Behind the times for Easter Sunday

I wake at two thirty with bowel contractions, and make it to the toilet in the nick of time, something I have eaten has disagreed with me. Most probably the rehashed chilli. The experience is repeated at four, but this time I retrieve some Imodium from the medicine cupboard and dose myself, after changing pyjamas, my sprint speed not being what it used to be. At seven O'clock Norman stirs and wants to be let out into the garden, whilst I luxuriate in my duvet and long to sleep for another hour. A thought crosses my mind, "what if he has the squits too?" The potential consequences of this are enough to rouse me from my warm bed and to open the Garden Room door to let him out. It is another glorious morning, an ice blue sky, with Jaques Trainier, mouton clouds, drifting from east to west, and a dusting of frost highlighting the lawn and hedge. Before I can slink back into bed, Norman has sprinted back indoors, with a speed and power that defy his age. He wriggles on his back by the kitchen door, alternately barking and giving low whimpers, dog language that tells me breakfast is overdue. The last meal of our Lenten fast is planned to be kippers, I have two fillets left in the refrigerator, but dare I chance them on a dodgy stomach. Norman's persistence wins out, and I fry the fish in a little butter and olive oil, before serving it with rye toast and a mug of Italian coffee for me. There are no immediate after effects, so we relocate to the Garden Room, where I drink my second mug of coffee, whilst reading the Independant online, with radio four in the background. Sam texts to say that she had forgotten that Laura was visiting a friend at ten thirty, so we arrange my visit for tomorrow instead. As it approaches nine o'clock, I start to think about getting showered and dressed, before taking Norman for a quick walk and then driving to Beverley for Easter Sunday Mass at ten thirty. Suddenly, unexplainably, the Archer's theme tune starts up on the radio, the Archers Omnibus usually starts at ten and I wonder why it is an hour early. Then the realisation dawns, the clocks went forward last night and I have twenty eight minutes to wash, shave, dress and drive to Saint John's for the Easter Sunday service. A shower is now out of the question, but somehow I manage to leave the house at eighteen minutes past ten and drive to Beverley, where I park on the corner of Norwood, before walking the last few hundred yards to the church. There will be no chance of parking down North Bar, as every Catholic in Beverley will be fulfilling their Easter obligation. The church is packed when I arrive, and they have run out of prayer books, but I manage to squeeze into my usual aisle, amongst the Sunday regulars, who laugh when I explain my clock problem. For Christians, Easter is what it is all about, Christ's sacrifice and resurrection, being the bedrock upon which the faith is based. The human condition, of knowing the inevitability of death, but not its hour, can lead to existential anxiety, and a morbid fear of death that can poison and permeate life. How much of modern life is a frenetic, neurotic, avoidance of this truth. Fear of death is the modern cancer of the soul, and far more deadly than any tumour which might reside within the body. And yet all things that are born must die, it is as natural a process as breathing in or out. Faith means one takes a positive outlook on the mystery of what lies beyond, and live a full, generous and compassionate life in the meantime. Doubt often leads to its opposite, narcissistic obsessions, and existential paralysis. In the end it is an exercise of free will, a creative interpretation of the brute facts of life, a positive or negative, personal artwork, constructed around a belief or disbelief of an unknowable truth. This truth I call God, as it is almost inconceivable for me to believe that I, as a human being, stand at the pinnacle of knowledge and intelligence in the universe. Such a belief would constitute, for me at least, unbridled arrogance. In these matters, I trust my feelings, which have ever been a more reliable guide to life's important decisions, than my limited intellect. After church, I drive home, change into walking gear and then take Normy for a walk round the fields. We follow our usual route through Green Lane and onto the path that leads past the stables and down to the little bridge over the dyke. The buds on the trees are still closed, the daffodils have not yet bloomed, and the grass along the way has that dry, grey, winter look to it still. Across the brown, tobacco coloured, fields, green sprouts of winter barley are scarcely two inches high. As we make our way through "Almost straight Wood", we pass a den, made of fallen saplings and stray branches, that the local children must have constructed in their holidays, the schools broke up last week for the Easter. When we emerge from the woods and onto the path again, the sun is shining brightly from a powder blue sky with fluffy white clouds, gently floating from southeast to northwest like the fluffy cotton wool. We turn east, on the path that runs parallel with "almost straight wood", and two row deer emerge from the field to our west and then run along the path and into the woods that we have just vacated. To our North the wind farm turbines at Esk are slowly turning, and to my eyes at least, they have a hypnotic beauty. The two deer emerge from the plantation at a canter and then run to the corner of the field which we are now approaching, here they begin to graze on the fragile shoots of the winter barley, grazing in the lee of a long Lelandii hedge. I slow my walking down as I come near to them, and freeze each time they raise their heads, managing