O Oriens

On this the shortest day of the year, we started our return journey from Kirton to Cardiff, driving up the A14 early under a clear morning sky, taking our niece Anneke with us as far as Ipswich County Council Headquarters, where she was to interview for a job at ten. 

Bright sunshine at the start gave way to overcast skies and rain, but by the time we reached home, the skies were clear again. We followed the A14 beyond Cambridge to the M6 to Coventry ring road, then followed the A46 to Stratford. This took us past Kenilworth so we stopped for an hour to visit Kath, Anto and Rhiannon, before following our usual cross country route enter Wales via the M50. 

Anto is in the throes of migrating a large amount of data from his current website to one that's being designed for him. For technical reasons outside his control, it's become labour intensive job demanding much hard concentration. I feel for him, having spent so much time myself recently migrating an even smaller dataset to a new software platform. I'm amazed he can be so cheerful about it. He's looking forward to a new enhanced website launch early in the New Year with added features.

After supper, I brought this year's new Christmas tree indoors for installation in the lounge, and then we decorated it together, so that it's ready for when the family arrives. It's a good while since we did this together as usually there are younger people around willing to do it. I really enjoyed doing this. Such an appropriate thing to do as the longest night enveloped us. 

My Blackberry Accuweather app, told me that the sun set over Kirton at 15h45, but in Cardiff at 16h06. I knew there was a time difference across the country, but had never quite realised how much until today.

This week's BBC Radio 4 edition of 'Beyond Belief' was all about Christian and Pagan observances of the Winter Solstice. Something more I learned from this programme was that the sun's position on the horizon is as southerly as it can get today. It's the same until Christmas Day, when it begins its ascent into the northern skies again. Good enough reason, I suppose for the great 'O' antiphon of the day to be about the rising sun, symbol of both the birth of Jesus and his resurrection.

 O Daystar, you are the splendour of eternal light and the sun of justice. O come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.

The dawn of a new day has been received as a sign of hope by the whole of humanity down the ages, regardless of religious belief and culture., and by analogy also, the dawning of a new year.
     

O clavis David

As there was no Communion service this morning in the churches of this rural grouping, we drove to riverside town of Woodbridge for the Parish Eucharist at the church of St Mary, a fine 15th century building with a very tall tower, no doubt used to keep a look out over the comings and goings in the estuary in past troubled times. The town is ancient, and there was a church on this spot a century before the Domesday book records it.

Clare came to church here with Ann on her last visit, and remarked on how well attended it was. Even more so today, with a couple of hundred of adults and thirty children. We arrived just as the service was about to start. The Vicar was making an appeal to support an ancient village church near Carlisle, whose decades of restoration work have been undone by the recent floods, as an act of solidarity. His brief exhortation was met by quiet murmurs of approval some members of the congregation seated near to us. In place of a sermon, the children presented a nativity tableau, spiced with humorous moments. It was a refreshing change, being part of a big congregation, and not on duty. And it was great to return to a family Sunday lunch already prepared, with Ann, plus Anneke and Stefan who arrived last night.

This evening, we walked to Kirton Parish Church for their service of Nine Lessons and Carols by candlelight. I was honoured on behalf of the family to read the third lesson, in place of Eddie, my dear departed brother-in-law, who often read lessons at church services, and helped clean up the mess afterwards and get ready for the next festive service. The church was full. An adult choir and a group of children from the local primary school each sang carols. Readings from the King James version of the Bible were beautifully delivered with understanding and relish by parishioners, a pleasure to listen to. Afterwards there was mulled wine and mince pies in the church hall where six weeks ago we gathered for the reception after Eddie's funeral. The moon and stars were visible on our walk home in the dark, as they were when we walked home on that sad evening. So much can happen in between our annual celebrations of great feasts. Somehow they enable us to carry on despite the burdens to be borne.

O Key of David and Sceptre of the House of Israel, who opens and no one can shut, who shuts and no one can open. Come and bring the prisoners forth from the prison cell, those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

To carry out their role, those in positions of great power must delegate functions of government to others. Anyone with charge of the keys of any establishment or domain is a trusted person, responsible for giving access to places or people. The sceptre is a symbol of the administrator of justice who is, or is meant to be guarantor of equal treatment in the eyes of the law. There can be conflicts of interest when the priorities and values of office holders differ. Justice can all too easily be exercised unequally in favour of the privileged, who can influence to ensure their causes are legitimised.

The Messiah sent by God the ultimate sovereign, as saviour and judge of all, is described as one who combines both these trusted roles in himself, and thus holds ultimate power over human destinies. The longing of all who pray for His coming is that he will liberate and restore victims of injustice, trapped, dis-empowered, robbed of life. It's an appeal echoing the text Jesus declared fulfilled, when he read these words of Isaiah 61:1 in the Nazareth synagogue.

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me; he has anointed me to tell the good news to the poor. He has sent me to announce release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to set oppressed people free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour."

God's surprise begins, however, not with the appearance of a full grown man of power, but with this child born for us in obscurity and poverty. The exercise of equity and justice is to be measured by how people treat each other in their weakness and vulnerablity, rather than their capability and strength.

'And a little child shall lead them.' (Isaiah 11:6b)
  

O radix Jesse

After a lie-in, a late and lazy start to our day, just spending time together with Ann, eating, talking remembering. A prospective purchaser for Eddie's vintage Alvis arrived at lunchtime, but the start of negotiations was aborted as the car with its ancient magneto system, prone to winter damp, couldn't be started. The car started fine several weeks ago, and it lives in a locked garage, but this is not unusual with ancient cars. Altogether frustrating, as it means more preparation is needed for the next visit. Nothing is ever simple. Daughter Anneke and grandson Stefan arrive late this evening, so we needed to prepare the other spare bedroom for them. This led to a late afternoon expedition into festively decked Felixstowe to buy an air-bed for Stefan to sleep on.

We parked near what remains of Felixstowe's railway station -  just one platform serving the line to Ipswich now stands in splendid isolation flanked by car parks where once there were several rail tracks leading into an simple but elegant brick terminal building with several platforms and wrought iron canopies. Fortunately the architectural features of the old station have been conserved and integrated into a retail centre and Co-op supermarket, a nice piece of adaptation. I've walked the high street many times in the past, but this was the first time I've seen this, and it's been there thirty years.

Today's great 'O' antiphon is a reminder that the one sent by God to rescue his people was to be one of their own kind. The purpose of the evangelists in placing genealogies of Jesus early in two of the Gospels, even though they lack historicity in the modern sense, is to declare that he belongs and is no outsider, either to the Hebrew people, in Matthew's case, or the human race in Luke's. 

O root of Jesse, you stand as a signal for the nations; kings fall silent before you whom the peoples acclaim. O come to deliver us and do not delay.

Jesse is the father of the Davidic clan, and a common ancestor to all those who look to Jerusalem and the hill country surrounding it, as the heartland of their faith and way of life. Because he 'who comes to be our judge'. as both the creeds and the ancient Te Deum hymn remind us, belongs in this specific way, that none of those who recognise him as one of their own can escape his scrutiny, his diagnosis of the aliments of their spiritual lives, their culture of faith. This gives even more significance to the rejection of his ministry and his deliberate killing to exclude him and the offer he brings from their lives. 

While Matthew's Gospel is addressed primarily to a Hebrew audience, from a Jew to the Jews, Luke's genealogy, like his Gospel, tracing Jesus' line back to Adam recognises this not as an 'ethnic' story but one that speaks of our common human condition, and the fatal impulse that can lead us to deny and reject that which is most beneficial for us. Do we recognise this when we appeal to God to come and sort out the messes we make of our lives, of our world? 

  

O Adonai

Late morning, we left Cardiff and headed up the M4 to London and the M25 for our weekend with Ann in Kirton. The weather was dry and we made good time until we got beyond High Wycombe, when we were diverted in a long slow traffic queue off the northern orbital, as the section between Junctions 20 and 21 was closed. Instead of five o'clock, it was half past six when we reached our destination. 

For the first time I got to road test my new night driving specs. I found my distance vision was more vivid, my sense of perspective enhanced, making it less of an effort to read the road ahead and behind in the mirror, I wasn't nearly as tired at the end of a journey ending in the dark as I usually am. Clare was also rejoicing as she'd received a new pair of specs yesterday, and found a marked improvement on a previous pair, leading her to wonder if she hadn't been incorrectly prescribed previously.

