A Sunday at Summer's end

Wake at five coughing, go to the toilet, drink half a glass of water and then sleep until seven thirty. The catarrh has progressed to a cough, Annie has also come down with a chest infection, she may have passed the bug onto me when we went to the cinema. Hopefully I may shake it off. Norman and I have aour full English breakfast,but unfortunately there is no time to take him out before Mass, so I leave the Garden Room door open a little, in case he needs to relieve himself whilst I am out. I manage to park directly outside Saint John's, someone was driving off just as I arrived, and I am in my usual pew a few minutes before nine. The church seems small, warm, familiar and comfortable after the cold oppressive grandeur of the Minster. Such buildings, which are undeniably beautiful, are much more about the expression of human power and ambition, than a place of contact with the ineffable. Father Roy perhaps has a similar feeling, his sermon includes a section about the dangers for the clergy of believing they hold an absolute truth on their own account, rather than a partial one to be share by everyone. Human understanding and consciousness is based upon the principles of pattern recognition, but no pattern may contain within itself a pattern more complex than itself. It follows that God is unknowable to us but that we are knowable to him/her/it. Belief in God is less of a problem when you cease to think of Him as human. It comforts me, this realisation of the limits of human knowledge and that the world cannot be reduced to mere rationality. Nietzsche and Max Weber made the same point. The realisation of the possibility of mystery in the function of the world, is like a return to Christmas before being told there is no Santa Claus. Childishly or (childlikely), reassuring. Wouldn't it be awful to live in a World without surprises, where everything was rational and orderly. After Mass, I collect Leslie, his leg is better, so we resume our visits to Caffe Nero. I order coffee and a pain au raisin, whilst Leslie finds a table. I am abstaining from cakes until my chest is clear, I had another bout of coughing in church. We swap our news and I am surprised that Leslie didn't know about the Mass at the Minster, he is an official guide for the place, but there again, he has been laid up for ten days with a bad leg. The old boy is in good form and returns Graham's book on "Currency Wars", his view like mine, was that it had some really interesting points, but lacked a good editor. I take him home, then call at Tesco's for some milk and bread and a few other bits, before driving home for Noon. Norman is wagging his tail waiting for me and he watches me unpack the shopping in the kitchen. It is cold again outside and so we are going to have a nice warming spaghetti Bolognese for dinner. I knock up a sauce in the frying pan and then transfer it to the slow cooker, before taking Normy for his walk. We make our way down to the little bridge and then turn West into "Almost Straight Wood", which is still boggy from all the rain for the first twenty feet, so I carry him until we reach drier ground. The weather is dry today but there is a gusty Westerly wind and quite a lot of cloud, rain is forecast by tea time. Norman walks slowly and I can feel the dampness in my hips, it takes us over an hour and a half to walk the two or three miles round the loop. When we get in I give him a drink and a few biscuits, then sit in the armchair in the Garden Room with the dog on my knee, stroking him while we watch the clouds roll by. After ten minutes or so, I put him in his dog bed and then do some more housework. Washing the outside door, the bathroom floor and running the vac through the house, before making a pot of tea and eating a couple of oaties. It is nearly time to put my shorts and summer gear away and get my heavy sweaters, coats and trousers out of their boxes in the garage. I browse eBay and order a pair of olive green, heavy, winter corduroy trousers. I wanted tan ones, but couldn't find any in my size, the tan Daks cords, that I have had for twenty years, finally gave out on me, the new ones are to replace them. I don't feel warm enough with jeans in the winter. We have dinner around six, Norman has his tin with Bolognaise sauce and I mine with whole meal pasta and Parmesan. After dinner I do a couple of puzzles until eight when Sarah phones to ask if I can take Alice to the orthodontists for two and then collect Louis from school at a quarter past three and take him for his swimming lessons again later. Afterwards I read a few more chapters of "The Seige", which gets better and better, and then turn in for ten.

Catch up Saturday

Sleep in until eight thirty and then make a full English breakfast for Norman and myself. I hang out a line of white washing, taking advantage of the sunny morning and then put on a load of coloureds, before taking my coffee into the Garden Room and listening to the radio for half an hour. Wash, dress and drive into Beverley, parking on Norwood and walking the rest of the way into town, it's hopeless trying to find somewhere closer in to park on Market day. Norman performs his toilet conveniently adjacent to a waste bin, and we arrive at the Poppy Seed Cafe just after half past ten. Felicity and her childhood friend, Bushy, who is visiting from Norfolk, are already there and we are joined almost immediately by two newcomers, Old Di and Lorna. They usually go to Rolando's, but came here today instead, I know them from dog walking on the Westwood. Norman sits on my knee and takes a keen interest in everything that is going on, mildly disappointed that no one seems to be ordering sausages or bacon. Rosemary Major also arrives a little later and is somewhat put out that she didn't get to hear about the trip to see Anna Kerinina. We stay until half past eleven and then make our way back to the car and drive home. There is much work waiting to be done at Tickton and the fine weather is forecast to end today. When we get in I prepare dinner, wrapping the smoked gammon in foil after first setting it on a bed of sliced Bramley apples. Take the fresh broad beans out of their pods and simmer them gently until they are tender, whilst making a roux of butter and flour and then slowly adding milk to make a cream sauce. I will chop some fresh parsley from the garden and add this to the sauce just before it is served. Then rub some baking potatoes in salt and oil and switch on the oven. Whilst it is warming up, I clean up the kitchen and then put the meat and potatoes in the oven to cook on a medium heat. The white washing is now dry, so take that off the line and then mow the lawns, front and back, before hanging out the coloured wash. The meat and potatoes have been in the oven for an hour, so I remove the foil and turn up the heat to brown the joint and crisp the skins, then make a pot of tea and take this into the garden, where I sit and listen to the football. Hull are playing Peterborough, who have lost every game so far this season, and we are expecting an easy victory. Just before dinner/late lunch is served, Hull go a goal down and by the time I bring the food outside, at half time, they have conceded a second. Dinner is a rerun of a meal I made last month with smoked gammon, with one exception, today I am serving jacket rather than boiled potatoes. It tastes fine, the broad beans in parsley sauce are particularly tasty, but on balance, the boiled potatoes worked better. Norman has the crackling, some potato and parsley sauce, but no beans or apple sauce. City pull a goal back after half time, but eventually lose 1:3. The sun has set behind the garage by half past four and the garden is in shade, fortunately my shirts and socks have dried already, so I bring them in, before making a coffee and listening to the football round up. At half past six Normy and I go down to the bridge, it is a lovely evening, the sun setting over the Westwood, but it is quite cold in the stiff westerly breeze. As we turn into Green Lane, a full Moon is rising to the east. Once back safely indoors, I actually start my new book, it's called "The Seige", an historical novel about the Ottoman Seige of an Albanianian Citadel in the late Middle Ages. It's author, Ismail Kadare, won the International Booker prize in 2005. I feel tired today so have an early night and go to bed for ten.

History and mystery in the making.

Let Norman out at seven and then nod off again until eight. I Breakfast on rye toast with cream cheese and smoked salmon, poor Normy had to have dry dog food, although he had a taste of my fish. He much prefers the full English. After washing and dressing, we collect Dolly and Teddy around ten for our walk on the Westwood. A stiff westerly breeze is blowing and bringing a lot of weather with it, very changeable, bright one minute then cloudy and spitting with rain the next. Coming out of the woods we see Jan Morrison with her dachshund, Toffee who is now two years old. Norman is happy to meet another midget, but the two terriers are less impressed. Jan lost her other dachshund a couple of years ago and got Toffee from Julie Livingstone at North Cave on my recommendation, Julie sold us Noddy, Jacko and of course Norman. It is too wet to do much gardening after the walk, so I just spray the paths with weed killer, before driving back to Tickton. After giving Norman some water and a few biscuits, I change into light slacks, decent shoes and a jacket. History is being made today, the first catholic Mass for five hundred years is being celebrated in Beverley Minster. It is to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the local catholic primary school, Saint John of Beverley. It starts at two o'clock, which means that I still have time for a swim and a cup of tea and a few oaties before the service. The leisure centre is only a five minute walk from the Minster. No classes in the pool today, so I have the benefit of a free lane, but limit myself to a 1600m swim , as I want time to rest and have a snack before the service. 3 x 400m on backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle and then 4 x 100m Individual medley. I feel fit and strong at the end of the week, the only cloud on the horizon is a slight touch of catarrh, which will need watching. I am in the cafe, showered and changed by ten past one, which leaves me half an hour for tea and oaties, before heading to the Minster. I have two texts on my phone, one from Sarah asking me to look after Alice and Louis over my birthday weekend, whilst she and Richard go to the Rugby League challenge cup in Manchester. Her boyfriend is a big rugby fan and I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday than being with my grandchildren. The other text is from Clement, who has got himself a new iPhone 5 and needs me to call at the Orange shop and sort out a sim swap at the Camden branch of Orange. His account is in my name, so I have to authorise it. As I leave the leisure centre and make my way over the level crossing, I join a crocodile of infants from Saint John's, being shepherded by their teachers to the Minster, so I tag along behind them. Father Roy asked for a good turn out last Sunday and he must be impressed, over a thousand people have turned up. Of course that includes two to three hundred kids and many of their parents. The Minster hasn't been this full since "The Antiques Roadshow", a couple of years ago. BBC "Look North" are here with cameras to televise The historic occasion. Non parents, teachers or children, are sat on pews at the western end of the Minster, a hundred feet from the alter. The building is a Gothic Masterpiece, but it is distinctly chilly inside. The service is very nice, everyone sings the hymns and the mass at the proper places and communion for so many people is managed with military precision. The Minster Organist, who is a renowned and accomplished musician, goes somewhat over the top, with long Baroque riffs at the end of each hymn. Some wag in the congregation comments that it sounds like they have let the phantom loose! The organ was constructed in the seventeenth century by a Swiss specialist and has a wonderful tone, he tuned it to resonate with the great chamber. By half past three the service is over and we all troop out. I am sure that I spot the Archbishop of York, John Sentamu, arriving late in civvies, he is one of the two favourites to succeed Rowan Williams as Archbishop of Canterbury. Perish the thought, but might this outbreak of ecumenical harmony be part of his election campaign? Suddenly the crowds and TV makes sense. Nevertheless it was a fine service, the Minster lacks the warmth and intimacy of our little church, but lets hope it's not another five hundred years until they let us left footers back in again. I walk into town to the Orange shop and sort things out for Clement, before retracing my steps to the Leisure Centre to pick up the car. On the way home, I call at Tesco's for a few bits of shopping and then drive home for half past four. Norman is waiting for his dinner, so once the shopping is unpacked I open a tin for him and then put the oven on. Fish fingers were on special offer, so I am having fish fingers, chips, garden peas and tea with bread and butter. It only takes fifteen minutes to make, once the oven has warmed up and I realise that I am ravenous, having only eaten a couple of oaties since breakfast. After dinner we walk down to the bridge and then I succumb to my recent puzzle addiction and exercise my brain until bedtime. To bed at ten thirty.

