Waiting for the wave

Clouds and sunshine again to day but still not so warm. Good walking weather anyway. I took a turn in cooking lunch today. Clare had fish but I had chicken, and succeeded in cooking a separate sauce for each of us starting with shared cooked ingredients. It meant lots of washing up afterwards but we were both pleased with the result.

Meanwhile in the world beyond the home, restrictions are being lifted to allow more shops to re-open, and workers encouraged to return to their city workplaces to help revive the small business economy that orbits around the big corporate office blocks. Many seem to be in no rush to do this as they have found working from home a positive experience which they'd be happy to continue. This includes Owain. The DVLA office where he works normally is still closed, but not for much longer as Civil Service agencies are being urged to open again soon.  

The trouble is, anxiety is increasing over the possibility of a second spike in infection rates in the autumn if not sooner. People are reluctant to use public transport to get to work. I wonder if that's reflected in the increase of traffic to and from town this past week during working hours? At the same time, we're seeing the imposition of local mobility and business restrictions where the infection rate has gone against the general trend. The USA leads the world in terms of the number of infections and deaths, and the infection rate there is not yet under control. The 'land of the free' is paying the price for inadequate leadership and dangerous ignorance. 

Tragic that a 30 year old man died having contracted covid-19 after attending a party hosted by an infected man for people foolish enough to believe the pandemic is a hoax, fake news. How often Trump uses those terms to dismiss any news or information he can't or won't accept. A Mexican epidemiologist, reflecting on the increasingly rapid spread of the pandemic in third world countries, was less of threat to the world as a whole than the chaotic response to the pandemic in the States.

In the evening I watched a couple of episodes of Swedish crimmie 'Stockholm Requiem'. I sets out to show the impact which dealing with violent evil crimes has on the police working on them, so we get to see inside the lives of several time members. Not sure yet whether this is going to work.

Unexpected request

Disappointingly, after a sunny weekend, by the time I was ready to go out for a mid morning walk, it had started to rain, so I stayed in and wrote letters instead. It was teatime before I ventured our to the post office, and popped into the Co-op for the first time since my return for apple juice and rye bread. It wasn't busy, and few were wearing masks. 

I hear that Boris Johnson proposes to make the wearing face masks compulsory in shops and other enclosed spaces, with fines for non-compliance. After so many mixed messages and letting people used common sense to make up their own minds, it's going to be hard to change public habits. Locking the stable door after the horse has gone.

After taking the shopping home I continued to the park where fine drizzle turned to rain. I was very wet by the time I got back, jacket and trousers were soaked.

Pidgeon's have asked me if I'd do a funeral at Thornhill next week. I officiated at the funeral of the deceased's wife back in January and the family requested that I do the same for him. The man died from organ failure months after recovering from a bout of symptomless covid-19. Coincidentally, I read a report this morning that stated this is not uncommon, and so far inexplicable. The impact of the pandemic may be more devastating and far reaching than has been realised so far.

Funny, only a few days ago I was reflecting on the end of my public ministry, and then this happens  I could see no reason to refuse. Crematorium chapel services are very carefully regulated.

In the past I have always been taken to and from the crem or the cemetery by car. This time I will use my own car, eliminating a close proximity ride in a funeral company car. One less risk for me, one less sanitising job for the driver. No bereavement visit is possible, but arrangements by phone and email are now universally acceptable. I'll miss the face to face contact, and won't be able to shake hands with mourners after the service. I'm glad that the family and I have already met.

We watched an interesting BBC Four documentary about Beethoven and his music this evening. It spoke of his life as a triumph over adversity. A sad unsustainable love life, bouts of illness and the terrible onset of deafness, yet the worst of times saw the composition of some of his greatest music.

Communication paradigm shift

This morning's BBC Radio Four Sunday Worship programme was from Cardiff Baptist College, led by staff members and students. It was based around the Sunday Lectionary Gospel for the day, the Parable of the Sower from Matthew's Gospel, and was rich with insight from different perspectives.

After breakfast, Clare and I sat together and shared the on-line Parish Eucharist broadcast from Canton Rectory, also with an exposition of the Parable of the Sower from Mother Francis. She made use of Vincent Van Gogh's painting 'The Sower' as a basis for her reflection. Equally original and engaging. It's not one of my favourite Gospel passages, with its second half explaining the imagery of the first half, leaving less freedom to work it out for yourself. The imaginative way in which both renderings of the parable I heard this morning gives me cause to rethink how I deal with it, should I ever get asked to preach about it again. 

After the service Clare insisted on catching up on last Thursday's themed meditation, now a regular feature of the Benefice's on-line offering. Reconciliation was the subject. It was beautifully crafted in terms of content and visuals. It's so good that video tools now available for everyday use by non-professionals is unleashing such creativity. Many have taken note of how public broadcasters have presented religious themed material, and put this to good use. It's taken the pandemic crisis to empty diaries and open up the possibility of spending time making devotional and educational material that relates to the people and context in which all local pastoral ministry happens. 

Ibiza was tough going for me, having to produce on-line audio weekly, with help from just four people willing and able to record sound files of readings to use. As an outsider, not integrated into the church social network, not knowing who I could approach, persuade and recruit to help, what I could achieve was limited as much as it was by lack of equipment or expertise. Already, a paradigm shift in parish level public communication is occurring. It is capable of unleashing more creativity and collaboration between laity and clergy, and involving many more people in conveying the message of what life in the Body of Christ means to them. With a few more Sundays to be seen and get acquainted with church members in Ibiza, I could have done better. But this wasn't to be. It's a matter of learning by doing as you go along, and the timing wasn't right on this occasion.

By eleven for a change, I was out walking. Again the parks were busy with groups of people sitting and enjoying the sun, or else cycling, jogging, pushing prams or strolling. I overheard someone passing by say to their companion that they'd never seen it so busy.

Next Sunday, churches will re-open for worship. Heaven knows how this will work out, given the challenges of doing so safely, given the rules to be applied, slightly different in each building. At the same time, the value of continuing to offer on-line ministry of prayer and worship is understood and poses the question how it can be sustained, and in what form.

There'll be a Parish Zoom session to examine and discuss this on Wednesday this week. When I learned of it, I found my head filling with ideas, so I wrote a few suggestions to Mthr Emma in an email, for starters, so I can listen at the meeting and not say much. If what I wrote is of any use it'll surface at another time.