to get within twenty feet or so of them, as we are downwind, before they finally spot me and take off at high speed, their white tails bobbing, as they make a twenty foot leap over the ditch and drain and then bound away to our south. As we approach the bridge, a family of three, Mum, Dad and a little boy, accompanied by two dogs, cross and head into the woods, the dogs, are a golden retriever and a Bassett Hound puppy, who runs up to say hello. It is Bowie, the dog with the odd coloured eyes, who receives a pat from me, before loping back to his owners. We return home for two, I give Norman some Bakers and then begin to make lunch. We are going to have pork schnitzel, chips and salad, accompanied by a bottle of Gewürztraminer Riesling, that I bought from the village shop on my way back from church, along with a copy of the Observer. My first problem is the almost empty tub of golden breadcrumbs, when I pull it from the cupboard, but this problem is soon surmounted by toasting some white bread from the freezer, cutting off the rinds and then blitzing them in the food processor. While I have the processor out, I use the opportunity to mix a batch of sultana oaties and then put these in the oven, while I beat out the pork steaks, before dipping them in beaten egg and my home made breadcrumbs. Next a tossed salad is constructed and, as soon as the oaties are baked golden, I put in some oven chips, before frying the schnitzels. Everything is ready for four o'clock, Norman has his schnitzel and chips chopped into bite size pieces in his bowl, and I pour myself a glass of wine and then tuck into mine. It is the first meat and alcohol I have had since Lent began and it makes a pleasant change from fish. There is a schnitzel left over, so I wrap it in kitchen paper and store it in the fridge, as they are just as nice cold as hot. Around six thirty we recover the bedding, which has dried, from the line and then I read the Observer until bedtime.

Hospital visits and holiday plans.

We rise at seven to a beautiful morning, the sun is shining, there are blue skies and the birds are in full voice, it is a most welcome change, old Normy even has a spring in his step, as he jogs out into the garden. I make breakfast in the kitchen, we are having scrambled eggs, with our usual rye toast and Italian coffee. After breakfast I read the paper and then take my time getting dressed, the bath and pedestal mats that I bought yesterday, look well in the bathroom and feel good under my bare feet, after I get out of the shower. I try to ring Sam, to firm up on arrangements for tomorrow, but I lose the signal on my phone before she answers, the reception is lousy in Tickton. She rings back and I place her on loudspeech, so that I can hold the phone by the window, in a spot where I have three bars, in order to tell her about the birthday presents for Laura and arrange to make fresh pizza with the girls for lunch tomorrow, when I call after church. Norman and I then leave for the Poppy Seed at half past ten and soon run into a traffic jam, which is backed up from the level crossing down Norwood, and so we divert through the Swinemoor estate and park just this side of the Mill Lane level crossing, before walking into town. Actually this parking spot is better than Norwood, as there are no parking restrictions and is about the same distance from the Poppy Seed cafe. It takes Normy and I a little over ten minutes to walk past the supermarket, across the road by the registry office, where a wedding party is bifurcated between opposing relatives, who clearly don't seem to know each other and don't seem to want to know each other either. At least at a funeral most of the guests/mourners are on the same side! We then wriggle through a series of snickel ways, before eventually emerging into Saturday Market, where the fine weather has brought out the good folk of Beverley this Easter Saturday. Across the road at the Poppy Seed, there are a full table of friends already drinking coffee when we arrive, but they make space and Norman and I squeeze in, before ordering my usual strong tea. I am pleased to see Felicity's sister, Joy, who confirms that she has persuaded Melissa to have a day off from visiting her mum and is pleased that I shall be holding the fort, by visiting this afternoon. Jill is also there and has decided that she would rather regain her hearing than continue with the anti seizure drugs she was given after her stroke, and which rendered her deaf. Hanne, Barbara, Annie and her daughter Sarah are also in attendance and Sylvia arrives later. The conversation is about the ballet on Thursday and the consensus is that it was first rate. Normy and I listen to the chatter and arrange provisionally to bring Felicity to the Poppy Seed on Wednesday, if she has been discharged from the hospital to respite care at Molescroft court. The general consensus is that she will feel much less banged up in the nursing home and more like a hotel guest, if she can get out from time to time. The party breaks up around half past eleven and Norman and I then have a mooch round the market, where I buy some new slippers, as my old ones are on their last legs. We wander through town as far as Wednesday Market, stopping to say hello to people along the way and generally enjoying being outside in the sunshine, although it remains cold. Hanne, who is a no nonsense Dane, says there is no bad weather, just poor choices of clothing and there is plenty of evidence of that this morning. Teenagers in jeans and tee shirts, with goosebumps as big as eggs. The only other purchase of the morning, is a tub of sour cream, to accompany the last of the vegetarian chilli, which will form today's lunch/dinner, as I intend to drive straight to the hospital