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.