A Jazz concert, a row and Tapas for dinner.

I have a better night and sleep through until six thirty and then lie dozing for a while, until I hear sounds emanating from the kitchen, getting up around half past seven. Graham says he and Liliane were awake again several times in the nightvand that he still feels tired, he certainly looks it, his whole demeaner seems subdued. He takes Frankie for a quick toilet walk whilst I have a mug of tea with Liliane. When he comes back we eat breakfast, Graham bought some German land brot in the supermarket for me yesterday, along with some tee wurst, so I eat a few slices of this for breakfast accompanied by strong black coffee. We are going to another free concert in Rotterdam, this afternoon, a famous jazz trumpeter, Eric Koeman, ( I think is his name), is playing accompanied by the organist of the Protestant church in the city centre. Graham plays a piece of his on YouTube, while we eat. His playing is very slow, quiet and soulful. After breakfast and a shower, Graham and I take Frankie for his morning walk, throwing the ball for him along the canals and crossing the bridge to the business park at Rivium, which is deserted because it is Saturday, we make our way back along the cycle path that we normally take to the Esch, the little Nature Park that lies next to the river Ijssel, across the road lies the Salmon House, a restaurant on the riverside, where we had a splendid lunch last year, when we visited with, Andrew, Jackie and Gino, Graham's friend, Sue, from the Shetland Isles was also there. It was a lovely sunny day and Kenny and Shalini arrived late. Shalini was a few months pregnant with Connor then and had had her passport stolen. Graham and I laugh as we recall the day and make our way back past an allotment, where some rare breed sheep are enclosed, before walking along the canal side, throwing balls for Frankie. A coot is sat on her nest in the water, Graham says he thinks her eggs are sterile, because she has been sitting patiently for weeks now. When we get back it is time for lunch and we eat a Caprese, which I made for them yesterday, and "cooked in the fridge" over night. Liliane is treating everyone to dinner at a Tapas Restaurant in town tonight, so a light lunch is in order. Afterwards Graham drives us in his car to the tram stop, which is less than a kilometre away, it lies at the other end of the path that we normally take to the Esch. The early morning cloud has now burned off and it is scorchingly hot, we park by some flats near the tram station and walk the short distance to the nearest vehicle, which we board, using my OV chipcard, which Graham gave me during my last visit and Liliane reminded me to bring. The tram waits for five minutes before starting, it is air conditioned, but all the windows are open, so hot when stationary, but OK once we are underway. The conductor comes and takes our chip cards away from us and then she swipes them at the terminal by the door, before returning them again, there has been some sort of malfunction but she assures us everything is now OK. It is a fairly short ride into the City centre and takes about twenty minutes, we get off at Blaak, remembering to swipe the chip cards as we get off, (otherwise you are charged for the maximum distance), and then make our way towards the church. It is market day in Rotterdam and the town centre is crowded, people dressed for the weather, in shorts, tee shirts and sun dresses. It is very hot indeed, we stop at a snack stall where I buy a bottle of water, to take to the concert. The church is almost a cathedral, much older than the Catholic Church we attended last night, the huge organ, on which the concert will be played, lies at the front, where the altar would stand  in a Catholic Church, and beyond the organ, rows of chairs are arranged. Although the church reflects the more austere style of Protestant decoration, the chairs are mercifully padded, and much more comfortable than those we sat on last night. The concert starts at two and we take our seats early, around twenty to the hour, securing a nice position, about four rows from the front and in the centre. By the time the concert starts, every chair is taken and quite a few people have to stand. The acoustics are wonderful, the bass notes from the organ vibrating through every cell in my body. The duet with Eric Vloiemans is spectacular. He appears on a platform about twenty feet in the air, to our right, opposite him, behind a glass window, we can make out the organist, only his arms and hands visible through the glass, as he plays the huge instrument from the keyboard which is located there. I close my eyes to concentrate on the music, the deep bass of the organ beautifully complemented by the haunting notes from the trumpet. A slow movement at the start reminds me of Genesis, the organ representing the waters that cover the earth, and the trumpet the Holy Spirit, that moves over them, like the first day in the life of the world. Later the music becomes quicker and more playful, before ending once again quietly. The response from the audience is ecstatic, the ovation rising and falling in waves. The compere announces that Eric Vloiemans has to leave now, as he is conducting the Dutch National Youth Jazz Band shortly. There are literally hundreds of musical events taking place in Rotterdam over this weekend for the North Sea Jazz Festival. The concert continues with just the organ, first we hear a rendition of the Jazz standard, "take the A train", complete with a pretty fair imitation of a train whistle. This is followed by "Bohemian Rhapsody", Queen's greatest hit, and brings the house down. I wonder what Father Roy might make of a piece by a gay rock star, which includes the line, "Momma, I just killed a guy, put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger now he's dead!" I can't see it happening any time soon in Saint John's, but it might at Beverley Minster, with the Reverand Jeremy Fletcher, who describes himself as the "Louche Canon!" For my part, I like to believe that the Creator would love the creativity and the joy