Louis, the Tiger!

Wake at seven to use the toilet, outside there is a beautiful sunrise on fields white with overnight frost, but I have no deadlines this morning, so pop back into my warm bed for another hour. By the time I get up again, I seem to have decided to fast again today, so limit breakfast to two small slices of rye toast with cream cheese and smoked salmon and my usual coffee. Once it is after nine o'clock, I phone Leslie's daughter, Margaret for news of her dad, William answers the phone and tells me that there has been no change. Leslie is effectively in a medically induced coma and whilst they are continuing to deliver antibiotics and oxygen, there is thought to be no hope for him. It is grim news, William is going to the hospital again this afternoon and will phone me if there is any change. After showering and dressing, I strip the bed and put a load of whites into wash, before setting off to drive to Cherry with Norman. Pip has left a note for me, to say that Dolly is in season, but the boys, who are both neutered, behave themselves in the car and we arrive on Newbald Road, shortly after ten o'clock, without a problem. I let Teddy off first today, not risking Dolly absconding into the woods, looking for love. It is a delightful morning, the sun shining brightly, but the cold northeasterly wind is back, and with a little more force today, to the east a bank of cloud is building over towards the coast. We have a look at Felicity's sapling in Telly Tubby Land, it is an Ash that she calls Yggdrasil, after the Norse Tree of Life. At the very tip of it's ebony black buds, a tiny pink shoot can be discerned, Fliss will be delighted with the news. Once we are out on the open common, where I can keep an eye on Dolly, I swap the terriers over and let her off the lead, making sure that Norman stays close by me this morning. Tomorrow and Saturday, I have Louis and there is also much for me to do today, but the fine weather is too good to waste, so when we arrive at Black Mill, we continue our walk all the way to the western boundary and the gorse bushes, which are showing large bursts of yellow flowers. From here we head North, up the hill and across Newbald Road, and on to Burton Bushes, where the four of us sit on a bench, out of the wind and enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on our faces. We sit for perhaps ten minutes, and then slowly saunter back down the hill towards the car. It is half past twelve when we drop the terriers in Cherry, and then drive to the doctor's surgery, where I need to book a blood test, which I forgot to do when I saw Doctor Martin on Friday. It is quickly arranged for the 25th of March, the results will be back before I see the urologist at Castle Hill hospital the following week. Sam lives just round the corner, so we drive there to arrange to see the girls, but she has gone out, so we drive on to Tesco where I buy some salad and a box of Bakers for Normy. We eventually return home around half past one, I feed Norman some of the Bakers, hang out the whites and then put some coloured shirts and socks into wash. When this is done, I make a pot of tea and take this into the garden with a plate of three oaties and my new book, which is about people's common religious experiences, across all faiths and none, over the last two thousand years or so. One of my great joys is to sit in my garden reading, whilst drinking tea and nibbling a biscuit. My oaties are made from oatmeal and sweetener, with a little olive oil margarine, so are about twenty calories each, I have saved two hundred calories for dinner, which will be a brown rice salad, with lettuce, tomato, cucumber and spring onions. My garden faces east, so I am well wrapped against the cold wind and have a travelling rug on my knee again. Normy lies in the sun, chewing on the last of his rib bones, until three thirty, when we lose the sun and return indoors and then meditate for an hour. I give Norman his tin at five o'clock, gather the washing from the line and then air it on driers on the radiators, before setting up the ironing board and working my way through a pile of shirts while listening to the news on radio four. An American Priest, who was Pope Benedict's Latinist, is interviewed and says, " what has all this hierarchy and ceremonial got to do with Jesus?" He wants a change of direction and hopes a younger Pope might deliver it, he actually calls the college of cardinals a gerontocracy. He is by no means alone in the views he expresses. When the shirts are finished and put away, I chop the salad and mix it with the brown rice that I saved from last night's dinner and then manage to eat only half of it, while listening to Jeremy Hardy, who is on aftervthe news, with a really funny program about power. Weirdly, the less you eat the less you seem to want to eat, I discontinued taking the Naproxen this morning and so far at least, the arthritis in my left hip is OK, although I can still feel it. A text comes in from Sarah and when I check, it is a photograph of Louis in a full Tiger's strip. I also have an email from Graham's wife, Liliane and forward Louis' picture to her when I reply. Will Louis be a professional footballer, a striker, like his dad? He certainly is likely to have the necessary physique and the competitive spirit, but we shall just have to wait and see if he has the talent and the determination. To bed for ten.

Fine weather and bad news

This morning is brighter, the cloud has broken and there are patches of blue apparent in the gaps. I open my bedroom window to let in the cold, fresh air and pull back my duvet to air the bed. Norman is lying on his back on the carpet, wriggling happily, "let's do it all again, old Boy!" I tell him, before walking to the Garden Room and opening the patio door to let him run out for his morning toilet. The farmer must have been and cut the hedge yesterday, which is now uniformly level and neat, apart from a single bramble stalk, that has somehow evaded the carnage and stands proud and alone, like the hair on the head of Alf Alfa, a boy on the old black and white films that my father used to like. Surprisingly, after my fast day, I do not feel particularly hungry, but fry a kipper filet in the wok and eat this with a few slices of rye toast for breakfast washed down with black, Italian coffee, as usual. Norman has Baker's again, as a whole kipper is too much for him and I can't eat another half. We leave the house by a quarter past nine, our only deadline today is to call and see Felicity before her physiotherapist arrives at eleven thirty, so we are in no great hurry. The sun has burned off the early clouds by the time we arrive on the Westwood and it is now a lovely winter's day, cold but not too bad as the northeasterly wind has diminished to the merest whisper. Dolly goes off first again and perhaps due to the lovely weather, is reluctant to come back, but eventually she is persuaded to do so and Teddy gets his turn to run. We meet Sofia, the Bulgarian lady and her husband with their two retrievers and walk towards Black Mill together, they are going to Helsinki next week and I tell them of my visits there in the 1990's. Suddenly I realise that Norman is missing, he was a few feet behind us when we fell in with Sophia and her husband, but he must have wondered off, so we say goodbye, turn round and start to look for him. We find him after a few minutes, being carried by an old lady and reclaim him, thanking her for looking after the old boy. I realise that it must have been the bright sun, which is quite low in the sky, causing the light to scatter from his cataracts, and has confused him. We make our way towards the car and encounter Claire Trainer and baby George, being pushed in his buggy, she is accompanied by another young woman with a baby, who is introduced as Helen, her baby is called Elizabeth and is only six weeks old. She asks if I know her husband, Rob Byass, and of course I do, Rob was one of the first members of Beverley Athletics Club, when we started it in 1990. He lives on Westwood Road and is friends with Felicity, he is also a very skilful amateur silversmith and had an exhibition of his work and other local artists, in his house last year. Helen was there and I met her briefly, but the house was full of people that day, so it is unsurprising that she doesn't remember me. I tell Claire about my upcoming Swimathon and she says she will sponsor me, as does Helen and I agree to pop a sponsorship form through her post box. We still manage to return Teddy and Dolly to Two Riggs and drive to Albert Terrace, where Felicity lives, for a quarter to eleven. She is watching TV when we arrive and asks me to make tea for us both, while she switches it off and joins us in the kitchen. Norman nestles in my arm while I sip tea and chat to Felicity, she tells me she has been gardening in her tiny yard at the back of the house and shows me the flowers she has planted. The physiotherapist phones to apologise, because she has been called to an emergency and reschedules her appointment for March. We leave around noon. Felicity wants to walk with her friend Pat, as far as the Westwood to enjoy the fine day, it is less than a hundred yards from Albert Terrace. En route home we call in at Morrisons, where I buy some fresh herrings, salad and a little cream cheese, as well as a bunch of pristine white asparagus, which is begging to be sautéed in butter and served with spaghetti, black pepper and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. We arrive home at a quarter to one and twenty minutes later I am tucking into my pasta, which tastes wonderful, even without a nice glass of Orvieto. The garden is in full sun, so I take a pot of tea, some oaties as dessert, and my Ian Rankin book and finish the last three chapters sitting outside. Albeit with a scarf round my neck and a travelling rug upon my knee. When I return indoors, at three thirty, I have a text from Margaret, telling me that Leslie is very ill and that William is visiting. I had a bad feeling about Leslie yesterday when I saw him. She phones within the hour and tells me her dad is not expected to live through the night. I give her my condolences and best wishes and she says she will keep me informed. After Margaret rings off, I pray that my friend will go quickly now and that his suffering is soon ended. I have promised to collect Louis tonight at five thirty and it is now half past four, so I call at the library on my way and exchange my books, before driving to the after school club. Louis is happy to see me and after we have driven to North Bar Without, wants to take Norman round Seven Corner's Lane for his evening walk. It is a lovely evening, the sun is setting, crimson and gold, behind the racecourse, as the shadows lengthen and the winter chill returns to the air. Louis says that he is missing Clement, but that he may be coming back for Mother's Day, which is a week on Sunday. We return to Sarah's house around a quarter past six and chat to Alice for a while, before Louis insists that I watch a recording of the highlights of the recent FA cup matches with him. Norman and I leave around seven and drive back to Tickton, where I give him a tin for his dinner and then boil some brown rice, which I serve with the mussel sauce, which I had left simmering in the slow cooker. I had made this at the weekend, so it really has been cooked slowly, nevertheless it tastes fine and I have some brown rice left over, which I can make into a salad tomorrow. As I have Louis on Friday and Saturday, tomorrow may well be another fast day, I will see how I feel in the morning. I pray for Leslie agaIn and go to bed early around nine thirty.

