Goodbye Golf

I walked to the doctor's surgery before eight yesterday to queue for a 'book on the day' appointment, and got one for ten forty with a young doctor, Dr Mullaney, who I think has joined the practice fairly recently, as she shares a consulting room with Dr Dyban, and has a name plate on the door. I gave her a summary of Friday night's little drama, and as a result, she booked me in for a blood test. Also she ordered an appointment for an ultrasound scan of my gall bladder, about which I should hear in the next few days, hopefully. It's a good idea to get as early an assessment as possible so a treatment plan can be made.

Phil of NG Motors got in touch to say that the VW Polo the garage has for sale is ready to be seen by us, now a small amount of remedial work has been done. He arranged for a couple of his mechanics to drive over with a spare charged battery to get the Golf working and drive it back to their place. It will save me lots of hassle. These guys are so kind and helpful. With a live battery plumbed in it burst into life with gusto, as it usually does. I admit I felt a small pang of regret at letting go of it. This car I've kept longer than any other I've had in fifty years of driving, and it's certainly been the best value to us, scruffy or not. Here's the Golf, taking its leave of us.

If we're happy when we've seen the Polo, Pil will MoT it and take the Golf in part exchange, rather than dispose of it or send it for scrap. I arranged to take a look today, and went over to Splott at noon today, all the way on the 61 bus. I was surprised by its good looks. Even more surprised by the fact that its number plate ends JKK - my initials. It has my name on it, evidently!

The car is twelve years old, with one owner, looked after by the garage for most of its life. It's in immaculate condition for its age, and in a stylish metallic slate grey. It only has thirty nine thousand  miles on the clock. It's a bargain at £1500 for someone like me who prefers a car that isn't internet connected, with lots of advanced technology. Having said that, it does have electric windows and central locking, I think. It has a 1.2 litre engine, so it's in a lower tax bracket and does 50mpg at 50mph. Adequate performance for me, with no need to commute to work, or drive great distances non stop any longer, and best of all, it's economical.

I transferred ownership of the Golf to the garage, and will take ownership of the Polo when I return tomorrow to with the money to complete the exchange. I only sat in the car, to make sure, as Clare insisted, that it was big and comfortable enough for me to sit in and drive. At full stretch I'd take someone with legs three inches longer than mine.

Mission accomplished, I returned home via the city centre, on the 'clockwise' city centre circle number one bus, making the same mistake as last time, as it went a time consuming roundabout way back to the centre, from thence I caught the usual 61. I can't yet identify where to pick it up over in Splott. Next time I must try the anti-clockwise circle bus instead.

Back home, after a very late lunch, I modified my Aviva car insurance policy to cover the new car, using the excellent  MyAviva app on my tablet. The change only cost me seven quid, which was most pleasing. The rest of day, I lay low, watching catch up episodes of NCIS on My5.

Day of rest

Gail accompanied Clare and I to the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning. It was lovely to be welcomed back so warmly, as it was also to relax and worship in the congregation. I accompanied Gail to Cardiff Central station after the service, in good time for her return train to Worcester, then returned for lunch. We didn't go out for our usual Sunday afternoon walk but siesta'd instead, as we both felt tired. While I lay on the bed I listened to choral evensong on the radio. Rest is good for my recovery I hope. Each day brings small improvements as the course of penicillin continues. It seems, from checking, that my blood pressure is reducing to what the medics consider 'normal', which is unexpected. Perhaps it's I have nothing to do but relax and get well again at the moment. 

In the evening, we watched the fifth episode of 'Bodyguard'. It's clear a multi-layered conspiracy is afoot in the storyline, but there are few clues so far about the author and extent of it. Next week is the final episode, when all will be revealed - unless much is revealed though not all, to pave the way for a series two. There's been quite a lot of this in TV movies these past few years. It's disappointing not to have plot closure. Another series with the same scenario and dramatis personae would be fine but a completely rounded conclusion to the story is, to my mind, preferable.

  

A prophetic opera

Well, I got through the night without being too much bothered by pain or nausea, and was able to eat carefully at breakfast and lunch. I lay low most of the way until it was time to go to the Millennium Centre for the opera. Gail slept long and sweetly in our new bed and said it was the most relaxed night's sleep she'd had for ages.

Clare and Gail went down to Cardiff Bay early for a walk around and something to eat before the performance. It started and six thirty, and I timed my arrival for si, which meant I was able to buy a sandwich and a drink from Sainsbury's and eat them outside before entering the Millennium Centre.

'War and Peace' adapted from Tolstoy's novel, was written by Prokofiev around 1940, when Stalin and Hitler we still allies and Russia hadn't invaded. It's a prophetic work of art, as well as a patriotic celebration of heroic Russian resistance to foreign aggression. What was true for Napoleon's time turned out to be true for Hitler's time also. Both underestimated the courage and endurance of ordinary people as well as, or in spite of their leaders. I wonder if Prokofiev was musically giving voice to misgivings among the Russian people about the alliance between Stalin and Hitler?

In the opening scene, Tolstoy himself is portrayed, writing on stage, while the characters in his mind appear and move or dance about the stage. Such an effective narrative device. There are some fine choral episodes and apart from this a great deal of recitative, thankfully well rendered in good English translation. Curiously, there are fewer notable set piece solos, duets or or ensemble pieces.

The choral work and many individual singers as well as the principal parts were superbly sung. The movement of the 80+ singers and dancers on stage was a wonder to behold. Behind the stage was a large screen on to which still and moving images were projected, and the chorus turned to the screen on times and interacted with what was being shown. The first act was set in peace time, the second was set during and after Napoleon's invasion and defeat. Clever use was made of old movie footage of battle scenes from a period piece movie. Very effective indeed. It was powerfully and confidently executed in every sense from start to finish. What an opening night!

Being seated for the best part of three and a half hours took its toll on my gluteus maximus, and the last half hour was quite uncomfortable as I was unable to move around. I was none the worse for wear by the time we got home, however. As the performance finished late, the last number six Bay Car bus had gone, but thankfully there was a Stagecoach X8 bus going through the city centre a few minutes after we reached to stop. It's reprehensible that there seems to be no co-ordination between Cardiff Bus and the Millennium Centre, when it comes to extra late finishing times. I had a moan about this on Twitter since then.

A tale of the Unexpected

How good to have a lie-in on my first morning at home! A new luxury single bed was delivered just before my return. We need somewhere to take refuge in these days for when one or other of us has a restless night, or works late, and doesn't want to  disturb the other. Mostly that's me. Good sleep, and plenty of it, is more of a priority these days, we both find. Gratification must be delayed however, as Gail, our late friend Mike's wife arrived at lunchtime to stay with us for tomorrow night's WNO performance of Prokofiev's 'War and Peace'. She'll be the first to try out the bed.

After tea this afternoon, I started having stomach cramps, however, and these became increasingly intense until I vomited violently shortly before supper, and the pain didn't subside. I wondered if this was a reaction to the penicillin I started taking last night. Clare rang NHS Direct, and I was quizzed by the triage call handler, who thought I should be seen as soon as possible. He give us the number of the Out of Hours medical centre at the old Cardiff Royal Infirmary building in Longcross Street. I then had to be interviewed again by their call handler, and repeat my story, before being given an appointment at 21.30. As our car battery is dead there was no alternative but to call a taxi. Given that it's Friday evening, we were fortunate that one arrived in ten minutes and delivered me there with ten minutes to spare.

Although I was feeling quite rough and a little dizzy with shock, I was dealt with very kindly by a taxi driver, who could have been Afghan, Kurd or Pakistani. I told him I'd just returned from abroad and he told me he'd just returned from the Hajj. We swapped pilgrimage stories from then on, and marvelled at how good people can be to each other when hearts and minds are focussed on God. His prayer time alert went off just as we arrived, so he was able to pause for this before continuing his night shift. A comforting surprise in what could have been otherwise a distressing ride.     

I was examined by a doctor whose accent suggested she was Polish. Again she asked for my recent story in detail - apparently there's no integrated system for passing on information taken down by the two call handlers to the doctor. But, at least it gives one an opportunity to recall all the details in the correct order, which may help, I suppose. She found a swelling like a golf ball beneath by right rib cage, symptomatic of an inflamed gall bladder. Her information system is linked to the GP network, so that record will be available to the King's Road surgery team by the time I show up for another 'book on the day appointment on Monday morning.