Four days ago, when I pondered in this blog over the likely end of my public ministry in prevailing 

circumstances, a comment appeared, attached to this posting, from Darren, a friend I made in my Geneva days twenty five years ago, who now lives and works as an academic in Singapore. He sees no reason why I shouldn't set up my own on-line platform for preaching, teaching and devotional material. But, I have my doubts.

Sure, it would be nice to have a continuing outlet for my creative energies in this sphere, but I shy away from it. Who  am I, but a servant of the church communities I have belonged to, which have honoured, welcomed my ministry over fifty years. As best I can, I deliver the message and point in what I think is the right direction for others to be met by God. It's not impersonal, but projecting my personality in the media has no appeal for me. My role model, for rather a long time has been John the Baptist - a voice crying in the wilderness.
  

Summer Saturday in the park

A welcome return to blue sky and sunshine today, though the air has yet to warm up to expected summer temperatures. It took me a while to get going as physical tiredness from yesterday's trip to Bristol caught up with me, so it was a day of rest and inactivity apart from daily exercise. It was good for walking and good to see hundreds of people sitting out in the parks. Counting couples, over fifty groups of between two and fifteen gathered to socialise, drink together and eat barbecue food or picnic snacks . Three to four hundred people in all, I think. It's been like this every weekend for a while, says Clare. Few were wearing masks and not all were socially distancing. Far fewer people are going abroad for holidays this year, and hopefully rediscovering the pleasures of home turf. 

No doubt pub and restaurant closures have led to a big increase in the use of our city parks. As for beaches, I don't know, and we've yet to take advantage of the restriction of the five mile travel limit to visit the coast and look. Cafe Castan had a long queue of people outside for take away drinks and snacks, and Pontcanna Street Co-op had a queue outside as well, as it's closest to the park. No queues outside the deli 200m away at the bottom of the street, nor the other Co-op in King's Road. 

It's nice to see the parks so well used, except for the bags of rubbish around overflowing bins, if not discarded in situ. When the wind picks up unsecured emptied plastic shopping bags take to the air and roll over the greensward like tumbleweed until caught by bushes or some vigilant passer-by. In clearings along the river bank on the Bute Park, side groups of people occupy space and dip their feet in the water if it isn't running too fast. You can tell when it's rained in the Brecon Beacons, as next day the full length of the weir has turbid water running over it. Kids who on a normal summer's day would be up on Blackweir Bridge daring to jump off into the pool below, congregate at the side by the fish ladder and splash about in the water when the mood takes them.

In the evening I watched what I thought was the last episode of Non Uccidere. I thought ti was anti-climactic and slightly open ended, suggesting it will stretch to a third series. When I checked the IMDB website the second series was rated with twenty four episodes with the twelfth being screened last week. So it seems another dozen are yet to come, but not yet revealed on the 'Walter Presents' page. At this length it resembles a soap opera with one dominant lead character, backed by a credible hard working team that gets results, but we never really get to learn enough about them and their backgrounds.

The stories cover a range of complex sordid crimes with family issues running through two thirds of them relating to contemporary social issues touching on poor and rich families alike. One third of the episodes feature crime connected to a closed community - a convent and a monastery, both with rehabilitation as their mission, a new-age sect, and a military unit readying for deployment. An interesting set of observations on what goes wrong with close knit relationships in today's world.

Westbury Park remembered

A sunny day, though still not with summer warmth. My back stiffness and pain subsided quite a lot overnight and it didn't take me so long to get mobile. After lunch Clare drove me over to Westbury Park in Bristol for my osteo treatment. It took me ages beforehand to fill in the forms which were emailed me but it all made good sense as preparation for Ruth the therapist who was to treat me. It's the first long drive Clare has done since February, and she insisted on driving back as well, so her confidence hasn't been eroded by the long layoff.

The Vital Health Clinic in North View is a few doors away from St Alban's Parish Hall, closed for community activities currently, its doors and windows covered with notices about continuing Parish engagement in Foodbank collections, and information about on-line services. I had quite forgotten that it's an Ecumenical Parish, of Anglicans and Methodists congregations. Bristol Diocese pioneers these back in the 1970s. 

In 1983 we lived for a year in St Alban's Vicarage in Canowie Road, during an interregnum, while I took a sabbatical year out to train as a secondary RE teacher. I didn't do locum duties in St Alban's Parish but was assigned to Holy Trinity Westbury on Trim as an honorary assistant priest for Sunday and occasional weekday duties. It was such a change to move from the energetic multi-cultural working class community of the St Paul's area to living in a sedate middle class part of the city with its wealthy and well attended churches. 

I guess I was well occupied with learning new disciplines and skills during that year, as I don't remember a great deal of what it was like living and leading worship there. What I do remember vividly was Clare and I taking a romantic train trip to Venice for Carnevale and a quiet Canadian student called Linda Maine looking after the children for the inside of a week.

The clinic has two therapists working out of a small converted terraced house with its front door on the pavement. Everything about the practice was beautifully and strictly organised with precautions against virus contagion properly and systematically observed. The treatment was beneficial and also helpful n that Ruth explained as she went along what had gone wrong and what she was working on. It certainly made me think about my habitual stance, and the subtle impact of having had surgery in the lower right side of my body - three times so far in the perineum and once for a hernia repair. It's something to take into account, to be aware of and making allowances for.

I felt much better afterwards, back pain almost gone, my neck so much freer and my head clearer than it has been for weeks. Both of us are booked in for a treatment in ten days time. Clare has been having headaches which, by a process of elimination with our GP, leads to the conclusion that the problem is in the neck.

We were home again by six, a pleasant drive home as the roads were not too congested. Pollution monitoring services are saying that atmospheric nitrous oxide has not yet returned to pre-lockdown levels, despite road traffic increasing since restrictions were eased. It seems that vehicle usage has not yet returned to previous levels so traffic congestion is still lower than normal, and a noticeable decrease in pollution from emissions is the result. Must we return to the way things were? Haven't we yet learned the lesson that ridding ourselves of diesel powered vehicles (a key emitter of nitrous oxide pollution) is essential for everyone's health? How many people have had their body's ability to cope with covid-19 undermined by having to live in a polluted atmosphere? 

After supper I watched a couple more episodes of Non Uccidere. I had intended to watch Huey Morgan's programme on Cuban music, but for some annoying reason the iPlayer stream kept on freezing probably due to demand. I'll have to watch on catch-up instead.

