Dutch Elf Disease

Not eating too much in the evening, is a good idea, and I slept better last night. The central heating clicks on at six and I lie in that pleasant state, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, until Norman decides it is time to get up. He shakes himself, sneezes a couple of times and then gives three little barks, just to let me know it is time for breakfast. When I shoo him out into the garden, it is still dark, a few stars are visible in the sky and it has remained dry overnight, so perhaps my shirts will dry on the line, providing the weather stays fine. I am still feeling under the weather, so I share a sausage with Norman, and limit myself to a rasher of bacon, a slice of black pudding, a tomato and an egg. The fresh Italian coffee, helps to bring me almost back to life and so I decide to wait until I have showered and dressed, before deciding whether I am up to going to the Poppy Seed. When the sun rises, around eight, it is a clear, bright, day and I hang out the ten shirts I washed yesterday on the line. I get almost no sun on my garden between November and February, but there is a slight breeze, so my shirts may well dry, if my luck holds. I finish my coffee in the Garden Room and read Saturday's Guardian, at least eighty percent of which, has already been covered on the BBC radio four news. After a shave, cleaning my teeth and a shower, I feel almost human and decide that I shall venture into town, and so dress Normy in his new coat and drive to Norwood, parking in our usual place opposite the cycle shop, before walking the half mile to North Bar. Beverley is busy with Xmas shoppers and the market is thronging with people as we pass, arriving at the cafe around twenty past ten. Our usual table by the window is free, so I dry Norman on the towel, that I have brought for that purpose from my bag, then settle him on my knee and order tea. Felicity arrives ten minutes later, aided by her daughter Melissa, who wants to go shopping, so I say I will lend her mum an arm to get home later. She is shortly followed by Barbara and Jill, and later by Sylvia and Julia. The talk is all about the protest meeting, organised by the Civic Society, against the proposed selling of Longcroft School in Molescroft, to property developers, who propose to build a new school somewhere else. Beverley Town Council has no control over this, as the decisions are all made at the next level, East Riding Council. The leader of that council, Stephen Parnaby, appears far too close to the speculators and developers and his integrity is doubted by many of the older residents. After tea, I walk Felicity home and then return to the car, calling at the supermarket for some fresh basil and some grated cheese for my Parmagianna. We return home for twelve thirty, I dry the aubergine slices and then shallow fry them a lovely golden brown in olive oil, using the wok that Sarah bought me for my birthday. I construct two individual, six inch oval dishes of Parmagianna, lining the bottom of the vessels with Bolognese sauce, on top of which I lay fresh basil leaves, then a layer of grated cheese and finally a layer of aubergine, repeating the process until the dish is full, finally topping it with a final layer of cheese. (In this case two complete layers of each). I find it tastes better, if you leave the basil to infuse through the dish for a day, in the fridge, before cooking for forty five minutes in a moderate oven. There is just enough Bolognese sauce left to coat some spaghetti, so Normy and I share a spag bog for lunch, then lie down for an hour to rest, as I have run out of steam. We get up for three, I make a pot of tea and then iron the ten shirts from the line. They are not fully dry, but OK to iron, as I listen to Hull City beat Watford 2:1 away. There are ten shirts, and I take my time, sipping tea as I go, and by the time they are finished and packed away, the match has ended. Norman is pestering for his dinner, so I open a tin, feed him and then check my phone and email. Sam has sent me a text, with a photo of the girls on their way to the Panto, Rebecca wearing her Fairisle, hat, scarf, and gloves, that I gave her for her birthday. There are also emails from my sister, Jackie and Graham's wife, Liliane, after replying to them, I dress Normy in his coat and take him for his evening walk round the village. He is becoming a connoisseur of places in which to lay his treasure and likes to sniff every blade of grass, before deciding which particular place to honour with his deposit. Perhaps the fact that I immediately collect it, wrap it in kitchen roll, and then transport it to the nearest available bin, adds to his grandiosity. We play the usual "praise and pat", game on our way home down Green Lane. Once indoors, I heat a tin of tomato soup for supper and then settle down to finish my book. I still feel under the weather, but at least I am only walking wounded. Liliane says, that her friend from Maastricht, informs her that half the town there is down with a flu/cold bug. On the Metro to Boers on Tuesday, a young man was sneezing all over me in the carriage, he was quite short, and could well have been from Maastricht. Perhaps I have contracted Dutch Elf disease!