to visit Fliss, after our walk. The contrast between the rural bustle of Beverley on Market Day and the congested clutter and aggression of the motorists yesterday, in the greater West Yorkshire Urban area, that comprises Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield, Wakefield and Halifax, couldn't be more stark. You can almost feel your blood pressure subsiding when you cross the border into East Yorkshire and the gently rolling countryside of the Wolds. We arrive at Castle Hill hospital at one thirty, to find Felicity looking much better, she has had a bath and her hair set, and seems in an altogether happier frame of mind. We walk the corridors to the hospital restaurant again, only to find that it is closed for the Easter weekend. There are in fact two restaurants, and this one closes on Saturdays and Sundays. Undeterred, we retrace our steps to ward 21's day room and sit and chat in there. An elderly lady, serves tea, she is obviously a volunteer and she chats to us for a moment, before moving on further up the ward. I complement Felicity on her improved walking, the physiotherapist has taught her to walk upright and not to lean her body weight on her wheeled Zimmer frame, except if she needs to stop for a rest. She tells me the nursing staff won't tell her what is wrong with her, what they are doing and when she might be discharged, but it transpires that she hasn't actually asked them. This omission is soon rectified when I find her key worker, a nurse called Linsey, who joins us in the Day Room and explains everything. Felicity's medications were knocked out of whack by an antidepressant administered by her GP, this rendered her delirious, her medications have now been adjusted, her observations are stable and she is being discharged on Tuesday to Molescroft Court. All of this information has been passed to Melissa, but somehow become lost in translation to her mother. It is reminiscent of Leslie, who made exactly the same claim. Somehow when older people are admitted to hospital they can become frightened, vulnerable and passive. The busy staff often don't take time out to explain what is happening to them in a way that they can absorb easily. Old people have a much slower cadence than busy hospital staff, I have often noticed in the past, that the best care workers have this wonderful way of changing down gears when they talk to older people, and talk more gently and more slowly, without in any way being patronising. Felicity is happy now she knows what is happening and happier still when I tell her she is going to the Poppy Seed on Wednesday. Around two thirty her friend Pat, who Felicity calls the Wolverine, arrives and within minutes I detect that Pat has something she wants to discuss with her friend that can't be done while I am there. The two of them have been pals for donkey years, so I excuse myself and drive home, after first texting Melissa to tell her how well her mother is doing. When we get in, I feed Norman a dog tin and then boil some brown rice in the microwave, to accompany the chilli and then make salad and whole meal pitta bread to accompany it. I have been thinking all week what to eat with the lamb steaks in the freezer, that will form my first carnivorous meal after Mass tomorrow, but when I take them out to defrost, an evil fairy has transformed them into pork loin steaks, or there again, perhaps my stomach's wishful thinking has deceived my memory. After lunch/dinner, I strip the beds and put on clean linen, before tuning in to listen to Hull playing Huddersfield on the radio, while I do some ironing. It is a late kick off, at twenty past five, and all the clubs closest to Hull, at the top of the championship, have lost, including Watford, who we are due to play on Tuesday night. If we win today it will put us in a very strong position for automatic promotion to the Premier League, and if we beat Watford on Tuesday, our position would become almost unassailable. I finish my ironing before George Boyd scores the winner for the Tigers, and then do some more research on my putative holiday to Lippstadt. The tourist information office there has replied to an email that I sent them last night, providing details of the shuttle service to Paderborn/Lippstadt airport, a list of local hotels in the town centre, and an update on my old swimming club, Teutonia Lippstadt, and their open air pool down Jahnweg, which she reliably informs me, has been transformed beyond recognition since 1969. Her name is Regina and I reply thanking her for her prompt response and my surprise that she was working on Easter Saturday. I spend the next couple of hours starting to piece together an itinerary, the only direct flights to Lippstadt/Paderborn are from London City airport, which means taking the train from Hull to London. So I check on travelling by Eurostar instead, and find that it wouldn't take much longer to go by train through the channel tunnel and would be slightly cheaper, if booked well ahead. The Deutsche Bundesbahn website is also first rate and they offer special fares for seniors, so I check the connections from Lippstadt to Dusseldorf airport and find that it would only take forty minutes longer than from the local airport. There are also direct flights from Leeds/Bradford to Dusseldorf and by booking well in advance, the return trip, including rail fares would be less than £100. Finally I check Schiphol to Lippstadt, this takes a little over four hours, but means I could break my journey and visit my brother in Rotterdam, as part of the trip and flights to Amsterdam are slightly cheaper than Dusseldorf, although the rail connections would be more expensive. I shall mull it over and probably confer with Graham before I book. To bed for half past ten.