    

Opening up, reaching out

Cloudy but no rain or wind today, with the promise of warmer weather to come. A great relief for me as when it's warm my stiff back muscles will warm up more readily. I learned from Clare that St John's Parish Church would be open for prayer from ten until noon today, so I walked down there to thank God that it was possible for the place to be open again.

Before I entered I put on my mask, as I feel obliged to in any enclosed space. I was delighted to see Emma and Benedict, half the parish clergy team keeping vigil there and was welcomed with smiles. So good to see priests at their proper job - praying and welcoming other into God's house. Normally there are too many pressures on clergy time for something as simple yet essential as this to be seen to happen. But as the 'new normal' evolves, who knows how things will develop?

I walked back via St Catherine's, and met Gareth, one of the church's pioneer team of gardeners that has transformed the grounds, both with the highly productive fruit and vegetable plot, but also with an attractive and colourful planting of suitable flowers and bushes all along the railings facing on to King's Road. Talk about neighbourhood uplift! It was good to see him again after five months.

Our GP surgery, nearly opposite the church, has acquired a canopy along the side of the building where people can queue before admission, as there's very little interior waiting room space to make social distancing possible. You mustn't turn up too long before your appointment, especially if it's cold and wet.

After lunch I took another walk around Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields. In one remote corner, two young women, walking two dogs, had stopped to pick up litter. A couple of days ago when out with the dogs they had seen a group of teenagers with bicycles turn up with bags full of drinks to party in seclusion. Next day they saw that a terrible mess had been left, and had now returned with bags to clear it up. I congratulated and thanked them. At the moment, my bad back hinders me from doing likewise, and these days I have to plan to take protective equipment with me rather than pick up discarded cans and bottles to take to the nearest bin spontaneously the way I used to. But I will get around to it again. 

On several occasions recently I had seen a parent with a young child heading across the park with a plastic bag and one of those long reach pincers aiming to collect rubbish. And there are older folk as well. The Council employs a man who works early mornings, collecting as much dispersed rubbish as he can and leaving near the usually overflowing rubbish bins, prior to collection. Clare sees him when she is out for her early walk and has learned that his name is Richard. It's good to think that there may be even more people these days willing to clear up the mess, than people who don't care and make the mess.  

Our Team Vicar Emma has sent out an invitation to join a Zoom conference next Wednesday about what will happen to on-line services once conventional public worship resumes, as the Parish's on-line has been well received and reached (hopefully) a wider audience than church based services. It will be an interesting discussion, and essentially it's going to be about outreach. I just hope it can be conceived and presented to a credible and consistent high standard. 

What's been achieved over months of services during lock-down using (I suppose) mobile phones and on-line editing suites is remarkable and creative, especially given that it's been a case of learning by doing throughout. With a little extra thought and slightly better equipment, available at fairly reasonable prices, more can be done in a credible and attractive way, and this will bring joy to those who remain housebound and unable to re-enter public worship.

An unforeseen ending to ministry

The sky was overcast again when woke up at first light. I couldn't get back to sleep as I usually do. Instead of dozing, I lay awake, the impact of last night's conversation with Rufus slowly dawning on me. To all intents and purposes, after fifty years of public ministry, officiating at church services as a stipendiary cleric for forty years and then as a volunteer for ten came to an end on March 8th in Ibiza. No matter how fit and well I may be and able to fill in when others need to be absent, I'm now classed as elderly and vulnerable. As long as the covid-19 crisis lasts, I'll be out of action. 

Unless there's a global roll-out of means to prevent and cure this virus, I don't see an end to this for several years to come, years in which the public face of the church will change radically. The more churches have to close and ministries contract, the less need there'll be for aged clerics to plug gaps. Like the rest of the faithful, it'll be a matter for us of finding ways and places where we can meet for common prayer and worship.

Strangely, I don't yet feel sad about it. I'll miss preaching however more than presiding. I'm comfortable enough inhabiting the priestly role. It nurtured my years of full time ministry, but now I'm more blessed by being on the receiving end, responding rather than leading, meditating rather than voicing the prayer of the people.

As I've got older I've relaxed and feel I'm more myself in preaching the Word. Who knows if it'll be possible in future ever again? Will there be an audience for anything more than a brief homily, so that people aren't detained for too long in church? Will every future homily need to be no longer than the BBC's 'Thought for the Day'? (3mins) or at best 'A point of view'? or 'The Archers' much maligned monologues? (13mins) 

Much has been made of the reduction in people's attention span in the era of high speed electronic communications, well before we had covid-19 to make us anxious about the length of time we can risk spending in public gatherings with others not of our household. This doesn't take into account the immersive experience of theatre performances, story-telling or opera, which are able to retain the attention of an audience for a much longer time. Re-launching these activities safely is a hot topic currently given concern about preservation of artistic culture.

Traditional forms of liturgy are also a performing art, calling for a social environment of worship and fellowship. The church would lose its ability to preach and teach the Gospel in depth without them. A radical re-think of the way we do everything in public worship is necessary, but we need to be mindful of what we risk losing in the act of reform.

Karl Rahner half a century ago said of the life of faith; "In the days ahead you will either be a mystic or nothing at all." Christian mysticism, it seems to me relies on the depth of relationship with nature, immersion in the story which scripture tells, the tradition of prayer and worship, and the experience of love in community. All point to the Beyond in our midst, the ground of our being. There's nothing abstract about it, our relationships with God and with each other are inseparable.

When I was at St Mike's I remember a fellow student who was have real trouble getting to grips with a rational analytical attitude to scripture. He wasn't an ideological fundamentalist, but found it hard to reconcile such cool intellectual rigour with his spiritual life. "How can I pray?" I remember him saying, "If I am obliged to think like this all the time." We weren't doing much holistic thinking back in those days, but he did find his way out of the maze eventually, helped by engaging with the mystical writings of Christian saints. They weren't always easy to understand, but got you pointed heavenwards, and that was all that mattered.

Slow down, stop, look and listen

A cold and overcast day. I wish it was warmer as my stiff muscles would relax more readily. It takes me longer and requires more effort to get mobile and active while coping with pelvis and back pain. Recently, my Fitbit app tells me that although I may walk a certain number of paces each day, I am covering slightly less distance in the same amount of time elapsed. I reckon the reason is that I walk a little slower and my average stride is slightly shorter due to the condition of my back. On my way to an old man's shuffle.

