Oh yes it is!!!

I wake around five, as Louis climbs into my bed, laughs, cuddles up and then falls instantly asleep. We eventually get up around eight, I let Normy into the yard and then begin to make breakfast, while Louis chatters away. Someone else's kitchen is always a challenge, but eventually I locate bacon in the fridge and sausages and black pudding in the freezer, a tin of baked beans, some eggs and a loaf of bread, my golden rule of fry ups is, "the slower the better!" And this is particularly true of frozen food. Within half an hour, breakfast is ready and Louis rouses his sister, Alice, from her beauty sleep and she staggers, zombie like, down to breakfast. It must be something about teenagers and adolescent growth spurts, that prompts a tendency to hibernate, but, after a solid breakfast, she rejoins the human race, at least for a while, and we have a nice family chat for ten minutes before I take Louis to the bathroom. We emerge twenty minutes later, clean and pink and shiny and ready to take Norman for his morning walk after his full English breakfast. High pressure dominates the weather and Saturday morning is clear, bright and mild, as we walk Normy round Seven Corners Lane, where he dutifully empties his bladder and produces treasure, which I collect and deposit later in a bin on York Road. Louis is preoccupied by the promise of football tomorrow and seems unconcerned by the prospect of "Sleeping Beauty", at the New Theatre in Hull this afternoon. We return to Sarah's house for ten fifteen and I leave Louis and Norman with Alice, as I make my way to the bank, in order to replenish my cash before the trip to the theatre. Felicity has phoned to say she won't make the Poppy Seed, as she fell yesterday, and although she isn't hurt, feels like a quiet day. When I pass the little cafe, our usual table is bare, but on my way back Hahne, Jill and Sylvia are there, so I stop by for a cup of tea and a chat. They all want to see an oldie movie, called "Quartet", during the week and I volunteer to act as chauffeur and ask Hahne to let me know later when they wish to go. When I arrive back at Sarah's house, there is just time to check my email, before we have to set off for Cherry Burton to collect Andrew's daughters, Laura and Rebecca. I have allowed slightly over the hour to drive to the theatre, as we have to collect our tickets from the box office first and Hull City are at home to Leyton Orient in the third round of the FA cup. In the event, the traffic isn't too heavy and we arrive at the theatre with forty five minutes to spare and after collecting our tickets, we adjourn to the theatre bar where the children all drink lemonade and I enjoy a tea, whilst browsing the itinerary of upcoming events, which includes visits by the Siberian ballet, Opera North and Northern Ballet. We take our seats ten minutes before curtain raise, the auditorium is packed with young families and the air humming with electric anticipation. The safety curtain is down and upon it is emblazoned the legend, " Once Upon A Time", which Louis reads and then enquires what the curtain is for? I tell him it is there to keep the magic in, until the show starts, this year's pantomime is "Sleeping Beauty", although it doesn't really matter much, as all successful Panto's are much the same, ( to misquote Tolstoy ). They have that wonderful blend of fairy tale, music hall, and intense audience interaction. The lights go down, the music starts, the curtain raises, and the first impression is of the wonderful set, layer after layer of hand painted woodland and castle scape. The formula never changes, comedic Dames in drag, a lot of comedy around bodily functions and frequent song and dance routines. The stars this year, as last, are " the chuckle brothers", who have been performing for over thirty years and have their routines refined to the Nth degree, but this years stand out performance is from the actress playing the wicked fairy, it is so far over the top, that it parodies itself, she is simply wonderful. Gleefully evil, and extracting a torrent of hisses and boos from kids and adults alike. The show fairly rocks along and deposits us, hoarse and happy, on the pavement, two and a half hours later. My granddaughter, Rebecca, who is twelve, is also autistic, so we let her decide where we eat after the show, as she will only eat a limited number of things. She opts for chicken nugget and chips from McDonalds, so we all pile back into my car and drive to Kingswood where there is an outlet adjacent to the Cinema. As an infrequent visitor, I order something called a big tasty burger, which comes with a slice of cheese and promptly melts into a disgusting, salty, gooey mess. This notwithstanding, the kids enjoy their meals, and Louis is so excited from the Pantomime that he could show off for England, the girls quickly tire of his antics, and Rebecca collapses with laughter when I put a "Happy Meal" box over his head and ask if that is an improvement. Unfortunately this only encourages Louis further, and we leave the restaurant before my grandson is shown the door. We drop the girls off with their mum, Sam, and arrange to collect Rebecca tomorrow lunchtime, when Louis and I are playing football, as she also likes a kick about. Alice, Louis and I arrive at North Bar for six thirty, feed Norman and then walk him through town. Alice stays behind, but my grandson and I take a leisurely walk around Beverley, the shops are all closed, but the Christmas lights are still shining as we walk around the quiet streets. There is a Bruce Springsteen song called, "My home town", where he recalls driving around town with his dad, Louis and I love Beverley in the same way and we love each others company, so we amble round town with Normy, stopping to chat with people, who generally want to know what kind of dog he is. The fine weather that arrived with the New Year persists, the sky is clear and starry, but the night is still mild, and it is nearly eight o'clock when we return home. I try to get away without telling Louis a bedtime story, as I am feeling tired, but there is no chance of pulling it off and I bow before the inevitable and follow him up the stairs to his bedroom. He likes stories about the "olden days", and so I transport him back to medieval Beverley, with a tale about he and granddad clearing snow for the Abbot of the Friary in the morning and then winning the annual sledging race in the afternoon. He goes off to sleep a happy little boy. I am shattered, Sarah has a bottle of vodka in the drinks cabinet and I pour a large shot over the rocks and then settle down with Norman on my knee and watch a television retrospective on Stanley Baxter, a wonderful character actor, comedian and impressionist of genius, from twenty years ago. To bed at ten thirty after a happy but tiring day.