By this time, the cramps were reducing, but not the nausea. I was offered an anti-inflammatory and a pain killer as well as an anti-nausea medication, but took only the latter, as I knew I had adequate supplies at home, and how to manage them to reduce symptoms. I didn't feel like taking a taxi home. In any case it can be both difficult and extra costly to get one from the city centre on a Friday night, as demand is so high. In any case, I needed a walk to calm me down and clear my head, now I had an idea of what needs dealing with. I eventually took a 17 bus from outside the Holiday Inn, on the other side of city centre, and walked home from Canton Cross. Before bed I had a good chat with sister in law Ann, who'd been so helpful when it came to managing pain back in Montreux.

It seems I now have to aim at a diet as free as possible of dairy products unless they are very low fat. I'm quite used to this as Clare eats very little dairy products. She tries and buys all the alternatives available in our local health food shops and I already find them acceptable. But, I will greatly miss full fat cheeses and thick Greek yoghourt, amongst other things. The inflammation crisis may well have been precipitated by an excess of cheese and eggs in the food I ate before and during travel. It's not the first time I've had niggles in my right side over nearly forty years, but previously this was oddly attributed to high stress levels at work. Over the last year or so the amount of cheese and eggs I have eaten has reduced somewhat. I've felt satisfied eating less of them, rather than by an issue with digestion. The body has its own way of knowing what it needs more or less of.

Who knows where this little episode will lead me next? Just as well my diary is pretty empty, and I have no travel commitments in view for the rest of the year.

  

Home journey

After about six hours broken sleep, I rose at 05.15. This gave me just enough time to treat my wound, sort out a travel first aid kit to go in my cabin rucksack with my breakfast sarnies, take the remaining rubbish out to the communal bins, bag up things to be collected for washing, then get myself across the road for the 06.23 S2 stopping train to Montreux gare. The 06.47 from there got me to Geneva airport at 07.59. Unlike when Clare travelled early last week, there were no crowds and no queues. I dropped off my bag and passed through into the departure lounge in a record 15 minutes from the train, which gave me a two and a half hour wait to boarding. This meant standing most of the time, as the hard seats available weren't designed for comfort. The train and plane seats were also quite firm, so getting comfortable meant bracing myself for support.

I had to wait for the airport bus and for a train at Temple Meads (which was delayed 5 minutes) and then got on a 61 bus home with enough time to drop off my bags at home and walk to the doctors. On Romilly Crescent, however, there was a 200m queue of stationary traffic, so I begged the driver to let me off in between stops, and walked straight to the surgery pulling my case and got there in good time. I came away with a week's course of penicillin to take, and a supplement to my existing blood pressure medication to try out. Inevitably, the surgery reading take was high, given the time I'd been travelling and the associated stress, so I'll wait and see how my readings are this week, while the antibiotic medication gets to work on what remains of the abscess.

Apart from unpacking and eating a meal, the remainder of the day was spent resting. The journey really took it out of me, so just relaxing at home after the stress of the past few weeks is a blessing.  I'm glad that me diary is empty for the weeks ahead.
   

Final locum duties

I celebrated the midweek BCP Communion service at St John's for the last time this morning. Geoff with Poppy his golden retriever and Bethany-Ann plus her little daughter were there. Monica drove down from Les Avants to join us, and make her farewells. She's been so supportive of the Tuesday Bible discussion group over the past five years, as have Geoff and Joy.

Then I sent off my end of stay report to the Archdeacon and the diocesan office, and set addressed myself to tidying up and packing. With a 06.23 train to catch tomorrow morning, I need everything to be ready to go before I sleep.

Once I was satisfied with my efforts, I took the bus into town to get my train ticket for tomorrow, and as I had two hour ticket I returned to Territet and took the Funi to Glion, for a final overview of the lake on a sunny day. I conversed in German with a couple of visitors on the ascent, and was able to direct them to the lovely terrace garden overlooking the lake, belonging to the Hotel Righi Vaudois, for one of the best views, looking towards Vevey. It surprises me that this most neglected of languages that I once learned comes back to me enough to make myself understood.

Geoff and Joy invited me to have supper with them. We sat out on their terracem ate drank fine wine and talked until sunset, then we walked together with Poppy back to Territet along the promenade, before taking out leave of each other. This evening is actually the first time in a month that I've been able to sit down at a table for any length of time. Let's hope this holds good for the trip home.

    

Tree hugging daughter and chalice quest accomplished

A quiet Monday, mostly spent looking after the wound, though I did get out and walk up as far as Veytaux gare late afternoon. While I was listening to the Archers I noticed the western sky was flooded with extraordinary deep red light, as the sun headed toward the horizon. I walked down to the port and got some amazing photos with my HX50. I posted three on Instagram and immediately began to get a series of 'likes', mostly from people I didn't know. You can see the photos here

Clare shared some good news of Rachel with me. Last week she posted a photo on Instagram of herself, high up in a tree. I thought she was just out having fun. She, Kath and both their daughters have always enjoyed tree climbing, being active and athletic types, but there was more to the photo, as Clare told me. Rachel has made friends with a tree surgeon, and has done paid work experience recently. He's going to train her up to work as his assistant, and with luck she'll get a qualification that'll enable her to earn a living, and this will subsidise her poorly paid making music making. She is a real tree hugger, and happiest in the great outdoors. I'm so glad  for her, and it reduces my worry level considerably. I'm quite confident she'll be safe climbing trees, properly kitted out. This is a real lifeline for her in every sense.

I had an email from Martin, telling me about a chalice he'd sourced for St George's Malaga, and at a reasonable price. He started hunting for something suitable back in March, and I'm amazed that he continued looking after a few setbacks. It's just ideal for weekday use or house group communions, and it has an Anglican history, having been made for the new Parish of All Saints in Leeds back in the 1850s. It was a period of prosperity driven over expansion of church buildings, and it has long since disappeared, with its redundant assets being traded on eventually. It's a beautiful simple piece of work in sterling silver, very durable. And, it'll arrive just as Fr Paul Wignall starts as Chaplain of Malaga. Have started the ball rolling on this, I am delighted, and satisfied to have closure on this, thanks to my dear good friend Martin. 

Like his late mother Jane, he has an eye for valuable antiques and has participated in the legitimate trading of church silverware for for many years, helping the newly ordained to acquire sick  visiting communion sets or chalices of their own, from the vast stock of items from closed churches. Earlier this year he acquired a full army chaplain's field communion set in its original case, and in good repair, dating from World War One, when it was used in action. Its owner was killed, and somehow the set didn't find its way back to the MoD, but ended up in an attic for a century, until retrieved ina house clearance. There were letters from that period in the case, plus the document of the military commission received by the priest. What a treasure!

   

Good news in Montreux

My farewell Sunday Eucharist this morning. No more locum duty is needed here as an appointment has been made. I don't know who's coming, but the Church Wardens were delighted to make this much of an announcement at the end of the service. Mojacar, Malaga and now Montreux - three places in a row where I have been in post when a prospective Chaplain has visited and later accepted the appointment. It gives me a kind of job satisfaction, daring to think that I have been useful in a small way as part of the process that leads to another priest uprooting themselves and venturing to move to and serve in another community/country. The vacancy in Canton Benefice was filled before I left for Montreux. Thursday this week I return home, with no idea of what comes next in my ever eventful ministerial life. What an adventure!

After lunch I walked to Chateau de Chillon in the sun, annoying myself by losing an unused public transport ticket en route, having noticed it on the return trip and passing it over without realising it was what I dropped. I won't be doing much more travelling around in my final few days. I just have to lie low, rest and look after my affliction in order to be ready for a journey which may or may not be uncomfortable, as I still can't sit properly. But, so far so good.

I watched the four episode of of the BBC autumn season's popular it serial 'Bodyguard'. Yet again a Jed Mercurio story featuring Keely Hawes in which, sad to say, she doesn't make it to the end. The plot thickens however, with much villainy revealed in high places. But is the final resolution of it all going to be entirely in the hands of one lone male outsider/avenger/victim? 

Tatyana's gift

Thursday and Friday passed by uneventfully, with two surprises. When I went to lock the church on Thursday evening, I discovered on the piano near the side door into the church room a gilded 'Hodigitria' icon of Our Lady, holding up and pointing to Jesus, with a note hastily scribbled on a piece of card saying 'Thank you for a lovely wedding. From Bulgarian Tatyana'.

The couple must have been passing by car on their way back to Britain and dropped by in haste to deliver it. I didn't hear the doorbell, that's for sure.

Friday's surprise was the announcement of a new Priest in Charge for St John the Baptist City Parish Church back home. It's another Canon Sarah Jones, currently Rector of the Ross Team Ministry in Hereford diocese. Having someone with big team experience suggests to me that Bishop June may want to work on making a Central Cardiff Ministry Area grouping of Parishes even larger than the Rectorial Benefice that I inherited and Archbishop Barry saw fit to dissolve. That was another time, when central redevelopment and closing St James' were a major energy draining occupation. A part of consolidation ahead of re-grouping. If this is the plan, let's hope the new priest stays long enough to see it through.