This afternoon I walked up to Llandaff Cathedral and was delighted to discover that it was open for private prayer between two and four, with a couple of stewards on duty directing visitors to the hand sanitizer station next to to the multilingual visitor pamphlets. It's the first time I've been in a church since my visit with Solvieg to Sta Agnès de Corona the church in the Ibiceno village where she lives nearly two months ago. It had just opened for private prayer the day lock-down restrictions were eased in Ibiza.

It was lovely to see the doors wide open and the 'Croeso' notice outside, along with the usual health and safety notices, all correctly in place. I'd thought about this moment during home quarantine, before it was yet possible. It marked homecoming in a very special way. Standing in prayer in the spot where I was ordained fifty years ago, the place from where I was sent, to become a missionary priest before I fully understood what that meant for life ahead of me. A moment of quiet everyday joy to cherish with gratitude.

Rufus called me for a catch-up chat this evening. It was lovely to hear him in good spirits, enjoying the normal challenges of rural team ministry with the abnormal challenge of ministering to people in this time of plague. He told me about all the preparations he had to make in order to abide by the strict guidelines laid down for public worship, which officially was allowed again last Sunday. I felt a sense of relief at not having to be on the front line of service delivery any more, happy to follow the example of others and learn best practice, should I be called upon to exercise priestly ministry at the liturgy. That's now extremely unlikely, as anyone, cleric or lay over the age of seventy with a official role in public services won't be able to resume in that ministry unless they are given special permission. To receive this they'd need to be fit and well with no vulnerability other than their age.

As a significant proportion of services are taken by retired clergy over seventy in many dioceses, this insistence will either add to the pressure on serving clerics and lay people or lead to reduction in the offering of public worship, further decline in support for parish ministry and church closures. He told me that decline was already being experienced in requests for funeral services in Hereford diocese where he now serves. Restrictions on numbers attending church funerals, especially in the case of smaller buildings is leading funeral directors to call on the services of humanist celebrants more often, as they only bound by restrictions in place at public cemeteries and crematoria. They can adapt to a bereaved family's requirements more flexibly.

Whether this is a general trend or not remains to be seen, it's too early to say. No doubt the Church's requirements will adapt to changing circumstances, for better or for worse, but will the response to quick enough to fend off even greater decline in support? Much has been made of the way in which on-line liturgies have attracted far greater numbers than attendance at public worship. I have yet to see this properly analysed, to reveal how many page view hits have led to the visitor staying for all or even some part of the service offered, and how many people downloading religious podcasts go on to listen to the whole thing.

I know that over ten years this blog has had over 300,000 page hits without any kind of promotion, but that means nothing, set against the number of actual 'followers' notified when I post anything new, with no idea of whether visitors read all or part of any post. All that can be relied upon is personal relationships with individuals and communities over a period of time and in places where we live, work and take our leisure.

Much is made of relationships established in on-line communities but their fruitfulness comes from meetings and actions produced in the real world. No point in kidding ourselves about a revival of interest in what the church has hitherto offered. Covid-19 has brutally forced Christians into creative rediscovery of what the church does best, but it also exposes weaknesses which will take time to tackle well. To my mind the greatest weakness is the withdrawal of pastoral presence from so many communities at grassroots level.

There are interesting signs of hope however. Tina Beattie a Catholic writer and theologian, speaking yesterday on 'Thought for the Day' reflected on how during lock-down, Italian Christian women, often regular frequent Mass attenders, deprived of their main spiritual resource, had been driven to discover afresh 'the church in the home', household spirituality, prayer and devotion in the family circle. Very much a return to Judaeo-Christian roots. I wonder if this is a widespread phenomenon among the steadfast minority of faithful believers across secular Europe? Statistics cannot be relied upon. I think it will be quite a while before the fruit of a renewed spirituality appropriate for our times bears noticeable fruit. All I can do is watch and pray, think and write.

Butterfingers

Thank heavens the strong winds of the past few days have subsided and the rain has gone away for the moment! All we need now is summer warmth to return. Today the five mile travel restriction advised by the Welsh government is lifted, but we didn't get around to going anywhere.

I walked to and from the city centre again this afternoon, and was pleased to find that my favourite camera shop is open for busness. I needed to enquire about the possibility and cost of repairing my long zoom Sony HX300 as it's been giving me the same ominous fault message which I had on my old HX50 before it died. The internal mechanism driving the barrel of the zoom lens either gets worn or dirty so that auto-focus or exposure electronic sensors cannot function properly. It may be possible to fix, but maybe not. I can take the camera in for examination next time I'm passing, and the hope for the best. 

It was a perverse coincidence that later, when I was taking my HX90 from its bag to take a photo of the closed road at the Kingsway end of the Castle I dropped the camera. The compartment housing the SD card and battery burst open and shed its contents. It still works, but opens and closes with a scrunchy noise now, so how long it will last is anybody guess. Last week I dropped my Blackberry and chipped its outer casing. I've noticed that handling smooth objects has become tricky recently. Lots of precautionary hand-washing is making my finger tips smoother and drier, affecting grip and touch.

Interesting to see many younger people, sitting in groups on the grass outside the Castle inside their individual whitewashed circles, also without benefit of circles, in groups across Cooper's Field and other open spaces in Bute Park. For a while the snack bar near the bridge from the park to the bus station was serving soft drinks and ice cream to passers by from outdoor tables. That, I guess is as much 'take-away' refreshments as they can manage with the kitchen still closed. 

Blackweir Bridge is still closed as it is deemed too narrow for two way traffic, so you have to walk up to the Western Avenue crossing, adding a mile to your journey if you are entering Bute Park from the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. I wonder if we'll get a second crossing at Blackweir? A temporary bridge would make a good training project for a Welsh Army engineers' unit to tackle.

This evening, at my sister June's recommendation I watched the first of three music travelogues by Huey Morgan on Latin American music in its social context. The first was about Brazil. I watched it on iPlayer, aware that the second was on later in the evening, but I got distracted by the discovery of series two of 'Non Uccidere', the Italian crimmie set in and around Torino and focusing on crime in the family. There's plenty of time to catch up on Huey's second programme tomorrow.