That's the way the cookies make crumble!

Get up at ten to eight, let Norman out and then make breakfast. It's a brighter day outside, so once we have eaten, I wash and dress and drive to Cherry to collect the other two dogs. The place where we park on Newbald Road is still boggy after all the rain and the radio tells me that the river Ouse has flooded York again. I manage to find a patch of firm ground to park up and then we are off into the woods. The sun is shining and Teddy takes off like a rocket, while Normy tags along behind myself and Dolly. The kids have been throwing sticks to knock conkers off the horsechessnut trees, and there are bits of wood and opened shells lying about everywhere on the ground. It's nice to know that ancient pastimes still persist. When the sun is not hidden by clouds, it is pleasantly warm and so I decide to try to mow the lawns at Two Riggs when we get back. The grass is still quite wet when we get there, but the petrol mower gets through it OK, and they couldn't be left until next week without the grass getting knee high. We arrive back in Tickton for twelve, and although I feel a little tired, decide to go for a swim and see how I feel once I've warmed up. Thursday is aqua aerobics day and the "wave machine" have half the pool, so I share a double lane with four other swimmers, but still manage to warm up with 400m backstroke, using the centre when I need to overtake. The tiredness has vanished by the time I'm thoroughly warmed up and I feel OK, two of the other swimmers have left and so by timing my swims as they come in to the end of the lane, I am able to do 8 x 50m butterfly and then 400m freestyle and 400m breaststroke. Warming down on 4 x 100m easy Individual medleys. After showering and changing, I drink tea and eat the last three of my oaties in the cafe, before driving home. It starts to rain and I meditate for an hour and then share the last of the lamb casserole with Norman. Sarah phones to ask if I will collect Louis, she has come down with a bug, one of the hazards of working in a health centre. They are full of sick people! I collect Louis at half past five and take him to Sarah's, she is still in bed, I ask if she needs anything but she says they are OK and Alice is making dinner for them, so I drive home and take Norman down the lane for his evening walk. Fortunately the rain has stopped, but it is cool and damp now the sun has set, Normy has settled back into his routine after my holiday and he walks home off the lead, stopping now and then for a pat. We get back for a quarter past seven, and I knock up a fresh batch of oaties and then experiment by making an apple crumble with my last Bramley apple. I slice it thinly and lay it in layers on a greased ovenware dish, sprinkle it with cinnamon, sweetener and raisins and then top it with the oatie crumbs from my biscuit jar. I put it in the centre of the oven to bake, whilst I roll and cut the oaties. They take half an hour on the top shelf, and so I guess the crumble must have had three quarters of an hour by the time the alarm tells me the oaties are ready. It looks and smells OK when it comes out of the oven with my biscuits, so I set it to cool and will test it later. After clearing away the baking things, I make a pot of tea and some cheese and salami sandwiches on rye bread and take these into the Garden Room, where I do a puzzle. Earlier in the day I rang Hull Central Library to renew my books, I haven't been in much of a reading mood since my holiday, but I guess I will start one tomorrow. About ten, I finish a particularly fiendish puzzle, and then test my crumble. It is fine, but I wish I hadn't used up all my sweetener or I could have made a vanilla yogurt custard to go with it. To bed for eleven.

Anna Kerinina, Stoppard meets Tolstoy!

Wake at six to let Norman into the garden and then sleep on until eight. It is a brighter morning today and the high winds seem to have died down. After breakfast we collect Dolly and Teddy from Cherry and then make our way to the Westwood. I carry a small umbrella, as there are still a few clouds about, but without the wind it is not as cold. Normy is definitely getting fitter and jogs along happily behind us, nothing much can be done about his cataracts though, and I have to make sure we don't get too far ahead of him. An elderly lady picking up dog poo, gets nettled and we hunt around for some dock leaves to treat it for her. She is amazed by the speed with which they can take away the sting, and confesses she had completely forgotten about using dock leaves to treat nettle rash. Our good deed done, we progress towards Black Mill, and are caught in a shower, fortunately it doesn't last long and the brolly keeps me dry, it would have been useless in yesterday's gale force winds. It is still too wet to garden, so after dropping the other two off at Pip's, Normy and I head back home. I have a flu jab booked for two and an Orange Wednesday appointment at the cinema in Kingswood at three. The sun has come out, so I make a pot of tea and take some oaties into the garden and sit in the sun and do a puzzle until it is time to go to the doctors. It is such a joy to be able to sit out again and the forecast for next week is for warmer drier, weather, although a backlog of gardening also awaits my attention. I am in and out of the doctors in five minutes and then drive to Albert Terrace to collect Felicity, Annie and Hanne for the trip to the cinema. Felicity can only walk a short distance and Annie has just been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, so it takes a little while to get everyone loaded. Nevertheless we arrive at the cinema in good time and are seated even before the adverts start. Quite a few people are taking advantage of the Orange Wednesday 241 deal, so the theatre soon fills up. The sound volume for the ads is almost painful, but thankfully when the feature starts, the levels are OK. Anna Kerinina begins with a strange composite of stage set and more usual cinematography, I am not sure if it is going to work at first, particularly as the narrative flow rattles along at a ferocious pace. In the book Anna doesn't appear until about chapter seven or eight. But slowly the magic starts to work, as I am drawn into the unfolding drama and characterisations. The photography and cinematography is exquisite and the hybrid presentation starts to make sense. It seems to serve two purposes, the first is to differentiate between the staged encounters in the social
Milieu and the more naturalistic life of the countryside, but it also states boldly from the outset, that this is not a faithful representation of Tolstoy's masterpiece, but rather a work of art based upon that story. It is only when the credits roll that I realise the screenplay is by Tom Stoppard. It worked for me, I loved the film, it is a beautifully realised piece of cinema art, that stays true to Tolstoy's great sociological and psychological insights. A tragedy with great heart and compassion. Simply wonderful! Everyone else loved it as well, although some won't, it necessitates the suspension of cynicism for the first ten to fifteen minutes. We call at Costa for coffee and cake and afterwards I drop " the golden girls", back In Beverley before driving home to feed Normy. He has his tin, with some lamb casserole from the slow cooker to enhance the flavour. The casserole is delicious and as usual, there is enough left for lunch tomorrow. After dinner we make our way down to the bridge, we are quite late, it is past seven when we get there and the sun has already set. It is a pleasant evening and Norman skips ahead of me as we play "praise and pat", all the way home. I make a pot of tea and then check out the research on lithium air batteries. These are still experimental, but if they can be successfully produced, will give electric cars up to 500 miles range. Afterwards I do another puzzle and then turn in around half past ten.

Cooking to Dylan

Wake at five, after a restless night, the winter duvet is too warm yet, so retrieve the summer one from the airing cupboard and then sleep on until eight. It is still spitting with rain when I get up and persuade Norman to toddle into the garden, but he soon comes back in once he smells the sausages cooking. The last of the giant eggs deliver two double yolkers, so we both breakfast well, before we make our way to Cherry. The Pennines and North Yorkshire have been hit hard by the Gales and there is extensive flooding, here it's just soggy and boggy. After collecting the other two dogs, we park on Newbold Road and make our way into the woods. The cows have taken shelter there again and are gathered in groups of two or three under the trees. Norman was once almost trampled by them when he was a puppy and gives them a wide berth, Teddy on the other hand believes these are his woods and barks to shift them out of his way. We are sheltered in the woods from the strong winds, which have now veered to the Southwest. The rain fortunately has eased off for a while and the sky is beginning to brighten slightly in the distance. I swap Dolly and Teddy over on the lead and we make our way to Black Mill, the miserable weather means that only determined dog walkers are on the common. As we make our way downhill from the Mill back towards the car, I notice a large flock of starlings settling on the fairway, but when I get closer, I can see that they are swallows. There must be over a thousand of them, they have not yet migrated, but look to be getting ready to do so. We drive back to Cherry via Walkington Manor farm shop, where I buy some more eggs. Unfortunately all the giant ones are gone. After dropping Dolly and Teddy off, we drive back to Tickton, where I dry Normy on his towel and give him some dry food and water, before making my way to the pool. I am poolside by a quarter to twelve, it's quiet and I have the luxury of an empty fast lane. I warm up with 400m backstroke, as usual, but I can feel the muscles down the side of my body beginning to strengthen, and this enables me to get greater shoulder rotation and consequently a longer pull. My stroke count per length drops from seventeen to sixteen, a minor triumph! Encouraged by this I resume butterfly practice, 400m broken into 8 x 50m repeats. After swimming under water for five body pulses, I complete three full strokes without breathing to establish my rhythm and then switch to single stroke breathing for the rest of the first length. On the return I repeat the process, but just complete two strokes without breathing for rhythm, before adopting single stroke breathing for the rest of the length. The improvement in muscular strength is also apparent on butterfly, the muscles that count, are the core muscles of the back and abdomen, these drive the body pulses, that are the key to good stroke. Each complete stroke has two body pulses, the first helps flick the arms out to the sides as they complete the pull phase of the stroke, the second pulse drives the arms forward and to the sides, ready for the pull stroke. Today the extra strength means I am able to drive the arms out on the second pulse with more power. This means that my rhythm and breathing are easier and I am able to keep low in the water. Essential on the fly, and especially when breathing every stroke. I follow the fly with 400's on freestyle and breaststroke and then warm down with an easy 4 x 100m IM. Today was a good day, but I must be careful not to overdo it and put my body under too much stress too soon. The golden rule is never to increase distance or intensity by more than ten percent from one week to the next. I have a tea in the cafe and then drive back to Tickton for lunch. The Parmagiana is even better cold than it was hot, so I finish it off with some Ryvita and a glass of Tempranillo. Norman cleans the dish for me, while I make some strong black Italian coffee, which I take into the garden room and drink whilst doing one of my puzzles. Normy tells me it's his tea time at a quarter to five, so I give him his tin, but can't take him out yet as it has started to rain heavily. I meditate for an hour and feel refreshed afterwards, it's still raining but not as heavy, so I don my stockmans coat and a hat and then walk Norman down to the bridge. The rain has almost filled the drain and is only a foot below us. Norman is let off his lead and we play "praise and pat" all the way home. His towel has been drying on the radiator and he is soon rubbed dry and wriggles on his back afterwards in appreciation. It is seven o'clock when we get back and I decide to make some oaties, the first since my return from holiday, but first I put Bob Dylan's "Modern Times", on my iPad. While the oaties are cooking, I deseed the peppers I bought in Aldi last week and put them in an oven dish on silver foil and then peel a load of fresh vegetables to go in the slow cooker to help make a lamb casserole. The oaties come out nicely browned and the peppers follow them into the hot oven, The Dylan Album has finished, but I am in that kind of mood, so put on Bryan Ferry's album "Dylanesque", then fry a couple of chump chops in garlic butter and olive oil, with some chopped onions. When the meat has browned and the onions softened, I add a couple of oxo's and a little water and then pour the lot over the vegetables in the slow cooker. I will leave it on overnight and it should be ready for dinner tomorrow. After washing up, make a pot of tea and take it into the Garden Room with a few oaties and then do a couple of puzzles until bedtime. To bed about a quarter to twelve.