Kirton village green has a large Christmas tree covered in coloured lights, and some of the houses have their garden bushes and trees decorated with white or blue light, some of the flashing, like a migraine aura. There's aren't so many street lights hereabouts which usually makes for restful darkness at night, so the bright decorative contrast came as a surprise assault on the senses. Ann has the house festively decorated already. Back at home, our new little Christmas tree has yet to be brought indoors, let alone decorated. It's a job waiting to be done when we get back.

This day of Advent has a different expression of divine light manifesting itself. R.S. Thomas in his poem 'The bright field' contemplating the play of natural light in the landscape speaks of "... the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush" - where God recruits Moses to be his spokesman and servant.

O Adonai and leader of Israel, 
you appeared to Moses in a burning bush 
and you gave him the Law on Sinai. 
O come and save us with your mighty power.

A respectful circumlocution for the unutterable divine name, Adonai translates into English as 'My Lords', a plural form - reminding me of the use of 'ustedes' in Spanish, 'Lei' in Italian, 'Vous' in French and 'Ihr' in German, when the intimate singular form is thought inappropriate. This convention is lost to common English parlance, where 'you' can be singular or plural, though there are other ways respect is conveyed. In Hebrew scripture, this convention of language applies to people as much as to the divine.

On Sinai, Moses spoke with God as a man speaks with a friend, yet he wasn't allowed to get to close or see God face to face, "for no man can see God and live". The presence of the divine is signalled in powerful manifestations of natural phenomena, inspiring awe and wonder. In this context, the Torah is conveyed to Moses, stressing its absolute importance, and connection with the divine life. Calling upon God in this ancient frame of reference is an appeal to the Almighty to come and restore law and order to this chaotic world, based upon principles higher than the best and highest of ideas conceivable by the human mind. Our sense of law and order, however exalted, is derived from what is above and beyond ourselves. As time passes we continue to learn what is right and true, just and worthy of trust and honour, in the face of life's changing scenes. There are times however, when we realise "we have no power of ourselves to help our selves", and that's when hearts learn to cry out "Come and save us!"

O Sapientia

After breakfast, a massage came from Julie in the office, puzzled because she was unable to log into her workstation with her usual credentials. Earlier in the week I'd used the machine to try OneNote, which required a different log-in, but after I'd logged in using her credentials. I didn't understand why she didn't have the usual menu of login options, so I left early for the office, to troubleshoot, while she worked on another machine, as a precaution - just in case there was a security issue behind it.

I was able to rectify the situation, but am still unsure why this machine doesn't offer the same full option menu as other Windows 7 upgraded machine I've worked on. At least she now has a way of accessing user accounts she needs. Then, I worked for several hours on completing the migration of the last one third of the user information dataset to OneNote, and making sure it was accessible on the various machines used in the office. One job I was glad to see the back of. My next task will be to look at alternative software apps, to see if they offer more functionality, and if it's possible to interchange datasets between different apps.

I went home early, quite tired with all the head-work, and had a rest before going out to Russell and Jackie's house for their annual pre-Christmas celebration - some stories, some carols, an a mediative lighting of their Christmas tree. There were about twenty people squeezed into their lounge. It was nice and relaxing, with good food and conversation afterwards, and I didn't have to do anything apart from enjoy a quiet evening with friendly people. A lovely respite.

It's a week to Christmas, and tonight, the first Great 'O' Advent antiphon of anticipation is said at the Magnificat, inviting meditation on a cosmic scale. Quite appropriate for a week which has seen the celebration in the media by mathematicians, and astro-physicists of the centenary of Albert Einstein's publication of relativity theory equations,

O Wisdom, 

you come forth from the mouth of the Most High. 

You fill the universe, and hold all things together 

in a strong yet gentle manner. 

O come to teach us the way of truth.

Einstein is understood to be an exceptional human being. His mathematical conclusions are regarded with the kind of awe and wonder resembling idolatry, if it were not for the fact that its apparent perfection is limited to interpreting the macro but not the micro universe (which relies on quantum mathematical theory). Both kinds of mathematics are subject to theoretical testing and scientific verification that treats nothing in the universe of knowledge is sacred, no matter how much it's relied upon. Investigators are still looking for a Grand Theory of Everything - mathematics that will unify the macro and the micro dimensions of the universe. It's going to be the next great break-through when it comes, we're told by the confident. Why be skeptical of such a great intellectual adventure? However much we succeed in explaining of realities we can perceive, there will always be 'things unseen'. We cannot go beyond our selves, our universe, beyond the limits of imagination to see the whole from above and beyond, because we are not the author of our own existence at any level. One alone is above and beyond all things, and is in all and through all things. The more we know, the more the Unknown remains approachable only through openness to awe and wonder, love and praise.

Demands of the information age

Last night before bed, I started preparing a soup of butternut squash and red lentils for the Ignatian meditation group lunch today at our house, and finished it off before having breakfast this morning, in time to head across town to St Germans for the midweek Mass. There were a dozen of us there. It looks like I'm going to continue helping out there in the New Year, with two baptisms on the Feast of Christ's Baptism, and a wedding in February, to prepare for. It'll be the first time for me to officiate at a wedding in UK since retirement. 

Regulation is now more demanding because of abuse of church wedding ceremonies for marriages of convenience. Also people with a family connection to a church can now ask to be married there, even if they don't live in the Parish. Passport and address checks are now required at an early stage in the preparation. Clergy must prove they have no criminal record before they get permission to officiate in a new diocese. Trust and credibility must be legally formalised and kept updated, consequences of ministering in a society where a priest and the people served are no longer known to each other, as was used normal in previous centuries. It means ministry is far more based on the required function than relationships between people. No matter how much effort goes into making the offer of ministry personal, it is far more likely to be transient in nature. I wonder if we've yet taken into account the impact of this on Christian spirituality as well as practice.

There were five of us for the meditation session. As the group meets most months and has done for years, it's an appreciated part of the more permanent aspect of our respective journeys in faith. The same can be said for the small core group of people in each church congregation that's responsible for maintaining services and keeping the building open. Sometimes these relationships are life-long, and without them, something of the mind and heart of Christian tradition would be lost. They often seem to be older people, simply because they are people who stayed in a place to grow up and grow old together. The group always seems to be dying out, but more often than not its membership gradually changes over the years. A small aspect of growth which often goes un-noticed.

Much of the evening I spent working on migrating CBS user account record notes one by one into a OneNote file that can be easily accessed by all who need to. It's far from being an ideal solution, as the software doesn't offer all that it would be useful for it to do, but once the migration of data is  complete, it'll be easy for anyone with information to add to the common cloud based file. It's quite a dull routine task, but it requires concentration to maintain. I'll be glad to see the back of it, so that I can relax my worries about us keeping an up to date set of working information, easily accessible right back to when the business was set  up, going digital in 2009. 

First ever prescription spectacles

This morning, Clare and I returned to the School of Optometry to collect pairs of specs ready for use. In addition, I had my first ever 'field of vision' test, which came as something of a surprise, reminding me in turn of trying to play a computer game, as you have to press a button when you glimpse a moving dot of light, also driving at night and keeping alert to distant lights from cars and reflectors on the road ahead. I'm impressed by how friendly and helpful the staff are, and ready to answer a curious man's questions. They really seem to enjoy the work they do.

I was pleased to find out the test showed my field of vision is as good as it gets. Then I drove home using the new specs. They'll come into their own in the dark, but immediately I noticed looking into the wing mirror to check behind me was less of a strain, and there's a fresh sharpness all round, so I anticipate that driving will seem less of an effort, as I get used to wearing them.

After lunch I walked over to Tesco's and Staples to get a small present for Owain, then walked back in the dark, but the specs were in the car, and couldn't be tested. I can see quite well in the dark but know I don't see quite so sharply, but it doesn't matter, on foot. The waxing moon was visible through broken cloud as I walked along the avenue of trees that runs the length of Llandaff Fields. One small rewarding moment of enchantment to rejoice in.

   

Life, but not as we know it

Yesterday was the day of Sta Lucia, and Sara over there in Gothenburg sent me some photos and a video link to a TV recording of a national celebration of carols. Then again this morning, photos from the early morning ceremony at the school where she teaches. Lucia customs aren't that widespread or embedded as part of our winter folk ceremonies. It's very charming and beautifully atmospheric, but what is it really all about? I ask and get no answer that satisfies. In our email exchange I quoted Spock from Star Trek "It's life Jim, but not as we know it!", but Sara didn't get it. She was born around the time the first series got shown on UK TV, and has never watched. 

