Lincoln and a fish and chip tea!

We wake at a quarter to eight, and decide , tentatively, that I feel a little better. This is confirmed, when after breakfast and a shower I set out for the day, but first phone my consultant urologist about a follow up appointment, after the positive PSA result. It transpires that the hospital had dropped me from his panel, as I hadn't seen him for a couple of years, he and I had previously agreed that there was no point in going to see him if the PSA blood tests stayed negative. The hospital tells me it had written to my GP telling him that he now needed to make an appointment for me and, as yet, the doctor had not replied. I call my GP practice and they confirm that a letter has, in fact, been dispatched on Monday. Neither of them thought it necessary to let me know! From the web link that Sarah forwarded for the Johns Hopkins oncology site in the USA, I realise that treatment is not urgently required, but it seems inappropriate that both the hospital and the GP practice thought it advisable to let someone know their cancer had returned. From what I have already learned, the most important thing is to determine how quickly the tumour is growing, at the moment it is microscopic, but its rate of growth will indicate how aggressive it is, and hence how serious. I put in a call to my doctor to suggest that another PSA test, before my specialist appointment comes through, could provide further useful data. The doubling of the PSA from October to January, might suggest something aggressive, but the October reading was only just measurable and therefore not a reliable baseline. A further test, a month after the last one, would provide a better set of comparisons. Unfortunately it is not possible to speak to Dr Pearson and I am advised to call back at 11:45, after surgery. Today is even milder than yesterday and a bright sun is shining out of a clear blue sky as we park on Newbald Road after collecting Dolly and Teddy from Cherry. In the woods the birds are singing happily, perhaps they think that spring has already arrived, I phone Felicity, who confirms that she won't be coming to see "Lincoln", this afternoon and then let Hanne know, in case someone else wants to take the spare place in the car. I could have stayed out longer this morning, the sunshine is delightful, but I am due to collect my passengers at a quarter to one, so we turn back from Black Mill and I drop the terriers back in Cherry for eleven fifteen. On my way home, I call at Morrison's for bread, milk and tomatoes, and then call Dr Pearson, at a quarter to twelve, as requested, he is still busy, but they say he will ring me back. When we arrive home, I give Normy some biscuits and fresh water, before clearing the dog blanket off the back seat and making the car slightly more presentable for my passengers. The phone rings and when I answer, the call has dropped, so I wait for a call back as I change out of my dog walking pants and boots. I have to leave at twelve thirty, so call the surgery to find the Doctor has already left, so I leave a message with the receptionist about the blood test and ask her to pass it on. When I arrive on Albert Terrace, Rosemary has replaced Felicity for the trip and she, Hanne and Thelma, are collected on time and ferried to the cinema, I collect my Orange Wednesday tickets, and we are seated in screen five for the film by one o'clock. The main feature starts twenty minutes later, and it is a masterpiece of collaborative filming, beautifully photographed, with a superb ensemble cast, great script and lovingly directed by Spielberg. It is both grand mythology and a political thriller about the balance and tensions between means and ends, in democracy, the politics of the possible. The cadence of the film is impeccable, neither hurried or boring. Daniel Day Lewis' portrayal of Lincoln, is a centrepiece of excellence in a beautiful, stained glass window that transports me back to the Washington of 1865. We emerge loving Lincoln, for his patience, kindness, determination and political genius, in choosing exactly the right moments at which to make his decisive moves. It is only five hours since the film ended and already I want to see it again. We emerge into the daylight at four and then drive back to Beverley and have tea at Harper's Fish and chip cafe on Lairgate, taking advantage of their, "two for a tenner deal". This provides us each with a medium haddock, chips, mushy peas, tea, bread and butter. The film aroused much enthusiastic discussion, Thelma is both black and a barrister, so the film had extra levels of interest for her, Hanne is Danish and a natural libertarian and Rosemary a retired social worker. Needless to say a good time was had by all, and will, no doubt, be repeated in the future. Back home, Norman is waiting patiently for dinner, which this evening is only a tin of dog food. I call Leslie's daughter, Margaret, for an update, but only get the answer phone, they may be still at the hospital. When I phone Felicity, she sounds much perkier, she has just about recovered from her Norovirus, so I arrange to call with Madiera cake from Marks and Spencer's tomorrow, after I have walked the dogs. Later I listen to my audio book of CJ Sansom's Dominion and then turn in early.

Sick Friends

I wake at half past seven, still feeling tired and aching, but get up, grab my dressing gown and let Normy into the garden. To the East, across the fields, the clouds are salmon pink, grey and blue, the strong Westerly wind that chilled my bones yesterday, has backed to the south and eased. After breakfast, I toy with the idea of ringing Pip to say that I am not up to taking the terriers out, but defer the decision until I have taken a couple of paracetamol and had a shower. Shaved, showered and shampooed, I feel a little better, so dress Norman in his blue, fur lined winter coat and drive to Cherry, where I collect Dolly and Teddy, drive to the Westwood, parking in the space where Roy normally sites his sandwich van at weekends. I struggle to change out of my moccasins and into my Wellies, when you are under the weather, small tasks become more difficult. The dogs sense that I am unwell and are patiently wait until I am properly shod, before releasing them onto the common. It is a couple of degrees warmer than yesterday and the Southwesterly wind is little more than a breeze, so it feels much less cold. The boys from the Grammar school are out running again and pass just in front of the dogs and I, their PE master is a little grey haired man, who is dressed in the same kit as the boys, he looks older than me, but is clearly in charge, marshalling his squad down the muddy slope into Telly Tubby Land. I stop and rest on a bench in front of Black Mill, that is dedicated to Angela's husband Bill, who died five years ago, Dolly jumps up next to me for her lead to be reattached and then the four of us make our way down the hill and back to the car, where I swap my Wellies for shoes again and then drive home, dropping the terriers off en route. Back in Tickton, I make some tea and biscuits and then decide to have a quiet day convalescing at home. Miraculously the laptop manages after two months trying, to download the new iTunes software and I am able to sync my iPhone and iPad, for the first time in ages. Felicity phones about two o'clock to tell me I have Norovirus, it takes a few moments to register that this is also known as the winter vomiting bug, and although I have a runny nose and a temperature, so far at least, no upset stomach. It transpires that she has Norovirus, confirmed by her doctor, and has been violently ill and she has assumed it is the same bug that she has passed on to me. Hopefully not! It seems highly unlikely, however, that she will be able to go to the cinema tomorrow to see "Lincoln", but I shall reserve a final decision about myself, until I see how I am in the morning. I am due to drive Hanne and Thelma to the cinema as well, but at a push, if I am not well enough, Hanne could take her car. My slow cooker makes excellent rice pudding, so I dig out some rice and add a half litre of milk, and put it on its low setting. It takes an hour or so, but it keeps the temperature below the boiling point of the milk, so there is no risk of spills or burning. Around four, I dish out a bowl, adding sweetener, and it is the perfect comfort food and I don't feel like much else. Norman has the leg of lamb bone, which lasts him hours, as he only has his front teeth left. I spend the rest of the day sat in the garden room in my armchair, reading a thriller, it takes no mental effort whatsoever, but keeps me quietly amused until bedtime. Margaret phones, with news of Leslie, but the signal is poor and I have to call her back on the landline, William answers, they have just returned from the hospital, Leslie is in a bad way, he has become quite severely demented over the last twenty four hours, apparently he was OK last night, the consultant neurologist also spoke to them at length, it seems the old chap has cracked a vertebrae, C3, but when they X rayed him, his bones are so depleted by osteoporosis, an operation seems unwise. Fortunately he is not in any pain, William is visiting again tomorrow and says he will ring me. I will say a prayer for Leslie and Felicity tonight. To bed around eleven.

A cold, wet, winter's day.

