Various communions and pork pie tasting!

The cold weather last night must have affected my sinuses, because I wake up this morning with a stuffy nose and heavy catarrh. Just when I thought it was clearing. Norman returns from his toilet run in the freezing cold and looks at me, as if to say, "you promised me a full English this morning", which I did, so set to work to deliver the pledge. It is quite early and breakfast is served for a quarter past seven, after which we retreat into the Garden Room, where I read the Guardian literary supplement from Saturday, as BT broadband is still not working. After showering and dressing, I hang some freshly washed shirts on coat hangers in the bathroom to dry and then pop last week's undies into the washer, before taking Normy for a walk down the lane, before church. It is cold and damp outside and has not frozen overnight, probably as a result of the cloud cover, which persists this morning. The skies vary from gunmetal, to steel blue, and the landscape has the familiar washed out water colour look to it. An elderly lady walks with us down Carr Lane with a Jack Russell bitch and we chat for a while before we turn round at the farm and return home, Normy has his blue winter coat on and is conflicted between his desire to return to the warm house and his urge to have a good sniff about. Eventually he sorts out his priorities and we are back indoors just after ten, which gives me enough time to change my shoes, collect a bag of grapes from the kitchen for Leslie and drive to Saint John's. I am seated in my usual pew, on the left hand side of the aisle, about half way down, with ten minutes to spare, and after composing myself pray for those I love and those in need, quite often the same people, before taking in the congregation. Today is "The Baptism of The Lord," and the day in which children traditionally make their first communion, consequently the church is packed with the addition of the families of these children, who are brought to the alter and introduced to the congregation before, they, their parents and we take our oaths. The hoarseness in my voice takes me down from tenor towards baritone, but I still enjoy the hymns and the sung mass, we are communing through music as well as ritual and sacraments. A creator must surely love creative expression and some of the finest art, music, literature and architecture has been religiously inspired. Perhaps we are meant to love the creator through his/her creation, which of course includes us and we can bring the Kingdom closer by applying that sentiment to those other creations we meet every day. There is a plea for the congregation to sign postcards for prisoners of conscience after Mass, but it is twenty five to twelve as I leave and I have to drive straight to The Grange. Leslie reports a poor night's sleep, but is otherwise OK, and looks well. He is pleased with his grapes and eats a few before we set out for his walk, along the corridor to the restaurant and back again to the lounge, where we sit and chat for ten minutes before lunch. His mood and conversation continue to improve, before his respite, all he would talk about was his illnesses and worries, but now he will discuss items in the news and laugh at the odd joke. He tells me he walked last evening but used his Zimmer, which is OK, he doesn't need it as there are rails along the corridors, but if it gives him confidence it is better to walk with a Zimmer than not to walk at all. We return to the restaurant and take our usual table with Christina and Barbara, but are joined by Betty, so I sit next to Leslie at the end. It is roast pork with apple sauce and all the trimmings for lunch, followed by fruit salad and cream. Leslie eats everything apart from the string beans, which look a little over cooked. Christina has to fend for herself today, as I am too far away to help and surprise, surprise, she manages perfectly well. Perhaps the poor old girl just liked the company, but she and Barbara are chatting to us and Leslie is joining in, it is so much more pleasant than everyone eating in silence. Communion? Tomorrow, Leslie's daughter and son in law are visiting in the morning, with a representative from "Independant Living", a private company that provide home helps for the elderly. Leslie tells me that they are able to provide better continuity of care than Social Services, whose helpers tend to change from week to week. I suspect this isn't because it isn't possible, more likely that ease of administration takes precedence over customer satisfaction, but I may be wrong. I leave around one fifteen and drive home to give Norman his lunch, and then make a pot of tea and some oaties for me. I have agreed to take my pork pie and some salad to Felicities house at tea time, so that we may eat together. I gather Norman and my pork pie and drive to Tesco's before they close at four, where I buy some more catarrh pastille, a tossed salad, French dressing and HP sauce. We park next to the Market Cross and walk up Greyburn Lane to Albert Terrace, where Felicity lives, her daughter, Melissa, and grandson, Barnabus, are just about to leave, as I arrive. They have just tidied the place up, but I reassure Felicity that we will have it back to normal in no time, Barney laughs, but Melissa is less impressed. She is a teacher and as Monday morning approaches, the spirit of Joyce Grenfell starts to loom large. Once we are on our own, I make a pot of tea for us and we exchange news, before serving the pork pie and salad. One of Felicity's friends, Tracy, had also bought her a pork pie from Brandesburton, so we decide to conduct a pork pie testing, comparing Tesco deli pork pie, with the farm reared pie made locally. Tesco win on crust, but the local one wins on meat and flavour, and perhaps the crust was crispier when it was a little younger! Norman and Fliss's dogs, Molly and Sam, can't decide and keep coming back for more. The old girl starts to flag around six o'clock, so I clear the table for her and put the sauces in the fridge before we leave and return down Greyburn Lane to the car. Louis left his gloves in the car last night, so I drop these off at Sarah's, so that he has them for school in the morning before returning to Tickton. My whites are done, and as there are only four day's worth, I hang them on the radiators to dry. I should really iron, but I don't really feel like it tonight, and tomorrow will probably be a quieter day, although I have to take the dogs out in the morning and Louis to swimming lessons at tea time. Oh and I have a blood test booked at the doctors before lunch. To bed for ten.