Honey for the king

Sleep until eight and wake rested, but still tired, during the night a torrential downpour hammered against the bedroom windows. When I pull back the curtains and open the window, the freshness of the rain on the fields and garden flows into the house. Outside the sky is overcast and threatening rain. I make a full English with the last of the sausage, black pudding, bacon, tomatoes and egg, I will need to restock later. Somehow breakfast tea seems to fit the bill today and I drink this strong and orange hued, with my breakfast. My ear infection is a lot better this morning, so after washing and dressing, pack my running gear for later and then drive to Cherry for nine thirty. I give my estranged wife, Pip, the new insurance certificate for her car and a new gold card from our joint account, that also provides breakdown cover. I can't live with her, because of her anger, but I look after her from a distance. Dolly and Teddy are eager for their walk, and although it is spitting with rain, we still drive to the Westwood and park on Newbald Road, next to Newbegin Pits woods. It is still spitting with rain, but the weather is mild and pleasantly cool after the heat. In the woods it is calm, fresh and tranquil, you can almost sense the gratitude of trees for the gift of rain. We take our time, the dogs and I, absorbed in the beauty of the landscape, at peace with the gentle flow of the eternal river of time. As we make our way back to the car, I know that today is not a day to run, today is a day to rest and reflect on the occasional quiet majesty of the World. After I drop the dogs back at Cherry, I call and see Felicity at her house in Albert Terrace, her cleaner, Claire is there. A combination of friends, family and social services collude to keep Felicity in her own home. She has people who take her dogs out, a home help she calls her Sherpa and Claire, the cleaner. After her migraine attack, she is tired but otherwise OK, another friend, Rob Byass, is helping to publish an anthology of her poems. In many ways she is like an older version of Pip, when she was Mrs. Jekyll, before Mrs. Hyde took control of her life. I drink a pot of tea with her, laugh and joke for a while, then leave after half an hour as she is tiring. On my way home I call at the supermarket to restock on groceries and then drive back for one o'clock. After unpacking the shopping, I text Dylan at Lloyds and cancel my appointment at the bank, and then make crusty bread and roast beef sandwiches, with more tea, for lunch. I eat in the garden room and spend the afternoon quietly reading, stopping now again to enjoy the heavy showers, the rain bouncing off the path outside, it's timpanation rising to a crescendo and then quickly dying down to a more gentle pitter, patter. At five I break for meditation and afterwards fall asleep again for an hour. Tea is bread and honey, the silly German phrase, "hoenig fur der Koenig", (honey for the king",) repeating in my mind, as it always does when I eat bread and honey. As I recall from four and twenty blackbirds, it was the queen that ate the bread and honey, the king was in his counting house! Read until bedtime, finishing my book. Weather permitting I will take Louis to the seaside tomorrow so that Sarah can revise for her finals.

The little tribesman

A bad night's sleep, woke in a sweat at 1:30, and tried to sleep under a cellular blanket but ended up tossing and turning all night. Finally got back to sleep around six and then the alarm got me up at half past. The culprit, it seems, is an infection of the middle ears, Otis media on both sides, so no swimming until it clears. Make a full English breakfast, with black coffee, which I eat in the garden room. Wash, dress and drive to Sarah's, parking in New Walk, opposite Norfolk Street, before collecting Louis and walking him to school past Bleach Yard Stables, where mucking out is in progress. I lift Louis, so that he can see the horses over the gate, and then we trek the last 100 metres to St. Mary's primary school. After dropping him off in class and sharing a kiss and a cuddle, he makes a big deal of showing me off to all his mates. Louis' dad is not around due to severe bipolar disorder, and I guess I am a kind of substitute for him. His dad and I were very close. After dropping him off, drive to Cherry to collect Dolly and Teddy, and as I am loading them in the car, get a call from my friend, Felicity, she has had a migraine yesterday and has to have checks to ensure that it isn't a flare up of temporal arteritis, to which she is prone and which can be fatal. She won't be at the Poppy Seed this morning, which is why she rang. It's a lovely morning on the Westwood again, and I notice several hawthorn trees on the common blossoming in blazing pinky red, it's not really crimson. I have an appointment at Lloyds/TSB with Yvette, my account manager, at eleven and no Poppy Seed obligation now, with Felicity ill, so the dogs and I do an extra loop around the gorse bushes at the western end of the common. We arrive back in Cherry for 10:20, I drop them off, and then head into town and park outside St John's in North Bar Without, by about 10:30, and with half an hour to kill before my appointment, walk through town and buy a French stick, apples, oranges and strawberries, for Louis tea. En route back to the bank, I see Hannah, (aka, the great Dane), Felicity's best friend, who says she is taking her for tests to the hospital this afternoon. Arrive at Lloyds two minutes before my appointment, wait for five and am then ushered into a consulting office where Yvette procures a strong tea for me before we sort out my accounts. I arrive home for 12:30, and don't run as I will need all my energy for Louis, who I am collecting at 3:15 and then looking after him until half past six. Make a ham salad sandwich and tea for lunch and eat this with a pot of tea in the garden, having first hung out a line of shorts and polo shirts. It is hot again and I take shade beneath the sun umbrella and read a book, the latest from James Lee Burke, before setting off to fetch Louis at three. He is delighted when he sees me, and we arrive at the swing park in Tickton at twenty to four, having been held up at the level crossing for five minutes. The park is full of kids around Louis' age and there are swings, roundabouts, seesaws and climbing frames in abundance, but the main attraction is a yew tree next to the churchyard wall of St Paul's, which forms part of the boundary of the park. The kids climb the wall to get access to the higher branches of the tree and climb up and down like little chimps. Louis won't be five for another week, but he's unusually big and strong and I approve of his natural inclination to explore, even though there is some risk involved. I did the same at his age and there is a modern tendency to protect kids out of their childhood. After ten minutes or so two girls come back to say that he's stuck up the tree. When I investigate he's stood on a branch only three feet from the ground, I guide his hands and feet and teach him three point movement, the basic principle of climbing. You only move one hand or one foot at a time. He learns quickly and is quickly scrambling about the branches with the other kids. He could fall, but fear builds caution and overcoming fear builds character and confidence. At the worst he might sprain an ankle or break a bone, better than having a crippled spirit. He plays until five and then we race to the end of the field, I let him win, just. Then we race back, I am running in Sandals and he does win. We get back to my house for quarter past five and I get his water colours out and the cards that stiffened my Egyption cotton duvet sets, and we paint in the garden for half an hour before serving tea. Louis favourite is ante pasta with crusty bread and olives, followed by strawberries with yoghourt. After tea we paint for a little longer and then it's time to go home. We arrive at Sarah's at twenty five to seven, held up by another train at the crossing. His mum is home and I hand him over, happy, tired and ready for bed. And that's just me, Louis is a force of nature, a little hunter gatherer, he has to be civilised, but not too much, I hope. Back home I meditate but then fall asleep and don't wake until nine. His mum is taking him to school tomorrow.

A cool and pleasant day.

Woke at 6:00, then slept until 8:15, got up and had a light breakfast of rye toast with honey and my usual Italian coffee. It is much cooler this morning and the sun is obscured by grey cloud, after breakfast I wash and dress and arrive at Cherry about 9:30. The dogs and I head for the Westwood, and as we are slightly later, there are fewer dog walkers about. At Black Mill the cows are herded about the water trough, but Dolly ignores them and I have Teddy on his lead. Although its overcast, it is not cold and the walking is pleasant, on our way back to the car we pass a hawthorn bush, with unusual, beautiful crimson flower buds, which I photograph. Back at Cherry I give the dogs a drink, make a pot of tea for myself, and then set too to trim the ivy at the back of the house. It takes two hours, but looks nice once it's finished, the southern flower bed will have to wait until Thursday as I have an appointment at the bank tomorrow. I arrive at the Leisure centre intending to run in the cooler weather, but change my mind once inside. The reason is that I need to prepare my accounts for tomorrow and don't want to be over tired, so swim instead. A nice easy 4 x 400m on mixed stroke, just focussing on relaxation and technique and warm down with 100 IM. The cafe special today is plaice goujons, chips, peas and tea with brown bread and butter, and as always it is excellent. I call at the supermarket to buy a French stick, more Italian coffee and ante pasta for Louis' tea tomorrow. Once home, I make a caprese, (tomato and mozzarella salad with fresh basil and olive oil), pop it in the fridge to cook and then meditate for an hour. This refreshes me, and I make tea and oatcakes with honey and eat this in the Garden Room whilst listening to the news, outside the sun has burnt off the cloud and it is a lovely evening. At half past six I sit down to prepare the accounts for tomorrow, essentially I am putting all the bills for Cherry Burton into a separate account, so that I can have a better view of my finances. I have just completed this when my oldest grandson, Clement, rings from London. He has just finished the first year of an engineering degree at UCL, and is flying to Barcelona tomorrow with some friends, for five days. He is coming to Beverley next Wednesday and taking Louis to London for his fifth birthday next Friday. Later I ring his mum, my daughter Sarah, who is sitting her finals on a conversion degree to become a podiatrist. She has to defend her dissertation tomorrow, so I wish her luck. After eating my caprese, read for an hour and turn in about eleven. I am back on the school run tomorrow and need to be up for six thirty.

On a lighter note.