I am up twice in the night with a dry throat, which probably results from a blocked nose, however once the heating comes on at six, I sleep like a log until Norman wakes me up at ten to eight. It is a clear, bright morning when I let him out, but there is a strong westerly wind. Now the snow has gone, I can see the amount of treasure that he has deposited in the garden over the last two weeks. I will have to clear it up after our walk this morning! We make our usual full English, then shower, dress and drive to Cherry for ten fifteen. The terriers are a bit stir crazy after not being let off the lead since Friday, and bark and fuss, while I change into my Wellies, after parking down Newbald Road. The rapidly melting snow has brought the small river and its feeder lakes back to the Westwood, so I carry Normy over the boggy bits and set him down once we get to firmer ground. Here and there some snow remains, usually on North facing slopes, particularly those used for sledging, where the snow has been compacted. Although it is six Celsius degrees warmer today than last Friday, it feels colder, due to the strong Westerly wind and I am glad to retreat Southwards to the car from Black Mill, in order to escape its icy blast. Leslie's daughter has texted to say she has been in touch with him and the hospital told me he had a comfortable night last night, when I phoned after breakfast. He has been moved to ward 70, which I believe is the geriatric ward, which is not good news. Generally it is over populated with demanding, demented patients and chronically understaffed. I have Louis from three until six, so won't be able to visit tonight. Back home, I remove the remains of the leg of lamb from the fridge and manage to carve six decent slices, which are wrapped in foil and stored away, and then the rest of the meat is stripped from the bone and cut into cubes, ready for the couscous that I am preparing for dinner. A couple of chopped onions, Mediterranean vegetables from the freezer, some apricots, sultanas, olives and then cinnamon, coriander, garlic, chile and ginger, a half pint of lamb oxo stock, then the mixture plus lamb bones, is set to cook slowly for five hours in the clay pot. All I will need to do is add the couscous, when I return this evening. It is now a quarter to two, and I feel tired, so lie down and meditate for an hour, before driving off to Sam's with Normy at a quarter to three. In the car I start to sneeze and shiver, unless I am much mistaken, this looks like the start of a cold. We park outside Sam's house down Copandale Road and then walk the quarter mile to Saint Mary's to collect Louis. Despite being wrapped against the cold, I feel icy, and when Louis emerges half naked from his class, I have to take him back indoors to dress him properly. They have PE, last class on Mondays and this is a continuing problem. Nevertheless we manage to walk to Molescroft Primary, half a mile away and collect Laura for half past three, and then walk home together, Laura holding one hand and Louis the other. Louis has Norman on the lead, and it begins to rain as we approach the house around a quarter to four. The children watch television and play on the computer, while Sam makes me a much needed cup of tea. Rebecca arrives home from her special school in Goole around four thirty and ten minutes later Louis, Norman and I leave to make our way to the Leisure Centre for Louis' swimming lesson. The changing rooms are hot and crowded with kids and anxious mums, trying to deliver their charges to the five o'clock classes, or alternatively trying to collect and dress them from the one that started at four thirty. After delivering Louis to class, I buy a drinking chocolate from the cafe and then view the lesson through the window in reception. The spinning class is being conducted by someone else tonight, so Mark must be away, the new instructor seems less enthusiastic and masochistic than normal, or perhaps it is just my dulled senses. Louis emerges from the showers around twenty to six and I manage to dress him and deliver him back to Sarah's on the hour. By now I am feeling under the weather, so after making Alice and Louis some drinking chocolate, Normy and I head home. Despite my running nose, the lamb smells good when I take it out of the oven and add the couscous grains, fifteen minutes later, dinner is served. We both clear our plates, the Morrocan recipe, somewhat freely adapted to match the ingredients I had available, works well and the couscous, is sweet, tangy and savoury, all at the same time. Outside a full moon has just disappeared behind the garage roof and a howling wind is whipping rain agains the windows. A good night to be indoors! Felicity phones around eight and we chat for a while, she had a migraine last night and lost sight in her remaining eye, her sight is restored this morning, but she still feels fragile. I will see how I am in the morning, the last thing she needs is my cold, but she had one last week, so this might be a gift from her. I am glad that I managed to clear up the treasure in the garden at midday and it is now only a few more weeks before the sun will rise above the garage roof and the back garden will be sunlit once more. To bed for nine thirty.

The Ginger Biscuit, Dusty, Fox

It has rained heavily overnight and the snowy landscape has given way to a world once again rich in colours and textures. I carry Norman into the garden room and sit in the armchair for a while, massaging his shoulders before releasing him into the garden. In the field beyond my garden hedge, a large dog fox trots, with a rabbit in its mouth, between clumps of straw coloured grasses. No doubt on his way home after a successful nights hunting. The sun has not yet risen, but the eastern sky is already light with grey on blue, no trace of snow or ice remains. We breakfast on sausage, black pudding and bacon, much to Normy's approval and then shower, dress and walk as far as Carr Lane, where I let him off the lead. He promptly turns tail and skedaddles back towards the house. I will take him out properly after I have been to church and visited Leslie. His little blue coat is filthy and there is just enough time to put it in the washing machine, before I set off for Saint John's. After parking opposite Joy's house, (Felicity's sister), I walk back towards church, when Leslie phones, he has fallen and is just about to get in the ambulance to go to hospital, when I ask if he is hurt, he says he won't know until they xray him, so I promise to call back and visit later, if he is allowed home, but the connection is bad, or he has hung up and there is no reply when I try calling back. I say a prayer for him in church, Father David is taking Mass this morning so Roy must still be unwell, the homily is given over to reading a letter from the bishop of Southwark, urging us all to write to our MP opposing the "gay marriage" bill and whilst I think the legislation is a bit rushed, I am inherently against all forms of prejudice and do not feel threatened by the move, so won't be able to comply. Judging by the number of people who don't collect the prepared postcards after the service, I am not alone in thinking this way. On my way home, I stop and buy a small leg of lamb and some winter roasting vegetables from the supermarket, as well as more bacon, sausages and coffee. Once indoors, I prepare dinner, coating the lamb in rosemary and garlic, before laying it on a bed of carrot, turnip, parsnip, fennel, onion and potato in the Romertopf, clay roaster. While I am doing this, Paul McCartney is on radio four, talking about vegetarianism and meat free Mondays. Undeterred, I place the pot in the oven and set it to cook slowly for three hours on a medium heat. Later Norman and I drive into town and park behind Butcher Row, finding the only free parking slot. Beverley is thronging with shoppers, it is almost as if people are emerging from hibernation after the snow, as we make our way along Toll Gavel and into Saturday Market Place, before turning left through a snicket, crossing Lairgate and then making our way up Greyburn Lane to Felicity's House on Albert Terrace. Hanne is just leaving as we arrive and Barney, Felicity's grandson, has just got back from walking Molly and Sam, her two dogs. Barney is waiting for his mother and we exchange commiserations about the Tigers defeat by Barnsley yesterday, he is also a fan and witnessed our demise. We stay for half an hour and I am rewarded with a small tot of whiskey against the cold, and fail to advise her that it is really much warmer outside. On her table is a beautiful little history of "The Pastures of Beverley", that Barbara English has written and has just come off the press. She popped one through Fliss's letterbox and though I only had time to flick through it, I shall ring Barbara to congratulate her on her victory in Saving the Sets and arrange to buy a copy. We leave around half past four and retrace our steps to the car, the sun has gone down and with the westerly wind, it does now feel quite cold. When we arrive home the lamb and vegetables fill the house with a wonderful aroma, they are cooked to a tee, but being a bit of a perfectionist, I take both out of the clay pot and set them to brown, with the oven turned up to maximum. While this is happening I add a lamb stock cube to the juices and a little cornflower, in order to make a rich gravy. When the meat and vegetables are browned, we serve dinner, the lamb is wonderfully tender and the root vegetables lend a caramelised sweetness, that blends well with the gravy. Norman gives it his seal of approval and is no doubt looking forward to eating the rest of the joint over the coming week. Later, after washing up, I wrap the meat in foil and reserve it in the fridge, along with the balance of yesterday's Bolognese sauce, that I save in a Tupperware container. After several failed attempts and half an hour of Mozart, I eventually track Leslie down to the assessment ward in Hull Royal Infirmary, the staff are very evasive, but it seems to me that he may have been kept hanging around in A & E for over eight hours. All they will tell me, as I am not family, is that he is comfortable and waiting to be seen by a doctor. Margaret and William are in London and all I get is their voice mail, so I have left messages and a text, with the tel no and extension of the ward. There is nothing more I can do until morning. Later I play around with my drawing application, to try to depict the fox I saw this morning, and write a little poem about him. It's not up to Felicity's standard, but here it is!

The Ginger Biscuit, Dusty, Fox

A hard night's rain has washed away
The snow and ice, white on grey.
A ginger biscuit, dusty fox,
Through clumps of straw blonde grasses trots,
And rabbits to his vixen brings,
Then earthbound, dreams of cubs and spring.