Wet, wet, wet!

I wake up to a cold wet morning, it is raining heavily outside and Norman is in no mood to brave the elements, but after our usual fry up, I put on a raincoat and carry him onto the lawn where he duly performs his ablutions. I have inherited an olive green army towel, which has become Norman's and which I keep warm on the radiator in the kitchen, a quick rub with this soon dries him off and puts him in a better frame of mind. We listen to Andrew Marr's "Start the week", program, which this week is about fairy stories and myth. I learn something new, namely that the young Wagner may have been a socialist revolutionary. Despite this positive press, I still find his "Ring Cycle", capable of draining me of the will to live! Somewhere deep within me is a deep vein of triviality, that finds Wagner, pompous and self important. The rain eases toward the end of the program and we decide to brave the elements and rescue Dolly and Teddy from their weekend confinement. They are delighted to see us and can't wait to be off the lead. Teddy and Norman go first, and the former sprints into the woods, with Norman jogging sedately in his wake. Sensibly the cows are sheltering from the rain among the trees in groups, but my anxiety that Teddy will start rounding them up is I'll founded, he simply ignores them. Pulses of heavy rain can be heard on the canopy of leaves above our head and the dim light allows the more subtle colours of the moss and lichen on the trees to be really appreciated. In this light they almost phosphoresce. As we round the corner, near Barbara English's house, I put Teddy on the lead and let Dolly off, it's about a quarter of a mile to Black Mill from here, but it's uphill and we take it fairly slowly for Normy's sake, so she has time for a good run. When we eventually arrive back at the car we are all quite wet and the air conditioning has to work overtime to stop us from steaming up the windows. Of course any gardening is out of the question in this deluge, so Norman and I head back to Tickton, calling in at Tesco en route, for dog food and a French stick for Louis' tea. When we get back indoors, Norman gets another towelling and then I give him some dry dog food and fill up his water, before driving to the Leisure Centre. It is a quarter past twelve when I enter the water, every lane is occupied, but there is just one swimmer in the fast lane, so I join him and warm up on 400m backstroke. This is followed by two 400m's on breaststroke and freestyle and 4 x 100m Individual Medley, by which time I have the lane to myself. Finally I warm down on 200m freestyle followed by 200m backstroke. I haven't been pushing myself, but I haven't been hanging about either, a nice steady swim, and I feel good all the way. The schools are starting to arrive at one o'clock regularly now, so I need to be here no later than noon. I decide to stay in the cafe until it is time to collect Louis at ten past three, and order tea and beans on toast, which will keep me going until I eat my Parmagiana, this evening. The rain stops for twenty minutes or so, during which time, I collect Louis from school and transport him back to my house for his tea. He finishes off the last of yesterday's ante pasta and then experiments with some honey on crusty bread. After clearing the table of pots, I get out the Art Box that I bought him for Xmas last and he paints for half an hour, until it is time to go back to the Leisure Centre for his swimming lessons at half past five. Whether it's the sugar rush from the honey or excitement over the prospect of swimming, he is high as a kite by the time I deliver him to the young female instructor. I have to watch from the gallery, all the little girls listen carefully to the instructions and try their best, with mixed success, to carry them out. The boys on the other hand, just want to see who can get across the width of the bath fastest. They totally ignore the instructor and please themselves, of course Louis is the ring leader. The instructor basically ignores them and concentrates on the girls. Perhaps I am sexist, but a male instructor wouldn't have put up with their crap. Maybe even gender segregated swimming lessons may make sense. Sarah is there by the time the lesson is finishing and she doesn't believe Louis has been too badly behaved, therein lies the problem! I drop his things off at Sarah's, collect my dressing gown, which I had left behind, and arrive back in Tickton for half past six. After first putting the Parmigiana in the oven, I walk Norman down to the farm in heavy rain. I am sheltered by my umbrella but the little fellow is soaked, nonetheless he performs his duties and is glad of his warm towel when we get back in. The Parmagiana still has twenty minutes to go, so I have time to knock up a mixed salad as a starter, before it is ready. At half past seven it emerges; steaming and with the Mozarella spitting and bubbling, from the oven. I serve it with the remains of Louis' French stick and a large glass of Tempranillo. It is just what is needed on a cold, wet, autumn night. To bed for nine thirty.

Norman, ParaNorman, Alice and Louis.

Wake at five as Louis creeps into my bed dressed in a spiderman siren suit. He helps to warm the bed up a bit, as its been quite cold through the night and Sarah still has her summer duvets deployed. By half past six Louis is wanting to get up, so we go downstairs and he watches TV, whilst I make breakfast. It takes a little longer than normal, as I'm less familiar with Sarah's kitchen than my own, but by half past seven, Alice, Louis, myself and Norman, are sitting down to a full English breakfast. After washing and dressing, Louis and I take Normy round Seven Corners Lane for his morning walk and just for fun, we count the corners. Our local MP, Graham Stuart, passes us on the way out of his house and waves to us. He is a decent sort, despite being a Tory. By turning left down the lane at the back of York Road, we manage to stretch the number of corners to ten, which pleases Louis immensely. We get back for five to nine and I have just enough time to hand Louis over to Alice, before making my way to Saint John's, a few doors down, for nine O'clock Mass. It is a cold morning for September, with the wind out of the Northeast and it's even chilly in church. Roy's sermon is short, as there is a sister from a missionary order making a plea for help. The young organist has to be rescued by Father Roy a couple of times, when he loses the tune, but otherwise the service goes without problem. The main point of the short sermon was transcending or letting go of egotistical selfishness, the cause of most personal misery. On this subject Jesus and the Buddha speak as one. After Mass, I drive to Caffe Nero and pick up coffee and pain au raisin and take them to Leslie's house. He has a cut on his shin, which at ninety can easily become infected and has been told to rest and elevate it. Otherwise he is in good spirits and we have an interesting chat until half past eleven, when I promised to be back to collect Alice and Louis. Louis wants to go to the cinema to see an animated film about witches and zombies, called "ParaNorman", it starts at a quarter to two, so we have time to drive to Morrison's to fill up with diesel and buy a French stick to accompany our lunch. We eat in Tickton because Louis wants his favourites again, Parma Ham, smoked cheese and Chorizo, not forgetting the olives. After lunch there is just enough time to walk Normy down to the farm and back before we drive to the cinema at Kingswood. Our timing is impeccable and we arrive in our seats just as the main feature starts. (thus avoiding the adverts.) The theatre is packed and the film is quite funny and surprisingly good, despite suffering from the usual modern American tendency of displaying everyone in a positive light, even witches and zombies. Did you know they are just misunderstood lost souls? Where the film scored heavily, was its excoriating depiction of the dystopian nature of working class America, that the US insists on calling the middle class. Afterwards I rang Sarah, and discovered she hadn't left London yet as they had been to Ikea to buy Clement a desk for his new pad. The kids and I head to the Hayride in Beverley, a postmodern pub, come restaurant, got up as a nineteenth century agricultural barn. Louis wants to play outside, but Alice and I are soon driven indoors by the cold and He follows, a few minutes later. Alice and I order steaks and Louis a Burger, but he ends up eating a quarter of my steak as well. We keep him amused with some colouring pencils and drawing paper, provided by the pub, while waiting for the meals to arrive. The pub itself is very quiet for a Sunday afternoon, but there again, it's the end of the month and the recession is really starting to bite. The food is surprisingly good, but there again it doesn't take a genius to fry a rump steak. Like most places, there is free wifi, and I am able to pick up the Leicester v Hull scores as the match progresses We lose 3 : 1, the last Leicester goal on ninety minutes. I drop Louis and Alice back at Sarah's place just after six, Alice is giving him a bath and then putting him to bed, as it is likely to be nine or ten before Sarah gets back from London. When I get home, Norman is ready for his dinner, which is enhanced by the fatty edge of Alice's steak, cut up small. After his dinner we walk down to the bridge and on our way back we see the bulldog bitch again, and she remembers me and comes over for a pat. Normy doesn't hang around to test her good intentions and scampers ahead of me further along the lane. The first drops of rain are falling as we cross the threshold and we are both grateful to be dry and warm indoors. After unpacking my overnight bag and washing up the lunchtime pots, I make a mug of cocoa and then have an early night.

Kinderland, the present is a foreign country!