So, this led to me writing her a brief summary description of what it was all about and why it mattered to people of my age, quite apart from all the antics of the world wide fan-base of 'trekkies'. Putting down my thoughts made me realise how much the Star Trek narratives had reflected the debate about multi-culturalism and pluralism, and working at eliminating conflict. The other great sci-fi saga of the age influencing many is Star Wars, again in the public eye due to the new movie release. All the rage when Owain as a little boy, it never grabbed my attention, and I'm not even sure I can recall sitting through one of the movies on telly, let alone in a cinema. Having been raised on a diet of heroic World War Two battle movies, with roots in recent history much nearer to recent reality, I was destined to lose interest in Star Wars early on. Sci-fi that envisaged an era when we would 'study war no more' engaged with my idealism better.

Now today is the feast of St John of the Cross, whose poetry I have started dipping into in this past week for the first time. The Breviary office for the day contains a text from his 'Spiritual Canticle', all about suffering as a route to contemplation. Thought provoking, to say the least. I like the joyous innocent simplicity of his poetry. By contrast, the simplicity of Pablo Neruda's observations of life are of a different. He looks in detail at ordinary people and the things of life, giving an almost sacramental value to that which others would treat with contempt or ignore. His socialist humanism, if I may call it so, has a truly incarnational ring to it, an earthly mysticism. Two Spanish poets five centuries apart giving much much delight and inspiration this Advent, helping me to cope with the darkness of the year more cheerily than usual.

This morning I did the week's food shopping on foot, visiting first the Co-op and then Lidl's, braving the rain and getting four miles worth of exercise, much needed. I posted all the foreign cards, and then finished off the rest of the British ones. Seventy in all. Very satisfying.

   

Annual Advent mail out

Finally yesterday, I knuckled down to the task of checking my email circulation list and sending out batches of our annual Christmas letter, written a fortnight ago, together with a greeting e-card, with photos of our joint 70th birthday on it. It's a job I've been putting off. Out of about eight addresses I only got a couple of bounce backs. Some of those on the list will also get a card in the mail. I bought a batch of cards in the St John's Charity Card pop-up shop back on December 1st, plus the necessary stamps, but I've not had the energy to 'test and finish' as they say in the Council. The excuse is that I've had some extra shopping and cooking to do as Clare's had a heavy cold this past week, but it's only an alibi for inertia. Something to day with low cloud and rain making me want to hibernate.

In the week I was asked to cover the eight o'clock at St Catherine's, which I gladly did, and then had breakfast with Clare before heading out to St German's for their Ministry Sunday Advent 3 Mass. After the service, I joined the group of half a dozen people who were decorating the Christmas tree before returning home and cooking lunch. I really enjoyed that. There were more decorations than could be fitted on the tree, but many were not in a fit state to be used, so some sorting was necessary as part of the process - a great group exercise!

In the latter part of the evening, I printed off the necessary address labels for the Christmas cards to be posted, and did as many as I could manage without further address checking. Although it was very late, I took a batch of forty two cards out to the post office box, just to get some exercise before bed. How much I have to push myself to exercise on these days when going outdoors is hardly pleasant. If I don't, my dodgy left knee cartiledge begins to play up, as muscle tone slackens. I really need to be walking several miles a day, and it's more a lack of mental energy than physical that hinders me, if I don't have much to do. Keeping active is more than ever vital. Slacking doesn't pay!
  

Meditation pleasure

A special treat this morning, in the form of a meditation workshop with other members of the Rising Phoenix Tai Chi Group in the Albert Road Methodist Church community hall in Penarth, where I used to attend Thursday evening Tai Chi sessions. We did some Chi Gung warm up exercises and then three guided 'sitting' sessions, with a group 'sticking' exercise before the final sitting. It's a good space in which to move about and to be completely still, with just occasional background sounds from the wind and rain outside, and a drama group rehearsal in a basement hall below. Nothing that could distract us from the work of silence in hand. I love group meditation in every shape and form. Next Wednesday, by way of contrast, we will be hosting the Ignatian Meditation group session at home, and that too will be refreshing to the spirit.

After lunch I walked into town along the riverside, more for the exercise than anything else. There was nothing really that I set out to purchase. It was very busy and I soon got bored and headed for home. The sounds of Mozart operatic themes have been in my head a lot recently, and in the evening, I found a full performance of 'The Marriage of Figaro' recorded in the opera house at Florence, on YouTube, and listened to it while I worked on a sermon, and pottered about further with OneNote to see if I could adapt it for my purposes. Then another couple of episodes of the long drawn out crime saga which is 'The Bridge III', bizarre bordering on the bewildering. It mostly seems to be set in semi darkness, and I keep on wondering how many more hard to decode twists and turns must be endured before the baddies are defeated, whoever they are. A 'penny dreadful' type tale doesn't really make our kind of winter darkness any more endurable.

Lately I've been reflecting on the nature of darkness. Winter here means much low cloud and rain. Back in Geneva days the cloud cover could sit a few hundred metres above the lake for months at this time of year. It could feel stifling, but at least it was possible to drive up to a col, and rise above the cloud layer, to see sun, or moon and stars in clear sky above. It doesn't happen here, sad to say. Thinking of the darkness St John of the Cross speaks of, like the mystical 'cloud of unknowing' in English tradition is about adventure within, or above and beyond thought, being taken out of oneself, absorbed in wonder love and praise, just 'being'. That's a liberating idea, in contrast to the many shades of grey and darkness associated with enduring grim weather. 

Then I was reminded of nights under a clear sky, summer or winter, whether here or in countries around the Mediterranean by the sea or in the mountains, away from urban lighting. Nights of that kind draw you out of yourself and encourage a kind of 'eyes wide open' meditation or communion with creator and sacramental creation. I try to remember that it can be like that sometimes, but now I have to settle for delving within, until the heavens above are returned to us, like a fresh gift.

  

OneNote disappointment

As the CBS team member who looks after the office equipment and ensures that all our business data is accessible, moving from just using a local area network for work data to using Cloud storage has not exactly been a straightforward journey. Once upon a time we used Google Drive as a secondary back up to our network drive. Then SkyDrive turned up morphed into OneDrive and we had computers on Windows 7 and 8.1, and theere were glitches because they didn't work quite in the same way. Then the big upgrade of everything to Windows 10 took place, but this didn't solve all the problems, but rather masked earlier problems which we thought we'd dealt with, but not quite. 

Eventually, with a little extra concentration and graft, we sorted this out. Also, I migrated our client dataset across to Libre Office Base to future proof its handling with software that has a reliable tested upgrade path. This I felt was necessary, as we've used MS Works database, dating from prior to 2000 since I set about building the CBS database in 2010. Although Works database is perfectly reliable, I don't quite trust Microsoft not to depart one day from its software backwards compatibility policy with an operating system upgrade installed automatically. 

Microsoft, over the years has retained dominance with its various file formats, and imposed changes through various versions of its MS Office software, driving people to spend on upgrading and the inevitable extra learning required that obstructs the flow of business. I'm a fan of the well recognised Open Document file format of the Open Source Software community, and Microsoft's resistance to accepting universally recognised file formats not its own is far from good for a global communications network medium. One could say the same about the many competing audio and video formats as well, but thankfully there are many software engineers worldwide developing workarounds and alternative solutions.

I moan about these things yet again because Julie our CBS administrator discovered a problem which hadn't earlier been noticed with the migration of data to Libre Office. Almost everything works well, apart from the large data fields containing commentary and notes attached to each client record. Some seem to have exceeded limits of which we were unaware, and created a cascade of errors affecting only these large fields, which we'd decided in any case to store in separate records. While the main body of data is completely intact, the notes are a mess, and don't even display well in any form I've been able to desire. No wonder good database engineers are well paid to deliver their product! So, we've continued to update the MS Works file as a repository for notes until we find a solution.

This afternoon, we tried out the Windows 10 app OneNote, which is a respository for various kinds of note taking which can also store links to files and images. Potentially useful but immediately we found its imitations. You cannot import any data into it. If you try cutting and pasting from a spreadsheet or a database it crashes the app. You can search by keyword, but not sort. It only gives information inputted in date order. It looks pretty, but it's not that powerful, and feels a bit like a bright designer idea which is more a work in progress than a finished product, despite its appearance.