Suddenly, insidiously I'm reverting to the old habit of watching too much telly, when I could be doing other things. For the moment, I have a bad back as an excuse for such passivity. Lounging is a lot less uncomfortable than sitting down to write for any length of time. This afternoon I wrote to Mrs Cornish the surgeon to say that I am still alive, and inform her about what has happened in the seven months since last I was last examined, and expressing the hope that my name remains in the long queue for minor surgery. I'm not expecting a response under present circumstances, but I am determined not to be lost in the medical admin system again.

Windy Sunday

After saying Morning prayer, I listened to Sunday Worship on Radio Four led by the Rector of Saint James' Piccadilly, Lucy Winkett. For the Church of England this was the first Sunday in four months that it was possible for public worship to take place in church. This is not possible in Wales yet, but churches will be open for prayer for a few hours on a couple of days this week, which is a start. 

I'd expected the radio service to be a Celebration of the Eucharist but it was something quite different and unusual, an extended reflection on spirituality and music. I imagine it would have taken much time to prepare and record and was probably was planned before it was announced officially that English public worship would recommence. It was very good anyway. 

After breakfast, I watched the Canton Benefice on-line Eucharist with Clare, the first time I have done so since my return and the end of two weeks quarantine. This obligatory exercise for travellers returning from abroad is soon to end, due to pressure from holiday and travel industries. Much doubt was expressed about the value of the exercise by the epidemiological experts, but the Home Secretary ignored this, making it clear that where this government is concerned yet again science plays second fiddle to chaotic, ill thought out policy and political expediency.

It didn't rain today, but a strong blustery wind drove the ambient temperature down below fifteen. The sun shone through the clouds when I went out, giving the impression in our sheltered side street that it was warmer than it turned out to be. I got as far as Cafe Castan and then had to return home and put on warmer clothes as the wind was chilling me to the bone. And this is July!

I went out again and walked in the opposite direction to Victoria Park, visited St Luke's to take some more photos of the shrine established in the entrance porch with an image of the evangelist labelled St Luke the Healer, decorated with a NHS logo on his chest. I did this a couple of days ago and was disappointed to find that the photos I took were poor quality as the camera lens had partly fogged up without me noticing. There were lots of young families out in Victoria Park, plus dog walkers, but few sat around on the grass as it was too cold in the wind.

After lunch and a siesta, another walk in the wind around Llandaff Fields. Amazing to see scores of crows on the grass, grounded by the high winds and squawking at each other, as if complaining about flying conditions. With nothing better to do in the evening, Clare and I watched a Maigret detective story, beautifully crafted, starring Rowan Atkinson, one I'd seen before unfortunately.

New normality or old?

Another overcast rainy day, but as it's Saturday, Clare cooked perfect pancakes for breakfast. A small domestic ritual we enjoy together. My back is less painful today, but it still takes a while to recover a measure of flexibility that makes walking relaxed and easy. Today we both went out in the drizzle. I took my Song Alpha 68 DSLR out with me, the first time in use it since before I went to Ibiza. It's heavy but a joy to use, like driving a Jag after driving a Ford Fiesta. 

I got it out as I wanted to see if I could take a photo of some pots of geraniums Clare has flowering outside the kitchen window, not through the glass but standing with my back to the wall a metre from them, too close for an ordinary lens to fit them all in, so I used the wide angle lens I bought last year, and was please with the result. I took it with my to the park without its case, and regretted this when it drizzled as I had to cover the camera with my coat. As it's the weekend, Cafe Castan was open for takeaway orders, as it has been since mid-May, so I took a few photos of it being open for business. 

There's a large mobile electronic sign now, at the top of Cathedral Road, warning drivers that they can no longer drive past the Castle due to road closures, but must divert around the station instead. There's a lot more traffic on roads now, more so than when I arrived home two and half weeks ago, and you can hear background traffic noise again. Pollution levels will rise again, but will they return to previous level? Will changes in work and consumer habits lead to overall reduction in car use, in favour of bikes? As is hoped by the city's traffic planners, keenly introducing new bike lanes in town.

Kath, Anto and Rhiannon met wth Owain in Bristol today to celebrate his birthday and their wedding anniversary. Kath sent a photo of them down at the harbour, with SS Great Britain in the background, and several of the amazing cake which Rhiannon had baked and decorated. Wales lowers its five mile travel boundary this coming Monday just too late for us to benefit from. Whether my back could cope with the car journey at the moment is doubtful, however. I'm just grateful it's improving.

In the evening Clare and I watched the third of Alan Bennett's 'Talking Heads' monologue series on BBC iPlayer. The character speaking was a bereaved middle class lady, talking to camera about her life from the funeral tea onward into genteel poverty due to her son's irresponsible stewardship of her financial legacy. It was amazingly well written, true to life observation. Bennett is a writer with a pastoral ear and eye for detail  It was an intense half hour of watching, as much as I could cope with, though I would like to see the others some time. This isn't binge watching material. Each is a work of art to be savoured.

   

Walking warily

Overcast, cold and rainy all day. Twice I got wet going out for some exercise. My back wasn't quite as painful, after a night's rest and a massage with some Rhus Tox ointment, which seems to be more effective than a gel, laced with ibuprofen. I had to warm up and get moving slowly, thinking about every move carefully, to avoid making a movement that would pinch the nerve which yesterday got trapped for a while. 

Clare left a message for osteomyologist Clive Taylor, and he called back this morning to tell us that due to covid-19 restrictions he cannot work for the time being, unless he lives in isolation from his wife while he is working. Then if he wants to go home and be with her, he has to self quarantine in his workplace for a fortnight. He recommended me to a colleague at the Vital Health Chiropractice Clinic in Westbury Park Bristol. This practice is able to work, having succeeded in fulfilling all the stringent requirements of managing patients safely and having acquired the necessary personal protection equipment. I rang up and was able to book an appointment for Friday next week. Hopefully if I take enough care and don't have any accidents I can cope until then without making things worse.

My sister Pauline's funeral was streamed life from Worle Crematorium at three thirty this afternoon. Clare and I set together and joined in. All went as planned, but it was indeed a strange experience for us as it was for her son Jules in Dubai. Owain went to represent our side of the family, and went back to the family home in Bleadon Hill for tea with Nicky and her family. There were eight mourners at the Crem, and  many more following on-line. All Pauline's surviving cousins are of an age which bars them from all but essential local travel for the time being. It's good to see the way in which all aspects of public life are adapting to defend clientele from virus contagion. It's also worrying that there are so many individuals who wilfully ignore common sense in order to socialise and have a good time. Why do people take such stupid risks, with their own health and that of others?