Taxi duty

We wake at seven and after letting Norman out to yet another cold, grey day, I make my way to the kitchen and make breakfast. Today is the first day of intermittent fasting, I will try it two days a week for a month, to see if it helps my arthritis. I have decided to split the 500 calorie allowance between breakfast and dinner, so limit myself to a giant boiled egg and two small pieces of rye toast, scraped with butter and cut into soldiers. Norman is distinctly unimpressed, he greatly prefers the full English, but has to put up with Bakers for seniors, again. We are showered, shaved, shampooed and on the road by nine o'clock, collecting Dolly and Teddy and then driving on to the Westwood for our morning walk. The northeasterly wind persists, and is straight in my face as we make our way back from Black Mill to the car, shrinking the skin against my face. It has been stuck in this direction for a week now. After dropping the terriers back in Cherry, we drive to Sarah's house and collect Clement for his trip back to Doncaster and onwards to London. I give him a pair of Barker's Oxford shoes in oxblood, that I have just had resoled, but which are rubbing across my toes and three good work shirts and a set of cuff links to accompany them. He has an intensive three day assessment at Price Waterhouse Coopers after Easter and hopes to secure an internship for the summer recess. The trip to Doncaster station is uneventful, we arrive fifteen minutes before the departure of his train, he gives me a hug, says goodbye to Norman and then disappears inside the station. We drive back to Hull, I am visiting Leslie at two o'clock, but have an hour to kill, so stop at Sainsbury's in Hessle, which is the first exit off the A63 dual carriageway, after the Humber Bridge. I walk Norman along the edge of the car park for ten minutes and then give him some water, before leaving him on the back seat again while I read the Yorkshire Post over coffee in the cafeteria. At a quarter to two we complete our journey, parking in Linnaeus car park, as usual and then walking to Hull Royal Infirmary and taking the stairs to the seventh floor. After washing my hands, I make my way to Leslie's bedside, to find him lying in a foetal position on his left hand side, a glucose drip attached to his wrist. He is sleeping, so I fetch a plastic chair and sit down at his side, his face seems to have lost definition in some way and without the animation of his personality, he looks very, very old. After a short while he comes round but seems a little groggy, "Where are you?" he asks. " I am here Leslie," I say. "No, where are you?" He repeats. I fetch his glasses and gently slide them on to his nose, asking if that is better? " Where are you?" He repeats, more urgently this time, and I realise that he means to say, who are you. "It is David, I have come to visit you." I tell him, but he doesn't know me. " What do you want from me?" He demands, "Nothing Leslie, I just wanted to make sure you are alright", he makes it very clear that he wants me to leave, then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. I find the nurse who looks after Leslie in the office and ask to speak to her, she has been on holiday for two weeks and tells me she was quite shocked to see how much he has deteriorated during her absence. I tell her about his chest infection, but she already knows about this and then ask her when the confusion started, and am informed they noticed it first thing this morning. The doctors have seen him, she tells me and his observations are otherwise within range and the chest infection has responded to the antibiotics, they put him back on a drip, just in case he was dehydrated. There is nothing further I can do, so I thank her and leave. As I make my way down the stairs, I have this fear that he has had a stroke. We drive back to Tickton via Wawne, on the windy country road and when we return home, I feed Normy and give him some fresh water, before meditating for an hour. Around five I call Leslie's daughter, but her husband William answers and I tell him about the deterioration in my old friends condition. William is visiting tomorrow and promises to keep me informed. As soon as I put the phone down Sarah calls, Louis has a Baker day on Friday, the teachers are undergoing some training, so I agree to look after him. Sarah also has a client after work tomorrow, so I offer to collect him from the after school club at five thirty and take him home. As it seems to be my hour for phone calls, I ring Felicity, who tells me she can't make the Poppy Seed in the morning, as her physiotherapist is calling at eleven thirty. I arrange to call in for a cup of tea with her, after taking the dogs out in the morning, around half past ten. It is now seven O'clock and time for my other 250 calories, which I consume as brown rice with steamed peppers and garden peas, with a vegetable stock cube added to the boiling water. It seems to take forever in the microwave, but tastes surprisingly decent when it eventually emerges. Later I read Ian Rankin's new thriller, "The Impossible Dead," which keeps my mind occupied until bedtime. I turn in at eleven, my prayer for Leslie is that he doesn't suffer.

A day with my grandsons

Normy and I sleep in until nearly nine o'clock after our late night and then I breakfast on smoked salmon on rye with cream cheese, before taking my coffee into the Garden Room. Norman has Bakers for seniors. The grey weather continues and so does the relentless northeasterly wind, so we are both well wrapped against the cold when we eventually Sally forth to collect Dolly and Teddy from Cherry. It is shortly after eleven when we arrive on Newbald Road and make our way into the woods. A council worker with a mini digger is filling pot holes along the verge, where people usually park, the heavy rain in December and then the snow and frost over the last two months have played havoc. Dolly is let off the lead first today, as I don't want Teddy running across Westwood Road again, in order to extend his freedom. He is always a little stir crazy on a Monday, after a weekend without a good run. Dolly comes back to me without problem and Teddy has a good run around the common until we get to Black Mill, when he too returns as bidden. I have arranged to collect Clement and Louis and take them for lunch later, Sarah has kept Louis from school today, so that he can spend some time with his brother, who he misses greatly now that he is away in University. Today is the first day that I feel back to normal, so the dogs and I celebrate and walk the whole of the common, taking in Burton Bushes, where clumps of narcissi are just starting to show yellow at their tips. Despite the cold wind, spring is very near now. After dropping off the terriers, I call and collect my grandsons from North Bar Within, at around one o'clock. Louis proudly shows me a cardboard model of Wembley stadium, that he and Clement have constructed, telling me that it needs more seats sticking in, but unfortunately they have run out of glue, so we need to shop for another Prit Stick after lunch. We are going to Harper's for a haddock and chips, on their two for a tenner deal, Louis being the odd one out will have a child's portion. In the event, the waitress brings Louis two small portions of haddock, but they add up to more than our larger ones. This is the third time I have eaten here and the food is consistently fresh and well cooked, so it is not surprising when we all clear our plates. The talk over lunch is all about football, Louis is obsessed with the game, and wants us to go to see Hull play with Clement the next time there is an away match on a Saturday in London. Unfortunately there are none left this season. After lunch we walk to WH Smiths to buy the Prit stick, Clement also buys Louis some football cards, rather than the magazine he wants with some football cards attached that costs ten times as much. Clement has unfortunately inherited my tendency to develop mouth ulcers when stressed, he has recently finished exams and has a whopper on his tongue, so we call at Superdrug for some Adcortil gel, which I know through experience, works best. The Pharmacist says that it is now almost impossible to get this and so Clement has to settle for some Ambesol. We part company around three and Norman and I drive back to Tickton. When we arrive, I phone Sam and explain that Louis wants to play with Clement, so we won't be calling round this afternoon. I will pop in to see Laura and Rebecca later in the week and perhaps make fresh pizza with them. After meditating, I start to read a book that Sarah has given me about intermittent fasting, my brother Graham has been doing it for about a year now, with positive results. I tried it for a day and managed it easily enough, but as I don't particularly have a weight problem and swim a lot, I haven't bothered since. The most interesting section of the book, for me at least, reports positive effects on inflammation and arthritis, where I do have growing concerns, so I decide that I will make a start in the morning and see if it helps. Leslie's son in law, William, phones around nine o'clock and reports on his visit to the hospital, the old boy was in good form today apparently and was asking after me. While we are talking, it comes out that William was in signals in the RAF,( I in the Army), and both of us were stationed in Bahrain and the Persian Gulf in the 1960's. We agree to go for a pint some time and compare war stories. Normy has wanted to sit on my knee all night, usually a sign that he is feeling under the weather. We go to bed for eleven, tomorrow I have to take the dogs out early, as I am running Clement back to Doncaster Station and then calling at the Hospital to visit Leslie on my way back home.

A full moon in the afternoon

Norman gets me up for seven and I open the curtains on another grey day and then let him out into the garden before making my way to the kitchen. Breakfast this morning is scrambled eggs, we have eight of the giants left in the fridge, so I take half of these and crack them into a Pyrex bowl and whisk them with a little salt and black pepper and then slide them into the skillet onto some melted butter. In a couple of minutes we are both tucking into breakfast, I have chopped up Normy's rye toast with the scissors again, but he still wolfs down his portion before I have barely started. After breakfast I take my coffee into the lounge and listen to the news on the BBC, which at this time on a Sunday focuses on religious affairs. Cardinal Keith O'Brien, the most senior Roman Catholic in the country, stands accused by some other priests, of inappropriate conduct, presumably a euphemism for homosexual approaches, this is the same guy who was fulminating against gay marriage last week, such hypocrisy, you couldn't make it up! Sexual desire, either gay or straight, is a natural human function, and our church, by deciding on celibacy a thousand years ago, has created an unnatural sexual environment. So it isn't in the least surprising that it has had unfortunate, and unintended consequences. It is also well documented, that both men and women, in situations where access to members of the opposite sex is prevented, (prisons, military, convents, and monasteries), will engage in same sex relationships. The major problem, from the church's perspective, is that this makes people vulnerable to coercion and blackmail. Worse still, it builds an environment in which paedophiles and child abusers can hide and flourish. Celibacy should no longer be a requirement for priests and women should be allowed to be ordained, if they have a vocation and should no longer be just limited to being nuns. Gay and straight marriage among priests, of either sex, should also be allowed. Opening the windows and letting some light and air into the church is long overdue. Perhaps then we can focus on being Christians and being kind to those we encounter in our mundane, everyday lives. I can't see Father Roy agreeing with much of this, although as an ex Anglican, he is at least married. Norman and I walk round the village before church, the bitter northeasterly wind persists, but he is snug in his little blue, fur lined coat. He wants to come to church with me, so I lift him into the car, he can wait for me at Sarah's house, while I attend Mass. When I knock on the door, they are all in the process of dressing and are about to drive to York to buy Clement new shirts, so Normy has to wait for me in the car. Ten thirty Mass is packed, Roy is sufficiently recovered from his illness to lead the service on his own and the choir and congregation are in fine voice, it is the second Sunday in Lent and the readings are about God's Covenant with Abraham and the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain top. The sermon is austere, that man, (or woman), cannot succeed without the covenant with God and the grace which derives from this covenant. I can only speak to my own experience, consciousness seems to me to be the collision between the world and individual awareness. Always creativity seems present and available in the interpretation of this encounter and it always seems to have two sides, one selfless and the other selfish. Yesterday, for example, when visiting Leslie, I felt great compassion for his suffering, but then the selfish part of me asked, "how many more weeks and months will I have to make this sacrifice of my time?". It is easy to see how this latter could be taken as the voice of the devil. Perhaps this creativity is a divine gift and the choices we are offered an expression of our freedom? We can choose which of these voices we wish to act upon. In Theravadan Buddhist practice, one learns to be mindful and see selfish and evil thoughts, for what they are, just thoughts, they only become actualised if we choose to act upon them. (Interestingly this is equally true of kind thoughts!) The main thing is to remain mindful, so that we remain conscious of our choices, and don't simply act with ill intent out of plain heedlessness. Being Christian, moment by moment, simply with the people we encounter, particularly our own friends and family, is a tough enough challenge for most of us. After church we call in at Morrison's for some more ante pasta for tomorrow for Louis' tea and some more grandad pop and then drive home for one o'clock. Normy has biscuits and I make a cheese and tomato baguette with some crusty bread for lunch, not feeling hungry enough for the marinara sauce and mussels, which I will eat later for dinner, with spaghetti. After Lunch I wash up and then clean the kitchen and polish my walking boots, before constructing a small Caprese, using the last of the tomatoes and basil and a ball of buffalo Mozzarella, that is approaching it's use by date. This will make a nice starter and is placed in the fridge to cook. I also make a batch of oaties, but discover that I am out of sultanas, so they will have to be plain. While these are cooking I oil and season the remaining tortillas and then cut them into triangles with the scissors to be turned into Nachos, once the oaties are cooked. Outside a full moon has risen in the east, although it is still broad daylight. Later I meditate for a while and afterwards realise that I have received a new text from Clement, asking if I want to go to the cinema this evening. He wants to see the new Tarantino film and it starts at eight, but we have to drive to the Odeon in Hull, as our local multiplex has just dropped it from its schedule. I reply, arranging to collect him at half past seven and then realise that it is already half past six, so dinner has to be reprogrammed, the marinara sauce is switched off and I eat the Caprese accompanied with crusty French bread. There is just enough time to toilet Norman in the garden and then I have to drive off to collect Clement. The roads into Hull are quiet so we arrive in good time and are in our seats just as the lights go down. All of the adverts and trailers for forthcoming films seem to be targeted at young teenage boys, which gives an indication of the audience expected for the film. Django unchained, is OK, but nowhere near Oscar material, as ever, Tarantino's dialogue is witty and funny, but his homage to Sergio Leone is overdone and more than a little self indulgent. The best scene in the whole film is one where a bunch of vigilantes in Ku Klux Klan hoods start to fall out amongst themselves because someone has cut the eyeholes in the hoods wrongly and they can't see properly. It seems to me that this won't be a film that is remembered in thirty years time. I suspect Daniel Day Lewis' performance in Lincoln will be. We drive home through deserted streets and I drop Clement at Sarah's at a quarter to twelve and then make my way home. Norman is asleep in his basket when I unlock the door, so I pour myself a glass of milk and take three oaties from the biscuit jar and carry these into the Garden Room. After I have eaten them, I gather Normy gently from his bed, and when he has come round, usher him gently into the garden for the last pee of the day. To bed for one.

