Scarborough Fair, (In spite of the rain.)

The alarm sounds at seven, outside it is still dark, but when I throw open the bedroom window, at least there is no rain falling outside. A busy day lies ahead, we breakfast on smoked salmon on cream cheese, mine on rye toast, Norman's on rye bread, cut into small pieces. After showering and dressing for church, I give the old boy a quick toilet walk down the cul de sac and then head off to nine o'clock mass at Saint John's. The church is only half full this morning, but the later mass, at ten thirty, is usually more popular, as it allows a Sunday lie in. Today is the feast of the Holy Family, and as we are still celebrating Christmas, the hymns are nearly all carols, the homily is about family life and the importance of forgiveness, a sentiment with which I agree, but it is also, to my ears at least, paternalistic and anachronistic. A real challenge for all religions, but particularly Christianity, is how to evolve to a more enlightened understanding, without being driven by passing fads of popular culture. The answer lies surely in deep reflection, contemplation and prayer for an understanding of the meaning of Christ's ministry. At some point the Catholic Church will need to embrace a change regarding its attitude to gender. Paradoxically, father Roy, our priest, is an ex Anglican and married, his wife Sue a stalwart of the Church and his son an altar boy, who towers head and shoulders above him, but he left the Anglican communion because he couldn't accept women priests. He is a man for whom I have both great respect and affection, but on this point I think he is wrong. Surely one can accommodate gender equality and still preserve spiritual values and the fact that ex Anglican priests can bring their spouses and families into church life, supports the case for the normalisation of a married priesthood. After communion I drive back to Tickton and collect Norman, as well as a packet of Danish pastries to accompany our coffee, and head for Molescroft, to visit Leslie. He answers the door in his pyjamas and dressing gown and tells me he hasn't slept all night and needs to go back to bed, he looks very down and sorry for himself, but there is nothing much I can do, so I hand him the pastries, tell him to rest and promise to ring tomorrow. Norman and I drive off in the direction of Scarborough, where we are visiting my cousin Irene and her family, but stop en route, in Leven, to let Norman have a short walk, in case he needs to relieve himself. Before starting off again, I notice that I have a text from Leslie's son in law, William, thanking me for looking in on him last night, I reply saying that my old friend is showing all the classical signs of a depressive illness and perhaps some treatment may help. William later responds saying he has been thinking along similar lines and will follow up on this. As we pass Bridlington and drive down the hill it starts to rain heavily, to our right lies Filey Bay, it's beautiful curving sweep, punctuated by squally rain and the odd shaft of sunlight. We arrive at North Bay in Scarborough, shortly before midday, to find my cousin Michael, Irene's brother and her son Andrew, on the pavement outside the flat. They tell me that David and Irene are attending a later Mass, as it took longer than expected to get my cousin ready. She has early onset Alzheimer's, so any timing arrangements are always approximate. It is decided that we will walk into town and meet them there, so armed with a brolly, and carrying Norman's towel in a carrier bag we set off. Andrew has decided to stay over this evening and drive back to work, in Berkshire, in the morning and needs a clean shirt, so we call in at TK Maxx, where he buys one in a plain blue. I wrap Norman in his towel and stuff him in a trolley, which we push round the store, he is glad to be out of the rain and so lies quietly and hardly anyone notices him until we are passing the checkout on our way out, and by then it is too late. We still haven't heard anything from Irene and David, so we make our way to the seafront, the rain has eased to a light drizzle and Andrew wants an ice cream, so we walk to Paccito's, which serves the best ice cream in Scarborough. They also serve tea and coffee, so I camouflage Norman in his blue towel again and sit him on my knee, one of the waitresses spots him and tells me firmly, but politely, that dogs aren't allowed. I try the "old blind dog routine", and she says blind dogs aren't allowed either, which I challenge, as it would be discriminatory and she checks and says he can stay, even when I admit that he only has cataracts. It is only later that I realise that my glasses, which are reactalites, have turned dark, despite the rain and she probably thought it was me who had the sight impairment! David eventually phones and says they have returned to the flat because of the rain. Reinvigorated by the tea, we walk through the crowds and round the headland on the promenade and into North Bay, before making our way up the winding path to the cliff top and the flat. Despite the rain, it has been a pleasant walk in the fresh air and Norman got his second wind and was trotting along in his blue coat like a "good un". The flat is on the top floor and has magnificent views of the castle and North Bay, a lift takes us up there. As soon as Norman enters the flat he remembers that David gave him roast beef the last time we came, and after I have removed his wet coat and dried him, he does his cute puppy routine, wriggling on his back and then wagging his tail for David. When I explain what is going on, he says that, coincidentally, they had roast beef last night, and proceeds to cut Normy a slice and chop it up for him. By now it is three o'clock and it is decided that we will walk back into town for fish and chips at "Mother Hubbard's", leaving Norman asleep in front of the fire. In the event "Mother Hubbard's", isn't open on Sundays and we end up in another restaurant, round the corner, called "Wacker's", which is OK, but not in the same league as our first choice. We all order haddock, chips, tea and bread and butter, and when it arrives it is freshly cooked, crisp and OK. We stay and chat for a while, before making our way back to the flat, where Norman wags his tail in greeting, and then we watch a DVD, until we leave around six thirty. It takes an hour to drive home through intermittent rain, and when we get in, I give Norman some dry food, open a bottle of Peroni and fill a ramekin with peanuts, before settling down with a killer sudoku until bedtime. It has been a good day, but tomorrow, New Year's Eve, I need to have a day at home and catch up on some housework. To bed for ten.

Dominant Tigers and a shared chicken

We wake just before eight, to another cloudy and mild day, but at least it isn't raining when Norman trots out into the garden and then returns to the aroma of Sainsbury's outdoor reared pork sausages cooking along with the rest of our breakfast. The sausages taste as good as they smell and have very little fat, not that Normy would care much either way. After breakfast, I scan the Guardian, the left wing of the Conservative party are concerned about the party's negative stance on Europe, but the right wing, euro sceptic, ideologues, seem to be driving the agenda. Fortunately between them and UKIP, the chances of the Conservatives being the largest party after the election seems low, however a coalition of UKIP and the Conservatives would be a nightmare scenario. The rest of the paper is padded out with lists for the New Year, including honours, and doesn't interest me much. Our football tickets still haven't arrived and after showering and dressing, I walk down to the little bridge at the bottom of Carr Lane with Norman and fall in step with a neighbour, Betty, who lives a few doors away and her schnauzer, Nelly, who are making the same trip. Normy perks up with the company and enjoys his walk this morning. I leave the house around twenty minutes to eleven and drive to Cherry Burton to collect Andrew, who has just returned from walking Dolly and Teddy round the village. We drive down the main road to Hull and arrive at the KC stadium car park a little after half past eleven, the rain has started to fall as we drove in and the heavens open, in a stupendous cloudburst, as we pay for our parking tickets. The poor attendants are soaked to the skin. We park up and wait five minutes for the rain to ease a little, before collecting our tickets, after a short queue, from the office. The reason they hadn't arrived in the post, is because no one had posted them, although I paid for the privilege. It isn't the time to argue over £1.50, as this is the biggest game of the season and a complete sell out. We arrive in our seats, in the upper West Stand, with half an hour to spare, Andrew with a coffee and a pie and I with just a tea, as breakfast doesn't seem too long ago. Up here we have a superb view of the pitch and the atmosphere is electric, Leeds have brought almost five thousand fans, who are seated in the adjacent North Stand and in full voice. In the event, the match is totally one sided, the Tigers dominate from start to finish and win 2 : 0 , but miss at least half a dozen clear chances, we still lack an out and out striker, one who would be able to put these chances away. After the match, we retire to the sports bar and order a couple of beers and some crisps, whilst we wait for the car park to empty. One of the Hull fans says that Leeds United's top player, Luciano Becchio, a striker who didn't feature today, has been rumoured to be signing for Hull when the transfer window opens on Tuesday. He is a good striker, but rumours abound in football and I will believe it when it happens. We leave at half past three, the car park is empty, but the roads are thronged with shoppers and so it is almost half past four when I drop Andrew back in Cherry Burton. Before I leave, he gives me an envelope, with my Xmas card and some gift vouchers for iTunes and Waterstones inside, so some happy browsing is to be anticipated. I thank Andrew and then drive home to Norman and ladle out a bowl of chicken casserole for him, before loading the rest into my car and driving to Leslie's house for five. He is looking much better when I arrive, and tells me he had his helper shampoo his hair this morning, has phoned his nephews and nieces and watched the racing on Channel four. I serve out our casserole and slice a baguette into chunks and we eat dinner together, Leslie clears his plate and I have to admit that it tasted OK. Afterwards I make coffee for us on the espresso machine and we chat for a while, until I can see the old boy is tiring, so I arrange to call again tomorrow, after church and he says he would like to walk up the lane again, definite progress! The casserole and I leave and then drive to Felicity's house down Albert Terrace, she has already had dinner, but gives me a Pyrex bowl into which I scoop the remains of the chicken, which is to be saved for dinner tomorrow. I reserve a dollop for her two dogs, Sam and Molly. Felicity looks like she has gone ten rounds with Joe Frazier, one eye completely blackened and the other bruised, but not as badly, her left leg is also painful as the result of a fall. The bruises made worse by the anticoagulants she is on. Her son, Stuart has just left, and given her a collection of Russian poems, which she already has and so I become the beneficiary of her recycling. She is tired and sore, so I don't stay too long and help her back to her chair in front of the television and put a cushion under her legs before leaving. Her daughter Melissa is due in ten minutes or so in order to spend the evening with her. On my way home, I pop into the supermarket and restock on vegetables, milk and shaving foam, before returning to Norman in Tickton, mercifully the rain has stopped and a full moon is shining on the village when I take him for his evening walk, so last night's moon must have been just off the full, my eyes aren't as good as they once were. It has been a hectic day and I am starting to feel tired, but check my email before going to bed. Clement has sent me the photo's from the match and I post some on Wednesday's blog. There is also a Xmas card on the mat, and when I open it, it has a picture of a snow covered dachshund, that looks very much like a younger version of Normy, it is from Graham and Liliane in Holland. I turn in early tonight, as I have another busy day tomorrow, dog walking, Mass at nine, Leslie at ten thirty and then a drive to Scarborough with Norman to see Irene and David. To bed for nine thirty.