Apart from brief bus trips into town to the shops, all I had to do was look after my wound, so slowly drying out. The swelling is almost all gone now, and one anti- inflammatory pill a day is enough to keep me almost pain free.

Today, I walked into town and back, and walked to Territet port and the tennis club, where the Montreux Ladies Open is taking place, I was delighted with a couple of action shots I was able to take. This is the best! 

I wish I had the photo skills to highlight the ball, as it's just left the racquet, in that microsecond when the player serving is still in the air. It was sheer luck in conditions highly favourable to my Sony HX50, and it made my day.

It's Freddy Mercury's 72nd birthday, had he lived. There are two days of festive events either side of the date and the market hall has been turned into a venue for loud rock concerts. His statue on the Montreux Marché quay is bedecked with a sunflower wreath and an assortment of cards and votive offerings. It's even more of a shrine than usual, and a stream of people want to pose with it. To me it's nothing more than idol worship. Today, however is also the festival Our Lady's birthday. It's an ironic coincidence. No Eucharist for me today, but I was able to light a candle in front of Mary's icon while I said the Office of the day, thanks to Tatyana.

This evening I watched Harry There was a sequence of First World War songs in honour of the 1918 Armistice commemoration. Hearing 'Roses of Picardie' sung reminded me of being at home with the family as a child, listening to my mother playing piano and sisters singing this song. I emailed my sister June. She said she'd been singing along out loud - annoying the neighbours, she hoped for a change, instead of them annoying her. That made me smile.

It's my final Sunday tomorrow, and the announcement of the appointment of a new chaplain. That's three locum assignments in a row where this has happened to me, as I was about to leave. Amazing!
  

Reading, recuperating

There were three of us and a child for the midweek Eucharist again this morning. I spent most of the day in the house despite the weather, resting, recovering. It's slow. I have to be patient with myself. In the post was a facture for lab tests on a tissue sample taken from me, presumably to confirm what Mr Cotton diagnosed. I rang him to check if there was a report to be added to the one already given to my GP, but we got cut off in mid conversation. I was reluctant to call again in case there was a medical emergency at the other end, and emailed the surgery instead.

I took the bus into town and back to do some shopping, rather than walk as I usually do. My energy levels are reasonably good, but am cautious about over-exercising while the wound is still draining, albeit now very slowly. Having finished reading 'Girl on the Train', I'm now reading a Swedish novel written as a sequel to the late Stieg Larsson's Millennium Trilogy about modern cyber-crime, by the novelist David Lagerkranz, with the same theme employing two key characters from the original series - genius hacker Lisbeth Salander 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' and investigative journalist Mikkel Bloomquist. It's called 'The Girl in the Spider's Web'. A bit slow starting, but so far so good.

I recent years, my reading has been largely confined to on-line articles and news. To have time to be be reading novels again is unusual. It's something I attribute largely to there being so little attracting my interest on TV, despite being able to get over half a dozen UK TV channels. No chance of catch up, or box set watching out here.

Looking to the future

Just after breakfast, my phone pinged notifying me of an email from my home surgery in Pontcanna confirming an appointment with Dr Jordan a week after my return. If needs be I can change it with a 'book on the day' alternative. Clare had been there already, to hand in the surgical report and my accompanying letter. The new booking system is working amazingly well.

Although the weather has been sunny and a little warmer, I didn't venture out today, except for the Tuesday afternoon bible study in church with the same handful of faithful people, always keen to explore and ask questions. Following from Sunday's gospel about defilement coming from within, I found myself fielding questions about spiritual ailments and the nature of the demonic, and the need to resist the impulse to take revenge and seek retribution. We also explored the difference between a decision based on Judgement and on Discernment. 

As always with this particular group, we returned to the question of what should we do to make St John's more alive and attractive to newcomers? It's not just a matter of concern because of a period of decline. The life of the church is valued and seen as worth sharing. But how can opportunities be recognised and acted upon? How to discern God's moment? I pointed out that asking the right kind of questions and exploring together through study and prayer was essential. Praying together outside the liturgy, it was admitted, didn't come easily for many. It has to be shown and taught, after all. 

Much emphasis is placed in ministerial leadership today, on good management and communication skills, and helping congregations develop SMART mission plans with a clear sense of purpose, and even vision statements! I've done all this kind of stuff in the past, and am not sure really what it was worth in the development of congregations I cared for. In fact, I'm not sure how faithful this is to apostolic teaching as expressed in the Acts of the Apostles. Prayer, proclamation of the Gospel, openness too and responsiveness to the promptings of the Spirit, and discernment in an ever changing situation are, to my mind, the key themes. Talking about Vision - i.e. what you see, isn't nearly as good as seeing then acting. 

In Acts, there's plenty of spontaneity, and unplanned action. It all seems haphazard and messy, yet it turns out to be fruitful, even the setbacks encountered in mission. If any of the apostles were potential managers, it must have given them a crisis of confidence to have to respond to the promptings of the Spirit. Administration is certainly one of the gifts of the Spirit, but one among a variety of ministries of the spirit, and not the most dominant.  Discernment of the gifts of the Spirit which are there in a church community must be done together, through reflection and prayer. It takes time, this kind of 'seeing'.

I hope that the appointment of a permanent chaplain, to start in January, but whose name is not yet made public, will help. They will need to ask, maybe even pester their new priest about learning to pray together in different ways. It's not easy to admit, even though St Paul himself admitted "We don't know how to pray as we ought." All I can do is encourage them to be bold in asking.

Parting and recuperating

It was a pack, tidy up and wash sheets type morning before Clare and Rhiannon departed for Geneva and their return flight to Birmingham. I went to the Quai Sante medical centre early, to collect my bill, pick up a GP referral letter for Clare to take home with her, and have a final inspection from Mr Cotton, before he discharged me. All I have to do is keep the wound clean and let it breathe. Nature will do the rest. Certainly the bill is affordable, since I received extra for the wedding blessings. It was a great relief. I should be able to recuperate two thirds of the expense after paying a premium reducing excess. 

I did some food shopping and returned to Church House within the hour, in good time a accompany Clare and Rhiannon to Montreux gare by bus for their 11.47 train. This time around, I took the cash and paid the bill. A satisfying sensation. Now I have to download an insurance claims form and hope for the best that I fill it in correctly. But that's for another day.

Clare said they had to wait 45 minutes to drop off their bags at the airport, and were glad to have got an earlier train and have enough time reach the boarding gate as the flight was being called. Later in the evening she messaged me to say she was on her way to Birmingham New Street, having met up with Kath and Anto at the airport to hand over Rhiannon. She got back home by ten, eleven hours after we parted company in Montreux. The rest of my day was spent 'in rest and quietness' reading not venturing out again, even though it was sunny all day. It's what it needed to do most. 

Up into the clouds

Yesterday evening, I had to miss out on Caroline's annual supper party, but Clare took Rhiannon and I stayed behind and spent the evening reading. Choirmaster Peter phoned to apologise. He's still off sick with pneumonia. He thought we might have no organist tomorrow, and asked me to let choir members know. I texted Clare at the party to ask her to warn choir members attending. In the event we ended up with two organists, both coming from earlier first services. There were twenty of us for the Eucharist, with one organist staying on to sing in the choir, which was nice.

After lunch we ascended to Rochers de Naye by funi and train. The sky was overcast, with unbroken cloud above 1,800m. The restaurant and terminus station is at 2045m, and was shrouded in dank mist throughout our visit. Rhiannon wasn't as disappointed as we were, however. The experience of being outdoors high up in swirling clouds exercised her imagination, thinking about vampires, and maybe reminding her of a movie set.

We walked along the ridge track to visit the Alpine Garden, unable to see more than five metres either side, but we were able to see some of the many flowers collected and growing there, in their autumnal colours. We met a family from Leipzig at the garden and chatted to them in German, they were Adventists, and probably the conversation started because I was wearing my cross. A pleasant surprise, high up on a cold damp hillside. We stayed out for three quarters of an hour, had a drink and caught the next train back. There's only so much interest to be found in the ebb and flow of clouds, seen from the inside.  

Another wedding blessing, and a new novel

Yesterday we took Rhiannon to the Chateau de Chillon. I was glad for another photo opportunity with a better camera. Back in January I took a camera but forgot to reload the memory card, so I had to use my Blackberry Q10, whose photos aren't nearly as good. It's such an interesting place. Clare and I were interested to observe how Rhiannon naturally gravitated to the interactive video screens telling aspects of the castle's story, rather than the wall and panel displays. A child of her era I suppose. We ate a late snack lunch on the terrace outside afterwards, and were amazed to see scores of tame sparrows chasing crumbs, and even occasionally trying boldly to snatch food from a person's hand. I enjoyed the walk, but it left me feeling uncomfortable and tired, so for the rest of the day, and most of today, I've been confined to the house, and managing my still draining wound.