A trip to Doncaster

Norman wakes early, at a quarter to seven, just as the day is breaking outside, a pattern is developing here, he is waking with the dawn. This is OK in February but less good in June. After letting him out into the garden, I start to make breakfast, putting fresh coffee into the percolator and pausing, just for a moment, to smell the aroma, before shaking just enough into the mesh filter. The wok is set to heat on the stove, a knob of butter melting slowly before merging with a little olive oil, and four, small, oval slices of rye bread pressed into the toaster. The sizzle, as our two kipper fillets hit the hot pan, draws Norman back indoors, the bitter northeasterly wind following close behind him. The patio door is soon closed sealed against it's incursion and I return to the warm, salty, smoky smell of breakfast cooking, for some reason I always fry the skin side of the fish first, I like it nice and crispy, but try to leave the flesh side moist, so don't fry it for more than a minute. Coffee, toast and kippers are ready simultaneously, so the latter are removed from the heat, whilst I butter the toast and then use scissors to reduce Norman's toast to cubes of about a centimetre, before the spoils are shared. Half a filet for Norman and one and a half for me. Considering our respective body weights, he is getting rather a good deal, and as ever, he has finished his before I even lift my fork. After breakfast, I drink my coffee in the Garden Room and Normy sleeps in his basket until half past eight, when I shower and dress and then make a Provencale type of fish sauce, with garlic, chopped tomatoes, anchovies, onions and a little chile and ginger. I use the hand held blender to smooth the sauce and then put it in the slow cooker and add some frozen mussels, depending on how I feel this evening, I will eat this with either boiled rice or pasta. I am due to meet Felicity in the Poppy Seed this morning, so Norman and I leave the house around ten fifteen, drive to Norwood, where we park and then walk into town past the Girl's High School. My phone buzzes to tell me I have a text, it is from Sarah, telling me that Clement is coming home for the weekend and asking if I can collect him from Doncaster station at 5:20 PM. I text back to say I am happy to do this, and then cross the road to the cafe. The old girl is just finishing a bowl of soup as we arrive, so we squeeze into a seat by the window and Normy takes his favourite place on my knee, alert for any offerings of bacon or sausage that might come his way, as the waitresses go about their work. Rosemary turns up five minutes later, followed by Annie and then Barbara English arrives from the roadworks in Saturday Market, a medieval wall was uncovered earlier in the week and archeologists from York suspect it might be part of an early thirteenth century Bishop's Palace. If so, a major survey will be needed, an exploratory trench is being dug at the moment. Barbara who is emeritus professor of medieval History, is eager to get back to the dig and Rosemary goes off with her. Felicity and Annie are less mobile and more allergic to the cold and decide to stay in the cafe. Around half past eleven, I walk back to Norwood, collect the car and then drive Felicity and Annie home. We drive to Walkington first, where Annie lives, stopping en route at the farm shop to buy some pullet eggs, but unfortunately they have all been sold, so my passengers have to make do with normal size free range eggs. After dropping Annie, we return to Albert Terrace, I see Felicity safely into her house, and then drive back to Tickton for half past twelve. Norman has some dry dog food and I make a couple of rye toasties, with the last of a packet of Mozarella and some sundried tomatoes, in the sandwich maker. I am visiting Leslie this afternoon and need to call at Northpoint, in order to collect the trousers that were put in to be altered last week, so we leave the house at two, drive to Routh and then take the winding road to North Hull. Norman stays in the car whilst I collect the trousers, which are ready, and call in at a fruiterers to buy a bunch of grapes and some bananas to take to the hospital. We park at Mark's flats, Normy sleeps on the back seat, and I walk to the hospital. The concourse by the lifts is deserted and a door opens as I arrive, so today I ride to the seventh floor, where I wash my hands and then make my way to Leslie's bedside. He is asleep, so I fetch a plastic chair and sit by his bed for a while, until he comes round after ten minutes or so. He is rational and looks a little better today, although he is still very frail and thin, and I notice he has also been catheterised. We talk for a little while and when he tells me he is in pain, I call a nurse, who gives him a couple of painkillers and a drink of water. Within ten minutes they have taken effect and Leslie says he wants to sleep, so I say goodbye and promise to visit again on Tuesday. I take the stairs on my way back down and notice that I have a text from Clement, it reads, "looks like Hull haven't turned up at Bolton!" The Tigers are playing Bolton away this afternoon and when I return to the car and switch on the radio, Burnsy is bemoaning the fact that Hull conceded three goals in the first ten minutes. I listen to the rest of the match as we drive to Doncaster. Despite a Robbie Brady goal in the second half, Bolton score again and we end up losing 4:1. Thank goodness this wasn't a home game, Louis would have been distraught! Despite having driven to Doncaster station hundreds of times on my way down to London on business, I manage to get lost in the town centre and have to ask for directions, arriving only minutes before Clement's train pulls in. Suddenly it strikes me, it is over ten years since I made this trip and they have built the Frenchgate shopping centre and altered the one way system in the meantime. Clement seems even bigger than when last I saw him at Xmas, we find our way back to the M18 without problem and I deliver him home to Sarah's for half past six. He tells me he is going to Oxford next Saturday to meet his dad, Bertrand is Director of Research at Nantes University and is receiving a degree from Oxford next weekend. Clement is twenty on March 30th and his dad is buying him a new suit, shoes and some shirts next week. He probably wants him to look a bit less studenty for the ceremony. Norman starts to remind everyone that it is way past his dinner time, so we leave and drive back home for seven thirty. Normy has his dog tin and I steam some rice in the microwave, as I am starving as well and can't be bothered to boil water for pasta. The fish sauce and mussels works really well, it is rich, smooth, tasty and piquant. Poor Norman waits in vain for leftovers, but I have cleaned my plate. For dessert I open a tin of custard and pour it over half a tin of stewed rhubarb and then heat it in the microwave before polishing that off as well. Later I finish the Scibona book, the old lady by the way, is called Mrs Marini, I must have had marinara sauce on my mind. Later I wash up and go to bed for eleven.