A different kind of lockdown

Today has been an unexpected nightmare. As I was washing and getting dressed after breakfast I moved in a way that I don't think was unusual or abnormal and was hit by a piercing pain in my spine at pelvis level. It was so bad I nearly collapsed. A trapped nerve, thanks to unchecked pelvic rotation I reckon. It took me all morning and half the afternoon to free myself up enough to be able to stand up straight and walk a distance.

Getting treatment isn't going to be easy because of current restrictions, so managing the problem is essential, and fortunately I've learned enough from past treatments to apply to careful movement, and avoidance of seizing up altogether. It'll make looking after my wound particularly difficult, as this involves twisting turning and bending. It's the very last thing I needed just as I was regaining my freedom, but as Clare said, the tensions of the past four months may persist in the body after the mind has let go and relaxed. They need to work their way out. Whatever next?
  

Lockdown Birthday Boy

Having sent both the eulogy and slide show I made for Pauline's funeral yesterday, I was dismayed to receive a message from Nicky to say that the Funeral Directors were having problems getting them uploaded to the Crem website. First the link to these on YouTube couldn't be used for reasons undisclosed, then I uploaded them to Google Drive and sent a file sharing link. I discovered that the FD needed to forward these to a third party Wesley Media which runs the audio visual services for the Council at the Crem. I had make file sharing specific to recipients rather than universal. It was easy enough to fix, but annoying that I wasn't informed when I sent the links yesterday afternoon, rather than four hours before the cut off deadline.

My afternoon walk today was around the streets of the parish, calling at Tesco's to buy a phone top up for Clare. Hand sanitising was available just outside the door, under the eye of the security guard who was letting one shopper out for each that left. It wasn't busy enough for there to be a queue. The manual and auto checkout tills are equipped with separating screens in Tesco brand blue and white colours. The staff were cheery and helpful, everyone is making an effort to behave positively in the face of the crisis. Few in the store were wearing masks. Compulsory or discretionary? It's unclear.

Today is Owain's forty second birthday. Kath organised a family gathering on Zoom in the evening so that we could sing him Happy Birthday. He'd spent the day with friends walking up the banks of the Severn estuary in the sun. On Saturday, which is Kath and Anto's 26th wedding anniversary, they are going down to Bristol to meet with Owain in St George's Park, with a cake baked by Rhiannon and a bottle of Cava to toast his health - all socially distanced of course. We can't join them, as there are still movement restrictions on us here in Wales. Such a pity, but we can talk with them in a WhatsApp conference call when they arrive, and cheer them on. The best we can do this year. It's so good to know they are all fit and well.
    

The New Normal in Cardiff city centre

Another overcast cold and rainy day. I slept well in my usual bed, but am physically tired after my walk and stairs exercise movng down from the attic yesterday.

After breakfast, I completed work on the slide show for my sister Pauline's funeral with several list minute additions, which now make it feel more complete. It's now just too big to email, so I had to upload it to Google Drive and send a file sharing link to the funeral directors, and likewise later on for the eulogy. It seems likely they're not very keen on using a file streamed from YouTube on the crem's digital system, just in case it picks up a virus of a different kind altogether, I guess.

This afternoon, I walked into the city centre and back. Having read about the road closures in front of the Castle, I thought I'd go and take a look and some photos. It's been done with temporary traffic barriers and cones, plus lots of yellow and white line markings on the roads. The grass in the Castle moat area has been marked out with large circles in whitewash paint, to guide the placement of street furniture for when the pubs across the street re-open, as it's planned to let customers drink outdoors across the street. The place seemed very empty for a weekday afternoon. Very few pedestrians or bikes in newly widened bike lanes and pavements. 

The city centre's shopping streets have yellow guidelines for pedestrians walking in separate directional lanes. It looks a mess and will be terrible to remove once no longer required. Will people bother to comply when it's crowded I wonder. Guidelines were largely ignored today with few people about. Only a handful were wearing masks.

I went into the St David Centre to visit the EE phone shop to top up my PAYG phone. I wore my Virustatic shield mask again, was greeted at the door and directed to a hand sanitizer point, then collected by a young salesman who dealt with my request, sitting at a desk behind a plastic screen. I've not had a top-up card for the past five years, so I had to give my number and buy phone credit. 

The contactless facility of my debit card wasn't yet activated, so I had to use the card's chip and pin device, as they were unable to accept cash payments. The paper receipt containing the phone top-up code couldn't be given to me as a sanitary precaution. The salesman said he could hold it up to the screen for me to read. I told him that even with the right glasses the code was too small to read from the paper, so he agreed to dictate it to me, so I could enter it into my phone's SMS window. It worked perfectly, first time, and I was delighted!

My visit to the centre wouldn't have been complete without a look at the building works in progress - the new bus station, and the hotel being built behind the facade of the old Custom House. The Central station entrance doors were all boarded up except one for entry and another for exit. It looks very sad. There's even a notice up asking 'Is your journey really necessary?' harking back to World War Two.

I went to the nearest Santander ATM to activate my card's contactless device. I was pleased to see that the machine had a contactless symbol on it. When you tapped it with your card this activated the machine to request your PIN number in the same way as inserting it into the slot for it to be read. I didn't need cash, so I just asked for the balance on the account instead. Now it works properly. Using the ATM keypad and touch screen does bear the risk of contamination however, but I covered my working finger with a tissue, and must remember another time to keep something better in my pocket to use instead.

Some, though not all shops are open, it's all very low key and tentative at the moment. Wandering about the streets with all their strange markings and covid19 notices up, almost empty at rush hour made me feel as if I was on a huge film set location for a dystopian movie. I wonder how it's going to work out in the months ahead?

Quarantine Cymru - day Thirteen

More rain, cloud and cold wind again today, and for the rest of this week it seems. At least it will keep some people from going to the beach or having outdoor parties, littering the environment and crowding in on each other in a risky way.

Nephew Jules emailed me a big zip file of photos of his mother to select from in composing a life story slide show for the end of my sister's funeral service. The Windows 10 app which edits videos can also be used to make MP4 video slideshows with photographs. It took me a while to work out how to use this in the absence of proper instructions, but I got there in the end.