Leaking flasks and goals

The snow lies thick and heavy, as I draw back the curtains, on a clear day with bright blue skies. After a compensatory full English for Norman, we take our time over coffee, reading the paper and checking emails. Felicity phones at nine to say she won't be going to the Poppy Seed this morning, and I also decide to stay local to Tickton, until it is time to collect Louis for the football. After a life affirming shower, we dress and then make a Bolognaise sauce for the slow cooker, before venturing out into the snowscape for Norman's walk. I carry him from the house to the first set of tyre tracks in the snow, preserving his undercarriage from unnecessary exposure to the cold. Actually it is very pleasant outdoors, the warm sun already starting to melt the snow on the roofs of the houses, and there is a soft Atlantic breeze, blowing in from the West. In these conditions the snow won't last long. We make our way through the snickett and onto Carr Lane, proceeding past the stables and then the farm, down to the wooden bridge over the dyke. In the field, a small bare tree has a dozen pigeons basking in the sun, looking like feathered fruit that might have grown there. I tell Normy that we had best wander through "almost straight wood", as once the snow melts, it will be boggy for weeks. As we emerge from the other end, we ponder whether to walk round the fields, but the snow looks too deep for Norman, so we turn right and follow the footprints in the snow to Churchfields estate. Occasionally it is necessary to break trail for Normy, where the footprints have left wide margins of fresh snow. Once into the estate, we make our way to the small gate that leads onto the playing field and follow the footprints again to Main Street. Just past the Post Office, we meet a young woman with a Bassett Hound puppy, which we stop to pat, her name is Bowie, the owner tells me, because she has one blue eye and one green, like David Bowie. Her ears are so long that they drag in the snow, she is full of fun, adorable, and wants Normy to play with her, which he manages for a few minutes and then gets bored, so we bid the puppy and its owner goodbye and make our way home. The Main Street is free of snow, it is only the minor roads that are still clogged up, so I shouldn't have any problems taking Louis to the football. Indoors again, we take off our winter gear, Norman has some Baker's and fresh water, while I make a batch of sultana oaties for Leslie. While they are baking, I pack up Louis' half time snack, hot dogs in boiling water, in the flask I bought yesterday and some cream soda decanted into an empty still water bottle, plus three buttered finger rolls. These are safely stowed in my leather shoulder bag, along with a fleece blanket and paper towels in case of emergencies. The oven pings at five past one, the biscuits are set to cool, and then it is time to collect Louis from Sarah's house. When I arrive at North Bar Without, I am greeted by a family of snowmen, standing beneath Sarah's window. Louis tells me that they are Norman, Sarah, Alice and himself, Sarah's friend, Richard, helped him build them this morning. The snow is now melting fast, as we drive into Hull and park by Mark's block of flats in Linnaeus Street, the traffic not so heavy today, perhaps people are deterred by the snow. From here it is only a fifteen minute walk to the KC stadium and as we have forty five minutes before kick off, we buy a bag of chips from Anlaby Road Fisheries and eat them before taking a leisurely stroll to the game. Only half the usual number of fans seem to be walking to the match, the FA Cup, is not the major draw it used to be. Thirty years ago, a Yorkshire Derby against Barnsley would have been sold out. Our seats are five rows back from the pitch, near the half way line in the West Stand and we will have a really good view of the action. When we get to our seats, I take the bag off my shoulder and notice it is wet through and that it smells salty and porky, which can only mean one thing, the hot dog flask has leaked. When I open it, there is only an inch of water left, but the sausages are still warm, so I ask Louis if he wants a hot dog now, and when he says yes, I place two onto a roll and pass it to him. The others will have to be eaten cold at half time. The match kicks off and Louis is the most vocal five year old fan in the stadium, "up the tigers and come on you Hull", he cries. In the first half, Hull are dominant, pinning Barnsley into their own half and should have had three goals, but they go in at half time still on nil apiece. The second half continues like the first, then Barnsley get a lucky break, a Hull pass bounces off a Barnsley player and rebounds into the path of their forward, who shoots, our keeper blocks the shot, but they slot in the rebound, 1:0 to Barnsley, and despite our best efforts, that is the way it ends. Louis is distraught, he takes losing very badly, this is his third game and he hasn't seen us win yet! It is probably character building. After dropping Louis back at Sarah's, I call round to see Felicity for five minutes and present her with the Louvre catalogue, which delights her and leave her browsing through it, as I head back to Tickton and Norman. The old boy greets me enthusiastically, dashes into the garden for a pee and then runs to the kitchen for his dinner, we are having spaghetti Bolognese. It is ready in the time it takes me to cook the pasta and grate some Gran Padano cheese. We eat together, Normy's in a little bowl and mine in a larger one, a perfect dinner to cheer us up after an afternoon in the fresh winter air, watching Hull lose. After dinner, I wash up and then read some more Stephen Fry until bedtime.

First aid, medleys and Paella

It is light when I wake in the warm bedroom, the central heating comes on at six. After a stretch and a yawn, I look across at Norman, who is already awake and wriggling happily on his back in his basket, probably thinking about sausages. "It is time to get up and do it all again, old fellow" I tell him and start to consider the imperatives of the day, today is......Friday...my day for taking Louis to school, and I need to be at Sarah's house down North Bar by eight thirty. A quick glance at my watch tells me it is twenty minutes to eight, so I have half an hour to wash, dress, eat breakfast and leave the house. No great stretch for working stiffs, but a hell of a rush for someone who normally takes an hour and a half to ease into his day. Radical compromises have to be made, no shower, I will swim later anyway, no cooked breakfast, just toast and apricot jam, (sorry Normy), no newspaper, but the radio and my second coffee taken on the go, while I wash and dress. It is deeply unsatisfying, but I arrive washed, dressed and fed, with Norman, (who has had Bakers again), only five minutes late, to take Louis to school. He is playing on his tablet computer, so five more minutes elapse, while his shoes, coat, hat, scarf and gloves are found and fitted to his constantly mobile five year old body. Nevertheless we are on our way to Saint Mary's primary school by twenty minutes to nine, but as soon as we cross the road, Normy slams on the breaks, and starts to do his connoisseur, of precisely the right place to crap routine. "You can explore the pleasures of olfactory geography later", I tell him, as I pick him up and tuck him under my right arm and grasp Louis' hand in my left. Half way down Bleach Yard, I have to swap arms as Normy weighs the best part of eight kilos, but somehow, we arrive at the school gates slightly before nine. Louis gives me a hug and a kiss and runs happily into school, we have been discussing tomorrow's FA cup match against Barnsley and he has remembered that I promised him hot dogs. The panic is now over, and I set Norman on all four paws again, as we take a leisurely stroll back towards the car, allowing ample time for him to dump treasure, wherever he feels is best, but he refuses, somewhat in the manner of some great diva who has been denied her performance, and walks with great dignity and in a huge sulk. In the rush, I have forgotten my hat, and it is very cold, minus three degrees Celsius, but fortunately there is no wind chill, so it isn't too bad. We collect Dolly and Teddy and drive across the Westwood towards Newbald Road, to our east there is a band of salmon pink, beneath a familiar sky of grey and white, the Minster is silhouetted against this stripe of colour. We park in our usual place and then make our way through the woods, a Great Dane trots across to inspect Norman in Telly Tubby Land, but is seen off by Teddy, who bullies the big chap mercilessly. Terriers never see other dogs as bigger than themselves. As we make our way up the path towards Barbara's house, we encounter Sue and Merrion in some distress, Merrion has slipped on the icy path, grazed her face and possibly broken her wrist. After administering first aid, basically, checking for shock and concussion and supporting the damaged arm, we walk her downhill to the level ground next to York Road, she lives just across the road. Sue goes with her and I attempt to call her husband, but only get the answering machine. She will be home in five minutes, but needs to go to casualty for an X-ray. The rest of the walk unfolds without incident and the dogs are returned to Cherry for half past ten. On my way home, I call in to see Felicity and am offered Madeira cake and tea, which I accept gratefully, my ears burning and stinging from the hatless cold of the Westwood. Felicity has good news, the East Riding Council has relented and the ancient stone setts are to be relaid, with appropriate crossing points for disabled people. A sensible compromise and a victory for the people of Beverley, the civic society and especially Barbara. Felicity has seen the publicity about the Manet exhibition at the Royal Academy and would dearly like to go, but it isn't possible, so she says she will order the catalogue as a compensation. Norman has got over his sulk, having found a better place for treasure in the woods, and has also been sweetened with Madiera cake, whilst perched on my knee. We leave before noon and drive home to the warm bungalow, where I resist the temptation to snuggle down with my book and pick up my swimming gear instead. No letter has yet arrived from the urologist with an appointment, so they may not consider it urgent, but just in case there has been a cock up, I will ring next week to enquire. Driving to the leisure centre, I decide that I will do the Marie Curie Swimathon this year, last year I did the 2.5k challenge and so fancy doing something different this time, and plump for doing 2.5k again, but as a continuous set of 25 X 100m individual medleys. Well not really continuous, the pool is too hot for that and without water you are likely to cramp up after half an hour, so say, split into five blocks of 500m, with a pause for fluids between each. It is a good decision, there is likely to be a lot of waiting and uncertainty until this prostate thing is resolved, and having something to focus on will help. Ian is just getting dressed as I arrive and tells me the pool is fairly quiet, not surprising in view of the cold and the heavy snow forecast for later. I find a clear lane and push off to test my plan. The main problem with medleying a hundred lengths, is the butterfly it implies every fourth length, but by breathing every stroke on the fly and switching from three to two stroke breathing on freestyle, (which precedes the butterfly), I manage the first block of 500m OK, take a drink and then complete another three blocks to make 2,000m in total. Despite being out of the water for two weeks I feel good, so warm down with 500m easy freestyle and backstroke. Afterwards I drink tea and eat some wholewheat biscuits and chat to John, the centre manager, about my plan for the Swimathon. The major logistical problem, is that I will need a lane to myself, but last year there was a great rush at 9:00 am, and by half past ten most swimmers were finished, the pool is booked until midday. So it is agreed provisionally, that if I start later, when it is quiet, I can have my lane. I squirrel two sachets of ketchup and two of mustard from the cafe, for tomorrow's hot dogs and then drive to Wednesday Market and park, before trying to buy a wide mouth flask to put the sausages in for the match. Eventually I find one in Wilco's, that isn't too expensive, and as I walk back to the car, I spot a catalogue in a charity shop window, of an exhibition of paintings from the Louvre in Paris, a quick examination confirms the quality of the product, it is in pristine condition and would have cost £50 new, so I stump up the three pounds being asked and take it home. I will give it to Felicity tomorrow, snow permitting. John told me the council had phoned him and advised that people who lived away from Beverley should be sent home by four, as heavy snow was already falling in Leeds. I arrive home just before four and while the skies look threatening, there is no snow yet. We are having Paella for dinner, so I dig out some mussels and prawns from the freezer and sautée these with a trilogy of chilli, ginger and garlic, before adding some Mediterranean vegetables and a few peas, again from the freezer. A mug full of Paella rice, some fish stock, and a bunch of fresh parsley to garnish from the garden and Bob's your uncle. Actually I cheat and use yellow food colouring instead of saffron, you lose the subtle saffron flavour, but when you are using chilli and ginger, you would miss it anyway. Norman likes Paella almost as much as Spaghetti, later I bake a Bramley apple in the microwave and serve it with custard for dessert. In the end the snow doesn't start to fall until seven, but then it is heavy and relentless. A thaw is due to start Saturday night and much milder weather is forecast for next week. I suspect the floods may be back!