A text from Sarah at ten past six wakes me, to say she is taking Louis today and tomorrow. I text back OK, and then sleep on until seven. The little heat wave continues, it's another beautiful day outside. I make smoked salmon on cream cheese with toast and coffee and eat breakfast in the Garden room listening to the news on radio 4. After breakfast I put some whites in the washer and then try to renew my house contents insurance over the phone. Fat chance! Automated answering machine, options and then a queue with Muzak, I don't even bother waiting. Arrive at Cherry at nine to take the dogs out, Andrew takes them on a weekend but he never lets them off the lead, consequently the go crazy when they see me on a Monday morning. Today is the hottest day so far, the heat building steadily over the last week, at nine o'clock it's already close to 25 degrees in the sun, pleasant enough if you don't have to work and aren't in a hurry. We park on Newbald Road, by Newbegin Pits, and in seconds the temperature drops ten degrees as we enter the cool shade of the wood. Quite a few of the older walkers, or walkers with older dogs, are taking advantage of the shade. Teddy is first off the lead and sets off in hot pursuit of a rabbit, but fortunately he's out of luck. As we emerge from the woods onto the meadow, the warm air is scented with mayflower blossom and buttercups. I don't mind the warm weather at all, we get so little of it, one just needs to slip into mañana mode, and slow right down. Teddy extends his run off the lead until we are almost at Black Mill, the usual rendezvous with Dolly, so she gets an extension as well, until we have made our way out of the trees at Limekiln Pits and are on the home stretch back to the car. We get back to Cherry for ten past ten, I give the dogs a drink, and then weed and prune the flower beds to the north and east of the back garden. If the weather holds, this will only leave a small bed to the south and then pruning back the ivy that grows on the back of the house, for tomorrow. I finish work at twelve fifteen and drive to the leisure centre, looking forward to a cooling swim. Running can wait until the weather cools, possibly tomorrow. The pool is not too busy and I find myself in a double lane with two other swimmers, who are swimming one behind the other. I wait until they are just about to come in, before pushing off on a 4 x 100m mixed medley warm up, this means they are almost two lengths ahead of me, and that means I won't have to overtake. I repeat this tactic on the 4 x 200m in each stroke, but inevitably I have to overtake after five or six lengths. A single lane becomes free and I'm able to swim 4 x 100m IM at pace, before warming down with the same again, but at a slow relaxed rate. I feel so good when this is completed, that another 200m IM seems in order. After showering and dressing, I make my way to the cafeteria and order the daily special, chicken and bacon salad. When it arrives, the chefs are also taking their lunch break, so we chat and eat together. One of them, a woman in her late thirties, tells stories about her four pet ferrets. It's grand up north, here in the Yorkshire countryside. Later I stock up on bread and fruit at Morrison's and then make my way home for about three thirty. After unpacking the shopping, I successfully renew my insurance, it actually takes two minutes, but with five added on for all the boilerplate that's apparently required by law. This done I search eBay for a new pair of speedos, mine have finally succumbed to the cumulative effects of chlorine and fell to pieces as I took them off. They had a five inch side panel, but that design has gone out of production, fortunately I find some old stock and order a pair. After pegging my whites out, I take my book, "the quality of mercy", by Barry Unsworth, and finish it sat in the late afternoon sun. The book is a sequel to his booker prize winning, "Sacred Hunger", and is quite good. Unsworth is eighty one now, and there are probably not many books left to expect from him. He is one of my favourite historical novellists. I make toast with strawberry jam and tea and eat this in the garden, it is pleasantly cool now and my blackbird gives me a couple of stunning arias, before I take in my washing and retire indoors. My mood has lightened today, no doubt seeing the dogs and the exercise has helped.

Gloomy Sunday

Get up at six thirty and make a full english breakfast with coffee. The sun is already high in the sky, despite the early hour and it is already warm. I have to draw the curtains in the garden room as the sun's glare is making it oppressive. After showering and dressing, hang yesterdays bedding back out to air, before driving to St John's for nine O'clock Pentecost mass. There is only one parking space in North Bar Without and I squeeze in, but when I get out of my car, the driver of the next car accuses me of hitting his. I deny this, as I had been careful, but sure enough there is a slight scuff where my car has caught his. We exchange addresses and the scuff on his car rubs away with my hankie. In the end it turns out we are both attending St John's, and hurry so as not to be late. After communion I look to see the man again and hope to offer to make a donation of £20 to the church, to help his feelings, but it's too late he has already left. Perhaps I might see him next week. After church, collect Leslie from Molescroft and I drive us both to Skidby Windmill cafe for coffee and cakes. Whether it's the little accident earlier or not, nevertheless I have a general sense of foreboding, the lovely weather, the impending crises in Europe and the Middle East, suddenly put me in mind of the summer of 1914, almost a hundred years ago. Let's hope there is no equivalent of the assassination of Arch Duke Ferdinand! After dropping Leslie back home, I drive back to Tickton and despite having numerous chores awaiting my attention, I find my energy levels are low, despite the glorious weather. I conclude that I must be feeling a little low, and recognising that fact, realise that this feeling and it's associated energy state will pass in due course. So meditate and rest for an hour and then feel a little better as a consequence. I repot a few plants, but by now it's too hot to do much outside, other than take in my clean, aired bedding. I put up the sun umbrella and read my book through the afternoon and once it's cooler, make a lamb pilau, which I eat in the garden. The heat wave is due to break on Tuesday, but fine weather is set to return for the jubilee weekend.

Friends and family

Get up at seven and make breakfast, cream cheese with fresh chives, on rye toast, served with my favourite strong, black, Italian coffee. The beautiful weather continues and after breakfast, shower and dress, and then strip the bed and put on clean sheets and pillowcases. I put the soiled linen in the washer, before heading into town on my bike around ten. It is perfect cycling weather, warm, with clear blue skies and a cooling easterly breeze. At the metal footbridge over the river Hull, I change down to first gear and shed my chain. Fortunately someone has left last night's chip paper in a nearby rubbish bin and I am able to use some of this to put the chain back on the cog wheel without getting covered in grease. Another small victory! Arrive in Town and park my bike at St. John's before making my way to the Poppy Seed cafe for tea with some friends. They are all Liberal Democrats and support the coalition government, but think that David Cameron and his culture secretary, Jeremy Hunt are running out of road because of the revelations of the Leveson enquiry. I will get the conservative perspective tomorrow when I see Leslie. Later wander through the market and the town, enjoying the sunshine and the street musicians. There is a very decent mariachi band playing in Toll Gavel, so I listen to them for a while, before receiving a text from my sister, Jackie, to say they are running late and won't be here until two. This leaves me two hours to fill, but I find a good book in the Oxfam shop, " The Shadow of the wind," by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. So read this over a tea and scone back at the Poppy Seed and later, sat on a bench in the sun, in Coronation Gardens, a small but beautiful park opposite Rolando's, where we have a table reserved for lunch. Jackie and Gino arrive at two, and we have a nice, relaxed lunch until a quarter to four, catching up on all the family news. Afterwards we retrace my route through town as Jackie checks out the market and the shops whilst Gino and I chat as we walk in the sunshine. They leave at five thirty, as they are going to see a band in Leeds tonight, and I pick up my bike, call at the supermarket, and then cycle home for six. I feel tired, perhaps the sun, or more likely the wine at lunch time, so hang the bed linen out to dry and then put my feet up for an hour. Later make some beef and ham sandwiches and bring in the dry washing before an early night with my new book.

Teddy, the tortoise and Jimmy

Didn't sleep well last night, it was warm but not really unpleasant, just one of those things I guess. Another cracking day, and no Louis to ferry, so can take my time with breakfast. Smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye toast, for breakfast, washed down with a coffee pot of strong black Italian. Pick the dogs up at nine and take them on the Westwood again, they like seeing the other dogs and Teddy knows when to come back, so walking them here is a bit safer and more predictable than on the old railway line. There is more of a breeze today, so it's a little fresher, and that will make gardening more comfortable when we get back. I meet a walker at Black Mill who is new to Beverley and is amazed that this beautiful common extends all the way into town at North Bar. I know I'm biased but Beverley has got to be one of the best places in the UK to live!
We get back for ten fifteen and Teddy immediately escapes into Gareth's garden, next door. Fortunately they are away for the weekend and I am able to pop through there garden gate and get him. He is barking furiously at their large tortoise, which must have emerged from hibernation with the warm weather. To be fair to Teddy it does look like a pork pie! First job then, Teddy proof the fence again, this done, mow the lawns front and back and then finish off pruning the bushes at the front. If the weather holds, the back garden will be back to manageable maintenance by Wednesday. Finish the gardening by eleven thirty and drive to the leisure centre to swim, only to be told that the pool is closed for a gala. I'd forgotten. Call at Morrisons for a French stick, and draw a hundred pounds from the cashpoint for Jimmy, the locksmith, and then drive home to Tickton. Boil a couple of eggs, open a tin of tuna, and rustle up a salad Nicoise, with the crusty bread, and then I take my lunch and a large glass of chilled white wine into the garden where I eat at leisure in the lovely spring sunshine. After lunch I finish off my Ian Rankin book but then the food, wine, sunshine and last night's poor sleep, catch up with me and I head indoors and sleep for an hour. I wake up feeling refreshed, make a pot of tea and then mow the lawns at my house, front and back. I'm just finishing when Jimmy arrives to install the new lock, so I put the kettle on whilst I put the mower away and then make him a pot of strong tea. We discuss the situation at Hull City whilst he works. We are both fans, and the Egyption Millionaire owners, have recently sacked the manager, Nick Barmby, an ex England International and local born hero. City fans are understandably not happy about this. Jimmy finishes the job and leaves just after seven, telling me he has a date at seven thirty in town. "You are going to be late!" I tell him. "I'm always fifteen minutes late, I inherited it from my dad", he replies. I like Jimmy, if he were a Cockney he would be a "diamond geezer", in Beverley he's just "a right good lad." After he leaves I slice and butter the remainder of the French stick and serve it with honey and another pot of tea, then read the local free sheets. No dog walking for the weekend, so a chance to get back to my spring cleaning and hopefully get out for a run tomorrow, before meeting my sister, Jackie and her husband, Gino, for lunch at Rolando's.

A little soft in the head!

