An ordinary Sunday.

Wake at ten to seven, it is still dark outside and Norman is still fast asleep in his basket. I put on the kettle, the toast and the skillet and then let Normy out into the garden. He jogs down the path with a swagger and a few minutes later I can hear him sprint back when he smells the bacon frying. We haven't dined on a full English since Thursday, and he sits like the HMV dog, with rapt attention, waiting for breakfast to be served. He finishes his a full ten minutes before I complete mine, then sits with his paw raised in case I have made too much. Fat chance Norman! Still he gets to lick the plate clean, when I am done. After breakfast I take my coffee into the Garden Room and browse The Observer, really only reading the articles about Barack Obama, before showering and dressing for nine o'clock mass. I leave the door to the garden open for Norman and then take the last of my Dutch Apple pie and some Italian coffee for Leslie, who I have promised to visit after church. Mass is beautiful, I know all the hymns for once, and father Roy's sermon is insightful and challenging. It's the story about the rich young man who can't quite bring himself to sell all he possesses and follow The Lord, and ends with the parable of the rich man entering heaven being as difficult as a camel passing through the eye of a needle. Father Roy's point is that this story is about human relationships and the need for each of us to be as accepting as Jesus is of each other, despite our flaws and imperfections. And that things that seem impossible for humans are within the competence of God. A little human humility is long overdue in my opinion. I like Father Roy, for him the Holy Spirit is alive and active in the world and didn't retire with Saint Paul. After Mass I drive the short distance to Leslie's house and find him still in his dressing gown and pyjamas. He is in good spirits and feels that he is almost back to normal, although he has had some problems with his computerised online ordering from Waitrose. I discover that I have left my filter for the coffee at home, but fortunately Leslie has a plastic Schweppes Tonic bottle that I am able to re-engineer with some scissors to do the job. After we have had our coffee and apple pie, a lady from Waitrose telephones, Leslie had placed an order before being hospitalised, his daughter had cancelled it and now he is locked out of his account. The order is reinstated and with a little help from me, a new password is downloaded and he is soon back in business. I leave around half past eleven, call at Tesco for some shopping and then pop into "Sellit and Soon" to collect my standing lamp. When I get home, I unpack the shopping, reassemble the lamp and then peg out a line of coloured washing before making a pot of tea and a sandwich. After lunch, I take Norman for his long overdue walk, no sooner have we left the house, than it starts to rain. Dark clouds are scudding in from the west and it was bright sunshine just half an hour ago when I hung out the washing! Normy and I hug the willows down Carr Lane, in order to avoid the worst of the weather and then head into "almost straight wood", when we get past the little wooden bridge over the drain. The first part of the path in the woods is a quagmire, and I have to pick Norman up and carry him to dryer ground, in the process my tan corduroy trousers get splattered with mud and my hand is nettled, as we brush past a particularly tall bunch of the little buggers. I find a dock leaf and Normy is soon snuffling happily amongst the roots of the trees. A squirrel runs up a birch and watches us go past, the rain hammering on the canopy of the wood. We cross to a neighbouring plantation, but at the point in the loop where the path heads into open ground, we decide to retrace our steps, rather than brace the elements. We get home for half past two, more or less dry, although my cords will need to go in the wash. I met my landlord, John Parker, in Tesco and he wants to pop round for a chat, so we agreed to half past four. In honour of his visit, I wash up and tidy the place a little, not much needs doing, as Norman and I are quite civilised. Then I meditate for a while, although Norman has other ideas, his internal atomic clock tells him it is time for his dinner. It is accurate to one billionth of a second, and so he rouses me from my peaceful absorption, by a series of increasingly pathetic whines and whimpers. After his dinner he celebrates by deciding to wipe clean his moustaches of grease by rolling on the carpet in the hall and I have barely time to banish him to his basket before John arrives. He is a really nice guy and head of educational services for deaf children in Humberside, but becoming increasingly frustrated about the cuts to his services by the coalition government. It turns out that he just wants to check the insulation as they had a problem during the big freeze two years ago. I make him a pot of tea and we chat for half an hour before he leaves. I bring the washing in from the garden, which surprisingly is dry, despite the heavy shower and then take Norman down to the bridge again for his evening walk. It is falling dusk as we get back, just after six, and in two short weeks the clocks will go back and winter will really be upon us. I had put out a pork chop to defrost earlier and now coat this with breadcrumbs to make a schnitzel and then serve this with mixed salad and oven chips. Norman has the bone and a small omelette from the left over egg, but I lock him in the kitchen on the wooden floor, as I don't want him smearing his greasy snout on the carpet. After dinner we retire to the lounge and I sinc my iPod/iPad to the lap top. Somehow the laptop can't download IOS six, perhaps it may be due to the congestion on the Internet. Sarah phones to ask if I can collect Louis tomorrow from school and take him swimming later. I agree and then sit with Norman and read my paper until bedtime.