The richer, the meaner.

We have an early start today, the mobile dog groomer is coming to Cherry to bath Teddy and we have to get him back for eleven. The grooming is a waste of time, as rabbits and brambles will soon undo her good work. We do a shorter walk this morning, through the woods, up to the Mill and back across the common. The sky is overcast, with a stiff breeze out of the Southwest, but it is not unpleasant. I phone my friend Felicity, to see if she is going to the Poppy seed and when she confirms this, agree to meet her there at about half past ten. On our way back to the car we see Claire's husband, John, with their baby boy, George, and Poppy, their dachshund. Claire is a friend from the running club, a graphic designer, who works from home, her husband specialises in renovating older properties in Beverley town centre. After dropping the dogs back at Two Riggs, Norman and I arrive at the Poppy Seed, shortly before ten thirty, Felicity is already there, so we join her and order tea. I am still in my dog walking gear, muddy boots included, Norman sits on my knee as Felicity and I exchange news. She has fallen out with her daughter Melissa because she was over an hour late and kept her waiting. Melissa is always late, she has her own time zone an hour to the west of the rest of us, you could set your clock by her. She is also a loving daughter, who really looks out for her mum. Mums and daughters, always a power struggle! Hannah arrives after ten minutes and tells us that she is taking Barbara, another friend, to Castle Hill hospital tomorrow for her operation. Barbara is Danish and a force of nature, she looks out for everyone. Later, as I lend Felicity my "Viking Arm", (her phrase, not mine"), to walk her home, we comment that we must ensure that we in turn, look out for Barbara, whenever the time comes that she may need help. After seeing her safely home, we retrace our steps to North Bar, where I parked near Sarah's house and then drive home. I am taking Louis trick or treating tonight and it is time to start work on the "Jack O' Lantern", and the pumpkin pie. The pumpkin is soon scooped out and eyes and mouth incised, I make holes to either side and string an old bootlaces through them, the only candle I have is a lavender aromatherapy tea light, I doubt that the scent will bother Louis. It hangs beautifully from the hook on the telescopic clothes prop from the garden, that I carry into the kitchen. That task completed, I start on the pie, there is a recipe from Anthony Worrell Thompson on the BBC food website, which I adapt slightly. Pumpkin doesn't taste of much, so I decide to compliment its orange colour, with orange essence, as well as some cinnamon, ginger, cloves and allspice. I also use sweetener rather than brown sugar. Louis gets hyper with too much sugar and I try to avoid it, wherever possible, as well. The filling is rich and calorie dense in any case, as it has two eggs and double cream whipped into the pumpkin flesh. There is enough mixture to make two nine inch pies, or flans, and they turn out quite well. The orange flavour complimenting the warmth of the ginger and spices. While the oven is still hot I use the last of my pork pie mixture and make two more individual pies in ramekins. Norman has a little Baker's dry dog food for lunch and I Cheshire cheese and tomato baguette. After lunch, I intend to swim, but then remember it is half term and the pool will be full of inflatable castles. Instead, I meditate and afterwards, much refreshed, put away all the baking gear and clean the kitchen, before giving Norman dinner and then walking him down to the bridge. Darkness is settling over the fields and to our east there are stacks of hay bales, six or seven bales high, in the fading light they look like the megalith that stands at Rudston, not far from Bridlington. When better to connect our distant past with the present than Halloween ? We return home to Green Lane, I put Norman on the back seat of the car and then load the pies and Halloween gear in the boot and drive to Sarah's house in North Bar, arriving a few minutes before she returns from Hector's House with Louis and Alice. We share the pumpkin pie, which Sarah compliments with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, and then Louis and I set off to "trick or treat", while She and Alice pack for their trip to London tomorrow. The wind has picked up considerably and the lavender candle in the Jack O' Lantern keeps blowing out and has to be constantly relit, Louis has procured a rubber Ghoul Mask for me, which is kind of him, but it is uncomfortable and makes my glasses steam up. Apart from blowing out, the lantern works well, Louis knocks on doors, and I raise Jack high above the window to look in on prospective donors. Beverley is quite a prosperous town, but the more wealthy the house, the less likely they are inclined to join in the fun. We relocate from the affluence of North Bar, to the more modest residents of Wood Lane, Woodlands and Westwood Road, here there are more children about, doing the same thing and by exchanging marketing information with other parents, we find out the houses that are participating. As our success rate improves, Louis becomes ever more enthusiastic, and by the time we head home, he has a large bag full of goodies. He goes to bed tired and happy, having been persuaded to save most of his booty for his trip to the capital. I leave Sarah and Alice to their packing around seven thirty, drive home and make some salad to accompany my pork pie, which I eat to the accompaniment of the rest of the Shiraz. Outside the wind is howling through the trees and heavy rain is driving against the windows, at least it held off whilst we were out. Andrew sends a text to say he can't make the cinema tonight as he has just got back from work. I had asked if he wanted to Orange Wednesday Skyfall with me last Monday. "Timon of Athens", is showing at Cineworld tomorrow, it's not live theatre, but perhaps the next best thing. I will see how things go.

The confidence to overcome obstacles

It is just breaking dawn when I wake, outside the sun is about to rise to the southeast, the sky is overcast, with cloud but at the horizon, between the cloud and the earth, is a sliver of gorgeous light, a narrow margin where the sun will rise. I open may bedroom window to let the cool fresh air into the room, gather Norman gently into my arms from his warm basket and carry him into the garden to observe the miracle of a new sunrise. He is singularly unimpressed, so what, another day, his thoughts solely on breakfast, which I duly make. Louis wants to walk the dogs with me today, so I collect him from North Bar after first picking up the terriers from Cherry Burton. We walk, Louis, the three dogs and I, from Sarah's house, down Seven Corners Lane, across York Road and onto the Westwood. I have Teddy and Norman and Louis has Dolly. I teach him to walk her to heel, he soon gets it, she has this down long ago. Once we arrive at Newbegin Pits, we let Teddy and Norman off the lead. Teddy spots a rabbit and heads off in hot pursuit, while Norman jogs contentedly behind myself and Dolly. It is a nice day, the cloud breaking up and clearing, the sun occasionally breaking through and highlighting the spectacular autumn woodland. Despite telling him that Teddy always comes back when we reach the pasture, Louis follows him, as he hunts rabbits and squirrels amongst the trees and bramble bushes. Teddy returns as predicted, soon followed by Louis, his jeans besmirched by mud and bramble leaves in his hair. "It's good exercise", he says, and who could argue with him. The common borders Newbegin Pits and the embankments between the two are almost vertical, muddy and thirty feet high. Dolly, now off the lead, pursues rabbits up and down the banking, and Louis, notwithstanding his experiences with Teddy, follows. Dolly knows to rendezvous with me at Black Mill and so I wander in that general direction, before being brought to a stop by cries of "Help, Help!" from Louis, who, i discover, is stuck half way up a particularly steep embankment, his hand on the root of a tree, his feet slipping in the mud. First, I calm him down and then talk him up the rest of the climb, using three point movement, i.e. only ever moving one hand or one foot at a time. He summits triumphal, and we continue on our way towards Black Mill, the wind once we enter the exposed ground, is strong and quite cold. Louis confesses that he is tired, we have already been out for an hour and a half, so we retrace our steps back to his house. Alice changes his muddy jeans, while I run Dolly and Teddy back to Cherry Burton, and then we drive to Morrisons to fill up the car with diesel and have a quick snack. Louis chooses ham, and I egg and cress sandwiches, before doing a little shopping, which somehow includes a "Captain America" shield, which also doubles as a frisbee. Back in Tickton, it is time for Norman's lunch, and afterwards Louis wants to go to the play park to play with his shield. There are three children in the park and two grandmothers, one of the kids, a little girl called Macy, joins in our game and so I am able to retire to the bench for a while and let them play. The main thing children need is other kids. The two of them play happily for half an hour and then Macy and her Nana leave and we drive to the leisure centre. At half term they have this big inflatable castle/ obstacle course, that they put in the pool for the kids to play on, and Louis wants some of the action. We arrive at a twenty to three and are told the next session starts on the hour, so adjourn to the cafe to wait. We meet Chris, a lady that I sometimes see in the pool looking after two Downs symptoms boys of about twenty years of age. She is also on half term, but is giving a gymnastics class, which also starts at three. Louis shows her the photographs we took on the Westwood and we chat for a while until it is time for our swim. The inflatable is about fifteen metres long and it finishes in the deep end. The kids have to swim from a slide at the end, to the poolside about seven or eight metres away, once they complete the obstacle course. Louis is the youngest kid there by a good three years, but as he is big for his age, they let him have a go. He has never been in the big pool on his own, much less the deep end, so I patrol the waters round the inflatable in case of emergencies. He flaps a bit in the deep end the first time, but remembers his swimming lessons and floats and kicks on his back to get out of trouble. After each attempt, his confidence improves and I hardly have to help him at all by the time the session finishes at four. He is, understandably, hungry again and once we are shampooed, dried and changed, we make our way to the cafe, where he has fish fingers, chips and apple juice and I, tea and scone. I drop him off at North Bar around five thirty,before driving home to feed Norman and then take him for his evening walk. Louis and I have had a magical day, albeit very tiring. Dinner for me is a crusty baguette, some Camembert, and a glass of Shiraz. As I finish eating, the phone rings and it is a friend on the line, we chat for a while and then I read until bedtime.