Wake at six thirty, feeling like sleeping another hour or two, but it's a busy day, so get up and open the curtains to another beautiful sunny morning. Quite soon now it will be time to switch to the summer duvet. Make a full English with black coffee and eat it in the garden room whilst listening to the endless Euro crisis. It seems there are no leaders, or statesmen any more, just marketing types listening to focus groups and opinion polls, following the herd, rather than leading the nation. I must really be getting old, I'm beginning to sound like Victor Meldrew!
After running Alice and Louis to school, take the dogs on the Westwood, it's already hot by nine o'clock. The meadow in Newbegin pits is ablaze with buttercups and may flower, it's a day to make your soul sing. We get back for ten fifteen, and I continue working on the garden in Cherry, this morning it's the flower beds at the front of the house. These are on the western side, so partially in shade, even so, it's so warm I strip off my tee shirt. (I'm in my summer gear, shorts and sandals, no socks.) Sat on my tripod stool, I work my way round the beds and fill up two dustbins worth of weeds. No weeding has been done since last autumn and the weeds have had a field day, there is just time to prune the ivy around the windows, before calling it a day and clearing up for one o'clock. Just the bushes to trim tomorrow and that's the front done, the back's not so bad I did that a month ago. Today is supposed to be a run day, because I didn't get out last night with the club because of the lockout, but it's twenty seven degrees today and I have been out in it for four rather enjoyable hours, so opt to swim instead. The pool is quiet when I get there, around half past one, and the fast lane is empty so I slide into the water, which feels refreshingly cool against the slight sunburn on my shoulders. After savouring the peace and stillness for a few minutes, push off to warm up with 4 x 100m easy individual medleys. Initially I feel tired, but gradually loosen up and start to feel better. Follow this with 4 x 200m, on fly, back, breast and freestyle. The pool starts to fill up with a group of large ladies for the aqua aerobics class at two, and I find this out the hard way, or rather the soft way, as I emerge from a tumble turn at the shallow end into someone's apron of fat. Fortunately neither of us is hurt, better cushioning than an air bag! When i stand up I discover that half a dozen of the aqua babes are having a nice chat before their class starts in the fast lane. The class starts and the ladies leave, and after finishing the last few lengths of front crawl, start 4 x 100m IM at speed, but find that I'm swimming into rope as I complete the first 100. My fast lane has been consolidated into the half pool that aqua aerobics requires, and consequently I have to move into a double lane with four other swimmers. No chance of swimming butterfly or backstroke at pace now, but secretly I'm unconcerned, swimming easily is exactly what I feel like anyway, so finish my 2000m medley session and then retire to the cafe for lunch. Today's special is salmon and sweet potato fish cakes, with salad, so I order that, and then drink tea until it arrives. As ever, the food here is great, and afterwards I wander into town for a potter about, calling at Rolando's to book a table for Saturday lunch, as my sister and her husband are coming over for the day. Collect Louis at five thirty from his after school club and drop him at Sarah's, before heading back to Tickton for beef sandwiches and a glass of tempranillo. I feel too tired to do any spring cleaning tonight, so settle down with my book until bed time.

Friends are the key

Sleep until seven and then breakfast on smoked salmon on cream cheese with toast and strong black coffee. It's cloudy this morning, but as an act of faith, put on shorts, polo shirt and sandals, but then take a sweater as insurance. Ferry Louis and Alice to school, and then take the dogs on the Westwood for their constitutional run out, the cloud is still there, but it is thinning, and the sun looks like it will burn off what's left by eleven. After delivering the dogs back to Cherry for ten fifteen, make a start on my wife's garden. In total there is about a week's work, before it can be restored into some sort of manageable order. I know this garden well, and have broken it down into bite size, digestible chunks. This morning, I tackle the front, southern, hedges and flower beds. I like gardening, as long as I can take my time and no one supervises me. I have a canvas tripod stool that I sit on for weeding, it saves my back and knees, which solves the two biggest problems. At eleven, the sun shines through, right on cue and it soon becomes very warm, so I take off my shirt, and enjoy the feel of the sun on my face and chest. Once the weeding is done, I trim the hedge and bushes. Although I own an electric trimmer, I no longer use it. The noise is really unpleasant and it removes the skill and mindfulness from the job, and hence all the joy. D. T. Suzuki quotes a Chinese peasant farmer somewhere, who refused to use a shadoof to irrigate his crops, when asked why, he replied, "because I don't want to become too machine minded!" I feel the same way, and as I am time rich, I prefer to savour the work of the moment. The job is finished by two o'clock and I have just time to drive home to Tickton and make cheese salad sandwiches and tea, which I eat in the garden, before collecting Louis at three fifteen from school. He wants to play at the swing park near my house, so we drive there, and he plays with the other children until a quarter to five, whilst I sit and chat to a grandmother from Hull, who tells me about her wartime experience as an evacuee in Baildon in West Yorkshire. Afterwards I show Louis the secret way to Grandad's house, down Carr Lane and through the snickett on to Green Lane, where I live. We leave the car parked at the swing park, which is only five hundred metres or so from my house, but when we get home, the door won't open, the lock has broken. This is a new experience for Louis and he is very put out. I compensate him with an orange ice lolly from the village post office, as we make our way back to the car. After collecting Alice and then dropping them both back at Cherry, I drive to Etton to see Sarah's ex partner, Phil. Phil's best friend, Jimmy, is a locksmith and armed with his mobile number, the problem is eventually resolved. As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you whilst you are planning something else".

In praise of friends and sherpas

Woke at six to a glorious summer morning, the bright sun already high in the sky. My little starlings must have fledged and flown the nest yesterday and I no longer hear them scrambling about under the eaves. Their Mum and Dad will be relieved, they have been constantly ferrying food to the nest for the last two weeks. English breakfast and Italian coffee for me this morning, then peg out a load of whites before washing and putting on my shorts and polo shirt, before driving to Cherry to run Alice and Louis to school. When I return take Dolly and Teddy for their walk on the Westwood. The warm sunshine is such a welcome change, and as we make our way through the buttercup meadow in Newbegin Pits, I realise my sandals and bare toes are covered in golden pollen. We also called by the beech tree in Limekiln Pits, but the baby owlet wasn't there again today, so he must have fledged as well. By way of compensation, the swifts and swallows are here in large numbers, and they dive bombed us as we made our way back to the car. Arrived in Cherry around ten fifteen an then mowed the lawns for Pip and trimmed back the Ivy around the kitchen door. Now that it's warmed up a bit, I will try to do an hour a day at Cherry to put the garden in order. Arrive at the Leisure Centre at half past eleven and find the pool totally empty. The fine weather must be luring people outside. Do my meditatative breathing exercises and then warm up with 400m mixed medley, followed by 4 x 200m fly, back and breast stroke, (I was feeling so good that I went off too fast on the freestyle,) and had to split this into 2 x 100m. Then 4 x 100m IM at pace, and finally the same again, but very easy, as a warm down. As I get fitter and stronger, improvement comes surprisingly in a non-linear fashion, suddenly I seem to find another gear. As I have mentioned before, I have had more comebacks than Rocky Balboa, but this step function in fitness continues to please and surprise me. After swimming, have lunch in the centre's excellent cafe, I have decided to forego my usual tea and scone, in favour of their lunch special. For an extra two or three pounds I can have a well balanced meal, and save having to cook. The weather is too nice to go home so potter around Beverley for an hour or so, and buy some cream, Egyption cotton bed linen.
In a few days I will strip the bed and switch to a summer duvet. Good bed linen is one of my few indulgences. After doing a little shopping, drive home and read Ian Rankin in the garden, sat in the sun, before collecting Louis and Alice, and taking them back to Cherry. On my way home call in to see Felicity and have a cup of tea with her, she is looking really well. The Ausralian care worker, Liz, that she has nicknamed the Sherpa, has made a huge difference to her life. Her house and person are clean and tidy, and she is much more optimistic about her future. Moreover she has made another true friend, and friendship is without price in this increasingly material world.

Down with, computer says no!

Woke at seven to another grey day but hey! the sun should shine this afternoon, and my shorts, sandals and tee shirt are on hot standby. Full English and tea for breakfast, then shower and change and hit the phone for half eight, I have four little admin jobs, ring the taxman, my energy supplier, renew the car insurance and phone the NHS to get the results of an endoscopy that got lost in the system. Muzak and call centre land screw me over, no one has any authority and the slightest difficulty and you get shunted sideways and end up in a queue listening to more Muzak. The inland revenue is the worst. Give in around nine thirty and drive to Cherry to take the dogs on the Westwood. Though it's still cloudy it's not as cold as yesterday, we pop down to see the baby owl but he has either flown the nest or is keeping his head down. After dropping the dogs back in Cherry, arrive at the Leisure centre around eleven thirty, change into my shorts and long sleeve top, and set off for a six to seven mile run round Beverley Parklands. I'm building stamina for the 10k. My legs feel heavy, not surprising really as I was on them all weekend, so accept this, and settle into my circular breathing and wait for the stiffness to wear off, which it does eventually after about four miles. In the meantime, the sun comes out and I roll up my sleeves, still too hot, so strip off my top, but then the sun goes in and it's cold again, wait ten minutes for it to come out again, but no luck so put my top back on. On a positive note the countryside is glorious, yellow fields of rape seed, and lush green spring barley, the hedges ablaze with May, and the apple trees blossoming in pink and white. The birds are all singing their heads off as I jog along the lane, so life could be a lot worse! Get back to the centre around one and warm down for fifteen minutes on the exercise bike and then cool off with a really easy swim. I usually have a tea and scone in the cafe, but they have a special on, plaice goujons, chips, peas and salad, tea, bread and butter, for less than a fiver. It's not worth cooking! It arrives within ten minutes, cooked to perfection and nicely presented. After lunch call at the Doctor's surgery and delegate my problem to a human with a brain, she phones later to say it's sorted, then home to meditate and recuperate, before completing my tax return and spring cleaning the bedroom. Back in the day, I used to be involved in systems analysis, and the big issue then was when to pass information and control back to the user. There were two main schools of thought:- 1. Human beings are the most intelligent life forms ever to have existed on the planet, and therefore the computer systems should be designed to provide them with the best information upon which to exercise their judgement.
2. Most people are idiots and computers should be designed to stop people making mistakes by not allowing much, if any, discretion.
Guess which approach triumphed?
It's still not too late to reverse the trend, computers ought to liberate people instead of oppressing them. The way they are used reflects our social system unfortunately. I guess I will still be a left wing rebel til the day I die!