After half an hour's annoyance with the app, we gave up on it in the office, but I returned to it later when I got home, to see if I'd missed out on anything. That was when  found it will accept unformatted texts pasted from a text editor, and that you can then add to any time you want, so with a few hours manual labour it would be possible to use this for storage of client notes, though it wouldn't be in a proper database. So, keep looking, I guess. There'll be something better out there to discover.

After supper we went to Chapter for a concert given by folk singer and story teller Robin Williamson and his wife Bina. Both are still going strong in their mid seventies, performing on stage for two hours, very lively and engaging. We met them when I was at St John's. They did a winter concert for us there and I remember it was freezing because the central heating wasn't working properly. The audience was smaller than it was this evening, but they are brave and hardly people, undaunted by the experience, and we've kept in touch with them since then. They had a young teenage daughter performing shyly with them when we first met. Now she's a graduate and a lawyer, working in Bristol. Time passes.

   

Eye test

Back to St German's again for their midweek Mass this morning, and then a visit to the School of Optometry for my first ever eye test. Free now I'm seventy. I never needed one before as I've been blessed with good eyesight, although I have noticed some minor changes apart from needing reading glasses in recent years, so with some petering from Clare, an appointment was made following hers.

When I arrived I learned that the optometrist was running nearly half an hour late, and this momentarily put the undertaking into some doubt, as I needed to be home in time to be collected to go and officiate at this week's funeral in Thornhill crematorium. Clare and I swapped places, however, and I was though and driving home through slow traffic, and arrived just before my chauffeur turned up.

The eye test was an unfamiliar but interesting experience, and there'll be a further field of vision test to come in the new year. As I needed to drive home and take a funeral, there risk of dilating my pupils for the inspection was not one that could be taken today. Next time I'll walk there. My eyes are, fortunately in pretty reasonable condition for my age, no sign of cataract formation so far, and just some disparity between the ability of my eyes to focus at a distance, something I've noticed in the past year or so. I came away with an order in place for a pair of 'driving glasses', that will be of particular help to keep the eyes sharp and in focus for night driving. Better safe than sorry.

School Nativity celebration in Church

To be sure of avoiding traffic jams, I took the bus to town and walked from there to St German's this morning to get there by nine thirty for the Tredegarville School Nativity celebration. It was an amazing feat of logistics to get two hundred kids into church, a large proportion of them in costumes and ready for action on time. The teachers had written their own play, full of rhyming couplets, and it featured Dr Who's Tardis, to allow children to travel back in time to see the story come alive. The singing was full of enthusiasm. Angels danced as well as sang. Such a happy event, and a special pleasure for me to welcome parents teachers and children, and then at the end to lead them in saying the Lord's Prayer, in the light of a few comments about the recent controversy over the CofE #justpray cinema video ban.

It is, of course a multi-cultural and multi-faith school, and I caught sight of a few children not joining in, as they are at liberty not to, if their beliefs do not permit this. Every time a class attends a weekday Mass in church, there are children who don't join in, and don't come up for a blessing. It's just part of the normality of school life, one which staff work hard to maintain without fear or favour. Generating the trust and support of all the different families of the school to build a climate of mutual respect is a most demanding yet highly rewarding labour, in times as difficult as ours.

By eleven the church was empty again, and being made ready for a service I was scheduled to take at twelve thirty. The church nave was full for the funeral of an eighty year old matriarch with a large extended family. Such a contrast to when the place was buzzing with excited children, but its majestic architecture succeeds in accommodating such different occasions, leaving people with good memories, even on sad occasions. After the funeral concluded at Thornhill crematorium, I was driven back home in the empty hearse, arriving in time to cook a risotto for a late lunch. 

These days, our different engagements sometimes make it more convenient to eat a main meal in the middle of the day, rather than in the evening, as is our habit. Eating in the middle of the day suits me better, but routines keep changing, but tonight's Chi Gung session takes place just when normally we're preparing for supper, and Clare is out at choir practice. So we have a light supper later, and listen to 'The Archers' on iPlayer instead of live, while we're eating.

   

Poetic discovery

The second Sunday of Advent Eucharist at St German's this morning, numbers down a little due to the rotten weekend weather. Hamid, an asylum seeker from Pakistan was in the congregation again. His spiritual journey led to family rejection and took him away from his homeland, in his endeavour to study the bible and learn more about Christianity. He has been coming to St German's since he was sent to a Cardiff hostel, pending a case appeal, a few months ago. His life will be at risk if he goes home. He's asked us to write to his solicitor to confirm that he is attending church regularly.

Happily he's found an experience of Christian worship at St German's that speaks to his contemplative side. Punjabi speaking Christian communities introduced him to the Bible in his mother tongue, but their noisy, exuberant style of worship has limited appeal for him. Happily, it's the beauty, peace and orderly dignity of worship that appeals. He's asked for baptism, and we're aiming for this on the feast of Christ's baptism in January. It's going to be a challenge, given his limited English, but it's clear his heart is set on this. 

For the first time in many weeks Clare went to Riverside Farmers' Market after church, before lunch to stock up with some favourite cheeses, including mature Caerphilly, which to my mind ra

nks with Parmigiano for flavour, eaten on its own with a glass of the right red wine or grated and sprinkled to enhance a cooked dish. She's been making her own mincemeat this weekend, and the house is full of heavenly Christmas aromas.

Having done my DuoLingo Spanish revision exercises for the day, I set about hunting for my copy of the poems of St John of the Cross on the various bookshelves around the house. It's a bi-lingual edition with an classic English translation by Roy Campbell, which I acquired over thirty years ago. I wanted to see how much of the Spanish I can now decipher. It's really time I started reading things to improve my comprehension, as well as practising reading aloud for fluency. 

It took a while to find, but in the process, I discovered on another bookshelf a bi-lingual collection of poems by Pablo Neruda, given to us by a friend, some years ago, when we began spending time in Spain. I was delighted to realise that I could read and follow his work far better than I'd anticipated. There is a directness and simplicity to his writing which makes it more accessible than the Renaissance language of St John of Cross - new sources of inspiration and enjoyment to savour.

  

Central Square redevelopment - the long view

It's taken me a while to get around to it, but at last I've uploaded the photos I've been taking over the past six months of redevelopment work in Central Square, the area in front of Cardiff Central railway station. You can find them here. The area used to house the city's main bus and coach station, and the east side will, in a few years from now, eventually house the next generation bus and coach terminal, once Marland House and the car park occupying that site have been demolished, and built over. This site is interesting from a historical perspective.

With a somewhat longer memory than contemporary planners and developers, I recall from my time as Vicar of the City Centre Parish Church, that this is the site which, prior to its present unprepossessing edifices dating back to the 1960s, was the crowded site of older buildings, business and residential, dating back to the early nineteenth century. These were on the ancient water-front of the Taff, later re-routed in the heyday of Victorian expansion. They took over land which from the eleventh to the eighteenth century was the churchyard of the original St Mary's Priory, planted by the Benedictine Monks of Tewkesbury, right on the edge of the river where trade ships from around the Severn Estuary and further afield unloaded their wares. 

St Mary's Priory, on the present site of the Prince of Wales pub on the corner of St Mary Street and Wood Street, was reduced to ruins due to flooding, and a new church at the north end of Bute Street was built to replace it in the 1850s. As the riverside area was so prone to flooding, the course of the Taff through the coastal flood plain was straightened and acquired embankments to reduce the risk, much as we see it today. I wonder who benefited from this cemetery land-grab, which led to the Victorian reconfiguration of the ancient port of Cardiff into the familiar layout of today's townscape.

In a couple of years it'll all look different again. I understand the new BBC Wales headquarters is to be built on the old bus station site, now being cleared. A new office block nears completion next to the site on the west side, where once stood a brutalist 1960's County Council building, and prior to that St Dyfrig's Parish Church, next to the road bridge across the river into Tudor Street. 

St Dyfrig's was a Parish with a small dense urban footprint - a fine costly building, someone's vanity project maybe? The site was compulsorily purchased for redevelopment in the name of social progress, and few contested this. Again I wonder, who benefited? There are few left alive now who worshipped there in its last days. It was still standing when I was a youth. I know its last Vicar Bruce Davies, who was University Chaplain. I recall how each year it hosted an outdoor nativity scene behind the church railings segregating the building from the street. When we instituted the same kind of arrangement at St John's City Parish Church, thanks to the City Council a dozen years ago, St Dyfrig's was in my mind, with good reason.

