Agnus day, again!

We are meeting Felicity at the Poppy Seed Cafe this morning and leave the house promptly at nine o'clock. Freshly shaved, showered and with a good breakfast to see us through the morning. We arrive down Newbald Road at about a quarter past nine, after first collecting the terriers from Cherry, it is a mild, cloudy, day with the wind from the southwest, the soft, moist, Atlantic air soothing to the skin on my face. Within the next few weeks, no doubt, we will suffer a northeasterly air flow, the kind that shrinks the skin to the skull and chaps the cheeks. Once we are safely in the woods I release Teddy and Norman from their leads, the former dashes off chasing rabbits and squirrels and the old boy jogs on behind Dolly and I, sniffing tree trunks to see who has passed by and rooting in the carpet of leaves on the floor of the wood. There are many more leaves down here now than up there and a decent frost will soon bring the rest down, but for now the cider smell, the vibrant ochre and gold colours and the rustle while we walk, are a gift for the senses. Teddy has started to return to the lead unbidden, as we come out of the woods on to the pasture, and Dolly scoots off to say hello to the other dogs, she knows them all after four years practice. As far as the dogs are concerned, it is their Westwood, us humans are just supporting cast. As we approach Black Mill, I am struck by how well Felicity captured its likeness for the cover of her anthology. It's looming black presence is both menacing and strangely reassuring. We head straight back downhill to the car today after an hour in the fresh air. Norman and I arrive at the Poppy Seed just after ten thirty, to find Felicity tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs. I sit him on my knee, after first wiping his paws clear of mud, not that it matters much, as I am wearing a pair of old corduroy trousers and an ancient fleece that has seen better days, but suffices for dog walks. Annie arrives shortly after me and we chat amiably about this and that until half past eleven. Felicity insists on paying for everyone, although Annie and I have just had tea, and gives me ten pounds to do this. The bill comes to £9:20p so I tell them to keep the change, and then give Felicity about a fiver in change. Her generosity exceeds her means. She is also delighted that it was so cheap! Norman and I walk her back to Albert Terrace, collect the herb pot, I forgot yesterday, and then make our way back to Saint John's where I parked the car. On our way we meet father Roy on his way to some meeting or other, a black briefcase in his hand, we say hello and exchange pleasantries for a minute or two and then continue on our way. We arrive home for noon and lunch on the bone broth, that has been simmering for days in the slow cooker. It is by far the best meal we have had out of the leg of lamb, the bones are boiled clean and the pulses and vegetables combine with the meat and marrow to provide a rich satisfying meal. Norman has the extra treat of the bones, although he has so few teeth left he can probably only give them a suck! Nevertheless he enjoys the meal. Woolovers have emailed back to say they don't seem to have received my pullover, so I check my blog and call at the village Post Office, armed with the time and date of despatch. "No luck, sorry squire, you should have sent it recorded delivery!" Is the message I get, I suppose I should really, hindsight is a wonderful thing, but I expect this one will have to be written down to experience. When we get back the British Gas engineer arrives unannounced and asks if it is OK to service my central heating. I tell him he is welcome to get on with it and that it makes a change to talk to a human being rather than a voice processing system. He seems a decent sort, so I make him a gift of a pot of tea and a plate of oaties, which he seems to eat with relish. When he has finished, he tells me that he is allowed 58 minutes per job including travel time. What about the other two minutes, I ask? That's for paperwork he replies, I time him and it actually takes five. That's privatisation for you, screw the workers, screw the customers and fat bonuses for the bosses! After he leaves, I meditate for half an hour and then head to the Leisure Centre with my swimming gear. I am later than usual today and its a quarter past three when I enter the water, there are quite a few other swimmers, but I know most of them and they make room for me in the open section that covers half the pool. I repeat yesterday's session but am interrupted on the breaststroke 400m with about six lengths to go, as the pool is reconfigured for swimming lessons. This involves putting lane ropes across the width of the pool to provide five swimming areas, four for lessons and the remaining one, at the deep end, for public swimming. There are only three of us in this section, myself and two young lads, so I am able to do my individual medleys across the width of the pool. It is fifteen metres wide and so I do two widths in each stroke, making each medley 120m. The change is interesting, because the turns come quicker and there is less opportunity to breath. After a couple of repeats, I have worked out how many strokes to the width and can tumble turn at the appropriate distance. I warm down with easy eight widths backstroke followed by the same on freestyle. As I shower and dry my hair, I watch the lessons, I know all of the instructors and only one of them can actually swim the strokes correctly. All the rest have passed the ASA examination by rote, the problem with this is, that each child is an individual and needs teaching geared to their specific needs. Perhaps that is asking too much, the kids seem to get there, more or less, eventually. Pete Prestbury who coached with me at one time, used to say that most people learn to swim badly and then practice that for the rest of their lives! After a quick tea in the cafe, I drive to Morrison's to restock on sausage, black pudding and cleaning products and arrive home around six fifteen. Norman sits attentively as I make dinner, nothing flash, roast lamb for a change, in a baguette with tossed salad and oven chips. Norman has a couple of slices chopped small and the remnants of the broth, and the lamb is finally finished. Norman looks disappointed but I am relieved we have eaten it all. Still it was great value, it fed both of us for four days for a fiver. Boring, perhaps, but frugal. They had geese in the freezer cabinet for Xmas, I wonder how long it would take me and Normy to see one of those off? After dinner we go for our walk around the village and bump into one of Norman's fan club, a little girl who lives across the green, she is walking home with her dad and stops to give the old chap a pat. Which he greatly appreciates, his tail going like windscreen wipers set for a cloudburst. When we get back Clement phones from London, he has just been to the gym, he is coming home the weekend after next and we discuss whether Louis would sit through a football match. Sarah is having her wisdom teeth out and Clement and I are looking after Louis while she convalesces. My nickname for Louis, is Chugs, because he comes on like a train and consequently baby sitting has become known as "Chug wrestling", an exercise not for the weak or faint hearted. To be fair he has become slightly more sedate of late, he has been born twelve hundred years too late, he would have made an exceptional Viking! To bed at ten.