Old friends in need and Paella

I slept soundly last night and finally stirred around half past eight, when I threw open the bedroom window to let in the fresh air, I had half hoped the sun would be shining from a bright blue sky, but alas, it is more of the same soggy, mild, wet weather. It is cloudy outside, with just a light drizzle, and as I eat breakfast, smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye toast, the weatherman on the radio, says we only need a few more millimetres of rain before New Year, in order to make this the wettest year on record. With four days left to go and rain forecast for most of them, it looks to be a near certainty. Norman isn't enjoying his walks quite so much of late, I think he misses the company of the terriers, so I decide to take him to Burton Bushes, one of his favourite places, and mine. We park in a little lay by, opposite the racecourse and then walk the short distance to the woods across the Westwood. The rain has stopped, but the ground is saturated, even though we are on downland chalk, which drains exceptionally well. I try to find a less boggy way into the wood and carry Normy over a style and then set him down on a dry patch of forest floor, where he immediately picks up a scent and snuffles about amongst the leaves and roots, like a little piglet hunting truffles. The paths through the wood are exceptionally boggy and the trees heavily covered with moss and lichens, which gleam and glow with a lovely iridescent green light on this dim and dank day. We weave our way in and out of the meandering pathways, navigating around the worst of the mire, usually where walkers have churned up the ground, and spend a happy hour or so exploring. A text arrives from William, Leslie's son in law, to say my old friend has been discharged from hospital and is back home. I phone William and tell him I will call round and see Leslie this afternoon and also offer to look in on him tomorrow afternoon, as William and Margaret, who are Manchester United fans, want to travel to Old Trafford for the game. Hull v Leeds, kicks off at 12:30 and so I will be back in good time to call in and see him. We arrive home for one o'clock and I ring Leslie to arrange to visit and to ask if he wants to share a seafood Paella, that I intend to make for lunch, as I know he likes fish. He says he doesn't feel hungry and sounds rather down in the dumps again, so I defer cooking and drive round to his house, taking a fresh batch of oaties for him. When I arrive, I make coffee for us, using the coffee machine I gave him before Xmas and offer him an oatie, but he tells me he has no appetite. We chat for a while and he says he still doesn't feel well, despite the hospital doctors reassuring him that he is physically OK, apart from the normal wear and tear of a nonagenarian. I ask if he has ever suffered from depression and he says he hasn't, but when I explain the symptoms of extreme tiredness and lack of energy, that often accompany depression, he seems to understand that this might be the problem. Since his TIA three months ago, he has been more and more inward looking, and has lost contact with friends and hardly been out of the house. As a consequence of the lack of exercise, his legs are losing strength and a vicious cycle of negative feedback has kicked in. The less he does, the less he wants to do. He cheers up a little after chatting for half an hour and I suggest we walk to the end of the little road that leads to his house. When he asks when, I say now, so he puts on shoes and a topcoat and he walks linked into my arm to the end of the street. A round trip of about a hundred yards, his walking doesn't seem too bad, and the achievement cheers him up a little and he asks me to make some soup for him when we get in, which I do and he eats it along with some crackers. I tell him that I will look in on him again tomorrow evening and suggest we have dinner together, when he asks what we are eating, I suggest I make a chicken casserole and bring it with me and he seems happy with this. I leave around three and let him rest, as Margaret and William are calling round later. Before I leave he gives me my Xmas card, a bottle of wine and some smoked salmon, which he knows I enjoy. I may need to help him to get walking again, and will see if I can persuade him to have a little walk again before dinner tomorrow. Once back home, I make my Paella, with prawns, mussels and a small tuna steak from the freezer, which I fry in butter, oil and garlic and then place in a bowl, while I fry the mixed peppers, onions and rice, before combining the lot and adding some saffron and fish stock and then letting it simmer on a low heat until the rice has absorbed all the fluid. The mild weather means the parsley pot in the garden is still growing, so I cut off a bunch, chop it finely and then sprinkle it over my meal, as a final touch, before serving. Norman gives it his seal of approval, and I enjoy it as well, as it brings back memories of cooking in the garden last summer. Later, after washing up and clearing away, I construct a chicken casserole, using a couple of filets from the freezer and all my remaining onions, potatoes and fresh vegetables, as well as the last of the frozen Mediterranean vegetables left over from yesterday's lamb. This will get the 24 hour special, slow cooker, magic treatment and should be perfect for Leslie's dinner tomorrow evening. Once this is done, I phone Felicity, she has had all her children and grandchildren visiting today and they have hired a room at the Beverley Arms for the occasion, as her house is too small. She is happy, but tired and I promise to call in to see her tomorrow and wonder whether she and Leslie might be good company for each other. There will be ample casserole for three, so if she is well enough, I might just take her to Leslie's house for dinner. I will sleep on this and decide tomorrow. I am taking my son, Andrew to see Hull v Leeds tomorrow and the tickets have not yet arrived in the post, so we will have to collect some from the ticket office at the stadium, and as the match kicks off at twelve thirty, we will need to leave by eleven. This means that I will have to be up at a reasonable hour and take Norman out for a decent walk before we go. With this in mind, I turn in early and listen to my audiobook for half an hour.

An early morning run to the airport

The alarm goes off at half past four, my feet find my slippers and I make my way into the kitchen where I turn the heating on, load the toaster with rye bread and set the kettle to boil, before easing Norman from his warm bed and setting him down on the garden path. The garden is damp but the rain has stopped, I leave Normy to his toilet and return to the kitchen, where I make a pot of strong, black, Italian coffee, butter my toast and spread apricot conserve on it. It is too early, even for me, for a full English, so Norman has to make do with Bakers dry dog food, which he quite likes. Without rushing, breakfast, reading the paper, showering and dressing takes an hour and a half, and sets the proper cadence for the day. I collect Normy, and his basket, before driving to Sarah's house to pick up Clement and Alice, only to find my granddaughter has succumbed to the winter vomiting bug and so is unfit to fly. Her dad, Bertrand, will be disappointed of course, but these things happen! Clement is frantically repacking, in order to put the presents for his dad, stepmother, Claire and his half brothers, Humbert and Cyprian, into one case. We leave the house by twenty past six and take the York Road over the Wolds towards Market Weighton, an enormous almost full moon, hanging low in the western sky, which is occasionally covered by low clouds. There is very little traffic on the roads, until we cross the A1 at Pontefract. Most people probably taking holiday to connect Christmas to New Year. There are continuous roadworks from the M1 junction for twenty miles, until we start to climb the Pennines towards Saddleworth Moor, but then the downhill glide past Rochdale, Oldham and Stockport, is smooth and effortless. We arrive at Terminal 3, Manchester Airport, where we encounter our first traffic congestion, before I drop Clement off, around half past eight, in plenty of time for his flight to Nantes. In minutes I am back on the M60 ring road and shortly after, in the filter lane for the M62, when Clement phones to say he is overweight with his luggage and enquires if I can come back to collect some of it, but by now the shoppers are emerging, the traffic much heavier, and so it isn't practicable, but he is a clever lad and will figure some way of sorting something out, either posting some stuff on or using Alice's unclaimed allowance. I am feeling ready for a break and some tea, but motorway services leave me cold, so I push on towards York, where I have arranged to visit my cousin Irene and her husband, David about eleven thirty. It is only ten o'clock when I reach the York ring road, and David has an appointment to attend beforehand, so I call in at a nearby Sainsbury's, to do some shopping and take on board a tea and scone buying some dry cured, smoked, streaky bacon and outdoor reared, pork sausages, as well as a large pack of smoked salmon, which is on offer at half price. It is still only half past ten, so I potter into TK Maxx next door, which looks like it has been looted by Atilla the Hun following the Boxing Day sale, nevertheless I manage to find a terracotta Romertopf, in the sale for a giveaway £6 and stow that safely in the boot of my car, before driving to Irene's house. My cousin, Michael, answers the door, he is visiting from Germany, where he has lived for the last thirty years and is staying with his sister until the New Year. David is still not back from Huddersfield, where he has his meeting, so Irene makes tea and serves mince pies and a slice of Christmas cake. They have had children and grandchildren staying until yesterday and are enjoying the return to a little peace and quiet. David arrives back around noon and invites me to stay for lunch, but my scone, mince pie and Xmas cake mean I am too full to accept. David and Irene have a flat in Scarborough and they are driving to it for the weekend tomorrow and so I arrange to meet up with them there on Sunday, after church and then leave to drive home around a quarter to two. Sarah phones to say she is going out and for me to collect Norman after five, as I drive along the A64, before turning off on the road to Hull and Beverley. The river Derwent has flooded the vale of York and the fields to either side of the road have become huge lakes, on cue the rain starts again. I realise, passing Market Weighton, that the route to West Yorkshire and the West Coast, is probably quicker this way, since the A1/M1 link road has been built, than my usual route through Holme on Spalding Moor and Howden. I will use it the next time I visit Jackie, it also has the advantage of a stopover to visit Irene and David en route. By the time I arrive home, at two thirty, I have mentally planned a dinner, utilising my new Romertopf. After switching the heating on, I brown a couple of lamb steaks in butter and garlic, add some chopped onions, and when they have softened and caremalised, sprinkle a lamb oxo cube over the meat and then deglaze the pan with a little water, before removing it from the heat. Next I peel some potatoes, parsnip and onion that are cut into large chunks to make a bed for the meat and place these in my new roaster, pour over the meat and onion gravy and add some frozen broad beans, carrots and Mediterranean vegetables, before setting the oven on a moderate heat and leaving it to cook for a couple of hours. By now the exertions of the day are catching up with me, so I meditate for half an hour and then doze off, until it is time to collect Norman at five. Alice is still in bed and Sarah and Louis arrive home, just as I knock on the door. Sarah has to dash past me for the toilet and suspects she may have picked up Alice's bug, so I give Louis a hug and after having ascertained that Clement arrived safely in Nantes, take Normy and his basket and return home. The aroma of the lamb casserole greets us, as soon as we walk through the door, a perfect winter dinner for a cold damp night. Norman can hardly wait for me to serve it and dances around my feet, whilst I ladle the casserole into two bowls, one large and one small. After cutting Normy's meat into bite size portions and letting it cool a little first, dinner is served. The sweet juices from the carrots and parsnips have melded with the lamb gravy to produce a wonderful flavour and we both clear our bowls, mine is aided by a glass of Rioja, the balance of which I take into the Garden Room, where I listen to the news before taking Norman for his evening walk around the village. The rain has thankfully stopped and a full moon flirts with us between low clouds, but my little dog doesn't really like the cold, dank nights and is glad to return indoors. My cousin Michael told me that the area near Nuremberg, where he lives, has seen temperatures into the low sixties Fahrenheit over Xmas, almost unprecedented. I am too tired to read, or even listen to my audiobook, so resort to my logic puzzle book for half an hour and then turn in at ten o'clock.