These days, Tabernacle Baptist Church on the Hayes hosts a live re-telling of the Nativity Story several times daily for visitors to the city centre. It's a massive voluntary enterprise, driven by Christian vision and good-will, reaching far beyond the simple figurines behind church railings, accessible to passers by and vandals alike. The St David centre commercial redevelopment has made possible a regular throughput of hundreds of thousands of shoppers to the city centre. I wonder how many will be touched in some way by this energetic contemporary witness, very much a response to the challenges of our very secularised day and age?

      

Ross reunion

Clare and I drove to Ross-on-Wye this morning, under ominous grey clouds to meet Mike and Gail at the Royal Hotel for lunch. It was good to be together again. None of us felt inclined to walk around the town, as it was windy and not so warm, so we sat the table we'd booked in the bar, talked, drank coffee, then ate lunch, then finally went for a stroll up to The Prospect, pleased the rain had held off. Indeed, rain didn't arrive until we got back to Cardiff at four. Amazing that at this time of year, the sun had already set, somewhere beyond the low heavy grey clouds that dominated the day's landscape. With reports of heavy rain and flooding in parts of northern Britain, it's as if the weather is determined to drain the vitality from pre-Christmas cheer. Spain is much in my thoughts.

      

Memorable movie

I drove through the traffic across town again this morning to St German's to celebrate the Eucharist with a Tredegarville school class in attendance, as well as the usual congregation. CBS had arranged another WECTU counter terrorism briefing, and although I drove straight to the office through the traffic, I was too late arriving to join in, so I got on with other tasks I needed to complete instead. The meeting was considered worthwhile although fewer were present despite considerably more effort in publicising it. It's to be expected, once the initial wave of fear associated with a major terrorist attack has subsided. We just have to keep on at our users to remind them to stay alert to unpredictable and unexpected events. Quite an appropriate message for Advent, really.

In the evening Clare and I went Chapter Arts Centre cinema to see 'The Lady in the Van', an excellent rendering of Alan Ayckbourn's play of the same name, based on his experience of living in Camden, with an eccentric old woman living in a camper van in his drive way. I'd heard the play on Radio 4, and heard it discussed. The film was most rewarding, with an outstanding performance by Maggie Smith. Her evocation of the personality of this old woman, a nun in earlier life, and in her youth a concert pianist, awakened memories of utterly different meetings with Moura Lympany in her latter years, housebound by arthritis in a high rise apartment in Monaco. Long after her concert career was ended, she remained a vivid personality, leaving an impression on those who met her. She certainly wasn't indigent, but vulnerable through infirmity, still striving to engage her visitors with charm, when she entertained over a glass of rosé from her own terroir. She died three years after we left, I learned some years later. She was one of those war time celebrities my mother, also a pianist, looked up to. She'd have been amazed to know that I'd visited and taken her Communion. 

Work in progress

This morning I re-stocked the fridge in anticipation of Clare's return from a week with Ann in Kirton. At two thirty, I collected her, in the rain, from Cardiff Central Station. I was caught out by the fact that since my last visit, the collection and drop-off point for travellers in Central Square has closed, and the excavation of the entire site of the old bus station has begun. It meant driving around the the south side of the station, already equipped with a stylish modern entrance and a much greater capacity car park. What's been done is a considerable improvement on the old facility in Central Square. Pity that getting there is just as much, if not more hassle than the old arrangement was. It'll be different again in a couple of years time after the new bus station and new buildings in Central Square are complete. For the moment everyone has to put up with a work in progress.

I am making an effort to document the redevelopment of Central Square in photographs, as I did for the St David II redevelopment, by regular visits to the vantage points I can find around the site. It won't be nearly as dramatic as the transformation wrought in Cardiff city centre between 2006 and 2009, but the reshaping of the city's central transport hub and all the buildings associate with it it will represent a major change to a landmark central site. I wouldn't be doing it now if it wasn't for the fascination with urban development which the earlier experience generated in me. Last week's trip to London opened my eyes to the resurgence of the economy expressed in the number of tower cranes and building sites visible in the cityscape. Over the past decade, the way I regard the built environment I am part of has changed utterly - and this has afforded me great pleasure.

As for photographs, I must get around to sorting and posting them where they are publicly visible. They don't show the wind and rain, or the hassle in finding a suitable vantage point in a busy environment. But they do tell a story of re-shaping places familiar tom people in their passages to work or leisure day by day, and one day that might be of interest to somebody new.
     

Advent arrives

The only thing of note about my Saturday was that I finally screwed up my courage to go into town and buy a new pair of winter shoes. I live in sandals eight months of the year, but don't much like the misery of a wet winter. With so much rain and wind this last week, I thought I'd better stop complaining and make the effort. On Clare's recommendation, I visited the the Ecco shop, and within minutes found just what would serve me well. A robust supportive waterproof shoe with a sturdy sole, which, given my odd sized feet, offered a perfect and extremely comfortable fit from the moment I put them on. Hardly a question of getting used to then or 'breaking them in'. They 'just worked'. I can't remember if I ever had this experience with a pair of shoes before. Perhaps I always purchased too cheap. Even so, I got a 'Black Friday' weekend bargain, and look forward to enjoying my winter wear - what an odd idea!

I celebrated the Solemn Mass at St German's again on Sunday, with a turnout of three dozen for Advent Sunday, against a background of driving wind and rain. The mood was cheerfully up-beat. There is, in spite of the solemn and serious nature of the pre-Christmas season, an element of renewed pleasure in the start of a new Christian year. It's true for me too. The first ever retreat I made as an eighteen year old student was over the Advent weekend, and it brought home the reality of the mystery of faith to me in a way that steered me into the path I still follow. Poetry, awe and wonder, longing and hopefulness, all part of a creative chemistry feeding the notion that Christmas contains more than meets the eye. I think I need Advent just as much as I need Lent, to keep me focussed on Christ.

Confident accountability

I went into the CBS office earlier than usual this morning to meet up with Ashley, as we had a meeting scheduled with the City Council's Scrutiny Committee across lunchtime down in County Hall. The committee is reviewing the Council's engagement in support of the night time economy, or NTE as it's referred to in bureaucratic circles. CBS supplies half of its radios to those working evenings and nights. Restaurants, pubs and clubs comprise about forty percent, and ten per cent are public service or pro bono users like the Street Pastors, Ambulance and Alcohol Treatment Centre users. 

It was pleasing that we were, for the first time, invited to give an account of the contribution made by CBS, to inform the committee of the level of resources the NTE demands of the City. The question is: does the City cover the cost of this commitment. If not, how can it? None of our business. We just run a voluntary social enterprise that benefits the NTE as much as the daytime economy, and supports, at the point of need, others making an effort and giving their services. All is funded from the revenue radio subscribers provide. All radio users are stakeholders in making Cardiff a better place to be in, and trade in. Without the support of so many volunteers, it wouldn't be nearly so good.

I joined CBS when I retired as an expression of appreciation for the supply of a pro bono radio to St John's tea room, after a spate of thefts from handbags in church over the previous year. The radio is still there, still in use. The thief was caught by other means, but the fact that the radio was there  to provide a link to help from the outside world in one small quiet corner, was a confidence booster for volunteers. This was the first of more than a dozen radios now in the hands of city centre volunteers. I can't hide my satisfaction at applying admin and management skills I learned as a parish priest to the task of building a company back office, and enabling it to deliver a service, driven not by personal profit motive, but by the creative energy of voluntary goodwill, for the benefit of the city. 

This impulse has, down the ages, been part of city life, recognised or not, and it has everything to do with ensuring citizens' welfare, safety and security - not for personal gain, but building a community worth living in. It's similar to the impulse that drives people into the local political area, volunteering themselves for election as councillors in pursuit of the common good, regardless of the criticism they have to endure. It's not about personal gain or status, but about ensuring the common good through personal service. Thank heavens so many are prepared to commit themselves to make this effort!