A quiet day

The high pressure continues, the temperature dropping two or three degrees below freezing overnight and then hovering just above zero during the day. A very slow thaw has ensued and here and there, in the garden, little oases of green grass have been revealed in the covering of snow. The grey skies continue, but there are still glimmers of blue, which appear flickeringly overhead and then fade away again. There is still no wind when I let Norman out, shortly before eight, he has become acclimatised to the cold, as have I, and prefer this weather, despite the greyness, to the windy, soggy, damp Atlantic conditions that are set to ensue from Saturday. After breakfast, the usual English, but with Masham, pork and leek sausages this morning, we make our way to Cherry Burton and collect the terriers for the daily pilgrimage to the Westwood. As we approach the common from Newbegin Pits, I espy a familiar figure up ahead, it is Elaine, with her Jack Russell, Milo, whom I haven't seen since before Christmas. She lost her husband in the autumn and was understandably, very upset, and I had wondered how she coped over Christmas on her own. She seems better when we eventually catch up with her and tells me she has been to an opera recital last week and is going to the ballet tomorrow, and apologises if it sounds posey. I tell her no, as we get older we are allowed to like anything and everything, without fear of judgement. She has also started to play hockey again and has a match on Saturday. We walk round the common together, the four dogs instantly forming a pack and trotting on happily as a group, and part company, as we turn downhill to the car and she heads south for home. En route to Cherry, we call at Walkington Manor farm shop and buy some fresh eggs and greenhouse tomatoes. I am seeing Leslie today and arrive at Cedar Grove around a quarter to twelve, armed with the large print books that I have chosen for him from the library. One is a biography of an RAF pilot, recounting his experiences of being trained by the USAF before the war and the other a book about the astronauts of the Apollo space program. Leslie was in the RAF in the war and also lived in America for thirty five years, so I hope he will enjoy them. He is in good spirits again today, and after I have made espresso coffee for us in the Tassimo, we plan our horse racing for the Cheltenham Festival. Leslie loves National Hunt racing, so I have set him the task of studying form for the next month, before Cheltenham in mid March. I leave just before one and drive home with Norman and prepare lunch, cheese and tomato sandwiches on rye bread for me and dry Bakers dog food for him. I had planned to drive into Hull to collect our football tickets, but miraculously they have arrived in the post, so I spend a quiet afternoon reading my book and then take a trip to the supermarket, after the traffic has calmed down, around half past six. I don't need much, just fruit, dog food, hot dogs for the football and finger rolls to put them in. Whilst I am there, I buy a cordless phone, as I have no socket in the garden room and the mobile reception is lousy. Once home, I assemble and install it in the lounge, miraculously, the batteries arrive pre charged, so I take the handset into the Garden Room and call Felicity, it works marvellously, as clear as a bell. The old girl has been to the Poppy Seed again today, with Melissa for lunch and had their game casserole, which she says was lovely. After ringing off, the phone is returned to its cradle to charge and I make some sandwiches, using the lamb steak from the fridge and a fresh baguette, that I bought this evening. Later I settle down with my book until bedtime. Tomorrow, I plan to swim.

Friends, a college girl, and a snowball in the eye.

We are up early and out by ten past nine, after the usual full English and a shower. The grey weather persists and the outside temperature reads plus one degree Celsius, as we drive to Cherry and collect the terriers, before parking along Newbald Road again. The overnight frost has made the snow crisp and it hasn't had time to thaw and soften yet, so the going underfoot is good, and there is no wind, as high pressure is still in charge of the weather, the uniform grey sky probably just low cloud. This suspicion is confirmed later, when faint streaks of blue appear overhead, as we approach Black Mill, but to our east, the cloud is a darker, thicker grey and small flecks of snow drift down, as we make our way back to the car. I have arranged to drive Felicity to the Poppy Seed, so after returning Dolly and Teddy to Pip's, Normy and I make our way to Albert Terrace. There is nowhere to park, so I stop on four way flashers in the road and help the old girl into the car, the irate motorists behind me suddenly comprehending the nature and cause of their inconvenience and becoming more understanding. It is less than a two hundred yards drive to the Poppy Seed, but impossible in these icy conditions for her to walk and when we arrive there, I use the flashers again, until she is safely indoors, and then miraculously find a parking space outside the Beverley Arms Hotel, a few yards further on. Hanne and Thelma are already in residence with Fliss, at our usual table, when I enter with Normy and urged to try some hot chocolate that "The Great Dane", is drinking. It has a little extra something in it, namely a large shot of whiskey, from a little bottle that Hanne has secreted in her handbag. Felicity hasn't been out for several days and is delighted to see her friends again, around half past eleven, Barbara comes in and reports progress on the "Save our Setts" campaign, the civic society informed the archeology department about their removal and an archeologist has been sent along to monitor the work, apparently, in medieval times, the bishop's palace used to stand where the setts are laid in Saturday Market and if anything turns up, the work could be halted for months until it has been carefully excavated. For an elderly history professor, Barbara certainly knows how to fight dirty! A little later, John Geekie, the artist who drew Norman, comes in with his wife and gives Normy a pat, before moving further along and settling down for lunch. The new Spielberg film, Lincoln, with Daniel Day Lewis in the lead role, opens on Friday and we decide to form a party to go to see it next Wednesday afternoon and then, perhaps, have tea at Harper's fish and chip cafe afterwards, taking advantage of their "two for a tenner", deal. Felicity is delivered safely home, after first bidding goodbye to her friends and then Norman and I drive back to Tickton. As I get out of the car, I realise that she has left her walking stick in the back, so I will need to drop it off when I collect Alice later for her interview at Wyke College later. Indoors Normy is demanding lunch, so I give him a small portion of Baker's and a bowl of fresh water, before making tomato soup for myself, which I eat with the last of yesterday's baguette. Alice and I are eating out after her appointment, so I don't want to stuff myself at lunchtime. The bedding I put on to wash before leaving this morning, is done, so I take it out of the washer and lay the duvet cover to dry on the long radiator in the lounge and the pillowcases on the one in my bedroom. Next it is time to book the FA cup tickets for the match against Barnsley on Saturday, they are remarkably cheap, £8 for me and only £1 for Louis, unfortunately it is too late to have them posted, so I will either have to drive into Hull, or collect them with Louis, before the game. Having made a donation of oaties to Lesley yesterday, I find they are running low again, so decide to make another batch, but find there isn't enough oatmeal! So undeterred, substitute whole meal flour with a dash of rye instead, and find there seems to be rather more dough than I had planned, but no problem, I just cut thicker biscuits and then place them in the oven, for the usual 35 minutes. While they bake, I read more of Stephen Fry's autobiography, which is amusing enough, but I have to fight my institutional prejudice against posh folks, and can't help but think that a working class kid who had experienced the same problems as he, namely; addiction, lying, cheating and thieving, would almost certainly have ended up in jail, rather than becoming a national treasure. The oven pings and my biscuits are underdone, so they are returned for a further five minutes, which is insufficient, and then a further ten, until eventually, they are cooked through. By now it is a quarter to four and time to drive to Beverley, but first I feed Norman and then let him into the garden. Felicity's walking stick is dropped off en route and Alice collected and delivered to Wyke College, down Bricknall Avenue in Hull, for five o'clock. Her interview isn't until quarter past, so the receptionist points us towards some transparent orange seats and tables further down the Hall and asks us to wait. The sixth form college is fairly new and quite impressive, it is very clean and the architecture gives it a light and airy feel. A young blond man, in his mid thirties, dressed in jeans, a green sweater and red checked shirt and tie, collects us and takes us into the Library for the interview. He is very pleasant, but also brisk and business like and guides Alice skilfully through her interview, before offering her a place. She has opted to take history, geography, sociology, and French at A level and is clearly looking forward to the transition from school to college. During the last three years, she has had to take up a large portion of the burden of looking after Louis, while her mum completed her podiatry degree, so I hope she can enjoy college, make some friends and also work hard and do well. Afterwards we adjourn to the West Bulls Pub, at the top end of Bricknall Avenue, and treat ourselves to a carvery dinner. Alice is delivered home, full and happy, for half past six. Sarah is making dinner for Louis, who is sporting a slight black eye and a scratched face, apparently he snowballed one of the bigger kids, he tends to play with at school, and got one back in response. He is undeterred, and when I ask him why he doesn't play with the other five year olds, he replies that they are too soft and don't like to wrestle. As I am leaving, Andrew phones me on my mobile, so I sit in Sarah's lounge and bring him up to speed on my PSA situation, although there isn't much to tell until I have seen Mr. Cooksey, the consultant urologist and I haven't even received an appointment yet. Andrew is in Hemel Hempstead on business and won't be back until tomorrow night, so I promise to keep him up to speed, as soon as I have any further information. Norman is waiting for me when I arrive home, wagging his tail and barking furiously, he has forgotten that he has had dinner and just has to make do with a pat instead. Later I read some more Stephen Fry and then fold and pack way my clean bed linen before climbing into bed.

