Floods of laughter

It was raining when I went to bed last night and raining when I awoke around three o'clock and it is still raining now, as I pull the curtains at eight. Norman starts down the path towards the lawn, but hesitates and wants to turn back because of the weather and has to be encouraged to complete the trip. I make my way to the kitchen and fill the kettle with water to make coffee and then put on the stove for breakfast. Normy runs back into the house and then rolls on the hall carpet to dry himself, while I hurry to close the garden room door again, against the wind and rain. Somehow a cooked breakfast always tastes better with the prospect of foul weather facing you and after breakfast and a shower, we venture out into the rain for Norman's walk, before I go to church. The golf umbrella I carry has to be quickly folded, because of the strength of the wind and the rain beats cold and hard against my face, Norman delivers treasure even before we get out of the cul de sac, in which my bungalow sits, but we proceed to the end of Green Lane and through the snickett on to Carr Lane, before turning tail and returning home. I let my little dog off the lead and he pauses for a long pee, before hurrying back home to his warm bed by the radiator. I change out of my wet dog walking pants and cagoule and don more respectable clothes for church, before driving to Saint John's and parking a little distance beyond Sarah's house. There is just time for me to call in to see how she is, after the extraction of her wisdom teeth yesterday, before the service starts at ten thirty. Sarah is up and about, her face not too badly swollen, she is making some orthotic insoles for Clement, before he returns to university this evening, and says she will be staying home tomorrow, as she doesn't want to risk her raw gums becoming infected, so I agree to collect Louis from school and take him for his swimming lessons later. The bad weather has affected the turnout for mass, but those of us that have braved the storm, make a decent fist of the hymns and are cheered up by the presence of some local schoolchildren, who are also selling cakes in the hall afterwards, to raise money for their charity to aid Uganda. After mass, I buy half a dozen mince pies from them for Leslie, I had intended to make some more oaties, but was too tired after "tossing the chugs", yesterday. When I switch my phone back on, I find I have three messages, one from Hahne, giving me the address for Annie in Walkington, who I am due to collect and transport to Hahne's house for lunch, one from Annie cancelling lunch because of a flood in Walkington and one from Felicity asking what time I am collecting her. By this time I have almost arrived in Walkington, and finding no flood, collect Annie anyway, before driving back to Beverley and picking up Rosemary and Felicity and delivering them to Hahne's house. We arrive at a quarter past twelve and thankfully, the rain has at last stopped. The lunch is in aid of age concern, and has been cooked by Tina Cerruti, who runs one of the oldest and best restaurants in Beverley, Hahne has collected the food from the restaurant, while I collected the other guests. We are offered sherry before eating, which I decline, as I have been promised some ice cold dill schnapps, served Scandinavian style, in a frozen glass, and need to limit my alcohol consumption as I am driving everyone home again. We are served smoked salmon as a starter and the dill in the schnapps combines with the fish to give a sort of Gravadlax effect. Very satisfying, I could get used to the schnapps, the main course is traditional roast turkey and trimmings, but is free range and has a tangy smoky flavour, quite different from the usual dry tasteless, cardboardy meat, associated with Bernard Matthews. For desert we have ground almonds in cream, with a hot cherry sauce and red or white wine by choice. The lunch lasts until three and is accompanied by much laughter and merriment, until it is time to take everyone home. It is decided we will drop Annie in Walkington first, and drive down York Road, where the southernmost stretch of the Westwood is under three feet of water, in precisely the place that Yorkshire Water have just spent over a million pounds and six months effort installing a massive storage tank, in order to prevent exactly this situation recurring. (It was extensively flooded in 2007). A little further on, we turn left down Newbald Road, where I usually park my car before walking the dogs of a morning, a small river is flowing down the hill, parallel to the road, as water pours off the saturated higher ground towards Walkington. The flooding is not as bad as it was five years ago, but any more rain could prove catastrophic. We deliver Annie home safely and then Rosemary and Felicity, before I drive home to Tickton. The small lakes of Friday on Swinemoor have become much more impressive and the river Hull is within a foot of the top of the levee. The river is still tidal here and if the flow of water downstream increases and coincides with a high tide, there could be serious problems. However there is a mechanical flood barrage in Hull, that can be lowered in precisely this event, I just hope the environment agency are on top of their game. Paradoxically the sky has cleared and the sun is shining brightly, as I park up outside my house, Norman is waiting in anticipation of lunch, and I feed him with dry dog food before walking him round the village, apart from some large puddles, Tickton is, so far, unscathed. Norman is returned to his basket, before I drive to Molescroft to see Leslie, our usual coffee morning switched to tea time, because of the lunch arrangements. Leslie is waiting for me and seems frail, but the colour in his complexion looks noticeably better. He tells me that the cardiologist has changed his medication and he is waiting to see if he feels better, in the meantime he says that the new medicines are keeping him awake. I make coffee for us and open the mince pies, we chat about the weather, Europe, the Leveson enquiry and anything else I can think of other than his health. Once he is engaged in conversation, he suddenly seems more like the old Leslie, it is such a shame that he couldn't be persuaded to come to lunch. Some company and a good laugh would have done him the world of good! I leave around a quarter past five, drive home, give Norman a tin and then phone my brother, Graham and his wife Lilliane, in Rotterdam to make arrangements for collection on Thursday. Afterwards, Norman sits on my knee and I read until eight and then have a supper of oatmeal crackers and cheese. My usual weekend routine of housekeeping has been disrupted by family and friends, but it has been a good disruption and I can always catch up later. To bed at ten thirty.