   

Knowing and being known

Another midweek Eucharist to celebrate this morning at St John's Canton for a dozen people. Nice that it's near enough to walk there. After an early lunch, I spent another afternoon in the CBS office, trying to arrange and publicise another Counter Terrorism briefing for retailers next week, as there may be more who'd benefit from attending but were unable to attend last week. There was also work to be done on preparing a briefing for a client with several users about the status of accounts prior to a change in payment means. Each change in management, or premises location or payment policy on their part means additional work for us in tracking our sole income stream. 

IN addition the security of our radio network depends upon radios being fully useable by trained personnel in the specific location for which each handset is registered. With over 200 users out there, it's a never ending task. The ancient pastoral duty of 'knowing and being known' in any place is so much more complex in the busy heart of a city's business quarter, and in the era of electronic information. But it's still only as good as the efforts made by those whose calling in life is watching out for others.

Catching up on the front line

Eucharist at St Germans again this morning with a class of children from Tredegarville School, then home for lunch followed by a visit from Chris and Rufus, two of my St Mike's students, now running their own Parishes, but this week back at College for an in-service training programme. In the past few months I've ministered in both their parishes, so it was great to sit down with them and chat over coffee during their afternoon break. 

Both are at the forefront of implementing changes that will bring together parishes and church congregations for the sharing of resources and ministers. It's fortunate that, as pastors, both have decades of professional experience in team work and leadership behind them to draw upon, and a delight to hear from them about emerging fresh initiatives from laity  in response to the challenges of renewal for mission.

Job satisfaction

Clare went off to Kirton by train Monday morning, to spend a week with Ann, leaving me to fend for myself. It's a break from routine which means having the house to myself, shopping for and cooking food that's more to my taste than hers, though not today. After a routine GP visit, I drove to London to see my sister June, and sort out a problem she was having with her new computer. It was a simple matter that couldn't be dealt with over the phone. I needed to see the machine and work out what was going wrong. 

The machine was in fine fettle. The problem was that she'd mis-identified the power button, as it wasn't where she expected it to be, and it was almost hidden, being black on a black background. My fault, not going over there matters with her thoroughly enough. Anyway, she cooked me lunch, and I drove home in the evening. Fortunately traffic wasn't heavy and driving conditions were good, so I made good time, and learned another lesson about instructing people in computer usage.

Today, I had to be in the CBS office early as I was looking after the interview process for the BCRP Board's Business Crime Reduction Manager job, simply a matter of providing refreshments, meeting the candidates and escorting them to the right place. By lunchtime the decision had been taken, and the task of informing the successful and unsuccessful candidates was felt to me. Best news of all is that the new person can start right at the beginning of January. For us in CBS, this is a landmark moment in a long drawn out journey to deliver what was first promised seven years ago, before our present business was properly set up. 

At the end of the afternoon, I was glad to get away in good time to go to a re-invigorating Chi Gung class, and then finish the day cooking one of my favourite chorizo cazuela dishes.

Media spotlight on the Lord's Prayer

Today I celebrated the Solemn Mass of Christ the King (aka Stir up Sunday) at St German's. In the afternoon, following the announcement made in church, I watched BBC 'Songs of Praise', which featured the singing of a hymn which had been filmed there a couple of months ago. Instead of a programme featuring one place and its people, the programme formula featured hymns filmed being sung in different churchs around the country. This was particularly convenient as the continuity theme threading through the broadcast reflected on the Paris attacks of Friday 13th, with Archbishop Vincent Nicholls and Archbishop Justin Welby. 

It concluded with them saying the Lord's Prayer together in French, appropriate in current circumstances for more than one reason. This morning an interesting CofE pre Christmas publicity video (with the Twitter hashtag #justpray) was launched featuring people saying parts of the Lord's Prayer in every imaginable setting of everday life, as well as in church. A great and hopefully infectious idea conveying the relevance of basic Christian spiritual practice to the whole of life.

The publicity launch, however, had a flavour of its own. It majored on the refusal of cinema advertising chains to accept this as a video promotion to be shown in between flims. A pathetic notion. The overloud advertisements shown in movie halls are generally re-runs of TV adverts regular viewers are already bored with from home over-exposure. There's vain repetition of this kind, and the altogether wholesome reptition of 'the words our Saviour taught us to pray', and while words of prayer are not out of place anywhere, why bother to promote them in the context of a dead zone, known for boring infotainment repetitions?

Let's hope the 'justpray' video goes viral on YouTube and Twitter.

Let's hope it will spawn imitiations in many more languages and varied contexts than the initial. Now that would really be a modern mass media act of witness.

Weekend work and leisure

With the CBS administrator Julie away on compassionate leave, it was necessary for me to spend more time than usual in the office on Friday. From her notes of the Radio user group meeting yesterday, I wrote the minutes, and from my notes of the WECTU briefing, I wrote an account of all the advice given, and posted it on the DISC intranet for all RadioNet users to see. I did the BCRP board minutes after a break of the couiple of days, and was satisfied with the result. 

It's highly satisfying to think I can recall the content of meetings I've attended with a fair degree of accuracy, especially when I've got to am age where I find I forget what I gone upstairs for, or logged on to Google to find out about. Fear of memory loss is worse than the reality. So many everyday things are trivial it's no wonder we lose focus on them.

Saturday, we went to Penarth for lunch. The 'Cafe des Amis' has become 'The Bistro' since our last visit. Still serving authentic French cuisine, but now with a different menu. To our taste, the food choice is not as interesting as it once was, although the environment is much the same as it was previously. I would have preferred to have had fish and chips from the stall in front of the pier and sat on the beach again, but for once in a while, the tide was in, close to the promenade wall. It's a long time since I last saw a high tide in Penarth, but when, I cannot remember.

In the evening BBC Four showed 'The Bridge III', more Scandinavian crime drama, in a joint Swedish/Danish bi-lingual production wiht Engish subtitles. Two episodes a time for goodness knows how many weeks. Another convoluted and bizarre long tale that supposed to keep us entertained. To my mind, this particular fomula is beginning to wear thin. It focuses for too much, for its own good, on one main character with a peculiar personality, and while this has its entertaining moments, it feels a bit 'more of the same'- The Arne Dahl series of stories was far superior in terms of the complexity of its characters and their responses to the awful situations they find themselves in.

Briefing on Extremism

This morning's RadioNet Users Group began with a special hour long briefing from a member of the Wales Extremism and Counter Terrorism Unit (WECTU), updating retail security personnel on the current threat level in the city, and checking that everyone understood how to respond. It was a very clear and thorough presentation, and fifty people were present, more than double the usual attendance at RUG meetings, thanks to Ashley's herculean efforts in getting out publicity yesterday. This was followed by our usual business meeting.

At the end, our secretary Julie responded to a text message informing her that her mother in law had died in hospital a short while earlier. She went off to join her husband, and I took her meeting notes, and the ones I'd taken of the WECTU briefing, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening making sense of them all and transcribing, ready for circulation. I was both amazed and pleased at the ease of my recall and the end products. Sometimes, just remembering what I went upstairs for or went on-line to find out proves is a typically old age farce. But every now and then full concentration yields results, and cheers me up no end.
  

Looking ahead on the diocesan frontiers

Another struggle against impatience in the face fo traffic congestion to get to St German's for their midweek Eucharist this morning. A class of older Tredegarville school children attended, and I told them about St Hilda of Whitby observed today rather than tomorrow in the Church in Wales calendar. The older group gives me more of an impression of being there on sufferance than the younger kids, and they are not nearly so keen to sing anything. At least the sun shone in to bring a little cheer to the atmosphere. 

We chatted again about Christmas preparations. No sign of Fr Dean's return, it seems, so I continue  stand-in duties with a couple of extra weekday carol services plus Christmas Eucharists to add to the mix. I enjoy offering them continuity of ministry, but hope and pray that I'll work myself out of a job sooner rather than later. Cardiff's 'southern arc' group of parishes needs to embark upon a major exercise in bonding and building together a collaborative ministry with those serving as full time clergy, whether they end up with four or three priests, plus voluntaries helping out locally in the long term. All have an anglo-catholic urban mission history behind them, an advantage in facing community cohesion and development challenges in one of Wales' most economically deprived sectors, but which is also the most religiously and culturally diverse. It's the sort of challenge I'd have relished twenty years ago.

All change may well come in January when Fr Graham retires from St Mary's, having soldiered on five years longer than me in stipendiary ministry. Funnily enough he's going to be living in Splott, and I imagine he'll be more that willing to offer his services there, and I bet he'll enjoy being a voluntary priest just as much as being a full time incumbent once he gets used to the new freedom which retirement brings.