with which the piece was played and received. It is three o'clock, the concert is over and we file out to the strains of "Amazing Grace", making sure to make a donation to the church on our way out. The last time I  visited Graham and Liliane, they took me to an avante garde jazz concert, which I also enjoyed and would never have encountered otherwise. My tastes are quite eclectic and you never know what you might like until you have tried it. Outside, in the lovely sunshine, it is decided that Graham and I will visit the market, to try to find a small milk jug and Liliane will wait for us in the library, as she becomes uncomfortable in large crowds. Rotterdam market is huge and there are lots of second hand stalls and bric a brac shops as well as the usual, meat, fish and vegetable stalls. We make our way along the aisles  looking out for a suitable jug and eventually finding one after about fifteen minutes. There are also lots of mobile phone accessory shops and I try to buy a "Power Monkey", this is a back up rechargeable battery for my iPhone. Although everyone in Holland speaks English, I have to ask Graham to explain in Dutch what I am after. When I go walking, I have an application, that links Google maps to GPS and shows me where I am and where I have been. It is a great app, but very power hungry and eats the battery charge completely in about four hours, so not much use if you are out walking for a day. We have no luck, it will have to wait until I am back in England, where I can buy one on eBay. We make our way to the library, where we find Liliane and then sit in the bar and order beers, Liliane has something non alcoholic. Graham chooses the beer, which is excellent and served in flutes, that hold about a third of a litre. The beer is nicely chilled and slips down wonderfully after the hot trek round the market. We have two or three and then it is time to make our way back, in order to allow Liliane and Graham time to rest and change before dinner. As we make our way back to the tram station, the conversation somehow gets on to the subject of Gay Marriage and the opposition by the Churches in England, both Catholic and Protestant, to the bill going through the Houses of Parliament at the moment. Graham and I end up disagreeing, which is strange, because we are both liberal minded and support the bill. Our disagreement stems from the fact we have differing positions with regards to people who oppose the bill. Graham thinks such people are intolerant bigots and that one should have no truck with them, my view is that, you cannot oppose intolerance with intolerance. Somehow Father Roy gets brought into the conversation, Graham knows he opposes the bill, because he and Liliane read my blog. Father Roy's position is that the Church has to stand against moral relativism, and sees this bill as a step too far, almost the end of civilisation. I don't happen to agree with him, but he is far from being a bigot and in my experience, hugely kind with a great generosity of spirit. The discussion ends, when I point out to Graham, that he is hardly in a position to pass judgement on someone he has never met. What happens next shocks me to the core. Graham launches into a very personal attack and accuses me of habitually humiliating and belittling him. I try to reassure him that this isn't the case it is just my joking, leg pulling, manner and no offence is intended, and if any has been caused, I apologise. The row, which is one sided, dies down as we board the tram and head home, I put it down to tiredness, stress, the effect of the beer and the "usual suspect", in relations between siblings, a bit of rivalry, so let the matter pass. On our way home in the tram we are sat near two women, they look like mother and daughter, both with black hair, and the older one sporting lots of tattoos. They have also been to market and as we approach our destination, the mother's shopping bag splits and several Cantaloupes roll down the tram, which Graham and I recover for her. They are also getting off at our station and I joke with the mother as we alight, that English men like ladies with tattoos. She falls for it and asks why? And I say because they like something to read after sex! She laughs and she and her daughter get off the tram and we make our way to the car. The atmosphere between Graham and I remains a little strained, but I say nothing and hope that it will pass. Later that evening Graham drives us back into Rotterdam, to the little tapas restaurant, which lies just round the corner from the Saint Lambertuskirk, Graham and Liliane tell me that it used to be a " poor student area", but has recently become gentrified, we manage to park within fifty metres of the restaurant and walk the short distance, in the golden glow of the late evening sun. The restaurant doors are wide open, due to the heat and we are shown to a table near the door, at an adjacent table three young men are about half way through their Tapas menu. The waitress arrives and Graham suggests we order the "House Special", mixed tapas, and he also orders a carafe of house red for us and some white wine for Liliane and a large jug of iced water. The meal lasts for over two hours, with different, delicious, Tapas dishes, both hot and cold, arriving every ten to fifteen minutes or so. The food is good, the atmosphere relaxed, and Graham says he brought Melanie and his granddaughters here during their recent visit, but it wasn't exactly their cup of tea, Alex and Hannah being more used to McDonald's, in Graham's view. I like it and I can see why it is Liliane's favourite restaurant. Liliane has a dessert and Graham and I order coffee, I have a small glass of Spanish brandy with mine, which I share with Liliane. I have promised to treat them both to dinner at the "Water Tower" next weekend, on my return from Lippstadt. We had a really fabulous meal there last November when I visited. It is starting to get dark as we leave and we arrive home by about half past nine, Graham and Liliane are tired after having had a poor nights sleep, so we all turn in early.

Bikes, Cane and a Concert.