Hear Norman get up at ten past six, so got out of bed to let him into the garden and then stay up. It is worth it, a lovely clear morning and a beautiful sunrise. We share a full English breakfast, before setting off for a walk round the fields. A lovely autumn morning, sunny, bright, but still quite chilly as we start out, around half past eight. Passing the farm, the free range chickens are eating their breakfast corn and the alpacas try to muscle in on their feed, until that is, they saw me and then scurried away. The farmer must be in the habit of shooing them away, whenever he feeds the birds. Once over the little wooden bridge, we turn into "almost straight wood", one of Norman's favourite places. The field adjacent to the wood has been harrowed ready for planting, perhaps spring barley as it had oil seed rape earlier this year. Normy is definitely getting fitter and fairly joggs along as we make our way around the two mile loop. We get back for a quarter to ten and I have just got time to give him a drink and a few biscuits, before driving into Beverley to meet friends for coffee at the Poppy Seed, Norman sits on my knee and laps up the attention, he is far more popular than I am. We have to leave for eleven, as I have promised to collect Louis for quarter past. After some consultation it is decided that I will take him to Kinderland in Scarborough, an outdoor adventure play area, just across the road from Peasholm Park in Scarborough. Alice wants to meet her friends in Hull, so I slip her a tenner for something to eat and arrange to see her when we get back. Louis is hungry, so we stop off at Tickton for some lunch, I have all his favourite things in the fridge, Parma Ham, Salami, smoked cheese and olives. We eat in the garden, but as we sit down a cloud obscures the sun, and the temperature drops by several degrees. After lunch, I leave the Garden Room door open for Normy and make sure he has plenty of water, before we depart for Scarborough around about a quarter to one. We promptly arrive at Kinderland an hour later, only to find it closed, so I park on the front at North Bay, by the surfers cafe, and buy Louis an ice cream in a shop. The assistant tells me Kinderland has been shut for three years, how out of date am I! Undaunted, we cross the road and buy return tickets on the miniature railway that runs to Scalby Ness. The last time I took Louis on this train, two years ago, he screamed his head off when we went through the little tunnel. I tell him about it and he laughs defiantly when we repeat the experience. He is a big boy now! There is a sea life centre at Scalby, that definitely hasn't closed, but when we get there, they want almost thirty pounds for the two of us, and I know from previous experience, that kids rarely last more than an hour in there. Consequently I refrain from purchasing tickets at that price and we cross the road and make our way over the footbridge over Scalby Beck, to our left a steep path marks the start of the Cleveland Way, the sign says "Ravenscar 9 miles", but we carry straight on and clamber over the sandstone boulders onto the Ness, a mass of sea worn rocks and numerous pools. It looks and is, quite dangerous, the rocks are covered with algae and seaweed and are very slippery. Limpets decorate their surface and Louis is quite impressed when I tell him they invented superglue. A concrete conduit carries a sewage pipe out to sea and makes a reasonable pathway through the rocks. Some girls have made their way to the end and Louis decides to rescue them, so off we go. After fifteen minutes or so we manage to reach them, only to find that their Dad is sat a little distance away, behind a rock. Louis is disappointed that they don't need rescuing, but is consoled when they agree to be tigged as a symbolic rescue. We make our way back along the pipe to the Beck and then climb the Cleveland Way to the cliff top and follow it for a few hundred yards, before sitting with our feet hanging over a ledge to seawards, watching the gulls flying beneath us and landing on a beach that is only accessible by boat. The clouds have cleared, the wind eased and it's pleasantly warm sat in the sun. After a while, we make our way back and Louis has a lemonade from the pub and I have half a pint of North Bay real ale. It is brewed by Wold Top Brewery and tastes a little like Belgian Palm beer. Refreshed we retrace our steps to Scalby station and as we are first, manage to get the carriage directly behind the engine driver. The trip is slightly less than a mile, and soon we are back at Peasholm, so decide it is time to be pirates and set off to hire a rowing boat. We arrive at the boathouse exactly one minute past four o'clock, but last bookings are at four, and as they are council employees and unconcerned about customers or profit, refuse our pleas. We opt for the putting green, which has a sign saying it is still open, but when we enquire, are told we need to pay at the boating shed. You can guess the rest! In the centre of Peasholm Lake is an island and on top of the island is a Chinese Pagoda, which you access across a willow pattern bridge. The park celebrates its centenary this year, it first opened in 1912, and the island and pagoda have been refurbished to celebrate this anniversary. Louis and I climb the harepin paths to the summit, where the Pagoda sits directly behind a waterfall that tumbles fifty feet or so, down rocks to the lake. On the other side is a sort of zen garden, with little pools, bamboo cane and more bridges, with alcoves and seats giving views over the park. It is quite beautiful, but five year old boys only want to see who can run down the path on the other side fastest. Surprisingly Grandad wins, but only because it is downhill. We make our way back to the beach, where the tide is starting to come in, Louis runs ahead of me by a hundred yards or so, and makes for another concrete conduit that leads into the sea. I know what he is going to do, but am powerless to stop him, he climbs up and makes his way along it. Fortunately he proceeds cautiously and I soon catch him up, so we both walk to the end together and return without falling off or getting wet. As soon as we get off, a large wave comes in and Louis feet are drenched. By now it is five o'clock, so we make our way back to the car and I realise, with horror, that I am in a metered zone and have left the car for three hours without a ticket. Fortunately the Gods are smiling on us and we escape unscathed and quickly drive up the hill into town, where I park and this time pay, before crossing the road to the shopping precinct. We buy Louis a dry pair of socks for a pound, complete with Spiderman logo, and change them on a bench, before repairing to Mother Hubbard's for Haddock and chips. The cafe is packed and we have to wait a few minutes before a table becomes vacant. Louis is not good with patience, and his table manners are non existant, I suppose that is a corollary of Sarah spending three years at university. I have been coming to this cafe for over twenty years and have yet to have a bad meal, we both clear our plates and Louis even finds room for a chocolate ice cream. We leave Scarboro a little after six and before we have reached Cayton Bay, he is fast asleep and doesn't wake up until seven o'clock when we pull up across the road from Sarah's. Alice puts Louis to bed, whilst I return to Tickton, to feed and toilet Norman, before returning to Sarah's with my pyjamas and clothes for church tomorrow morning. When I get back Louis is sound asleep, but Alice has been invited to a party at her friends, a few doors away. Once she provides me with an address and telephone number, I agree to let her go, as long as she is back before eleven. She is a trustworthy and sensible girl but I will be relieved when she is back. She arrives, as promised, a little before eleven, I let Norman out for one last time and then go to bed.

Feeling better on balance at the Equinox!

Wake at eight, after getting up to let Norman into the bedroom during the night, he was whimpering by the bedroom door for some unknown reason. Let him into the garden on a grey, cold morning, with steady drizzling rain. I breakfast on smoked salmon and Philadelphia cream cheese on Ryvita, whilst he has dry dog food enhanced by a generous helping of the meat sauce from the slow cooker that will be used to construct the Parmagiana later. On that note, I take the aubergine slices from the colander, rinse off the salt in a bath of cold water and set them to drain once more. I will fry them tonight and construct the dish, once I have bought a pack of grated Mozarella. We pick up Dolly and Teddy, and drive to the Westwood for a little after ten. The drizzle is still coming down as we head into the woods, not quite enough to prompt me to take out my brolly, but enough to dampen down the day. This transition from summer, to business as usual in the North of England, is a real downer. Already I am missing my shorts and lunch in the garden, perhaps we may get a reprieve before September is out? Today is the first day of Autumn, and the equinox, I love the colours and scents of autumn, crimson leaves and the faint cider smell of decaying foliage, I especially love those clear frosty mornings, when the air is like a crisp champagne. Not at all like today, which is probably more typical. Salmon Rushdie's autobiography, Joseph Anton, is being serialised on radio four, as book of the week. He is just at the point where Ayatollah Khomeini issues the fatwah from his death bed. I like Rushdie as a writer, but he only has himself to blame for taking the piss out of other people's beliefs. In Midnight's children, he has a dog that can smell insurgents called Budda, a not so veiled reference to the Buddhist meditation practice of annapannasatti, focussing on the subtle sensation of the air passing through the nostrils whilst breathing. Buddhists, unlike fundamentalists Muslims, aren't likely to kill you for taking the piss. In both cases the references are not essential to the narrative and indicate a narcissistic trait within the author, a tendency to just show off to his secular mates. No gardening is possible today, so I take Norman home to Tickton and drive to the Leisure centre for 11:35, only to find that I had forgotten to pick up my swimming gear. It must be an age thing, so resist the temptation to get annoyed and retrace my steps to correct the omission. I am back in the pool for twelve and it is not too busy, they have a double lane allocated for faster swimmers, which I share with two others. As usual, I warm up on 400m backstroke and find that my strength has returned, this is confirmed on breaststroke and then freestyle, so I do 4 x 100m IM and then warm down with 200m freestyle and backstroke. A total of 2,000m and I feel fine, whatever the problem was, it seems to have gone. After showering and changing, I dine on the cafe daily special, broccoli and salmon fish cake, with chips and mixed salad, before driving to Morrisons to do some shopping. Some of the pot plants in the Garden Room need changing, so buy a large white bowl of pot mums and a small tub of carnations. Norman needs dog tins and a restock of breakfast gear is in order, as well as the Mozarella for the Parmigiana. Get back to Tickton for three, give Norman some more dry dog food with a dollop of meat sauce, and then repot my plants. Afterwards meditate for an hour and then set too to construct La Parmagiana. This necessitates shallow frying the drained aubergine slices and then drying them on kitchen roll, before layering meat sauce, aubergine and Mozarella in an oval baking dish, liberally sprinkled with fresh basil leaves. Once the dish is built, it needs to "cook" in the fridge to let the flavours develop, before baking in the oven. Norman is growing impatient for his tea, so I serve him his senior gourmet tin of chicken and turkey, but liven it up with the last dregs of the meat sauce. Afterwards we do our evening walk down to the little bridge, on the way back, the rain stops, the skies clear and the sun appears briefly to the West. It is half past six, half past five GMT and the sun will set for six. Tomorrow is forecast to be a fine, sunny day after a cold night, I am looking after Louis and Alice, whilst Sarah runs Clement back to University in London. As I get older, every winter seems to be longer than the last. Perhaps I need to think seriously about wintering abroad, Norman may yet need a passport!

The modern conundrum how to be both big, small and connected.