Louis the artist

It is half term and I am looking after my 5 year old grandson Louis today and tomorrow, as Sarah has to work. With this in mind, I am up at six thirty and make breakfast after letting Norman into the garden, it is breaking dawn and looking to be a reasonable day. It is always helpful not to be held indoors by the weather when entertaining small children. Norman and I collect the terriers shortly before 9:00 AM and park at our usual spot on Newbald Road before crossing the road into the woods of Newbegin Pits. We meet Jim the neatherd rounding up cattle for return from the common. He tells me most will be gone by the weekend but officially they don't end grazing until December 10th. It's a milder day, with the odd spot of drizzle and the wind from the Northwest. After bringing Dolly back to the lead at Black Mill, we make our way to the little wood of Newbald Pits and walk among the trees. There are numerous benches situated around the common, left as dedications to relatives and loved ones who appreciated its charms as much as I do. One such bench lies in a grove in this wood, it's dedication reads "To Jo from Lynn, rest and enjoy the tranquility". Today it is nestled under a russet sprinkling of leaves, and just beyond it is an elm with a hollow in the trunk, where a branch was lost, years ago, in the spring an owl nested there and for a week, before it fledged, a fat fluffy owlet peered out as I walked by. Today's walk is, of necessity, a little shorter and we are back in Tickton for ten thirty, I change out of my muddy boots before driving to Beverley for eleven. My oldest Granddaughter, Alice, who is fifteen, is looking after Louis until I have walked the dogs. As ever, Louis is full of beans and raring to go, he has his day planned out already. Last week I mentioned, in passing, a place with lots of art materials, (The Range), and he wants to go. It is a half hours drive, situated on Clough Road, not far from where my old company had its service department. We spend half an hour buying coloured paper, card, a Prit stick and children's scissors as well as crayons and stickers before adjourning to the cafeteria, where we share a mozarella and tomato panini. There are other things I would have liked to look at, but prudence dictates that I don't come between a five year old and his art. Louis wants to play with his new stuff and play now! We drive home on a very bendy minor road that takes us through the village of Wawne, beyond the hedgerows are arable fields and the countryside is at its best at this time of year. Halfway home he asks how long it will be and I fob him off with ten minutes. " How many seconds is that he asks?" We work it out together, then I tell him to count up to a hundred. When he gets to one hundred I tell him to repeat it, and by some divine intervention he reaches six hundred as we pull into Green Lane. I dig out some white card, set aside by me for just this purpose from some Egyption cotton bed linen bought on eBay and we are soon in business, making Xmas trees from triangles of green paper and sticking them on card. After an hour he is hungry and wanting his usual Granddad tea, Parma Ham, Chorizo, smoked cheese and olives. After eating this he goes back into the sitting room and plays happily with his paper and card while I clear up. Norman is sniffing round for dinner but it is only half past three and too early to feed him yet. While Louis is keeping himself amused, I take the crackling off the last of the pork and chop it up for the dog's dinner. The rest of the meat is cubed and put in the food processor with chunks of Bramley apple, onion and dried sultanas and apricots that I soaked before leaving this morning. I season it liberally with salt, pepper and marjoram, pulse it a few times and then set it aside while I roll out some pastry from the fridge that was left over from last weeks pie. Louis asks what I am doing and I tell him we are making pork sweet meat pies. There is only enough pastry to make two smallish ones, in ramekins, one for him and one for Alice. We use a sliver of pastry trimming to label his L and hers A and then put them in the oven for half an hour on 200 centigrade, before going back to his artwork. He has made a Xmas picture, with three trees, we play a guessing game about how long the pies have left and then check the timer to see who has won, we win one each on 18 and 8 minutes and just have enough time to take his photograph with Norman, sitting on the couch before the timer tells us the pies are ready. They look fine, nicely browned and smell wonderful as I set them out to cool before we feed Norman and walk him down to the bridge. It is half past four and falling dark already, on our way back Louis plays for ten minutes in the split willow "pirate ship" and then we have to go, as he has swimming lessons at half past five. He has a different instructor this week, a chubby young blonde girl with a natural affinity for kids, she obviously likes them and they respond accordingly and try to please her. She seems to have a tremendous sense of fun, a natural if ever I saw one! I drink chocolate and watch from the window by reception until it is time to collect, dry and dress him. Sarah is working late tonight, so I take him back to North Bar, where he and Alice test the pies and give them their seal of approval. Louis can't quite finish his, so I get the chance for some quality control. They are really quite good, the pork working well with the onion and fruit. I shall make a couple more tomorrow, as I have to make a pastry case for the pumpkin pie which will result from carving the "Jack O' Lantern", tomorrow for Halloween. Nothing gets wasted at Grandad's house. I drive home for seven, too tired to cook and just make a couple of Cheshire cheese and tomato sandwiches on rye. My son Andrew phones about nine on his way back from London, we chat for a while, then his connection drops because he is in a taxi from the station. He didn't inherit my culture genes, so I text him later and ask if he wants to see "Skyfall"?