Small victories

Wake around seven to another cold, grey, day. Make a full English breakfast and strong Yorkshire tea and eat this in the garden room. The rabbits and pheasants are carrying on as usual and my garden robin is sat on the bird bath defying all challengers. The weather is set to improve from tomorrow and I resolve to have a full spring clean, put my winter gear away and get out my summer shorts and shirts. First I have some paperwork to deal with, that I have been neglecting for the last ten days, so after a shave and a shower, work my way through it, and make a hit list of people to ring on Monday morning. This done I drive to Molescroft for ten fifteen to collect my friend Leslie, he enjoyed the change of venue from Caffe Nero to Skidby Windmill last Sunday, so I recommend the excellent cafe at the Cherry Croft garden centre in Tickton. So good is this cafe, that the garden centre owners have closed the external entrance to force people through the garden centre, in the hope they will buy something. Too many people, like me, just patronise the cafe. Leslie gets a table for us, with two leather bucket seats, and I queue and order our coffee and cake. The place is nearly full, but we parked without a problem and were served within minutes. Apart from doing our usual review of the social, political and economic events of the week, the question of Leslie's birthday comes up. He is ninety next month, and mentally as sharp as ever, but he feels that if people know he is ninety, they will automatically assume he is a bit gaga. He has been studiously avoiding any celebration of his birthday for this reason, but his nephew and niece, from Hampshire have preempted him and booked a surprise lunch at Cerruti's in Beverley, which he has found out about. It's his favourite restaurant, and despite his protestations, he is secretly delighted. I drop him back home for half eleven and head back to Tickton. Once home, I change into an old track suit and plan my action. The first thing necessary, is to clear a working space, somewhere to pack things away and store things, whilst I work my way through the house. The garage is the obvious candidate, it is too small to take my Chrysler, and although I intend to downsize, I won't be able to afford this until the house in Cherry is sold. Over the winter the garage has accumulated all sorts of junk, and there is sawdust everywhere, blown in by the wind, under the door when the joiners replaced the garden fence and gate after the old one blew down in a gale. So the first job is to empty the garage, moving everything into the garden, and giving the place a thorough clean out. When this is done, then putting things back on the plentiful shelves and hooks, leaving the floor clear. Next, I bring in the six foot garden table, which will come in handy as a surface for packing and unpacking plastic storage boxes. There are about thirty of these, either in the garage or in the house from when I moved in, a little over a year ago. I have rounded up about twenty empty ones and stacked these next to the garden table. My working space is ready, but it's half past three already, so time to take a break for some lunch. I knocked up a beef curry and popped it in the slow cooker when I got in from church last night and I bought some whole meal chapattis in the supermarket on Friday, so all I need to do is warm these through in a dry frying pan. I'm an old hand with chapattis, so I open the kitchen window to let the smoke out from the cooking and close the door to stop the smoke alarm from going off. Curry demands lager and I bought two large bottles of Heineken, and drink one of these with lunch, desert is tinned peaches and yogurt. After lunch I rest for an hour, make a pot of tea, and start work again at six. First, packing away all my heavy winter coats, fleeces, sweaters and shirts, and then moving on to pack away corduroy trousers, winter walking and running gear. This done, I clear most of the shelves and wardrobes in the bedroom and garden room. The boxes full of winter gear are sealed, mothproofed, labelled and stacked on shelves in the garage. Call it a day about eleven, and retire feeling something has been achieved. I can tackle a room at a time now, at my own pace, without the house being a muddle for days. Of such small victories are happy lives constructed.

Louis' Big Adventure

Lie in until eight this morning and then get up to a cold, grey day, the garden wet with overnight rain. I have promised to take my grandson, Louis, out for the day and will need all my strength. Although he is not five years old until June 8th, he is a force of nature, and as big as a seven year old. Fortify myself with a full English breakfast and lots of black Italian coffee and then hang out a line of coloured shirts, before driving into Beverley and parking down New Walk, two minutes from Sarah's house. When I get there Sarah is ill with sinusitis, and glad to have Louis occupied for the day. My nickname for Louis is "Chugs", because he comes on like a train, and is one hundred percent boy. I dress him warmly, with two pairs of socks and his wellies, as it is muddy where we are going and only five degrees centigrade outside, nearer freezing exposed to the cold north wind. When I was his age in 1949, before television, cars and health and safety, we used to go on expeditions, or adventures. The game we always played, en route, was, "follow my leader", the leader had to find daring, (dangerous), things to do, and everyone else had to follow. If you chickened out, you were plagued, (teased), mercilessly. Every so often the leader would change, and the challenge would be to outdo the kid before you. After making our way round Seven Corners Lane and across York Road onto the Westwood, we started the game as we entered the woods at Newbegin Pits. There are nice easy paths through the woods, and there are muddy, slippy, steep paths that are about equally challenging to (almost), five year olds and there demented grandfathers. Unfortunately the Tarzan swing over a swampy old bomb crater, that we call "the pit of death", had been taken down and we emerged from the woods muddy, but otherwise unscathed, onto the pasture below Black Mill. There are several hundred cattle pastured on the common, and Louis wanted his picture taken next to a group that included some young bullocks. He likes to pat the dogs that are being walked, and I have taught him to let them sniff the back of his hand before he touches them. At Black Mill we shelter in the lee of the bitter north wind for a few minutes, before making our way to Limekiln Pits to see the baby owlet, in it's nest in the hole in the beech tree. Louis and the owlet got on well, it came to the front of it's nest to have a good look at him, and Louis insisted I lift him up to wave goodby before we left. We walked into the cold wind for half a mile then until we arrived at a bench on the south side of Burton Bushes, (a few acres of primeval woodland, that has never been cultivated). It is our favourite spot in the whole of the area, and we stop for a snack of apples and oranges that we eat sat on a bench beneath a large oak. The woods are thick with bluebells, the paths are constantly changing as trees fall, or are blown down, across existing paths. Consequently there are lots of dried, old, sticks lying on the floor and I whittle some of these with my Swiss army knife, making swords and an approximation of a couple of pistols. Against overwhelming odds, and with considerable bravery, we fight our way out of the woods, with only minor wounds, a scratch for me and more mud for Chugs. The adventure has already lasted nearly three hours, and we head for home across York Road, and onto the Hurn and Beverley Racecourse. Home is about a mile to the east but it is all downhill, we walk through the pasture in the centre, with the circular, fenced, race track, curling around us. There are several hundred ewes and lambs grazing here, and the older, more adventurous lambs, have formed little gangs, these dash about and play together. One such group are playing "king of the castle", by a water trough, and I persuade Louis to approach them gently, and manage to take his photograph with them, before they dash off somewhere else. We get back to Sarah's for three o'clock, swap the wellies for trainers, and head to the Leisure Centre for a swim. My objective is to tire the little fellow out, so that all his Mum has to do is put him to bed when he gets in. He cannot quite swim yet, but I believe it's more important for children to learn to love the water, not to fear it, by playing in the baby pool until they are happy ducking under the surface. Today I was variously, a shark, a crocodile and a killer whale, all of whom were wrestled into submission by Louis the fearless. After showering and changing we ate in the excellent cafe, Louis chose fish fingers, chips and beans and I, Aberdeen Angus quarter pounder, salad and chips. We arrived back at Sarah's for six, Louis clean and fed and his grandad, rather than him, exhausted. Hung on for six thirty mass at St. John's and then drove home to bed.

Running in harmony

No taxi duties today, so luxuriated in a prolonged sleep until a quarter to eight. Breakfasted on smoked salmon with cream cheese on toast, sprinkled with lemon and ground black pepper and accompanied by strong Italian coffee. Washed, dressed and arrived at Cherry for nine, and then took the dogs on the Westwood. The day is grey and cloudy again, with the wind out of the north east, once more there are spits and spots of rain. The dogs don't mind, any more than the grazing cattle or the swifts and swallows that swoop and pirouette over the meadow. The baby owl is getting more confident and he popped up to have a good luck at us today, I say he but he could be a she, I have no way of knowing. After taking the dogs back to Cherry, make my way to the leisure centre, arriving just after eleven. Change into my running gear and set off on a six mile run. I haven't given up on the idea of doing the Jane Tomlinson, Hull 10k, in a little over two weeks, but need some idea of how I might shape up. Today's run is a measured distance and will give me a good idea. Running out across the playing fields, make my way on to Spark Mill Lane and after a hundred yards or so, turn left into the Beverley Parklands estate, and then run on the pavement until it rejoins Flemingate, just before the junction with Beverley Road. Here I turn right and follow the road to Hull for two miles, until arriving at the village of Woodmansey, where I turn left onto Long Lane. Today's run is about steady, relaxed, even paced running. As soon as I leave the grass, I concentrate on running tall and relaxed and begin my circular breathing. I have been doing this for years and the breath counting continues almost unconsciously from one to seven and back to one, in an endless repitition of easy, relaxed, breathing. This breathing mantra anchors me in the present moment, and helps to maintain a relaxed, effortless style. Once I turn onto Long Lane, the traffic disappears, apart from occasional, infrequent cars. My attention is drawn out from my focus on the circular breathing
to the sights, sounds and scents of the countryside. The hawthorn is almost in full bloom, and the hedges are aglow with creamy white blossom, and the intoxicating, slightly nauseating, sickly sweet, almond scent the flowers emit as I run by. As I pass Shepherd's Lane, the rape seed fields to my left are a dazzling golden yellow. I am running towards the Minster now, it's twin towers dominating the horizon, a mile or more to the north. I arrive back at the centre after sixty five minutes, and feel that there are still several miles left in the legs. No doubt that a 10k is feasible, but if I run it, it is too soon after the Swimathon to ask people for sponsorship. I will sleep on it and decide tomorrow. Warm down on the exercise bike for 15 minutes and then swim an easy 500m on freestyle and backstroke, before eating fish, chips, peas with tea, bread and butter in the cafe. After driving home, hang out my whites, put on a coloured wash and then meditate for an hour. Later make tea and oatcakes with honey before changing and picking up Felicity for the annual fund raiser at All Saints Church in Routh. The concert is highlighted by a quartet of youngsters from Hymers College, a private school in Hull. They call themselves Acapella, two girls, a soprano and an alto, and two boys, a tenor and a bass. They start with three madrigals, they are all good, but the soprano, a soloist in the Minster choir, is exceptional, her voice has a purity and clarity that seems to flow effortlessly from her. ( Although I am sure this is not the case and years of practise have been pursued to produce this level of perfection. A marquee has been set up outside serving sparkling pink cava and deserts, but it is cold and has started to rain. Nevertheless the little church is heated, and the music makes everything worthwhile. Home for 9:30 and to bed around eleven.