Boxing Day football with Clement and Louis

Boxing Day dawns bright and clear, I check for the deer in the field this morning when I let Norman into the garden, but they are not there today. Normy runs back indoors, wagging his tail in anticipation of breakfast and then takes post while I make our usual full English. I am taking my grandsons to the football this afternoon, it will be Louis' first professional game, Hull are playing Leicester, and their manager, Nigel Pearson, left us to join them, so there is a bit of needle in the game. I make Norman walk down to the bridge, but he is reluctant to walk, without his pals, Teddy and Dolly, nevertheless we manage it and he sees an old friend, the one eyed Jack Russell bitch from the stables, who looks to be even older than him. They stop and sniff each other and compare notes, probably complaining about the lack of manners in modern puppies. He walks home off the lead, with much greater enthusiasm than on the outward leg and we return home about eleven. I am out of oaties, so bake a batch in the oven and then make some hot cocoa in a pan, which I pour into a large thermos flask to take to the match. With a fleece blanket, a Tupperware box of oaties and thermos of cocoa in my bag, I drive to Sarah's house and collect the boys at half past one before driving into Hull. The traffic isn't too bad despite the Boxing Day sales, and we park in our usual place, outside a block of flats near the hospital that are owned by a friend, Mark. As we get out of the car, Mark arrives with his son Jamie, who was Clement's best friend for eighteen years, until they fell out over a girl. Everyone hopes they will make up, but it has been over a year already. It is about half a mile to the KC stadium, but Louis and Clement want fish and chips first, so we part ways with Mark and Jamie and head to the chippy. Louis and I share a portion and Clement decides to have a jumbo sausage instead of a fish. We finish the meal and then walk with the crowds to the stadium, Louis is starting to realise that the "footy" is a bit special. Our seats are in the family section, on the first row, next to the pitch, which means Louis gets to see the players up close, but the overall view of the game is limited. There are over twenty thousand fans in attendance today and the roar when the teams come out onto the pitch really impresses the little chap. The game is very evenly matched and ends in a scoreless draw, but Louis has enjoyed it, the thing he enjoyed best is chanting "come on city!" and "the tigers, the tigers". Clement and I had season tickets every year before he left for university, so I have hopes that Louis may fill the vacancy. The ever present rain starts to fall during the second half of the game, and we walk back to the car in a downpour, despite this Louis wants to go again. Sarah rendezvous with us at Willerby MacDonald's and takes the boys to Richard's sister's house for a party and I drive home to Tickton, arriving around six thirty. It is still raining heavily so Norman has to make do with a quick run in the garden before I open a tin for his dinner. After the fish and chips I don't feel like a cooked meal, so make a tossed salad and open a packet of smoked salmon, enhanced by a glass of dill schnapps, that Hahne gave me after I was so complementary when she served it with salmon the other week. It is a Scandinavian thing, and very good too. After dinner I listen to the first couple of chapters of CJ Sansom's Dominion, a counter factual history of WWIi, in which Lord Halifax, not Winston Churchill, becomes prime minister and signs a peace treaty with Hitler after the fall of France. It is my introductory free book from Audible. Com, I already have Hilary Mantel's "Wolf Hall and bring up the bodies", from them and will probably join their book club when I cancel the Guardian subscription. Tomorrow morning I have to collect Clement and Alice for six in order to ferry them to Manchester Airport, so I set my alarm for four thirty and turn the lights off at nine.

The running of the deer

We sleep until half past eight waking to a cloudy, but dry, Christmas Day, the deer are feeding in the field as I let Normy into the garden. when he comes back indoors, we listen to the Christmas Service on radio four while I make breakfast, the usual, but excellent, full English. After a shower, I walk Norman down the lane as far as the farm, the only other living souls abroad, are other dog walkers, it is a mild day and it comes on to rain again as we make our way home. So much for deep and crisp and even, more soggy, wet and damp. After drying Normy, I load him into the car and set off to Filey, where my sister Jacqueline and my brothers, Andrew and Chris are staying for the holiday with their families. The roads are wonderfully deserted, with only the occasional car, transporting someone somewhere for Christmas Lunch. We arrive at "The Bay" in Filey, a holiday village constructed on an old Butlin's Holiday site, around eleven thirty and are met by Andrew, my unmarried brother, who is staying with Jackie, her husband Gino and their two grown up girls, Rachel and Rebecca, plus Alex, Rebecca's boyfriend. They have just finished preparing lunch, the Turkey cooking on a low heat in the oven, all the girls fall in love with Normy and he falls in love with the smell of roasting meat. After the ritual cup of strong tea, we all make our way to the pub, "The John Paul Jones", named after the eponymous captain of the American Frigate, "The Bonhomme Richard", who fought and won the only naval engagement of the American war of independence in British waters, off Flamborough Head, a few miles away. There are quite a few dogs in the pub, but they are all on their best behaviour, after a short while, my other brother, Chris joins us and we spend a happy hour together before Norman and I have to leave and then drive back to Beverley. I am due at Sarah's for Christmas Dinner for half past three. After feeding Normy when we get back, shortly before three, I pick up the presents for Sarah and my grandchildren, before making my way to North Bar, where I am greeted by Louis, who is eager to show me all the toys Santa has brought him. These are a mixture of super hero figures and their vehicles and a tablet computer. I was turned forty before I had a computer that didn't belong to work, Louis now has one and he won't be six until June! My granddaughter, Alice also has a computer, an Apple Mac Air, Clement, the oldest has been given money, to help him with University, but he also has a miniature helicopter and we have a lot of fun, flying it around the living room, the miniature throttle and joystick take quite a while to master, so the little chopper has a few prangs, much to the delight of Louis. Sarah's boyfriend, Richard, is cooking lunch and the oven is on go slow, but it isn't a problem, as we eat our starters first, and then have the main course half an hour later. Lunch is excellent, Smoked salmon and prawns to start, with a nice Sauvignon blanc and roast rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings for mains, with an excellent Medoc, that I found yesterday. We are all too stuffed afterwards to bother with dessert, a choice of lemon cheesecake or Christmas pud and just flop in our chairs and watch "Lord of the Rings", on channel four, until it is time for Louis to go to bed, and time for me to return to Tickton and feed Norman, with a doggy bag of beef and Yorkshire puddings, courtesy of Sarah. But first we dress Louis in the football outfit that Santa Claus left at my house, everything fits, including the boots, and after a quick kick about in the hall, off he goes to bed, a very happy little boy. Tomorrow Clement and I are taking him to his first professional football match, Hull City v Leicester City, at the KC stadium. I hope he enjoys it, but I am taking a warm blanket, biscuits and hot chocolate in case he feels the cold. There is so much food in the doggy bag for Normy that I can only give him half of it, the rest is saved for tomorrow. he eats it with relish and then, as soon as he has finished, lets me know that he wants to go out by running to the door, wagging his tail and barking at me. We walk round the village under an almost three quarter moon, the rain has stopped, at least for a while and it is still very mild. The forecast says the wet, westerly airstream, will persist into the New Year, so no sign of much relief from the floods that are plaguing so many people this Christmas. When we return home, I make a pot of tea and then drink several mugs of it while tackling killer sudoku puzzles. It seems paradoxical, but I feel too tired to read, but can concentrate easily on logic puzzles. Perhaps because logic makes no demands on the imagination or the emotions. To bed for ten.

