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.