A May Medley

Woke at 3:00 am feeling hot and thirsty and realised I had left the central heating on. Got up, turned it off, and once the bedroom cooled off, slept soundly until a quarter to seven. Outside is a grey day, light rain forecast by ten, make a full English breakfast minus fried tomatoes, I'm out and will need to shop later. After breakfast drink my coffee in the garden room, then shower and dress and drive to Cherry for 8:25. Louis is still full of yesterday's adventures, so we arrange for him to visit again on Saturday as we make our way to school. After dropping him off, return to Cherry, collect Dolly and Teddy and drive to the Westwood. The forecast rain has arrived, but it's very light, just a few spits and spots. The common looks glorious, the pasture emerald green, dotted with buttercups, and the hawthorn at last with a real show of creamy white may. Teddy, is first off the lead and dashes about between bramble bushes chasing rabbits, but fortunately to little effect today, he comes back by the top edge of Newbegin Pits, and we swap over and Dolly gets half an hour off the lead. She knows to come back at Black Mill, and does so happily, both of them love the Westwood,as there are other dogs to meet and play with. On our way back to the car we stop and visit with the baby owlet in Limekiln Pits, he's both very curious, but at the same time shy, and pops his head up to see who's there, before bobbing down again. Probably remembering what his Mum has told him. It's not so cold today, the north wind giving way to a mild southwesterly, hence the rain. After taking the dogs back to Cherry, pop into Beverley and renew the car insurance, sort a few things out at the bank and then do a little shopping. Today should be a running day, but after the walk, the shopping, plus the rain, decide to swim instead, arriving in the pool for one. By chance it is quiet and I have a whole lane to myself, so after doing my breathing exercises, to calm the mind, warm up with a 400m mixed individual medley. As explained in other posts, this consists of swimming alternately two strokes of butterfly and two strokes of breast stroke on the outward length and four strokes backstroke and three strokes freestyle alternately on the inbound leg. It's the most complete warm up I know, exercising every muscle, opening up the cardio system and demanding high levels of technical concentration. This was followed by 4 x 200m in each stroke, then 4 x 100m individual medley at about 80 percent effort, and finally an easy 4 x 100m IM, as a warm down. It was a very good session and after a shower and a tea and cake, felt more alive and relaxed than when I started. Drive home for 3:00 pm, unpacked the shopping and then meditated for an hour before collecting Louis and taking him home to his Mum in North Bar. Made bruschetta with roasted peppers and sun dried tomatoes, with a mozzarella topping and side salad for dinner. Accompanied this with a glass of tempranillo. Later finished "The Biographer's Tale", by AS Byatt, it's one of her earlier novels and she struggles to contain her wonderful imagination and the complexity of narrative this generates. It is also a little to academically clever, but notwithstanding these criticisms, still a very decent book. It's themes foreshadow both "the Children's Story" and "Posession", the former being amongst my favourite novels. Tomorrow, God willing, is a running day.

The Ballet Llama

Woke at 6:30 and breakfasted on smoked salmon and cream cheese on toast with lemon juice and cracked black pepper. This demanded strong black coffee, my first since Sunday. After washing and dressing drove Alice and Louis to school and then took the dogs by car to the Westwood. We met old Di and her dog, Rocky, by Black Mill and she showed me an owlet in a hole in a large beech tree in Limekiln Pits, so called because chalk was quarried there hundreds of years ago. It is now a small wood. Today is sunny and bright but the cold north wind is still persists. After taking the dogs home, made my way to the Poppy Seed for tea with friends, four of us are going to the cinema to see a live telecast from Covent Garden this evening, and we met to confirm travel arrangements. Six thirty at the fire station on Albert Terrace. When I got back to Tickton, around mid day, set too and gave the car a wash, polish and vac, which was long overdue. This left me an hour for a late lunch of beef salad sandwiches with tea in the garden, before setting off at three to collect Louis from school. On our way back to my house, we stop at the swing park in Tickton and play for an hour on the swings and roundabouts, before tea in the garden. Louis favourite, Parma ham, chorizo, smoked cheese, olives and crusty bread. After tea we walk to Carr Lane to see the baby Llama at the farm, then carry on until we get to the wooden bridge over the dyke. We find a couple of sticks and play fencing, one attacking and the other defending the bridge. Louis likes this game and we fence our way back down the lane before it is time to drive him back to Cherry. After I drop him off, carry straight on to the fire station, where I park and switch cars for the cinema. It's not my turn to drive for a change! We arrive at the cinema a little early and get good seats, the ballet is Frederick Ashton's bucolic version of "La Fille Mal Gardee". It is spectacularly good, and I arrive home at ten thirty, tired but happy. No running today, as I knew that all my energy would be needed for Louis. He was worth it!

The Mermaid of Morley

Up at a quarter to seven, it has rained overnight but the skies seem to be clearing, although heavy rain is forecast for later. Make boiled eggs and toasted soldiers for breakfast, with tea, somehow off my usual black coffee lately. Eat this in the garden room whilst watching the rabbits playing amongst the dandelion clocks in the field. The seed heads seem more pronounced first thing in the morning, because the yellow dandelion flowers won't open until it warms up a bit. Wash, dress and drive to Cherry for a quarter to nine to take the dogs out. I am meeting some cousins for lunch in Morley, near Leeds, at one o'clock and will need to leave Beverley no later than a quarter to twelve. Between now and then I hope to walk the dogs, have a swim and have time for a drink afterwards. Farmer Wareing has put his herd of prize Holsteins in the field adjacent to the railway line, and as I can't trust naughty Teddy not to run in there, we turn right and do the circular walk past the Golf club and back through the village. Storm clouds are gathering and the cold north wind persists, there is a brief shower as we approach the wooden steps from the Hudson Way to the Leconfield Road, but it is mercifully light and we arrive back at Two Riggs, reasonably dry, just after ten. Both dogs behaving impeccably for a change. Arrive poolside for ten thirty, ahead of a bus full of school children, the pool is reasonably busy and in five minutes or so, half of it will be roped off for the kids. Push off and warm up with 4 x 100m mixed medleys and manage to avoid colliding with anyone and then move into a 4 x 100m in each stroke. Just as I am completing the 100 fly the school area is roped off, but by negotiation, the other half is divided into two double lanes, and we are able to swim a clockwise rotation with room to overtake in the centre. Complete the next 3 x 100m without problem and then finish off with 4 x 100m individual medleys. I haven't swum for a week, and although it's only half my usual session, it felt OK. After showering and changing, there is still plenty of time for a hot chocolate before setting off for West Yorkshire. There are a couple of heavy showers, and the usual roadworks at the M62/M1 junction but, nevertheless, I arrive on time. There are six of us to lunch, four cousins and two spouses, George, my oldest cousin and his wife Val, couldn't make Aunty Marion's funeral last Friday through ill health, so this is the first time we have met in a couple of years. We spend a happy two hours talking about children and grandchildren, but mostly about parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles now long dead. I expect this store of fond memories from the postwar period will be replaced by our children's memories when we are gone, which won't be too long now. Somehow I doubt their stories will have the richness of texture and interlacing of those of our generation and the ones preceding it, as the large extended families based within a limited geographical area has become a thing of the past. All my ten Aunts and Uncles and fourteen cousins lived within a two mile radius around Batley. You can more than double those numbers for my parents generation and double it again for my Grandparents. After lunch we travel five miles to Manor Road Park in Ossett, to consider the possibility of planting a tree for Aunty Marion alongside her husband Jack. When we get there his tree is flourishing, it's over twenty years old, but the brass plaque has gone. We conclude there is just enough space for another tree, if we can get permission. Ossett Grammar School is just across the road and the park is full of schoolchildren. I hope if we manage to plant a tree, it will be left to grow. I arrive back in Beverley in time to collect Alice and Louis and deliver them to Cherry for six o'clock. On my way home I call in to see Felicity to conclude arrangements for the ballet at the cinema tomorrow. At the last count there were four of us planning to go. Home for seven thirty to a tomato and mozzarella salad followed by an early night.

