The Mud, the Mistake and the Mirth!

I have to conclude that my face is less of a mask than I had suspected.  I walked into the kitchen at the drop-in on Thursday to be greeted as usual by the helper already there, "Hello, Brian, how are you?"  When I replied, "I'm fine", she asked, suspiciously, "Are you really fine?"  This week's blog is an attempt to justify my response that I was 'all right physically ... just hassled'.

Cue the diary.

On Saturday afternoon I watched a football match, in which my team won 2-1 on a 'claggy' pitch that had not drawn all the venom it could have from either team.  The atmosphere was good throughout - although there were bookings - and perhaps a lot of this was down to a referee who was noticeably in control but even-handed.  This delight was complemented on Sunday with a visit to the cinema, my third in as many weeks, I think, this time to see David Copperfield.

Our usual church breakfast  on Monday was cancelled because the leader had to be in work early.  This gave me an extra lay-in, and I then spent most of the day working on my latest family history project.  In the afternoon, I discovered that one of the key characters couldn't have been who I'd thought he was, because this person died when only a few weeks old!  After many deletions and just a little cursing, I felt by the evening that I was back on track and was rewarded by a good bell-ringing practice.

Something had gone wrong with my re-setting of the alarm when I didn't need the early call on Monday (I blame the user!).  The result was that I awoke on Tuesday to realise that there was bright daylight behind the closed curtains and the discovery that it was already 8.13am!  Normally by that time I would be gearing up to go to work.  It was from that point, I think, that the week went downhill.  I had made a second appeal on Monday for some information I needed for a meeting on Wednesday, so when it arrived late on Tuesday afternoon, that evening was 'written off' through my dealing with it.

The meeting itself was the debut for our new chairman (I suppose I'm old-fashioned but, I admit, possibly sexist, as I decline to use the word 'chair' except when officially obliged).  I have to say she exuded an efficiency beyond that of her predecessor, and the meeting finished a little earlier than usual.  Nevertheless, by the time I'd got home and prepared the minutes before my septuagenarian memory had forgotten the meaning of my squiggles, it was early on Thursday and I rejected any consideration of keeping up with my daily Welsh language practice!

It was thus, with a number of things unfinished on my desk and the nagging risk that something or other would get overlooked, that I drove to the drop-in just about on time, only to find that the person who would normally let us in had been held up, so three of us were queueing at the door at 9.0.  Yes, I admit, I was hassled.  Thereafter, I'm pleased to report, things underwent a noticeable improvement.

Not long after the exchange that opened this post, came a brief interlude when all was ready and we were awaiting the arrival of our first clients.  All the helpers were gathered around a table with mugs in hand, when one said, "You know, I think I enjoy coming here as much because of you lot as I do for the people we're helping."  I think she voiced the pleasure that we've all cultivated over the last two years.  Although some of us have other connections, we have melded into a good team, with a bond of affection all its own.

Next came a wonderful blend of care and amusement as we greeted a young Syrian refugee, with us for the first time (we hope of many).  She has very little English and, since none of us speaks Arabic, we tried to establish her needs and learn something of her circumstances by means of Google Translate on our mobile phones.  Despite the obvious distress that brought her to us, I think she was as amused by this as we were.

I spoke of my Welsh practice; I picked up my efforts to learn what is, I believe, the only language in the UK that is designated by a governing body as an 'Official Language', when I retired.  After following, with rapidly evaporating satisfaction, a fifty-year-old self-teaching book, I was introduced last summer to an on-line course called Duolingo ... which is not only free, but is constructed with built-in incentives for consistency, and follows a syllabus based on that taught in Welsh schools.

Yr Iaith Gymraeg has thus become a feature of my daily life as it never did before, and this is encouraged by a number of independent happenings.  Our new vicar, for example, although not a Welsh speaker, was born there, and has a greater understanding than perhaps she lets on.  One of the helpers at the drop-in has a daughter whose fiancé is Welsh and, on overhearing our banter, another, who attends less often, asked, "Are you teaching (her) Welsh?", to which I replied, "No, just teasing her".  And the manager at the warehouse where I also volunteer is learning a word at a time (things like 'hello', 'thanks' and 'good afternoon'), as a result of my casual comments ... much to the amusement of us all.