It was interesting to discover that there are no photographs of Pauline as a baby. The first photo in which she appears, she is aged five, and seen in picture with her baby sister June. There's not even a formal posed studio photograph. I believe the reason for this is that Dad and Mum were too poor to afford photography of any kind during the period of the general strike and the great depression.

It's also interesting to see across two generations of holiday snaps how many were taken at Weston super Mare. For South Wales miners it was the nearest and most popular holiday resort away from Wales. Geoff and Pauline's family home for forty years was in Bleadon Hill, a few miles away from Weston. They may have gone elsewhere on holiday by the time the children arrived and they could afford to, but Weston was the nearest shopping town and having a beach was forever an attraction. 

I realised this afternoon that day one of my quarantine was actually the day I arrived home. Despite the title of today's posting this is the last day of my fortnight in isolation. I had to count several times on my fingers to take it in! Clare and I had a big hug, then I went out and did a small practice shopping run to the shops, dutifully wearing my Virustatic mask and noticing how few others were wearing masks anywhere.

As I returned home walking up Severn Road, I saw the caretaker of the Bilal Mosque, dutifully wearing a mask, unlocking the building for another man, without a mask, who wanted to enter and pray on his own I guess. He turned and looked in my direction, I smiled and said 'Salaam', and was delighted to receive a Salaam and a wave in return.

Then I went out to the park for a walk down to Blackweir Bridge by an indirect route. The bridge is still closed as it's too narrow to permit social distancing. Despite the fact that it was a chilly fifteen degrees, even lower with the wind, three boys were swimming above the weir. Hardy kids!

Crossing the fields I was surprised to find a family of swallows flying in circles where I was walking, almost under my feet, there were so low, presumably after a certain type of insect at grass level. Down at the weir a couple of dozen swifts were also feeding on the wing, but higher up, over the water. More swifts than I remember seeing in recent years. And down on the waters edge below the bridge, a solitary heron was keeping watch. What a welcome back to Taffside!

I reached my 10k walking target once more today, and cleared the attic bedroom of everything that Clare had provided for me over the past fortnight. It meant dozens of trips up and down the stairs. By the time it was done, I was exhausted, but happy to be free at last to re-insert myself into Wales' 'new normal'.

Quarantine Cymru - day Twelve

Another day of clouds, cooling wind and occasional rain, more like March than midsummer. I woke up early, prayed and listened to Radio Four's Sunday Worship programme with John Bell of the Iona community. He took the witness of Hebrew prophets as a theme, and quoting from prophetic oracles showed how many of the critical issues of their time are much like what we are experiencing today. A good start to the day. Canton Benefice on-line Eucharist started earlier than I realised, so rather than joining in late, I prayed through the service on my own, and later found and listened to Mother Francis' homily.

Then there was an after-church Coffee and Chat session using Zoom, to welcome Benedict our new Assistant Curate, an enjoyable half hour of seeing familiar faces again and saying Hello, especially Revd Emma, Nick and their two lovely kids. Clare alerted me to last Tuesday's on-line meditative act of worship, for which I had videoed myself reading the Parable of the Good Samaritan, without knowing where it would be used. The surprise came at the end, when the last frame displayed the message 'Welcome Home Father Keith'. I was very touched by this.

Later in the morning I had a message from Rosi in Ibiza to say they have alternative arrangements for on-line audio Sunday services in place. It's good to hear they've been working on that. I wonder what I'll find to do by way of new ministry hereafter? Strange to think that the past seventeen weeks of offering worship to church members in Ibiza is the longest continuous spell of locum service I have ever offered, and two of those weeks from here in quarantine. 

It could be the last time I do a Euro-locum, given the vast change in social conditions imposed by the pandemic. In seven of the eight previous years I have spent at least two months a year working abroad. Good to be working at all at my age! If it became possible to resume locum duties in future, a long spell would be out of the question. I'll only go for as long as Clare is willing to accompany me, and that will be less time than I'd like to go for, as she has so many more local commitments than me. I've never minded travelling and staying places on my own, as it's so easy to be in touch daily, but the pandemic has reminded me of my age and vulnerability, and more importantly of the fragility of life's most precious relationships. All to be treasured while we still can! 

Meanwhile, I have tens of thousands of photos and memories of places I've visited and stayed in for longe than I ever would as a tourist. Such a lot to reflect on and give thanks for, while all the time wondering what God has in store for me next.

  

Quarantine Cymru - day Eleven

More rain in the night and early this morning. It's cooler now. By breakfast time cloud dispersed enough to let the sun in for a while. For most of the day it remained overcast and cool, with more rain in the evening. 

Clare cooked us perfect veegan breakfast pancakes again, our Saturday treat, whatever the weather. She also went out early to collect the antibiotics I was prescribed yesterday. She's going to need a holiday after making so much effort to look after a quarantined me since I returned.

Today I worked on recording the eulogy for my sister Pauline's funeral next Friday. The script that Nicky sent me only needed minor modifications to make the text flow nicely. I know how I'd like to record it, but can I set up my HX90 camera somewhere in the house where it's quiet and suitably lit for static head and shoulders footage? I settled for the front room eventually, where it was possible to sit on a low arm chair with a blank wall behind me. In Ibiza this was so tricky to do without a camera tripod but now back home, it was easier than I anticipated once I found the right place. 

The text took nine minutes to record, and I managed to do it without fluffs in one take. Reading for the most part from a script out of camera sight wasn't easy. On reviewing the footage I was perhaps more conscious of eye and head movement than a one off viewer might be. TV news readers have a auto-cue reader to enable them to look straight into the camera most of the time. No such luck for me, and learning the script off by heart wasn't an option, as I'd ad lib too much, and then it would need more editing. I hope it will be good enough. Let's see what Nicky and Jules think.

I had another go at using the Windows 10 video app, which I learned to use in Ibiza on quite a powerful machine. It's very user unfriendly with no help files to show you how. It fails to tell you that you must put all the photos and video clips you intend to use into the same sub-folder of the Photos folder or the app cannot use them. It does tell you that you must make a sub-folder without explaining its purpose. Plain daft. Once I'd figured this out, I was able to make the app work as intended. It allows you to make a slide show, or to incorporate video and slides into a sequence that will be rendered into a MP4 video file a third the size of the raw material. I've found out this much by time wasting trial and error.