Garden Party

Woke at 6:45, no taxi duties today, so after a leisurely breakfast, wash, dress and drive to Cherry for nine to take the dogs out. They haven't seen me since Thursday, and as no one else let's them off the lead, they are delighted to see me. We make our way down Etton Road to the railway bridge and then walk along the Hudson Way for a mile or so before retracing our steps. It is a clear, bright and sunny day but that cold northerly wind is back, after the warmest March and the wettest April on record, this is shaping up as a cold May. The hawthorn trees are starting to blossom but the "may" is not yet fully out, so I'm still wearing a vest. I see a couple of familiar, dog walking faces, and chat briefly to them before making our way back. It hasn't rained since Friday, so I mow the lawns front and back at Two Riggs, it's been three weeks and the grass is long, so it's hard work. When it's done, drive into Hull and park at St Stephen's, before walking to the library to change my books. Strike gold, a new Barry Unsworth, the follow up to "Sacred Hunger", an Ian Rankin and a James Lee Burke, that I haven't already read. Afterwards eat a tea and scone in the library cafe before doing some shopping and driving home for two thirty. I feel surprisingly tired, and though I had been intending to run, decide to have a late lunch and read my book in the garden instead. The garden is in the lee of the wind and it's nice sat in the sun reading AS Byatt and munching a French Loaf with Camembert cheese, olives, sun dried tomatoes and a side salad. Of course such a lunch demands a glass of red wine and this turns into two. The Starlings that nest under my eaves are making a racket, I can see them with food in their beaks on the roof of the bungalow next door, they keep popping onto the guttering by their nest but don't go in. Then the penny drops, they can see me watching them, I adjust my seat so that I am facing the other way, and see them out of the corner of my eye bob under the eaves to feed their chicks. Once their racket stops my resident blackbird gives me a beautiful aria by way of a thank you. The incessant squalking must have been driving him nuts as well! By about four thirty, the fresh air, tiredness and wine conspire to force me to put my feet up for an hour. When I awake it's a quarter to seven, but the rest has refreshed me. After a drink of pop, make a batch of sultana oatcakes and a pot of tea and then settle down to read my book again. Swimming and running can wait another day.

The Royal Signals Catering Display Team

Wake at 6:45 and put the kettle and the frying pan on and then hang out a line of white washing. It is another lovely morning and I'm hoping it stays fine for the Saint John of Beverley annual lunch, at which I have volunteered to help this afternoon. Back indoors I put the sausages and tomatoes in the pan and then load the washing machine with a load of coloureds, before adding some streaky bacon and finally eggs. When it is cooked to perfection, I take it in the garden room with my tea and eat it there, whilst I listen to the news. Shower and dress and then call at the village post office to pick up the Observer, before driving into town for nine O'clock Mass at Saint John's. The church is full and we nearly raise the rafters with the hymns, which I really enjoy because I love to sing. Afterwards I pick up my friend Leslie and we drive out to Skidby Windmill cafe for coffee and cakes. Caffe Nero, our usual haunt, has been abandoned because of the hugely popular Beverley 10k road race which is taking place at eleven. Leslie enjoys the change and we chat about several things for an hour before I take him home again. I am due at the school for one o'clock and manage to bring in my whites, mow the lawns front and back and hang out the coloureds in an hour. Clearly, I must be over whatever bug I had last week. When I get to St John's primary school, there are over two hundred people there already, and I am asked to man the bar with a big chap in his forties called Paul. We slip effortlessly into a complementary way of working together, neither telling the other what to do, just coping happily with the constant demand for drinks, red and white wine, apple and orange juice, still and carbonated water. After lunch is finished and the kids choir has sung for their mum's and dad's and grandparents, we start serving tea and coffee. The kids play rounders outside for an hour, whilst the adults chat and drink. It is then that Paul and I discover that we are both retired soldiers and both from the same Corps, Royal Signals. That is why we developed such a quick understanding. In the Army there is a saying, "either lead or follow, or get out of the way!" only it's not quite so polite. We christened ourselves, "The Royal Signals Catering Display Team", a parody of "The White Helmets", The Corps motorcycle display team. Everyone was very friendly and happy, and we all had a wonderful time. By the time we had cleared away and put the school back to normal, it was half past four. Back home, meditated for an hour and then made some nachos for tea before settling in with my Observer for the evening. The less life is about ourselves the happier we are.

Wykey Wykey!

Lie in until eight and awake to a fine sunny day, in the "rabbit field", thousands of dandelions have developed seed heads, but the field is to the east and the prevailing winds usually out of the southwest. After a full English breakfast, with Taylor's Yorkshire tea, shower and dress and set off for Scarborough by shortly after ten. I take the road past Leven, Bridlington and Filey, the contrast with yesterday's rain could not be more marked. Today is a perfect spring day, the trees in blossom and with fresh green leaves, bright yellow fields of oil seed rape and spring lambs in abundance in the meadows. I am in no hurry and, perhaps as a consequence, arrive at our rendezvous, the A64 "Park and Ride", ten minutes late. Fortunately my cousins arrive five minutes after me, delayed by the heavy traffic to the coast. The fine weather attracts Yorkshire folk to the seaside. We skirt round the west of Scarborough and onto the Whitby road, arriving at Hayburn Wyke by a quarter to twelve. There are five of us, three cousins, one spouse and one son, we lost cousin Beverley, who lives in Scarborough, she phoned in an apology as we set off. The Hayburn Wyke pub is off a steep path on the Cloughton to Ravenscar road, it is conveniently placed, as the Cleveland Way and the Whitby to Scarborough cinder track, both run past it, and hence perfect for our circular walk. We descend down the path past the pub, through the woods to the fast running stream, which has become a torrent after the rain. In the woods my cousin Irene's son, Andrew, picks sorrel and wild garlic, which we chew as we climb down to the bridge over the stream. At the point where the path meets the coastal path, we begin our ascent. The climb out over the Wyke is almost vertical, up a series of wooden steps and at the top, the path continues to climb, but more gently, for the next three miles to Ravenscar. I have stripped off my sweater for the climb up the steps, intending to put it on again at the top once cooled down, but the midday sun is strong enough to counter the cooling sea breeze, so I leave it tied round my waist. As we make our way along we somehow keep changing walking partners and so I manage to have a nice chat with everyone. Most of the land adjacent to the cliff top is given over to sheep farming and there are hundreds of lambs, mostly they ignore us because the path is busy this time of year. Irene's husband, David, spots a small adder basking in the sun, but he wriggles off as we approach. At the only bench along this section of the walk, underneath a display of the layout of a WW2 radar station, someone has left a digital camera, we take it with us hoping to meet it's owner or, failing that, post the pictures from it on Facebook to trace them. We needn't have worried, as we approach Ravenscar, a young man in jeans and sweater, comes running down the path towards us, and the camera is reunited with it's owner. We stop for tea and scones at the tea room, about two hours after we set off, and consume these sat outside in the sunshine on the tables and benches provided for the purpose. The cinder track runs less than 50 yards from the tea room, it used to be the Whitby to Scarborough railway line, but is now a long distance walking and cycle path. On this circular walk it's benefit is that all the difficult terrain and climbing has been done on the outward leg, and the return is a gentle downhill stroll between hedgerows beginning to flower with May, and the woodland of the Wyke. We arrive back at the pub at a quarter to four, four hours exactly since we left and buy pints of beer, which we drink outside in the sun. A couple of young guys, they look about eighteen, are expertly picking melodies on their guitars and they are playing togeather really well. The pub is packed, the car park full, and about fifty of us are sat outside listening to the music. We are told there is live folk music every weekend, and that it's well attended. Reluctantly we leave after half an hour, as we have provisionally arranged to meet Beverley at "Mother Hubbard's", in Scarborough, probably the best fish and chip cafe on the east coast. In the event she can't make it, but the haddock, chips, mushy peas, tea and bread and butter, perfectly cooked and promptly served, hit the spot after an afternoon's exercise in the bracing sea air. And all for the bargain price of £7.25p per head! After tea they drop me back at the "Park and Ride", and they head back to Copmanthorpe. We are meeting again on Tuesday to visit another cousin, George and his wife, Val, in Ossett on Tuesday. Irene and Michael's father, Jack has a memorial tree in a park there, he was Aunty Marion's husband and they lived together there most of their married life. Jack has been dead some twenty years, and I have offered to fund a tree for her to go alongside his, if this can be done.
Another wonderful day, friends, family, food and sunshine to share, and a store of fond memories for the future. Real treasure!

Dying to meet you all

Wake at 6:30, as usual, but turn over and go back to sleep until 8:00, when I get up, definitely don't feel worse and that's a good sign, although I have developed a slight cough. Outside it's raining but easing, and the weather seems to be clearing. After a leisurely, full English breakfast, get out my navy blue, Pierre Balmain suit, which I haven't worn for seven years, since the last funeral, a clean white shirt, cuff links and a pair of black, Grenson, Oxfords. After showering and dressing, decide to dig out my gaberdine, cream aquascutum raincoat. Dressed in a totally formal and anachronistic fashion, set off for the funeral, but first call at the presbytery, to confirm arrangements for the St John of Beverley lunch on Sunday and afterwards visit my daughter, Sarah, who is revising for her finals on a conversion Bsc. in podiatry.
Then I'm on my way to my cousin Irene's house at Copmanthorpe, near York, for my Aunty Marion's funeral.
I am in good time and enjoy the drive over the wolds to Market Weighton and across the rich agricultural land of the vale of York, despite the rain, which becomes progressively heavier as the car progresses. There are two great barriers to awareness, one is fear and the other is hurry. The two are closely linked, many of us spend our lives running away from a sense of inadequacy or lack of control. And yet the consequence of living in a world in "real time", is that we are constantly being forced to make decisions based upon incomplete information. Small wonder that we sometimes get things wrong. It's taken most of my lifetime to realise that this is OK, as long as we recognise this as a condition of our existence, and own up to, and apologise for our mistakes, and extend this forgiveness to others in the same position. "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us". A fair and compassionate deal for everyone. Today, I am neither frightened, nor am I in a hurry, and I spend the journey remembering what a kind and beautiful human being my deceased Aunt was. When I arrive the family are there, as hardly anyone gets married anymore, it is only funerals which gather us together. Funerals, I find are much more relaxing than weddings anyway. For a start you tend to know everyone, and as my Aunt was 95 when she died, we all considered it a "good innings", her cremation more a celebration and a thanksgiving for her life, than deep sadness at her passing. The service was simple but beautiful, we all sang, the 23rd psalm and "How Great Thou Art", despite the organist, who played as if on a drugs combo of speed and Mogadon. (Thus making it nigh on impossible to keep time.) Afterwards we all retired to Irene's for drinks, a buffet, and those reminiscences and anecdotes that constitute a family narrative and in our case, span a hundred years and four generations. My Aunt Dorothy, is the last of my mother's generation, she was married to my mother's younger brother, Benny, who died almost thirty years ago. I spent quite a while chatting to her, she is still bright and lucid though well into her eighties, and pretends shyness when I remind people what a beautiful soprano she was, and how she resembled Snow White, petite, with dark hair and large eyes. I have arranged to meet up with some cousins tomorrow and walk around Hayburn Wyke to Ravenscar along the coast and back. My Aunty Marion would approve.