Pilgrimage to Morley.

Up at seven and breakfast on rye toast and apricot jam, with strong black Italian coffee. Norman has to have Bakers, but doesn't seem to mind, as there is nothing better on offer. Outside it is a little brighter today, but still cold and dry. I phone Felicity's sister, Joy, and offer to visit tomorrow, in order to allow Melissa to have a break and I leave it to Joy to persuade her niece to do this. She says she will try and says she also thinks Mel could do with a break. Afterwards I take Normy for a walk as far as the little bridge over the drain. Now the bitter east wind has dropped, it is quite pleasant out, although still unseasonably cold and as the air coming in from the east is so dry, all the puddles have disappeared. The alpacas at the farm are sat snug in their thick woolly coats and chew their cud while they watch us go past, they have that look, a sort of bored disdain on their face, that is common to all camels. It is as if to say, "what whimps, they need to drink and eat every week"! In the fields the farmer is ploughing and getting ready to sew, a flock of gulls are trailing behind his tractor, feasting on the insects and worms he turns over. We return home for half eleven, I load Norman into the car and then set off to drive to West Yorkshire, where I have arranged to meet my sister at the Mermaid Fish Restaurant in Morley, near Leeds. It is on the same road as the Asda superstore and when we arrive, shortly before one o'clock, we can't access the restaurant car park because of the solid phalanx of supermarket traffic trying to rejoin the main road. It looks like the restaurant car park is pretty full anyway, which is no surprise for Good Friday, so I am forced to park in the supermarket. Luckily someone pulls out of a space quite near to the restaurant as I approach, and within minutes I have parked and walked across the road to the Mermaid. Jackie and her husband are waiting for me in the bar and another brother, Chris and his wife Michelle, are also there. After five minutes we are shown to our tables, where the waitress takes our order, but it takes another fifteen minutes for the food to arrive, as there isn't a spare chair in the restaurant and a queue of people by the door, still waiting to get in. The fish is freshly cooked and perfectly presented. We spend the next hour and a half eating lunch and chatting, with the waitress bringing fresh pots of tea as we use them up. It is a Wood family trait to like lots of very strong tea. At half past two we call it a day, Chris and Michelle go off to the supermarket to shop and Jackie and Gino come with me to the Next Store, at a retail park in Birstall, where I buy an outfit for Laura, for her birthday. First I take fashion advice from a ten year old girl, who is with her mum, who tells me what is in for the spring. Apparently it is denim dungaree shorts, with a body warmer, Jackie suggests a blue and white striped shirt, with pink detailing, to complete the ensemble. I buy Laura's sister, Rebecca, a pink leather handbag, in lieu of an Easter egg so that she won't feel left out. According to Jackie, teenage girls can't have too many shoes or handbags. Jackie buys some bathroom mats from the house store upstairs and it strikes me that if I followed suit, I might not need to mop my dirty footprints off the bathroom floor every day. We leave Next armed with presents and bath mats, and then drive to Jackie's house, which is only ten minutes away. Gino makes some more tea and then we watch the last half hour of the Hull Rugby League Derby, which Hull KR win easily. We leave at half past four, after Gino has spoiled Norman with a slice of roast beef. Irene's husband, David, always gives him roast beef as well, so Normy probably thinks it is a family custom. On the way back, I take an alternative route, following the M1 north as far as the A64, York Road, and then turning east on to the a1033 to Beverley. I pass my cousin, Irene's house at Copmanthorpe, but don't call in, as they are on holiday in Majorca until tomorrow. We arrive home for a quarter to six, the alternative route is perhaps five minutes quicker than staying on the M62, but today, at least, it was an easier run and less boring than coming back the same way. Gino has given me another slice of beef for Norman, which I add to his dog tin for dinner after which, he sleeps in the chair, whilst I research a planned holiday to Lippstadt, in Germany, during the summer. I lived there for five years in the 1960's and have fond memories of the place. There is an airport 26 kilometres away in Paderborn and direct flights from London City airport can be had for a little over £120 return and a decent gasthaus room in the town is between 30-50 euros per night. Provisionally I have pencilled in the last week in July, Wednesday the 24th, to Wednesday the 31st, but a lot can happen between now and then. Surfing around on the web, just eats up time and before I know it, it is time for bed, and I had planned to swim this evening. At least the rest will give my sore ear a chance to recover.

