Scarborough Fair, (In spite of the rain.)

The alarm sounds at seven, outside it is still dark, but when I throw open the bedroom window, at least there is no rain falling outside. A busy day lies ahead, we breakfast on smoked salmon on cream cheese, mine on rye toast, Norman's on rye bread, cut into small pieces. After showering and dressing for church, I give the old boy a quick toilet walk down the cul de sac and then head off to nine o'clock mass at Saint John's. The church is only half full this morning, but the later mass, at ten thirty, is usually more popular, as it allows a Sunday lie in. Today is the feast of the Holy Family, and as we are still celebrating Christmas, the hymns are nearly all carols, the homily is about family life and the importance of forgiveness, a sentiment with which I agree, but it is also, to my ears at least, paternalistic and anachronistic. A real challenge for all religions, but particularly Christianity, is how to evolve to a more enlightened understanding, without being driven by passing fads of popular culture. The answer lies surely in deep reflection, contemplation and prayer for an understanding of the meaning of Christ's ministry. At some point the Catholic Church will need to embrace a change regarding its attitude to gender. Paradoxically, father Roy, our priest, is an ex Anglican and married, his wife Sue a stalwart of the Church and his son an altar boy, who towers head and shoulders above him, but he left the Anglican communion because he couldn't accept women priests. He is a man for whom I have both great respect and affection, but on this point I think he is wrong. Surely one can accommodate gender equality and still preserve spiritual values and the fact that ex Anglican priests can bring their spouses and families into church life, supports the case for the normalisation of a married priesthood. After communion I drive back to Tickton and collect Norman, as well as a packet of Danish pastries to accompany our coffee, and head for Molescroft, to visit Leslie. He answers the door in his pyjamas and dressing gown and tells me he hasn't slept all night and needs to go back to bed, he looks very down and sorry for himself, but there is nothing much I can do, so I hand him the pastries, tell him to rest and promise to ring tomorrow. Norman and I drive off in the direction of Scarborough, where we are visiting my cousin Irene and her family, but stop en route, in Leven, to let Norman have a short walk, in case he needs to relieve himself. Before starting off again, I notice that I have a text from Leslie's son in law, William, thanking me for looking in on him last night, I reply saying that my old friend is showing all the classical signs of a depressive illness and perhaps some treatment may help. William later responds saying he has been thinking along similar lines and will follow up on this. As we pass Bridlington and drive down the hill it starts to rain heavily, to our right lies Filey Bay, it's beautiful curving sweep, punctuated by squally rain and the odd shaft of sunlight. We arrive at North Bay in Scarborough, shortly before midday, to find my cousin Michael, Irene's brother and her son Andrew, on the pavement outside the flat. They tell me that David and Irene are attending a later Mass, as it took longer than expected to get my cousin ready. She has early onset Alzheimer's, so any timing arrangements are always approximate. It is decided that we will walk into town and meet them there, so armed with a brolly, and carrying Norman's towel in a carrier bag we set off. Andrew has decided to stay over this evening and drive back to work, in Berkshire, in the morning and needs a clean shirt, so we call in at TK Maxx, where he buys one in a plain blue. I wrap Norman in his towel and stuff him in a trolley, which we push round the store, he is glad to be out of the rain and so lies quietly and hardly anyone notices him until we are passing the checkout on our way out, and by then it is too late. We still haven't heard anything from Irene and David, so we make our way to the seafront, the rain has eased to a light drizzle and Andrew wants an ice cream, so we walk to Paccito's, which serves the best ice cream in Scarborough. They also serve tea and coffee, so I camouflage Norman in his blue towel again and sit him on my knee, one of the waitresses spots him and tells me firmly, but politely, that dogs aren't allowed. I try the "old blind dog routine", and she says blind dogs aren't allowed either, which I challenge, as it would be discriminatory and she checks and says he can stay, even when I admit that he only has cataracts. It is only later that I realise that my glasses, which are reactalites, have turned dark, despite the rain and she probably thought it was me who had the sight impairment! David eventually phones and says they have returned to the flat because of the rain. Reinvigorated by the tea, we walk through the crowds and round the headland on the promenade and into North Bay, before making our way up the winding path to the cliff top and the flat. Despite the rain, it has been a pleasant walk in the fresh air and Norman got his second wind and was trotting along in his blue coat like a "good un". The flat is on the top floor and has magnificent views of the castle and North Bay, a lift takes us up there. As soon as Norman enters the flat he remembers that David gave him roast beef the last time we came, and after I have removed his wet coat and dried him, he does his cute puppy routine, wriggling on his back and then wagging his tail for David. When I explain what is going on, he says that, coincidentally, they had roast beef last night, and proceeds to cut Normy a slice and chop it up for him. By now it is three o'clock and it is decided that we will walk back into town for fish and chips at "Mother Hubbard's", leaving Norman asleep in front of the fire. In the event "Mother Hubbard's", isn't open on Sundays and we end up in another restaurant, round the corner, called "Wacker's", which is OK, but not in the same league as our first choice. We all order haddock, chips, tea and bread and butter, and when it arrives it is freshly cooked, crisp and OK. We stay and chat for a while, before making our way back to the flat, where Norman wags his tail in greeting, and then we watch a DVD, until we leave around six thirty. It takes an hour to drive home through intermittent rain, and when we get in, I give Norman some dry food, open a bottle of Peroni and fill a ramekin with peanuts, before settling down with a killer sudoku until bedtime. It has been a good day, but tomorrow, New Year's Eve, I need to have a day at home and catch up on some housework. To bed for ten.