    I drank too much tea last night and consequently rose twice to use the toilet. I also had a strange dream afterwards, I dreamt I was sat on the loo, with the door open, when a slim dark haired woman with glasses, dressed as women did in the 1940's or fifties, walked into the room. Before I had time to cover myself, or even feel embarrassed, she walked into the bookcases and through the wall in the lounge, at this point I realise that she is a ghost. It is a very vivid dream. Around half past six. I can hear noises from the kitchen and finally stir myself around seven, Graham has had another restless night and is taking Frankie for a quick toilet walk, before we eat breakfast, continental style, with salami, ham and cheese, Louis would love it here. After breakfast we take Frankie out properly, walking him past the allotment and alongside the network of canals and dykes, that one finds everywhere in Holland. Graham throwing balls for his dog to retrieve, Frankie is a border collie and so needs lots of exercise. The day has dawned cloudy and somewhat cooler than yesterday, but the cloud will no doubt burn off later. After our walk, it is decided we will go for a ride on our bicycles, I draw the short straw and have to ride a mountain bike, that used to belong to Kenny, Graham's son, who now lives on Osterwyck, about a hundred kilometres away. Lilliane hasn't been on a bike for ages, so we take it slowly, and she manages OK. The cycling set up in Holland is first class, with discrete cycle paths adjacent to the road on most highways. We cycle to Capelle, the nearest town and a suburb of Rotterdam, by a circuitous route and then sit outside in a cafe and order coffee, which we drink and watch the world go by. At the next table are two English women, a mother and daughter, the older visiting the younger, snatches of conversation are occasionally blown in by the breeze. I need some face cream and a few more pairs of short training socks and Liliane needs groceries and a birthday card, so we divert into an adjacent mall, where we find what we want, Liliane also finding a pair of sandals along the way. On our way back, we pass the swimming pool and Graham highlights the route for me, all the long roads are called lanes and named after famous composers and the streets that come off them, are streets named after instruments. We progress down Schonberg, Beethoven and Sibelius Laans, each connected by a mini roundabout with a statue of a musical instrument, a harp a trumpet and a semi quaver, (I think). It is a town planner's version of Trumpton, or else he or she may have been on some sort of benign chemical trip when they pulled it all together. Anyway it works, but if John Betjeman had homicidal thoughts about Slough, God knows what he would have called down here! Anyway we all arrive back at Graham's house unscathed and celebrate with more tea and the other half of the apple pie, which we eat sat outside. The cloud cover is starting to burn back, but it is still pleasantly cool. It is now midday in Rotterdam, but only eleven at Trent Bridge, so Graham plugs in the radio and we inflict the Test Match on Liliane. In a fit of enthusiasm, Graham planted some bamboo in a raised bed a couple of years ago, and it has now grown twenty feet high and very thick, he has made a start of hacking it back and the results are lying on the floor. When I was a boy I used to pick Rhubarb to earn extra pocket money, our area of West Yorkshire being the best rhubarb growing country anywhere, as it is very wet, and very cool, much like the foothills of the Himalayas, from whence rhubarb was originally imported. ( Being in the rain shadow of the Pennines). We used to stack the freshly cut sticks of rhubarb on tressles, before tying the bundles with string and the memory of this gives me an inspiration, could I make a tressle by tying bamboo canes together and then stack the cut bamboo on top, before tying them together with string? Between several mugs of tea, supplied by Liliane, I assemble a tressle, having to tie three or four canes into a bundle to make each part strong enough and then lashing all the parts together. It keeps me happy for an hour, while Graham hacks more cane, but while the principle is sound, my execution is lousy and the tressle collapses when any significant weight is added. Graham, having now grasped the principle, produces two tressles from the garden shed, they normally support a wallpapering table and these work wonderfully. We set up a production line, Liliane cutting lengths of string and Graham and I stacking and tying the bundles of cane, before storing them by the back gate. The sun has finally burned off the cloud and it is hot, but we decide to carry the bundles to Graham's allotment, where they can be stored for use or burning later. By now it is three o'clock and we make a tossed salad for lunch, using fresh produce that Graham brings from the allotment. The cricket has stopped for Lunch, Australia finally out with a fifty run lead. We are going to a concert tonight at Sint Lambertuskirk, the Catholic Church in Rotterdam, so after taking Frankie for his evening walk, we wash and dress before driving into town. Graham parks by the Botanical Gardens and then we walk the short distance to the church, which was built in the late nineteenth century of brown bricks. It is very impressive and recognisably monumental architecture from a very confident era, the first phase of globalisation, which terminated with the First World War and has only recently been renewed. It is of a similar architectural style and design to those other cathedrals of progress in the Victorian era, railway stations. It also has a beautiful white marble altar and impressive stained glass windows. We take our seats twenty minutes before the concert starts, in the centre of the church, the organ, on which the concert is being given lies behind us. The first piece is an original composition by the organist, composed in 1980 and is quite modern, with hints of Schonberg and the usual reference to Bach, this is followed by a piece by Faure, which is hauntingly beautiful during the adagio sequence and then another piece by a well known German composer, whose name escapes me. The only down side to the experience are the chairs, which are wooden and very hard. It is only during the interval that I have the inspiration to borrow one of the kneeling cushions for Mass and use it to protect my bottom, which is losing padding as I get older. The organists receive a standing ovation at the end, and half the audience move off to the Protestant church round the corner for the second half of the concert, which is, of course, pieces by the great Johan Sebastian Bach. Graham and Liliane are tired, so after a quick beer in an adjacent pub, we return to the car and drive home. Graham giving Frankie one last spin before bedtime. We turn in around ten thirty again.

