Sick friends and floods

We sleep in this morning, after a disturbed night, finally arising at eight thirty, to yet another wet morning. Norman braves the rain to perform his morning toilet in the garden and is rewarded by a full English breakfast, or at least his share of it, when he returns. After breakfast I switch on my iPad to read the Guardian, only to find that it has not yet downloaded and further investigation reveals that I need to renew my subscription. Instead I access their free website and find it is more than adequate for what I require. I may well use the subscription fee for an audiobook or cinema subscription instead. Before showering, I run off a few copies of John Geekie's sketches of Norman, that some friends have asked for, and which I intend taking to the Poppy Seed cafe this morning. We leave the house shortly before ten thirty, drive to Norwood and park in our usual place, before walking through the rain to town. Normy's blue jacket is quickly soaked, but fortunately I have his towel in my bag, along with the copies of the sketches in a plastic folder, so as soon as we arrive, I towel him dry and sit him on my knee. Hahne is there with Annie and Jill, accompanied by two cousins, who are visiting from Canada. Our usual table by the window has been taken and so we are squeezed together on a table towards the rear of the cafe, I pass out copies of the sketches and notice that John Geekie and his wife are sitting at a table opposite to us, he comes over and hands me half a dozen envelopes, inside which are laminated copies of Normy's sketches, as well as an exquisite water colour that John has painted of Beverley Minster. I am overwhelmed by the kindness, and pass envelopes to friends, who agree that we must find some way to reciprocate, but John has already left. Felicity is feeling under the weather and can't make it this morning, so I promise to call round and see her later, but her sister, Joy arrives, shortly followed by Rosemary and Sylvia. Soon the little cafe is abuzz with conversation and steam rises from all the damp clothing. We leave shortly after twelve and make our way back to the car through the incessant rain, the river seeping over its banks, which are fortunately holding, to the North of Hull Bridge. It is only pasture that is being flooded, but the rain is forecast to continue until Monday, Christmas Eve, so it may yet be a wet holiday for some poor souls. Norman gets another towelling when we arrive safely indoors and I make myself more tea, before ironing the last of shirts, while I listen to a repeat of last night's "Any Questions", on the radio. There is much fuss about Andrew Mitchell and Plebgate, neither the police or the politicians, nor the media, emerge with any honour from the incident, and that is the nub of the issue for me. The loss of a sense of honourable conduct in public life, the last honourable figure I can remember, was Peter Carrington, who resigned as a result of the Argentine invasion of the Falklands. I boil some water and make spaghetti for lunch, with the remaining Bolognese sauce from the slow cooker, Norman is delighted. Afterwards I put my feet up for an hour and find I have nodded off, when I wake up it has stopped raining, so I take Normy for a walk round the village, he isn't keen on going out in the dark, although it isn't cold and the wind has dropped, but eventually we manage it. Despite being old, he needs the exercise, otherwise he will pile on the pounds, as he eats like a wolf. When we get back, I try to check the football scores, to see if Hull City have held on to second place in the Championship, but the BT Internet service has crashed again and so I have to use the 3G network instead, miraculously I have two bars, just enough signal to get the BBC football website. Hull are still second, the other contenders lost or drew. The rain starts again and continues falling as I drive into Beverley and visit Felicity, I have found a picture frame for the sketch of Norman, and so I take this and a Christmas card for her. She looks well, but tells me she has fluid on her legs, and is supposed to keep them elevated, until the diuretics she has been given take effect. She reads me a lovely poem she has found and we resolve to take Hahne and Annie for afternoon tea to the new hotel in Norwood House on Christmas Eve, after first ascertaining that they will be open. This cheers her up and gives her something to look forward to, even though we are not yet sure that the others are free. I arrive home for nine and make a light supper of tossed salad and pecorino shavings, and as I finish it, a text comes in from Leslie's daughter, Margaret, to say that her dad has called 999 again and is back in hospital, and that he will be transferred from emergency admissions to the geriatric ward at Castle Hill tomorrow. I text back to say I will try to see him after church tomorrow. It seems that my old friend is too frightened to live alone at home any longer, it is desperately sad, but perhaps he needs to be found somewhere he can be looked after and where he will feel safe. His son in law, who used to work for social services, was quietly investigating the places with the best reputations in the area. I shall call him tomorrow. To bed at eleven, and still no Internet service.