A temporary burst of colour

We are greeted by a welcome blue sky when the curtains are drawn this morning, colour has entered our winter world again, and when I let Norman into the garden, it is noticeably colder and drier, high pressure seems to have returned. After breakfast and a shower, we drive to Cherry to collect Dolly and Teddy, just after ten, and then drive to the Westwood, parking on Newbald Road, where several families with small children are sledging down the hill, as we make our way into the wood. The temperature on the car display showed minus two degrees Celsius, and the snow beneath our feet is crisp and dry, where yesterday it was soft and slushy, Teddy dashes off in pursuit of rabbits and Norman trots along behind Dolly and myself, stopping to sniff trees, in order to see if any friends have marked their passage recently. In TellyTubby Land, the mounds have been transformed into moguls and a group of magpies are caucusing in a large elm tree. Teddy decides to extend his freedom and we are well onto the common, until he consents to come back to the lead and let Dolly stretch her legs. She sprints off into the deep snow, bounding high like a little deer, in the way that she does when hunting rabbits in long grass. The fine weather has brought more dog walkers out and she runs up to, and says hello, to all the other dogs and a real sense of fun and excitement seems to infect them. We pause at Black Mill and let Dolly enjoy her run for an extra ten minutes, before returning to the car, to the west, the boys from the Grammar School are "enjoying" a cross country run along the path by the hedge, that marks the boundary of the common. After delivering the dogs to Cherry, I call in to see Pip and Andrew and let them know about the PSA result, Andrew is working from home and on a conference call, so I give Pip the news and ask her to tell Andrew when he is free. Five minutes later, I arrive at Cedar Grove to visit Leslie, Marjorie Salt, Leslie's neighbour, is struggling to bring her green bin back into, the garage, wearing only her dressing gown. She is also over ninety, so I bring the bin in for her, chat for a minute and then knock on Leslie's door. He is in much better form today, has slept better and reports that his carers are turning up on time and working well. I make coffee for us both on the Tassimo espresso maker and then chat with him for an hour, before driving home to Tickton. After putting fresh water and a few biscuits down for Norman, I set off again for the library, returning the books by Cormack McCarthy and Simone Weil and selecting some large print books for Leslie and Stephen Fry's biography for me, as I need something light to read at the moment. Afterwards, I drive to Morrison's for some salad and more sausages and black pudding, pausing to drink tea and eat a scone in their cafe, before completing my shopping and then calling in on Felicity on my way home. The blue skies have been replaced by grey ones, the temperature has risen by a few degrees, and the colour has drained from the world again. It is slippy and slushy once more underfoot. Felicity has been watching "Most Haunted", on TV, and whilst she confesses that it is "total bollocks", says she can't handle too much reality at the moment. I stay with her for half an hour chatting, until her grandson, Barney, arrives to walk the dogs. Back in Tickton Norman tells me he is starving, so I set about making dinner, we are having lamb steak, tossed salad and oven chips. It doesn't take long, the lamb sautéing gently in a little butter and olive oil, whilst the chips cook in the oven and I chop and season the salad. We eat around five o'clock and then retire to the Garden Room to listen to the news. Pip phones shortly after six offering to drive me to the hospital, if I need it, I thank her, but say that nothing is likely to happen for several weeks. Most likely a further blood test will be taken before a course of action is decided and probably hormone therapy will be the first course option, if action is deemed necessary. Later I read and then turn in.

Not quite fifty shades of grey

A curious night of almost continuous, snow, sleet and rain, as the temperature fluctuated around the freezing point. This morning the landscape is a meditation on themes of white and grey. A uniform grey sky lies over the land, which is streaked in white snow and grey slush, but the simple words, white and grey, don't begin to describe the shades and subtleties these words infer. I feel better this morning and didn't need decongestant medicine last night, my phlegm is also becoming clearer, so after breakfast, I strip the beds and change the linen, consigning my recent bug to the laundry basket. Pip phones around nine, to stand me down from taking the terriers out this morning, so I have the day to myself, at least until a quarter to three, when I will need to collect Louis and Laura from school. I had also been going to tell Andrew and Pip about my positive PSA results, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. After showering and dressing, I take Norman for a walk around the fields, he is a reluctant hiker this morning, slamming on the brakes as I attempt to leave the close, but we both need the exercise, so I insist and eventually he gives in and trots along the road to the snickett that leads to Carr Lane, grey and white seagulls stand sentry on TV antennae, brought inland by the bad weather. The paths too are grey slush with streaks of white from the fine hail that is falling, as we make our way to the bridge. The ditches are full of dark grey slushy water ice, the only other natural colours coming from the dark green moss on the trees, and the dark brown of dead weeds and grasses. Across the bridge, a teasel bush stands proud against the wind and scans the fields to our South, where Hull lies unseen beyond the horizon. When I left Grammar School in the summer of 1962, I worked temporarily in Wormalds and Walkers blanket factory, in Thornhill Lees, near Dewsbury. They used to use teasels in their carding machines, in order to bring up the pile on the blankets and make them fluffy. That whole textile industry and the close communities of workers they engendered, has now long disappeared and the teasels have returned to being once again, just weeds in the wild. We turn left into "almost straight wood", in order to escape the cold easterly wind, that is blowing strongly from the coast. When we emerge from the western edge of the plantation, we make our way back in its lee, along the side of the dyke that leads back to the bridge, the houses of the village silhouetted across the fields to our north. As we walk, a cascade of rabbits evacuates the fields as we approach, first one, then two , then four, eight and soon hordes of them retreat and disappear into their warrens, that riddle the sides of the dyke. In the distance a metallic grey wind turbine rotates counter clockwise, perhaps attempting to stem the flow of time, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock tick. Norman's blue coat, the only vivid colour in this landscape of greys and whites, and yet despite the cold dank greyness, I am happy, wrapped against the weather, impervious to depression and negative PSA tests, at least for now. Indoors, the balance of the braising steak is simmering in a rich gravy, with added pork sausages for Normy. When we return to the warmth of the house, I give Normy a drink and then dig out the last box of my winter coats and fleeces from the garage, making room for them in the wardrobe, by removing some summer jackets. Then, before returning indoors, I read the gas and electricity meters, and file the results online to British Gas. Before lunch, I dig out the food processor and mix a fresh batch of sultana oaties, cut them into biscuits and then bake them in the oven, while I peel potatoes and chop up spring greens for lunch. These I cook in the microwave and my biscuits and lunch are ready and served before the news, at one o'clock on radio four. Norman is delighted with his meal and clears his bowl before lying, like a fat little python who has just swallowed a pig, on the carpet by the radiator. At half past two, we both dress for the cold again and then venture outside into the snow, Norman snug on his blanket on the back seat of the Chrysler, while I free the car of snow and ice, before driving to Sam's house where we park. It is a quarter of a mile from Sam's to Saint Mary's primary and another half mile to Molescroft Primary where we collect Laura, and the same distance again before we return to Sam's, to complete the circuit, so Norman has had the chance to walk off some of his lunch. Rebecca didn't make it to her special school in Goole today, as the escort refused to risk the roads, and Laura missed morning school too and was dispensed antibiotics by the GP for her cough. This we discover from Sam, who makes me tea while the children play in the lounge. It is a short visit, as Louis has swimming lessons at five and Laura an appointment at the opticians, for her new glasses to be fitted. Somehow, Louis is delivered to his class on time again, and is the only child to make it, so he has the undivided attention of Debbie, his instructor for the half hour of his lesson. I drink hot chocolate and watch through the pool window, whilst behind me Mark, is torturing a spinning class on their exercise bikes. Louis is dried and driven back to North Bar for six and asks for drinking chocolate as soon as we are let in by Alice, so I make chocolate for them both. Sarah arrives minutes later and I take the opportunity to,update her about my PSA results, before driving home for six thirty. Nine years ago, when I first had the prostate cancer, I took the decision not to treat it differently from any other disease and was open about what was happening with all my family, as whispering and euphemism's create an unnecessary and unhelpful level of anxiety. At this stage, nothing is yet certain, but for me at least, openness and honesty has always worked best. I have some ante pasta for dinner and give Norman some biscuits, later I read for a while and then have a reasonably early night.

Skyline Chile eight ways!