GMT

Wake at six thirty GMT, it is just getting light and it is damp and cold outside when I let the dog into the garden. The organic bacon, black pudding and sausages I bought from the farm shop on Beverley Market were worth the extra money, there is hardly any fat and none of the excess water that sometimes accompanies supermarket produce. It also tastes very nice, which, for me is the main thing. After breakfast I browse the Observer over coffee and then shower, dress and walk Norman as far as the stables, before setting off for nine o'clock Mass at Saint John's. I arrive with ten minutes to spare and phone Leslie to make sure he has put his clock back and isn't expecting me imminently. He has, but there is a change of plan, he doesn't want to go to Caffe Nero, as he is visiting a friend this afternoon and wants to preserve energy. I agree to pick up coffee and croissants and convey them to his house at Cedar Grove instead. Our trainee organist must be away on half term holiday, because we have to sing our hymns unaccompanied today. Everyone makes the extra effort and it is fine, well almost everyone, some shy souls always sit out the singing. Today is the anniversary of the consecration of our church and Father Roy's sermon is about the relationship between the physical church, the spiritual church and the community. As always his sermons are well thought out, interesting and thought provoking. His point is that the church is neither the building, nor the community, but the community called to the spiritual presence of God. As I am sure I have mentioned before, the feeling that I experience sometimes, when in deep meditation, is of the world being eternal and utterly unproblematic, and this sensation is always accompanied by the sense of a warm and loving presence. In Zen this is called Satori, or temporary enlightenment. I choose to interpret it this experience as the love of God but to each their own.
After communion, I park in Saturday Market, outside Caffe Nero. I order our Americano's and the last two Apricot croissants, but the lady ahead of me has a late change of heart and orders one as well. Divine intervention saving me from temptation or perhaps there is nothing else that tempts my taste buds? Leslie is waiting for me when I arrive and seems much better than when I last saw him, he tells me about his trip to Waitrose and his daughter's visit yesterday, which seems to have lifted his spirits. He doesn't say anything about me phoning Margaret, (his daughter), so perhaps she didn't mention it, so neither do I. I notice that Leslie's hair needs cutting and offer to take him with me when I go on Thursday, we both use the same hairdresser, Tim's down Windmill Walk. This is provisionally agreed and I promise to ring and set a time. I leave after an hour, taking his bin from the garage and putting it out for the men to collect in the morning and then calling at the supermarket on the way home to buy some stir fry vegetable to go with the left over pork and a pumpkin to make into a "Jack O' Lantern" for Louis when I look after him on Monday and Tuesday while his Mum is at work. When I arrive home, Norman is ready for lunch, I slice some of yesterday's roast pork, make myself a sandwich and feed him some crackling and scraps, before changing into my boots and walking gear for his trip round the fields. The weather is milder today, with a lot of low cloud coming out of the southwest carrying spits of rain. Walking down the lane, towards the little wooden bridge, it is obvious that winter is starting to encroach, as the weeds and foliage alongside the path are dying back and it is possible to see the rabbits hopping about by the ditch. Across the bridge we turn west and proceed alongside "almost straight wood", for about fifty metres. A black tailed stoat is in hot pursuit of a large rabbit, which is running for its life, and the stoat is keeping up with it's prey. I don't hear any screams, so the bunny probably got away. We turn into the plantation, once we have got past the boggy section, and walk amongst the pines and birch. The rain is falling steadily now and the wind carries the smell of pine and soil from the freshly ploughed and harrowed field adjacent to us. We enter the path to the next plantation and turn south, emerging about a quarter of a mile further along onto the farm track that runs round the field. As I mentioned on Thursday when I ran round here, it is pretty churned up, mainly by tractors, but also by the horses from the farm and stables down Carr Lane, who hack round here several times a day. On our way back, we pause on the bridge and watch the raindrops making circles in the water, further on the red hawthorn berries on the bare bushes seem to glow in the dull light of this rainy afternoon. Past the farm, the smell of horses, their manure and urine mingling with the sweeter smell of hay, drifts across the path. It is slightly after two o'clock and it will be dark by five this evening. When we get to the bungalow, I retrieve Norman's towel from the boot of my Chrysler and dry him off before going indoors. After making a pot of tea I tackle my ironing, there isn't a lot, just the seven shirts worn during the week. As a matter of habit, my ironing is normally done while listening to the football on radio Humberside, but yesterday the match was delayed until 5:30 PM, as it was televised on Sky sports and clashed with Otello from the Met. I don't actually mind ironing, as long as it is broken into bite size chunks and there is something on my radio or ipad to listen to. Today there is a program about the war poets of El Alamein, which interests me as a career soldier and the writer of some really bad verse. Despite the logical expectation of dusk coming early today, it is still a little shocking and somewhat depressing when it is almost dark by four thirty. Norman's atomic clock hasn't been put back and he is ready for dinner from four, but I make him wait for an hour and then use up half the remaining pork for my stir fry and his dinner. I heat some sesame oil in the wok, add puréed ginger, garlic and chilly then fry thinly sliced pork for about 20 seconds a side before adding the vegetables, bean sprouts and noodles. It is ready in less than five minutes and I serve it with a nicely chilled Argentinian Chardonnay, Norman wolfs down his helping of pork and crackling while I eat my dinner in a more leisurely manner. One of the problems with living alone is that you tend to have to eat the same meat several times in different guises. The most rewarding aspect of cooking is watching the pleasure of others derive from eating the food you make for them. After dinner Norman and I brave the weather and wander as far as the stables before retiring indoors, away from the wind and rain. He sleeps while I read my Observer and then go to bed, my body still on summer time.

Otello

Wake at four thirty, when I hear Norman by the garden door, get up and let him out. It is freezing cold outside and when Norman comes back indoors, I put the central heating on and then go back to bed. The phone rings and wakes me up about half past eight, it is Felicity, she won't be able to go to the Poppy Seed this morning as she is under the weather and wonders whether I might buy her some bacon and sausage from the farm stall on Beverley Market. I say I will and then get up and make breakfast, English again, and share a little with Norman, continuing his diet. Outside it is bright and cold, with a stiff Northerly wind, it may just be OK to dry the shirts and socks that washed overnight. After pegging these out, I put this week's pants and vests in to wash and then shower and dress. We leave the house just after eleven and drive to Norwood and park in our usual place, opposite Mill Lane fish and chip shop. I am dressed for the weather, which is bringing short, sharp, showers of sleet and hail. Norman performs his duties on our way to town and I collect this and deposit it in a handy bin. We walk up Hengate, past Saint Mary's Parish Church, whose bells are pealing, perhaps there is a wedding. We look in on the Poppy Seed Cafe and find Barbara sitting alone and looking a little sad, so join her and drink tea and chat for a while, she is going to Otello this evening for the telecast from the Met at Cineworld, as I am going as well, I offer a lift and it is agreed I will collect her at five twenty, the performance starts at five to six. Afterwards Norman and I stroll into the Market to buy Felicity's sausage and bacon and replace my breakfast stock with free range bacon, black pudding, and chilly, ginger and garlic pork sausages. While I am there, I also pick up a loin of pork, as the weather has me thinking of roast dinners. I buy some rye bread from the Ukranian bakery and a fennel bulb that will form part of the roast vegetables that I plan to serve with the pork. It is less than a half mile to Felicity's house on Albert Terrace and we arrive there at half past twelve, she is making herself a cup of soup and I have brought her the plum pie that I baked last night. Melissa, her daughter, has gone to Amsterdam with her boyfriend for the weekend on North Sea Ferries and that is why Fliss needed me to shop for her. She is diabetic and has lost the sight in one eye, but her Joie de vivre, remains undiminished. She is a poet and artist and like me, shares a deep seam of triviality. We almost always laugh ourselves silly and I am in need of a laugh, after my concerns about Leslie. The pie is made with sweetener, not sugar and is OK rather than brilliant, we each have a slice with a cup of tea and then Normy and I have to leave, as we only have two hours parking on the car. We arrive back in Tickton for a quarter to two, which leaves a little over three and a half hours before I need to pick Barbara up for Otello. Long enough to roast the pork with some winter vegetables. While the oven is warming I season the joint and then peel and slice carrots, swede, parsnip, fennel, onion and potato into largish chunks, rub with olive oil and season liberally with salt and pepper, before laying them as a bed in the roasting tin on which I rest the meat. It takes a little over two hours to cook, and while it does, I bring in my shirts and socks from the line. Amazingly they are dry, despite the showers of sleet and hail, so I chance my luck and put the whites on the line to see if these will dry too. The weeks dog walking has rendered the car a bit muddy, so I use the fact that I have to pick someone up, as motivation to give it a clean out. By the time I have done that, and run the vacuum cleaner through the house lunch/dinner is served. Norman is hopping round the kitchen in a state of excitement, as the aroma of the roast pork fills the room. He can hardly wait for me to carve it, the crackling is also nice and crisp, I took the foil cover off for the last half hour and whacked the fan oven up to max. The vegetables have caramelised nicely too. By the time I have made the gravy, the meat has rested and we are both ready to eat. Norman has meat, crackling and a few veg with gravy. I am not that keen on crackling, so he will probably get it all through the course of the week. We finish eating at half past four and I take Norman for his evening walk down as far as the farm, as we pass the stables, the horses are also enjoying their evening meal. It is a clear evening and the sun is shining low in the sky to the West. This has been the first really wintry day of the autumn. I get back and have ten minutes in which to bring in my whites, which have also dried, change, make a flask of coffee and put some oatmeal biscuits in a container, and then it's off to collect Barbara. She is waiting for me when I arrive at her house, which overlooks the Westwood, and we arrive at the cinema with ten minutes to spare. The young guy collecting the tickets in the multiplex directs us to screen nine, where the opera from the Met in New York is being beamed. The auditorium is being cleaned and so we have to queue, opposite us is another queue for the new Bond movie, Sky Fall. Our queue is, on average, thirty years older than theirs! The performance is in HD and the production first rate, Johan Botha, sings Otello and Renee Fleming, Desdemona, but both are upstaged by Falk Struckman's Iago, which is a tour de force. During the interval, Barbara brings out some white wine, which we share, some quails eggs from Waitrose and bread and butter. I eat one egg out of courtesy, but my dinner is too recent to attempt more and then give her one of my oaties and drink a little coffee. The performance finishes at nine thirty and after dropping Barbara back at her house, I am home for ten. Norman wags his tail in greeting and I let him into the garden and then reward him with a small piece of pork and crackling, before pouring myself a glass of milk and taking a couple of biscuits into the Garden Room. The broadband is working again and Hull City have won away at Bristol, two goals to one, quite a good day.