I had to conserve energy to ensure I could carry out today's wedding blessing. It took me quite a while to make the final preparations, as I'd not really felt well enough to knuckle down and do the necessaries earlier in the week. In fact, I had to concentrate on making sure all the pieces of music I had downloaded and edited for the service would work. This proved to be a nightmare, because the wretched Google music app, and any app interface layered on top of it, refused to work with home made MP3s created using Audacity on a Windows machine. In contrast to last Saturday's wedding blessing, there were just fifteen people with the bride and groom. This made it relaxed and informal, so it was easy for me to officiant and be a digital deejay.

I don't know why an MP3 file should play on several devices and but not on every equivalent device, but I hate Google for this inconsistency. Their original 'don't be evil' policy no longer operates. Thankfully, I was able to get every type of file to play on my tablet, perhaps because its operating system is less up to date. It's hard to play music offline, now that's become the default for so many devices, and I couldn't risk staying online and streaming in an environment with a flaky connection. I succeeded, however and was able to relay music from the table to an old hifi system which sits in the church, redundant. Nobody thinks it works, but I succeeded in using it!

I knew I wouldn't feel like doing much except rest after the wedding, so Clare and Rhiannon went to Vevey on the paddle steamer without me. It was cool and overcast, but thankfully, it didn't rain, so they were able to enjoy the street market and visit the Nestle food museum, before returning with a generous supply of chocolate to take home.

Once I'd completed my sermon for tomorrow, I started to read Paula Hawkins' novel 'Girl on the Train'. It's very dense with intimate detail, drawing you right into the claustrophobic routine of suburban domestic life, too dense for my taste - although the detailed and intimate first person portrayal of an unemployed female alcoholic's domestic life offers an excellent study for anyone interested in addictive behaviour. All in all, it's an impressive portrayal of people whose lives are ruled by the lies they tell about themselves and to themselves.
   

Montreux with Rhiannon - Day One

After a long lie-in Rhiannon emerged, still sleepy and we started breakfast together, then I had to go into town and have my wound attended to. Mr Cotton declared his satisfaction with progress so far, and suggested that now Clare was back, it could be done at home. This would clearly save him time and me money! He's writing a letter for my home GP, and I'll be able to collect the bill for payment in a day or so. While I'm able to benefit in part from use of my EHIC card here in Switzerland, the cost of a significant proportion I will have to pay for an seek reimbursement from my EHIC Plus travel insurance. I don't mind paying whatever it takes, as the relief I'm experiencing now is worth the expense.

I was back again within the hour range of the bus ticket, then the three of us walked into town along the promenade to the Casino, where we visited the Freddy Mercury Experience. This involves a free visit to the recording studio where several of Queen's Albums were made. The walls display photos and a timeline, and there are cabinets of memorabilia on display. Frankly, I lost interest, as I never was a fan of their music, and took  no interest in their affairs. Also I began to feel the aftermath of my wound treatment session, which entailed some painful probing an puncturing to stimulate the release of the residual inflammation fluid, so I walked back to the house and took a rest.

After the necessary photo opportunity with Freddie Mercury's statue on the quayside by the Place du Marche, the girls returned, and we had a snack. Later on, we took the funicular to Glion to show Rhiannon the amazing, albeit cloudy panorama of the mountains and lake. Then a drink at the gare funiculaire cafe-restaurant, with a boule of chocolate sorbet for Rhiannon, tea for Clare and a biere Bernoise for me, before returning on the funi. As we got out, Clare realised that she'd forgotten her rucksack, and so the girls went back up to retrieve it. Thankfully the two hour fare card still had time on it to make the aller-retour trip at no extra cost.

But the time we got back y wound dressing needed changing, only this time, Clare took charge of it at home, after careful preparation to ensure cleanliness and sterility. Not easy first time, but quite a learning experience for both of us. And she did well. I had a pain free and comfortable evening.

After supper, Rhiannon watched pop music videos on the TV until ten, then I watched the final episode of 'Keeping Faith', which sustained its brilliant sense of tension right to the end, apart from a strangely ambiguous final frame in which the husband who disappeared for a week appears out of nowhere with all three children around him, while she is about to embark on a romantic tussle with a local criminal on her own doorstep. Is this a guilty flashback?

Possibly, if this is a one off serial, but the ambiguity opens the door for a second series, I suppose. Since it first went out in bilingual formal six months ago, I believe a follow up has been commissioned, but this final anomaly was a bit unsatisfactory in my opinion. Nevertheless some brilliant acting from a predominantly female cast, showcasing some of our best Welsh talent - plus the lovely Carmarthenshire landscape. I bet this series will boost tourism in the region. 

Patiently waiting

Tuesday, Joy took me to have the wound dressed at eleven. In the afternoon there was a bible study session in church. We used Ephesians 6:10-20 and discussed aspects of spiritual struggle, using the Charles Wesley hymn 'Soldiers of Christ arise' (sung twice at Villars on Sunday) as a parallel text, as it is based on this passage of scripture. Sitting down properly all the time wasn't possible, but I got through it without making things worse for myself. Olive baked some wonderful rum-laced chocolate muffins, doing an extra three for Clare Rhiannon and I since she remembered what I had said about Rhiannon coming. How thoughtful! What a welcoming treat for a teen chocolate lover!

This morning wasn't very comfortable, I had diarrhoea half an hour before I was due to celebrate the midweek BCP Communion. I had a congregation of four adults and a child, bigger than usual, so I had to battle on, occasionally making verbal mistakes, which is unusual for me, probably due to the shock of the unexpected.

Before I could go and have the wound dressing changed, I had a meeting with Bruce and Tatyana, to prepare them for Saturday's wedding blessing. She and I have corresponded over months past. As a Bulgarian Orthodox Christian, I was keen that we should find ways to include traditional music from the Eastern liturgical tradition as well as the Western. It's involved a certain amount of on-line research, to obtain suitable material, but that's been a pleasant occupation, and they were pleased with the ideas I presented them.

After the rehearsal I took the bus into town for the surgery appointment. Mr Cotton himself treated me rather than a nurse, Being a hand-on sort of medic he was keen to inspect how the drainage was going. He declared himself satisfied, and said that the earlier bout of diarrhoea could probably be due to the blocked gland functioning properly and signalling to the bowel a return to normality. An interesting thought. I did a small amount of shopping after the treatment, then took a bus back to the house. I was able to use the same ticket, as I was within its hour's usage limit. 

As I got off the bus, there were two burly black clad ticket inspectors on the pavement checking people's tickets. It's rare to see an inspector on much local public transport apart from trains, but even rarer to have one on only my second bus use in three duty tours here. Getting single use tickets from a machine here is far too complex, though Clare has now mastered it, which is why we have tickets. Previously I've just given up in frustration and walked instead. 

Clare and Rhiannon's flight was subjected to a half hour delay, but without cabin baggage they were able to walk through and dash for a train which arrived Territet at eleven thirty. The happy arrival was celebrated with chocolate muffins!

  

Unexpected diagnosis

After lunch, Clare left for Geneva Airport and her flight to Birmingham to collect Rhiannon for a few days stay with us. They return late Wednesday night, and Tuesday is Kath's 47th birthday, so she's pleased to be there to celebrate with her. Determined to do something about my painful affliction, I sought Joy's help to get an introduction to a local doctor. She arranged an afternoon appointment and took me by car to a surprising place, Montreux gare. 

We parked underneath the station and took the lift up to platform one, the original station platform along which the first railway administration offices and booking hall were built in the 1970s, with imposing municipal facades. In the 21st century the property has been re-purposed for commercial purposes and contains a gym and a medical centre, while down at ground level a mini-Migros supermarket and modern toilets are housed. The medical centre covers two storeys of medical facilities and consulting rooms. 

Here, I met a charming Swiss GP who heard my story. She introduced me to a colleague, a Mr Michael Cotton, an Englishman and a surgeon who'd served for 24 years in Zimbabwe and South Africa, then ten years at the CHUV, Lausanne's University Hospital. I learned that he's a member of our neighbouring Vevey English Church congregation and a Licensed Lay Reader. I couldn't have ended up in better hands!

He took a case history and gave me a thorough physical examination and identified the source of the problem, not with errant haemorrhoids, but a blocked gland in the anal sphincter, which developed an abscess. This hadn't been spotted back home in the pre colonoscopy examination, and maybe it only developed noticeably afterwards. Anyway it was now giving serious trouble. It would need to be operated upon immediately. He said he could do it there and then with local anaesethetic, but if not it would mean a few (costly) days in hospital in Lausanne. My confidence in him was already high, so I agreed to let him work on me.