After an early night, we rise at six thirty, there has been no more snow overnight and a slight thaw has set in when I open the garden room door and let Norman out to do his duty. I feel better today, no headache and I slept well. Fortified by our full English, Normy and I venture as far as the little bridge over the dyke, at the bottom of Carr Lane. The ditches at either side of the path, that were flooded a week ago, are now full of snow and ice that is thawing slowly into a grey slush. There are two or three other dog walkers abroad and we exchange pleasantries with them as we pass the farm. Two Grey alpacas are sat together, but facing in opposite directions and look like the "push me, pull me", from Dr. Dolittle, a book I read over fifty years ago. The scene that most sticks in my mind, is the one where the Doctor is given freshly baked bread when he is thrown in jail, after releasing Sophie the seal into the sea, Icould almost taste that bread. I give Norman a choice at the bridge, to push on through "almost straight wood", or turn round and make for home, he opts for the latter and sprints back over the bridge, the waters of the dyke beneath it, black against the snowy banks. Indoors again, I put fresh water out for Normy, change into clean navy blue corduroy trousers for church, and then pack the ingredients for the "sky line chile eight ways", for Leslie's lunch. Father Roy is ill and the ten thirty mass is lead by father David, whose choice of hymns is so obscure, that hardly anyone in the congregation knows them, but the choir leads and we pick them up hesitantly, as the tunes progress. The inclement weather and a recent increase in colds and flu, have thinned the congregation a little, but as I leave, after the service has finished, I notice an elderly man wearing an oxygen mask. That is real commitment! I arrive at Cedar Grove shortly after Eleven Thirty, Leslie lets me in and I can see at a glance, that something is amiss, he looks deflated and tells me he has had a bad night, despite the tablets Dr. Hill prescribed for him. We make our way into the kitchen and I place my shopping bag on the table, before disgorging its contents, there is a lot in there, as I have brought everything I need from home, in order to make lunch, in case Leslie doesn't have it. Leslie sits by the table while I unpack the rice and then measure it out, before putting it in the microwave for ten minutes to cook. The chile con carne, just needs heating through, and I do that whilst the rice is fluffing up after rinsing it with boiling water. Most of the time is taken up with setting the side dishes out, salsa, sour cream, guacamole, spring onions, chopped tomato, cucumber, and a mixed salad. The last things made ready are the tortillas and a couple of bottles of Sol, Mexican Beer, but by midday, we are sitting down to eat. Leslie asks where I learned to do all this stuff and I explain that I picked up the principles from Mexican restaurants and then elaborated from there. Leslie confesses he has never been in a Mexican Restaurant in his life. Despite his appetite being poor, he gets the hang of making mini wraps with a mixture of sides and eats two whole wraps, and a fair portion of the rice and chile. There is enough left over to make two more dishes of rice and chile, and I also combine the salad side dishes into a bowl, in order to make a mixed salad, and then cover the three dishes with cling film and put them in the fridge for him to eat later. The washing up afterwards takes longer than the preparation, I can see the old boy is flagging a little, so I leave around one o'clock, promising to call in again on Tuesday. William and Margaret are visiting tomorrow. Norman has to make do with dry dog food for lunch, when we get home, but better things await him for dinner. Around three, I dress Normy in his coat and drive to the supermarket to buy more potatoes, vegetables, coffee and bread. Unusually the place is packed and assistant tells me it is panic buying, ahead of the snow forecast overnight, we are expecting about two inches, not the onset of the next ice age! Afterwards I drive to Saturday Market and park by the Market Cross, before we wend our way through town and up Greyburn Lane to Felicity's House on Albert Terrace. She has just made tea for herself and I come bearing custard tarts, so once I have made myself a mug of tea, we sit and eat them while exchanging news. She has fallen again, this time in the house, on a strip of carpet, which a friend, Emaline, has subsequently taped down. The house is a death trap, she has pictures, objects d'art and sculptings, all over the place, minimalist it ain't! But it is her house and this is how she chooses to live, (and that is without considering her two dogs). She would rather kill herself here, than be safe and cared for in a care home, but it is an awful burden for Melissa, her daughter, who lives a life of constant worry, regarding her mother's safety. Normy and I leave after our tea, and make our way back to town, before driving to Sam's house, down Copendale Road. Sam and the girls have just returned themselves, and although it is almost dark outside, Laura wants to build a snowman in the garden. It doesn't take long, the snow is soft and wet and rolls easily, leaving clear tracks of grass where we have been rolling snowballs. We stack the giant snowballs, on top of each other and then top them with a smaller one, for the head. A triangular section falls off the back and I stick it on top. It looks like a Bishop's mitre, or perhaps the Pontiff's headpiece, Laura doesn't like it, nor does she know who the Pope is, so the hat has to go. A carrot for a nose, some broccoli for eyes and a curving stick for a smiley mouth and the snowman is finished, Sam takes our picture with him, and then we retreat indoors, my hands numb with the cold, but soon warmed up, wrapped around a mug of tea. I arrange with Sam to call round with Louis tomorrow and to collect Laura from school on our way and then Norman and I drive home. Dinner for me is a tossed salad with crusty bread and the last of the smoked salmon, supplemented with a couple of slices of Parma ham, Norman gets his just reward, two free range pork sausages that have been marinaded in the gravy from the braising steak. Needless to say, this makes him a very, very happy boy. After dinner, I sit and crack a tough puzzle and watch the snow fall as forecast, and wonder at the panic. In the really bad winters of the past, the disruption was less, because most people could, at a push, walk to work. In the era of the car and commuting, an inch of snow is a disaster. Progress?

Hibernating Saturday Homeboy

The snow is lying deep and heavy this morning, the sky a uniform gun metal grey, unusually I have a headache, as I don't tend to get them. Norman and I have our full English breakfast and then I retire to the Garden Room to drink my coffee. I have an email from Jackie saying snow is expected over there this afternoon, so I postpone my visit this afternoon and am browsing the Guardian, when I get a call from my cousin, Michael, in Germany. He is reporting lots of snow in Germany and wants to know when I intend to visit for the skiing, provisionally I suggest the end of February, subject to finding reasonably priced flights, as this sinus infection has me a bit under the weather at the moment. After showering and dressing, I brown some braising steak and onions in the frying pan, add some oxo and water and transfer it to the slow cooker and then set off with Normy for a walk round the fields. I carry the old boy until we arrive at some tyre tracks through the snow and set him down. It is not so cold today, the temperature hovering around freezing, and Norman trots along happily behind me, as we make our way through the snickett onto Carr Lane. Fortunately other walkers have preceded us and we follow in their tracks, over the little wooden bridge over the dyke and into "Almost Straight Wood", the heavy snow has brought down a couple of conifers that lie at oblique angles across the path, but we manage to negotiate our way round them, and continue on our way. This is one of our favourite places and Normy enjoys a good sniff around, checking out the scents of rabbits, squirrels, deer and of course, other dogs. As we emerge from the woods we encounter my neighbour Betty with her schnauzer, Nelly and an older Lady, who it transpires was born in the village. We walk round the fields together, the older lady retailing us with tales of her childhood and pointing out paths that lead to various points, including the village of Weel, about two miles away, this path has been blocked for the last few years, as an elderly chap has put a gate across the path that crosses his land and apparently threatened walkers with his shotgun. The council have prosecuted him several times, but he still persists, so they seem to be waiting for nature to solve their problem for them. Apparently he is well in his eighties. We complete the walk and return home just after noon, my headache has subsided, and after giving Normy some biscuits, I make some tea and take it, along with a few oaties, into the garden room where I knock off a puzzle until it is time for the football to start on the radio. Hull are away at Peterborough and the match is on, despite the snow. Hull take the lead before halftime to an own goal by Peterborough, but then give away a penalty in the second half and come away with a draw. During half time I serve lunch, braising steak with mashed potato and red cabbage, cooked German style, with onions, apple and bacon. A perfect winter dinner and we still have some left for tomorrow, or perhaps Monday. After dinner I read more of Cormack McCarthy's Orchard keeper, but give up the effort after 120 pages or so, his early work is highly poetic, but is too loosely structured, and lacks narrative drive. He has not yet learned the more austere prose of his later work, that enhances, rather than diminishes, the poetic power of his fiction. "The slaughtering of his babies", is a discipline that he has still to learn in these early novels. Today has been a hibernating day, but tomorrow there is church in the morning, followed by lunch with Leslie and a visit to my granddaughters in the afternoon.