Good Blood and Alice in Wonderland

We are up for seven o'clock, no change to the weather, it remains cold and dry, but at least the easterly wind has subsided and its icy fingers merely stroke my bare ankles this morning, as I release Norman into the garden. Today is a fast day, and we will start the day with kippers and toast with black coffee. As soon as the aroma of the fish starts to percolate through the house and out into the garden, Normy sprints back indoors. He is no longer a venerable old guy when there is food to be had and then he wriggles happily on his back in the hallway, just outside the kitchen, as I turn the kippers over in the skillet. He likes his mixed with crumbled rye toast, and once my breakfast is prepared, I place his on the floor, next to his water bowl and watch him tuck in. The only after effect of last night's swim, is a slightly tender left ear, otis media, a middle ear infection, well known to all swimmers, it usually clears after a day or so, without any intervention, other than keeping the ears dry. Over sixty years of swimming, I have never yet found ear plugs that are effective. Around a quarter to ten, after "in our time" has finished on radio four, we drive to Cherry Burton and collect Dolly and Teddy for their run out on the Westwood. They are frisky and ready to go, after yesterday's cancelled walk, due to my flat battery. In the woods it is like someone has pressed the pause button on spring, buds that should be showing new leafs, are still closed tight shut, but the birds are nesting, once the eggs are on the way, they have little choice, but the first hatchlings will have a hard time, due to the cold and lack of insect food. As we walk up the path towards Barbara's house, we meet Angela, one of Felicity's army of volunteer dog walkers, and she asks after the old girl, I tell her she is improving and that I will visit this afternoon. Angela asks me to pass on her best wishes, which I promise to do. By Black Mill there are two teenage boys playing football and Teddy joins in, impressing them with his dribbling and tackling skills, while Dolly, Norman and I sit on one of the three benches and watch the performance. After ten minutes or so, the boys realise that, in Teddy's mind at least, they are playing with his ball and not the other way round. His ability to keep possession is awe inspiring and they appeal to me to intercede, "It's a new ball, we only got it yesterday", they plead. I manage to catch Teddy's choke chain, but before I can secure him on the lead, the larger of the two boys kicks the ball across the common and Ted, with Houdini like powers, slips out of his chain and races off after it. The boys and I agree on tactics, when I get hold of him again, they will hold the ball off the ground until I have him secured, but we needn't have worried, he has become bored, as no one is kicking the ball anymore and trots back to me placidly to be placed on the lead. We say goodbye to the boys, who give the terriers a friendly pat and then make our way back to the car. After dropping Dolly and Teddy at Two Riggs, Norman and I head home. As soon as we arrive, I set about cleaning out the car, while I am still dressed in my warm walking gear. I am acting as taxi tonight, to take Hanne and Thelma to the ballet and the car is filthy, not having been cleaned for at least a couple of weeks. In an hour, the inside has been washed, vacuumed, polished and freed of dog odour, the outside will be outsourced to the Polish hand car wash business, adjacent to Morrisons. I give Norman some Baker's and finish the mug of tea, that I made to accompany my car cleaning and then set off for Castle Hill Hospital to visit Felicity, calling at Morrison's for rye bread, milk and some Oxy White for my washing, and to have the car washed. The usual Bank Holiday shopping frenzy has begun and the place is packed, even though it is only closed for Easter Sunday, but after a short queue, I am through the self service check out, back to the car and in another queue for the hand car wash. The Polish guys have it down to a fine art and despite there being eight cars in front of me, I am finished in a little over ten minutes. They have also changed their payment routine, it used to be pay on entry and now it is pay on exit. The reason becomes obvious, two pretty Polish girls are multi tasking, drying off the cars and taking payment, the tips box lies beside them, a neat move, but unfortunately I have to reserve £1.50 for the car park at the hospital and so my tip is limited to the 20p I have left in loose change, but that is on top of the fiver for the car wash. I drive the newly gleaming Chrysler to the hospital, and after the inevitable queue at the roadworks on the bypass, arrive around two o'clock, park up, and make my way to Ward 21, where I find Felicity lying on her