Lessing is more!

Wake to the alarm at seven fifteen, I know from experience that it takes me an hour and a half to make and eat breakfast, drink coffee and read the paper, before showering and dressing to leave the house. Now I am retired, and it has taken many years for the psychological state of retirement to catch up with the actual, rushing is banned. Norman doesn't want his share of the full English breakfast, so I leave it in the garden for him, in case he changes his mind, whilst I go to Mass. I arrive at Saint John's a little later than usual, a few minutes before nine, and my usual pew has been taken so I sit on the right hand side of the church, for the first time since Xmas eve last year. Father Roy is in good form today, the choir and organ lead the hymns effectively, and Roy's sermon, on the need for laws and the need not to get trapped by the form of laws, but to penetrate to the meaning behind them, was both apt and well argued. I really like Father Roy, I don't always agree with him, but I know he holds his views genuinely and with conviction. In that sense he is a lot like my friend Leslie, a man of integrity and honour. Sadly there seem to be fewer of these about lately. After Mass I call in to see Sarah, and find her having breakfast with Richard, Louis is staying with Pip and Andrew and Sarah is picking him up at lunch time and then driving to Manchester Airport to collect Clement and Alice after their holiday with their dad in France. Leslie and I make our way to Caffe Nero and drink our Americano's, whilst discussing the weeks events. Most people in the cafe think Leslie is my dad, he's the right age and we look fairly similar, both slim, about five ten and plainly and conservatively dressed. Leslie has a certain style, today he is wearing a plain, fine knit lavender sweater and a cerise coloured shirt, with chinos. I am wearing a plain, fine knit navy sweater with a red and blue check shirt and chinos. We are both Grammar school boys from humble origins made good, and possibly we share a certain neuroticism about appearing poor and scruffy! In any event, despite our political differences, we are good friends and kindred spirits and we have an enjoyable chat for an hour or so, before it is time for me to take Leslie back home. I shan't see him next Sunday as I shall be in Holland on holiday. When I get home Norman is waiting to greet me, he has eaten his breakfast and is ready for his walk. Before we set off, I take out a chicken filet and leave it to defrost, chicken salad is on the menu for dinner. Summer has returned and it is hot outside in the noonday sun, Normy struggles until we get through the snickett onto Carr Lane and have the benefit of the cool shade of the willow trees. We walk as far as the wooden bridge over the drain and then retrace our steps back to the bungalow, Norman performing his toilet duties on the grass. He is still a little loose, but seems better in himself. When we get back the chicken has thawed, so I dice it and then marinade it in a trilogy of chicken, ginger and garlic with a little salt, olive oil and lemon. The car is going into the garage for its annual service tomorrow, so I remove the dog seat cover and the blanket and give it a vacuum out. The garage always wash the outside, it helps them justify the exorbitant charges for the service. Whilst walking the dog, I had an idea for desert and wondered if I could make a plum flan, using my oatie mixture and artificial sweetener. Anyway I knocked up some mixture, rolled it out and lined two six inch flan dishes and then sliced the four large plums I had left, sprinkled them with sweetener and then laid them in layers in the dishes. I put them in a moderate oven and baked them for thirty five minutes. Whilst they were cooking, I made an egg custard, and after the flans had cooled, topped them with it and then put them in the fridge to set. While the oven was hot, I popped in some oven chips, made a tossed salad and then fried the chicken with a couple of strips of streaky bacon. Lunch/dinner was served at three thirty, chile chicken and bacon salad, with chips and mayonnaise. It was great, it even had Normy whingeing for food again whilst I ate. I saved him two chunks of chicken, a little bacon and three or four chips, needless to say he ate the lot. After lunch I did a puzzle sat in the sun and then finished my book, before opening a small tin for Norman. He was dubious about the dog food, but eventually condescended to eat it, before we set off for our evening walk. It was still quite warm out and he didn't show much enthusiasm, until we hit the shade down Carr Lane again, but once we got over the bridge and into the woods, he perked up considerably. By now it is half past six and the sun is low in the sky and it is a beautiful mild summer's evening. As we make our way down the path opposite to the wood, we play the pat and praise game. I pat and praise Norman, and he runs a few yards with his tail wagging and waits for me to do it again. The transformation in him, from the clapped out, depressed old boy, he was a month ago is astounding. He is gaining fitness and confidence and is altogether a much happier dog. I can't do much about his cataracts or his age, but the power of a little love and attention, is a wonder to behold. We get back for seven, and he sits on my knee and we watch the dusk settle, before I put him in his bed and test one of my flans. The oatie pastry works, but the plum slices aren't quite sweet enough and the egg custard is a little too thin. Nevertheless it is pleasantly edible, and I know what the problem is, I need to bake the casing blind and stew the plums separately with sweetener, before constructing the flan. That's the great thing about being an "artist of life", I just make this shit up as I go along! After desert I start my new book, Doris Lessing's "The Golden Notebook", I chose it in the library after reading her introduction. One of her themes, I thought, was that men and women have such trouble with relationships because of the historical abuse of women. After reading the first chapters, it seems as if I may have misconstrued her. Her thesis is that modern society screws both genders up and makes meaningful, mutually respectful, relationships problematic in the extreme. At least that is as far as I have got so far. To bed around eleven thirty.