Wake at seven to a cold, damp morning, Norman is reluctant to venture outside, but eventually toddles down the path and then promptly jumps back into his bed. The smell of frying bacon soon has him scratching at the kitchen door for his breakfast. After washing and dressing I reply to an email from Jackie, before driving to Cherry for ten. It is still raining as the dogs and I make our way into Newbegin Pits woods, but the rain isn't heavy and there isn't much wind. When we get to Black Mill, I ring Clement, to see if he wants to go to the Thai restaurant for lunch, he's back to university in London on Saturday and I have hardly seen him. He does, and I arrange to collect him at one, Grandparents are fairly well down the pecking order with teenagers. It is too wet to garden when we get back to Cherry, so after dropping Dolly and Teddy off, Normy and I head back to Tickton. Once indoors I give him some fresh water and biscuits, pick up my swimming gear and drive to the leisure centre. I am in the water for five to twelve and the far, right hand lane, is empty. I still feel tired, but that's no indication, tiredness can be mental or physical, so warm up on 400m backstroke to see how I feel in the water. I feel OK, no shortage of breath, but each length is taking me two extra strokes. My technique is pretty well imprinted by now, so the only conclusion can be that I have lost muscular strength. Breaststroke confirms the analysis nine strokes instead of eight per length and it can't be the holiday layoff, because I was fine on Monday. Nothing for it but to accept reality and enjoy my swim anyway, so follow the breaststroke with 400m freestyle. The "wave machine", aka ladies aerobics, arrive at twelve thirty and so the rest of us are forced into the remaining four lanes. There are eight people sharing my double lane, so warm down on 100m IM and get changed to meet Clement. I pick him up shortly after one and we walk through town to the restaurant down Lairgate. Once inside, Clement orders chicken satay and Pad Kra Pau, it's a spicy chicken with Thai basil and egg fried rice, I order tempura vegetables and Pad Kra Pau with pork instead of chicken and plain boiled rice. As ever, the food is excellent and the presentation beautiful, we talk about his degree course in electronic engineering with nanotechnology and it is obvious that he is really absorbed in his subject and can't wait to get back to college. I remind him of my conviction about nuclear power and electric cars being the future, but we have differing perspectives, he follows the French approach of large scale fusion technology, whilst I feel that small distributed nuclear power is the way to go. We may both be wrong! The great intellectual and political challenge for me is how to achieve economies of scale without succumbing to the deadening hand of centralised bureaucracy. I am a committed believer in a federal, united states of Europe, a Europe of the regions. I would love to follow the American model and have a Governor for Yorkshire, a Senator and several congressmen. The London centric polity has done nothing but harm to the rest of the UK. My acid test is, anything that winds The Sun and the Daily Mail up, has to be good for ordinary people. After lunch we walk back to Sarah's and Clement gives me a pile of old economist and new scientist magazines, which I stow away in the boot of my car. My library books are overdue, so I park at Tesco and walk through Beverley and return them. I don't take out anymore books, as I have three to read from Hull within the next week. On my way back to the car, I call at Boyes and buy a plastic funnel for 69p, to replace my improvised pop bottle top, that has been serving as a coffee filter since returning from holiday. It takes an A4 filter paper exactly. Norman is ready for his tea when I get back in and I have just time to do a puzzle, before walking him down the lane to the bridge. His fan club of little girls run over to pat him, as we make our way down Green Lane, he takes all this adulation in his stride and doesn't let it go to his head. As we get to the farm, a family is walking the other way, with a lovely tan and white bulldog, she is very friendly, but scares the bejabbers out of Normy. It is the way she breathes, through her squashed up nose, it makes her sound like a pig. I might be losing strength, but Norman is certainly gaining fitness, and runs ahead of me, as we make our way back to the bungalow. Once indoors, I slice and salt the aubergines and then layer them in a colander, before pressing them under a plate, weighed down by a large bottle of conditioner. This process is absolutely essential to remove the bitter taste and excess fluid before shallow frying them a lovely golden brown for the Parmiagiana. I made the meat sauce this morning, and it has been simmering in the slow cooker ever since. I serve ante pasta for tea, Parma ham, pepper Salami and Brie accompanied by olives, sun dried tomatoes and marinated peppers. Outside it is raining heavily, but the forecast for the weekend is fine. To bed early around nine.

Housework, Bridlington and Reaganomics

Wake at seven, Norman has had an accident, so the first job is to clean up. Some hot water, flash and fabreze and everything is soon back to normal. I know what the problem is, yesterday when we got back to Cherry, Dolly and Teddy hadn't eaten their breakfast of dry dog food, so Normy hoovered up the lot. I shall have to watch him more carefully in future. After our full English, I peg out a load of whites and then put on some coloureds, before driving to Cherry for nine fifteen. Its a lovely morning on the Westwood, but I am glad I put on jeans and a sweater today as well as my fleece, because the wind is straight from the North and cold. The dogs don't mind though, Teddy and Dolly take it in turn to scamper about and Norman trots on behind checking the scents and avoiding the rough and tumble. No gardening today, as I have arranged to meet Felicity and some friends in the Poppy Seed at ten thirty. As its market day, I park on Albert Terrace, a short way from Felicity's little house and then walk down Wood Lane to the cafe. When we arrive she is already there with her sister, Joy, and also Annie and her daughter and Hannah, who is Danish. Norman is the centre of attention, which he thoroughly enjoys, he laps up the limelight whilst I have a cup of tea. We see Felicity back to her house and then drive home for eleven thirty. Once indoors I blitz the house, vacuuming through, before cleaning the kitchen and the bathroom and having a general tidy up. The letting agent is popping in this afternoon, and I haven't told them about Norman yet. The landlord said it was OK for me to look after him whilst Sarah was on holiday, but I haven't got round to sorting this out on a permanent basis. So Norman's basket and bowl are placed in the garage, the house sprayed with lavender air freshener, and after hanging out the coloured washing, Normy and I head to Bridlington to keep out if the way. We park down one of the side streets off South Shore Promenade and then walk through town to the market. On holiday, I saw a Dutch woman washing her windows with a squeegee on a pole and it was very effective, now I have a squeegee with a hose lock adaptor for washing the car, so I'm on the look out for a hose lock lance. We have no luck on the market, nor in Boyes, or in the discount store that took over from Woolworths. So we abandon our search and sit outside an ice cream parlour, that serves Lavazza coffee, opposite the harbour. Out of the wind, the sun is hot and it's pleasant drinking my Americano and reading Stuart McCone's book, "Pies and Prejudice, in search of the North". The people who run the cafe are nice and bring Normy some water in an ice cream tub. I don't need the book, the North is all around me, mostly pensioners and disabled people, on day trips or from the caravan parks, but quite a few locals as well, unemployment is very high in Bridlington and social services use up spare holiday accommodation in the town, which adds to the problem. I notice a large number of people with mobility walkers and scooters, many are obese. It's a marked contrast to Holland last week, where I don't believe I saw any. To be fair we were staying in a very prosperous area and the situation may be different elsewhere. This vicious circle of poverty, unemployment, obesity and disability, seems to be something we have imported from the USA, that came along with Thatcher's version of Reagonomics, "look after the rich and the benefits will eventually trickle down to the poor". Except It's a bloody slow trickle ! Whats worse is that the same cant and hypocrisy is being trotted out again. Enough of my rant, after the coffee we make our way to the harbour and sit on a bench facing West and enjoy the afternoon sun, whilst watching the seagulls squabble over scraps on the harbour bottom mud at low tide. Clouds start to gather from the Northwest after half an hour, so we make our way to Audrey's cafe and I buy a portion of haddock and chips, which we eat on a bench outside. By now it's five o'clock and we make our way back to the car and drive home, calling in at Aldi to do some shopping. They sell huge Dutch aubergines for 69p, Tesco's are a £1 and half the size, I intend to make a Parmagiana later in the week, they also have small joints of smoked ham, so we will reprise the dish I made a few weeks ago with broad beans and garlic, parsley sauce. We get back for six and I feed Norman before unpacking the shopping and bringing the washing in off the line. There has been a shower in Tickton, as the garden table is wet, but the washing is dry nonetheless. Later we do our walk down to the bridge and then play "praise and pat" on the way back home. Norman is skipping away like a two year old, but my left hip is stiffening and I feel tired. Not swimming today was sensible, and fortunately there is no sign of any sickness, so tomorrow normal service should resume. When I get in my glasses fall off my nose and an arm breaks off when they hit the floor. I have had them for four years and had to replace a plastic end that broke off during my holiday, but although some superglue provides a temporary repair, I shall soon have to replace them. Needless to say I shan't go to Specsavers. Eat some Brie on oatmeal crackers for dinner and go to bed for ten.

Hard pressed Leeds beaten by Hull.

Up at half past six again, to another fine morning, it's cold outside as I let Norman into the garden. The frying pan needs washing up after last night's crash out, but by seven o'clock we are sitting down to our breakfast. Both eggs this morning were double yolkers, and free range eggs, fresh from the farm, always taste better than those from the supermarket. After breakfast I am showered, changed and ready for the off by nine o'clock, but for some strange reason the battery in the car is flat, eventually I have to call out the AA and by ten past ten we are on our way to Cherry. I leave the engine running as we collect Dolly and Teddy before making our way to the Westwood. The cold Northeasterly wind is still with us, but the sky is clear blue between the occasional clouds, and in the lee of the wind, it is pleasantly warm. Andrew has left the empty petrol can out for me, so he mustn't have had time to fill it up, so we call at Mill Lane filling station on our way back to Cherry. It is half past eleven when we get back, so after filling the mower, there is only time to do the lawns at Two Riggs, before heading back to Tickton for a quarter to one. Pruning and pollarding will have to wait for another day. It is after one when I get to the pool, and I end up sharing a double lane with a couple of other swimmers. I warm up on 400m backstroke, but don't feel quite right, it is taking an extra stroke or two for each length and the same happens on 400m breaststroke. A class of schoolchildren arrives, and immediately half the pool is allocated to them, and I find myself in a double lane with eight other swimmers, so swim a slow 400m freestyle and still feel below par. I decide to call it a day and warm down with a very gentle 100m IM. I conclude that I am either coming down with something, or fighting something off. In either event it is prudent to take things a little easier for a day or so. After tea in the cafe, which is dead again, I drive home to Tickton, arriving around a quarter to three. Normy is waiting for me, wondering what we are going to cook, I took a couple of chicken filets out of the freezer to thaw this morning, and it doesn't take long to transform them into schnitzels and serve them with chips and salad. We eat in the garden, but I have to wear my fleece due to the cold wind. As well as a bit of chicken, chopped small, Norman also gets the beaten egg that I used to dip the filets, fried up. He says the chicken was OK, but he preferred yesterday's steak! After coffee and a puzzle, I meditate for half an hour and then sleep until six. It's time for Normy's tin and afterwards we walk down to the little bridge and meet a young guy and his daughter walking a Labrador and a jackawowa, a chihuahua, Jack Russell cross. Norman is delighted, he doesn't get to meet many dogs smaller than himself. When we get back home, I get out the ironing board, make a pot of tea and then put Radio Humberside on for the commentory on the Leeds v Hull football match. After my holiday, there must be a backlog of about twenty shirts, and ironing whilst listening to the match, is a way of catching up. Last year we went to the same fixture, taking Andrew and Clement and meeting up with Jackie and Gino for fish and chips at the Mermaid before the match. It was a memorable night out, not least because Andrew's blackberry was stolen by a couple of East European Gypsy girls, and although we chased them to their getaway car and got the registration number, we were met with total indifference by the police when we reported the robbery. Leeds beat Hull last year, as they have at Elland Road for the past twenty five years, but not tonight, Hull win 3:2 after going a goal behind early doors to a penalty. I have divided loyalties, coming from West Yorkshire, but having had a season ticket at Hull for five years until Clement went to University, the balance lies in favour of Hull. By the time the match has ended and the interviews with the manager and a couple of players are done, the ironing is completed and folded away into drawers. Before retiring to the Garden Room with some cheese and crackers, I put a load of whites into the washing machine. The forecast tomorrow is for another bright day with a cold Northeasterly wind. Good drying weather! To bed around half past eleven.

