Bonfire Night

I didn't quite close the curtains last night and the light from the gap remaining, rouses me from my slumbers at a twenty to seven. Outside it is a clear morning, the sun not yet risen, but announcing its arrival by a pink and gold luminescence to the south and east. Norman trots down the path, urinates nonchalantly and then runs back into the hall. In cold weather he stations himself strategically next to the hall radiator but with a view of the stove, so that he can keep his bum warm and survey the progress of breakfast simultaneously. I am frying breakfast on the electric hob, which I don't like, much preferring gas, apart from the greater sensitivity of control, gas also gives you a visual indication of which of the rings is working. Electric hobs are more sneaky, on several occasions I have arrived bleary eyed in the kitchen and switched on the front right hob, and then waited fifteen minutes for it to heat up, with no effect. Only to discover that I had, in fact, selected the rear right, or left. Normally this would not be a problem, other than a delay to cooking breakfast, but my cooker has stainless steel hob covers and every time I cock up like this, they glow red, and once cooled are permanently discoloured. Today, I screw up again, but correct the error within minutes and cool the cover with a hiss of steam in the sink. Once breakfast is genuinely under way and the smell of sausage, bacon and black pudding floats on the air, Normy wriggles on his back on the hall carpet in happy anticipation. He is still on his diet, but I have a cunning plan, I only cook enough for me, that way I am fairly stingy with how much he gets, a quarter of a sausage, a quarter of a slice of black pudding and the fat off the bacon. This way we both stay slim! After breakfast, I strip and change the bed linen, placing the soiled linen in the washing machine before showering and dressing for the day. We leave the house, myself and Norman, slightly after nine, once the rush hour traffic has subsided. We collect Dolly and Teddy from Cherry and arrive on Newbald Road by a quarter past nine. Roy's Sandwich van is parked up by the kerb and the eponymous Roy shouts to me that I have left my headlights on, but the Chrysler has a "see you home feature", and they douse automatically as we enter the woods, I shout back to Roy, a tall cadaverous figure of a man, who confirms this is the case. Away from the road, I let Norman and then Teddy off the lead. The latter has been groomed by Pip's mobile groomer and looks terrible, his lovely, scruffy, Yorkshire terrier coat looks like it has been hacked off with a knife and fork. He couldn't care less and is happy to chase rabbits and squirrels through the brambles. It is a clearing day with a pale lemon sun and a steady breeze out of the Northwest, the trees that shed early, ash, beech and horse chestnut, are already almost bare. When we come out of the woods into the pasture, council workers are stacking timber on the opposite side of Westwood Road for the Lion's bonfire this evening. We walk the whole common today, the terriers not having been off the lead for four day. Towards the western edge, is a large patch of gorse, home to many rabbits, I struggle to find any yellow gorse blossoms, but eventually spot a few, high up and facing south. As the morning unfolds, the weather gets better and it is bright and sunny by the time we enter the oak woods at Burton Bushes. The oak leaves scent the air with their characteristic tannin smell, gradually they are taking over the ancient woodland. We stop and sit for a while on Brandon Barker's Bench, Dolly jumps up and nuzzles against my leg, her way of letting me know she has missed me. The peace in this woodland glade soothes my soul and ten minutes here is like a short holiday. As we leave the woods and make our way back downhill towards the car, there is sufficient warmth in the November sun to bring a smile to my face. Perhaps another lunch outside this year may be on the cards? In the event it spits with rain when I arrive back in Tickton, after first dropping the terriers back at Two Riggs. I feed Norman some dry biscuits and then heat up one of my pies in the microwave and serve it with peas from the slow cooker. We had been walking for a couple of hours and comfort food hits the spot. After lunch the rain has blown over and I chance drying the clean bedding on the line, before meditating for a while. Louis has to be collected at a quarter past three and there are roadworks on the main road into Beverley, so I leave by ten to and use the single track road down to the bridge at Weel, that runs parallel with the river. Several other people have had the same idea, so I arrive in the playground just in the nick of time. Louis has had P.E. and has dressed himself, his shirt buttons are misaligned and his sweater is in his book bag. His teacher, Mrs. Wildboar, apologises, but she has twenty children to see to and it takes seconds only to straighten him out. On our way back to Tickton, we stop at the swing park and Louis plays on the roundabouts with three girls, who are roughly his age. We have just time for his meal, ante pasta as usual and then we set off for Beverley and his swimming lessons. Grade two swimmers start half an hour earlier than grade one, so he has to report to the pool for five o' clock. The parking at the leisure centre is horrendous again, but somehow I deliver him on time. Anne Fahy, now Gorman, who used to work for me in marketing at KCom, is there with her little boy, also a Louis, so we chat for a while as they swim. She reminds me of the first time she saw me, many years ago, apparently I breezed into the marketing communications office and gave her an urgent press release. She complained that she had other important work and was told by me, apparently, that it was a "JFDI", which she didn't understand, until her boss explained that it stood for , "Just F****ng Do It! Not my invention but a useful way of cutting through the crap when something needs to be done immediately. While I am there, I check with Cathy on reception and am told that it should be OK to bring Leslie for some physio, provided it is before lunch. I dry Louis, dress him and take him home for six. Rockets are already soaring into the sky and loud bangs punctuate the night. Sarah tells me that she and Richard are taking Louis to the bonfire with Alice and that I am welcome to join them, but there is a problem. I can't possibly take Norman and I can't leave him on his own either, so I have to give it a miss this year. The old boy is waiting for me as I get in and sits on my knee until the worst of the noise subsides. Afterwards I eat the rest of the ante pasta I bought for Louis with some crusty bed and then turn in early, around nine thirty, as I intend to walk the dogs early doors, before driving to Scarborough for lunch with my cousin Irene and her husband.