Baking with Ella

Norman wakes me at half past five and I let him out into the garden, it is cold dark and wet outside, he soon returns and we go back to our respective beds. After ten minutes he whimpers again and when I put on the bedside lamp, he is sitting by my bed with his paw up. This is most unusual, I can't see anything unduly wrong with him, but he persists and I do the wrong thing and put a travelling rug on the end of my bed and let him sleep there until breakfast. In dog years he is ninety, so I tend to cut the old boy some slack. Eventually we get up about seven thirty and he watches me while I make tea, toast and fry the kipper I bought yesterday evening. It is unsmoked and the full Monty, head, tail, bones and eyes. I like the smell of kippers, but not all day and not all through the house, so I close the kitchen door and open the window. Once it is deboned and the head and tail trimmed off, it tastes wonderful, I put a little in Norman's dish, but he is unsure about it until I break off a piece of fish and feed him by hand, then he becomes a convert to kippers. After breakfast I phone Leslie's daughter, Margaret, to express my concerns about her dad, she has also noticed some changes since the suspected TIA, we agree to keep an eye on him and stay in touch. She is visiting him tomorrow and I on Sunday. Liz, the care worker, is taking him to Waitrose shopping this morning. We collect the terriers from Cherry Burton and park down Newbald Road again, the forecast said it would be much colder today, but so far it isn't, the wind has swung to the North, although it isn't very strong. We make our way through the woods and Teddy chases a squirrel up an English elm, and looks bemused when it runs straight up the trunk, as if to say, "how the hell did you do that?" I take his photo, but he runs off as I snap him and I am left with a nice picture of the tree amidst its autumn foliage. I keep my wits about me today and gather Dolly back to the lead at Black Mill, before walking across the common to Burton Bushes. We pause for a while on Brandon Barker's bench, enjoying the presence of the large ash and elm trees before continuing on our way. There are no after effects from yesterday's run and my legs and joints are moving freely today. On my way down the hill to the car I take another snap of the Westwood, looking East, with Beverley Minster and Saint Mary's church in the distance. Any town in England would be blessed with either of these gothic architectural treasures. We drop off the dogs and arrive home for a quarter to one, the kipper has made us both thirsty, Normy drinks a whole bowl of water and I make a pot of tea and put together a smoked cheese and salad sandwich on whole meal bread. After lunch, I clean my boots and the moccasins that I usually wear with my jeans and then read the Guardian until it is time for my swim. The last of the schoolchildren are just leaving as I slip into an empty lane at around a quarter to three. I warm up with 4 x 100m mixed medley swims. Going up the length, I alternate two strokes butterfly with two strokes breaststroke and on the return length, four strokes backstroke with three strokes freestyle. It provides a one hundred percent, total body workout. I follow this with 4 x 200m in each of the four strokes, though the butterfly is broken into four fifty metre repeats. By now my heart, lungs and muscles are all fully primed, so swim 4 x 200m individual medley and then warm down with an easy 4 x 100m set of IM's. I feel on top form again, just sbout back back to normal fitness. The pool is filling up with kids and their mums and dads, ready for swimming lessons, as I take my shower. Once dressed, I keep my flip flops on, and change into my shoes and socks in the cafe, as the changing rooms are packed, and you are not allowed to wear outdoor shoes in there, except for a small area by the door with benches for changing. I order a tea and then on my way back to Tickton, collect a baguette to accompany the salad Nicoise that I am making for dinner. I took a yellow fin, tuna steak out of the freezer and left it to defrost before driving to the leisure centre. In the supermarket car park it is decidedly colder, the strength of the North wind has increased considerably. Back home Norman waits eagerly for his dinner, and my first job is to open a tin of dog food for him. Mindful of the cold, I pop a heavy fleece over my sweater and then walk him down to the bridge. It is dark as we make our way back down Green Lane, families are arriving home from work and there is a happy buzz, as they anticipate the weekend. Indoors I prepare my meal, it only takes as long as the tuna takes to fry, I turn it whilst knocking together the salad and slicing and buttering the baguette. Norman begs in vain, the steak is very tasty but not big enough to share. After dinner I make a coffee and then phone Liz, Leslie's care worker and more or less repeat the conversation I had with his daughter this morning. Liz confirms that she had taken him to Waitrose this morning and that the trip went without any problems, although she noticed he was becoming very single minded, almost obsessive, about certain things. Hopefully with everyone alert for problems and looking out for him, he may get back to how he was before the probable TIA. I Put a load of shirts and socks into the washer and then read my book for half an hour and then decide to bake as I am out of my oatmeal biscuits. While I am at it I knock out a plum pie with some "ripen at home" Victorias that I bought during the week, it only takes an hour from start to finished product. Pleasant work, particularly with Ella Fitzgerald for company. To bed around eleven.

No good deed goes unpunished!

Wake at seven and let Norman into the garden, the house is cold, I turned down the thermostat before leaving to baby sit last night and forgot to turn it on again. I rectify this and when Norman jogs back up the path, pop back into bed until the central heating warms the place up, finally stirring around eight. Sarah thinks Norman is getting fat, despite his exercise regime, and objectively I am forced to agree. I feed him three times a day, we eat together, she used to feed him just once, in the evening. For an old dog, he needs to have smaller more frequent meals, but it isn't good for him to get fat, so I am controlling his rations. For humans it is best to match calorie input to output and so the bulk of the calories are best consumed at breakfast and lunch, the old saying, breakfast like a king, lunch like a lord and supper like a peasant, is pretty much my rule. I will include Norman in this plan, from this day forth, not believing in crash diets, for dogs or humans, we will ease him back to his ideal weight. We start with breakfast, I fry one pork sausage, two slices of black pudding, two rashers of smoky bacon, one tomato and one large egg. Normy has a quarter of my sausage, half a rasher of bacon, one slice of black pudding and the trimmings from my egg white. He seems happy enough with this, he mostly wants a bit of what I am having, he doesn't necessarily need a lot. After breakfast I drink coffee and listen to the news and then open my new pullover from "Woolovers", that arrived yesterday. The colour and quality are fine, but it is a little too large the shoulders dipping two inches down my arms. My weight, 80 kilos, and chest size 42", hasn't changed in twenty years, but during that time I have migrated from a medium, to extra large fitting and now, it seems, back to medium again, as manufacturing moved offshore and then later, vanity sizing was introduced. The company seems really good, there is a returns label and a no quibble policy and so I pack it up and ask them to replace it with a medium fit. I will post it later. After showering and dressing, we leave for Cherry Burton, shortly after ten, and after collecting Dolly and Teddy drive into Beverley and park in our usual
place. It is a clearer day today, not quite so mild, but still with an easterly breeze, the fog and mist have cleared. The trees are in tremendous colour, the elms, hornbeam and horse chestnuts, but the latter are losing leaves fast and in a few days will be bare. I notice that Leslie has called me, and when I call him back, he asks if I will take him to the doctors for four o'clock, I agree and then realise afterwards, that this means it won't be possible to maintain my swimming window at the pool. Still friends are more important than exercise, particularly ones in need. I decide to use this problem as an opportunity and plan to run this afternoon instead. Whilst I am reprogramming my day, and totally lost to the present moment, I walk past Black Mill and onwards towards Burton Bushes. Black Mill is where Dolly is trained to come back to the lead and of course she interprets my actions as permission to shoot off hunting rabbits. Teddy, Norman and I sit and wait on a bench by the eleventh green, up against the Western edge of the common. To no avail, we can hear her hunting in the hawthorn hedge behind us, which lies behind the fence and runs to the Newbald Road, which we must cross on our way to Burton Bushes. Rather than risk Dolly across the road, we retrace our steps back to Black Mill and Dolly meekly returns to be put back on her lead. Hunting holiday, courtesy of my absent mind, over for today. We make our way back to the car, down Newbald Road, the Hornbeams are in such a show of splendour, I snap them with my iPhone, quite an achievement when you are juggling three dogs on their leads. We drop the terriers back at Two Riggs and arrive home in Tickton for a quarter to one, Norman is really thirsty, so I fill his dish and then fetch the box with my winter running gear from the garage. Eventually, I assemble an old pair of silver shadow running shoes, Ron Hill trickster bottoms, yesterday's tee shirt from the wash and a navy track suit top. By now it is twenty to two, but I only intend an easy 5k around the fields, as I haven't run for a couple of months. I set off easily, down Green Lane, through the snickett onto Carr Lane and down to the bridge. My heart, lungs and core muscles are fine from the swimming, but my legs feel heavy and stiff. There is still a hint of a twinge in my left hip and so I will monitor this as I run. As I mentioned in yesterday's blog, balance is key, so I run tall and relaxed and start a seven count breathing pattern. I have detailed this before, but not recently, so it is, perhaps best to repeat the detail of the practice. Each breath is taken in a relaxed manner and counted up to seven, then counted down, all the way back to one again, and then the cycle is repeated. It works a bit like a mantra and helps to bring the mind back to the body and the awareness of the sensations of the senses as I run. The internal dialogue gradually fading away. After a while, the process becomes a habit and is relegated to the subconscious, and then there is just the awareness of moving through the landscape. At the little bridge I turn West into "almost straight wood", the first fifty feet are really boggy and I have to adopt a kind of cowboy style of running, bow legged with my feet to either side of the path, but then I am onto dry ground and the going is firm, dry and easy. Coming out of the wood I turn south and then the easy going comes to an end, the path has been churned up by tractors bringing in the harvest and then later, preparing the fields for next years sowing. Between the tractor tracks, the horse riders have made a bridal path and so that is pretty chewed up as well! No point worrying about it, that's just how things are today, it is harder on the legs and takes a little more concentration on balance, but a kilometre and a half later, I am back over the bridge and jogging my way home. The run takes just over a half hour, I hardly broke sweat, my legs aren't loose enough to put my heart and lungs under a serious load yet. The main issue is with my joints, I will space my running days with swimming and rest days and see how things go. I will be happy just to be able to run a couple or so times a week. When I get in, I make a pot of tea and a sandwich, Parma ham, Cheshire cheese and tomato, Norman begs for food and has to make do with a bit of Cheshire. Afterwards, I shower and dress, then drive to Molescroft to collect Leslie, stopping at the post office to despatch my parcel back to "Woolovers". Leslie is waiting for me, when I arrive and we load him and a wheeled walking aid, that he insists on taking, into the car. We leave with fifteen minutes to spare, to drive the half mile to the Doctor's surgery, behind Saint Mary's church, for Leslie's ten past four appointment. The traffic is very heavy, as it coincides with the school run, but we get there in time and I park in a disabled bay outside reception and then help Leslie inside to the desk. The receptionist is very helpful and doesn't mind me using the disabled parking, but then tells me its patrolled by the council. I figure that, if I get a ticket, I have a valid excuse and so leave the car where it is and take Leslie upstairs in the lift to the doctors waiting room. As far as I can tell, there is nothing actually wrong with the old boy, his nasal problem is clearing and the scab on his leg hardly merits a doctors visit. It seems to me that it is largely a matter of lost confidence, following his spell in hospital. Doctor Hill comes out and collects him after a few minutes and I wait for Leslie to return, and wait and wait and wait, for almost an hour. Other patients come and go and eventually I catch doctor Hill as he calls in another patient. He tells me Leslie left ages ago to have his leg dressed by the nurse. When we check, we find him downstairs, sat on a chair by the pharmacy. He tells me that everyone knows you come downstairs when you have seen the doctor! Doctor Hill found nothing wrong with Leslie, but has arranged for the district nurse to call in and change his dressing, which is what he was after from the outset. No point getting annoyed with the old boy, but it is most unlike him to be so absent minded or inconsiderate. I call at Tesco's to buy Norman some dog tins and pick up some stir fry vegetables for dinner and an unsmoked Loch Fine kipper for breakfast. It is six o'clock when I get in and my first task is too feed Normy, and then pack away the shopping, before taking him for his evening walk. It is almost dark as we set off and fully dark as we turn round by the farm and come home. Norman is in a very good mood and keeps stopping, forcing me to play "praise and pat" with him, scooting ahead twenty yards or so and then stopping with his tail wagging to do it all over again. Once back indoors, I do some ironing to Bob Dylan's "Modern Times", and then make my Thai chicken stir fry, I defrosted a filet, sliced it and marinated it in sesame oil, chilly, ginger and garlic before taking the dog out. This is now transferred to my new wok, quickly browned on both sides and then the vegetables and later the noodles, are added. It makes a pleasant change, but the alleged, Thai vegetables, lacked Thai basil or lemon grass, so perhaps not quite Siamese. After dinner I fiddle with the lap top, it won't download the latest version of iTunes and I can't synch my phone or iPad until this is done. It tells me to try to download them manually, but this function has been replaced by a new apple program called "bonjour". I used to be able to
program and do systems analysis, albeit, thirty years ago, but this is going to take me a while to sort out and I haven't the energy or will to do it this evening. I take the remains of a glass of Hock, that I drank with dinner, into the Garden room and notice Leslie has phoned half an hour ago. I call him back and find it is about our arrangements for Caffe Nero on Sunday. He couldn't remember what time I usually collect him. This is really worrying, as I always pick him up at ten. I suspect the episode with his legs, two weeks ago, may have been caused by a little stroke, which is what was suspected at the time and his poor memory and uncharacteristic behaviour, may be a consequence of this. I will talk to Liz his care worker and his daughter, Margaret tomorrow and ensure that we all keep an eye on him. To bed for eleven.