Under the weather

Definitely coming down with something or fighting it off, wake feeling tired and achey, not a bad night, woke once or twice to hear heavy rain beating against the window. Which is quite a nice sound from a warm, dry bed, the problem is I want to stay in it, but there are grandchildren to ferry and dogs to walk. After a light breakfast of apricot jam on rye toast and lots of my usual black coffee, my motivation gets me out of the door for ten past eight and to Cherry Burton for twenty past. Sarah is home tomorrow, so today is my last day of taxi duty, and after dropping the kids off at school, go back and just walk the dogs round the village for half an hour. I arrive back home for ten, still feeling rough, so take a couple of paracetemol and meditate for an hour. The first part of the meditation focuses on relaxing the body and the mind, and this helps me differentiate illness from any residual stiffness resulting from swimming or running. Having done this, realise that I have some sort of systemic illness, as the aches and lethargy are widespread and my stomach and bowels are still somewhat squelchy after last Thursdays diarrhoea. In any event it will either get better or worse, and at the moment I am walking wounded, so it could be worse. The second part of the meditation also focuses on the immediate matter in hand, namely getting proper rest and allowing the healing process to take place. Anyway either the meditation or the paracetemol, or perhaps both, helped and I was able to drive into Beverley to meet my son, Andrew for lunch in a little cafe off Dyer Lane. Afterwards, flagging a little, drove home, took some more paracetemol and practised more meditative healing. Collect Louis later and take him to Sarah's house at North Bar and then return home for a quiet night reading AS Byatt's, "The Biographer's Tale". No exercise until my body gives me the OK, but tomorrow I am due to attend my Aunt's funeral in York, and I am looking forward to seeing my surviving cousins, there are eleven of us left, and we are all grandparents. Hope I'm well enough!

Dull Pirates

Woke to another fine morning, after a poor night's sleep, and feeling tired. Put winter trousers into wash and made rye toast with honey and black coffee for breakfast. After washing and dressing ran Louis and Alice to school and then took the dogs for their walk. The weather sunny and warm, although rain is forecast later, by the time we get to the old railway line, I have taken off my sweater and tied it round my waist. Today, just as nice as yesterday, so we dawdle to spin it out a little. Down here, away from the noise of traffic, the only noise is the sweet singing of the birds. A pair of goldfinch catch my eye and seem to be keeping just a few yards
ahead of us, flitting from tree to tree.
After we get back I drive into Beverley for tea and a bacon sandwich with friends. This counts as an early lunch as I'm taking Louis to the Cinema after school at 3:15. Get back to Tickton for midday and decide against running today as I feel a little tired and will need all my energy to look after a 4 year old for 3 or 4 hours, especially a nuclear powered one like Louis. Meditate for an hour and then catch a nap before collecting Louis from school. We buy sweets and pop from the supermarket en route to avoid getting ripped off by cinema prices. The Aardman film, Pirates in an adventure with scientists, is a disappointment, and fails to hold Louis' attention. The plot is too complex and contrived and the pace suffers from trying to be quirkily British and smirkily clever at the same time. Louis is consoled with a McDonalds and delivered safely back to his Nana's for 7:00. The forecast rain has arrived and I'm glad to get home to a cup of tea and an hour with A.S. Byatt. Will probably run tomorrow between taking the dogs out and lunch with my son, Andrew.

Flying like a fish

Woke at 6:30 to a sunny spring morning, back in the old routine today, Louis to ferry to and from school and the dogs to walk. Make a full English, but leave out the toast and eat breakfast and drink coffee in the Garden Room. I'm getting to know my resident birds, the obligatory garden Robin, he was involved in a turf war with two other cock birds yesterday, but saw them off successfully. I also have a mating pair of blackbirds nesting in the hedge, the male sings beautifully every morning, and a nest of starlings under the eaves, their squalk is not so beautiful, but I can hear the chicks shouting for breakfast as I lie in bed still half asleep in the morning. After dropping Louis at school, I take Dolly and Teddy down the old railway line, today is a perfect spring morning, no wind, sunny and around fifteen degrees, sixty in old money. Everywhere is a lush green after all the rain and most of the trees are in blossom, horse chestnuts, with big white candles and the cherry and apple trees ablaze with pink and white flowers. It is one of those days where the world is once again enchanted and so I walk slowly, as I want the moment to last. Down the line the first hawthorn tree has a show of May, only a few of the south facing buds have opened but it's a lovely harbinger of Summer, although heavy rain is forecast for later. After the walk I call at the supermarket for a few odds and ends and then continue to the leisure centre. Suddenly I feel weary, perhaps the downside from the high during my walk, so decide to warm up and see how I feel. The schools are in, so half the pool is used up, but there are only four swimmers in the other half, so a free lane isn't a problem. I don't need to relax or calm myself today as I feel half asleep anyway, so push off into a slow, easy, relaxed freestyle, breathing to either side every three strokes. Soon settle into my thirteen stroke pattern and float along counting the strokes and rolling my body to breath in order to maintain my streamlined profile in the water. Ninety nine percent of freestylers turn their heads to breathe, and this throws their bodies out of alignment and this creates friction and extra resistance. It seems so simple and obvious, to roll the body around its longitudinal access to breath, and it is simple, once the technique is mastered. The real secret is to have the body perfectly balanced in the water, with the feet, legs, trunk, neck and head in a single plane. This means swimming with the head low and water flowing over the back of it. In this position the only way to breath, without enormous effort, is to roll the body to where the air is. It takes a little while to master but delivers huge improvements in stroke efficiency once you do. In my case, reducing my stroke count per length from twenty strokes to thirteen, a thirty five per cent improvement in efficiency. The real pay off though is the way it feels, effortlessly gliding through water, almost like flying, simply by making minor adjustments in balance. After ten lengths front crawl, felt a little more awake and rolled onto my back and did ten lengths easy backstroke and then ten lengths easy breaststroke. I would normally then have done fly, but didn't feel like it today, so repeated the whole sequence again. After sixty lengths I felt much more alert, so did four one hundred meter medleys, at a reasonable pace, but keeping the stroke fluent and smooth, and surprised myself, they were a full ten seconds quicker than last week. I was tempted to do more but decided it was prudent to warm down so swam another four by one hundred medleys, but really slowly.
Tomorrow I had hoped to go to the running club in the evening but Louis wants to see the Aardman animation pirate film, so I shall probably run in the morning instead.

Fields of gold

Wake to a sunny bank holiday Monday morning. Put the kettle on and warm up the frying pan whilst taking advantage of the weather by hanging out the bedding I washed yesterday. The cold wind persists, but I have blackbirds nesting in the hedge and starlings under the eaves. Make a full English breakfast with tea for a change and then listen to the news. As expected Sarkozy has lost the French presidency, his successor, Francois Hollande, seems a decent sort of guy. Later make a bechamel sauce as part of a lasagne, the meat sauce marinaded in the slow cooker yesterday. This done, put on my running gear and set off around the fields behind Tickton. I haven't run since last Wednesday with the club, but everything feels OK, follow the usual route to the end of Green Lane, through the snickett onto Carr Lane, and then past the stables and the farm and down to the little wooden bridge over the dyke. Turning left run along the side of the dyke for half a mile, golden yellow, flowering rape seed in the field to my left, until the path turns right and runs along another dyke at right angles to the first. I am practising my circular breathing, counting my breaths up to seven and back to one, focussing on the feel of my body and running, tall, relaxed and light. I'm warmed up now and moving smoothly, the cold wind has veered to the Southeast and there are rain clouds mounting to the West. After another half mile turn right again over a metalled bridge with the rape seed field to my left, then right again for half a mile to complete the first loop, before turning left, back towards the wooden bridge and "nearly straight wood", and on to the second loop. Today's run is a figure of eight around the fields, the woods shield me from the wind and apart from having to skirt round some boggy patches, the path through the woods is very pleasant, the faint scent of pine resin in the air and the intense green on the broadleaf trees after all the rain. I complete the second loop and then retrace my steps down Carr Lane, the little one eyed Jack Russell isn't in his usual place by the stables, but it's been a few weeks since I last ran down here. When I get home, shave, shower and get my washing in before meeting friends at the local Garden Centre for coffee and to look for fresh plants for the Garden Room.

Friends in need

Another disturbed night's sleep with strange dreams, in one an otter with adhesive feet and sharp teeth was clinging to me, begging not to be left behind. Woke at five in a cold sweat but managed to get back to sleep until eight thirty. Cloudy but dry outside, so hung out a line of shirts whilst the kettle boiled and the bread toasted. Breakfast on smoked salmon and cream cheese on rye, with a sprinkle of lemon juice and fresh cracked black pepper, washed down with a jug of strong, black, Italian coffee. After a shower, drove to Molescroft to pick up Leslie, and then into Beverley, parking at the Market Cross before walking the fifty yards or so to Caffe Nero. No pain au raisin again, so we have apricot, with yet more strong, black, Italian coffee. It's a wonder I haven't got palpitations, Leslie and I discuss the usual things, we feel that the next few weeks will decide young Cameron's mettle and we both feel that the French have decided that Sarkozy is a prat and is therefore dead in the water. Leslie has an attack of cramp, which I ease by manipulating his ankle and massaging his calf, the girl behind the counter brings a glass of water and some salt. This helps, and after a while, we leave and I take him home, he tells me in the car that is peripheral blood vessels are furring up and his mobility is in irreversible decline. He will be ninety in July, his mind is still sharp, and he is almost a father figure to me. I arrange for Felicity's care worker to ring him, he will need increasing help in the future, if he is to maintain his independence. Later call at pound stretcher to buy some storage boxes and a memory foam mattress topper, perhaps that may help me sleep, as the mattress I have inherited is orthopaedic and hard as rock. Felicity's friend, Rosemary, called this morning and wants to call in at tea time on her way back from Hornsea. She is a nice woman, and like so many of her age, recently bereaved, and so I agree. It is good for me to have company and it motivates me to tidy up. She arrives at five thirty, and I serve tea and sandwiches in the Garden Room and we chat until she leaves at seven thirty. So many older people are on their own and need company. Afterwards read until bedtime. Didn't get to run today, but friends need nurturing and support. I can always run tomorrow.