Waiting for snow

It is an early start this morning and we rise to the alarm on my iPad at a quarter to seven, I click on my bedside lamp, switch off the alarm and then check to see if the BT broadband is back, after crashing again last night. Surprise, surprise, it is still down! Breakfast is smoked salmon on cream cheese for me and Baker's dog food for Norman, as the cream cheese doesn't agree with him. Day breaks as I drink my coffee and it is a bright, but slightly clouded sky, with ominous looking snow clouds on the eastern horizon. The news is dominated by the Al Quieda massacre in Algeria and the very heavy snowfalls in the south west and Wales, apparently the snow will arrive here later today. I feel a little achey this morning, the sinutabs are keeping my nasal passages open, but the infection is taking a while to clear. We leave the house at ten past eight and drive to Sarah's house in North Bar Without, in order to collect Louis and then walk him to school. After first making sure that he is properly wrapped up against the cold, we set off, the air temperature has risen to minus one Celsius, but a bitterly cold wind is blowing from the south east, so it actually feels colder than yesterday. Nothing bothers Louis, he is full of talk about Rugby League, he was watching Rugby on TV last night with Sarah's boyfriend Richard, who is a big fan of Hull FC. One of the two Rugby League clubs in Hull, the other is Hull Kingston Rovers, the rivalry between the two clubs and their fans, is intense and the annual derby, that kicks off the season, takes place on Sunday. Perhaps Richard will take him? The Tigers, having scraped through the replay at Leyton Orient, are playing Barnsley at the KC stadium a week tomorrow, and Louis and I will be cheering them on. He is delivered, safe and happy, to Saint Mary's Primary School and Normy and I walk back to the car and then collect the terriers from Cherry, and set off for the Westwood. We park in our usual spot and as we set off into the woods, the sun comes out and it is a lovely winter's morning again. A young woman is throwing a ball for her spaniel in Telly Tubby Land, and of course Teddy pinches it and then waits for the spaniel to chase him, which is his real objective. The other dog is a bit of a wimp and complains to his owner about the theft, she is very nice about it, even though it takes ten minutes of patience and guile to persuade Teddy to give it up. I take this opportunity to put him back on the lead and let his sister, Dolly loose. She is less feisty and much more sensible, except when it comes to rabbits, when sense goes out of the window. She is also very popular on the Westwood, as everyone has known her since a pup, and she is very friendly, always saying hello to everyone she meets. We bump into Di Fairhurst and her Westie Rocky, she is talking to Angela Semple, who has Sophie, a fifteen year old spaniel, who remains remarkably fit. I often sit next to Angela if I attend Saturday evening Mass, and as she is also walking up to the Mill, I walk with her and chat. Like me, she has been to see the film version of Les Miserables and was blown away, so much so, that she is going again next week. Her husband, Bill, died a few years ago and he has a memorial bench underneath Black Mill. Angela walks up to see him every morning. I met Bill once on business, he was in charge of a computerised printing business in Hull and I discussed providing a fibre optic link to London for him. This would be twenty years ago. We walk back to the car from the Mill and then call in at Morrison's for some German rye bread, after first taking the terriers home. While I am there, I bump into Liz, the Sherpa, Felicities Australian care worker, she is shopping for Fliss, and I tell her that I am also heading to Albert Terrace for a cup of tea with the old girl, and am taking some Chelsea buns to accompany the drink. I fill up with petrol first and arrive bearing buns, about eleven fifteen. Felicity is feeling better, although her cold hasn't quite cleared and has decided that she is keeping her dogs and staying put in her house. She looks better for having made that decision, but I fear events and her declining health may intervene to the contrary, although it would be too unkind to point this out. Liz returns, deposits the shopping and then is off to her other appointments. She is shortly followed by the Gas Man, who has come to read the meter, and somehow the conversation moves on to another writer a Mrs DesForges, who used to live in South Cave, where the Gas Man used to run a pub, and knew her. This qualifies him as a literary gent in Fliss's eyes and he is bequeathed an anthology of her poetry. Norman and I leave at noon and then drive home, where I give him some more biscuits and water and then make lentil soup for me. Snow starts to fall as I eat the soup, and I am glad to be indoors, as I feel achey and tired. Definitely a bug of some sort, probably from the catarrh. The warmth and the soup make me drowsy and I catch forty winks in the arm chair. The broadband has resurfaced when I awake and an email arrives from my sister in law, Liliane, in Rotterdam, it is cold and snowy there too, she asks about the blood test I had on Monday, which reminds me to call the surgery for the results. My PSA level has risen from 0.08 parts per million to 0.16, and whilst it is still microscopic, it needs looking into, as it has doubled in 3 months, and as I no longer have a prostate gland, it should be unmeasurable. I ring Graeme Cooksey's secretary, to make sure they have the results, he is my consultant urologist, they do and she says they will arrange an appointment. It is either eight or nine years since I had a cancerous prostate removed, and while it is highly unusual for a relapse after such a long period, it is still possible and best dealt with promptly. Later I make fish fingers, chips and peas for dinner and Norman has a tin of gourmet dog food for seniors. I have arranged to have lunch with my sister Jackie and her husband, Gino, tomorrow in Morley, near Leeds, but it depends on the snow and how I feel. To bed early around ten.

Skyline Chile Fiveways!

No more vivid dreams in the night and wake around a quarter to eight, to a clear, bright, but intensely cold morning. Norman trots manfully into the garden for his morning ablutions and, once completed, sprints back into the warm kitchen and watches with interest as breakfast is prepared. We always eat together, so he gets his bacon, sausage and black pudding, with some egg white in his bowl, as I sit down to eat mine. We have contrasting eating styles though, mine slow and his really fast, he just wolfs it down. In the tech news there was an item about a vibrating fork, that prompts people not to eat to quickly, I wonder if someone has thought of a vibrating dog bowl? We collect the terriers shortly after ten and park on Newbald Road, next to the Westwood, as usual. A few mums and toddlers are sledging down the hill adjacent to Newbegin Pits woods, so I keep Teddy on the lead, until he is out of site of the sledgers, otherwise he will be off in hot pursuit, barking his head off. Even at ten o'clock, the outside temperature gauge reads minus eight degrees Celsius, but like yesterday, there is no wind and so it feels quite pleasant. The winter sky is pale blue and dappled with light Cirrus strands of cloud, and the snow is hard and crisp as we walk, due to the hard overnight frost. Dolly is swapped for Teddy off the lead by Barbara English's house and runs off to play with a Red Setter bitch called Poppy, her owner is a primatologist at York University, and she and her husband are out for a stroll. We turn for home at Black Mill again, as I have my final luncheon appointment with Leslie at The Grange this morning. He goes home tomorrow. As we walk downhill back to the car, I see that yesterday's snowman has been decapitated and the kids have rolled two giant snowballs to the bottom of the hill, they really are enormous, their diameter higher than a man. We drop the terriers back in Cherry and arrive at The Grange by twenty to twelve, some residents are having therapy in reception and are bouncing a beach ball back and forth, as I make my way down the corridor to Leslie's room. Yesterday's dramatic improvement has continued and we chat for ten minutes about last night's film and then an article that he has been reading in the Economist about Simon Keelingside's Prospero, in the New York Met's production of the Tempest. Leslie recalls that I saw the telecast at Cineworld and asks me what I thought of him. I answer honestly, that it was a tour de force, the sheer physicality he brought to the role, was amazing. We walk down the corridor and back, discussing the new Daniel Day Lewis film about Lincoln and have just sat doŵn when Claire, one of the nurses summons us for lunch. We are seated at our usual table, but Christina has been replaced by Marguerita, who we met last week, I sit next to Barbara and Leslie sits next to Marguerita. Leslie has chosen ham salad for our lunch and the ladies have meat pie, potatoes and two veg. After being out in the cold, the meat pie would have been preferable, but that isn't the point, and the salad is fine. Leslie and I chat about Cincinnatti, where he used to live, and where I used to visit on business, as a result of a joint venture between my company and the telephone company in Cincinnatti, which I negotiated. My American counterpart was a really nice guy called, Dave Cook, who was always promising to take me to the Skyline Restaurant, for their famous, " Skyline Chile Con Carne", but somehow it never transpired. Leslie, it turns out, had been many times, and explains what a "Skyline five ways" entails. Apparently this is Chile, with five side dishes, salsa, guacamole, sour cream, chopped spring onions and grated cheese, served with tortillas. Now it just so happens that I have enough chile left over in the refrigerator, and all the other ingredients to produce a "Skyline five ways", for lunch on Sunday, when I visit after church. Maintaining his improved mobility and mood when he gets home will take a little work, but it is no effort now that he is back to his usual self. The two ladies listen in and then Barbara tells me about working for the Post Office Savings Bank during the war, and I ask if it was in Harrogate then, as it was there in the late seventies and eighties when I lived there. She confirms it was, and I ask her if she ever used the Turkish Baths, and she told me something I hadn't known, that the Post Office Girls used to do their laundry there. Marguerita then chips in to say that she qualified as a teacher of secretarial skills in Bromsgrove during the war, and it dawns on me that my three luncheon companions are all over ninety. Such wonderful, long lives and so much personal history. Our last lunch is really pleasant and I have grown fond of these old ladies, over the last couple of weeks. Back in his room, Leslie tells me that the two weeks respite have been an education for him, and that although he much prefers to maintain his independence, there are no terrors in a place like the Grange, which is clean, friendly and well run. I leave at a quarter past one and call in to thank the manager, Chris, for the help she and her staff have provided in helping my friend get back on his feet. Normy is fast asleep on the back seat of my car and doesn't wake up until we arrive home, where I take off his winter coat and serve up some of the pea and ham pottage from the slow cooker. Suddenly I feel very tired, perhaps the emotional effort over lunch, or possibly the effects of my sinus infection, that the decongestant tablets have been keeping at bay. In any event, I decide to meditate for an hour and feel better for it afterwards. My appetite seems to have deserted me and so I just have some of my home made sultana oatcakes and a pot of tea, at five o'clock, Normy finishes off the pottage, while I ring Felicity, there is no reply. She was OK this morning, and said she was gradually getting over her cold, and in this weather, I can't believe she is out, so I put Norman his coat on and drive into Beverley parking by the Market Cross, before walking up Greyburn Lane to her house. At first there is no reply, her dogs are barking and I start to worry, but then the old girl comes to the door and let's me in. Melissa, her daughter, has been and given her a bath, and she was just too tired to answer the phone. She looks exhausted, and I feel foolish for disturbing her, so Norman and I take our leave after ten minutes and leave her to rest. As we walk back into town, I notice a milder wind from the SouthWest and the gauge on the car says it is now only minus one degree Celsius. Radio Humberside is warning of snow overnight, tomorrow and over the weekend, so I call at the supermarket and stock up, in case I am snowed in. We have just got back indoors when my daughter in law, Sam phones, she wants to know if I will look after Rebecca tomorrow, as she has a meeting. I am glad to help, but am already committed to take Louis to school in the morning and can't be available before nine. After discussing various permutations, Sam says she will cancel her meeting and I agree to call round and see the girls on Sunday after lunch with Leslie. It has been a busier day than I expected, one old friend getting better and the other looking ever more precarious. To bed for eleven.