A less bitter day

As ever, I wake before the alarm goes off at half past six, Normy stretches in his basket by my bed, then shakes himself and waits for me to open the patio door in the Garden Room, to let him out to perform his ablutions. The grey, cold weather continues and while he is outside, I make my way to the kitchen, where I slide some rye bread into the toaster, put the kettle on for hot water for my boiled eggs and load the percolator with ground coffee. When I turn round, he is back indoors, at his usual spot by the hall radiator, so return and close the patio door and then proceed with breakfast. Setting the timer on my phone to four minutes, I prick my giant eggs, put them in a Pyrex jug with some salt, cover with boiling water and place in the microwave on full power. They emerge, are then drained and doused in cold water to halt the cooking process, and then decapitated to reveal perfect soft boiled eggs. The golden yolks still liquid and the whites fully cooked. After breakfast there is just enough time to drink coffee and listen to the news, before showering and dressing, ready to leave the house for eight o'clock. Before leaving, I hang out my coloured washing, to see if the bitter easterly wind can dry these, before darkness this evening. Louis is more or less dressed and waiting for me when I arrive, so after finding his winter coat, hat and scarf, we collect Norman from the back seat of the car and make our way down North Bar Without, and into New Walk, before turning right past the police station, down Bleach Yard. Louis is full of talk about his new passion, football, and quizzes me about the team colours and grounds of all the clubs in the league. He knows the answers, from a book he has, and wants to test my knowledge. The girls at the Bleach Yard stables are mucking out the horses as we pass and the horses breath is sending up clouds of steam in the cold air. Louis is delivered to school on time but seems to believe that I am picking him up at three fifteen and taking him to the book club after school, he has his eye on a football book. I tell him that his mum has not mentioned this to me, but that she may contact me later. Norman and I retrace our steps, collect the Chrysler from Sarah's house and then drive to Cherry Burton, in order to pick up Dolly and Teddy, before setting out for our morning walk on Beverley Westwood. Overall, February has been a dry month, at least so far and the paths through the woods are starting to dry out. This morning the usual order of releasing Teddy first is reversed and I let Dolly have a run through the woods, Norman trots on about ten paces behind Teddy and I, while I peel and eat a Clementine orange and later eat a Granny Smith apple. We meet Angela Semple and her dog Sophie, as we turn onto the common, they are heading home and we towards Black Mill, so we stop and chat for a minute. Dolly comes back to be put on the lead and Teddy is let off to run and play chase with some other terriers. Terriers play really rough, but it is all good natured and when we arrive at the Mill, he promptly returns to the lead. Here, out in the open, we are fully exposed to the cold, easterly wind. Norman preempts any decision to extend our walk and sets off at a lick on the diagonal path to the north, that leads back to my car. After returning the terriers to Pip's, we make our way to Morrisons, for rye bread, butter and milk. The supermarket is packed, mostly with older people, and we are in and out quite quickly but still tempted to buy more cheese, which is on special offer and Madeira and fruit cake, one of which, probably Madeira, will be donated to Felicity. Perhaps it's just supermarket shopping, but my energy levels have collapsed again, so after filling up with diesel, we drive home. Norman has a bone, I unpack the shopping and then meditate for an hour, before making tea and some sandwiches of apricot conserve on crusty bread, which I eat whilst listening to the news. A text arrives from Sarah, confirming what Louis said and asking me to pick him up at three fifteen. I say that I will do this and remind her that I have an appointment with Dr Martin at tea time, she texts back to say Alice will be home from High School by four and can look after him until she herself arrives back later. To be sure of this, I text Alice and ask her to be home for four. Before setting out to collect Louis, I check the washing and find that the east wind has in fact, done it's job and gather it in a basket and then store it in the front room for ironing later. We park outside Sarah's house in North Bar and then Norman is left to sleep on the back seat, while I retrace our morning walk to Saint Mary's primary school and join the other parents and grandparents in the playground, waiting for the children to emerge. There is a marked contrast in dress between the generations, apart from the obvious one of fashion. Us oldies are all well wrapped up against the cold, while the young mums seem oblivious, although the temperature is barely two degrees and the windchill must take that down another five degrees. Louis emerges with his classmates, his fleecy blue hat askew and his coat wide open, clutching a box containing a football game and book. He tells me his teacher let him buy it from the book club early, so after fastening his coat and pulling his hat over his exposed ears, we make our way back to North Bar. It is ten to four when we get there, so we collect Norman and take him four a walk around Seven Corner's Lane, leaving Louis' school bags and his football game in the car. The walk is about half a mile, and we take it slowly, arriving back at ten past four, but there is still no sign of Alice and she isn't answering her phone, so we leave Normy in the Chrysler and Louis and I walk through the bar to Rolando's for a hot chocolate. Nico, Rolando's Albanian/Italian chef, is drinking coffee with one of Louis' teachers from last year, after finishing his lunchtime shift. He has known Louis since he was a baby and marvels at how big he has grown. The teacher obviously knows Louis, he is big, exuberant and precociously bright, but with a fairly short attention span for anything other than that which currently interests him. In short he is a character, he reminds me and probably everyone else, of Richmal Cromptom's William. While we drink our chocolate, I try Alice again and then Sarah, but only reach their voicemail, but when we return to the house, just after four thirty, both are home. Sarah has just arrived and Alice tells me she had a graphic design club after school and claimed her phone had run out of battery. Louis plays with his game, while I chat to Sarah, with Norman on my knee, until it is time to leave for my appointment with the doctor. Doctor Martin, always runs late, because he always explains, often at great length, what he is doing and why. This also makes him the most popular doctor in the practice, so it is twenty to six before I am called in to see him. There are two things I wish to discuss, arthritis and the relapse of my prostate cancer. I raise the least serious, but most debilitating, first and after a tour d' horizon of the benefits and risks of respective NSAID's am given a prescription for both Diclofenac and Naproxen, which has fewer side effects and which he recommends I try. Until this winter, I have only needed anti inflammatories intermittently, but the damp weather has played havoc, particularly with my left hip and I now need a repeat prescription. We then discuss the prostate cancer and he is somewhat outraged that my appointment is not until April, but concedes that treatment is unlikely to be urgently required and we agree that I will have a full series of blood tests the week before my consultation with the specialist, so they have the most up to date data upon which to work. He thinks the first action will probably be an MRI scan, but my research suggests that hormone therapy is a more likely immediate response. I don't contradict Dr Martin, who is very kind, and thank him for his help, collect my prescription from the pharmacy and then drive home with Normy. My appetite is also a little under the weather, so after giving Norman a tin of dog food, I set up the sandwich toaster that Sarah bought as a Christmas present, and make toasties, with Mozarella and sun dried tomatoes. Later, William phones after visiting Leslie in hospital and reports a transformation. The antibiotics have finally kicked in, his fever has subsided and my old friend is rational again. This is most welcome news, and after chatting for a few minutes, I confirm that I will visit tomorrow afternoon before ringing off. I read some more Scibona, one of the characters, an old woman called, Mrs Marinara, takes a long hot bath, in order to ease her aching joints against the deep cold Ohion winter of 1953. This seems like such a good idea that I decide to follow suit and run myself a deep, hot bath and soak in it for half an hour. Normally I always have a shower after breakfast and rarely bathe. The therapeutic effects on Mrs Marinara's joints, as reported in the novel, are not replicated in me, but it does help me to relax and feel sleepy. So after letting Norman out for his last sojourn of the day, we go to bed, where I lay and read another chapter of Scibona's fine book, before falling asleep.

A bitter day

Normy wakes me at a quarter to seven, wanting to be let into the garden. It is cold outside and he returns quickly, running into the kitchen for breakfast, so I give him some Baker's dog food and still feeling tired and sleepy, slip back into bed for another hour. It is almost eight o'clock when I get up again and boil two giant pullet eggs for breakfast and make rye toast, using scissors to cut the hard bread into soldiers. After breakfast, I hang out my underwear on the line and then put this weeks socks, shirts and pyjamas into wash before leaving for Cherry Burton. The grey weather continues, along with the bitter easterly wind, but the dogs don't seem to mind and scamper happily through the woods and onto the common, as we take our morning walk. On the corner, travelling in the opposite direction, we meet Elaine Julien and her Jack Russell, Milo, and chat for a few minutes. She tells me she ran seven and a half miles with the running club last night and is getting back into the swing of things. It is six months since her husband died of pancreatic cancer and she nursed him for almost two years before that, so it is pleasing to see that she is starting to put her life back together again. Despite the cold, we extend our walk a little this morning and take in Newbald Pits Woods as well, before making our way back to the car. After dropping off the terriers, we call in at the supermarket on our way home, to buy milk and shaving foam, the last splutterings of the previous can, just sufficient to lather my face this morning. When we arrive home, I am suddenly very tired again and meditate for an hour, after first feeding Norman. I don't feel ill exactly, more like my batteries seem to be running out after just a couple of hours of mild exertion. It is now a quarter to two, so I make a pot of tea, eat the last slab of Madeira cake and then change, before driving into Hull to visit Leslie. Normy wants to come along for the ride again and I leave him to sleep on the back seat of the car in Mark's car park in Linnaeus Street, while I walk the short distance to the hospital. There are crowds of people waiting for the lifts again, Hull is deprived city and most of those waiting to visit, are poorly dressed, overweight and look quite sickly themselves. Defying my lack of energy, I take the stairs again, there are eleven steps in each flight and two flights between each landing to the seventh floor, 154 steps in total and so I am starting to blow a little when I arrive outside ward 70, the geriatric ward. After washing my hands, I make my way to Leslie's room and find two women taking blood from his left arm, one is an Asian doctor and the other a Scottish medical student. Leslie is laid with his frail and thin body exposed, apart from his incontinence pants, he has bruises everywhere, as the slightest touch causes bleeding under the skin. He looks like Christ crucified. The poor old chap is also delirious and asks me to pull the curtains around the bed opposite, where he says there is a German man and his wife. They are in fact another ninety one year old RAF veteran and his daughter. She kindly agrees to have her curtains drawn, if that will make Leslie more at ease. The doctors finish there task and Leslie asks for his pants to be changed, moments later a nurse appears to undertake the task and clean him up. I wait outside in the corridor while this is done and find Leslie's doctor, another young Asian woman, who tells me his observations are OK and that she thinks the delirium will clear when his chest infection responds to the antibiotics that are being delivered intravenously. The blood samples are going to the lab to look at the response to the treatment of the infection. When the nurse has completed her work, I take a chair and sit at Leslie's bedside, the tea lady delivers a beaker of tea with a straw in it and once it has cooled a little, I give him sips to drink and then hold his hand. His mind is rambling and he talks continuously, worried that he will have to pay the hospital bills and that he needs to explain things to Julia, his wife, who has been dead for sixteen years. I try to reassure him that his daughter, Margaret, her husband, William and I, have everything in hand and that he has nothing to worry about and only needs to rest and get better. I stay at his bedside for a quarter of an hour after visiting time ends at four and then leave, promising to visit again at the weekend. As I make my way back down the stairs I wonder whether the antibiotics are having any effect, he has been taking them intravenously since Monday. He has also been in bed now for a whole month and will hardly eat anything. Norman is still asleep when I get back to the car and we drive home via Wawne again, arriving at five. The washing, when I gather it in, is dried, the cold easterly wind has at least one redeeming feature. Normy chews on another rib bone while I do this and then runs to the kitchen, when I shout to tell him that his dinner is ready. My tiredness has returned, and I don't feel like cooking, so I heat a tin of beans in a bowl in the microwave and when they are hot, pour them over some rye toast and then eat these for dinner. Afterwards I phone Margaret, but William answers and I relay the news about Leslie, but there is very little positive to tell them. They are visiting tomorrow and I say I will go again on Saturday. Hopefully there will be some improvement in his condition by then. Later I text Sarah to confirm that I will take Louis to school in the morning and then read a few more chapters of Salvatore Scibona's, "The End", he really is a fine writer. Then feeling tired, I go to bed early, around nine thirty. It is possible that my energy problems may be due, to some degree, to depression, but I don't think so, it is more likely linked to my catarrh.