bed. She is delighted to see me and asks if Melissa is coming, I answer truthfully, that I don't know and then enquire whether she is up to walking to the hospital restaurant, which lies opposite the entrance to Ward 21, calculating that a change from the medicalised ambience of the ward will do her good. Felicity likes that idea and we are just making adjustments to her clothing before sallying forth, when Melissa arrives, bearing clean nighties, underwear and a new dressing gown. Melissa likes the idea too and takes over the dressing routine, insisting that her mum wears the new dressing gown, to protect from the drafts in the corridors. After five minutes preparations are complete and we set off on the expedition, Felicity with her wheeled Zimmer, Melissa helping to navigate doorways and me as a Voortrekker spotting problems and obstacles and shouting encouragement. It is slow progress, Felicity has been mostly in bed for two weeks and her muscles are wasted, she is also every ounce of eighteen stones, but we arrive safely in the cafeteria after about ten minutes. The place is light and airy, the staff busy clearing away after lunch, but helpfully find us a place to sit, adjacent to the serving counter, where there are cakes and Starbuck's coffee. I act as waiter and return with coffees for Melissa and I, and chocolate for Felicity, accompanied by two slices of Bakewell tart, from which I abstain. While we eat, Stuart phones, and Felicity chats to him for a moment, while Mel gives me her email, in order that I can send her the link for the Swimathon sponsorship. After ten minutes or so, Felicity is feeling tired and we make the return journey to her room, outside the sun has broken through and baby rabbits are playing tag across the lawn, which delights the old girl. Once we are safely back, I say goodbye, as Melissa wants to cut her mum's toenails and needs the privacy. On my way back, I call at the Doctor's to collect my PSA results, and have mentally categorised my expectations, if the count has more than doubled, that would indicate an agressive tumour, little growth , less aggressive and a reduced reading more benign. In the event the reading is down slightly from 0.16 ng to 0.14 ng, which indicates the tumour is stable or perhaps even shrinking! Better news than I anticipated. This increases my options, if maintained, as I can now watch and wait, rather than having to take early drastic interventions. Whether it is the no meat, no alcohol, Lenten fast or the two days a week fasting, or the swimming, something is agreeing with my system and I would be foolish to change much, although I still intend to eat lamb and have a glass of wine with Easter Sunday Lunch. I call at Sarah's to say goodbye, before they set off for Scotland and she gives me Easter eggs for Laura and Rebecca and a present for Laura's birthday and a card, and asks me to deliver them when I call on Sunday. I have forgotten Laura's birthday, which was on the 22nd, confusing it with Alice's which is on April 12th, I will have to make amends when I see her on Sunday. I arrive home for four o'clock, where Norman is waiting expectantly for his dinner. I feed him and then meditate for an hour, before making a bowl of porridge with water and sweetener, as I don't want a rumbling tummy to punctuate the ballet this evening. After washing and changing, I drive to the wall by the doctor's along Albert Terrace and collect Hanne and Thelma for six thirty, before driving to Cineworld at Kingswood. We are in good time and so Hanne buys ticket for Verdi's, Guilio Cesare, but as it is being shown on April 27th, I have to decline, as I am baby sitting Louis and Alice, while Sarah and Richard are in Portugal. Screen Four, where the telecast is being shown, soon fills up, and for once, everything goes like clockwork. "Alice", is a new ballet, with choreography by Christopher Wheeldon and music by Joby Talbot, with Sarah Lamb and Federico Bonelli as principal dancers. The sets are amazing and the production alternatively dark and Freudian in its symbolism and light and zany, almost bipolar in its structure. The best way to describe it is "Trippy", combining both "good" and "bad" trips. Zenaida Yanowsky, who plays the Red Queen, is inspired and there are great performances from the leads and other dancers. In short it is great, but if there is one tiny criticism, it is that Christopher Wheeldon, the choreographer, indulges his dancers, being perhaps too generous with the time allotted too them. A less generous direction would have shortened the ballet by ten to fifteen minutes and made it tighter and, in my opinion, better structured. Nevertheless it closed to rapturous applause and everyone goes home happy, I drop the ladies off around eleven and return home to let Normy out for the last time, before turning in at eleven thirty.

