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.