Robins and Pirate Ships

Wake at six needing the toilet, but then return to bed and sleep until eight thirty. Yesterday's clear blue sky has been replaced by skies of grey, and a light drizzle is falling on the garden when I let Norman out to toilet. Felicity rings, but before I can pick up, she rings off, and when I listen to the ensuing voicemail, she tells me she has had a minor stroke, or TIA, so I call back immediately. Apparently it happened shortly after I left, Nick and Melissa returned from their walk with the dogs and Felicity found she was unable to get out of her chair, so they called an ambulance and took her into Hull Royal Infirmary, where a suspected TIA was diagnosed, she has to see the consultant neurologist this morning, and was ringing to let me know she wouldn't be able to make the Nativity Mass and carol service at Saint John's this evening. I wish her well and promise to say a prayer for her, which I always do anyway, along with everyone else I care for. It is possible that both my older friends, Felicity and Leslie, could be in hospital over Christmas. After our full English breakfast and a shower, I walk Normy down as far as the little bridge over the drain, or at least as far as the huge puddle that blocks the path ten feet short of the bridge. I let the old guy off the lead on the way back home and he toddles along happily, checking the scents and marking his path. The field beyond the old split willow tree, that Louis calls his "pirate ship", is flooded and has become a lake, ad on the other side of the road, where the farmer, stores used tractor tyres and advertises free manure, a cock robin is sitting on a gate singing his heart out. What could be more Christmassy than a robin? We regain the house for half past eleven, I dry Norman on his towel and then drive into Hull to do some last minute Christmas shopping. My theory that everywhere would be dead by the afternoon of Christmas Eve, is found seriously wanting, as Hull is absolutely packed to the rafters. Nevertheless, I find presents for my youngest grandchildren, leopard spot leggings and sparkly cardigans for Rebecca and Laura and a football kit for Louis, complete with football and a pump. Louis' dad, was a six foot six professional footballer, who played in the championship, before succumbing to bipolar disorder, and Louis has his physique and competitive spirit, which he needs to express. He may not have his father's footballing prowess, but only time can determine this. I take a break in a bagel cafe in the shopping centre and find myself sat opposite three of the biggest, toughest looking guys, I have seen in a long time. It only takes a moments eavesdropping to find out that they are all Australian Rugby League players, under contract, I believe, for Hull Kingston Rovers. I drive to Willerby, where I shop for half an hour, and buy a seriously good bottle of Medoc to take to Sarah's, to accompany the Christmas Day roast beef and also a jar of Stilton, accompanied by a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, which are a family joke. The original Ferrero Rocher TV advert had a strap line, voiced over in a French accent which said, " ooh ambassador you are spoiling us!", Sarah's first husband, Bertrand, who is French, and was notoriously mean, lead to the advert becoming subverted to " ooh ambassador are you ever going to spoil us!" The supermarket is only a mile from Castle Hill hospital and there is just time to catch a hamburger and coffee at MacDonald's, before visiting Leslie. He has lost half a stone in weight since I saw him, less than two weeks ago, but seems almost normal and rational again, the consultant gerontologist, a Mr Farnsworth, has had him on an intravenous drip, in order to rehydrate him, and has also convinced Leslie that there is nothing physically wrong with him and that his symptoms are the result of an anxiety attack. This is tremendously helpful, as it has allowed my old friend to identify the real problem, which is one of irrational fear, rather than just being helplessly driven along by This fear. Leslie has elected to stay in hospital until his daughter and son in law can put into effect a care package that he will be happy with. This involves an extra career in the evenings, though I am not sure this is a long term solution, and suspect he may need residential care in the long run. On a more positive note, he was much more rational and relaxed than he has been for several months. I give him a hug when I leave at five and promise to visit again on Friday, if he is still in hospital, and then drive home to Tickton. Norman is wagging his tail in the hallway waiting for me, when I arrive and I let him into the garden, before opening a tin of dog food for him, and then unpacking my shopping. There is just time to wrap Laura and Rebecca's presents, before it is time to drive to Saint John's, for the six thirty Nativity Mass. I know from previous experience, that the church will be jam packed and so arrive by six fifteen, and am just able to squeeze into a pew about seven rows back from the altar. Our little church looks wonderful, it is lit by candles and decorated with Holly and Ivy, the congregation being mostly the families from our local Catholic primary school with their children, as well as us Sunday regulars. We sing all the old favourites, "Once in Royal David's City", " While Shepherds watch their flocks by night", "In the bleak Midwinter", and of course "Silent Night", our mass, as ever, is a mixture of English, Latin and Greek, and none the worse for it. The power of the Mythos, the arational in religion, is not to be underestimated. Any anthropologist worth her salt will tell you, that ritual is always used to ease existential anxiety, the ultimate human conundrum of our knowledge of the inevitability and essential unknowability of death. Quite suddenly, during the service, just before communion, Simone Weil, makes sense to me. The essential teaching of Jesus, is that the Old Testament philosophy of an "eye for an eye" leads to an infinite cascade of damaged people and suffering, but if we refuse to pass on this pain, if we absorb the suffering into ourselves, we can stop this karmic transmission. Jesus calls on us all to be Alchemists and to transmute suffering into gold, by absorbing pain into forgiveness and therefore breaking the cycle of abuse. I have been struggling with Weil, as her teachings are so austere, and my God seems to be joyous and has a sense of humour, as well as compassion. But the deep meaning of Christ's teaching has divine humour, divine absurdity, the suffering of innocents can break the cycles of abuse, precisely because they are innocent, and don't deserve the pain. Only the innocent are in a position to forgive their tormentors! Totally whacky, and seriously profound, whatever afflictions come down on us, if we absorb them, refuse to pass them on, refuse to lash out at others in our pain, we make the world a better place. We enact God's will and break the karmic chain. To be sure this is a tough injunction, but as the people who are most likely to receive the transmission of our pain, are our nearest and dearest, it is surely worth the attempt. And more than that, worthy of our repeated attempts, even when we temporarily fail to live up to the divine example of the Messiah. After Mass, I drive home, calling in to see Sam and the girls and to drop off their presents, they are having a party and launching Chinese Lanterns into the night sky, I am amazed at how quickly they rise up and are then caught on the Westerly winds and carried off towards the North Sea coast. Back home, I take Norman out for his evening walk, before calling Felicity to see how she is. Her family are all with her wrapping Christmas presents, she feels tired and says she is going to bed. When we return indoors, I book the tickets for my son, Andrew, and I to watch Hull City v Leeds United, on Saturday and then text my sister, Jackie, to say I will drive to Filey in the morning to see them, before returning for Xmas day Lunch with Sarah and her family at four. To bed at eleven.

The fourth Sunday in Advent

When we got up at half past eight the rain had finally stopped, outside the last of the rain clouds are disappearing to the east, blue sky and a bright sun gladden the day. Norman is in a good mood, skipping to and fro and then wriggling on his back, perhaps it is the change in the weather? Or more likely the aroma of breakfast cooking! After we have eaten, I check the Internet connection and find it is still down, so I drink my coffee and listen to the radio until it is time to shower and dress for church, leaving at ten past ten. Before closing the door and driving to Saint John's, I promise Normy that I will come back and take him out immediately after church. Today is the fourth Sunday in advent, and Christmas celebrations do not start until tomorrow, Christmas Eve, the church will be decorated with holly, ivy and other greenery in the morning after 9:30 mass and the mass of the Nativity will take place at six thirty in the evening, followed later by a mass at midnight. I prefer the earlier service, fewer drunks and more families! This morning's service is well attended and the sermon given by Father David, on the individual's choice about faith, apposite. The existence of God is unprovable, in my opinion, by rational exercise of intellect, and therefore it is a matter of faith or doubt, the terms are interchangeable. My belief is both pragmatic and emotional. Emotional, in that I chose to interpret the deep sense of oneness and well being experienced occasionally in meditation, as the love of God, and pragmatic as I find faith energises me whilst doubt debilitates. Sometimes I scandalise other Catholics when asked about my faith, as I reply honestly, that my faith marginally exceeds my doubt. But of what value is faith in the absence of doubt? The Taliban claim to have no room for doubt! Enough said. After communion, I keep my promise and collect Norman, driving to Albert Terrace, where I park and then walking Normy on the Westwood, the wind is blowing hard from the West, so we potter around the woods in Newbegin Pits and then call in to see Felicity. She is feeling a little better today, so we stay and drink tea and chat with her for an hour until her daughter, Melissa, arrives with her boyfriend, Nick, they are going to take Fliss's dogs out for a walk. We call in to Beverley on our way home to buy some more tomatoes, the one's from Morrison's had gone mouldy this morning. Beverley is packed, as most people are making it their last day of shopping. Christmas Eve afternoon will be dead, it always is and we will get whatever bits and pieces we need then. Leslie's son in law is visiting him today and so I have arranged to see him tomorrow afternoon, before six thirty Mass. From what Margaret, Leslie's daughter says, my old friend is becoming increasingly irrational and demanding, underlying it, I am sure, is fear but the onset of a rapid dementia appears ever more likely. We arrive home at half past two and spend the rest of the afternoon doing the final cleaning before Christmas. By five o'clock everywhere is tidy and I make dinner for us both, we are having sirloin steak, chips and salad, I slice off the fat and a strip of meat for Norman and then cut it into small pieces and place it in his bowl. After dinner, miraculously, the Internet is working again, albeit very slowly and I manage to upload yesterday's blog. I also find the Guardian has auto renewed for another month, so scan the Observer, but don't really have the inclination to read it tonight, I also stop itunes from autorenewing next month, as I really do want to consider my options. Later I take Norman out for his walk and just let him wander off the lead, all he wants to do is potter about our cul de sac, sniffing here and there and marking his patch. It is much colder tonight, the sky clear and a gibbous moon low to the east, after twenty minutes the old chap has had enough and wants to return indoors. More rain is forecast for tomorrow, but a day without it has been pleasant. To bed for nine thirty.