Assisted by two nurses, who did all the preparatory work including the local anaesthesia, he tackled the job, effectively carving a drain hole in me to let the accumulated fluid escape. With the wound dressed, I walked out two and a half hours later, with the task of managing the effluent to occupy me for as long as it takes to take away the swelling. Thankfully Joy returned to take me back to the house and see me in safely. 

The operation was not without pain, despite anaesthetic, but once it was over I began to experience a sense of relief, as my body de-stressed from having to cope with pain and discomfort for so long. I felt I was on the mend. The pain now is different, and I'm having to clear up behind myself, and go about everyday business as usual on my own. It'll still be a while before I can sit down properly, only lying down is possible. I have to stand to use a computer. It's awkward using a table or a phone lying on one's side. Screen auto-rotate definitely has to be off. It's tiring but I shall be able to sleep more comfortably at last, thanking the Lord for providing the right man at the right time.

Jet setter's wedding

Church Warden Jane and I were much relieved yesterday afternoon when the wedded couple turned up, presented their credentials, and paid up in advance, as required. It was very difficult, knowing so little about a couple, more from social media that from their application form. They had not even shared with us their disappointment that the wedding arranger they thought they'd engaged would not return their calls any more than return ours. As a result there were no flowers for the ceremony in church. Anyway, the groom is a banker and the bride is a conservationist working with an NGO in the upper reaches of the Niger river by the Camerounian border. As this region is home to several global conservation NGOs, the reason for holding a big wedding celebration here is understandable.

Both families are from the elite of Nigerian society, and guests attending the ceremony came from two different Gulf states, the USA, UK and Switzerland, though I guess two thirds of them flew in from Lagos for the occasion. There were 120 people in church., and we ran on 'African time' as Jane called in. The groom was 15 minutes late and the bride 45 minutes late, and I started the celebration a hour behind schedule. At least it gave me a chance to rehearse the congregation in singing Amen and an Alleluia response to the Psalm. This went down well, people sang with great enthusiasm and apparently, we heard today, continued to sing them at the reception. I wasn't invited, but it gave me great pleasure, knowing that the songs of worship learned spilled over into the wedding feast. For a brief moment, life and worship have continuity between them.

We were twenty people and three dogs in church for today's Sung Eucharist, laf and half choir and congregation. Choirmaster Peter is off sick with pneumonia, but Geoff his predecessor took charge and all went as normal. Clare had a lunch rendezvous with former colleague at Le Contretemps in the port. I ate alone and got ready for the trip to Aiglon Chapel in Villars for an Evening Eucharist. Jane met me from the train at Aigle again. Pain from my troubled rear end was worse than usual so I had to stand for the train journey and wedge myself awkwardly into the car seat for the ascent to avoid pressure. Fortunately by over use of medication it calmed down sufficiently for me to take the service, for just five people plus Jane. A dozen regulars are away on this final weekend before term starts at Aiglon College. 

The elderly couple to whom I took Communion at home, just after New Year were among the few. He broke his leg back then, and still walks with a stick, his recovery being slow, but he's walking, that's what counts. For reasons unknown, the lady accompanying hymns on the piano repeated the first hymn at the end. It wasn't a liturgical catastrophe, however, as it was 'Soldiers of Christ arise' a great Charles Wesley hymn summarising the message of the Ephesians 6:10-20 which I'd preached about.

Today has been quite a struggle to functional normally against the background of discomfort from inflammation. Tomorrow, I'm chasing a medical appointment.

       

Lying low

Wednesday morning at the midweek BCP Communion service with me were Geoff and Poppy his dog and Bethany-Ann with her youngest daughter, rising five, wearing a toutou over her skirt. Her mother is teaching her how to help out at the altar, so she puts the candles out and tidies things away in the right place. It's not often I'm served in the sanctuary by someone wearing a toutou!

At lunchtime, Collette arrived from Arlesheim to stay with us for a couple of days. We speak a mix of English and French between us, which is quite a mental exercise. There's always lots to discuss, especially with Clare, as they were Steiner School colleagues together in Geneva.

In the afternoon I was visited by an elderly British expat who has lived in Montreux half the year and half the year in Florida for ages, but has now decided to re-establish himself in Britain. He came to ask if I could visit an even older British expat who lives near the Casino in town, so I promised I would do this and arranged to see him today. He's ninety nine and was widowed a few years ago. He lives in a fine apartment overlooking the lake, cared for by daily visits from a home nursing team. His mobility is limited, but he's alert and reads the Financial Times daily, having spent a lifetime in the global shipping business. When I arrived a very loud intruder alarm was sounding. Instead of pressing the entry button, the nurse pressed the alarm button. It took twenty minutes to find the system code and restore tranquility. An unusual way to start a pastoral visit!

Apart from this, I've spent the last couple of days mostly in the house, despite the dreadful humidity, leaving the girls to walk and talk without me. I did some cooking, and we ate lunch and supper together. I've not felt much like going out and walking since returned from Grabs, as my haemorrhoid pain problem has worsened and I've had to focus on pain control, using anti-inflammatory and anti-spasm medication. It's hard working out the most effective dosage rhythm, as intensity varies through the day, from day to day. I am well used to getting up at night, so I manage somehow not to suffer from sleep loss. Having said that, I've been sleeping extra hours this week, and resting in the afternoon, as it seems to make a difference.

We're noticing how much more expensive medication is in Swiss pharmacies. It's just as well I have additional income in Swiss Francs to cover the cost, especially if I am required to get a consultation at the local medical centre. Even if this is a nominal cost with an EHIC card, any special remedy is likely to be expensive. So far, I haven't felt that this resort has been necessary.

Talking of weddings, Saturday's couple have communicated with us only minimally, so apart from an agreed order of service, there's a lot to be done before and during the rehearsal scheduled tomorrow afternoon.

Going East to see old friends

There were two dozen at St John's for the Sunday Eucharist. When all but the Church Wardens had departed, Church Warden Neil, took the Church House router and attached it to a socket in the wall of the meeting room next door, to check this was an operational fibre-optic connection, which it is. He's very pleased with this, as it'll be possible to have a wireless router there and use the signal in the church social area to stream UK video broadcasts to a TV or projector on special occasions of interest, as well as hold film nights using Netflix. Properly promoted, this could attract members of the wider community to visit and socialise in Church, and kindle interest in worship.

After Neil and Jane took their leave, it was time to lock the church and take the stopping train to Lausanne, from the station across the road, then the Inter-Regio to Zurich, another train to Sargans and finally the local train to Buchs, where our old friend Heinz met us at the station and walked  us back to the rooftop apartment where he and Maria-Luisa have made their home in retirement. It's just a year since we last made this journey to seen them, and it was marvellous to relax and catch up over an evening meal.

After a leisurely breakfast on Monday morning we went by train to Bad Ragaz, further south in the Rhine Valley towards Chur. The mountains to the east of the Rhine at this point are the setting for Johanna Spry's children's novel Heidi, so the region is well visited by foreign tourists for this reason alone. Bad Ragaz however, is an elite Swiss spa and golf hotel town, whose development dates from the Grand Tour era. Its 18 hole golf course hosts the annual Swiss Seniors Open Championship, but also a triennial open air Festival of Sculpture.

The area around the town and within contains permanent exhibits, but at festival time it claims to be Europe's largest sculpture park, occupying key sites on the golf course, as well as the town's streets and hotel precincts. The number of exhibits is said to rise to 400, attracting an international range of contributors. The walk around the course and into the village took an hour and a half, with frequent photographic stops. The majority of exhibits in the public domain are abstract, with just a few with human form. The placement of many of the sculptures has been chosen carefully, with colour and form in mind. I found that observing and photographing them was a stimulating mental exercise, as consideration of the meaning or theme of the piece was of minor importance to appreciating their form and setting. One of the values and purposes of art is to challenge viewers to look at everything from a different perspective. This, I felt was true for me. My photos are here.

We enjoyed a regional dish from nearby the Grisons region, eating lunch in the Central Restaurant in the main street, opposite a municipal building that started life as a spa. There's still a fountain in the porch opening on to the street, where warm spa water can be drunk, apparently good for one's health. Outside was an ice cream stall, with a 1.5m plastic ice cream cone advertising its wares on the pavement beside it. It's an everyday sight in many holiday resorts. For me, what comes to mind is the question of how to distinguish between a mass marketing artifact like this and an intentional sculpture which may use the same materials, shapes and colours even. Context counts a lot I guess.