Travelling to Holland

We wake at half past seven to another cool day, I feed Norman the last of the current box of Bakers and then make whole meal pitta bread with marmite for breakfast, having successfully run down the food in my refrigerator before my holiday. I just have time to shower and dress, before it is time to walk with Nellie and Betty, at a quarter to nine. She has a neighbour's spaniel with her, while they visit the Great Yorkshire Show. It is a lovely pedigree dog in mottled black and silver and moves with a graceful undulation. We have decided to take Normy all the way round the fields, as he is unlikely to get further than Seven Corners Lane with Sarah. The cooler weather suits the dogs and we chat as we walk, I tell Betty that Hanne Hamilton can't remember her and she says she isn't surprised, as it was thirty years ago, when they worked in different hospitals but for the same boss. We return home for ten and Betty gives Norman a biscuit and says she will see him in a week's time. She will look after him well and walk him with Nellie until I get back. I have an hour to complete my last minute jobs, putting my pots of herbs outside and throwing away the ageing house plants from the stand in the garden room. I also throw the milk away and then donate the remains of the remaining fresh salad to my next door neighbour, Kath, before loading Normy into the car, along with his bed. I have to call in at Tesco, in order to buy dog food for two weeks and leave the windows open for Norman while I shop and return within five minutes and then drop him off with Alice at North Bar. I leave Beverley at 11:30, on schedule, and follow the usual route through Howden to the M62 and on to Jackie's house in Birkenshaw. I settle into my energy saving driving routine, put the Test Match on long wave and settle down to listen to the commentary. Australia are batting and the English bowlers are on top, Anderson making the ball reverse swing and by eleven o'clock, Australia are 117 for 9 wickets and bring on their last batsman, a nineteen year old called Aggers. It looks like being all over before noon, but, by the time I arrive in Birkenshaw at one, the kid has scored forty runs and made it to the break for lunch. Gino is in the garden with Rebecca, she is off work with illness, and I join them sitting on the swing seat in the sunshine. I passed from cloud to sunshine at Howden. Jackie arrives home a few minutes later for lunch and we sit and chat for a while and then on impulse, I check the weight of my cabin baggage, I packed last night, when I was tired, so may have taken too much. It is 11.5 kilos, my allowance is 10 kilos, so I lose a couple of unnecesary sweaters, a tee shirt and a pair of casual shoes. The case now weighs exactly 10 kilos. The airline, jet2 is a low cost specialist and it could cost me an extra £50 if I am checked. Gino is driving me to the airport and then driving my car back to his house, where he will park it for me until I return. We decide to have lunch at the Mermaid fish restaurant in Morley, probably the best fish and chips in the world. The food is up to its usual exceptional standard and we leave happy and full at half past two, alowing an hour to drive to the airport, which is fifteen miles away. Gino drives, his father was Irish and is mother Italian, so he is only half Italian but he drives like a full blood, putting my Chrysler through its paces and rapidly destroying my frugality. The traffic is heavy, so we switch on the cricket, young Aggers has scored 92 and in conjunction with Hughes, has broken all the records for a tenth wicket stand, so from being seventy runs behind England, they are now fifty runs ahead. It is a fairy tale innings for the Australian teenager, and I suspect everyone watching and listening around the world, whether they support Australia or not, is willing him to reach one hundred runs. He gets to 98 and then is caught in the slips, before he can reach his century. Because of the heavy traffic, it takes almost an hour to drive to the airport, the latest scam is that you can't drop people off without paying a £2 parking fee, so I thank Gino for the lift and then pull my cabin bag on its wheels to the terminal. It is scorchingly hot, but mercifully I only have a few yards to cover before I am in the air conditioned terminal. Now that I know the ropes, security is a breeze, and I am through in less than two minutes, and soon sitting in the departure lounge waiting for my flight to be called. We take off at four twenty five, five minutes early and will be on the ground in Schiphol airport within the hour. For most of it we are bombarded with adverts and product promotions, by the poor Jet2 staff, but I still manage to strike up a conversation with the passenger in the next seat. She is a Slovakian, who works at Harvey Nick's in Leeds and is flying for two weeks holiday with her boyfriend in Holland, who is from her village and had to leave England when his job fell through. Young people are bearing the brunt of the economic crisis and many are worse off than Veronica and her boyfriend, at least they have jobs. We land five minutes early, Schiphol is my favourite large airport, and although there is a longish walk to customs and passport control, everything else runs smoothly and I am in the adjoining railway station, buying my ticket to Rotterdam, by five to seven. Despite the instructions in English, I still manage to buy a high speed supplement card instead of a ticket, but when I am suspicious as to the low cost, a friendly passing Dutch guy tells me where I have gone wrong. Fortunately I have time to buy a proper ticket before the FYRA, high speed train, arrives for Rotterdam, unfortunately there are no seats, due to the holiday tourists and I have to stand. The journey is not long at this speed, slightly over twenty minutes. I must be starting to look my age, because two young women offer me their seats, which I decline, as I have been sat in a car or aeroplane most of the day. I was advised by my daughter to switch off data roaming on my phone, before leaving England and now I can't ring my brother, Graham, to let him know I will be in Rotterdam Central for half past seven. We have arranged to meet in Starbuck's, where we met last time, so I will just head for there and wait. As it happens, he and his wife, Liliane are waiting for me when I arrive and after a cool drink, we make our way to Graham's car, which is parked nearby, and drive the short distance to Kralingseveer, where he lives. In the cafe he tells me that a colleague was murdered on Monday, whilst helping a client suffering from an acute paranoid attack. He died almost instantly, after being stabbed in the heart, his funeral is on Monday. Graham is a social worker, dealing with some of the most desperate cases, often addicts and many with psychiatric disorders. Graham's dog, Frankie, goes bonkers when he sees me, so after unpacking, we take him for his evening walk, past Graham's allotment, where he proudly shows me a impressive array of produce, broad beans, lettuce, pears, raspberries, potatoes and fresh coriander. Graham and Liliane have bought the best apple pie in Holland for me, so we eat half of it and chat over several pots of tea and then turn in around half past ten, as Graham, understandably, hasn't been sleeping too well and looks shattered.