A quilt of many colours

We get up just before seven and I make breakfast, while Normy trots out into the garden to a cold, grey, dawn, the wind has swung to the east and as the old Yorkshire saying goes, "is no good for man nor beast". Norman has Baker's dog food for breakfast and I, smoked salmon on rye toast with cream cheese and my usual strong, black, Italian coffee. We can't hang about this morning, as I would like to be at the Poppy Seed for ten thirty, so we are showered, dressed and on the road for nine o'clock. We arrive on Newbald Road, having collected Dolly and Teddy, for twenty past nine and set off on our usual loop. It is quite a contrast from yesterday's bright sunshine, all the colour seems to have been drained from the world, even the birds have been quietened, all except for a little robin, who flits from branch to branch, as we make our way up the path towards Barbara's house and onto the common. The Bulgarian woman is there today, with her two retrievers, and we fall in with her and her dogs, as we make our way towards Black Mill, her name is Daniala and she is married to a Beverley man and moved here with him in September. We say goodbye after the Mill and walk back to the car and then return the terriers to Two Riggs, before driving to Beverley and parking up outside Saint John's church. It is only a short walk from here, through the Bar to the Poppy Seed, where we find Felicity and Hanne already in residence. The waitress arrives with my tea unbidden, Norman is settled on my knee and immediately tunes his ears into the news, while simultaneously scanning the table, in the off chance that there may be a scrap of bacon or sausage about. It transpires that Felicity has just had scrambled eggs and not saved any for him, so we chide her gently about this. Hanne is about to depart for Turkey tomorrow and won't be back until a week on Saturday, March 2nd. Before I have chance to enquire about her holiday, which is somewhere in the mountains, Thelma arrives, shortly followed by Annie. Felicity then regales us all with a story about her new quilt, which she has been given by Anne McNamara, and has been made by hand, she calls it her "Field of Dreams", and Norman and I are warned in advance not to sit on it, when we visit. Felicity is no longer capable of climbing the stairs and has put a single bed into a room that used to be a dining room, where sometimes we sit and drink tea. By eleven thirty she is tired, so I fetch the car and ferry her back to Albert Terrace, popping in to see the marvellous quilt, before I leave. It really is spectacular, constructed of triangular shapes, sewn together, which on closer inspection, turn out to be cut from old silk men's ties. Hanne arrives on her bike, just as I am leaving and is also suitably impressed by the art work. We arrive home for midday, Norman has some more dry dog food and I meditate for a while, but suddenly feel very tired, so lie down and sleep until half past three. Clearly I am not yet fully recovered from whatever bug is responsible for the reduction in my energy levels, but I feel better after a sleep and a pot of tea and some Madeira cake. I read for a while, and then after giving Norman his evening meal, run the vacuum cleaner through the house and iron a pile of shirts. I realise at eight thirty that I have only eaten a slice of cake since breakfast and an apple and tangerine orange, when I walked the dogs. My appetite seems to have gone, but I marinaded some seafood cocktail this morning and have the balance of the stir fry to either eat or throw away. After some prevarication, I take down the wok and the sesame oil from the cupboard and make dinner. Despite my lack of appetite, it tastes better than last night, and it is a shame to waste good food. Around half past nine, Leslie's daughter, Margaret, calls and tells me that my old friend was quite incoherent this evening and seemed much worse than last night. They had after all, braved the football traffic and visited him anyway. The only consolation I can offer her, is that the nursing care he is receiving is first rate and in the condition he is in, he is in the best possible place. I tell Margaret that I will visit tomorrow and then ring her when I get back. We can only take things one day at a time and nature will take its own course, in its own time. At least Leslie is not in any pain. To bed for ten thirty.

Tigers triumph again!

When the curtains are drawn back this morning, the fields are covered in a thick mist and there is a ground frost on the lawn. Norman runs outside to do his duty and then takes station next to the kitchen door by the hallway radiator, from whence he can both warm his bum and also watch me make breakfast. We are having kippers this morning, which he enjoys and I crumble up a slice of my rye toast and mix it in with his fish to fill him up. I still feel like my batteries need recharging, but after coffee and the radio four news, I shower and dress and then we leave for Cherry Burton to collect Dolly and Teddy. The broadband is defunct again, it went off last night around nine thirty and despite rebooting the router, it is still down this morning. By the time we arrive on the Westwood, the early morning mist has burned away and it is a glorious morning, blue skies, bright sun and very little wind. In the woods a magpie is gathering twigs probably with spring nesting in mind and in Telly Tubby Land, the north faces of the little hillocks are still covered in frost, while the southern sides are showing the bright green grass of new growth. We complete our walk by half past eleven and after dropping the terriers back at Pip's, Normy and I drive to Morrison's. I am visiting Leslie this afternoon and buy a box of grapes and a small string bag with mini Gouda cheeses in it for him, although I am unsure whether he will be well enough to eat them. We also buy more kippers, some smoked salmon, milk and stir fry vegetables, bean sprouts and Singapore noodles. When we arrive back in Tickton, after first unpacking the shopping, I make a pot of tea and cut a slice of Madeira cake and take this into the garden, where I sit in the warm sunshine and consume while watching Norman chew on one of the bones from last Friday's spare ribs, that I wrapped in foil and saved in the fridge for him. Later I trim some of the old growth off the plants in the flower beds, that should have been done in November, but somehow it never happened. The contrast between the sunny and shaded parts of the garden is extreme, and I am glad when the job is completed and the tools returned to the shed. Returning indoors I find Norman asleep in his basket in the Garden Room, after his lunch of dry dog food. At two o'clock, it is time to change out of my dog walking pants and boots, put Leslie's grapes and cheeses in a shopping bag and visit Leslie. As I make my way towards the door, Norman is waiting for me, with his little tail wagging furiously. Needless to say, he comes along for the ride, and I leave him asleep on the back seat of the car, after we have parked up in Linnaeus street, by Mark's flats. Margaret informed me yesterday that Leslie is back in ward 70, in Hull Royal Infirmary and when I arrive at the concourse, where the lifts are situated, there is a large queue, so I take the stairs up to the seventh floor, where I arrive a few minutes later, not much the worse for wear. There can't be too much wrong with me. Leslie is in a four bed room, on the opposite side of the corridor to where he was last week, and from this elevation there are splendid views of the river Humber and the south bank in Lincolnshire. Leslie is lying in the first bed inside the door, both his arms are covered in a light gauze bandage and an intravenous drip has been inserted, just below the elbow, into his left arm and he also has two plastic oxygen tubes, which are curled round his neck and clipped inside his nose, onto the septum. He is awake, but somewhat agitated, and tells me that he thinks he is in a pub in Beverley, waiting for Margaret, and has forgotten his wallet. He asks me to tell Margaret to bring some money, as he owes the landlady £5.40p. I fetch a chair from the hall, sit down beside his bed, holding his hand in mine and reassure him that he has just had a vivid dream. Then we recapitulate the events of the last three weeks and he remembers that he is in hospital, but tells me that he has just asked an auxiliary nurse to bring a phone and that he has left a voicemail for Margaret, regarding the £5.40p. I tell him not to worry and that I will sort things out with Margaret for him, and then we chat about the things he likes, mostly his thirty years in the USA, and all the different cars he used to own and he brightens up. In between frequent drinks, he manages to eat three or four grapes and tries, but fails, to eat a mini Gouda, which he says is too heavy for him. Outside the sun is starting to set towards the Humber Bridge, so we raise his head, using the electric motor on the bed, but have to give up before he is high enough to see out of the window, as he says his back hurts and so lower him back to his previous position. We talk about the possibility of him going home next week, once the infection has cleared and then visiting time is over and it is time to leave. I promise to visit again on Thursday and, as I turn towards the door, he calls me back and asks me to make sure to tell Margaret about the £5.40p for the landlady. I say that I will make sure to do this and then make my way down the stairwell again and walk back to the car, let Norman out for a pee and then drive back to Tickton via the rural, bendy road through the village of Wawne, in order to avoid the evening traffic. When we return indoors, Normy tells me it is time for dinner but I make him walk into the garden first, before feeding him with a tin of dog food. Afterwards I meditate for a while and then refreshed, make a seafood stir fry with some prawns, that I put into a chile, garlic and ginger marinade this morning. It is only just OK, as it is ages since I made a stir fry and I have forgotten to use the toasted sesame oil, that I have in the cupboard, and olive oil just doesn't seem to taste right. More than half of the bean sprouts, vegetables and noodles are left, so it looks like another stir fry tomorrow evening. After dinner, I ring Margaret and report on Leslie, she had received the confused phone call and had been worried by it. She and her husband are both in their late sixties and not in the best of health, but were intending to visit Leslie because of the phone call, I try to reassure her that there was no urgent need, as it is a three hour round trip, including visiting time and will be particularly difficult tonight, as Hull City are at home to Blackburn Rovers and the hospital is very close to the football ground. Later, I ring Felicity and arrange to see her and our other friends, at the Poppy Seed for coffee in the morning and then settle down to listen to the football on Radio Humberside. Blackburn knocked Arsenal out of the FA cup on Saturday and they are one of the in form sides in our division, the Championship, only having been relegated from the top division last year. The commentary by David Burns, (Burnsy), and Peter Swan, an ex Tigers forward, (Swanny), is famous amongst Hull fans because of their spontaneous, irreverent humour, and worth listening to, even if you don't support Hull or even like football. The BBC have given Burnsy a morning show, from nine to twelve, on the back of this popularity, where, in between playing tracks and showcasing local bands, he hosts a phone in on local issues. Local Radio at its best, three cheers for the BBC! The first half proceeds with the Tigers dominating but although going close a couple of times, failing to score and ends goalless. In the second half Gedo scores and then ten minutes later his Egyptian compatriot, El Mohamedy, makes it two and Hull City end up easy winners 2:0. They have now won the last three games, with the two Egyptians scoring all the goals. Cardiff, who top the league, have lost tonight and we are now only five points behind them, in second place, and with a dozen games still left to play, winning the league is a distinct possibility. The broadband has at last, come back from the dead, but I am tired and need to be up early in the morning, so turn in at ten thirty.

First lunch al fresco 2013.