Sufficient unto this day

We get up at seven, just as the day starts to dawn, Norman stretches, yawns and rolls on his back for a wriggle, the action of a happy dachshund. I pick him up, sit him on my knee, massage his old shoulders and tell him what a good boy he is, before letting him out into the garden. I make breakfast for us, and then sit in the garden room drinking my coffee whilst listening to the news. We make an earlier start today, as I have agreed to meet Felicity at the Poppy Seed between ten thirty and eleven. I wash, shave, dress and then load the dog in the car and drive to Cherry Burton, where the two terriers are waiting for me and raring to go. We arrive on the Westwood for nine thirty and make our way into the woods at Newbegin Pits. I phone Felicity as I walk, to make sure of the arrangements for coffee, and of course, the old girl has completely forgotten about it. Her memory, as well as her health, is starting to slip, so we agree I will pop in to see her later in the week. It is a mild morning, and for some reason, the cattle seem to have chosen to spend the night in the woods. They only have a few days of outdoor grazing left this year. They will be taken indoors when the clocks go back this weekend. Perhaps they like the beautiful autumn show of leaves, or are grazing on the fallen foliage. It is a mild day, with a grey overcast sky and ground fog again. A light wind blows in from the Northeast, and now there is no time pressure, we stroll contentedly on our way, inventing new routes to Burton Bushes. Today we walk diagonally across the common, taking in Newbald Pits, another small wood that has grown over the medieval chalk pit excavations after which they are named. We are now in mid autumn, the most liminal time of the year and the people of old must have felt the same way, hence Halloween. The shifting shapes and colours on the common and the woods as the mist and fog swirls about, adds to this feeling of undecidedness and transition. I like the fact of having lots of weather and seasons, uncertainties and surprises. If the weather doesn't suit in Beverley, one only has to wait for a little while for it to change. As we make our way downhill towards the boulevard of hornbeams that marks Newbald Road, I call Leslie, he sounds worried, so I agree to call in and see him on my way home. When I arrive, his concern is that his sinuses are blocked and consequently he can't breath through his nose. He has some menthol tablets, doesn't feel ill, and so I suspect it may be due to the air in his bungalow being too dry, because he has the thermostat turned way up. I suggest he puts a damp towel on the radiator in his bedroom and perhaps try to turn the heat down a notch. We have a coffee together and then I change the dressing on a lesion he has on his leg before leaving. Norman has slept on the back seat of my car during the visit and when we get home he is thirsty and ready for his dinner. I warm through our meat pie and microwave some potatoes, carrots and peas, and serve these with oxo gravy. Normy sleeps in his basket and I read a copy of the International Herald tribune that Leslie has given me, before heading off to the leisure centre for my swim. There are three major factors in most physical activities, balance, timing and breathing. This is particularly true of swimming and the primary factor is balance. Every stroke has a glide position, where the body should be perfectly balanced in the water, streamlined and causing the minimum resistance. The power aspect of the stroke occurs in the transition from one position of balance to the next and this should be achieved with the minimum of effort or resistance. This is the timing or rhythm aspect of stroke and finally, breathing can only be effective, if it is integrated into the stroke in a seamless way. Being able to breathe easily and effectively is the key to relaxation and hence fluency in movement. Of course all of these factors fit together in a continuous feedback process. Balance for me, is the key to many things in life, in both space and time. Temporal balance for most people, is an acquired skill. When learned, it allows us to deal with our life with full attention, not too burdened by events of the past, nor pulled by hopes or worries of the future. We all have swings in mood and it is too easy to fall in to the trap of believing that current circumstances, or moods, have some sort of permanence. I find it helps, when these mood swings occur, and which affect us all to some degree or other, to shorten my horizons of time. It is a bit of a trope to talk about living in "the now", but until you have explored the present, it is largely meaningless. How long is now? A minute, a femto second, an hour. My explorations suggest that "now", is the subjective experience of the world without, hopes, fears or worries. When found in meditation "now" seems eternal and utterly unproblematic. Most of us, however, can't spend our lives in blissful contemplation and have to engage with others and the world in a continuous way. For most of us, most of the time, the problems of this day are well within our competence and hence "now" can be achieved with a little conscious effort. I call this "shortening my event horizons", and find active meditation, the absorption in some creative task, swimming is one for me, helps to balance my life. When I arrive in the pool, I repeat yesterday's session, swimming a little over two thousand metres, split evenly between the four strokes. After my swim, I take tea in the cafe before driving home for five and feeding Norman. While he is eating, I wash the pots, then load him in the car and drive to Sarah's house, arriving twenty minutes early for my baby sitting duties. This gives me time to walk Normy round Seven Corners Lane for his toilet duties. The walls of the lane are made of very old, hand made bricks, that have weathered and eroded over the years and are draped with ivy and briar rose. In the fading light they are quite magical, we see Jan Morrison and her dachshund puppy, Toffee, (his coat is the colour of butterscotch), he is young and full of life. It cheers me up, Norman quite likes him too, which is unusual as he doesn't usually do kids. When we get back, Louis is eating his tea and Sarah is changing, she, Richard and Alice, are going to see Richard's daughter, Charlotte, in her school play. At seven thirty it is Louis' bedtime and he goes off on the promise of a Grandad bedtime story. He wants a Spider-Man story, which I reset it in medieval Beverley and borrow liberally from King Arthur and Grimm's fairy tales. Louis becomes spider boy, who has to rescue his pet Ronnie, the talking Raven, from the web of a giant spider who lives in the roof of the minster. To aid him in his quest, he is given a magic sword, which he pulls from a rock on the Westwood and uses to slay the spider. In the fight he is bitten by the spider and falls into a deathlike sleep for a whole week and when he wakes up he discovers he has spider superp powers. This story should be able to run for a week or so. Louis falls asleep in my arms and I tiptoe downstairs and try to continue reading Ismail Kadare's "The accident", but find I am not in the mood to read tonight, then doze until Sarah and Alice return around a quarter to eleven. We drive home and I drink a glass of milk and eat a couple of oatmeal biscuits before turning in around half past eleven.

