An early morning run to the airport

The alarm goes off at half past four, my feet find my slippers and I make my way into the kitchen where I turn the heating on, load the toaster with rye bread and set the kettle to boil, before easing Norman from his warm bed and setting him down on the garden path. The garden is damp but the rain has stopped, I leave Normy to his toilet and return to the kitchen, where I make a pot of strong, black, Italian coffee, butter my toast and spread apricot conserve on it. It is too early, even for me, for a full English, so Norman has to make do with Bakers dry dog food, which he quite likes. Without rushing, breakfast, reading the paper, showering and dressing takes an hour and a half, and sets the proper cadence for the day. I collect Normy, and his basket, before driving to Sarah's house to pick up Clement and Alice, only to find my granddaughter has succumbed to the winter vomiting bug and so is unfit to fly. Her dad, Bertrand, will be disappointed of course, but these things happen! Clement is frantically repacking, in order to put the presents for his dad, stepmother, Claire and his half brothers, Humbert and Cyprian, into one case. We leave the house by twenty past six and take the York Road over the Wolds towards Market Weighton, an enormous almost full moon, hanging low in the western sky, which is occasionally covered by low clouds. There is very little traffic on the roads, until we cross the A1 at Pontefract. Most people probably taking holiday to connect Christmas to New Year. There are continuous roadworks from the M1 junction for twenty miles, until we start to climb the Pennines towards Saddleworth Moor, but then the downhill glide past Rochdale, Oldham and Stockport, is smooth and effortless. We arrive at Terminal 3, Manchester Airport, where we encounter our first traffic congestion, before I drop Clement off, around half past eight, in plenty of time for his flight to Nantes. In minutes I am back on the M60 ring road and shortly after, in the filter lane for the M62, when Clement phones to say he is overweight with his luggage and enquires if I can come back to collect some of it, but by now the shoppers are emerging, the traffic much heavier, and so it isn't practicable, but he is a clever lad and will figure some way of sorting something out, either posting some stuff on or using Alice's unclaimed allowance. I am feeling ready for a break and some tea, but motorway services leave me cold, so I push on towards York, where I have arranged to visit my cousin Irene and her husband, David about eleven thirty. It is only ten o'clock when I reach the York ring road, and David has an appointment to attend beforehand, so I call in at a nearby Sainsbury's, to do some shopping and take on board a tea and scone buying some dry cured, smoked, streaky bacon and outdoor reared, pork sausages, as well as a large pack of smoked salmon, which is on offer at half price. It is still only half past ten, so I potter into TK Maxx next door, which looks like it has been looted by Atilla the Hun following the Boxing Day sale, nevertheless I manage to find a terracotta Romertopf, in the sale for a giveaway £6 and stow that safely in the boot of my car, before driving to Irene's house. My cousin, Michael, answers the door, he is visiting from Germany, where he has lived for the last thirty years and is staying with his sister until the New Year. David is still not back from Huddersfield, where he has his meeting, so Irene makes tea and serves mince pies and a slice of Christmas cake. They have had children and grandchildren staying until yesterday and are enjoying the return to a little peace and quiet. David arrives back around noon and invites me to stay for lunch, but my scone, mince pie and Xmas cake mean I am too full to accept. David and Irene have a flat in Scarborough and they are driving to it for the weekend tomorrow and so I arrange to meet up with them there on Sunday, after church and then leave to drive home around a quarter to two. Sarah phones to say she is going out and for me to collect Norman after five, as I drive along the A64, before turning off on the road to Hull and Beverley. The river Derwent has flooded the vale of York and the fields to either side of the road have become huge lakes, on cue the rain starts again. I realise, passing Market Weighton, that the route to West Yorkshire and the West Coast, is probably quicker this way, since the A1/M1 link road has been built, than my usual route through Holme on Spalding Moor and Howden. I will use it the next time I visit Jackie, it also has the advantage of a stopover to visit Irene and David en route. By the time I arrive home, at two thirty, I have mentally planned a dinner, utilising my new Romertopf. After switching the heating on, I brown a couple of lamb steaks in butter and garlic, add some chopped onions, and when they have softened and caremalised, sprinkle a lamb oxo cube over the meat and then deglaze the pan with a little water, before removing it from the heat. Next I peel some potatoes, parsnip and onion that are cut into large chunks to make a bed for the meat and place these in my new roaster, pour over the meat and onion gravy and add some frozen broad beans, carrots and Mediterranean vegetables, before setting the oven on a moderate heat and leaving it to cook for a couple of hours. By now the exertions of the day are catching up with me, so I meditate for half an hour and then doze off, until it is time to collect Norman at five. Alice is still in bed and Sarah and Louis arrive home, just as I knock on the door. Sarah has to dash past me for the toilet and suspects she may have picked up Alice's bug, so I give Louis a hug and after having ascertained that Clement arrived safely in Nantes, take Normy and his basket and return home. The aroma of the lamb casserole greets us, as soon as we walk through the door, a perfect winter dinner for a cold damp night. Norman can hardly wait for me to serve it and dances around my feet, whilst I ladle the casserole into two bowls, one large and one small. After cutting Normy's meat into bite size portions and letting it cool a little first, dinner is served. The sweet juices from the carrots and parsnips have melded with the lamb gravy to produce a wonderful flavour and we both clear our bowls, mine is aided by a glass of Rioja, the balance of which I take into the Garden Room, where I listen to the news before taking Norman for his evening walk around the village. The rain has thankfully stopped and a full moon flirts with us between low clouds, but my little dog doesn't really like the cold, dank nights and is glad to return indoors. My cousin Michael told me that the area near Nuremberg, where he lives, has seen temperatures into the low sixties Fahrenheit over Xmas, almost unprecedented. I am too tired to read, or even listen to my audiobook, so resort to my logic puzzle book for half an hour and then turn in at ten o'clock.