Norman and I lie in until a quarter to eight and then have a leisurely breakfast of kippers, toast and black Italian coffee. BBC journalists are on strike, so consequently the today programme is replaced by recorded material, the one over breakfast is about a Nobel prize winning Italian geneticist, whose mother was sent to a concentration camp when he was just four years old and consequently he lived rough on the streets from the age of five until eight. His mother miraculously survives the war, finds the boy and emigrates to America, where he manages to learn English, catch up on five years lost education and still get into Harvard. If it was fiction it wouldn't be credible. Despite an early night, I still feel tired and I have a small mouth ulcer at the root of my tongue, a sure sign for me that I have overdone things. Perhaps not physically, but the nervous energy expended looking after a wonderfully curious and energetic five year old, is enormous. I determine to take things slowly today, although I have Louis from after school until six and have undertaken to visit Leslie tonight in Hull. After showering and dressing, we drive to Cherry for ten, collect Dolly and Teddy and arrive on Newbald Road by half past. The two terriers are a bit hyped up, as they haven't had a run off the lead since last Wednesday and consequently Teddy rockets off into the woods after rabbits, as soon as he is released and then dawdles for ten minutes when it is Dolly's turn to be let off the lead. On our way to Black Mill, we fall in with Pat, who is walking two Labradors that belong to her daughter and her new four month old black Labrador bitch, Ivy. She is with a very friendly Bulgarian woman, whose husband works at the university and she has a large golden retriever, so together we constitute quite a pack. Ivy takes a shine to Dolly and Teddy and just wants to play, Teddy tries to bully her, but she just thinks it is part of the fun. We walk round the common together chatting about our dogs, until we peel off as we draw level with my car and say goodbye. On our way back to Two Riggs, we call at the farm shop, where I buy another dozen of the giant pullet eggs, before dropping off the terriers and driving back to Tickton, arriving shortly before noon. It is a little colder than yesterday, but still dry and with no wind, so I decide that I will mow the lawns after lunch, but first put the oven on and make another batch of oaties. I can do this in my sleep by now, and fifteen minutes later they are baking and I am enjoying a pot of strong tea and a slice of Madeira cake, while listening to another recording on radio four, this time about Government health advice and whether it is any good. I intend eating the balance of the vegetable chile that I made for Louis and Alice tonight for dinner and wonder if the packet of tortillas, which we opened on Friday and have since dried out, could be turned into nachos, without frying them. As the oven is on, I try brushing them with olive oil, sprinkling with salt and pepper and then cutting into triangular shapes with scissors, before laying them on a non-stick baking tray. When the oaties are finished and set to cool, I put the "nachos" on the top shelf of the oven and set the timer for fifteen minutes. They emerge a quarter of an hour later, not quite cooked, so are put back in for a further five minutes and when they finally come out, they are a lovely golden brown, crisp and the salt and pepper has given them a tangy, spicy flavour. Necessity is the mother of invention. It is now one o'clock and the sun has broken through the clouds to suffuse the garden in pale yellow light, the bench, the garden table and chairs, are all stacked on the path under my bedroom window, stray bits of Norman's "treasure" removed from the lawn and the the mower taken out of its hibernation from the shed. We have had no rain for five days, so the grass has dried out and cuts easily, so once the rear lawn is done, I move to the front and cut that as well, before clearing away. It is now two o'clock, so I make a cheese sandwich, some more tea and then sit in my garden and have my first meal outside this year, whilstmreading an article about the possibility of an African or South American Pope from yesterday's Observer. I notice a missed call on my phone and a voice mail, when I check it is Leslie's daughter asking me to ring her, which I do immediately. Leslie has developed a chest infection and is very ill, he is being moved back to ward 70 and may be placed in the high dependency unit, I ask if it is still OK to visit but am told not to. I tell Margaret to wish her father well, if he is awake when they return to the hospital, but fear this might be the end of my old friend, who was already so frail and weak. I say a prayer for Leslie and then make Louis his ante pasta and pack it in a Tupperware box, along with a little bottle of grandad pop, then load this and Norman into the car and drive to Sam's, where we park up, before walking to Saint Mary's to collect my grandson. He comes out of school in his shirt sleeves again and has to be taken back to the classroom to be properly dressed again, before we make our way back to Sam's. Laura doesn't need collecting this afternoon, as she has been off school today and is waiting for us when we get back. She had been suffering from a migraine and a cough, but is much better now. Sam makes me a pot of tea and Louis sits in the playroom and eats his ante pasta and pop, before playing computer games with Laura. Rebecca arrives back from her special school, in Goole, at half past four and we chat to her for ten minutes and then it is time to put Louis and Normy in the car and drive to the Leisure Centre for Louis' swimming lessons. There isn't a parking space to be had when we arrive, but someone pulls out of a space, on the road next to the railway line, which is being used as an overflow car park and I just manage to squeeze the Chrysler in. Louis is quickly changed in a cubicle and arrives just on time for his lesson and make my way to the cafe where I purchase yet another pot of tea and then return to watch him swim through the large plate glass window by reception for the remaining half hour of his lesson, giving him a thumbs up when he completes his drills correctly. After his lesson, he is changed and returned to Sarah's house for six O'clock and then it is time for me to drive home, feed Norman and meditate for an hour. Around seven thirty, I reheat the chile in the microwave and then eat it with my nachos, accompanied by some grated Mozarella, sour cream, guacamole and salsa. Margaret phones again at half past eight, she has just got back from the hospital, Leslie is on oxygen and intravenous antibiotics, but is conscious and alert. So far he has not needed the high dependency unit, I ask if she would like me to go tomorrow, and it is agreed that I will go in the afternoon. To bed for ten.

Country cousins

We are up with the alarm on my phone at a quarter to seven and as the curtains are drawn, a beautiful dawn is revealed, with the pink and gold sky to the east highlighting low mist on the fields. We breakfast on giant boiled eggs and soldiers again this morning, as my cousin, Irene and her husband, David are visiting today and the kippers, which remain in the fridge, would have stunk the place out. We will enjoy them tomorrow morning instead. After coffee, a shower and dressing, yesterday's damp washing is pegged back on the line and I notice that the returning sunlight on the lawn, has triggered growth in the grass, which now stands almost six inches high in places. If the weather holds, I may get the mower over it tomorrow. Irene and David are arriving at Saint John's for ten fifteen, in order to attend ten thirty mass with me, so Norman and I set out for our walk round the village by nine thirty, with the sun up, it feels quite warm, although there was a ground frost last night, so Normy ventures forth without his coat this morning. The birds seem to think it is already spring and are singing happily in the trees, the snowdrops are in full bloom and daffodil shoots are showing yellow buds, it is less than two weeks to Saint David's day, March 1st, when they should also be in bloom. Norman is given fresh water before I drive to Saint John's and find my visitors waiting in a new car, a Hyundai Santa Fe, that David tells me he traded his old Jaguar in against last week. It looks big and chunky and will transport us all to Austria on holiday in May. We arrive in my pew with five minutes to spare, I have pre warned my cousins that this is a sung Mass, but forgot to mention that some of it is in Latin. They are un fazed, as they, like me, are old enough to remember when the whole thing was conducted in That language. Father David is still helping Roy with the service, but his memory is failing and he loses his place once or twice. The sermon he delivers is about reflecting on the meaning of faith during Lent, with a letter from the Bishop, surprisingly this letter doesn't mention the Pope's resignation, but Father Roy brings it up, disapprovingly, during the notices after communion. He is very conservative, but if Benedict says that God has told him it is time to go, I can't conceive of any valid alternative argument. After Mass we walk through town to the old fashioned tea shop down Minster Moorgate, arriving at ten to twelve, only to be told that they aren't open until Noon. The cafe is less than a stone throw from the Minster, where morning service has just concluded, so we pop in and have a wander around for fifteen minutes. One of Leslie's fellow guides, Bill, is on door duty, so I tell him about his accident and he asks me to pass on my best wishes when I visit tomorrow. We also say hello to Jeremy Fletcher, the Anglican vicar, but he is pressing the flesh with his flock and hasn't much time to chat. I like Jeremy, he has a great sense of humour and is very kind, he is also very liberal and he and Father Roy, who is an ex Anglican, don't always see eye to eye. The last time they clashed was over Beverley's Festival of Christmas, where a market is held on the second Sunday in December every year and all the stall holders don Dickensian costumes. Jeremy supports it but Roy claims that Christmas is already too commercial and that it isn't his job to make it even more so. They both have a point and the tension between preserving worthwhile values and supporting innovation and change needs honest debate. We leave the Minster around a quarter past twelve and take tea and scones in the tea rooms, which are an oak panelled haven of peace, with real leather chairs and a lovely conservatory, with stone flagged floors. Unfortunately for me, they serve the scones warmed through in the microwave, which I hate, but hold my tongue and wait for ten minutes to let mine cool before eating it. After our snack we retrace our steps through town and call in to Beverley's most famous pub, Nellie's, named after the eponymous landlady, who died many years ago. The pub is actually called The White Hart, but all the locals refer to it as Nellie's. The pub is a warren of little rooms, which have never been decorated, and we find one with a roaring fire and order our drinks, a bottle of porter for David, a glass of Yorkshire stout for Irene and a Lenten tomato juice and Worcester sauce for me. Another party of two couples join us by the fire, and a happy conversation soon strikes up, the conviviality of the place would make it very easy to lose an afternoon to drinking and the craic. My cousin has not yet been to my bungalow in Tickton, so after our drinks, I drive them back in my Chrysler, leaving their 4x4 outside Saint John's. Normy is delighted to see them, he must remember that whenever we have been to visit them at their holiday flat in Scarborough, David has found him a slice of beef. The quickest way to a dachshund's heart is through his stomach! He has to make do with Bakers dry dog food for lunch, but I slip him a rib bone in the garden to chew, while I bring in the washing, which is dry. It is two o'clock and the garden is in sunshine, the sun has finally risen clear above the garage roof to the south! David and Irene are reading my Observer in the front room, and I serve them with Italian coffee and the last slices of fruit cake, that I bought on the market yesterday. After chatting for a while they decide that we should have tea at Harper's fish and chip cafe down Lairgate, but first Irene wants to see the alpacas at the farm down Carr Lane, so we put Norman on his lead and have a stroll in the sunshine. David is also of the opinion that the sprouting bulbs, that have been planted on either side of the road by the farm, look like onions. No doubt I will see one of the girls from the farm over the next few days, so shall ask, in order to satisfy my curiosity. We arrive at Harper's for four and find we are the only customers, so our meals arrive within five minutes and are faultless. This is the third time I have been since the place changed hands before Christmas and so far, they have yet to disappoint me. After our meal we chat and drink tea for a while and then we walk back to our cars and say goodbye, they driving back to York and I to Tickton. Normy is wagging and waiting for his dinner when I arrive home, but it is another dog tin for him tonight, although he doesn't seem to mind. I am feeling tired, so meditate for an hour and feel refreshed again and then spend the rest of the evening leisurely reading the paper and doing the puzzles, interrupted only by Leslie's daughter, Margaret, who rings around eight thirty to update me. Apparently Leslie slept throughout their visit this evening, as another patient has kept him awake for the last two nights, I confirmed that I would visit him tomorrow evening, after taking Louis for his swimming lesson. To bed at ten thirty.