MOT

Manage to sleep until almost eight o'clock when Norman gets up, shakes himself and barks me awake. I let him out onto a damp day but at least it is less grey than yesterday. Then make myself a peppermint tea, (no caffeine or tannin before my blood tests), give Normy a tin for his breakfast and then read the Guardian until it is time to shower, dress and head to the doctor's surgery. Arrive at 9:20 and only have to wait a couple of minutes before the nurse summons me for my annual check up. Ten minutes later, I am back home and cooking breakfast, the new sausages, "Andrew and Debbie's", from Harrogate are first rate. After breakfast and coffee, set off for Cherry Burton, arriving about eleven to collect Dolly and Teddy before parking on Newbald Road on the Westwood again. The weather is mild and there is no wind today, although the sky is still overcast and fog clings to the hollows in the ground. As we approach Black Mill, a small herd of cows are snuggled into the grass and regarding Dolly, who is off the lead, with a relaxed disdain. My energy levels don't feel great again today but there is nothing obviously wrong with me, so will go to the pool this afternoon and see how I feel after warming up. It is ideal weather for fungus, damp and mild and there are toadstools and puffball mushrooms here and there on the common. We can only travel at the speed of the slowest ship in the convoy, Norman, and it takes us an hour to arrive in Burton Bushes, where we pause and rest on Brandon Barker's bench. We drop Dolly and Teddy back at Two Riggs around one and then drive back to Tickton. I serve Norman some biscuits and then make coffee and apple pie for myself, before leaving for the pool at half past two. I seem to have found a particularly good time for swimming, the pool is quiet again, the schools have left and swimming lessons don't start until four. I warm up on four hundred metres backstroke and feel OK afterwards, so decide to swim four hundred butterfly, breaking it up into eight, fifty metre repeats. This is more difficult, but I manage to hold to a constant pace of around a minute for each fifty metre repeat. Follow this with four hundred freestyle and then four hundred breastroke, finishing off with two, two hundred metre individual medleys and then warm down with a slow four lengths backstroke and freestyle. Eighty four lengths in total and I feel better after the swim than I did going in! After showering and changing, drink tea in the cafe and then call at the supermarket on the way home, to buy butter, milk, a crusty baguette and a bottle of red wine. I arrive home for five fifteen, feed Norman on a tin of dog food and then walk him down the lane in the gathering dusk. When we return home, I try, unsuccessfully, to download the latest iTunes to my aged laptop, as it can't synch my iPad or iPhone until I manage this. It could be due to the lousy BT broadband speeds. Have a French Peasant's supper of baguette, Camembert, and red wine, whilst listening to Hull City away at Middlesborough. At half time it is still goalless, but Boro score twice in the second half and our winning run comes to an end. To bed at ten thirty.

Too many shades of grey

Wake around six thirty, it is still dark outside, misty and raining steadily. I let Norman into the garden and then make breakfast for the two of us. We settle down to our full English and then retire to the garden room where I read the Guardian while drinking my tea. After showering and dressing, we leave for Cherry just as the rain starts to ease. We collect the terriers, drive to the Westwood and park down Newbald Road on the hard standing, where Roy's sandwich bar is normally parked at weekends. After crossing the road into the woods, I let Teddy and Norman off the lead, The rain has given way to a fine drizzle that is drifting onshore on an easterly breeze. It is still quite mild, but I have to stop and wipe my glasses every few minutes in order to be able to see. The dogs don't seem to care and Norman and Teddy are soon exploring the woods. The going underfoot is soggy and heavy, until we come out onto the common, where the drainage is better. I feel tired today and can't make my mind up whether something is amiss, or it is just a consequence of the grey skies. In any event I decide to persevere and we continue our way up to Burton Bushes and then walk through the wood. There are fungi everywhere, clusters of toadstools on the floor and spectacular displays of orange tree fungi on old dead stumps. We get back to the car for a quarter to twelve and drive back via Walkington Manor, where I buy some potatoes and onions from the farm shop for lunch. We arrive home, in Tickton, just after Noon and then start to prepare lunch. It doesn't take long, I dip the lambs livers in flour and then fry them gently with onions, while I heat some spinach and cook a couple of potatoes in the microwave. The liver makes a nice change, and is very cheap, as younger people don't seem to eat offal much any more. After lunch we sleep for an hour, to preserve our strength, before driving into Beverley to collect Louis from Saint Mary's. We park at Tesco's and then walk the half mile to the school. Louis arrives without his swimming togs and has to go back to the classroom to fetch them. It is only when we arrive home, and I take his coat off, that we discover he has left his sweater in the classroom. If my memory serves me correctly, Clement was about eight before he regularly came home with all his things. Louis gets his crayons out and colours, while I make his tea, the usual ante pasta, but with apple pie and custard to follow. He finishes his meal, we feed Norman and then take him down to the bridge. On the way back, Louis plays on the split willow that he has nicknamed, "the pirate ship". It is then time for his swimming lessons and so we drive to the leisure centre, where we are forced to park on the field at the rear of the pool. Miraculously I deliver him to his instructor right on time, then buy myself a cup of cocoa and settle down to watch his lesson. He is very competitive and is more concerned with being the first across the pool than following instructions too closely. Sarah arrives at ten to six, the NHS has extended her temporary contract by a further two weeks and she needs me to help with Louis during half term. It is agreed he will come to me on Monday and Tuesday of next week as Sarah has to work, although she has holiday Wednesday through to Friday. They plan to visit Clement in London. On my way home I call to see Felicity, she says she feels well, but like me feels tired. We chat for half an hour and she tells me Barbara English has to have a hysterectomy. Barbara is one of our Poppy Seed cafe friends and in her early seventies, so will be fragile for a few months after the op. I get home for seven and make scrambled eggs on toast, which I share with Normy. It is my annual health MOT in the morning and some of the blood tests require me to fast from this evening. The grey drizzly day has merged seamlessly into a dark, damp night and it seems the gloom may linger until the weekend. To bed for ten.