Ribeye and rest

Wake early, around six fifteen, to a fine morning. The sun hasn't risen yet as I make my way into the kitchen and put the kettle on for coffee. Norman is still asleep, snoring gently in his basket, as I gather him in my arms and gently wake him. When he comes round, I open the garden room patio doors and eventually persuade him to toddle down the path to toilet. I slept OK after my fast, but had to get up and get a winter duvet as it is turning cold. Surprisingly I don't feel particularly hungry this morning, just very calm, as if my body has found a lower state of energy balance. Norman runs into the kitchen when he smells the bacon frying. We have our routine of both eating together, I cut up half a sausage, a rasher of streaky bacon and a slice of black pudding and put it in his bowl to cool whilst I fry an egg. When my breakfast is ready, we both eat together and I usually save him a bit of my egg as well. After breakfast I take my coffee into the breakfast room and read the Guardian on my iPad before showering, dressing and driving to Cherry to collect Dolly and Teddy. They are in a high state of excitement, not having seen us for ten days, and scamper to the car, jump in, and then fuss over Norman. We park at our usual place down Newbald Road and are soon walking through the woods, Teddy and Norman off the lead and Dolly impatient for her turn. I am dressed in shorts and sandals, but wearing a sweater, which is prudent because there is chill in the strong Northeasterly breeze. As we emerge onto the common, a solitary swallow is hunting close to the ground, perhaps one of the last yet to migrate. Teddy comes back to the lead and Dolly is released, she sets off like a greyhound out of the traps, and sprints in a circle before reversing her direction and then wriggling on her back, before shooting off again. She comes back as we arrive at Black Mill, our appointed meeting place, and we walk down the hill to the car. On our way back to Cherry we call at the farm shop at Walkington Manor where I buy a dozen giant eggs, some carrots and a small swede. At Two Riggs, the lawns are a little overgrown, but first I need to put some fuel in the mower, but can't find the petrol can. I asked Andrew to fill it up for me, so perhaps it may still be in Pip's car, but when I check it isn't there. I text Andrew, without success, and nothing else for it decide to prune instead. The back garden is sheltered, so it's pleasantly warm working in the sun, and I spend an hour or so cutting back the ivy around the kitchen and then pruning the first of the bushes, a large Wiglea, before tidying up and taking Normy back to Tickton. Once home, I collect my swimming gear and head to the Leisure centre for a quarter to one. The pool is very quiet and so I have the luxury of a free lane. Not having been in the water for ten days, I warm up slowly on 400m backstroke, but have to keep stopping every couple of lengths because my goggles are leaking, eventually the problem is sorted and I finish the warm up feeling relaxed and smooth. Do two further 400's on breaststroke and freestyle before switching to 4 x 100m individual medley. I swim these trying to keep the stroke even and smooth across all four strokes, then gradually increase the power on each subsequent repeat, until by the final medley, I am within twenty percent of full race pace. Then warm down with 200m freestyle and 200m backstroke. The cafe is dead as well, so I only stop for a tea and then head for the supermarket to do some shopping. As well as buying sausage and streaky bacon, they have Clonakilty, Irish black pudding on sale for a pound. It is wonderfully herby, and grainy with small seeds and barley in its texture. So one goes in my basket and is soon followed by a large ribeye steak and bottle of red wine. I get in around a quarter to four, And make dinner, ribeye steak, fried onions, tossed salad and chips. Once the scent of the cooking meat leaves the kitchen, Norman arrives to oversee the production. There isn't much fat or gristle on the steak for him, so I cut off a little piece and then chop it up small for him, and leave it to cool, whilst I get my chips out of the oven and dish out the salad. Norman finishes his in less than a minute and then sits looking at me longingly with his paw raised. The steak is very good and the Temperanillo wine equally good, but I eat slowly, so Normy has to wait a while before being allowed to clean my plate. After dinner, I take my coffee into the Garden Room and check my email, Jackie has posted some nice pictures of our holiday on Facebook, that I am tagged on, but apart from that, it's the usual spam. I feel quite sleepy and check the wine as I give Normy his tin, it's fourteen percent and I have drunk half a bottle! It's time for his evening walk and we make our way down Carr Lane as far as the little wooden bridge. When we arrive another chap in shorts is staring into the water and then I see why, his cairn terrier is having a paddle. We agree that there aren't likely to be too many short wearing days left in the year and then walk back down the lane again. Norman runs ahead, stopping every now and then for his praise and pat. We get in for half past six and I decide to lie down for an hour, close my eyes and wake again at ten. Get up, put my pyjamas on and then go back to bed. Whether it is the steak, the wine, the exercise or fasting, my body is telling me it needs the rest.

Nuclear batteries and intermittent fasting

Get up around six thirty to a fine day, Norman is still asleep but I wake him gently and persuade him to make use of the garden. We share a full English breakfast and both of the eggs are double yolkers! I bought them from the farm shop at Walkington Manor, before the holiday and will by some more tomorrow, as we are down to our last egg. After breakfast and a shower, I take Normy down the lane as far as the farm, before driving into Beverley for nine o'clock mass at St. John's. Father Roy takes the service, the choir is in good voice and I know two out of the three hymns, but the organist hits one or two bum notes. I suspect it is one of the youngsters learning to play. After communion, I collect Leslie from his bungalow and drive to Caffe Nero in Saturday Market. He makes his way upstairs, whilst I order, my holiday binge on Dutch Apple pie had expected consequences and by Friday I was producing catarrh, so now I am back on the wagon. I take our Americanos and Leslie's pain au chocolat upstairs and we catch up on the news of the last two weeks. He is convinced that Obama will win in the US, as he says, "nobody can't beat somebody", which neatly sums it up. I take him home for eleven thirty and then head back to Tickton, where I change into jeans and then proceed to edge the front lawn, dig out the dandelions and deadhead the roses. I do this the grandad way, sitting on my folding tripod stool and taking as much time as it task requires. On Wednesday afternoon the letting agent is calling round to check that I am looking after the house OK, they do this twice a year. Usually it's a young guy who sticks his head through the door for about two seconds and then disappears, but I am using the occasion to motivate myself to do a spring, sorry, autumn clean. I did the bathroom yesterday and today I do the Garden Room, washing down the PVC doors and cleaning the windows. No lunch today, because I am trying intermittent fasting, my brother, Graham, put me onto it, and after research on the Internet it seems worth trying. He has lost a stone and come off his blood pressure medication. BBC Horizon ran a program on it and the latest research suggests that it might aid the bodies natural ability to heal itself. I don't particularly need to lose weight, but would welcome any opportunity to reduce medication. I am particularly interested to see if it might be an alternative to my low sugar diet. I think the evidence is pretty clear that somehow, I have got a candida overgrowth in my gut, this triggers an asthma like auto immune response. I usually manage this by sticking to a very low glycemic index diet, but would be delighted to be clear of it altogether. Anyway I will see how I get on. After cleaning, I make a pot of tea and read the Observer on my iPad, they have reduced the price for the Guardian and the Observer combined, to just over eleven pounds a month. Norman pesters me for his tea at four, but I put him off until five thirty and then take him for a walk round the fields. The swallows have flown South in the last couple of days, all the cornfields have been harvested and red hawthorn berries hang like models of the DNA double helix from the bushes down the lane. The weather has been good in England whilst we have been away and the path through "almost straight wood" has dried out. It smells of pine and humous and is one of Norman's favourite places, dachshunds love to snuffle through leaves like little piglets, he also likes to check the trees to see who has marked their patch recently. To the West dark clouds are gathering and the forecast was for heavy rain by tea time, but with luck we will get round dry. The farmers are still hard at it, stacking bales of hay in the field using a yellow forklift type truck with adapted prongs. On our way into the drive one of Norman's little girls spots him, so we stop and let her pat him. When we get in, I give him a bowl of water and then look up nuclear batteries on the Internet. Leslie told me Westinghouse are about to market a small nuclear plant which is based on this technology and can power a town of twenty thousand people for ten years. Other developments in this area suggest that related technology could be adapted to power electric cars that would never need to be recharged. I think the Mars rover is using an early prototype of this technology. Whether a cost effective, safe, nuclear battery powered electric car will be available within my lifespan, remains to be seen. As it grows dark the rain arrives and it's comforting to listen to it falling outside from the warmth of the garden room. The roses and the lawns will be grateful for the water. The forecast for the week is sunny with temperatures around seventeen degrees, perfect for me. Having dealt with my garden, I need to deal with Pip's tomorrow, the lawns will need mowing and hopefully I can make a start on pruning the trees. It's now fourteen hours since we had breakfast and I don't feel particularly hungry, Graham told me that this intermittent fasting wasn't difficult, but will reserve judgement until I see how well I sleep on an empty stomach. Do a puzzle or two and then turn in around ten.

Sliding back into the old routine.

Wake early at half past six, when I open the curtains, the sun is just rising, crimson behind the pine trees, across the field to the east. Norman is still fast asleep in his bed, when I put the kettle on and start breakfast. The plastic funnel for the coffee filter is nowhere to be found and I realise it must be still at the "hof van ede" in Maarssen. Improvising, I cut the pouring end of a plastic pop bottle in half and use this to hold the filter paper. It is less than ideal, but does the job as long as you don't overload it. Normy and I share a full English breakfast, before I shower, dress and drive to the Westwood where I let Norman off the lead for his walk. He takes longer than usual, probably because there is much more olfactory information to process on the trees and grass, since he was last here a week ago. It is a clear, bright, sunny morning, but there is a cold wind blowing from the Northwest and consequently the swallows are hunting close to the ground. Very soon they will be heading south. On our way round we meet Dianne and her West Highland Terrier, Rocky and she comments on how bright the red hawthorn berries are against the cobalt blue sky. The blackthorn bushes are also heavy with sloes and the horse chestnuts are showing the ravages of conker hunting children. Autumn is nearly upon us! We make our way down Woodlands and Wood Lane into town and arrive at the Poppy Seed cafe for ten twenty. Felicity and her daughter, Melissa are already there, so we sit with them and I order tea, sharing my milk with Norman, who is thirsty after his walk. Melissa's partner, Nick arrives and we venture into the market. Felicity buys some sausages from the farm shop and then we all walk her home. Although it is less than a quarter of a mile, she has to stop and rest on a garden wall. When we get to her house, I ask her how her rollator is, and get a very negative answer. Melissa has tried to show her how to use it, but it's a bit like teaching your wife to drive, and hasn't gone well. Apparently it's difficult pushing it up over the kerb, but when I experiment with it, the solution is easy, if you hold the brakes it pivots easily and lightly. I show Felicity, but she is unlikely to let facts interfere with her opinions, so I don't hold out great hopes. We leave shortly after twelve and make our way back to Tickton, calling in at the supermarket for frozen chips and a bottle of Chardonnay. Once home, I defrost a pork chop and make schnitzel, salad and chips, which we eat in the garden, which is fortunately shielded from the cold wind. After lunch we listen to Hull beat Millwall 4:1 and then mow the lawns and weed the garden. At six o'clock I feed Normy and then take him for a walk down the lane, the little girls fuss and pat him on our way out, which he seems to enjoy, but he completely blanks them on our way back and just wants to get home. It is a beautiful evening, the sun setting over Beverley as we get home, the equinox is next Friday, and the inexorable slide into winter darkness is not far away. I don't feel like reading, so do a puzzle for an hour and then eat some cheddar and oatcakes before turning in around ten. It is nice to be home and have Normy back.