We returned to Grabs to escape the intense afternoon heat, and only ventured out again as the sun was setting. We walked to the Alte Stadt, about half a kilometer away, a well preserved collection of mediaeval wooden houses, said to be the only one to have escaped being burned down over six centuries after supper on the terrace. This quiet corner is still a residential area, not holiday homes. It sits at the bottom of a rocky 50m outcrop, on top of which is the fine Schloss Grabs. Its slopes are covered in vineyards. Well, it's still the Rhineland, after all. It was dusk when we walked back around the small like next to the Alte Stadt. Enchanting! My photos are here.

Today, we bade farewell to Heinz and Mari-Luisa mid morining, making the return trip with the same itinerary, just enough time to make each of the four changes of train comfortably, without any delay. We got off in Montreux, did a lot of food shopping, then caught the trolley bus to Terriet, as we had a go-anywhere day ticket - CHF49 with the abonnement demi-tarif. What a bargain, and what a lovely outing! 

Travel plans

At last! An email with an apology and a copy of the certificate arrived this morning. Apart from the rehearsal meeting with the couple, liturgical preparations for the wedding were done and approved two weeks ago. Now I can concentrate on preparing a wedding taking place the following Saturday. That one calls for a recorded mix of western classical and Bulgarian Orthodox liturgical music for use at a wedding. This is rather out of the ordinary, but something I shall enjoy.

Each afternoon this week, apart from walking into town for shopping, we've walked to the plage by the Chateau de Chillon so that Clare can swim. The water offshore is really warm at the moment after weeks of hot weather, although there lots of small pieces vegetation to be negotiated, blown from the trees on occasional stormy days. Even by Swiss standards it's been a long hot summer.

Because of the heat, we've not felt like venturing far up to now, but on Sunday, after church, we go by train to Grabs on the border with Lichtenstein to see our old friends Heinz and Marie-Luisa. As we both now have abonnements-demi tarif,  we were able to benefit from discount fare offers. It's costing  us CHF202 for the both of us to travel there and back - a four and a half hour journey. What this would cost in the UK doesn't bear thinking about.

Goings, comings and not yet arrivals

A very early start Tuesday morning, with Ann and Clare up at five for a six thirty train to Geneva Airport. Clare will accompany her to the departure gate, and then head into the city to meet several old friends. After their departure I returned to bed for a couple of hours, before getting on with the usual domestic tasks of the day.

This past few days Jane and I have been worried at the lack of response to emails from the bride in Nigeria who has requested a wedding blessing, We've been waiting a week to see a digital copy of the civil wedding certificate, before we can proceed with arrangements. And we have to see the original as well, just before the wedding. Photos have appeared on Nigerian social media of the ceremony, so there's no good reason, having promised us to send a copy, that we shouldn't have received it.

So, we've been thinking today about sending a formal letter to her, with the approval of Archdeacon Adele, explaining the consequences of this inaction. Fortuitously Adele visited us yesterday afternoon and stayed for supper. She'd come to brief church council members about interviewing a prospective candidate for the job as Chaplain today. I'm so delighted to know that they have someone who is interested in the job. it's been a long wait, nearly two years. This church has continued to function well and pretty normally during the interregnum.

After breakfast we went off early into town to do some shipping leaving the house empty and tidy for the candidate's visit. The process seemed to have gone well, but it'll be a little while before the candidate's decision is made known, and then a lot longer until a name is announced publicly. It's all very hush-hush, to avoid gossip and politicking around the names of candidates. This time Bishop Robert has proposed someone, as advertising the post was unsuccessful. Supply of suitable priests falls far short of demand these days.

An email to the bride setting a deadline for response, suitably approved by Authority, was sent off this evening. Meanwhile we wait and wonder what's going on out there.

  

  

Glion picnic

There we two dozen of us for yesterday morning's Sung Eucharist. Clare sang in the choir again. We welcomed worshippers from New Zealand, South Korea, Australia and the USA, as well as British and Swiss people. It's typical of St John's, so it's always worth asking someone unfamiliar where they come from.

After the service, Ann treated us to lunch at 'Le Contretemps' in Territet Port, then we went for a walk to the Chateau de Chillon, where she and Clare regretted not having brought their swimming costumes, but went for a paddle anyway. In the heavy rain began, and we woke up to the prospect of a day of heavy showers.

We rode up to Glion on the funicular railway behind the house for a picnic lunch. Fortunately the rain held off while we were there and the sun shone. We took Ann into the marvellous garden of the Hotel de Rigi Vaudois, overlooking the lake, and were surprised to find a ground floor restaurant open. Last summer, the place was shuttered, and had been for ages, due to bankruptcy. There's some external scaffolding, indicating that renovation work is in progress, but little accessible information on the web to say if the whole of this magnificent building is to re-open as a hotel.

We walked down to the Parish Church to eat our picnic lunch, as its lakeside exterior is wrapped around by a cloister with benches. At this stage, the sun was still shining and clouds were on the move. We descended to Territet, then caught the bus into town to do some shopping. I went to the railway station to buy my abonnement demi-tarif, which will last until the day I leave. Clare booked us discount tickets on-line to take us across Switzerland to visit Heinz and Mari-Luisa in Grabs in the coming week. I'm wondering where else we can go this time to benefit from half price fares.

Visit to Vevey, remembering Dad

We walked into Montreux this morning, and took the paddle ship 'La Suisse' to Vevey. The weather was perfect for the twenty minute journey there. Built in 1910, this was originally a paddle steamer, but I believe has since been converted to diesel-electric power. Passing along the main ship to reach the front deck you're greeted by the sight of the massive crankshafts which drive the paddles. 

While were in port, there were two 'grease monkeys' inspecting and topping up lubricant pots above each gleaming crankshaft. The engine room interior was immaculately clean, and a sight which took me back to travelling on the paddle steamer plying back and forth over the Severn Estuary between Weston super Mare and Cardiff. I recall standing in wonder, aged seven, alongside my Dad, staring through an internal viewing window at similar engine at work on a coal powered paddle ship. It was quicker and more exciting to reach Weston for the annual Miners' Fortnight holiday this way than to go by train, needing to change, and lug cases from platform to platform in Bristol Temple Meads. It was a busy time, demand for the ship was high, so we weren't always successful. 

Gazing into the engine room well with delight, I felt from a moment as if Dad was still stood beside me. Co-incidentally, tomorrow would have been his 113th birthday, but he died 45 years ago. Being a mine transport engineer, he had a great love of heavy machinery of all kinds, and took pleasure in sharing them with me. I wonder what he'd have made of the mechanical world of nowadays? I'm so glad he lived to see a man walk on the moon.

We had a leisurely walk around Vevey's old town, and its bustling Saturday market in the Place du Marché. A silver band was ready to play in the shelter of the covered market hall, and outside there was an unusual marching band of a dozen wearing local folk costumes, with an assortment of brass instruments and several drummers. They made a loud raucous sound, and their repertoire was of carnival music with jazz-rock flavour. There's another smaller square at the heart of the Old Town, which was also crowded with stalls, and a third wind band was playing here, more sedately. Quite an unexpected outdoor treat, but for what reason it was happening, we didn't find out.

We returned to the Nestlé Alimentarium, discovered last summer, for lunch, this time on the terrace overlooking the lake. After another walk along the lakeside promenade, we caught the passle ship back to Montreux, this time aboard the 'Montreux'. Launched in 1904 this is the eldest of the CGN operational fleet, and despite its traditional means of propulsion it now enjoys the latest hi-tech steering gear, as a result of its last re-fit. After more than a century, these beautiful craft still give pleasure to hundreds of thousands of visitors, and to some regular commuters along, or across Lac Léman.

Looking forward to making the trip again with Rhiannon, when she joins us at the end of the month.

Movie night at Church House

Yesterday,  rested after a late breakfast we walked along the lakeside with Ann to Chillon and back and made a shopping trip into town. More walking along the lakeside today, and then after supper this evening, we welcomed six congregation members for a showing of 'Made in Dagenham' on the house wide screen TV, with a pizza supper on the lap, prepared by Jane with help from Clare.

It's a thought provoking film, telling the story of the 1968 women machinist's strike at Ford's Dagenham plant which brought the place to a standstill. It was a marvellous expression of militant working class action which became front page international news at the time, as the campaign concerned equal pay for equal work. Most remarkable is that forty years on, pay inequality is still a hot issue in every sphere of economic life. This begs many questions about economic and social structures we have taken for granted over millennia, globally. The film was released in 2010, but this is the first time I've seen it, and glad to have done so, as it as timely as ever.