Sick friends and floods

We sleep in this morning, after a disturbed night, finally arising at eight thirty, to yet another wet morning. Norman braves the rain to perform his morning toilet in the garden and is rewarded by a full English breakfast, or at least his share of it, when he returns. After breakfast I switch on my iPad to read the Guardian, only to find that it has not yet downloaded and further investigation reveals that I need to renew my subscription. Instead I access their free website and find it is more than adequate for what I require. I may well use the subscription fee for an audiobook or cinema subscription instead. Before showering, I run off a few copies of John Geekie's sketches of Norman, that some friends have asked for, and which I intend taking to the Poppy Seed cafe this morning. We leave the house shortly before ten thirty, drive to Norwood and park in our usual place, before walking through the rain to town. Normy's blue jacket is quickly soaked, but fortunately I have his towel in my bag, along with the copies of the sketches in a plastic folder, so as soon as we arrive, I towel him dry and sit him on my knee. Hahne is there with Annie and Jill, accompanied by two cousins, who are visiting from Canada. Our usual table by the window has been taken and so we are squeezed together on a table towards the rear of the cafe, I pass out copies of the sketches and notice that John Geekie and his wife are sitting at a table opposite to us, he comes over and hands me half a dozen envelopes, inside which are laminated copies of Normy's sketches, as well as an exquisite water colour that John has painted of Beverley Minster. I am overwhelmed by the kindness, and pass envelopes to friends, who agree that we must find some way to reciprocate, but John has already left. Felicity is feeling under the weather and can't make it this morning, so I promise to call round and see her later, but her sister, Joy arrives, shortly followed by Rosemary and Sylvia. Soon the little cafe is abuzz with conversation and steam rises from all the damp clothing. We leave shortly after twelve and make our way back to the car through the incessant rain, the river seeping over its banks, which are fortunately holding, to the North of Hull Bridge. It is only pasture that is being flooded, but the rain is forecast to continue until Monday, Christmas Eve, so it may yet be a wet holiday for some poor souls. Norman gets another towelling when we arrive safely indoors and I make myself more tea, before ironing the last of shirts, while I listen to a repeat of last night's "Any Questions", on the radio. There is much fuss about Andrew Mitchell and Plebgate, neither the police or the politicians, nor the media, emerge with any honour from the incident, and that is the nub of the issue for me. The loss of a sense of honourable conduct in public life, the last honourable figure I can remember, was Peter Carrington, who resigned as a result of the Argentine invasion of the Falklands. I boil some water and make spaghetti for lunch, with the remaining Bolognese sauce from the slow cooker, Norman is delighted. Afterwards I put my feet up for an hour and find I have nodded off, when I wake up it has stopped raining, so I take Normy for a walk round the village, he isn't keen on going out in the dark, although it isn't cold and the wind has dropped, but eventually we manage it. Despite being old, he needs the exercise, otherwise he will pile on the pounds, as he eats like a wolf. When we get back, I try to check the football scores, to see if Hull City have held on to second place in the Championship, but the BT Internet service has crashed again and so I have to use the 3G network instead, miraculously I have two bars, just enough signal to get the BBC football website. Hull are still second, the other contenders lost or drew. The rain starts again and continues falling as I drive into Beverley and visit Felicity, I have found a picture frame for the sketch of Norman, and so I take this and a Christmas card for her. She looks well, but tells me she has fluid on her legs, and is supposed to keep them elevated, until the diuretics she has been given take effect. She reads me a lovely poem she has found and we resolve to take Hahne and Annie for afternoon tea to the new hotel in Norwood House on Christmas Eve, after first ascertaining that they will be open. This cheers her up and gives her something to look forward to, even though we are not yet sure that the others are free. I arrive home for nine and make a light supper of tossed salad and pecorino shavings, and as I finish it, a text comes in from Leslie's daughter, Margaret, to say that her dad has called 999 again and is back in hospital, and that he will be transferred from emergency admissions to the geriatric ward at Castle Hill tomorrow. I text back to say I will try to see him after church tomorrow. It seems that my old friend is too frightened to live alone at home any longer, it is desperately sad, but perhaps he needs to be found somewhere he can be looked after and where he will feel safe. His son in law, who used to work for social services, was quietly investigating the places with the best reputations in the area. I shall call him tomorrow. To bed at eleven, and still no Internet service.

A damp, non apocalyptic, solstice

We sleep in this morning, probably the after effects of the extra butterfly during yesterday's swim, and it is eight thirty when I eventually let Normy out into the Garden. It is still raining, but not with the same intensity as yesterday, I dry him on his towel when he returns, which I have warmed on the radiator, before serving us breakfast. Dry dog food for Norman and my usual Friday breakfast of smoked salmon on cream cheese and toast, with strong, black Italian coffee, the old guy doesn't even get a sniff! After breakfast I read the Guardian on my iPad, but most of the topics have been covered on radio four news already, and I am seriously considering cancelling my subscription, in favour of either a Cineworld monthly pass, or an audio book subscription to audible.com, or perhaps both. Audible have offered a free audio book trial, and I have chosen CJ Sansom's new novel, "Dominion", having read all of his previous books. My favourite English teacher at Batley Grammar School, Peter Quinnel, would always read to us on a Friday afternoon, and I can still remember the pleasure in listening to his lovely, rich, baritone voice, as he read Arthur Grimble's " A pattern of Islands", to us twelve year olds. A real boy's own adventure, with spirit visitations and attacks in the lagoon by a great white shark. Motivation through inspiration! Peter must have been in his sixties and near retirement then, God know's what he would have made of the National Curriculum and the "cover your arse, box ticking bollocks," that masquerades as education now. After a shower, I walk Norman down to the little wooden bridge over the dyke, it has finally stopped raining, but the land is saturated with water, the ditches at the side of the road are overflowing, the fields have puddles as big as lakes, and the path just before the bridge is blocked by another puddle, that interconnects the two overflowing drains on either side. We turn round here, as otherwise I would have to carry Norman over the water, and we make our way home. When we return indoors, Normy's winter coat is coated with black, peaty, mud underneath, and I rinse it under the kitchen tap, after I have dried him on his towel, and then put the towel and his coat to dry out on the radiator. My sheets and underwear are still in the washing machine, and it is so damp outside, that it is beyond hope that they could dry on the line, so I hang them in the garage on lines I have strung from the roof beams. They won't dry quickly, but at least they will be out of sight. Then a thought occurs to me, I could buy a tumbler dryer and install it in the garage for these dark, damp, winter months. I put this week's shirts and socks on to wash and then drive to the leisure centre, determined to complete three swims before Christmas. The pause in the rain means it is slightly busier than yesterday, but three of us manage to share a two lane section, the others to either side and I in the middle. It isn't prudent to warm up on backstroke in these narrow circumstances, so swim a 400m freestyle instead. By the time I have finished it, one swimmer has already left and I am able to swim 400m butterfly, breaking it into 50m repeats as usual and then following it with 400m's on backstroke, breast and individual medleys. Afterwards, in the cafe, I drink tea and eat some oatmeal biscuits, whilst I chat to the catering staff, who are eating their lunch after the midday rush. They are all looking forward to Christmas, quite a few breaking up this afternoon. I return to Tickton for a quarter to three, put fish fingers and chips from the freezer, onto a tray and, once the oven has warmed up, pop them in for fifteen minutes to cook, boiling some garden peas in the microwave at the same time. Normy has his tin of dog food, while I eat my fish and chips. after lunch, the effects of the food and the swim take their toll, so I decide to rest for an hour, which turns into two. When I get up I have a missed call from Leslie and so call him back. He is not in a good way, the cardiologist is reviewing his medication and his pacemaker, but he is still not sleeping well, and when I say I will come round, he tells me I have woken him up and was in bed. He called to wish me a happy Xmas. He sounds weaker every time I speak to him, and I fear he is losing his will to live and that this may be his last Xmas. I shall call round and see him this weekend. After a cup of tea, Norman and I set off for our evening walk, it is a dry night, the sky clearing and a half moon showing in the eastern sky, despite the improvement in the weather, Norman puts the brakes on a hundred yards from the house, he deposits his "treasure", and then turns for home, so I indulge him, let him off the lead and start to play "praise and pat", on our way back, but he has a surprise in store, at each pat, he reverses direction and then runs back the way he has come. At first I think he has just lost his direction, but after the seventh shuttle, the penny drops, he wants to play the game, but he doesn't want to wander far from home. Eventually, when I have had enough, I put him on the lead and take him back. Who says old dogs can't learn new tricks, he is also getting more and more affectionate, and he will leave a big hole when he eventually shakes off the canine coil. Let's hope he is good for a few more years, but at fifteen, his days are surely limited, all I can do is make them as happy as possible. Hull City are playing away at Derby County this evening, and I use the opportunity to complete my ironing. At least in principle, because this weeks shirts are clean in the washer, so I hang them to dry on coat hangers in the bathroom, before ironing the last eight shirts, whilst listening to the match. Robbie Koren puts us ahead, against the run of play, in the first half, before Derby equalise with a Jacob's goal in extra time. In the second half Abdulaye Faye gets the winner for Hull and we go equal first with Cardiff on points, but second in the table due to inferior goal difference. Normy and I celebrate with a post match supper of goat's cheese and salami on rye bread, and the balance of the bottle of German, Warsteiner beer, that I had been drinking during the match. The rain is due to return tomorrow, but already the river Hull has burst it's banks at Wansford, up river, and the fire brigade are pumping out the lake on York Road, at the eastern edge of the Westwood, adjacent to Willow Grove. The frequency of these events seems to be increasing and the most probable candidate is climate change, as the amount of moisture carried on the prevailing southwesterly winds increases with temperature. Nevertheless, I find the hysteria around the subject counter productive, in the first place, because global warming is infinitely less destructive than another ice age, which would otherwise be imminent and the lack of balance in the coverage. The largest frozen land mass on earth, that covers large parts of Canada and Eurasia, will become suitable for agriculture as the temperature increases, but this is seems never to get mentioned. Political correctness and media hysteria, inhibit sensible discussion and debate. There is an opportunity for sensible, scientifically moderated, dialogue on the Internet, that needs to be realised. Problems can only be solved when they are capable of being sensibly discussed. On a more positive note, the solstice didn't usher in the end of the world, but to be fair to those followers of the Mayan calendar and other apocalyptic nuts; one day, you will be right, but hopefully not any time soon! To bed at eleven.