Preparing for departure.

We sleep until seven and rise to a cool, cloudy, morning, the wind has swung to the Northeast and brought the haw from the sea again. I feed Norman with some Bakers and then make two boiled eggs, with rye toast soldiers, for me. I am shaving in the bathroom later, when the door bell rings, it is Betty, her trip with her daughter to the Great Yorkshire Show has been cancelled and she wants to know if I wish to walk Norman with her and Nellie. I tell her to give me ten minutes, and then shower and dress, before walking round the village with them. It has to be a foirly short walk, because I am due at the doctor's, down Manor Road, for ten o'clock. Betty's daughter, Sarah, has been to Krakow for the weekend and didn't feel up to the heat and queues of the show in Harrogate. We return for a quarter to ten and then I load Normy in the car and drive to the doctor's, arriving five minutes later. The practice Nurse, Sally takes the blood from my arm, we are old acquaintances, she has been doing this for me for almost twenty years. There was some confusion about the last reading, when I saw my consultant, so I ask Sally to check my records, and then write down the readings and dates. It shows my PSA has been rising very slowly since October 2011, when I had my annual MOT. climbing from 0.07 nanograms per millilitre then, to 0.9 a year later, when the alarm bells started to ring and since when I started to have quarterly blood tests again. Between October 2012 to January 2013, it rose again to 0.12 and rose a little further to 0.14 in March. The tumour, wherever it is, is minuscule, and at the moment undetectable, according to my consultant, the probability is that it lies in the prostate bed, from where the original tumour was removed, many years ago. If, or rather when, the PSA readings rise to 0.6 Ng per Ml, I will need radiotherapy, however at the current rate of progression, I should have two years grace, before this is necessary. In the meantime, I am healthy and well and intend to enjoy life to the full. Once my blood has been taken, Sally slaps a dressing over the needle mark, and Norman and I drive to North Bar, where we park and then walk to the Poppy Seed. Felicity is there already and as soon as we sit down the girls bring me a pot of strong tea. The artist John Geekie comes in with his wife and stops to chat and pat Norman. John is a Quaker, and I tell him that I like the idea of silent meetings and then ask him about his paintings. He tells me that he also has a blog and to check John Geekie Art, which I promise to do. John did the portrait sketch of Norman, last year. Annie arrives, shortly followed by Jill, who looks well but says she is missing her son, Tim, who flew back to Sydney on Monday. Hanne also appears, fresh back from her holiday in Denmark, and she is also looking happy and well, although she confesses that she has brought visitors back with her and says she could do really do with a little peace and quiet. Norman and I leave at a quarter past eleven, either Jill or Hanne, or perhaps both, will walk back with Felicity. We go to the bank to withdraw cash for my holidays and then go to Thomas Cook to buy Euro's, as my bank has exorbitant exchange rates. Beverley is quite busy, as it is the Wednesday Market, and traditionally people come to town for it, although Wednesday Market place is tiny and there are rarely more than half a dozen stalls. But that is the way Beverley is, traditionally people come to town on Market days, the big one on Saturday and the little one on Wednesday, and round here tradition rules! After completing our business, Normy and I walk back through town to the car and then drive home. I give the old chap some fresh water and biscuits and then pack my swimming gear and cycle back into town, to the leisure centre, travelling by the river and along Beckside. The pool is quiet and I find an empty lane, but resist the temptation To train strenuously as I still have quite a bit to do before my holiday. accordingly I limit myself to a gentle 2,000m, reprising last week's programme. Afterwards, I enjoy tea and a cherry scone in the cafe, guessing that Paul has baked the scones. Sandra asks how I know this and I tell her that Paul hates sultanas and therefore tends to make cherry or cheese scones instead. I cycle home for four o'clock, the sky remains overcast and the weather cool. When I get in, I check the weather forecast for Rotterdam and Lippstadt, they are both predominantly fine and warm for the next ten days, so I shall pack shorts and tee shirts, mostly. After feeding Norman, I mow the lawns and clear away the worst of the weeds, the hedges need trimming, but my heart isn't in to gardening tonight, so they will wait until I come back. Gino has sent me a copy of his appeal letter for me to check, which I do and then email my comments back, and later, Liliane updates me on events in Holland, and I tell her I will see them tomorrow. I also email my brother, Andrew, in order to thank him for finding such a good solicitor for Gino and then make dinner. I marinated a couple of small chicken breasts this morning in garlic and ground coriander, with some fresh coriander leaves, mainly for decoration, so I make a chicken Paella, with the addition of some Medditteranean vegetables from the freezer. While the rice is cooking, I fry the zucchini, I made last night, using the courgettes from Betty's garden and eat these as an Hors D'ouvre. The Paella is very filling, but Norman lends a hand and between us, we clear the plate. My daughter Sarah phones, to confirm arrangements for Norman, and I check to make sure she and the family are all well. When I get back, they will be in Portugal for a further week, so I shan't see any of them until then. Around eight o'clock, I wash the pots and then settle down with my book, "Suite Francaise", until bedtime.

