Table football

Saturday dawns bright and clear, the house seems quiet now there is just old Normy and myself in it, he trots into the garden to do his duty, while I start breakfast and make coffee and then settles by the radiator in the hall. From this vantage point he can watch me cook, until his breakfast is served in his bowl. We are having our usual full English breakfast and after we have eaten, we return to the Garden Room, where I drink coffee and attempt to read the paper on my iPad. The broadband has dropped out again and the usual remedy of resetting the router doesn't work, so I decide to construct my Parmagiana, before getting ready for the Poppy Seed cafe later in the morning. Before going to bed last night, I peeled, sliced and salted the large Sicilian aubergine and then pressed the slices under a plate in a collander, with a 2 litre bottle of cream soda on top to provide the weight. Now I have to rinse and dry them before browning them in olive oil, in the past I have done this by frying them in olive oil, but today I intend to try to brush them with oil and brown them in the oven, as this will make the dish less oily, (if it works). It does but judging the timing is tricky for a first attempt,it takes about twelve minutes in a hot oven. In parallel with this, I make a béchamel sauce, and when the slices have cooled, coat an oval oven dish with alternate layers of béchamel, aubergine and Bolognaise sauce, generously sprinkling fresh basil leaves on each layer and topping it off with the last of the grated mozarella. It needs to marinate in the refrigerator for a day or so before cooking and then needs topping off with fresh Parmesan cheese before serving. After showering and dressing, we drive to Norwood and park opposite Alice's dentist, before walking into town. It is a peach of a day, clear blue sky, bright sunshine and hardly the whisper of a wind, the town and particularly the market, are thronged with shoppers taking advantage of the lovely weather. Felicity is already in the cafe when I arrive and I sit down and join her, having first dried Normans paws and undercarriage on a towel that I have brought for just that purpose and settled him on my knee with his head resting in the crook of my arm, so that he can watch proceedings and check out the availability of any spare bits of bacon or sausage. Fliss is in good form and we are soon joined by Hanne, Annie and later Rosemary and Joy, Felicity's sister. Not surprisingly the horse meat scandal is the topic of conversation and our little group divides between those who don't have a problem with eating horsemeat and those that do. Hanne and I being in the minority in the first group. Of course the real scandal is the breakdown in traceability and accountability in the food chain. It won't affect me much, as I usually give up meat and alcohol for lent, which starts on Wednesday and apart from mince, never buy processed food anyway. Felicity needs a lift back to Albert Terrace, so Norman and I walk back to the car and then pick her up from the cafe and deposit her back home, before driving to Sarah's house through the bar to collect Louis. Sarah is at the hair dressers, so Alice is looking after him until I arrive, he has five pounds spending money and wants to walk into Beverley to spend it, so Louis, Norman and I make our way back through the bar and into town. I persuade Louis that the best plan is one where we check all of the usual places for toys, before making a decision, thus ensuring we get best value. He grasps the concept but the practice may prove difficult, he wants Subuteo football players if we can find any, or failing that, some craft kit with which to make some. We check out the market, WH Smith and The Works, without any great success and not little difficulty, as I have to carry Norman under my arm and he weighs in at around eight kilos. Eventually we have a brainwave and decide to check the charity shops, as if by divine intervention, Oxfam have a brand new Panini table football game for only £10, so with matching funds from grandad, we emerge triumphal with our acquisition in a large Oxfam carrier bag. Across the road is Sullivan's fish and chip shop and Louis asks if we can have some for lunch, so I position him with Norman and the football table on a bench opposite the shop, while I queue for lunch. It takes a while, but eventually I emerge with two portions of fish and chips and we sit and eat them on the bench, both of us leaving half our chips, as the portions are far too large, and Norman has had his fair share of the proceedings already. Louis now has only one thing in mind, he wants to return home to build and then play with his football table, so we make our way back to the car and drive home. When we arrive, the postman has been and my appointment with the specialist has arrived and is scheduled for April second, my step brother Michael's birthday. Although Louis is eager to make a start, his engineering education starts here, so we place a cloth over the coffee table in the lounge, and then carefully unpack the box and check the components against the assembly plan, to make sure they are all there and that we have them in the right order for assembly. Putting the table together is fairly straight forward, the only tricky bit is matching the little screw holes on the plastic handles with the metal bars on which the players are mounted, but after half an hour of careful assembly, the table is ready. It really is a bargain, being made of solid wood, complete with scoring bars. Louis of course wants to play, and try as I might, I can't stop scoring goals. As a young man I used to play table football in Germany and, like riding a bike, the skill never leaves you. Gradually Louis gets the hang of things and we spend a couple of hours playing with his game. Hull City are away to Brighton and the match is on Sky Sports TV at five twenty, so after feeding Normy and giving him a walk, we drive to the Hayride pub to watch the match. When we arrive, the Rugby match between Wales and France is on the TV and when I ask about Hull City, I am told that they no longer have Sky, so we drive back to Sarah's house and then walk through the bar to the Ideal Standard pub, to see if they are screening the match. They are and Louis and I settle down on a seat in the rear room with other fans to watch the game. Louis being warned that any deviation from good behaviour will see us evicted, but mostly he behaves himself, apart from bursting into tears when the rugby is put on during half time in the football. At first no one knows why he is crying but eventually he blubbers that he thinks they have switched the football off. The other fans console him and promise him that the match will be put on again for the second half and I buy him some more crisps and a lemonade and his equilibrium is restored. The first half has ended nil nil, but in the second half, Hull dominate and only the Brighton goalkeeper keeps them in the game, but then the curse of Sky Sports strikes and Brighton score from a free kick against the run of play and win 0:1. The only time Hull have won on TV in my memory, is when they won the play off final against Bristol to win promotion to the premier league. Poor Louis has yet to watch the Tigers win, however we are going to see them against Charlton next Saturday, so his luck may change. I drop him back at Sarah's house around half past seven, she and Alice have just arrived back from Leeds, Louis wants me to fetch his football table from Tickton, but accepts that I will deliver it in the morning on my way to church. Back home, I have some Camembert and rye bread with a glass of wine and read until bedtime.