Uncertain Saturday

A strange night, with disturbing dreams, in one, a little black piglet that I have on a lead dies and falls in the mud. A profound sadness pervades the dream. This sets the tone for the day, I wake feeling tired at daybreak, around five, but manage to get back to sleep until eight. When I get up I still feel tired, but make a cooked breakfast, bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs and tomato. It tastes OK, but the sadness from the dream persists, after showering and dressing, drive into Beverley and eventually find somewhere to park on the Westwood, by Newbald Road. I walk into town across the common, the weather is cold and damp, it could easily be February, but the cattle are back and the unseasonal weather doesn't seem to bother them at all. Perhaps it's just the human condition, with our internal and external environments intersecting to set our moods. Generally speaking I prefer the sunshine, but realise that the weather changes, both external and internal.
After an hour or two poodling round town and the market, return home and decide not to run today, my body doesn't feel right, it wants to rest and so I let it. After lunch meditate, then sleep until it's time for Mass at 6:30, which always nourishes my spirit. When I get home, the clouds have lifted, and whilst it remains cold, there is a late evening sun, and my washing is dry.

The Spice of Life

Wake at 3:00 am, unsurprisingly after sleeping most of yesterday afternoon, but my stomach feels OK, so meditate for an hour or so and then drift off until 8:00. I have no duties this morning so I can take my time, breakfast is going to be smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye toast with coffee. Put the kettle on and the bread in the toaster before hanging out a line of washing, it's a cold grey day with a northerly wind, but at least it's dry. Over the hedge it's business as usual for the rabbits, nothing bothers them. After breakfast, I need the toilet but it seems everything is back to normal, so yesterday's problems are just a stomach chill and not the dreaded winter vomiting, norovirus. After washing and dressing drive to the leisure centre for about 10:30, half the pool is being used for schools, but there are only two women swimming either side of a double lane, and they are happy for me to squeeze in between them. We agree to revert to a clockwise rotation if anyone else joins the lane later and after calming my breathing down, decide to warm up with ten easy lengths of freestyle. As I have pointed out before, the warm up helps you determine how you really feel, and after an illness it is essential not to overdo things until a full recovery has taken place. I started off breathing bilaterally and soon settled into a fluent 13 stroke per length pattern, but after 4 lengths had to switch to 2 stroke breathing as I felt short of breath. Nevertheless, completed the ten lengths, maintaining the 13 stroke pattern, but still didn't feel 100 percent, so did an extended warm up with a further ten lengths easy backstroke, holding a 17 stroke pattern. After this I started to feel better and did ten lengths breaststroke holding a 7 1/2 stroke pattern. Everything now felt loosened up, including my lungs, so did ten lengths butterfly, with a ten second breather after each length, as I haven't swum fly for a month due to illness and the Swimathon. Having confirmed everything was working normally, swum 8 x 100m individual medley, focussing on smooth, fluent power, and an even pace. The trick here is to maintain a low stroke count whilst applying more muscular effort. If the stroke count goes up efficiency is lost in the attempt for speed, but you don't really go much faster. To warm down, swam a very easy 4 x 100 IM, but still holding to the same stroke count, in Zen swimming we never practise poor technique. As I'm rehydrating after the session, an instructor is trying to teach a youngster to swim in the school half of the pool. The boy is very tense and rushing at the exercises she is trying to get him to follow, it doesn't work, she gets frustrated and he feels like a failure. Their session ends and I ask the boy if he knows how to float, he doesn't, so I ask him to try lying on his back and just relaxing, wiggling his toes to keep some movement. He manages this, first time, and I ask him how it felt, "easy, nice," he says and I tell him to practise floating on his own for a while next time he comes. He seems happy when he leaves.
After my swim call and see an elderly friend in Beverley, she has put her back out and can only hobble, so I fetch fish and chips for us both from Pisces on Lairgate and we eat them out of the container, drink tea and chat. As I walk back from the chip shop a fine drizzle sets in, and although the walk is only 100 yards it wets me through. The washing will get an extra rinse. When I get in I catch up on my paperwork and in the evening read more AS Byatt. Tomorrow is forecast to be cold and clear, nice weather for a run.

Motion without poetry

Wake at 2:30 am with stomach cramps and an urgent need to visit the toilet, then at 3:00 am and 3:30. Fortunately I remember that I have some Imodium and find two tablets left from a previous attack, take one and sleep for an hour and then after another trip to the toilet take the second. Then manage to sleep until 8:30am and another visit to the loo. After some toast and coffee drive to the supermarket and buy more Imodium and take two tablets whilst queuing at the checkout. This seems to calm things down, and I manage to take the dogs out, but only round the village on the lead. It's a cold cloudy day and it could just as easily be March as May, the wind has been coming from the north since Tuesday. The village is really pretty this time of year, all the cherry trees are in full blossom, and we visit the pond to see the ducklings, that always lifts my spirits. We get back without me getting taken short and I'm hoping that I have just got a stomach chill, my daughter Sarah had norovirus last week, and it's doing the rounds in Beverley at the moment. On my way home I call at Morrisons to stock up on German rye bread and whilst I'm there, decide to do my weekly shop, as tomorrow will be really busy for the Bank Holiday weekend. The Imodium seems to be holding and I return home without incident. After unpacking my shopping, I knock up some comfort food for tomorrow, mince and potatoes, and put this in the slow cooker. Then risk a French stick and some Camembert for lunch, before lying down to catch up on my interrupted sleep. I wake at 5pm feeling better, but still somewhat queasy, and spend the next couple of hours doing household chores. I resist the idea of going for a late swim and spend the evening reading AS Byatt's "Biographer's Tale".
As Winnie the Pooh would say, I still have rumblies in my tumblies! But tomorrow is another day.

Off the beaten track

Get up at 7:30 to a bright but cloudy morning, if it stays dry I shall try to spend some time in the garden today. It has been neglected due to a combination of bad weather and illness. I don't feel very hungry this morning so have a light breakfast of rye toast and honey, with my usual Italian black coffee. Almost overnight the field beyond the garden is full of golden buttercups and it seems to have been some sort of signal to the rabbits who are chasing each other around. It looks like play, but is probably part of their mating behaviour. After breakfast wash, shave and dress and drive to Cherry Burton for nine. I take Dolly and Teddy down the old railway line, expecting the may to be out, but it isn't, it's late this year, perhaps because April has been so cold. After our walk I drive to Beverley for tea and a scone with friends and later trawl the charity shops in search of a large plant pot for the garden room. I'm about to admit defeat when I notice a beautiful Spode chamber pot, and decide to enlist it to horticultural duty. By the time I get home the sun has burned away the low clouds so I set too and mow the lawns and then dig and weed the flower beds. With a short break for coffee and biscuits, this keeps me busy until five o'clock. Tonight I am going to Beverley Athletic club for their regular Wednesday night run. Four of us started the club twenty years ago and it now has over a hundred members. Tea is a few slices of marmite and toast and then drive to the leisure centre for the run. The club tradition is that we all run together for the first mile and then split into respective ability groups. As I'm one of the oldest and at this stage of my comeback, one of the slowest, I run tail end Charlie. Our route takes us through the town, past the Minster, Market Cross and Saint Mary's, then out through North Bar and along New Walk to Norfolk street. Here we turn west and onto the Hurn, running through the centre of the race course. Although its uphill, it's on grass, which I prefer, the sheep with their lambs are grazing and pay us little heed as we run past them. From the racecourse we cross York Road onto the Westwood, skirting round Burton Bushes, which is a quagmire after the rain, and then making our way towards Black Mill in the distance. I'm running easily and well but still quite slowly, as my stride length is short, swimming training ls great for the heart and lungs and core muscles but not much help for the legs. There are quite a few people about, some walking dogs and others playing golf, the Westwood is a multi purpose common and greatly loved by Beverlonians. At Black Mill I turn south and make my way towards a style in the hedge which leads to a path that connects eventually to Shepherds Lane. When I get to it it's blocked off, so turn left and run along the hedge to another gate further down. This is blocked off too, but I can see a missing piece of fencing by the Grammar School and know if I get through there I can reconnect with the route of the club run. Unfortunately the gap in the fence is blocked off on the other side and I find myself running in a bog, the weeks of rain have transformed this low lying area of the common. Retracing my steps, my feet wet and muddy, I eventually work my way back to the Walkington Road and then cut along Sloe Lane to the Grammar School entrance. If I stick to the club run, which is 10k, I will have to run 12k, thanks to my diversion, and my legs don't feel up to it. The distance so far is about 7k and it's between 1k and 1.5k back to the leisure centre, so decide that is probably enough for tonight. The decision taken, turn left down Butt Lane and then work my way through the estate to Long Lane and back to the Leisure Centre. Throughout the run I have been using circular breathing to maintain concentration and focussing on rhythm, relaxation and balance, despite the setbacks this has helped me maintain a steady, even, economical pace. The run has taken an hour and, after showering, join the others in the bar and find two founding members in the bar. Jim, has just run the London Marathon and Gordon did the Woldsman on Sunday, which is fifty miles. All credit to them, but not my idea of fun. Still it is lovely to see everyone. When I get home rustle up some sausage and mash and garden peas before turning in around eleven thirty.