink cartridges either empty or not authenticated. Thankfully, Paul agreed to print the file for me for Vinaros, also Jenny for L'Ampolla, so I dind't need to go out in the extreme heat of day and hunt for a print shop, even before I'd done my weekend shopping.

Eventually, however, I did walk just up the road to the Spar convenience store, to get fruit and veg and a few other things, to allow me to make a meal that would do for Saturday and Sunday, thus avoiding the task of cooking Sunday lunch as soon as I returned from taking services. I really feel I have arrived when I sit down to a proper cooked meal that I've made in a new place.

Early evening I walked into the town along the coast path and the promenade, all the way down to the port before turning around. I was saddened to see the closed and still empty shop which had housed the chaplaincy's drop-in and worship centre. It had become no longer affordable, as custom for the shop dropped. Truth to tell, over the past few years, many first generation British settlers in this part of the world have slowly returned home, to be supplanted by French people, always high in the visitor demographic, but more now perhaps wanting to settle? Nothing stays the same for long. It's far too early to tell what impact the brexit result will have on UK expatriate communities. Tomorrow there's a Bishops' letter to be read out concerning the crisis.

After supper, it was time to get to grips with the telly, and the Skybox providing UK programmes. So many remote control devices to juggle with. There was another two hour Swedish crime drama on BBC Four, about a medical hypnotist working with the police on solving a crime. Interesting, if wee bit far fetched.

    

On the move again

Slowly during the morning, as it was humid, I finished packing, cleaning up, taking out the rubbish, re-making the bed, making sure I left church house the way I found it. Then lunch and a final look around conscious that there's not much likelihood of returning here for the foreseeable future. Then I walked to the bus station tugging the case behind me, wearing a rucksack, damp with sweat, no escape from this kind of heat.

The entire bus waiting area, a hundred metres long, shielded by a stylish canopy, was crowded with travellers. I wondered how long I'd have to wait, but the ticket clerk said I's be on the next but to arrive in fifteen minutes. Two buses arrived, both for Malaga, and I headed for the front one, as it had arrived empty, unlike the other one. That turned out to be a good decision. Instead of taking an hour an forty minutes, stopping several times on the way, mind stopped once at Torre del Mar and then again at the estacion de buses in Malaga, to let passengers off. In one hour hive minute.

My reservation email from Booking.com offered directions to reach Hotel Don Paco, and as I followed the snail trail on the little map, it gave jerky updates of my position. The hotel was a lot nearer than I'd imagined. The corner of the building is in direct sight of the railway station main entrance, about 200 metres away, or 300, if you use the crossings safely. Perfect for my morning getaway! I checked in to a twin bedded room with bathroom, air-con and wi-fi, in the quiet back corner of the building's first floor, which has only a window to an internal stairwell, attractively tiled in Andalusian style with tiling icons of Jesus Cautivo and Nuestra Senora de Anguista on one wall. Simple, clean, quiet, inexpensive at €59 for a city centre room. Very pleasing indeed.

I visited a nearby local supermarket to buy a box of cherries, a bottle of water and some cerveza sin alcohol. It's just right in this heat. Bread, cheese and chorizo I brought with me for the journey, although the cheese was awful, the slices congealing together. Not a sensible purchase, unless you make it up into sandwiches first - which I hadn't done. I decided not to go out again after I'd eaten, but to relax quietly and catch up on unfolding events back in Britain. 

I'm not surprised that Boris Johnston decided not to present his candidacy for Prime Minister. Some people, it seems were visibly shocked. They evidently hadn't been listening to his critics, nor noticed the tide of public resentment against him for the quality of the Brexit campaign. I wasn't at all surprised. With Cameron still at the helm, he could have buzzed around the political process like the gadfly he is, making things worse under the guise of being 'helpful', but with the success of his campaign triggering such instability and uncertainty, and everyone looking at Boris, he may indeed have been wondering - What have I done? 

As the days go on, legal experts are starting to say that brexit may be unattainable by legal means because there are so many constitutional ramifications under treaty legislation. The idea of triggering a quick secession from the EU was ill informed, a politician's undertaking with no substance. In a correctly followed process, it could take decades, because of the complexity of international relationships and governance, and thus it might be quite unworkable in practise. In the end the referendum remains advisory, and Parliament is the only legal body that is charged with deciding and planning what to do on the basis of the advice. 

Space travel and organ transplantation are a complex enough procedures, and it's taken decades of research and development to make them routine. There's no precedent for a mutually beneficial divorce between nations.  

And so to bed.