Louis and the Tigers, a winning combination, at last!

The alarm goes off at a quarter to seven, and after rising and using the toilet, return to my bedside don shoes and socks and a slip a sweater over my pyjamas, as the house, and particularly the floor, are very cold. Wishing that I had packed my slippers and a dressing gown. Alice has to be at work for eight, so breakfast needs to be early, but the most essential requirement is a cup of tea, so the first task is to fill the kettle and set it to boil. Norman is gently snoring in his basket, so I leave him to his dreams, while sausages, black pudding and bacon are retrieved from the refrigerator and placed in a frying pan on a low heat, whilst meanwhile tea is mashed in a mug with the freshly boiled water from the kettle. The scent of frying sausage and bacon stirs Normy back to consciousness and he saunters into the kitchen in order to to be ready for breakfast, as soon as it is available, but first, I scoop him up and shoo him into the little outdoor courtyard to relieve his bladder. I intend calling Alice at a quarter past seven, but she is up and about barely ten minutes after I am, and has time to wash and dress before breakfast is served, Louis also surfaces, just as the bacon, egg and sausage is being distributed. Having fed the children and the dog, I fry myself a few eggs and eat these with toast and another pot of tea, before saying goodbye to Alice as she sets off for her Saturday Job, at the hairdressers across the road. Louis has already got Saturday football fever and insists that I watch the Football League Programme from the BBC, that he has somehow managed to record on the sky plus box. The Tigers feature for about thirty seconds, out of a total of an hour's broadcast, but he watches it happily, while I return to the kitchen to clear away the pots and wash up, before running him a bath and then washing and shaving myself. We are both shampooed, dressed and ready for ten o'clock, and transport our bags and Norman's bed back to the car, before taking Normy for his morning walk. The mild, fine, weather continues, so we decide to walk through the Bar into town and have a stroll around the Market, Norman depositing treasure en route, underneath Father Roy's window, which I recover and place in a waste bin, as we progress. The Market is busy, aided, no doubt, by the fine weather, and we wander through it contentedly, pausing, every so often to look at items on the stalls, Louis has lost the Hull City scarf and hat that Clement handed down to him, probably he took them to school where they promptly disappeared, now he wants me to buy some new ones. Like all football branded products, they are quite expensive and including the football tickets for the match today, he has already had fifty pounds from his grandad in the last week. In the end I compromise and say he can have my Tigers scarf and we will buy a new hat from the supporters shop at the stadium, before today's match. He is satisfied with this and our expenditure on the market is limited to some fresh strawberries and a couple of cakes, one fruit and one Madeira. We have to return to the car for eleven o'clock, as parking in North Bar Without is limited to two hours, so we retrace our steps, eating fresh strawberries as we walk. When we arrive in Tickton, it takes us ten minutes to unpack Norman, the remains of the Mexican ingredients and my overnight gear. Later Louis "helps", me hang out yesterday's coloured washing in the garden, while Norman chews the remaining meat from one of last night's rib bones, in the sunny corner of the lawn. At midday, Louis is ready for lunch, and wants his usual ante pasta with cream soda, which he calls grandad pop. I am still quite full from breakfast, so limit myself to a coffee and a piece of fruit cake, accompanied with a nice piece of goat cheese. There is just enough coffee left in the percolator to fill a small flask to take to the football for me and I decant some cream soda into a small water bottle for Louis and also make him a couple of smoked cheese and salami sandwiches from the remnants of the ante pasta, as well as a couple of slices of fruit cake. All of this is then carefully packed into my shoulder bag and then we leave Norman some extra water before setting off for the KC stadium. To avoid the match day traffic, we are taking the scenic route via North Point again, having brought the trousers that require taking in, and leaving these with the seamstress, located in the indoor market, en route. We arrive at Linnaeus Street in ample time, at a quarter to two and take an unhurried stroll to the football ground amongst other fans who have made an early start The stadium shop, when we arrive, is packed, but we find Louis a Tigers hat, join the checkout queue to pay for it and are still in our seats by half past two. Both teams are warming up on the pitch and the Charlton Mascot, a little boy no bigger than Louis, is performing impressive dribbling practice, guiding his football in and out of a series of coloured plastic cones. I draw Louis attention to him and point out that these skill drills are just the sort of thing that he will need to master, if he wants to become a really good player. The game kicks off on time at three and Hull field their new, Egyptian, international striker, Gedo, in place of the Slovenian international, Robert Koren. The game is a highly skillful, free flowing, encounter, with the Tigers pinning Charlton back into their own half for most of the first thirty minutes and creating several chances, but failing to score, and then, gradually, Charlton start to come into the game and begin to look threatening. Almost against the run of play, we win a corner, Robbie Brady crosses and Gedo puts it away. One nil to the Tigers, and Louis is ecstatic. We are still leading at half time, and after the players leave the pitch, we have our picnic. Louis only eating a single sandwich and some fruit cake, which isn't surprising, considering what he has already consumed today. The uneaten sandwiches are put back in their Tupperware container, and then he drinks his pop and I enjoy my Italian coffee until the teams return for the second half of the match. After the interval, Charlton make a determined effort to try to get back in the game and the football is absorbing, flowing from one end to the other, as good a game as I have seen for a long time, but despite both sides having chances, it stays at one nil to the Tigers when the final whistle blows. The crowd and especially Louis, are happy, he has finally seen Hull City win. We walk back to the car with the evening sun, an orange ball of fire, setting behind the trees of West Park, in which the KC stadium stands, and soon fall in with a bunch of Charlton fans, on their way back to the railway station. I congratulate them on their teams game performance and wish them well for their Tuesday evening match against Leicester, one of our closest rivals. Louis tells them that his brother lives in London and asks how far away Charlton are from the Spurs ground at White Hart Lane. They tell him about three miles and then wish us good luck, as we peel off towards Linnaeus Street and they carry on to Paragon Station. To avoid the worst of the traffic, we drive back to the east of Hull and then take the bypass back to Beverley, while listening to sports talk on Radio Humberside. A tired but happy Louis is dropped back with Sarah at six o'clock and then I drive home to Tickton, in order to feed Norman and to recover my washing from the garden, which is still damp and will need to be hung out again tomorrow. It has been a busy few days and tiredness is taking hold, so to avoid the effort of cooking, I simply remove the salami from Louis' picnic sandwiches and add it to Normy's dog tin, before finishing them off, accompanied by a pot of tea and another slab of fruit cake. Later, I read the papers on my iPad and then go to bed for ten o'clock.

Footballers for Louis and curtains for Grandad

Norman wakes me, letting me know he needs to go out, just after seven o'clock. It is a dry clear morning when I open the patio doors to let him into the garden, I can just make out the rabbits scurrying towards the hedges in the field beyond my garden in the dim, early morning light. Although  there are kippers in the fridge, I don't feel like a cooked breakfast this morning, so use the last of the smoked salmon on rye toast with cream cheese, poor Normy makes do with dry dog food. After coffee, I shower and dress and then peg out yesterday's white washing, before putting a basket full of coloureds into the washing machine and then walking Norman as far as the little wooden bridge. Carr Lane is still very muddy and between the farm and the bridge there are huge puddles, nevertheless we manage to find a way through and stand on the bridge looking west, down the drain towards Beverley and the gently rolling hills of the East Yorkshire wolds. On the horizon there is a strip of pale blue sky, and as the weather is coming from the west, we could have sunshine within the hour. As we make our way back home, I notice lots of finches in the hedgerows, mostly chaffinches but here and there a flash of scarlet from a bullfinch and the yellow of a gold finch. The girls from the farm have planted bulbs on either side of the path beyond their gate, I could well be wrong but they look like onions! In order to walk off some of the mud, we take a stroll through the village and chat with an old lady with a mongrel which she says she got from a rescue centre. Like Norman he will be sixteen in April. When we return home, the sun has broken through the cloud and I determine to clean the Chrysler, before collecting Louis at midday, but first I knock up a batch of sultana oaties and put them in the oven on the timer for thirty five minutes. Although the back seat is covered by a blanket and old towels protect the floor, the terriers still manage to make a mess and it takes a while to vacuum and clean off all the dried mud and paw prints. The oven is bleeping when I return indoors, but fortunately the oaties are just the right side of well done. After giving Norman some biscuits, I drive to Sarah's house and collect Louis, he wants to go back to Northpoint for some more Click brick footballers and when I say that he had some on Wednesday, he says he can buy these with this week's spending money. First I need to call at Morrison's to do some shopping and to use the Polish hand car wash, which is next door to the supermarket. In fact we have the car washed first, Louis taking an intense interest in the division of labour, as we progress through stages of washing, spraying, shampooing, polishing and finally drying. "Do you think they get to swap jobs", he asks, "I expect so", I reply, but am proved wrong when Louis checks with a man who wipes the insides of the door sills. "No", the man says, "we tend to stick to the same jobs, every day". "I would bags being the sprayer man", Louis asserts with confidence. "It would be nice, at least once in a while", the chap concedes, and then it is time to drive off and I drop some change in the tip bucket as we leave. Louis wants to ride in a trolley while I shop and somehow I manage to lift him into the seat, in fact it is well worth the effort, otherwise he would take off on his own in pursuit of toys or comics. As it is half term, we meet several of his classmates, who are shopping with their mums or Nana's, Louis is very well known, but all the kids seem to like him well enough. We are eating Mexican tonight, Alice loves spare ribs, and I am going to make nachos, tortillas, and a vegetable chile for me, I have most of the stuff, but need Jalapeño peppers and grated cheese for the nachos and a pack of ready made tortillas. We chat while I shop, and modify our plans, the shop in which we bought his Click brick players was Boyes, and they have a store in Beverley, so we will try there first. We park round the corner in Minster Moorgate, a few feet from where Andrew and Sam used to live when they were first married, and then walk the two hundred yards to the store in Wednesday Market. Louis is in luck, they have a box in the toy section and I also spot some new curtains in red in their winter sale which will do for the front room, they are fully lined and exactly the right size. Immediately we have completed our purchase, Louis wants to go home and assemble his footballers and as our parking space is limited to an hour, it isn't a bad idea. On our way back, I show Louis Andrew's old house, and whoever has bought it, has spent a lot of money doing it up, but this area has become somewhat gentrified over the last ten years. When we arrive back in Tickton, I task Louis with laying out all the pieces, while I bring in the washing from the line, it is just about dry. We set up our assembly line again and within half an hour the players are all put together, it is easier the second time. Then Louis "helps" me to put up the new curtains, it is straight forward enough, we bought a pack of plastic hooks in the store. The curtains fit well, but look somewhat rumpled, but the instructions says the creases will drop out within forty eight hours. It is now time to return to Sarah's house and Louis, Norman, his basket and food and I and my overnight bag, climb into the gleaming car and drive back to town. After unloading everybody and our bags, we I make the chile in Sarah's pressure cooker and then leave it on a low light while Louis and I take Normy for his evening walk around Seven Corners Lane. As we come out of the house, we meet Jan Morrison who is also taking her dachshund, Toffee, for his evening walk. The two dogs say hello and Louis chats to Jan, the differences in age between dogs and humans is comparable, Toffee's two to to Norman's fifteen and Louis' five to Jan's seventy five, notwithstanding differentials, everyone gets along very well. We part company at York Road, as Jan heads off into town and we progress round our loop. We return home for alf past five and Louis plays while I make dinner, I lack my usual fluency in Sarah's kitchen and dinner isn't served until six fifteen, the nachos are a little spicy for Louis' taste, but he demolishes his fair share of the spare ribs. At seven, Alice takes Louis to bed while I clear away and wash up. Sarah phones from Harrogate at eight to ensure all is well, I reassure her and she enjoins me to make sure that Alice gets up for seven in the morning, as she has a Saturday job at the hairdressers across the road and starts at eight. Later I read a few pages of my book and then go to bed at eleven..