Where the hell is Sid?

I get up before the tannoy sounds at a quarter to six, have a quick shower, dress and then take my book to the restaurant and save a window table until the others arrive. Jackie has a continental breakfast, the rest of us full English, the ship is passing Grimsby and soon we are pulling into Hull, outside the weather is a bit overcast, but as we are called down to our cars, the sun starts to break through. It takes a little longer to disembark in England, primarily because Andrew is selected for a market research survey, but by half past eight we are on our way and by nine O'clock reloading Gino's car in Tickton. We say our goodbyes and then I unpack and put my shirts and pyjamas in to wash, before driving to Beverley. I need to get my glasses fixed because one of the plastic ends has broken off, Specsavers try to sell me some new ones, but when I refuse, offer to put new plastic ends on for a fiver. Once this is done, I call at Tesco's to stock up on breakfast gear and to buy Norman some tins and then call at Sarah's to collect him. He is very glad to see me but I can't stay long, as British Gas are coming to service the central heating between twelve and six. I chat briefly to Clement and Sarah, who is starting a locum job with the NHS on Monday for a month. She tells me Normy has been to school with Louis, so I don't need to walk him till after dinner. When we get home, I hang out the washing and discover I have left a paper handkerchief in my pyjama pocket. There are bits everywhere, fortunately there is a strong wing blowing and it may blow them off. I potter around the house doing odd jobs until six, by which time I realise British Gas aren't coming. After his tin, I walk Norman down to the bridge, he gets a pat from the little girls across the road and on our way home we play our praise and pat game. I catch up on my blog and go to bed for half past ten

Mussels and chips Aquarius

I am up before seven again and make tea and eat the last of the really tangy mature Gouda on Ryvita, before the others surface. They aren't long behind me and I make bacon sandwiches for them, while Gino brews up the coffee. Then it is all hands on deck, to shower, pack and tidy the house. We fetch Waldo slightly before ten and he returns our one hundred Euro deposit and then we are on our way. We have decided to visit Helvetsluis, a small port near Breille, which we saw in a brochure when we were on holiday last year. It is only about ten kilometres from the Ferry terminal, so an easy run at the end of our last day in Holland. I make the same mistake with the satnav again and keep to the right as we enter the motorway and end up going in the opposite direction to Rotterdam. Fortunately the satnav routes us back the right way after five minutes and we arrive in Helvetsluis before noon and park at port Helios, which is a holiday village on the beach. We order coffee in the hotel, which we drink outside, the waitress tells us that the place we saw in the brochure is a short walk down the beach. After we finish our coffee we set off and soon find it. Helvetsluis used to be a Dutch naval base and the fortifications are still there. Now it is a combination of new town, marina and holiday village. After a walk round the small centre, we make our way to a restaurant on the beach called "Aquarius", it is a lovely place, which looks like a Cape Cod wooden villa, the decor is in naval colours of blue and white, and on the deck outside there are wicker tables and chairs as well as a few settees and armchairs. We order some beers, Jackie and the others have wheat beer and I try Belgian Palm beer, which is very nice with a distinctive tangy taste, but too strong for me to risk another. We tell the waitress that we want a slow lunch, and I ask her if they serve mussels, she replies, "of course", but when they eventually arrive the portion appears huge, (probably a two person serving,) in a large pan in marinaire sauce. None of the others like them and although most of the bulk is comprised of shell, it still takes a sustained assault to see them all off. Gino, Jackie and Andrew eat more modestly, but we all opt for the creme brûlée for desert. It comes with fresh pineapple, vanilla ice cream and cranberries and is by far the best dessert of the holiday. Whilst we were there, a large 600 seater river cruiser moors up outside and the restaurant is soon full. The young waitress copes admirably, staying cool, calm and efficient and manages to serve them all, despite being on her own. After coffee, I ask her if she is usually left on her own, she says no, not normally, but her colleagues' father died yesterday and she volunteered to hold the fort, whilst her friend helped her mother. We leave at four o'clock and give her a twelve euro tip, for looking after us so well throughout the afternoon. We retrace our steps to the car and by ten minutes to five we are at the Ferry terminal waiting to board. Loading begins at five and we are in our cabin by five fifteen. We have been sat in the sun again all afternoon and the others understandably want to rest, but I know that I will have trouble sleeping later if I drop off now, so take my book up to the lounge and read before dinner. Graham has given me a book called "Currency Wars", which basically claims the US is devaluing its currency through quantative easing, in order to export its way out of recession. The author claims that previous attempts to do this have ended badly and severely damaged global trade. He goes on to discuss various possible scenarios of what may happen. Whilst the book makes several telling and interesting points, it seemed, at least to me, to lack a coherent narrative. The author is in favour of a global currency based on the IMF's special drawing rights but anchored through a linkage to gold. Whilst it is difficult to argue with the need for a global central bank and effective global financial regulation, the author seemed muddled, torn between the logic of his argument and it's negative consequences for American hegemony and dominance. Of course he is an American, the rest of the World would almost certainly welcome a situation where America was treated the same as everyone else. Still it was thought provoking. I find the others in the bar at a quarter to eight and we have a quick beer before heading to Langhams for eight. They all have the two course menu, but I still feel the presence of the muscles, so have two starters, both smoked salmon, washed down with a half bottle of white wine. It was just enough and quite delicious. The waiter, whom we have come to know quite well, advises us to book breakfast for six fifteen, as the ship disembarks at seven thirty. With this in mind we turn in at ten.

Frankie goes to Maarssen

Wake up early at half past six and tiptoe downstairs, where I make tea and breakfast on some mature Gouda cheese on Ryvita. I don't fancy a fry up again and it also means I can cook for the others so we can be ready when Graham arrives. The others get up by around seven thirty and we have all eaten and have showered and dressed when Graham arrives at a quarter past ten, they are slightly late due to a traffic jam and diversion, but after a cup of coffee are soon restored. Graham takes Frankie for a walk round Hof van Ede and then we all set off and walk into the village. On the corner of the square is an ice cream parlour and bakery, which boasts two stars for its confections, so we decide to sit outside there and test their apple pie. Unfortunately there isn't quite enough to go round, so Lillianne has a cheesecake and Jackie an ice cream. Of course we all have coffee and then afterwards we take Frankie for a walk in the small park that contains the town hall. Later we stop and have lunch by the canal side in a little pub cum restaurant. The tables are on a floating wooden pontoon and once again the sun shines on us and our lunch lasts an hour or so. Frankie sits next to Graham and plays with his tennis ball that Graham bought for him from a sports shop in the village. Around four o'clock we wonder back and persuade Graham and Lilliane to stay for dinner and leave once the traffic has quietened down. Gino and I cobble together a salad that includes the last of our eggs, boiled and quartered, some left over spaghetti and a tin of tuna, we christen it insalata tutti mondo, as it contains just about everything. We also eat up the last of our ante pasta. The salad is good, but the crusty bread from the bakery is spectacular. Jackie bought an apple pie from the bakery later on, but we are all too full to eat it. Graham, Lillianne and Frankie, leave around half past eight and we then drink coffee and go to bed fairly early, as tomorrow we have to pack and be out for ten.

A typical Dutch Family

Tuesday dawns cool and damp, after breakfast we decide that today would be the best day to visit Utrecht, which is only about four miles away. It is a much bigger city than I had anticipated but we follow the signs to the station and manage to park without any problem. Graham bought a chip card, which you need to park just about anywhere in a Dutch city. The lift from the car park brings us out in a Mall, but we didn't come to Holland to visit Meadowhall or Trafford Park lookalikes, so after a quick visit to the loo, actually called "2theloo", we venture outside and soon find our way to the old town. The centre of Utrecht is a grid of canals with old multi storey houses lining the banks, there are tourist boats, cruisers and people in kayaks on the water. Numerous pavement cafes, pubs and restaurants and shops of every kind, having just missed the one o'clock tourist boat, we wonder alongside the canal until we are driven into a cafe by a sudden downpour. The place is packed but we find a table and are soon tucking into apple pie and coffee. Eventually the rain eases and we decide to find somewhere with more comfortable seats, as Jackie and Gino had been sat on a fairly hard bench. We find a place a little further on around a corner and order some beer, and lemonade for me, as I have to drive. A young guy asks if he can take our photo and Gino is immediately suspicious of a scam, but it turns out he is a student with a Turkish girlfriend, who is going back to Istanbul in the morning and he thought we looked like a typical Dutch family, for her to photograph and take back. They both seemed nice, so we bought them a beer and asked them to join us, which they did and we chatted happily for half an hour and parted swapping email addresses, he was called Benjamin and she Alara. They told me that the guy that doesn't drink and does the driving, is called Bob in Holland. After some more mooching about, we found an Italian restaurant called La Pozza, and all had Pizza. Gino didn't know what it mean't, so when he went to the loo we asked the waiter. It means "The Well", and sure enough there was a picture of a well on the wall. Jackie ended up giving half her Pizza to the ducks that were swimming on the canal and act as aquatic pigeons. She is very kind and makes sure that the smaller, weaker ducks get their fair share. Gradually we make our way back to the car and leave the city around half past four, ahead of the rush hour traffic. At some future date, Utrecht would merit a visit of several days, as we hardly scratched the surface. We arrive back in Maarssen at tea time and park near the square again and top up our supplies from the supermarket in readiness for Graham and Lillianne's visit in the morning. Back at the Hof van Ede, we make some more ante pasta for our evening meal, followed by fresh strawberries and cream and then drink a little wine or beer until bedtime. Interrupted only by Graham telephoning for instructions on how to get there. He says they will be here before ten so we will need to be up early in the morning. To bed at eleven.