Lots of rain and a bad Hobbit

Wake in the night to the sound of rain lashing against the windows, and it is still raining when we get up, around a quarter to eight when I let Norman into the garden. My intestines seem to be working again, so we resume normal service and make a full English breakfast, which Normy greatly prefers to dry dog food. Well who wouldn't! The Guardian has failed to download again, more a problem with the BT broadband than with the publisher and the Everything Everything network, formerly known as Orange, has Nothing Nowhere again, I haven't had a signal in the village for almost twenty four hours. After breakfast, I fry some onions in the skillet and then some pork and beef mince in order to make a Bolognaise sauce, with the addition of garlic, chopped tomatoes, oregano, Oxo and Maggi seasoning. The whole lot is transferred to the slow cooker and left to do it's magic. Afterwards I change the beds and put the dirty sheets in to wash, along with this week's whites. There is no chance of getting them dry today, but a better day is forecast for tomorrow. Around half past ten, after a shower, I brave the elements and take Norman for a walk round the village, the lashing rain and the cold have a marvellous effect on the old boy's bowels and bladder, and so within a hundred yards, he has done his duty and wants to head home. Who could blame him in this sodden deluge? So we turn tail and return indoors to the warmth and comfort of our bungalow, a quick towelling restores him to his usual good humour and he is still wagging his tail when I set off for the Leisure Centre. The foul weather means the pool is sparsely populated when I arrive, shortly before eleven thirty. I vary my program slightly today, reintroducing 400m butterfly, along with the other three strokes, but split up into eight fifty metre repeats, and finishing off with 4 x 100m individual medley. Still a 2,000m swim but split equally between each of the four strokes. Afterwards, I drink tea in the cafe and eat a few oaties, before my phone finally gets a signal and I realise there are two voicemail messages from Felicity, enquiring about my health. I ring her back and tell her I am recovered and then ask if she needs anything bringing from Morrison's, where I am headed next. She asks for some cooked chicken thighs and after buying coffee and more dog food for Norman, as well as a chunk of Pecorino Romana, to grate over the pasta, we drive to Albert Terrace. Felicity makes tea and we chat for a while, before Sam, her Border Collie, is returned from his walk by an autistic teenager, who is soaked to the skin. Felicity has a number of dog walkers and refuses to pay this youngster, less than she does her able bodied helpers, despite being told that he would do it for half the price. One of the many things I admire in the old girl, is her generosity and her principle. Why should he get paid less, just because he is autistic? She gave him a chance, and he never lets her down and both emerge with affection and honour. Hannah arrives shortly afterwards, she has just had her eyes tested at the surgery, and they have put drops in to enlarge the pupils, so she can't see too clearly, but her brain is working as well as always. I leave around three and drive back to Tickton, where I boil a pan of water to make spaghetti and then serve it with Bolognese sauce and grated Pecorino. Norman loves spaghetti, as has every dog I have ever had, they have all probably seen "Lady and the Tramp", where the lovers eat spaghetti to the refrain of " Bella Notte", which I now croon for Normy. Eccentric, Moi! The bad news for Norman, is that he now has to walk round the village, as the distance between input and output on an elderly miniature Dachshund, is only about six inches. A very short flash to bang time. We make it all the way this time, but as its tea time and still pouring with rain, I don't let him off the lead until we are back in our cul de sac. Another towelling and he is ready to go back in his basket, whilst I take Alice to see "The Hobbit", at our local multiplex. I pick her up at six and then have to drive back to Tickton to collect my 3D glasses, which I had forgotten. We arrive at the cinema on time, but it is full price tonight, £7:60 each and another £2:60 for a bottle of water. For some reason Cineworld always has the sound levels turned right up for the adverts and trailers, it must breach some health and safety legislation, as it borders on being downright painful. The feature, when it starts, is average, the narrative sacrificed for computer game like action sequences, which is how a short book has been turned into a trilogy, the first episode of which, lasts almost three hours. It is not all bad, with decent performances from the leading actors, but it's target market is 10-15 year olds, and it seems to have been produced with a view to making as much money out of the inevitable computer game as the film. The real star of the show, as with "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, is the New Zealand Mountain landscape. Alice seems to have enjoyed it, which is the main point, but there again she is only fifteen. To bed for midnight.

Skyfall und durchfall!

Wake at five, desperately needing the toilet, then at five thirty and six, fortunately I have some Imodium tablets, but I am forced to the loo twice more before they take effect. Consequently I am up before seven and in the circumstances, a full English breakfast doesn't seem either sensible or desirable. I make coffee and rye toast with marmite, Norman has to make do with dry dog food, and we sit in the Garden Room and watch the day dawn, a crimson hue to the eastern horizon. The cause of my upset stomach is probably last night's Camembert, I like it ripe and runny and so consequently avoid putting it in the refrigerator. On the other hand, the BBC are warning of an outbreak of Norovirus, aka winter vomiting bug, but if it is the latter the Imodium won't hold it. In the circumstances it seems sensible to cancel my visit to the Poppy Seed, if I have got a bug, the last thing Felicity and the old girls need is the squirts for Xmas. By nine o'clock, the diarrhoea has stopped and so I shower, dress and drive to Cherry to collect Dolly and Teddy, with copious amounts of loo roll in my pocket and extra tablets in case of emergency. In the event we manage to get round the common without need of them, albeit on a shorter walk than usual. It is another mild day, but with heavy cloud and a gusty easterly wind, heavy rain is forecast to set in later and to dominate the next few days weather. We return home for eleven and make tea, by now I am feeling a little more secure, so make a fresh batch of oaties and then clean the bathroom. I am collecting Clement from Hull at ten past one and so need to leave the house for twelve thirty, which leaves time for some lunch, if I dare take the risk. Norman is starving, so I serve him a bowl of the beef casserole from the slow cooker and it smells so good that I decide to chance my luck. It tastes as good as it's aroma and should be easy to digest. By the time I pick up Clement from Paragon station, there have been no adverse effects. He is looking well and sporting a very fashionable designer stubble, and wants to go see the new Bond film, Skyfall. He needs a drink and a sandwich first, so we call at Tesco's cafe in North Hull, which is en route to the cinema, and buy him a panini and some orange juice, before catching the two fifteen showing of the film. With my orange Wednesday code, and as he is a student, we both get in for £5:60p. Clement says the cinema is at least a tenner each in London. The film is OK, the plot and stunts preposterous, but it moves along at a rare old pace, is never boring and worth seeing for the performances from Bardem, Fiennes and Dench. There is also a nice cameo by Albert Finney and Daniel Craig is fine as Bond, but for some reason, Sam Mendes, its director has Bond wearing clothes that are always one size too small. Perhaps to enhance his muscularity? Who knows. I drop Clement at Sarah's house at half past five, Sarah and Louis haven't arrived home yet, but Alice is in, so I arrange to take her to see "The Hobbit", tomorrow evening and then drive home. Norman is waiting for his dinner, so after first letting him into the garden, I dish up some more casserole for us both, finishing the pan. Afterwards I make some tea and then tackle another week's ironing, before taking Norman for his evening walk round the village. It is still dry, though the wind is strengthening and there were flood warnings for the southwest on the evening news, we play our usual game of "praise and pat", once we are back on Green Lane and I am able to let him off the lead. Pip rings when we get in, to stand me down from dog walking duties, as Andrew has now broken up for the Xmas holidays. To bed for eleven, with no further bodily emergencies, it seems it may just have been the Camembert!

Catching up on housework and exercise.

