The unintended consequences of the Festival of Christmas

We get up early, around seven O'clock, I want to take Norman out for his walk before Mass at ten thirty, because I am visiting Leslie afterwards. The feeling of tiredness persists as do my swollen glands and the soreness in my throat, but coffee, breakfast and a shower will help me to get started. It is dry outside and by the time we have eaten our usual English breakfast, the sun has risen on a fine but windy day. I read the Observer over my coffee, then  shower and dress, before walking Normy as far as the little bridge over the dyke. It is two weeks since we have been down this path and all the ditches, on either side of Carr Lane, are full to overflowing with water, the fields are saturated also and still retain puddles as large as ponds. We return home for a quarter to ten and I have time to write Leslie a Xmas card and box an espresso maker that Sarah gave me as a present a couple of years ago. While it works OK, it can only make two small cups of espresso at one time, hence I tend to use an ordinary filter, but it will be ideal for Leslie. I also put Janet Gleeson's "The Arcanum", in the box, which I finished last night. Leslie's degree was in chemical engineering, so he should enjoy it. I leave the house at ten pas ten for the five minute drive into Beverley and am surprised by the heavy traffic so early on a Sunday morning, and then remember that today is Beverley's festival of Christmas. Consequently there isn't a parking space to be had within a mile of Saint John's and I drive all the way to Molescroft without finding one. In desperation I turn round and drive back towards church and turn into the courtyard of Peel Veterinary practice, which is accessed via a narrow passageway under the houses adjacent to Saint John's. Not many people know of this parking resource, but unfortunately other parishioners have been forced into the same choice and consequently the courtyard is full. Worse than that, it is so full that there isn't even room to turn the car around, and I am forced to reverse the car back the way I have entered. This is no mean task, as there is only a foot clearance on either side and the passageway has a slight, but distinct, kink halfway through. It takes care driving through it facing forward, but is a nightmare reversing unaided. I catch my right hand wing mirror, which mercifully folds inwards, and have to very gently manoeuvre forwards and backwards several times, before I extricate myself without further damage. It is now ten thirty five, and I have still nowhere to park, the service started five minutes ago and it will take me at least ten to fifteen minutes to drive to a free spot and then walk back again. Mass is clearly not meant to be this morning, so I accept the inevitable and drive to Morrisons, where I buy some fresh coffee bags for the espresso machine for Leslie, as the ones I have are two years old and probably now devoid of flavour. By the time I have done this, it is time to see him, and I drive back to Molescroft and park outside his house at Cedar Grove. Leslie is waiting for me, he has aged since I last saw him and his voice is dry and weak. Nevertheless he is pleased by his card and presents and takes a keen interest as I fill the espresso machine with water and fresh coffee pods and set it to work. In two minutes it has produced two small, but rather good, espressos, complete with froth. Leslie tells me he has felt a little better of late, but still isn't sleeping well. He has an appointment with his cardiologist on Thursday and suspects it is a side effect of his new medication. I stay with him for an hour and help him with some computing problems he is having on his online banking, and then let him rest, as he is visiting his friend, Mary, this afternoon. I arrive home for a quarter to one, feed Norman and then put the two individual dishes of Parmagianna in the oven to cook, before making a goat cheese salad as a starter. I eat the salad with a little crusty bread and then realise that I have no appetite for the Parmagianna, when they emerge golden and spitting from the oven. It isn't a problem, as they taste even better cold than hot, but suddenly I feel exhausted and decide to lie down for an hour, and soon fall fast asleep. When I awake, it is four o'clock and it is starting to get dark outside, after a pot of tea, I feel better and then feed Norman, before starting my new book, " Gravity and Grace", by Simone Weil. The introduction by Gustav Thibon, who knew her, is superb and I finish this, before taking Normy for his walk round the village. It is a lovely clear evening, not too cold, but with a brisk westerly wind, the sky bright with stars and several houses resplendent with their twinkling Christmas lights. I love Christmas, but don't really enjoy all the hype and commercialism that seems to whip people into a shopping frenzy for weeks before the event and I generally try to procure my groceries at off peak hours. Perhaps not having a TV means I am less brainwashed, or just meaner. Once we make the turn into Carr Lane from the Post Office, Normy knows we are heading home and picks up the pace, fairly sprinting ahead, once we are through the snickett and I let him off the lead. His new blue jacket appearing a very dark green, almost black, beneath the yellow sodium lights of the street lamps. Indoors again, I dine on a cold Parmagianna and then let Norman clean the dish. Afterwards he sits on my knee while I read more of Simone Weil, she is deep, mystical and thought provoking, It will need several days, perhaps weeks to percolate through my subconscious before it is appropriate to comment. Of one thing there is no doubt, she was a deeply spiritual soul.