Deep dish indestructible apple pie

Wake after a disturbed night and strange dreams, probably the Camembert and wine. It is just getting light outside, and by the time I have let Norman out into the garden and made breakfast, it is seven thirty. I am finishing off the smoked salmon and serve it with cream cheese on rye toast again, so Normy has to make do with a tin. I lose track of time reading the Observer after breakfast and have to put my skates on to shower, dress and drive to Saint John's for nine o'clock Mass. I have left the Garden Room door open for Norman, as I have promised to visit Leslie after church arriving in my usual pew with just two minutes to spare before the service starts. There is quite a good turnout this morning and the hymns are all old stalwarts, so the congregation makes a decent fist of them. Our trainee organist only losing the tune once during the whole service. After Mass I drive to Molescroft and find Leslie looking relaxed and well, he still hasn't ventured outdoors, but tells me he has been exercising in the house. I make Italian coffee for us and find that once again, I have forgotten to bring my plastic filter. This week an empty milk carton is reengineered for the task and soon we have fresh coffee and some oaties to eat, from the fresh batch I made yesterday. We chat for an hour and then I carry out a couple of small chores, put his waste in the bin and then pick up his outgoing mail to post on my way home. En route, I call at Tesco to buy some more coffee, bread and milk. While I am there I notice they have large bottles of Leffe brown, Belgian beer on offer and buy one, thinking it may go well with the meat pie that is planned for lunch. When I arrive home Norman does not come to greet me, which is unusual, and I check to make sure he is OK, but he is sleeping soundly in his basket. After unpacking the shopping, I roll out some pastry and make two meat pies in six inch stoneware dishes, using the filling I cooked in the slow cooker yesterday. I put them in the oven on a moderate heat, set the timer for 45 minutes and then take Norman for his delayed walk. We walk down to the fields beyond the bridge, the weather is fine but foggy, the pale sun not sufficiently strong to burn back the low lying mist. There is no wind to blow it away either, the air is dead still. Not good drying weather, my shirts and socks will have to hang in the garage sooner than expected! Norman walks home with considerably more enthusiasm than he set out, and he fairly sprints into the house, drawn on by the aroma of the baking pies. They are both beautifully browned, but the jacket potato, that I put in with them needs a few more minutes. The pies need ten minutes to cool anyway, if we are not to scold our mouths with them. This gives me time to put away my aired whites from the radiator and hang the coloured washing in the garage. We finally finish the last of the red cabbage, which is heated thoroughly in the microwave, and served with our pie and potato. The pie is OK, the crust perhaps a little thick, but it tastes fine. The Belgian beer takes a while to appreciate, but like Irish stout, it tastes better the more you drink. The bottle is three quarters of a litre and as it is 6 percent or more alcohol, the equivalent of half a bottle of wine. The effect is not long in coming, and soon the dog and I are enjoying a post lunch snooze. When we wake up, I check my email, it is mostly spam, but a reminder from Paypal lets me know that I have £25 in credit from the corduroy trousers I returned last week. I use this to buy a plain wool camel sweater, from a website called "wool overs", I also need to replace a maroon sweater that is nearing the end of its days, but will wait to see how the camel one turns out first. Surprisingly, Norman still has room for a tin at half past five and afterwards we walk to the village post office to despatch Leslie's letters, before making our way down to the bridge. The weather is starting to change, an easterly breeze is bringing down showers of willow leaves that spiral to the ground as we walk together down Carr Lane, a bonfire at the farm is blowing wood smoke across the path and the little bridge over the drain is barely visible in the distance. by the time we reach it and turn for home, it is almost dark. No pipistrelles this evening, perhaps the smoke is putting them off. When we get back indoors, I make a pot of tea and then cut a slice of my "really deep dish, Dutch apple pie". It is about twenty centimetres, top to bottom, the filling is perfect, but the crust, which needed to be robust to hold the whole thing up, might have come from a nuclear bunker. It tastes OK, but is much too thick. Perhaps there is a reason that the Dutch don't do over the top, deep dish pies? Tomorrow is going to be a pie free day, I bought some nice lambs liver this morning and some spinach, so that's on the menu for Monday Lunch. Listened to radio four for a while and then read an interesting article by Stuart Kauffman, a scientist at Calgary University, on the web, about complexity theory and the concept of God. To bed for ten thirty.

Pi and Pies

Norman and I sleep in until eight, its Saturday so we don't have to collect Dolly and Teddy today. Outside its a mild morning and clear but for some low autumn mist that is clinging to the hollows in the ground. I make a full English breakfast for us both and then settle down to read the Guardian, but as Its Saturday and the kids are off school, the broadband is jammed and it hasn't downloaded this morning. I put on a wash load of whites, take a pork chop out of the freezer, to defrost for lunch and then make some savoury mince for the slow cooker. This will form the filling for a meat pie I intend to bake tomorrow. Then shower and shave and head off to town with Norman for coffee at the Poppy Seed. We park, as usual, down Norwood and walk the half mile or so into town, giving Normy time for his toilet duties. I carry some kitchen roll in my pocket, in order to capture and secure his treasure, before depositing it in a bin. We are first to the Poppy seed, but the others arrive over the next half hour and we have a full house. Barbara English is disposing of tickets for the telecast of the Met's Otello at Cineworld for next Saturday and I end up buying one. Norman sits on my knee enjoying the conversation and the company, Felicity and her daughter, Melissa, arrive late, she has taken her mum for her flu jab. Melissa asks me for Sarah's number, as she has a painful ganglion on her foot and needs help fairly quickly. The coffee party is just breaking up, when Pip phones to ask if I have booked her Micra into the garage yet. Her brake light has gone and another motorist mentioned it to her at the supermarket yesterday. I promise to go to Cherry and check it out, after I have gone back to Tickton, dropped Norman off and hung out my washing. When I get home I discover that I hadn't actually switched the washing machine on, so I rectify this and then drive to Cherry. I recruit Andrew to help me check out the lights whilst I operate the controls and we soon confirm that it is only the rear brake light that has gone. I have brought a collection of screwdrivers to dismantle the light cover, but Sod's law says that it is secured by two bolts, so I drive the Micra back to Tickton and use my spanners to retrieve the faulty bulb. There is a car and bike repair shop down Norwood a few yards from where I parked earlier and £3 procures a couple of spare bulbs, one of which I fit immediately, before driving back to Cherry. Rebecca and Laura are staying with Andrew for the weekend and of course, I get a big hug from Laura, Rebecca is lost in Nintendo DS land. My good deed for the day done, I return to Tickton and make lunch, frying up some onions and a pork chop and then adding some Maggi and an oxo cube to make a sauce. While the chop is braising, I peel and boil some potatoes and microwave some more of the red cabbage. When it is ready, I cut out the bone and fat and serve this with spuds, rot kohl and gravy to Norman, once it has cooled down. We eat in synchrony, but he always finishes first. There is still some red cabbage left in the fridge, it is a good job that we both enjoy it, it must have been a large specimen that I bought last week. After lunch, I knock up some oaties, and while the oven is hot, construct a really deep dish Dutch apple pie, with the earthenware dish I bought last week. In between the baking, I hang out my whites, put on a load of coloured washing and listen to Hull v Ipswich on the radio. It is a cracking match, Hull are passing their opponents off the pitch but can't seem to score, despite creating endless chances. Before half time, the inevitable happens and Ipswich score against the run of play. In the second half the same pattern emerges, except Ipswich don't score again and then Nick Proschwitz, a £2.5m pound signing from Paderborn in Germany, comes on as a substitute and scores twice, to win the game for the Tigers. Even Normy celebrates! I give him some of the savoury mince I have made in the slow cooker, with some more rot kohl, (he has to eat his share of the mountain I made,) and biscuits for his tea. I used some of this savoury mince mixture with the excess pastry trimmed from the apple pie, to make a mini test meat pie in a small ramekin. The apple pie and the little sampler come out of the oven just as Norman finishes his dinner. They both look and smell OK. It is half past five, so I put on my fleece and take Norman for his evening walk. We go beyond the bridge and round the fields, it is a lovely evening, the sun has just set, the sky is clear and a crescent moon is rising to our south. Whisps of mist are starting to reappear here and there, and the birds are singing their evening chorus. On our way back, we meet two people, an Australian woman who has just moved to the village, her husband is working at the University and five minutes later, a South African with an online sports business who has been in Tickton for 14 years. It is almost dark when we get back and I manage to get my white underwear off the line before it is completely black outside. Because of my late start, it is still damp, so I dry it off on hangers on the radiators. Within a few weeks I will be forced to dry my washing in the garage,,as we lose the sun from the back garden until mid February. Contrary to working people, I use the weekends to catch up, not doing much during the week, so after eating my little pie and confirming that the recipe works, and works really well, I get out the ironing board and knock off half a dozen shirts. I finish around nine, have a glass of wine, some Camembert on oatmeal biscuits and then listen to a podcast of "Melvyn Bragg's in our time", the subject is random and pseudo random numbers, which sounds boring, but isn't. During my army service in the signals, I was involved in cryptography and later on at Plessey, worked on high speed data transmission systems, all of which used aspects of these theories. To bed at ten thirty.

The Old Blind Dog Routine.