Up at seven thirty to a cloudy morning, it has rained overnight and the garden is very wet when I let Norman out, the sky overcast and the day not yet broken, as we slide into the darkest seven days of the year. Despite the best efforts of the church over the last two thousand years, there is something distinctly pagan about the approaching winter solstice, and the comforting sense of the cyclical nature of death and rebirth in the natural world. Living in the country and being outdoors on a daily basis, makes this a much more tangible feeling, and the warm feelings of Christmas and the start of lighter days, a very positive experience. Normy waits patiently for breakfast and after we have eaten, sits patiently in his basket until it is time for our walk. There are two things I wish to achieve today, a swim and catching up on housework, but first there are the dogs to walk. We arrive on the Westwood for ten, it is a mild morning and the cloud is just starting to break up, but the mud is as bad as ever. By the time we approach Black Mill, the sun has come out, very low against the southern horizon and we cast long shadows over the grass. I am very tempted to wander for another hour, but resist and limit our walk to an hour, skirting the gorse bushes at the Western edge of the common, before following the path down the valley back to the car. We return home for half past eleven, Norman has dry dog food, with the last of the beef gravy for lunch, and I a pot of tea and a couple of oaties, before starting on the housework. The window frames in my bedroom have become coated with mould and mildew, so I spray them with a special preparation and leave it to work for half an hour, whilst I clean up the kitchen. The spray loosens the grime on the windows and it wipes off easily when I return, I air the bedroom for an hour every morning, but the air here in Tickton is damp in the winter time, as we are very close to sea level and this area was originally salt marshes. My sister in law, Liliane, emailed this morning to say she has bought Graham a slow cooker for Christmas, perhaps inspired by this, I make a beef casserole with some frozen stewing steak and a load of vegetables left over from the weekend, that need to be used up. It only takes fifteen minutes, to fry the onions, meat and garlic add a couple of oxo's and then pop it in the slow cooker with carrots, swede, parsnip, cabbage and leaks. I also add some garden peas and broad beans from the freezer. It might just be ready for a late dinner, but most likely, I will let it simmer overnight in order to release all the flavours and will eat it for lunch tomorrow. Next is some ironing, I have three week's worth of shirts, in baskets in my bedroom, and intend to iron a weeks worth, before going for a swim around two. I iron to the one o'clock news, the government are halving the statutory notice period for large scale redundancies from ninety to forty five days. I get more and more cynical as I get older and it seems to me that politicians use crises to pursue their own party political ideology, irrespective of the evidence. The Liberal democrats are now so far behind in the opinion polls that they daren't object to this right wing agenda, for fear of triggering an election, in which they would face political annihilation. The nasty party is fully in charge, and filling it's boots, retoxification is in full swing, Cameron's modernisation platform has been blown asunder by the right wing thatcherites, who are now calling the shots. The same ideology, coincidentally, that got us into this hole in the first place, lets hope Milliband grows some balls and tells it like it is, deregulation and privatisation, massively benefited the top ten percent but at the expense of the rest of us. The anger motivates the ironing, and I clear away and drive to the leisure centre for two thirty. The pool is quiet and I have the far lane to myself, and complete a 2,000m medley swim and then shower and change before the children start to arrive for their swimming lessons. With luck, I will manage another couple of swims this week, next week being Xmas is more problematic. After tea and a couple of oaties, I drive to Morrison's for some shopping and then return home around five. Norman is waiting for his dinner, so I open a tin for him, and make Camembert and French stick for me. Later, around seven, I take the old boy for his evening walk, his winter coat freshly washed and dried on the radiator. It is another mild night, no stars are visible due to low cloud, and more Christmas decorations are springing up in the village. The little girls, who comprise Normy's fan club, have an illuminated snowman and a reindeer outside their house, on the other side of the Green. We haven't seen them for a few weeks, as it is too dark to play out after school at this time of year. Clement is home tomorrow from university and I am picking him up from Paragon Station in Hull at ten past one. To bed for nine.

Visiting Cousins

There is no particular rush on a Monday morning, so Norman and I take our time over breakfast, and leave the house to collect Dolly and Teddy around a quarter to ten. It has rained overnight, but the skies are clearing and the westerly breeze is mild. The main problem on the Westwood this morning is one of mud, mud everywhere, as the ground is thoroughly soddened. Normy's coat, which he has worn every day since he got it, is beginning to get grimy, despite me carrying him over the worst bits. The mud is my concern, particularly in the car, which is protected by a blanket on the back seat, but it is impossible to restrict dogs to just this spot. At the end of the week, I will need to give the Chrysler a full valet before Xmas begins. Of course none of this bothers the dogs, who are as happy in the mud as anywhere else, the skies clear, the low winter sun shines and the common, is uncommonly beautiful. Today the colours are muted by residual ground mist, lending the landscape a gentle watercolour aspect, we stay out for a couple of hours, because it is just too pleasant to be indoors. After dropping the terriers back at Cherry Burton, Norman and I drive to Walkington Grange Farm shop and buy a dozen fresh eggs, before driving back to Tickton for half past twelve. After all the exercise, Normy is starving, but I make him wait whilst I make our roast beef lunch. The beef and gravy just need warming through and it only takes twenty minutes to peel the potatoes and vegetables and pressure cook them. Dinner is served at one, roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrot and swede mash and cabbage with chopped leaks, we both clear our plates, and still there is enough beef left for another meal. Norman will have it for dinner, as it can't be saved beyond today, without a health hazard. I am collecting Louis this afternoon, so I chill out for an hour before driving to Copandale Road and parking outside Sam's house. I am taking Louis to visit his cousins after school for an hour, until it is time for his swimming lesson and it is only a short walk from Sam's to Saint Mary's Primary school. She asks if I can also collect Laura from Molescroft Primary on our way back. Unusually the two schools are less than half a mile apart and it takes only ten minutes to walk from one to the other. Louis emerges at a quarter past three in his shirtsleeves, carrying his coat and without his bag, which contains his swimming costume. We have to go back to his classroom, but fail to find his school jumper, but recover his swimming gear. His class have P.E. on a Monday afternoon, and as he is only five, it is a bit of a lottery which clothes he ends up with. Mrs. Wildbore will sort it out in the morning. We arrive at Molescroft Primary in the nick of time, just as Laura is emerging from her class, she is delighted to see me, but less enthusiastic regarding Louis, seven year old girls are not quite on the same wavelength as super hero obsessed little boys. We walk back to Laura's house together and Louis behaves himself. What he really likes is playing with the girl's toys and this keeps him amused for the hour. Laura's big sister, Rebecca, is off school with tooth ache. She is twelve and suffers from a rare genetic disorder, called Tuberous Sclerosis, which afflicts her with epilepsy, which is controlled with drugs and moderate autism, which isn't. Her toothache, is caused by the last of her baby teeth coming loose, which in a normal child, is no big deal, but Rebecca will only eat an extremely limited range of foods and because of her toothache, she hasn't eaten for two days. She is also entering puberty and growing rapidly, already she is about five feet six, but painfully thin. She sits on the settee with me and has a cuddle for ten minutes and then goes into the play room with Louis and Laura, to play on her Nintendo DS. The tooth will eventually drop out, just let it be soon! Louis and I leave at a quarter to five, we have arranged for all my Grandchildren, except Clement, who will be in London, to visit the Panto on the first Saturday in January. Louis is duly delivered for his swimming lesson at five and I watch through the window and drink my usual hot chocolate. It is not a good lesson, the kids try, but the instructor is weak and they don't make much progress, although they seem to enjoy themselves nonetheless. I deliver Louis back to Alice for six o'clock and then drive home, where I feed Norman on the last of the beef and gravy, before taking him for his walk round the village, he doesn't want to go beyond the end of our cul de sac, but with a bellyful of roast dinner, he needs the exercise and the toiletting, and is persuaded to complete the tour. I have a light meal of bread, butter, apricot conserve and tea and then wrestle with a puzzle until it is time for bed. The ironing carried forward another day!

Gay Marriage and Dragons

The faint light of the dawning day brings me to consciousness, it is a quarter to eight, telepathically Norman senses my awakening and wriggles on his back in his bed, in anticipation of the breakfast that I invariably produce for him. After donning my dressing gown and slippers, I carry him into the Garden Room and settle him on my knee, as we observe the new day, Normy is quite capable of walking, but I like to massage his shoulders and rub the stiffness out of his back, before releasing him into the garden. I have no idea whether his shoulders and back are stiff after a night in bed, but mine certainly are, and the sympathetic action on him seems to work on me as well. Outside it is a grey, misty, dawn and in the field adjacent to my garden, a deer is feeding quietly, she is a doe, and perhaps quite soon, she will have one or two fawns. I know that the moment I open my patio doors, she will be off and hurdle the distant hedge in one impressive bound, so Norman and I watch her feed for a while and allow the slow cadence of the country morning to infuse our being, before making breakfast. Which is always a full English, except on Friday's. Whilst it sounds excessive, it really isn't, consisting of a single sausage, rasher of bacon, slice of black pudding, egg and a sliced tomato, probably six hundred calories in total, less than a large bowl of sugar puffs, and slow release energy that will last until lunchtime. After breakfast and a shower, I walk Normy down to the little bridge over the dyke, it is a cloudy, misty, morning, but not cold and the mist may well burn off later in the day. On our way home I let him off the lead and we play " praise and pat", until we arrive back at the bungalow. I phone Leslie, en route, but he has had a bad night and doesn't feel up to a visit. Before leaving for ten thirty mass, I hang my coloured washing on the line, and then drive into town in good time, as I don't want to repeat last weeks experience. I park at Tesco's, as I need some shopping after church, and then walk the quarter mile to Saint John's, arriving to a packed church, five minutes before the service starts. It is the third advent Sunday, and Father Roy and Father David, are both adorned in festive pink vestments. My thoughts are drawn to the parents of the children murdered in Connecticut, and I wonder how I would feel if Louis' class had been cut down in such a way. All those little angels and shepherds from last week's nativity play! Such immense suffering has to be put to good effect, perhaps to change the gun laws in America. Father Roy and the church are more exercised by the Governments move to legalise same sex marriage, and whilst it is botched, undemocratic and badly handled, the direction towards tolerance and inclusivity, is surely Christian in it's instincts. Heterosexual marriage isn't being prohibited, or in any way denigrated, to me it seems as if patriarchal, Abrahamic, Old Testament prejudices, and instincts are being defended with unseemly fervour. Perhaps the Taliban lives in our midst, and yet I have profound regard and affection for Father Roy, who obviously has deep sentiments on this subject. After Mass, I do a little grocery shopping and then receive a text from Sarah, she would like me to look after Louis, whilst she cleans the house for Xmas. I collect him at one o'clock and then drive back to Tickton where I prepare lunch, it is always easy feeding Louis impromptu, Parma ham, Chorizo, smoked cheese, olives and crusty bread, never fail to please him. He scours eBay on my iPad, looking for Xmas toys, whilst I prepare lunch, and then we eat together, Norman getting by with dry dog food and the odd titbits of leftovers. Afterwards we dress warmly and then head for the Westwood, arriving shortly after two, it is a fine day, the mist has burnt off and a late winter sun hovers above the horizon. We skirt the edges of Newbegin Pits, scrambling up and down the banking, with Norman faithfully dogging our footsteps, his new, blue coat becoming increasingly soiled and muddy. As we emerge onto the common, I tell Louis that we have to get to Black Mill before sunset, in order to achieve sanctuary, as the dragons start to hunt between sunset and darkness. It is now a quarter past three and sunset is a little over twenty minutes away, he heads off towards the setting sun and Black Mill, with Norman and I trailing behind him. He knows it is only a game, in the same way that he knows that superheroes are not real, but a child's imagination and the power of the mythos, is not to be underestimated. We arrive in the shadow of Black Mill with only minutes to spare, I instruct him to touch the black, tar coated bricks, to confer immunity from predation by dragons, and he then runs to grab Norman and touch his paws onto the dark walls before the sun sets. Afterwards we walk round the gorse bushes to our West, before returning down the valley, that leads us back to Newbald Road. Any landscape in the twilight assumes a spooky feeling, and the Westwood duly obliges, a crescent moon, hanging above the looming prescience of the Mill. We return to the car as darkness settles, it is low on diesel, and by the time we have filled up, it is time to take Louis home, we have had a lovely afternoon. Sarah has just finished cleaning when we arrive and dispatched Alice to bring a takeaway tea home, I leave Louis and then drive home myself. My washing, which I gathered in before leaving for the Westwood, was still very damp, so I set it to dry on the radiators, before making oatcakes and Camembert for tea. (Roast beef dinner can wait until tomorrow! ) Afterwards I read the Observer, but the vast majority is either stuff I have heard on the BBC or ephemera to do with Christmas. They are really missing a trick, with less time sensitive, but more in depth, commentary and analysis being an arena in which they could add real value. To bed for ten.

