I couldn't resist this

Sorry.  (but not very)

I seem to be suffering from acute cuteness disease at present.

Saw this on a BBC newsreel at the weekend and felt sure it would make it to Utube.

A pity about the soundtrack it is better without it/

Enjoy.

Ashing and another Lent begins

Last evening we had our Ashing service at St. Mary's, and a lovely one it was too.

Since it is half-term the choir was down to less than half its full complement, but the sound we made gave no indication of that.

We sang "View me Lord" with one or two slight changes to our previous renditions, long pauses between some of the phrases etc.  Accurately and sensitively sung by our half choir.

Lead and conducted by our young organist (the musical director/choir coach was otherwise engaged) the sound was, in my opinion, probably the best we have ever produced.

The homily was well rounded (if a little long) and the 'ashing' itself very well executed.

This is the fifth time I have experienced this somewhat eccentric seeming ritual, and the first time I have ever had what was a real cross, rather than a dubious daub placed on my unsuspecting forehead.

One year, our previous much-loved incumbent, either intentionally or accidentally made what looked very much like a question mark on my face.  (control yourselves please), and  I couldn't wait to wash it off.

Lent for me is a time for quiet reflection, a reviewing of the past year and a resolve to make the next one better.

Yes, like half the population I do give up chocolate but that is only a very small part of this solemn time.  A chance to consider dropping other self-indulgent habits and to take small, positive steps on the journey to Easter.

For us this year at St Mary's has been full of big changes and the last 8 weeks or so very challenging with no less than 6 deaths in our wider church family, including the shocking one of a young priest in a neighbouring church.

Moods have swung from sadness, through acceptance to finally, hope, and the community as a whole has drawn closer to each other.

Our new incumbent is striving to support and uphold those most in need and at the same time to establish a forward-looking church.  Hard for him and quite hard for us too.

Altogether a different Lent.

Deo Gracias.

I love this - No Apology

Barmy I know, but I think it's wonderful, particularly the cat's lisping "destiny".

It doesn't take much to amuse me and I am in dire need of amusement at present.

Enjoy.

Away with plants/ A way with plants

In 1992 the office of the civil service dept which employed me was in the process of moving, lock stock and barrel to another address.

This is, or was when I worked for them, a regular occurrence - lease ran out, new rent too high - find another building.

Having a final look round to see that nothing had been left behind I spotted a sad, forlorn, dryish looking variegated Tradescantia sitting miserably on the window sill of an empty room.

Knowing that the building would be likely to remain unoccupied for a very long time, I took pity on it and took it home with me.

Now at that time I quite fancied my chances as a gardener, unlike these days, but had an Achilles heel. Namely, pot plants.

Many people who knew I loved gardens and gardening thought, wrongly, that I also loved pot plants.

Not only could nothing have been further from the truth but, if anyone was unwise enough to make me a present of one, they had effectively sealed its fate.

The unfortunate green thing would take one look at me and die.  No matter how much care I took of it, its days were numbered.

This extremely boring green and cream leaved specimen was watered, placed on the kitchen window sill and left to get on with it.

Every few weeks my eye would alight on it and I would guiltily give it a huge drink, then forget it again.

About two years later I noticed it was looking a bit brown and crinkly so removed all the dead leaves
re-potted it in a larger pot, soaked it and fed it a few drops of Baby Bio which had somehow been left over from a previous attempt to save something.

To my surprise it flourished, the green was greener and the cream creamier and it was growing.

After that it got a 'haircut' about every 6 months or so and somewhere down the line was re-potted again.

A half-hour ago I realised that it was sitting green and relatively healthy on the window sill where it has lived for twenty-three years.

It is totally pot-bound almost compost-less and yet it still flourishes.

I have heard of plants which thrive on neglect, but this is just plain ridiculous.  At this rate it will outlive me.

Guardian Angel's Day Off

Well, maybe not a day off, just one where his/her head was turned the other way.

Leaving St M's in a hurry yesterday, busy morning several hold-ups I was hurrying to get to Sainsbury's to do my large weekly shop.

Successfully negotiated cobbles of Pebble Lane turned into the paved square and tripped on an uneven one, fell very fast and very heavily on my knees then 'splatt' on my face.

Blood was pouring from nose and I was somewhat shaken to say the least.  Two wonderful Chinese fellows ran out from their restaurant one phoning for an ambulance the other trying to pick me up.
When they saw the state of me one of them grabbed some napkins or kitchen roll or similar and held it to my face while the other knelt down on the pavement behind me and half pulled up so I was leaning back on him.  Poor little fellow was half my size and he was shaking even more than me.

Ambulance arrived took over and took me to the local hospital.  Arriving at about 12.45 pm.  From there it was a longish wait for Triage who fast-forwarded me (about half an hour) to see a doctor who would assess the damage and recommend treatment.

He was a really nice chap and took great pains to get all the facts right before telling me he thought  rather than deal with it there they would get the plastic surgeon to come and see me.

All this time blood was hardly being stemmed by the succession of pads they gave me.