It is foggy this morning, I set the alarm on my phone for 6:30 last night, and it is still dark outside when Norman trots into the garden. I don't have to be at Sarah's house until 8:25, but hate to be in a rush and like to eat breakfast in peace and read the paper before starting the day. Norman has to be content with a tin of dog food, as I am having smoked salmon and cream cheese on rye toast, as its Friday. The big hoohaa on the news this morning is the comment David Cameron made at question time, about forcing the energy companies to offer the lowest tarrif to customers. There seems to be some backtracking today, so perhaps it won't happen. At the moment the energy tariffs are in conflict with the government policy to reduce energy consumption. You pay a lower tarrif the more energy you consume, surely it ought to work the other way, a low tarrif for initial consumption and then increasing tarrif bands, the more energy you consume. This would also protect pensioners. The whole energy market is an uncompetitive oligopoly, where the suppliers manipulate the wholesale price to their own advantage. It needs a monopoly commission investigation.
We collect Louis and walk him to school, fastening Normy to the school railings while I take my grandson to his classroom. On the way we pass a display of books for a book fair after school, Louis persuades me to buy him a "Skylander" book that costs eight pounds, only I can't because the fair is at four o'clock, after school. Eventually his teacher, Mrs Wildbore, is persuaded to buy the book for him and I leave her with the cash, but first have to change a twenty pound note at the school office. Norman and I walk back to Sarah's, where I put on my boots before driving to Cherry to collect Dolly and Teddy. The fog is starting to lift as we arrive on Newbald Road and it promises to be a fine day again. There is hardly a breeze and the air is soft and mild, coming from the southwest. We have to wait on a bench by Barbara English's house for Teddy to come back, he probably had a good run of rabbits to chase! When he arrives, he is sopping wet and scraggy looking, hunting rabbits in bramble patches can do that to you. We walk the common again, but take a different route through Burton Bushes, although we sit for a while on Brandon Barker's bench. The reason the Sherrif of Nottingham could never find Robin Hood and his merry men, is because the paths through the woods are constantly changing. In a distance of a kilometre there will be over a thousand trees and one of these will fall or blow over, or lose a branch every few months. Each time this happens, a new route has to be established and so only people who are constantly using the woods can find their way. We get back to Cherry for noon, the lawns are just about dry enough to mow, and as I may not get another chance this year, I give them a trim. Pip is out, but Andrew's car is back, so he must be home from the USA. He doesn't come out of his office, so he is obviously up to his neck doing catch up work. We get home for one, and I rustle up some fish fingers, chips and peas and eat these in the garden again. After lunch, I drink tea and do another puzzle, but the fog rolls back and suddenly it's cold again, so we retreat indoors. At two thirty I drive to the leisure centre and find an empty pool again, so repeat yesterday's 2,000m swim. My strength and fluency are returning, and if all goes well, I will increase the butterfly element to parity with the other strokes from Tuesday. I collect Louis from his after school club at a quarter past five and then drive to the doctors to collect my prescription for anti inflammatory tablets. We arrive at Sarah's house for ten to six, Louis and I sit and read his new book together, it is for ages six and over and he has just turned five, but he makes a decent fist of reading it, with some help on the longer more difficult words. He will be reading fully in a few weeks at this rate. Sarah arrives at six thirty, loaded with fish and chips from Sullivan's, down Toll Gavel. I don't like to tell her I had fish and chips for lunch, so eat the fish and donate most of the chips to Louis. I leave at seven, as Norman hasn't been fed or walked yet. He is waiting for me when I get in his tail wagging furiously, it's only a tin again I'm afraid, but he doesn't seem to mind. After dinner we walk to Carr Lane and he does his duty, and then we walk into the village and call at the village pub, The New Inn. It's a gastro pub run by a lesbian couple and has a strong reputation for good locally produced food. I run my line past them about allowing blind dogs in, and then tell them Norman has cataracts. It works, and I am told he can stay, as long as he sits on my knee and behaves himself, as they serve meals in this bar. We sit on a stool by the door and down a couple of pints of real ale, while chatting to some of the locals. Norman behaves impeccably, and we leave after an hour. Friday evening is one of their busiest periods for food and a few of the people I was chatting to, we're called to their tables in the restaurant. Perhaps I will pop in again, but it may be politic not to take Normy. Which would be a shame because he enjoyed all the attention, particularly from the ladies. To bed for ten.

Made glorious summer for this son of York

Wake around seven to clearing weather, the wind is mild from the southwest. It has rained heavily again overnight and the garden is still wet, as Norman trots down the path to relieve himself. It is still not quite dawn and when the dog comes back, he runs happily to the kitchen in gleeful anticipation of breakfast. I make our full English and Normy gets extra sausage as I am not too impressed with these Wall's ones. We shan't be buying these again, however cheap. After breakfast I drink my coffee and read the Guardian, Francois Hollande is being interviewed on the radio and he has been interviewed by the Guardian. He is putting pressure on Angela Merkel to ease up on austerity and behave in a states womanly way rather than pandering to national politics. In one way he is right, it is as though we never learned anything from the Great Depression and are intent on repeating the same mistakes. German folk memories are more attuned to the hyper inflation that preceded that depression and Merkel is walking a fine line. Talking tough for internal consumption and letting through as much as she dares to prop up the euro. She is a clever and I believe, honourable woman. I suspect she will use Hollande's pressure to secure internal permission to complete the deal that she appeared to agree to last month. After breakfast I shower and collect Dolly and Teddy from Cherry around a quarter to ten. There are puddles everywhere on the Westwood and I have to park right next to Newbald Road in order to let the dogs out of the car onto the tarmac. Otherwise, when we come back, they will be jumping in the car from a muddy puddle. I have a blanket covering the back seat, but it can only take so much. It is a mild morning, half the sky is clear blue and the other half grey cloud, which lies to the south. The sun lies behind this cloud but should burn through later. In the woods, even more leaves and small branches have been blown down and the trees are still dripping from the overnight rainfall, it smells fresh and clean, the cider scent of autumn leaves perfumes the air. It is a lovely day for walking, with little wind but quite boggy underfoot in places. A few temporary streams have formed, as the water drains off the higher ground, they are not very deep and Norman fords them without any real problems. We walk through Burton Bushes, the smell is incredible, it is largely oak and ash with some holly and hawthorn around the edges. The winds have brought down leaves and small branches and the tannic aroma of the oaks is dominant. I have to hold the dogs hard on the lead, because grey squirrels are frantically gathering their harvest of windfall acorns and seem to be taking more chances than usual. We stop for a while and sit on Brandon Barker's bench, it is located in the midst of an ash grove, the majestic trees tower a hundred feet above our heads and have formed a natural temple. It is easy to see why the Druids and the Nordic tribes worshipped the ash. There are the remains of an Iron Age settlement near Black Mill, and a chariot was unearthed there a hundred years ago. Druids could well have worshipped in these woods. We walk happily down the hill, half an hour in the woods does wonders for the spirit. It is still too wet to garden, so after taking the terriers back to Two Riggs, Norman and I return to Tickton. It is twelve o'clock and though I intend to swim, there is little point in going over lunchtime as "the wave machine", will be taking up half the pool. Instead, I slice the rest of the beef and put it in the remains of yesterday's gravy and set it to warm on a low heat while I peel some potatoes and cook them in the microwave. When they are done, I reheat the red cabbage and then serve the beef with parsley potatoes. Norman has rot kohl, spuds and beef as well and clears his plate. After lunch I make a pot of tea and take it into the garden and sit in the warm sunshine for an hour cracking another puzzle leaving for the leisure centre at a quarter past two, after first making sure the garden room door is left open for Norman. The pool is quiet, the school children have left for the day and swimming lessons don't start until four. I have the fast lane to myself again and repeat Tuesday's program, 3x 400m on back, breast and freestyle, followed by 4 x 100m individual medley. I feel wonderful, my chest finally clear. To celebrate I warm down with a slow 400m in a mixture of strokes, and then adjourn to the cafe for tea and a couple of oaties. The leisure centre is starting to fill up, it is now four o'clock and harassed mums are delivering their kids for swimming lessons. After my tea I call at the supermarket for some more rye bread and to buy Norman more dog food, getting back to Tickton just after five, he is waiting for my return, his tail wagging in anticipation of dinner. After he has eaten, we take our evening walk down to the bridge and watch the sun set over Beverley before playing "praise and pat" on the way home. The exercise is having a beneficial effect on Norman who now looks toned and fit. It has taken years off him, but it also boosts his appetite, the little kraut could eat for the Fatherland! I make ante pasta for tea and resist Norman's entreaties for even more food. Later listening to a serialisation of an Ian Rankin story on the BBC iplayer, and then turn in around half past ten. We have to be up early in the morning because we are taking Louis to school for Sarah.