A great day for Norman

Wake at a quarter to eight, outside, what promises to be a fine day is dawning, a lovely clear sky with a golden hue bathes the fields to the east. After breakfast, I hang out my whites, there is a slight breeze, so hopefully they may dry, despite the lack of sun, due to the shade. The washing machine is reloaded with coloureds and then I settle down with my coffee to read the paper, it is full of the massacre in the USA, one damaged person killing many and creating many more potentially damaged people in the process. The karmic consequences ricocheting into eternity, on this subject, at least, Simone Weil has a point, by absorbing suffering, however innocent we may be, the transmission of evil is ended. Related to this, is her contention that pure evil reveals pure goodness and transcending this apparent dichotomy, reveals divinity. Very deep, and extremely difficult to put into practice, but for those parents of murdered toddlers, perhaps the only path through agony to peace. Weil's mystic Christianity is austere and hard in the extreme, but has to be better than the Old Testament eye for an eye. After showering and dressing, Norman and I drive into town, parking opposite Minster Cycles, down Norwood and then walking into town through Saturday Market to the Poppy Seed. It is much warmer today and the sun is shining out of a clear blue sky, Beverley is packed with Xmas shoppers and the market traders are doing brisk business. Felicity is waiting for us in the cafe and we are soon joined by her daughter, Melissa and granddaughter Ruby. After drying Normy on a towel from my bag, he sits on my knee, gazing longingly at Ruby's bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon. When she has finished eating, there are a few scraps of salmon left, which she feeds to him, that is two days in a row he has tasted salmon, he is acquiring expensive tastes! Joy, Felicity's sister arrives and then Sylvia, Barbara, Jill and John Geechie and his wife. We have to pull two tables together, in order to seat everyone. Soon there are three simultaneous conversations taking place, the fight to save Beverley from the predation of developers, Melissa's boyfriend's potential new house down York Road, and arrangements for the telecast of Aida from the Met this evening. Norman lets it all flow over his head and gradually the group disintegrates, as people head to the market to shop. Melissa asks if I will walk her mum home, so Norman and I accompany Felicity to the market, where she buys a few bits and pieces and then accompany her back to Albert Terrace. She is painfully slow and we need to help her rest twice in a journey of less than two hundred yards. Nevertheless, she has enjoyed her morning and the company of friends and family has raised her spirits, but by the time she gets to her front door, she is desperately tired. Once we have seen her safely home, Norman and I return to the car at Norwood, pausing only to buy a loaf of polish bread on the market. We arrive back in Tickton just after midday, Hull City are playing Huddersfield, and in order to avoid fan trouble, the kick off is at twelve thirty. I switch on the radio, give Norman some dry dog food and then retrieve my Caprese, (tomato,Mozarella and Basil salad), from the fridge where it has marinaded overnight, then cut some thick doorsteps of fresh Polish Bloomer and pour a glass of Chianti and listen to the match, while I eat a leisurely lunch. City win 2:0 and go third in the league, at least until the other sides play at three. Later, I roast the brisket of beef, with some parsnips, and then gather in my whites from the line, they are almost dry and air quickly on the radiators, before being stored away. With luck the coloureds may also dry tomorrow. When the beef is ready, I am still too full of Caprese to attempt a roast dinner, so cut a few slices and make sandwiches and a pot of tea. The balance of the joint will provide dinner tomorrow. I should do some ironing this evening, but lack the motivation and give my brain a work out instead, attempting impossibly difficult killer sudoku for an hour or so, before taking Norman for his evening walk. It is a mild evening, even though the skies are clear and packed with stars, a gritting lorry rumbles through the Main Street as we approach the Post Office and Normy catches a spray of sand and salt. A frost must be expected later. I let him off the lead as we emerge from the snickett onto Green Lane and he waits for me to pat him before scooting off towards home, his tail wagging madly. We repeat the game a few times before arriving back indoors and after I have dried him, he lies on his back and wriggles with happiness on the hall carpet. Norman has had a good day, lots of attention, smoked salmon and roast beef. It doesn't get better than that for an old dachshund. To bed around eleven.

Back in the swim!

There is an infallible rule of alarm clocks for me, whenever I set one, I inevitably wake up at least half a hour before it is due to go off. In this case at six thirty, waking at six and eventually getting up at quarter past. It is still dark outside, but slightly less cold, Norman has dry dog food for breakfast and a little smoked salmon, as there is a bit left over after I have made my rye toast with Philadelphia cheese and smoked salmon, accompanied by my usual Italian coffee. The weatherman on Radio Humberside says that the morning should stay fine, but heavy rain is forecast for this afternoon. There is no ice on the car, as I set out to drive to North Bar to collect Louis and then walk him to school. He has packed a bag with his Spider-Man suit in it, for a party at Hector's House, the after school club, we discuss the Xmas Pantomime, which he seems set against, for some reason, until he learns that "The Chuckle Brothers", are in it and is instantly converted. The power of television! After delivering him safely to Saint Mary's, Normy and I retrace our steps back to the car, before collecting Dolly and Teddy from Cherry and driving to our usual parking spot down Newbald Road. It is now a few degrees above freezing and the mud has thawed out between the car and the woods, so I carry Norman for the first fifty feet, until I can set him on drier ground. In the woods the ground is still frozen and so mud is less of a problem, but today is a very poor relation to yesterday, a grey sky sucks the colours out of the landscape and as we emerge onto the common, a blustery, force six wind, is blowing from the south, but at least it is dry,for now. On the assumption that the ground will be frozen in Burton Bushes, we make our way there, only to find that the side of the wood, which is exposed to the southerly wind is boggy, whilst the northern edge is still frozen. We navigate our way through, more or less, successfully and return to the car, having stayed out for around an hour and a half. Dolly and Teddy won't get off the lead again until Monday. After dropping them off in Cherry Burton, we call at Morrisons, and encounter a perfect Xmas shopping storm! Fridays and Mondays are when the pensioners do their shopping, they like to take their time and stop and chat, but the Xmas frenzy has also begun in earnest now and demented housewives are frantically trying to navigate at high speed around the slower oldies. I only wanted some bacon, black pudding, parsnips and carrots, to accompany a brisket of beef, I have bought for tomorrow, but seeing as I am here, I collect my stuff anyway and then queue for half an hour to pay. We arrive back in Tickton at noon, unpack the shopping, give Normy a few biscuits and then pick up my swimming togs and drive to the pool, just as it starts to rain. The pool is very quiet and I have a lane to myself, it is almost three weeks since I have been able to swim, so I ease back into things with a leisurely 400m backstroke, and then follow that with two more 400's on breaststroke and freestyle, followed by 4 x 100m individual medleys and then warm down with easy 200m freestyle and 200m backstroke. 2,000m in total, lasting about an hour, afterwards I drink tea in the cafe and eat a couple of oaties, and realise that I am now fully recovered. The heavy rain has finally arrived and I get a soaking as I dash the few yards from the leisure centre to the car, and then drive home in a heavy downpour. The river Hull, is within inches of the top of the levee again, much more of this, and it will breach and flood the fields and Swinemoor. The new Beverley hospital has been built on the corner of Swinemoor, despite fierce opposition, it is, after all, a floodplain. It's previous site, next to the Westwood, has been sold to property developers, who will, no doubt, make huge profits. I arrive home for two thirty, meditate for an hour and then make a very late lunch, fish fingers, chips and garden peas, with tea, bread and butter. Norman has a tin of dog food and then wants to sit on my lap, as I read the local paper and finish my tea. Outside it is now dark, but the rain continues, hopefully it will stop long enough to walk Normy round the village later. I marinade the beef joint in garlic, salt and pepper and then construct a Caprese salad, that I leave to cook in the fridge, before separating my whites from my coloured washing and putting the former on to wash. A better day is forecast tomorrow, so between the Poppy Seed and other chores, I may get them dry. Later, I finish, Weil's " Gravity and Grace", her theories about God and Creation have a strange echo with the theory of super symmetry, that tries to reconcile quantum mechanics with relativity, although her writing precedes these by over forty years. So far we agree on one major point, the necessity to absorb suffering into the self and not reflect it onto others. I still have to read her "The need for Roots", but will probably intersperse Cormack McCarthy's, "The Orchard Keeper", first. To bed at ten, after letting Norman into the garden. It is still raining!