Briefing Gino's Lawyer

I wake at six, having slept well in Rachel's Ikea bed, resolving to buy a new bed as soon as I return from Holland. Norman is still snoring gently on my dressing gown. I have woken with some more ideas and questions about the tribunal process and as my unconscious mind has always been smarter than me, I get up in order to write them down before they fade. Once I have done this, I collect Norman and let him run onto Gino's lawn to relieve himself, before making myself a large teapot full of strong tea. It is another glorious July morning, but there is a heavy dew on the patio furniture, which I have to wipe dry before sitting down. I check eBay for beds and find the identical one in which I have slept, up for auction in Leeds, the owner claims it has only been used twice. Perhaps I will bid for it and collect it, if I am successful, when I return from holiday. By seven o'clock I can hear my sister and her husband stirring and then the distinctive sound of the shower. While they are getting ready, I ring Felicity, as I know she is also up with the larks. She has made things up with her daughter, Melissa, but their "adult conversation", was disrupted by the arrival of the district nurse and is awaiting reconvening. I arrange to see her in the Poppy Seed tomorrow, our friend Hanne, the Great Dane, is also back from holiday in Denmark and will be there as well. I have to move my Chrysler, in order to let Jackie out to work at a quarter to eight in her VW Polo and my other neice, Rebecca, leaves ten minutes later in her Vauxhall Corsa. None of them eat breakfast, which is sacrilege to me, and I persuade Gino to make me some whole meal toast, whilst I take a shower and dress. He also eats a slice, as we sit in the garden, before setting off for the solicitors in Huddersfield, at a quarter past ten. I leave Norman in his basket in the kitchen, he has had a good run in the largish garden and deposited "treasure", which I have scooped up and flushed down the toilet. Jackie has booked time off work, in order to support her husband and we collect her from her office, which is only five minutes drive away and adjacent to the M62, the motorway provides the fastest route to Huddersfield. We arrive early, at twenty minutes to eleven and wait in reception until the employment specialist is free to see us. I try to keep the conversation light, but both Jackie and I can see that Gino is finding the waiting difficult. We are shown into a meeting room at ten minutes to eleven, our solicitor is a youngish chap, somewhat shy of forty and immediately takes charge. I have emailed him a synopsis and have brought Gino's file, but I am happy for him to run things his way, Gino is his client after all and if we decide to go ahead with this firm, he will be handling things from here. He is very impressive, finding his way to the relevant data/evidence and leading Gino, gently but firmly through the meeting. I had forewarned him that my brother in law was in a fairly fragile condition and he clearly has experience in situations of this kind. The meeting proceeds for two and a half hours, Gino and Jackie are happy with the lawyer, whose name is John and I concur. My brother Andrew did well to find this chap for us, through his union contacts. We leave with a clear plan of action, an agreed fee structure and confidence that we have done the right thing. When you are travelling through a jungle, an experienced guide is worth their weight in gold. We celebrate by having lunch together, in a pub near Jackie's office and then she goes back to work and Gino and I return to his house. When we arrive, I let Normy into the garden and then feed him, before helping Gino draft a letter to his erstwhile employers, along the lines agreed with John, our lawyer. This done, I load Norman into the car, say goodbye to Gino until Thursday, he is running me to the airport, and then drive home. I repeat my inside lane tactics on the way back, driving with all the windows down, as it is so very hot and arriving home for four o'clock, my Chrysler having averaged just over 70 mpg for the round trip, not bad for a car that is somewhat bigger than a Ford Mondeo. When we get indoors, I unpack my bag and then hang out the washing that hadn't quite dried yesterday. Norman is ready for his dinner, so I feed him and then make tea and rye bread, with some apricot jam for me and I eat this in the garden, while I start my new book, "Suite Francaise", by Irene Nemirovsky, which I have had for ages, but not yet read. The first chapters, which portray the events leading up to the fall of Paris in 1940, from the perspective of different families and characters, is very impressive. It is too hot to do much else, although a cooler day is forecast for tomorrow. I have a blood test tomorrow at ten, to monitor the progress of my prostate cancer, and then tea with Felicity and Hanne afterwards, in the Poppy Seed. I also need to buy Norman's rations for his stay with Sarah and Betty and some Euro's from the post office. Hopefully there will still be time for a swim in the afternoon and cooking with Laura later. I spend the evening catching up with my blogs and then go to bed at ten, with a sense of relief that we have found Gino a safe pair of legal hands. I have done my part now and I hope that everything turns out well for him and that the process is over fairly quickly.  