After the service I returned home and collected Clare for the drive to Pontypridd to take part the Ignatian Meditation group in the home of one of the members living outside Cardiff. Finding the house was quite a difficult navigational exercise. The lie of the land on the west side of town, on the way out to Porth is complex, if you're unused to the area. It's fascinating from the point of view of historic infrastructure and townscape, but challenging when the surrounding hillsides are covered with streets of terraced houses whose layout is often obscured by the terrain, its trees and open spaces. It's an urban area that would be rewarding to take time to explore, on a quieter day when it's not raining.

Jill, a local priest in the Ponty group of churches told us how they'd recently completed the process of linking up all the historic neighbourhood parishes of the town into a single new mission area, designated under the diocesan strategic plan, called the Parish of Pontypridd. A new adventure for all of them, learning to appreciate each other's diverse gifts and experiences, learning how to work together with shared aims. Before Pontypridd expanded during the coal mining boom years of the 19th and 20th centuries, its territory would have been part of a few ancient hill top parishes in the surrounding area hardly related to where the new settlements occurred. Coal generated wealth led to a nineteenth century boom in church building and territorial division to produce the pattern of urban parishes prevailing in the twentieth century.

Now an amalgamation of church community resources is occurring, based on the reality of present urban life. Christians are no longer a majority in society, regular worship is more of a leisure option for the few. Yet, the social and pastoral contribution of the church to the common good remains greater than its size or apparent influence suggests. The key question is how the maintenance of such good-will can become a channel of reconciliation that guides the masses alienated from Christian worship and spirituality back to the heart of the church community.

Redvelopment work gathers pace

This morning I had the pleasure of a visit to St Saviour's Splott for their weekday Eucharist, against the backdrop of people arriving and food deliveries being made for the weekly Foodbank distribution. It's always a heartening experience. Getting through the city centre by car was nerve wracking as the congestion starts when you're trying to get out of a side street in Canton on to the main road, and then continues until you get to Newport Road. It's busy each day in the run up to Christmas, but things are made worse by the re-routing of buses on the West side, since the central square bus station has been closed for redevelopment. We can expect more of the same for the next two years. 

Meanwhile the first excavating machines have moved into the cordoned off area in front of Cardiff Central railway station, and are digging out the concrete surfaces of the area which isn't still being used as a stock yard for building material supplies for the adjacent ten storey construction site. Most of its windows are now installed and internal construction work is under way. All is undoubtedly well choreographed, to everyone's benefit. Except public transport users, who must suffer a little, though it could be far worse than it is. 

Sister June rang up to say her new laptop isn't working. The battery appears to have drained, either because of a charger or a plug socket fault. She was very upset, and there's nothing I can do until next week, as I have no clear days until then.

I went into the office in the afternoon for a couple of hours with the aim of dong yesterday's Board meeting minutes, but they had to take second place, with other things to be done first, anyway I couldn't spend long there, as I had to go home in time to get supper prepared then walk to St Mary's Hall for another most refreshing Chi Gung class. Clare arrived home from choir just ahead of me. We ate a late supper together and talked about the family, before checking to see who's on-line to chat with, as we often do on these dark autumnal evenings.
  

Landmark moment

My only Sunday duty was St German's Mass at eleven. Just as well, since I went to bed rather late, and breakfasted only when Clare returned from the eight o'clock at St Catherine's with fresh pain au raisins and croissants for breakfast. By the time I got back from church, Owain was up after an even later night out, supporting a Bristol DJ in his regular club setting. He was still in a sombre mood reflecting on the Paris attacks. I'm just  wondering about city centre security and what else CBS could be doing to make sure Cardiff doesn't get taken by a surprise attack of any kind. The weather was against us doing much the the rest of the day, apart from following news updates. It's times like this when I most miss being in Spain.

I went into the CBS office in the wind and rain this afternoon to prepare documents for the Partnership's evening board meeting. It was an occasion to approve shortlisting for the Business Crime Reduction Manager's post, which we've been working so hard to raise funds and set up for ever since I joined Cardiff Business Safe after retirement. The we ran the recruitment advertising process, but selection is a matter for the Board. I've not looked at any of the applications, but those on the selection panel have been suitably impressed, judging by what was said in a very reserved way. 

One by one we are passing the landmark moments that are essential to the development of both our crime reduction organisation and the RadioNet enterprise. It's pleasing enough, but there's still the business to be run, and with a full time employee in post, taking on many of the Partnership's core tasks, Ashley and I can pay more attention to the rolling out of RadioNet service further afield.

Tragic Friday 13th

I spent Friday afternoon in the CBS office completing preparations for the BCRP board to short-list candidates for interview for the Business Crime Reduction Manager post due to happen in the coming week. I'm glad that all I have to do is make sure everyone has the necessary documents, and gets on with the task in hand. CBS funds the post, but as directors we play no part in the appointment. I am told there's an interesting array of applicants, but I have resisted temptation to look through them all, and discuss them. We're happy to let others on the Board take full responsibility for delivering a new team member to work with us.

Clare suggested we go to a concert in St John's Canton in the evening. North Walian bi-lingual singer-songwriter Huw M was performing with his folk band to launch 'Utica' his latest CD album of his own songs, on a Welsh record label called i Ker Ching. Another younger bi-lingual singer songwriter performed his songs solo, to start the evening, his guitar technique and musical confidence was impressive, and paved the way nicely for the main act of the concert. Huw band consists of a young woman with a clear singing voice who played accordeon, a woman 'cellist who also sang, and the Marshall sisters, whom I believe are the daughters of  the Pastor of one of Cardiff's Afro-Caribbean churches.

I could tell within the first fifteen seconds that this was going to be quite a song fest. The playing and harmony were crisp and tight. Songs in English or Welsh were beautiful and engagingly simple. The relaxed warmth exuded by the group's leader gave an intimacy to the performance. It was sheer pleasure, and Clare bought one of the CDs to take home and play.

The Wales - Holland football match was being played at the stadium nearby, and foreworks were let off during the performance. The streets were busy as we left. It was only after we woke up late this morning that we learned of the massacres in Paris at the time we were at the concert. People doing the same things we'd been doing, concert going, attending a football mach, eating out, gunned down.

Much of the rest of the day was spent checking the news, wondering how three teams of men, eight people in all could organise themselves without detection by the security forces, and wreak deadly havoc. Owain arrived in time for supper, much disturbed and distressed by events. He'd already learned that a music acquaintance had been with his wife at the Bataclan concert massacre, and escaped being murdered by laying down and pretending to be dead. These are dark days for Europe. For anyone involved in the business of security and public safety, this is a sobering wake up call.

Computer delivered

I rose early and walked to the new temporary bus station in Sophia Gardens to catch the 7.30 coach to London. It doesn't take me long to drop off after a short night's sleep and early morning fresh air, regardless of coach seat discomfort, so the journey passed by quickly enough. In the last hour of the trip through dense urban traffic, I made a first draft of our annual Christmas newsletter on my Blackberry. The keyboard is small, but useable for text entry at a modest pace. A good way to pass the time, I thought. 

As we came into Victoria, our coach was flagged down into a lay-by outside the coach station departure building, rather than going around the block to reach the arrivals hall. The street was crowded with travellers, and we were ordered off the bus. A security alert led to evacuation of the building and that caused a traffic jam on a crowded street. I was able to make good time in reaching the train station, having been dropped off five minutes or so early, and I caught the train that preceded one I usually get to go to Wandsworth Common. June was surprised to see me arrive ahead of time, and we were soon into catching up on the news and eating lunch before setting up the Acer laptop and giving her a brief tutorial on the few differences with her old machine.

I left at six for the seven o'clock coach back to Cardiff. There'd been nothing in the news about the evacuation alert. Nothing remarkable about it these days I guess. The coach arrived in Sophia Gardens nearly half an hour ahead of the scheduled time, and by eleven, I was cooking myself a tuna steak with peppers and onion for a late, late supper, satisfied with my mission accomplished.

Caveat emptor

First a visit to St German's for the weekday Mass this morning, then a visit to Staples to look for a new computer for my sister June. She emailed me yesterday discussing laptops she'd seen in Peter Jones' (aka John Lewis) in London. I knew what the chain has on offer, but realised that they were over specified for her modest needs. There's no point in paying more than you need to for power and capacity you'll never have use for. 