Late arrivals

Yesterday afternoon, Joy and Geoff took me up to Monica' house up the mountainside at Les Avants for a Bible study session and afternoon tea. We were treated to a deliciously light chocolate sponge cake which her sixteen year old grandson had baked. He has no ambition to be a chef or pastrycook, he just loves baking, and works with recipes researched on the internet. Our study compared Mark and Luke's versions of the Transfiguration story, and then looked a 2 Peter 1 "We were eyewitnesses of his majesty ..." I'm impressed at how this regular group meeting has persisted since the last Chaplain left. I can't think of any chaplaincy bible study group that's survived an interregnum apart from here. It doesn't matter that it's rarely more than half a dozen people, it's core commitment that counts.

Both Clare and Ann's flights were due to land mid evening, with a connecting train arriving at half part ten. After celebrating the midweek BCP Holy Communion service with Geoff, and doing some shopping, it was a long day of waiting with a couple of hours spent cooking a spicy veggie soup for a late supper. Clare's flight was delayed ten minutes on leaving. For interest, I tracked it down to its final approach run on the EasyJet app, but then had an unexpected wait, as the aircraft was hindered from discharging passengers and luggage by a heavy downpour and thunderstorm. For this reason they missed a connecting train which would have delivered them to Territet gare, across the road from the house by eleven, but arrived  at Montreux gare instead just before a quarter to midnight.

Joy very kindly offered to meet them and bring them back to Church House, and I went with her. As they were still on British time, they weren't too tired for such a late supper, so it was a good hour before we got to bed, and longer before sleep took over, due to the heat and the excitement. So, we all slept late. After lunch, Clare and Ann went for a walk as far as the Chateau to Chillon, but I had to stay behind, as pain from my problematic piles left me feeling quite unwell. I stayed in bed much of the day. Thankfully, as Ann is a retired nurse familiar with this affliction, she, proposed a routine to manage the episodes of extreme discomfort with regular low doses of ibuprofen and buscopan. Needless to say, I'm willing to give it a go!

Anniversary separation

Monday was our wedding anniversary, but Clare was at the Welsh National Eisteddfod in Cardiff, attending the Crowning of the Bard ceremony. Beforehand, she attended Pauline Grainger's funeral at St John's City Parish Church. The place was full, with a large number of her 'choir friends' taking part, singing anthems in her memory. First with Mike and now Pauline, it's the second time this year I've been out of the country, unable to attend the funeral of a good friend. Then there were also Roy Damary and John Meredith's funerals, people I'd worked with in Geneva, dying within weeks of each other. I didn't find out about either of them until after they were laid to rest. All I could do was remember in prayer Pauline, as I did the others during the day. Not being there with the mourners never feels enough, however, to do justice to their passing.

There was shopping to do, in preparation for the arrival of Ann and Clare, but I also walked to the Chateau de Chillon. Unsurprisingly, given the heat, there were more people than usual swimming in the lake. The sound of numerous grebe chicks cheeping loudly offshore was noticeable as I walked. Come to think of it, I'm here nearly a fortnight earlier, this August, so the chicks are younger and more vocal in their demands.

Anticipated Transfiguration

We celebrated the feast of the Transfiguration today, in advance of tomorrow. It was good to be back again, with a congregation of two dozen mostly familiar faces. After lunch, I took the train to Aigle where churchwarden Jane met me and drove us up to Villars for the evening Eucharist with fifteen present. This was an occasion for me to remember in prayer Roy Damary, Reader at Holy Trinity Geneva, who died back in June. He was up in Villars bringing Communion from the Reserved Sacrament to a group of Christmas Day worshippers, a couple of weeks before my last visit there in January. 

I talked briefly about him coming at great personal effort driving 120+km from Geneva on Christmas Day, stepping in when they had no priest to serve them. An expression of his concern that the church shouldn't fail to maintain its round of worship, and naturally that's what being a lay minister was all about. After the service, nobody made mention of this to me. Then, it occurred to me that there may not have been anyone present on this occasion who was there on Christmas Day, such is the fluidity of attendance among regulars as well as visitors.

Maintaining pastoral relations with mobile people in dispersed congregations of this kind is never easy.  There's always a risk that ministry becomes nothing more than than cordial but transient engagement between consumers and producers of religious events. It's already characteristic of funeral and wedding ministry, despite efforts made to ensure the occasion is charged with personal meaning. Does publicity and marketing of church ministry make any difference? I doubt it. Good quality information may encourage people to take church ministry and ministers seriously, but time is needed for lasting relationships to grow, and in an increasingly mobile rootless world, this is far harder to achieve. I don't have any answers. There's more to learn about this new world, to know what the right questions may be.
  

Baptismal encounter

When I came to prepare for today's Christening, I couldn't find the vials containing the Oil of the Catechumens and the Oil of Chrism. I had this vague recollection of having seen them bundled into the Blessed Sacrament aumbry in the Lady Chapel and thinking that wasn't appropriate at the time. I made some enquiries, but drew a blank. The aumbry key was not to be found. What I had forgotten when I started hunting was that I had removed them to a separate place on my last visit. 

Eventually I found them in a box labelled 'Our Lady' sitting quietly on a sacristy shelf. How memory can play tricks on us! The aumbry key, identifiable by a tassel attached to it, was as Caroline the sacristan insisted, in the main vestry safe, but instead of being visible, inits usual position, it was hiding in one of the chalices at the back of the safe.

The next obstacle was finding a baptism certificate. There were none in the study or in the sacristy, and it's possible the stock had run out and not yet been replaced, but nobody could remember. Then, by accident in with the baptism register in the safe, I found an old booklet of baptism certificate forms, dating back, I'd guess to early in the twentieth century, although the stub relating to the first entry was dated 1954. 

Amazingly, there were two loose certificate forms in the empty booklet and I was able to use one of them. The story of their daughter Mia's vintage baptism certificate gave her parents a little amusement, or was it bemusement? The church has only had one baptism register, in its life. The first entry dates from 1866, when ministry to English holidaymakers and residents here began in a hotel private chapel, ten years before the church was constructed.

The certificate, like the register, is simpler than modern equivalents, having no column for date of birth, and no separate column to account for the 'rank, profession or occupation of the mother as well as the father. That's a change for the better from my perspective.

The parents and brothers of Magnus the father arrived an hour early from Italy, and by that time all was ready, so I had time to chat with them about the history of the British in Switzerland, St John's and the nature of the Church of England's reformed catholic character, or you could say equally, its evolved protestanism I guess, as things have changed so much as a result of the liturgical revisions which have taken place during my lifetime. The mother Sarah's family are Belgian Catholics and Magnus's family are Church of Sweden, protestants, yet the baptism service nowadays would be equally familiar to everyone, both in form and content, largely due to ecumenical agreements made on Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry in the last half of the twentieth century. Great, and hopefully lasting achievements on the path to the reconciliation of churches worldwide.

I greatly enjoyed celebrating the baptism with these two relaxed and happy families. They expressed their appreciation, as they took their leave, and Sarah gave me a box of Lindt liqueur chocolates as a personal thank you gift. Then I walked to the lakeside apartment of Geoff and Joy for an apero, and met a couple from Texas who are newcomers to St John's. I ended up staying until nearly ten, well after the couple had left, as we got into some deep conversations about the changing face of the church and its ministry. Fortunately, my sermon for tomorrow was prepared before I came, and already printed. Now it's just a matter of getting to sleep in the heat.

  

Back to Montreux - yet again

Free at last to get on with packing, I had all of Wednesday and half of Thursday, to prepare and pack for my six week stint in Montreux, where it promises to be as hot, even hotter than Cardiff for several weeks to come. It's rare that I don't bother to think about packing a pullover - just in case! As ever I exercised myself over which cameras to take, and ended up eliminating my Alpha 68 and its lenses on the grounds of weight in my rucksack cabin bag. On the outbound journey, it would be necessary to carry a cool bag and a couple of freezer packs to keep the tubes of ointment prescribed by Lt Col Davies at fridge temperature, and this couldn't go in my hold baggage just in case it got lost in transit. The worry I had was about getting the cold package through security. It the event it turned out not to be a problem as the screening staff were very understanding.

Clare drove me to the station for the two o'clock train to Bristol, which was on time. However before it arrived, an announcement was made about the next train to arrive at platform two, which was for Manchester. If the Bristol train had been announced it was before I got on to the platform and before it came in. Most confusing. There's evidently no co-ordination between the team which manages the platform and the announcement broadcast. To compound the error, when the correct train arrived, in its shine new bright GWR green livery, it had no destination panel that I could see, or at least if it had one, it wasn't lit up. There wasn't even a quick printed out notice affixed to the train windscreen or side windows. It could have been going anywhere. How dumb is this!