A spring in the step

I woke several times in the night to the sound of high winds and rain lashing against the windows and it is still raining at seven when we get up, but the wind has died down again and the rain is light and forecast to clear by late morning. There are still remnants of last night's snow on the path, but Norman successfully navigates his way through them, as he trots down to the garden. It doesn't feel quite so cold this morning, although I am glad to close the door when Normy runs back inside. We are having scrambled eggs for breakfast this morning, so I crack four of the giant eggs into a bowl, and am pleasantly surprised to find that every one has a double yolk. After whisking them briskly, they are fried in a little butter and olive oil. It works out about one egg for Norman and three for me, they are creamy golden yellow and taste delightful. After breakfast we adjourn to the Garden Room, where I drink coffee and listen to the news. We are stood down from walking the terriers today, as Andrew has a few days holiday, in order to spend time with Laura and Rebecca, so I will just take Normy for a walk through town, as there is little point in getting him caked with mud unnecessarily. I shower and dress before nine and then listen to Melvyn Bragg on "Ice Ages", it is a fascinating program, with a good panel of experts who seem rather sanguine about global warming, probably because they believe that without it, we would be heading into a new glaciation, as one is due in the next fifteen hundred years, and that would be far worse than any of the current predictions about the consequences of warming. While I am listening to this, I prepare this evening's dinner, as the rain continues to fall from leaden skies. We are going to have a sort of spicy sea food paella, I say sort of, because there is no chicken or chorizo in it, it could equally be called a spicy risotto, as I am going to use arborio rice. First a handful of frozen seafood cocktail is put in a bowl to defrost, (essentially this is just prawns, mussels and squid rings), then a trilogy of chile, ginger and garlic paste is stirred into a little olive oil, this will form the marinade for the fish. A couple of onions are peeled and chopped and some frozen mixed peppers and a handful of garden peas are taken from the freezer and left to defrost. The rain continues to fall, so I take the opportunity this offers to do some housework, that is long overdue. By half past ten the rain has finally stopped, so the fish, which has by now defrosted, is mixed into the marinade and along with the other ingredients, covered in foil. A load of white washing is put in the machine and then Norman and I drive to Norwood for our walk into town. It is only a five minute drive, but by the time we arrive, the sun has come out, the sky is blue and it suddenly feels almost like spring. The bitter wind has gone and it is ten to fifteen degrees warmer, and the streets are soon filling up with people determined to take advantage of the welcome, fine weather. After calling at the cashpoint to replenish funds, we walk through Saturday Market, which is being refurbished, now that the row about the sets has been resolved, and then we take a leisurely stroll down Toll Gavel and through Butcher's Row into Wednesday Market, which is bathed in warm sunshine. Walking at Normy pace, means adopting the air of a "flaneur", sauntering along, without a care in the world. We pause to window shop here and there, but as I haven't brought Normy's towel we don't venture into any of the premises, as I don't want to carry him because his paws and legs are so very muddy from the recent snow and rain. We both enjoy the exercise and it is pleasant being out in the fresh air and welcome warm sunshine, as we make our way back to the car and then drive home for noon. As the sun is at its zenith, I take the opportunity to check the garden and am delighted to find that the northwest corner is in bright sunlight, in few short days and I will be able to reclaim my favourite place in the house from the dark grip of winter. To celebrate this event , I erect the washing line, intending to hang out my freshly washed whites, but Then remember that they were put on a pre wash programme in order to ensure complete stain removal, so they aren't yet quite finished. there is an hour to spare before it is time for me to leave to visit Leslie, so I sit quietly in my chair intending to meditate, but Norman insists that I serve him lunch first, so I give him the last two inches of Louis' Polish sausage, chopped into small pieces and a bowl of fresh water. after returning to my chair, I meditate for a while and then feeling refreshed, drive towards Routh and take the bendy road through North Hull again. This way is about two miles further, but turns out to be ten minutes quicker, so there is just time to return my books about Jefferson and Lincoln to Hull Central Library, before making my way to the "Eye Hospital", to visit Leslie. The hospital car park is empty, so I take the lazy option and park there for £2:50p, rather than parking without charge at Marks block of flats in Linnaeus Street and walking the half mile back to the hospital. There are notices on the ward doors, which say, "ward closed, due to an outbreak of vomiting and diarrhoea", but a nurse tells me that visitors are in fact allowed, as it is only one patient who has contracted the illness, and has been placed in isolation. So, after washing my hands in the alcohol gel provided, just outside the door, I am allowed inside, but to help to keep the quarantine, I have to take the scenic route to Leslie's room. When I arrive, his bed is empty and for a moment I fear he may be the victim of the outbreak, but then a student nurse leads him from the bathroom back to his bed. He is still very frail and thin, but he has had a bath, his hair has been washed and he has also been shaved by the student nurses, who are quite pretty. This has cheered him up, although he tells me that they had to use a hoist, in order to lift him in and out of the bath. He is being very well looked after, and says his urinary infection is starting to clear and that he is looking forward to being able to go home. We chat for an hour and while we do, one of the nurses gently chides him for not eating and drinking enough, whilst she does his observations. Leslie has always been a faddy eater and says he only eats the starters, soup or fruit juice, and the desserts, usually ice cream and fruit, but refuses to eat the main courses which he says are awful. I tell him, jokingly, that if he had served in the army, like me, rather than the RAF, he would have learned to eat anything! He needs more proteins and fats to regain weight and muscle strength, so I say I will arrange for a bag of mini cheeses to be brought in for him and a cranberry juice drink, which will also help his bladder. I notice his nails are long and ask the nurses if they can cut them, as his skin is so fragile and paper like, that he is likely to scratch himself, but they say they are not allowed to do this and usually ask relatives to bring in some nail clippers. this is another task on the list for Margaret. Because of the restrictions, the visiting hours have been limited to one hour and so I have to leave at three, but promise to visit again as soon as I am able. I have Louis and Alice on Friday and Saturday and my cousin Irene and her husband are driving over to see my on Sunday, so it could be Monday before I see Leslie again. I return home by the scenic route and call in at Northpoint shopping centre for a few bits and pieces and unhindered by Louis, manage to have a look round the indoor market. There are butchers and green grocers, but no fishmongers, however there is a dress maker and when I enquire about the cost of taking the waist in on some trousers, the seamstress, who seems Polish, says it will cost £5. The last pair I had altered in Beverley cost me £15, so I promise to return with them. Sometimes shopping down market can pay off! While I am there I buy some more clothes pegs, as I keep using these to close coffee bags and freezer packets, and I also find a scrubbing brush on a stick, which will help to spring clean the more stubborn stains on the bathroom floor. Driving home, between tall hedgerows, as the evening sun casts long shadows across the fields and reflects in the numerous large puddles and ponds from the recent snow and rain, I marvel at the transformation to both landscape and mood that the change in the weather has wrought. Home once more to Tickton and old Norman greets me, his tail wagging furiously, as I come through the door. The washing machine has finished its cycle hours ago but it is now too late to hang out my small, however resplendently white they may be, so they will just have to wait until tomorrow, Normy tells me he is starving and after a quick sprint into the garden, he runs back into the kitchen for his dinner, which is only another dog tin. " How,come you are Usain Bolt at mealtimes and a total tortoise on the lead?" I ask, " am I being conned here". Using his Jedi mind powers Normy lets me know telepathically, " that it is all a matter of motivation!" The local free sheet has arrived, and is lying on the mat, so I read this and drink a glass of cream soda, while Norman eats, before starting dinner around six. It is just a matter of frying the onions and peppers, then adding the marinaded seafood and rice then afterwards pouring in the half a pint of fish stock. The dish simmers for twelve minutes and then is left for a further five, with the heat switched off, so that the rice has time to fully absorb all the stock before it is served. I have never made it to this recipe before, but it is remarkably good, the spices giving it a slight kick, but not so much as to drown the delicate taste of the fish. If it wasn't Lent, a nicely chilled Chardonnay wouldn't go amiss either. A small portion is reserved for Norman, who gives it his seal of approval. Later I phone Felicity and then Margaret and pass on to her the requests from Leslie, before reading until bedtime. To bed at ten.