Finally at 4.30 the Surgeon had a look and told me I had sliced my nose to the bone, cutting the main artery to the nose which was why they couldn't stop the bleeding and he was not sure whether the nose was broken.

The next half hour was about the least pleasant one of my life, injections in my mouth lower and upper lips, in the inner corners of my eyes my cheeks and then worst of all about 8 or more tiny ones in my poor nose,

He then cauterised the artery which slowed and finally stopped the bleeding and then proceeded to stitch my nose from top to bottom washed some of the blood off me, put plaster strips on the nose and said that was it.

I won't pretend I was brave, I wasn't, it hurt, all the time and my hours of holding things to my nose to stem the flood had left my arms weak and shaking.

After the usual questions about my life a lovely nurse persuaded me that now was the time to make use of the offers of help from my neighbours.  Looked one up for me, phoned her, explained the problem and she came and collected me to take me home.

It was then 7.30pm and I had had nothing to eat or drink since my coffee at St M's at 10.30.

The Close grapevine had got to work and someone had put my heating on and two of them brought a batch of tins of soup.  One made tea and the other heated the soup.

I had been told I was not to lie flat but sit propped upright with pillows at night and also not to lean forward or bend down in case the bleeding starts again.  Nor am I allowed to blow my nose, th eone thing I am dying to do.

That's my latest tale of woe, but oh my goodness, is it peppered with wonderful kind caring people.

The angel may have been looking elsewhere, but luckily for me no-one else was.

Matchsticks for my eyes please

It is a wet and very windy night and I should be asleep, but I am not and can not so I have read a while, lain a while, walked around the house a time or two and finally given in to the lure of the keyboard.

The wind is shaking the house and even through the double-glazing blinds and curtains it is howling like a wild animal in pain.

Earlier sitting at the front desk in St. Mary's (Meet and greet) they call it, but there is no-one to meet and greet when the weather is so cold wet and windy.

"We are lucky here in this area where we seldom see the extremes of weather" we tell ourselves, but, bent double to hide from wind and rain, standing waiting for the bus it somehow seems less true.

Why is it expected of us that we be stoic and unfazed by regular soakings, freezings and generally being 'roughed-up' by gales.

"A mild winter" they say.  Doesn't feel mild to me I think.

"Soon be spring" they say.  Really?  Not in my Welsh calendar it won't.

Too little physical exertion during the day leads to sleepless nights, for me anyway.  So a good book is a necessity, and sometimes, just now and then, I actually find one among the library's mountain of dross.

My current one is very good indeed , "The coward's tale" by Vanessa Gebbie is a rare treasure.  The author, new to me, has a wonderful descriptive narrative style, similar only to Dylan Thomas.

It is the kind of book which, far from rushing to the end, makes you want to read only a little at a time so that it will last indefinitely.

Reading at night for hours makes my eyes sore anyway so have had to give up for a while.

Some people lie there for hours trying to force sleep to come.  That doesn't work for me but night-time activities are restricted and for me TV is a no-go after midnight,  so the computer has a stronger than usual attraction.

Have just peered out of the window and the back garden is a lake with a frosting of snow.  It will soon turn to sleet again I'm sure but it is not an inviting sight at 2.30 am.

Today, or rather yesterday, I collected two pairs of glasses from my optician,  One for reading very small print and the other for watching TV if it becomes a strain.

I have incipient cataracts in both eyes which have not moved for years but I am told, are now doing so.  So at some stage both will have to be operated on.  Not a pleasant thought, but I have got  away with it for a good while so I suppose I should be grateful.

My spirits are beginning to turn morose so will stop before the gloom spreads.

Sleep happily on dear readers, I only envy you a little.

It's that tedious woman again

I solemnly promise that this is the last time you will have a report on any TV I have been watching this year,

That said, I have to add to my previous list "The Help" and this evening "Quartet".

These are two of the best films I have seen in about 20 years.

The first, for anyone who doesn't know, is the story of a white American journalist who took the brave and unusual path of trying to bring to the attention of a deeply prejudiced and habitually racist white South, the fact that the  black domestic staff they employed were people with lives and needs, gifts and talents, intellects and problems, such as their own.

Superbly acted and faithful to the terrible truths of those times (1960's), the story is full of uncomfortable truths about the American apartheid system in some of the Southern States and the lack of recognition of that system by the bulk of the American population.

For those of us who remember "bussing" and the Ku Klux Klan, Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, the film is  a memory jog and a recognition that though life is better than it was for the non-whites in the USA, there is a long way to go still.

The second film, "Quartet" is supremely well acted and for me, as an ancient ex-singer mainly of opera, very true to life in its depiction of crumbling bodies, tottering mentalities and voices which barely resemble a shadow of their former glory.

The entire cast is a jewel casket of top performers, amongst whom Maggie Smith and Tom Courtney shine with all the fire they possessed 40 years ago.

Full of humour, pathos and lovely music it was a joy to watch and I wish I had gone to the cinema to see it when it first was released.

Not having set foot in a cinema for over forty years I funked it at the time knowing that sooner or later it would be shown on TV.

It was worth waiting for.