Le Chevalier Anglais

Wake at seven thirty with the strangest dream still vivid in my mind, last night I had browsed electric cars on Autotrader and that must have triggered the dream. In it I could see, vividly, a new kind of battery based on a massive array of capacitors at nano metric scale. The capacitors were made of a graphene and silicon sandwich and discharged sequentially, under digital control, to provide a power source which could drive an electric motor and be rapidly recharged. The key lay in the interface between energy and information at the nano metric scale. A voice in my head said they were two aspects of the same reality. I have no idea whether sequentially discharging capacitors are capable of providing a realistic power source, but my grandson, Clement, is studying engineering with nanotechnology at University College London, so I will email him my dream and ask him to check it out. During my business career, I would often leave tricky problems for a few days, in order to sleep on them and quite often, a solution would pop up out of my subconscious. Today is a perfect winter's day, it is minus 8 degrees centigrade outside, high pressure dominates, the sky is clear blue and there is not even the hint of a breeze. After our full English breakfast, Norman and I collect the terriers and drive to the Westwood. Teddy dashes off at high speed into the woods, while Normy navigates his way round the deeper snow in the wake of myself and Dolly, who remains on the lead. This weather, reminds me of winters in Germany, and is my favourite of any time of the year, perhaps my Nordic genes respond to this kind of environment. I could wander for hours on a day like this, but I have promised to visit Leslie for lunch and to take him some more grapes, so I need to call in at the supermarket first. Norman sleeps in the back of the Chrysler, while I call at Beverley Grange Nursing Home. William is just leaving as I arrive and we chat in the car park before he goes home, he tells me Leslie is in sparkling form today, and when I arrive in his room, the friend I have known and liked for over twenty years, is back. His optimism renewed, at least for now. We walk the corridors, and he laughs when I ask a nurse to make way for the 100m relay team and then we chat for ten minutes before lunch. Today's meal is chicken casserole, with mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrot and swede mash. We are seated with Barbara, Christina and Betty again, Leslie and I discuss our experiences of winter driving, his in the USA and Canada and mine in Germany and the Scottish Highlands. Christina chips in with a comment about the harsh winters in Newfoundland as a girl and lunch progresses in a friendly, convivial atmosphere. Leslie asks if I heard the article about horsemeat being discovered in Tesco beef burgers and it brings to mind a scuba diving course in the summer of 1966, in the South of France, at a place called Le Presque Ile De Porquerolles. We had driven down from Germany and were camping next to a French Naval Base, which supplied us with compressed air for our tanks. The daily living allowance was 6s 8d per day in old money, or 38p in decimal currency. For the Cote d' Azur, it was barely adequate and as the only French speaker, I was assigned the task of shopping for food in Hyeres, the nearest town. There were twenty of us on the course and I fed us all on horsemeat for the three weeks we were there, stews, curries, even braising steak and no one knew any different. However I nearly got rumbled one night in a bar near the harbour, when the butcher I used, sent a beer across for his friend, "Le Chevalier Anglais", I told the lads that he liked to call me his English Cavalier. Leslie enjoyed the story, as did Christina, who like many Canadians has French as well as English. I walk Leslie back to his room and then drive home to Tickton and give Norman some more of the pea and ham soup, which has congealed into a solid mass in the slow cooker. Norman loves the stuff and there is still enough left for supper after the cinema with Alice. After lunch, I play with the drawing app and make a picture of a snowman, that I saw this morning on the Westwood and whilst I am no artist, it is strangely therapeutic and satisfying. I leave the house at a quarter to four, after first letting Norman out and making sure he has plenty of water, before collecting Alice from North Bar Without and then driving to Cineworld at Kingswood. When we arrive, the car park is full, clearly we aren't the only ones intending to see "Les Miserables", for the early showing. We take our seats in screen 3, ten minutes before curtain up, which proves to be a wise move, as the theatre fills completely before the film starts. The director, Tom Hooper, has the cast sing live, and whilst the singing might not be in the first rank, the emotional clout thus delivered is enormous, a real five handkerchief movie, but it is also almost unremittingly miserable, apart from star turns from Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter, as the villainous innkeeper and his wife. Carter is in danger of being typecast as the go to girl for weird, but her sense of fun and lack of inhibition, are a marvel to behold. She is, for me, the finest actor of her generation. I hope that she gets some weighty part that will earn her the recognition that she so richly deserves. I would give her the best supporting actor Oscar, for either this, or her Miss Haversham in Great Expectations. Belatrix Rules! As we drive home, the outside temperature gauge reads minus six degrees Celsius, and will probably drop to double digits overnight. Sarah is drying her hair when we get back, so I give Louis a cuddle before bed and then return to Tickton, where I feed Norman and then curl up with Cormack McCarthy's "The Orchard Keeper", before bedtime. A good day, I am particularly pleased with Leslie's progress, long may it continue!

A glut of pea and ham soup

Sudofed tablets help to clear my sinuses and leads to a better night's sleep. There has been no further snow over night and about two inches of it cover the path and the field beyond, Normy only ventures a few yards into the cold, does his business and then quickly returns indoors. Before bed last night, I made a pea soup, using the smoked pork loin joint, marinaded in the slow cooker, one packet of dried peas doesn't seem enough, so I add a second, with a few diced potatoes, onions and oregano. This morning I find I have peas coming out of my ears, the good news is that it tastes great. The peas, onions and potatoes absorbing the sweet, smoky flavour of the pork. After tasting it, I decide to serve it for breakfast, unconventional, perhaps, but it sticks to the ribs, which is what you need when it is cold and snowy outside. We wait until the rush hour traffic has subsided before collecting Dolly and Teddy from Cherry and driving to Newbald Road. Roy has brought his sandwich van out of winter retirement, in order to take advantage of the sledgers, who have made a slalom down the side of the Westwood. It is a degree colder this morning and it makes all the difference, the ground is frozen hard under the covering of snow and we progress through the woods of Newbegin Pits, which have assumed the look of a winter wonderland, without yesterday's slipping and sliding. Teddy dashes about in the search for rabbits, but sensibly they are keeping underground and staying warm this morning, Norman jogs along behind us in his blue coat, his little legs barely keeping his tackle above the snow. As we make our way towards Black Mill, heavy, dark grey, snow clouds are rolling in from the east, but a patch of blue sky hangs above the race course to our North. At the mill, Dolly comes back to the lead, but Norman has had enough of the cold and heads off down the path made in the snow by other walkers, towards the car. We drop the terriers back at Pip's and then I drive to The Grange to visit Leslie, calling at the pharmacy, en route, to buy more Sudafed. The catarrh has really got hold of my sinuses and the decongestant tablets make the condition bearable. Leslie seems a little down when I arrive, the portable radio that William brought him has gone, and he tells me he doesn't want to listen to it anymore. We walk together down the corridors to the restaurant and back, the residents are playing bingo in the reception area, not exactly Leslie's thing. He doesn't want to sit in the Lounge and tells me he has booked lunch in his room. When it arrives, Lincolnshire pork sausages, potatoes, carrots and cauliflower, he eats the sausages and potato, but leaves the vegetables, and then eats a fruit yogurt for dessert. He is due to return home on Friday, and is looking forward to it, but I fear he will slip back into depression on his own in his bungalow. We walk up and down the corridors again and on a more positive note, he walks without assistance and looks much better, for eating regularly. I leave at half past one and drive home with Norman, we both have the pea soup again for lunch and afterwards, I check my mail and sit in the Garden Room for half an hour. The bathroom is in desperate need of a thorough clean, as a combination of lime scale and mould has resulted from the damp weather. It takes me over an hour to clean the bathroom, I need to schedule this on a weekly basisin future. Outside it is snowing lightly, so I dig out the vacuum cleaner and run it through the hall and garden room and then reorganise my sweaters in the wardrobe in the bedroom. Outside it is dark when I let Norman into the garden, and then give him some Baker's for his tea, before ringing William, Leslie's son in law, to compare notes. William and Margaret visited yesterday, Leslie insisted on eating in his room and when he walked with William, insisted on using his Zimmer. It seems to me that intellectually, Leslie wants to return home, but existentially he feels safer in the Grange and is ambivalent and conflicted in his options. I fear Leslie will revert to anxiety attacks and 999 calls when he returns home. I hope I am wrong. Felicity is still full of cold when I call her and doesn't want to see anyone. She also sounds a bit down, old age isn't for cissies, to quote Bette Davis. We listen to Hull vs Leyton Orient in the FA cup, while I iron a basket full of shirts and then eat Camembert and crusty bread, while listening to the second half. Hull eventually win 2:1 in extra time, with goals from Nick Proschwitz and Tom Cairney, in extra time. Orient's goal was gifted by our keeper, Jakupovich, who let the ball slip through his hands again. This is probably his last match in a Tigers Shirt. To bed for eleven.