May the force go with you!

Monday morning is cool and overcast, a pleasant respite from yesterday's heat, but the low cloud, which has drifted in from the North Sea, ten miles away, is due to burn off by early afternoon. Betty and I have agreed to walk the dogs early again, in order to avoid the anticipated heat, so after a breakfast omelette for me and Bakers for Norman, we set off at a quarter to nine, just as the children are making their way to school. One of the little girls from Normy's fan club waves to us, as we head down to the snickett and onto Carr Lane. As it is so much cooler and fresher this morning, we walk the whole way round the fields and Norman handles it with aplomb. Already the wheat is starting to ripen and the farmers will be hoping the good weather holds, so that they can harvest it before the autumn rains arrive. It is late because of the exceptionally cold spring. When we get back, Betty invites me for a cup of tea, as she has written out her address and phone numbers for Sarah in order that she can be contacted when it is time for my daughter to deliver Normy, the day before she and the children fly to Portugal.. Betty's daughter is also called Sarah and is marrying for the second time in September. Betty tells me she ended up buying a wedding suit for her son, during the visit for Sunday Lunch, yesterday. Over tea she also shows me the brochures for the National Geographic, Antarctic expedition, that she is going on in January and tonight she has another kayaking lesson at Albert Avenue baths in Hull. I tell her about Jill's son from Australia and how he is also a keen canoeist. We arrange to walk the dogs together on Thursday morning at the same time, as I am away in Birkenshaw tomorrow and Betty is attending "The Great Yorkshire Show", in Harrogate on Wednesday. When we get home, I put on this week's washing and then iron a pair of chinos and a blue shirt to wear at the solicitors tomorrow, a little gravitas is in order for our first meeting. As it is Monday, I am due to collect Louis from Saint Mary's Primary School at 3:15, but I need to fill the car with diesel and wash and clean it before I go. Unfortunately there won't be time for a swim today, but I manage to vacuum clean the car before driving to Morrison's, where I buy a baguette and Grandad Pop for Louis and a pack of 480 tea bags to take to Holland for my brother, Graham. Whilst I am there, I fill up with diesel and then cheat by putting the car through the Polish, hand car wash, for £6 and even have time to drop a prescription at the doctor's on my way to collect Louis. We take the shopping home, let Norman into the garden and then walk to the play park by the village hall. The sun has now burnt off all the cloud and it is sunny and very hot. I have packed some pop and fruit for Louis, to keep him hydrated and fuelled until it is time for his dinner. He is having ante pasta again, what else! There are lots of children for him to play with and so I have an easy time, chatting  to other parents and grandparents, whilst sitting on a bench in the sun. After half an hour, a group of older boys arrive, their bus has just dropped them off, and they start a football match on the field. Louis leaves the toddlers and volunteers to play in goal for them, but they are between twelve and fourteen and he is only six, so they don't want him to play. Louis stages a sit in and squats in the middle of the pitch, telling them that they are mean, so I have to intervene and carry him, protesting, from the pitch, to the thanks of the teenagers. Fortunately two boys, about Louis' age, have arrived, who he knows. One is called Jack and the other Oliver and they agree to play football with him. Louis is in goal, as usual, and Olly and Jack take it in turns to shoot penalties against him. The only problem lies in the fact that Louis has chosen to use a section of the fence, that separates the playing field from the Village Hall, as a goal and inevitably the ball keeps going over. Fortunately Oliver is light enough for me to lift over the fence in order to retrieve it, but I also have to lift him back again afterwards, and as he weighs about the same as a sack of potatoes, by the fifth time, I am getting more than a little fed up. Fortunately Oliver and Jack's mums call them away for tea, it is five past five and we have to walk back home, eat tea and then pack Norman into my car, before driving to Jackie and Gino's. I planned to set off at six. In the event we eat our food in the garden and are on our way by a quarter past. I drop Louis with Alice, in North Bar and then continue through Bishop Burton, on the York Road towards the M62. I have told Gino to expect us around eight, so I have plenty of time, and repeat the experience of settling into the inside lane on the Motorway and putting the car in "cruise control" at around sixty miles an hour. I trundle along happily, keeping a hundred yards behind the lorry in front, adjusting my speed by nudging the cruise handle up or down a notch, as required. I arrive at my sister's house at a quarter to eight, feeling refreshed and having had time to think over the issues in Gino's tribunal appeal. He and Jackie looked tanned and relaxed and tell me the holiday has done them a world of good. We settle down with tea on their patio, the evening sun low in the sky, on a perfect summer's evening. Norman loves Gino, because he is usually cooking and always has food, so he deserts me and follows my brother in law around, like a little brown slave. After our tea, I take out my brief case and produce Gino's file and the three of us discuss the meeting tomorrow, what we want to achieve and how we will handle the lawyer. I watch Gino out of the corner of my eye, his leg is twitching up and down and his eyes are blinking rapidly, I can see he is becoming agitated. When you are forced out of a company that you have worked for for forty years, it is almost like a bereavement and as we discuss some of the key issues, I can see that he is reliving some of the more unpleasant experiences, it is akin to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for him. It will be quite a while before he recovers from this and the meeting tomorrow will also be a challenge. We finish by half past nine and then round off the evening with some wine and cheese with crackers. Of course Norman gets his fair share, and then we all turn in around ten thirty. I am sleeping in my niece's, Rebecca's, bedroom, on the ground floor. She is living in Spain at the moment, near Gibraltar. Norman is in his bed on the floor, but unused to the strange house, he whines to come on my bed and rather than risk him wake the whole house, I give in and make him a bed on top of my dressing gown, which I have fortunately brought with me. He is asleep and snoring gently within seconds of having achieved his objective. I can almost see the thought bubble emerging from his head, "The Force has a strong effect on the weak minded".