Eating al fresco in the garden of Eden

Wake to the sound of coots calling to each other on the canal, outside it is a little cloudy and hazy, Andrew is still asleep, so I tread softly and go downstairs and make a pot of strong Italian coffee, brought from home. A few minutes later Gino gets up, shortly followed by Andrew, we make a full English, using the bacon and eggs, Graham bought for us. The bacon is very thin, like prosciutto, but we fry it slowly until it is crispy and it works OK. We take our time over breakfast and then decide to have a drive into town to see what's there and do a little shopping. We park next to the square and walk to the pub next to the church and order coffee and deep dish Dutch apple pie, which we eat sat outside in the sunshine. At noon the church bell chimes Beethoven's "Ode to Joy", and shortly after the little bridge over the canal raises to let a boat through. When it comes down again a backlog of cyclists streams past us. Last year there were two bikes at the house and we rented some more, so we enquire at the bike shops in town, but none rent bikes. Leaving the others at the cafe, I walk round the corner to the library to enquire about bikes and tourist maps, they tell me there may be bikes at the railway station at Maarssen Broek, or failing that we can get some from Utrecht station. They also tell me to go to the local bookshop for bike and tourist maps. I pass the others on my way there and tell them where I am going, they are having a beer. The bookshop have no tourist maps but point me towards the town hall, which turns out to be half a mile away, in a park. When I eventually get there they give me a couple of maps and I make my way back to the others and explain where I have been and then we explore the village. Most of the shops are shut on Mondays, fortunately the local supermarket, "Dirk van de Broek", is open and we stock up on provisions. There are three things I like to eat in Holland, apple pie, veal schnitzels and mussels and chips and they have schnitzels in the supermarket and also Warsteiner beer, from Germany near to where I used to be stationed on the Mohne Dam. Gino, buys salad, pasta and ante pasta and we load the provisions in the car and drive back to the house. The weather has really picked up and it's sunny and warm again, so we open the salami, prosciutto and cheeses, sundried tomatoes, olives and spicy peppers stuffed with cream cheese. Slice the crusty bed, open the wine and eat lunch outside. I have been rabbiting on about Warsteiner being, perhaps, the best beer in the world, so we have to try some and as a consequence lunch lasts three hours. Jackie decides to have a rest, while we boys watch Tony Scott's film "True Romance", on DVD, it has a great cast, dialogue by Quentin Tatantino, and a great scene between Dennis Hopper and Christopher Walken, which is amongst my favourite cinema moments. Afterwards we read or do puzzles and laze about. No one really feels like doing much today anyway, so we spend the day at the house and then make veal schnitzels with spaghetti and salad for dinner. Gino is a great cook, his dad was a chef and his mum is Italian, so he and I tend to do the cooking and Jackie and Andrew usually clear up afterwards. Dinner is excellent and we all go to bed for about eleven o'clock.

Hof van Ede

We are awoken by the tannoy at seven o'clock, central European time, an hour ahead of the UK, and we quickly shower and make our way back to Langham's for breakfast. The cabin was a little too warm, but most of us managed to get some sleep eventually. The ship, The Pride of Rotterdam, is making its approach to Europort, down the Rhine delta and we are being shepherded by a coastguard cutter. The day has dawned fine and hazy the sea calm, glossy, with a milky white tinge. The forecast is for another hot day. We all order full English breakfasts and have just time to eat them before we dock and are summoned to our cars. Within minutes we are disembarked and parked in a layby trying to get the satnav to take us to Graham's house in Rotterdam down Ijsellmondselaan. For some reason the satnav believes we are still on the King George the fifth dock in Hull. I set off anyway and drive the thirty kilometres into Rotterdam, while Gino tries to work out the satnav from the manual. I never use it in England. As we approach the outskirsts of Rotterdam we ring Graham for directions and find the house without a problem. By the time we get there Gino has cracked the issue with the satnav and found a way to tell the database to move to Holland. Graham and Lilliane have a visitor, Sue, a friend from the Shetlands they have known for thirty years. So we are all introduced and then given coffee and some of Graham's excellent walnut Madeira cake on the patio. This is after we have been introduced to Frankie, their border collie puppy, who is now about six months old and very friendly. After cake Graham, Andrew and I take Frankie for a walk along the dyke past Graham's allotment, as he needs to run some energy off before we go for lunch to the "Salmon House", restaurant on the banks of the river Maas. On our way round the dyke we find a tennis ball but then manage to lose Frankie's squeaky ball. He doesn't seem to mind, as everyone is making a fuss of him. We walk the half mile or so to the restaurant, weaving between a seemingly endless stream of cyclists, as we walk cross the main road. Graham has booked a table on the terrace, overlooking the river and fortunately we are shaded from the sun by a canopy, as by now it is scorchingly hot. Graham's son, Kenny and his wife Shalini are due to meet us for lunch, they live in Tilburg, about thirty miles to the east, but when it gets to twelve thirty without sign of them, we decide to order anyway. The food is excellent and the warm weather has brought out the crowds and soon the restaurant is full. Today is "open harbour day" in Rotterdam and a procession of boats makes its way down the river. Just as we are about to leave, Kenny and Shalini arrive, she tells us she has had her handbag stolen the previous day, with her passport in it and they have been trying to make arrangements with the Indian embassy to get a new one for her, before they fly to Vancouver on Tuesday. Graham's daughter Melanie and her family live there, they emigrated from England several years ago. It is so hot that Sue and Lilliane drive back in Kenny's beetle, whilst we walk back at a leisurely pace. More tea is brewed by Lilliane whilst we commiserate with Shalini regarding her passport and congratulate her on her bump, which in three months will become, Connor Wood, their first child. Unfortunately we cannot stay too long as we have to make our way to Maarssen, near Utrecht, to take possession of our holiday cottage. Gino has got the satnav working, but as I exit Ijsselmondselaan, I forget I am on the continent and take the left hand lane. After apologising to several Dutch motorists, I manage to reverse and make my way onto the main road. The satnav tells me to keep right as we come onto the motorway, but when I do, I find myself on a slip road that takes me into a housing estate, somewhere back near Graham's house. The satnav throws a wobbler and packs up completely, but eventually we find Ijsellmondselaan again and start again. Unfortunately the satnav is in such a state of shock, it doesn't recover until we have arrived at our destination in Maarssen, Hof van Ede, ( which Graham tells us later is translated as the Garden of Eden). Of course we had to ask some Dutch people for guidance on the final approach. Thank goodness they all speak English. All except Waldo, the young guy from whom we have to collect the keys for our house. Anyway, by six o'clock we are all in the house and drinking tea outside. There are about a dozen holiday homes along the bank of a small canal and ours is the ninth. At the front of the house is a large rectangular pond, about 100m long by 20m wide, ( we learn later that this is a swimming pool.) there are swans, ducks, grebes and coots cruising the canal. Jackie goes for a lie down and Andrew and I walk into the village for a reconnoitre. It's about half a mile into Maarssen Dorp, (Dorp means village), and the place is very picturesque, with old houses situated to either side of a canal, and a small square with restaurants and bars where people are sat outside eating and drinking. We have a couple of beers with them and then make our way back to the "Hof van Ede". When we get back Jackie has turned in for the night, so we make some fried egg sandwiches, with the breakfast gear that Graham had kindly bought in for us. After a long day we were all glad to get to bed for ten.

The Pride of Rotterdam

Wake at 7:30, with a busy day ahead, make a full English breakfast with the last of the sausages and black pudding. Norman is now fully recovered and waiting eagerly for his share of the spoils and clears his plate before removing the final morsels of food from mine. It is a lovely, clear and warm day and so I hang out a line of white washing before taking Norman for his walk down the lane. When we get back, I put on a load of coloureds, which hopefully, will be hung out and dried before leaving to catch the ferry later this afternoon. Normy seems totally relaxed at being returned to Sarah's house and I am able to leave him with an easy mind, before driving back to Tickton to complete my packing. I am meeting Jackie and the others in town at 1:30. The weather is scorching here today, but the forecast is mixed for Utrecht next week, so pack chinos and shorts alongside my shorts and polo shirts. Miraculously everything is done by a quarter past one and I have just time to bring in the whites and hang out the coloureds before driving into Beverley to Rolando's where we are meeting for lunch. I manage to park in the Vet's car park, behind Saint John's, (as they close for the weekend at twelve), and am just crossing York Road, when a text from Jackie arrives, saying they are running late and expect to be with me at ten past two. This probably means they have just left and that Gino will be gunning his Alfa down the motorway trying to get here as soon as possible. I tell Rolando to slip the booking by 45 minutes and then sit at a table on the pavement in the sun and drink tea and read the papers until they arrive at a quarter past two. We move indoors for lunch and select our respective bruschetta, pannini and salads, declaring the holiday underway with a round of Peroni. After an excellent lunch we stroll through Beverley via Saturday Market, which is in full swing to Wednesday Market. Which always amuses Gino, because it is Wednesday Market on a Saturday. It is so called because there is a little market there on a Wednesday, when there is none in the town square, but it opens on a Saturday as well, along with the main market. Jackie wants an ice cream and I need to go to the car and bike shop down Norwood to buy some GB stickers for the trip, so we split forces and arrange to meet back at the bungalow, where we are due to transfer their luggage into my Chrysler. The bike shop has some magnetic GB plates, and so I am home for four and have time to get the coloured washing in and put some bleach down the loo before the others arrive. It doesn't take long to load up and then park Gino's Alfa on my drive so, by half past four we are on our way to the ferry. It's an easy trip and by five we are walking into the ferry terminal to collect our tickets. After queuing for five minutes, we are told we have to collect them from the booth on our way to the ship, so we do and after a perfunctory check by immigration of our passports, we are soon on board. I seem to recall we made the same mistake last year, and when we get to our cabin we try, unsuccessfully, to open the door with the boarding card and have to be told by the steward to use the key card. I seem to recall that happened last year as well. To quote Yogi Barri, "it's deja vu, all over again." Once we are onboard and our gear safely stowed in the cabin, everyone relaxes and we make our way to the sun deck and order drinks. The sun is low to the West and is setting towards the Humber Bridge in the distance, just the trace of a breeze is blowing and the heat has gone out of the day, although it is still pleasantly warm. We order dinner in Langham's Brasserie for eight o'clock, it costs a few pounds more, but it is infinitely more relaxing to be able sit down to a starched white table cloth and be served, than to go elbow to elbow with the crowds in the buffet. Hungry Germans are not to be underestimated! The boat sets sail at eight, just as we sit down to eat, Gino orders ribeye steak and my younger brother, Andrew and I, both go for sirloin, whilst Jackie opts for the pasta. Most of us chose pâté as a starter and we all share an excellent bottle of the house red wine. Dusk is falling as we leave harbour and there are the last traces of crimson in the western sky as the lights along the dockyards and then the oil refinery at Salt End twinkle into life. The meal is first rate and Andrew, ever the comedian, has us all in stitches, we leave the restaurant at ten and Gino and Jackie return to the cabin, whilst Andrew and I go up to the lounge bar for a nightcap and listen to the pianist for a while. Her keyboard skills are OK and her vocals on quiet numbers adequate, but encouraged by the applause from a crowd that may have drunk a bit too much, she really let's rip and murders four songs in succession. One being a tune, originally by Adele, that is Andrew's favourite. To avoid further aural mutilation we retire to bed at eleven. The holiday has got off to a fine start.