I started wondering a plan had been made to include a slide show of pertinent photos covering my sister's life span, and mentioned in my covering email to Nicky when I sent her the YouTube link to the uploaded video. She likes the idea and I have landed the job of making one. I just hope they can come up with a few more photos than one which I already have in my digital archive.

We've been assailed by recorded messages once or twice a day this week tells us that a sum of sixty pounds has been taken from the Amazon Prime account neither of us have. You press button one for a help line, where either someone will attempt to con personal details from you, or the response you made will register the line as active so you can receive other scam calls at your number. As scam call systems use a random number dialling routine, this may act as a basic filtration routine to make the dialler focus on live numbers. So important not to respond.

How annoying that the UK government is abandoning its two week quarantine requirement for inbound visitors from select lower risk European countries including Spain from next weekend. Too late to benefit me with only three days to go now. Ironically there are localised infection spikes in several countries, Spain among them. Thermal sensing of passengers is being introduced at airport terminals and nobody with a temperature will be allowed to board so they say. Is the desperate wish to resume some degree of normality undermining the need for prudence and caution?
  

   

Quarantine Cymru day Ten

Thankfully it rained in the night cooling down the air comfortably, although it did make today more humid than yesterday. In the morning I emailed Dave with Sunday's service and a short appreciative article for the chaplaincy magazine, then continued work on my end-of-stay report. I was about to send it off when an email arrived from Emma the locum secretary I was just about to send it to.

It was an advisory email from the diocese in Europe to locums about preparations which are now necessary before taking on a duty. Changes in private insurance requirements, the possible end of EHIC cover when the UK leaves the EU at the end of this year etc. Another document outlined two main health risk categories was also sent. I don't fall into the extremely vulnerable category, and only fall into the moderately vulnerable because I'm over seventy.

My surgical condition doesn't feature among medical conditions considered a vulnerability factor, unless the long drawn out wait for surgery is now making me more prone to repeat infection. On that matter we shall see. It means I'm able to live a normal life and go out subject to necessary precautions which ought to be taken in any case. That's all I need. My habitual restlessness is subjugated for now, perhaps for good

I emailed the GP surgery this afternoon to check if the results of my swab test had been returned. I had a phone call from my doctor at six, and had a discussion which means yet another course of antibiotics. Clare had to rush around to the surgery at the last minute before closure to pick up the prescription. It seems I'm not clear of infection yet, even if I don't feel sick. I think my immune system has yet to recover fully from all I went through in Ibiza. Perhaps it started much earlier but was slow to build up. Who can tell? What I do know is that I'd be a lot better off if I didn't still have to wait an undetermined time to have the wound closed.

Fascinating to transcribe this evening my account of a betrothal feast in an off-road Cretan mountain village, as it reminded me of something totally forgotten - the singing of a traditional resistance song dating back to the struggle to be liberated from Turkish occupation, if not the Venetians before them.  And right then, in 1967, Crete quietly but stubbornly resisted the influence of the ruling military junta in Athens. The lyrics are bloodthirsty so I was told at the time, and reminded of when listening to that BBC documentary about Cretan music yesterday. Then I thought of our own Welsh national anthem, exalting 'brave warriors, fine patriots shedding their blood for freedom' in its first verse. Romance around the use of violence, rather than regret, persists around the world.

This evening I had an email from my niece Nicky with the text she and Jules had devised for their mother Pauline's funeral eulogy, for me to record. Another little challenge to make the best job of that I can, as I'll be unable to attend, given Wales' recommended travel restrictions, although that my change between now and next Friday. As numbers attending are restricted however, it's much better that Owain goes and represents us, and I contribute by video, not in person.

Quarantine Cymru - day Nine

A really hot day 25C for much of the time, so keeping a cool breeze flowing through the attic was essential. With atmospheric pollution level much reduced by less aerial traffic, weather warnings of high ultra violet levels were issued, so I needed to exercise in the shade as much as possible.

Everything slows down in the heat and the days pass more slowly. I am really missing going out for a long walk. I'm bored with walking around the house in circles. It's trying my patience and Clare's!

I'm roughly half way through transcribing my Greek travel journal now. We've started hitch-hiking around Crete after several days spent on island beaches in the Cyclades and have been befriended by an olive farmer called Yanni Motakis in Platanes in the middle of Crete's north coast. Through him we were introduced to village life and fiestas, and to traditional Cretan music.

Co-incidentally as I was getting to this passage there was a radio article from a BBC correspondent in Crete giving an account of the importance of this unique form of music and song. I wanted Clare to hear this, but failed to find it on BBC Sounds. Instead, I found an hour long documentary made by the same woman, related to the article I'd heard. What a treasure! I tingled all over as I listened and wrote. 

It took me back fifty three years to the profound educational experience of spending time with Clare as the only guests in a rural Greek village community far from existing tourism, and the hippie trail emerging at that time. I learned that Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell were among youngsters who hung out in the Matala cave houses of the ancient Minoan port of Gortys, a bay with a beach we didn't go to when we hitched from Heracleon to Platanes. 

We returned to Platanes for a three week stay in the summer, and stayed in touch with Yanni for several years. It was difficult as he had so little English and my Greek was more New Testament than contemporary. The next time we returned to look for Yanni was thirty years later. We met his nephew Niko, who told us over a glass of raki that he had died ten years earlier. All we were able to do was visit his grave and express our appreciation for the influence of his hospitality on us when we were still discovering the kind of adults we wanted to be. 

His legacy has certainly been a great blessing to the local economy, as he drove the development of land he owned for the benefit of visitors in the seventies after the fall of the Colonels' junta - the Motakis Holiday Village bears the family name. The olive press where I bedded down for the night is now a discotheque. The once deserted shore behind the long beach is lined with apartments and  frequented by package tourists from all over Europe and further afield. 

It might not have occurred to Yanni at first that anyone might be willing to pay to stay. He was just  interested in people from other places, and several of our friends who followed us backpacking in Crete, visited him in passing. He never married, his mother was widowed early with ten children, and he took his duty seriously as the eldest son, making friends with many people instead. I wonder if we'll ever return to Crete, now that the world we helped to remake as we grew up is turned upside down by this pandemic?

In the evening, I started reviewing my time in Ibiza and making notes, as I have to write an end-of-stay report to write for the diocese, and this stay was not only my longest spell in Spain, but also the most different from any other, with lots to think about and learn from, as the 'new normal' becomes a context for mission and ministry in way we never thought of before.