Ash, Dai Bach

Wake to the sound of Norman shaking himself, around six thirty and then doze off until a quarter past seven. It is a cloudy morning when we get up, apart from that small margin between the horizon and the sky again. I let the dog out into the garden and check the news of the American presidential election, as expected, Obama has won convincingly. We celebrate, for what it's worth, with a full English breakfast, using the last of the Wiltshire bacon, eggs and black pudding and we need to make an early start, if we are to meet Felicity at the Poppy Seed this morning. So I am dressed, showered and on the road for nine o'clock. The radio has continuous coverage of the US election result, which gets tiresome after a while, so I switch it off. After collecting the terriers from Cherry, we follow the usual route across the Westwood down York Road and then turn right onto Newbald Road and park up. It is a greyish day today, cloudy but with the odd broad vein of blue sky away to the northwest, so it may clear later. Gradually the colour is slowly starting to seep out of the landscape as winter approaches, like an old television that is fading to black and white, or rather light and dark grey. On our way round the common we see the usual suspects, Angela Semple, who gives the terriers a biscuit, Norman is keeping out of the way of her spaniel and later, towards the Mill, Pat Hall and Di Fairhurst. They all ask after Felicity and I tell them I am meeting her for coffee and they send their love. After our walk, on the way back to Cherry, we call at Walkington Manor Farm shop and buy a dozen of their free range eggs. After dropping the terriers back at Two Riggs, Normy and I drive back to town and park down North Bar and then walk the couple of hundred yards to the Poppy Seed. Felicity is already there, with Hannah and Annie, Annie's daughter, Pippa, arrives shortly after me. The old girl is in a good mood, as her anthology of poems is due back from the printers today, but otherwise she is feeling a bit shaky. Hannah is going to see Barbara after coffee, and reports that she, Barbara, is very glad to be back home after her operation. Felicity tires after half an hour, Liz who she calls her Sherpa, dropped her off and I lend her my arm to walk home again. It isn't far, less than 300 yards, but we have to stop twice, whilst she rests against a wall. It means a lot to her, seeing her friends for coffee on a Wednesday and Saturday. After guiding her safely home, Norman and I retrace our steps to the car and drive back via the single track road that follows the river, not wanting to get tangled up in the roadworks on the way to Tickton. When we arrive home, I feed Normy some biscuits, after first storing the eggs in the fridge and then meditate for half an hour. A glass of milk, a couple of oaties and then it is away to Morrison's for fresh sausage, bacon and black pudding, before my swim. The butchers counter has dry cured, smoked, back bacon, freshly made Lincolnshire sausages, but no black pudding, so we buy a roll of Irish Galtea from a counter round the corner. There is no queue at the check out and I arrive at the leisure centre slightly before half past two for my swim. The last class of school children are still in the water, using the end four lanes, but it is otherwise quiet and I share a double lane with one other swimmer. Not having swam since last Friday, I am feeling rather good and feel like I am flying through the water. I warm up on 400m backstroke and follow this with 400m breaststroke and then the same again on freestyle before switching to 4 x 200m individual medley. By now the children have gone and I slide under the lane rope into an individual lane, which is safer for butterfly and backstroke when swimming medley. After warming down, I make way to the cafe, after showering and changing. The changing rooms are starting to fill up with harassed mum's changing their toddlers, for the swimming lessons that start at four. The cafe is also busy, as a gymnastics class runs on a Wednesday and a clutch of parents and toddlers are watching through the window of the cafe. The leisure centre is well run, well used by all ages and well loved by Beverley folk. After my tea, I drive home by the main road, which is free again, as the roadworks are suspended for rush hour. Norman is waiting for his tin and after feeding him, we walk down Carr Lane as the dusk settles. He does his duty and then we play the praise and pat game all the way home. Indoors I make dinner, a freshly made steak mince burger, with oven chips and tossed salad and a glass of claret. I have a rare appetite after my swim, but perhaps may have been a little carried away by my enthusiasm at being back in the water. A little later my daughter, Sarah, phones and tells me about Clement in London and asks if I will take Louis to school on Friday morning, as she has an early start at the podiatry clinic. Later I compose a comic ode for Felicity, it's called, "Ash, Dai Bach", and only works with a pronounced Welsh dialect, with dramatic pauses and if school is pronounced as skull.

Ash, Dai Bach? I knew him well,
Came from Cwmbran, I heard tell,
Ashley Dylan Jones in full,
sat next to me in village school,
Not that Ash, Dai Bach, you say,
But some fungal blight on its way,
Remember now, I'd forgotten!
In Denmark's state, something's rotten.

Not up to the old girls standard, but it might make her smile. To bed at eleven.