Anyway I arrived at the airport in good time, and quickly checked in with the new automatic check in system working well. There were long summer queues passing through security clearance at fair pace, so within a quarter of an hour of getting off the buss, I was in the departure lounge. No long after, the phone's EasyJet app issued the first of two flight delay notifications. French air traffic controllers are at it again, unfortunately, holding Europe, not just France to ransom. In the end our flight was an hour delayed, which meant that my train from Geneva to Montreux got in at half past midnight.  

By the time I had something to eat and unpacked, it was two in the morning, and too hot to lie under covers, though not unpleasant. It was nearly ten by the time I surfaced for breakfast. Before lunch I walked to the shops in town to buy additional veggies and a few other food supplies to get start me off domestically speaking. Later in the afternoon I had a visit from the mother of the infant I am due to baptise tomorrow afternoon, to check out certain elements of the service. Her husband's parents and two brothers are driving from Italy where they've been on holiday, to attend the service. Her  family live in Lausanne. He's Swedish and she's Belgium, and all are fluent English speakers. The couple were married several years ago in St John's, so it's a pleasure to welcome them back.

Walking along the flower bedecked promenade this afternoon was such a delight, I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. This is my third visit in just a twelvemonth, to a region where I still feel very much at home and alive in spirit. I'm so grateful for the blessing of having so much pleasure in the performance of ministry duties in my old age.

  

The inside view

On Sunday, preparation for today's colonoscopy appointment started with a switch to a simple low fibre diet, until yesterday afternoon. Then I had to move on to a liquids only fast. It didn't leave me with much energy, but I whiled away the time gathering some of the things I need to take with me to Montreux, earnestly hoping that the investigation wouldn't reveal anything that'd prevent me from leaving, especially as I have a Baptism preparation arranged for Friday and the service on Saturday.

Churchwarden Jane was in touch over the weekend to advise me of a second wedding blessing in four week's time. I dread the thought of not being able to meet the commitment I made, and need to arrange for another to take my place at short notice. The offer of an appointment, so quickly after the preliminary inspection wasn't to be turned down, however, after a six month wait.

At tea time I had to drink a litre of fluid over an hour, laced with oral re-hydration salts and laxative concocted to clear the bowels, called 'Moviprep', so I spent a quiet evening watching episodes of 'Bull' and 'NCIS' on the tablet, waiting for the inevitable, and it was half past midnight before I could relax into sleep. The worst part was having to get up at five this morning and repeat the one litre drinking feat with a second dose of 'Moviprep'. I didn't need to set the alarm as I usually wake at first light and then go back to sleep. By half past eight, I was thoroughly cleared out and ready for the trip to the Heath Hospital. We left early, anticipating heavy traffic but the roads were far quieter than usual as school holidays are now under way. 

I was welcomed and briefed by a delightful Iranian nurse, who said she'd lived in Britain 25 years and loved it here as much as she loved her homeland. She was obliged to fit me with a cannula just in case medication needed to be administered at short notice, but this required several attempts before she found a vein. I didn't want to be sedated and didn't think I'd need an analgaesic, so it wasn't used. As ever my blood pressure was high and this time set off the alarm, not surprising since the procedure obliged me to forego usual medication for forty eight hours beforehand. This I found a bit odd, but nobody made a fuss about it.  Then I had to shed my clothes and don operating theatre garb. The young consultant surgeon was surprisingly cheery and outgoing for a Monday morning. He introduced me to his multi-national theatre support team and answered my few preliminary questions before starting the procedure.

I was pleased to be able to watch the progress of the probe on a hi-def colour screen right in front of me, and found it fascinating to see my insides at close quarters. Such beautiful organic tunnel structures, with forms reminiscent of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia and other adventurous pieces of modern architecture. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable, despite the air being pumped through my innards to open the way for the probe. So I was able to relax, and be thankful that it needed neither sedation not analgaesic. I experienced worse when my digestive tract was playing up. I heard them point out my appendix en passant and was told that the probe had gone a metre up into my intestine. Best of all was the consultant's declaration that I have a healthy normal bowel, just a polyp that's doesn't require action and is nothing to worry about.

After a rest, a chat with the post-op team and a cup of tea, I was free to leave, and could have gone home on the bus - strictly verboten if you've been sedated - but Clare came and picked me up, and drove me home to a very welcome lunchtime meal.

Naturally I was nervous about it, and fretted over following the correct preliminary instructions from the sheet provided, but once I was there and met the team, I felt relaxed and at ease in their capable hands. In a strange sort of way it was quite an enjoyable experience. And, the way is cleared for me to be on my way to Switzerland on Thursday.

Remembering Pauline at St John's

Another duty-free Sunday meant that I could walk into town this morning and attend the Eucharist at St John the Baptist City Parish Church, and commiserate with old friends in the congregation at the loss of Pauline Grainger, one of the stalwarts of St John's over the past forty years. She was the same age as me, and was active in the church's ministry of hospitality, sidesperson, church warden on occasions. Most important for church life was her role in developing the church Tea Room in the choir vestry from its tentative beginning, under my predecessor Mac Ellis, to a properly equipped, not for profit enterprise run by teams of volunteers, open six days a week under her quiet guidance.

She was intelligent, versatile and creatively gifted, and could have gone to university, but when she left school, she trained as a Midland Bank clerk, working down the Docks and in the city centre. Her dad ran his own garage and car dealership, so Pauline acquired her sound business sense at home. She found a spiritual home at St John's when the renowned Canon Edwin Davies was Vicar. She understood his vision for church in the marketplace and spent much of her life putting it into practise. She loved singing in various choirs, and ended up running one of them 'Oriana' which would put on a Christmas fundraiser in church every December. Although she'd occasionally sing in the church choir, she could usually be found on Sunday mornings near the door, welcoming people and giving out books. 

For the past five years she'd lived with bone marrow cancer, but none of the treatments, including trialling the latest experimental therapies were able to do more than slow down its progression. Yet, she remained actively engaged in St John's life until just after I returned from  Spain, when she had a stroke. Even so, two weeks before her death, she was brought to church in a wheelchair, in effect saying goodbye to the people and place she took to heart and served for so many years. She'd asked at the onset of the final crisis if I could take part in her funeral with Sarah the outgoing Vicar, when wasn't expected to last quite so long. Sadly, it happens on 6th August, four busy days after I arrive in Montreux. I couldn't even fly home after next Sunday's service, as I'm up at Villars for a service at six, too late to travel. I've written a tribute to her and sent it to Sarah to use in the service as she thinks fit.

Without a little research, it's impossible to say exactly how much money was raised over a twenty year period by the Tea Room but it was certainly a six figure sum, enough to contribute substantially to the organ restoration fund, and pay for a complete interior decoration of the church. A couple of dozen volunteers each week helped out with cooking, serving, washing and clearing up, Pauline among them, when she wasn't visiting the Cash and Carry shopping for supplies. She was one of those quiet natural leaders who don't feel compelled to be forever up-front, but are content be with and among people to guide and encourage. A marvellous example of the kind of lay ministry which enables the church to live and fulfil its purpose, with or without sufficient clergy. She will be greatly missed by so many people from different walks of life. I'll miss her, both as a good friend and partner in the mission of an outstanding church in the marketplace. May she rest in peace.
  

Duties concluded, farewells made

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's yesterday morning, and again this evening at St Luke's to cover for Fr Mark. These are my last assignments of parish duty cover. Walking home after this service, I dropped off three big bunches of church keys at the Rectory, which I've been using during the past couple of months. They're going to be Emma's keys hereafter. Her responsibilities develop over the coming weeks, getting acquainted with the Parish setup in detail. 

Before lunch, I said goodbye to Rachel, who returns to Kenilworth for the weekend to attend a big Festival with Kath and Anto, before they leave for holidays in Spain, and she returns to Arizona. It looks like the next week will be somewhat cooler and wetter as the month long drought comes to an end. Rachel was a little distressed to arrive home to temperatures not much cooler than Phoenix, so she deserves a some more temperate weather. Just being back in a leafy green climate for a month has, nevertheless been a big consolation for her. She's not a hot climate girl like big sister and Dad. 

I couldn't see her off from the bus station, as I had a lunchtime funeral at St John's followed by a burial at Radyr cemetery, next to St John's Danescourt. It's been lovely having her here. I wish it had been for longer, or for good. She's not happy living in Arizona and it's a struggle to get work, so naturally I worry about her a great deal. One day maybe, when Jasmine is old enough not to need Mum around all the time, she'll return and stay.

Apart from her amazing solo gig at the Apothecary, the time she spent last week in Kenilworth in Anto's recording studio was most fruitful. She's returning with two superb music tracks to release and promote. It's 'cast your bread on the waters' time.