Staples had just the right thing, a 15.6" inch Acer ES1-521 laptop, no extended keyboard, simple and sturdily built. It sported the Windows 10 NOW sticker, meaning that it was an old stock 8.1 machine needing to be upgraded by the user. I've done my fair share of upgrades over the past nine months, so I went for it. Actually, it's a quad core AMD with 4GB ram and a terabye hard drive excellent value at £269. 

I took it home and started running it at two in the afternoon. Four hours later, it finished downloading and installing 153 updates. This gave me time to get rid of some of the crapware, download Libre Office and Firefox, and set the machine up to resemble the working layout of the Sony laptop I bought and set up for her in January 2009. This way she'd have minimum confusion getting used to a new slicker quicker piece of hardware. It took another four hours to upgrade to Windows 10, and it wasn't a seamless experience. No automatic pop up to say the download was available. I had to find and visit Microsoft's upgrade website in order to kickstart the process.

It's not exactly the use of the word 'NOW' that belongs in the real world, and I wonder how the product marketing people get away with this without properly warning consumers that they must expect to waste a day machine minding while it upgrades. I haven't yet heard if the Advertising Standards Authority have had complaints about this kind of promotion, even for a fair bargain of a machine.

 

Remembrance Sunday

The rainy season continues, and grey days merge into one another. Friday and Saturday slipped by in an unremarkable way, apart from another Arne Dahl, about a plot by far right militants to assassinate a key figure in a peace process, to provoke an islamophobic conflict in Europe. Each story in the series has laid bare the fears that pervade Sweden's peaceful liberal democratic society. How similar to our own.

This morning I went first to St Saviour's and then St German's to celebrate the Eucharist for them. Although Remembrance Sunday was observed in both places, readings were for the Sunday of the year, depending on whether you follow the Revised Common, or Roman Catholic lectionary version. 

Normally this is not a problem, but there are a few Sundays of the year when Anglicans have their own set of readings, and November is one of those times. It was only when I got to St Saviour's that I realised the Roman version of the lectionary was in use, with two out of three readings entirely different, so I had to listen hard and then ad lib around the Remembrance theme using the different texts. I was pleased with the outcome, didn't go on too long, as I can do when I've not prepared properly, and got the impression that it went down OK. 

The act of remembrance around the war memorial in the church garden was performed by lay people, as I had to go to St German's and lead the act of remembrance there before starting the Mass. I also had to curtail my prepared sermon there, to make sure the service didn't overrun, but that wasn't hard. Although I always discipline myself to write a set text to preach from, I habitually change it as I go along, and these days without being over-long. The challenge of how to get the best out of a 10-15 minute opportunity to work with scripture before an audience is still fresh every time, and thankfully remains a real pleasure. 

In the evening Clare went to the Benefice annual service of remembrance for the faithful departed, I stayed home and said Evening Prayer alone. I needed to do that to re-balance, after an out-going morning, there are times when only silence will do.

Last journey

A straightforward drive from Cardiff to Kirton on Tuesday, using the M25 route, with less heavy traffic than I had anticipated, and decent weather, so the 205 mile trip was accomplished with two breaks in just under five hours. Long standing friends of Ann and Eddy, Margaret and Noel accommodated us in their spacious home in Rectory Lane, conveniently nearby. Their children David and Anneke and their partners were there and we ate all our meals together with them.

The funeral was in Kirton's Parish Church dedicated to St Mary and St Martin. Kirton means 'place with a church'. Mentioned as having its own priest in the Doomsday book, the church dates back to the seventh century, although the present building is mainly 14-15th century. Eddie served on the church council here over the years, and it was interesting to hear him talk about the maintenance challenges associated with its particular kind of construction materials, as you'd expect from a lifelong engineer.

It drizzled rain all day on Wednesday, and we walked in procession behind the hearse from house to church, just a quarter of a mile. The church was full to capacity, a hundred and fifty, family villagers and visitors. Clare gave a tribute, I read Psalm 121, and Helen the officiating local priest expounded it in exactly the same way I would have done, much to my pleasure. Anneke read Kahili Gibran's poem on death. Stephen, the Parish Lay Reader and long standing friend of Eddie's gave a moving tribute, which revealed the extent to which he was appreciated as a villager and church member.

He was laid to rest afterwards in a beautiful woven wicker coffin, in a grave just sixty yards south west of the church chancel, a lovely spot. Friends laid on an amazing funeral 'tea' afterwards in the adjacent church hall, which the majority stayed on for. The village drama group of which Eddie was a long standing member, got up on stage and sang a quirky comic song about garden gnomes, as a tribute to him, the sort of thing that he would have enjoyed. Altogether a fitting celebration of a life well lived.

In the evening, we went out for supper to a pub in a neighbouring village. Fish and chips and a pint of Adnam's Ale for me, but I was by this time, too tired to be on good form, and was glad to return early to peace and quiet in our guest room, and take the chance to email Rachel, Eddie's god-daughter, to tell her about the day, and share some photos I'd taken uniquely for her, so far away in Arizona.

Today, we made the return journey together by car. It rained all the way, quite heavily on the M4 section, and the spay from large lorries made it all feel hazardous, so we were glad to reach home safely before dark in under five hours, and then have a quiet evening catching up and reflecting.

The rain persisted, so bonfire night was rather a wash-out, and we didn't hear, let alone see that many fireworks punctuating the darkness.

  

Day of the Dead

I took Clare to the station to get a train to Felixstowe this morning in readiness for her brother's funeral on Wednesday. I had funeral this morning, so couldn't take her or travel with her. It was in the big chapel at Thornhill crem. Neither I nor my chauffeur remembered this so we went to the wrong entrance, where I met Phil, one of my former students, as he was greeting mourners after a service. He spends a lot of time here, as he is assigned several funerals every week. I haven't heard from him since we met April, before I last went to Spain. I missed his priestly ordination because of being away, and wondered if he was mad at me because of that. It wasn't the time to chat, however. Matters of death and life and being in ministry sucked us apart. An occupational hazard.

After lunch I took the bus to go to the office, meet Ashley and review the job recruitment process we've put in place. I went prepared with my kit to walk over from the office to Adamsdown to celebrate the All Souls' Day Requiem Mass at St German's, with the name of brother in law Eddie to add to the long list this year, and glad of this opportunity. I didn't dare take the car to cross town early evening, with such a high risk of traffic gridlock in several directions. I was lucky to get a bus from Westgate Street very soon after reaching there following my walk across the town centre on a very damp dark night, thinking about the ten hour train journey to Vinaros I made this time last year, and how much I'd love to repeat it. Spain is great for train journeys and at bargain prices compared to the UK.

    

All Saints

Up early this morning to celebrate the eight o'clock Eucharist at St Catherine's for just Clare and one other, then back again for the 10.30 Sung Eucharist, with around forty people, children included. I'd prepared a sermon on the All Saints' day readings as this is the one time in seven when the feast falls on Sunday and was taken aback to find the All Saints' Sunday readings had been chosen instead. It pressed me to improvise to some extent, and I enjoyed the exercise, without transgressing and making it too long - I think!

It was lovely, in between services, to have time to call at the new Pontcanna Co-op store, in the recently converted Old Dairy building to buy croissants, pain chocolat and pain au raisin for breakfast. Much concern was expressed about the impact on scarce local parking resources of having a modest sized supermarket in this location, but it seems to be working well, perhaps because it's a dense residential area, so lots of locals shop there, rather than passing trade. A good thing  indeed.

Kath spent the day in a dance workshop, at the Millennium Centre and Clare looked after Rhiannon, taking her and Anwen to play in the woods in Cathays park, across the Taff. The play park in Llandaff fields was so crowded with half term weekend children and their parents, the girls opted for the extra walk, rather than queue to use the slides and swings. After lunch, Clare and Rhiannon made a chocolate cake together in time for tea and Kath's arrival. They left as darkness fell, and had a long journey home due to congestion on the motorways, people returning home for work after their half term breaks, no doubt.

In the evening, I remembered that it was this time last year that my long locum stint in Fuengirola came to an end, before I left for seven further weeks before Christmas at the Costa Azahar chaplaincy. It was an enjoyable time, and I have fond memories of people there. So, I wrote an email to churchwarden Linda to give her a news update on us, the first for many months. Time slips by so quickly.