Gay Marriage and Marching Bands

We are up early, as Normy and I are walking with Betty and Nellie, before attending ten thirty mass. We cook Norman's favourite breakfast, kippers, and eat them in the garden. Already by eight o'clock it is very warm. We walk down Carr Lane and over the little bridge, Norman and Nellie, keeping under the shade of the willow trees and then running gratefully into the coolness of "almost straight wood", where I fall victim to a nettle sting and treat with a handily placed dock leaf. We only walk as far as the corner of the field and then retrace our steps, but this time walking alongside the wood, in the shade. Betty has brought a little bag with a bowl and some water for the dogs, as well as their usual bag of treats. She is going to visit her son for Sunday Lunch, he lives in a village outside Doncaster. We return home for ten. I leave Normy plenty of fresh water and the door to the garden ajar, before mounting my bike and riding to church. In this lovely summer weather, I much prefer the bike to the car and by twenty past ten, I have arrived at Saint John's and am locking up my bike, which I have leant against the wall of the church that lies in shadow. The church is little more than half full, perhaps quite a few people are on holiday. Then, during the sermon, Father Roy has to ask for the front doors to be shut, because the local regiment is marching through the bar with military band accompaniment. Today is "Armed Forces Day", in Beverley and perhaps people have attended other masses in order to watch the celebrations.Today is the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, my Buddhist practise of meditation has taught me to appreciate the ordinary in life. Father Roy has chosen well known, rousing hymns and although we are not many in number, we still sing boldly. I choose to attend the ten thirty mass because we sing the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei, in Latin and I find that beautiful. The combination of familiar ritual and thought provoking, often soul searching, sermon, is a powerful combination, repeated in many other places, theme and variation, structure and agency, to name just two. I also believe creativity to be a divine gift, from where else might creativity spring, other than the mind of the creator? After communion, I have a cup of tea in the meeting room, before cycling home in the heat. Father Roy has handed out leaflets asking us to write to our MP's and anyone we know in the House of Lords, in protest at the "Gay Marriage", bill passing through Parliament. I respect and like our priest immensely, but on this subject I think the church is just plain wrong, but there again I am also in favour of women priests. I believe that, as a society, we are too obsessed by sex, quite frankly what people choose to do with each other for a few hours a week, is of no great concern to me. But I do wonder, if the requirement for celibacy and a single male priesthood, isn't a major factor in the spate of child abuse scandals that the church has suffered. More openness and less cant and hypocrisy, would be my prescription. Marxist/Buddhist/Catholics aren't exactly thick on the ground, so I may well be a minority opinion. I cycle back along Swinemoor, the ponies are sheltering under trees and there must be a couple of hundred roaming free at the moment on the common pasture that borders the River Hull. As I change down to first gear on approaching the footbridge, my chain slips off the sprockets and I have to dismount, in order to put it back on, which I manage using a 75p off coupon from Tesco, that I find in my wallet. A small price for clean hands! I get back for half past twelve, the radio four news announces that Andy Murray is playing Novaq Djokovich in the men's singles final at  Wimbledon this afternoon, but as I don't have TV, I shan't be watching. If he wins he will be "Our Andy", in the tabloids tomorrow and " A Scottish Choker", if he loses. I hope he wins. When it becomes a little cooler, I make a salad Nicoise and eat it in the garden, the living lettuce I bought whilst collecting Laura, ten days ago, has regenerated, after I cropped it the first time, so I have kept it watered. Perhaps by the time I return from holiday, it will feed me again. I spend the evening putting the finishing touches to Gino's legal file and then catch up on my blogs until bedtime. I ring Gino around ten, to confirm arrangements for tomorrow, I am staying at their house overnight, before our appointment with the solicitor on Tuesday.