Flat batteries and changes of plan.

Normy and I are up early, about ten to six, as we intend to take the terriers round the Westwood, before taking Louis to the Sports Arena in Hull for ten o'clock. I breakfast on the last of the smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye toast, Norman has Bakers and then we are showered, and dressed for the weather, with a thermal under layer for me and a fur coat for Norman. We leave the house for ten minutes to eight, but then fate intervenes, I must have left the lights on in the Chrysler and the battery is flat. Nothing for it but to call out the AA and then ring Pip to apologise and explain the no show. The AA guy arrives an hour later, a lanky Scotsman, who tells me he used to be in the REME, (Royal Electrical & Mechanical Engineers), so we swap war stories while he jump starts the car and then I make him a mug of tea and give him a couple of oaties. By ten past nine, we are underway at last, collecting Louis from North Bar Without and ferrying him to the Sports Arena. He tells me as we drive, that his mother has advanced his pocket money and so he wants to call at the supermarket on the way home, in order to buy a football game, what else! We arrive by a quarter to ten, to find a large market on the Walton Street car park, which is used for the KC Stadium and for Hull Fair in the autumn. If I hadn't promised to meet Hanne at the Poppy Seed, I would have liked to have a mooch about. There are lots of little girls in leotards in the sports arena, the British Gymnastic Association has taken over half the hall for a class. My children, Sarah and Andrew, used to be members when they were little, and it brings back fond memories. Louis is delivered to his football class and we drive back to Beverley and park in North Bar Within, less than fifty feet from the Poppy Seed. We are first to arrive, and I order my usual strong tea, while Norman sits on my knee, alert for any donations of scraps of bacon or sausage. Thelma arrives first, shortly followed by the "Great Dane", I relay the news regarding Felicity's progress and then we chat about childhood experiences until it is time to leave, around half past eleven. We have also agreed to see the Royal Opera House's performance of "Alice in Wonderland", which is being telecast to Cineworld at Kingswood tomorrow evening. Normy and I return home for midday, where I eat chilli with all the trimmings for lunch and he has Bakers. The disruption to my plans mean that swimming is not possible this lunchtime, the ladies aqua aerobics have a class and the pool closes at one thirty, so that the staff have time to set up the inflatable castle for the kids half term fun sessions this afternoon. We meditate for an hour and then drive back to the Sports Arena to collect Louis, Becky, who is running the course, hands him over and tells me he has been very good. Louis, has a certificate of attainment, a medal on a ribbon, with a Tiger's logo, but is most excited that three Hull City, first team players, James Chester, David Meylor and Jack Hobbs, the captain, have been to talk to the children and answer questions. On our way back to Beverley we call in first at Tesco in North Hull and buy Louis' football game with his spending money, and then call at Cineworld, where I buy the tickets for the ballet for tomorrow evening. When we return to Sarah's house, I wrap Louis in a warm scarf, hat and coat and we take Norman for a quick walk round Seven Corners Lane. Our local MP, Graham Stuart has a large, modern house round the first corner, he is in hospital at the moment, having skied over a cliff, whilst off piste and is quite severely injured. He is a conservative, but a very effective, hard working, local MP and quite a nice bloke, so I hope he is soon back on his feet. Norman does his duty and we deposit this in a bin and then return to the warmth of the house. Inside Louis wants to assemble his game, which consists of sections of green plastic, which clip together to form a football pitch, with goals and goalkeepers and players. Once it is assembled, I leave him to play and then chat to Alice, who has just uploaded my Swimathon video to YouTube, which she shows me. Looking at myself in swimming shorts, perhaps I could do to lose ten pounds, or maybe even twenty! She promises to email me the link later. We arrive home around six and I open Norman a tin, before making myself a little toast and honey with a pot of tea. Around eight o'clock, I drive to the leisure centre, to see if I can fit in a training session, before the pool closes at nine thirty. Half the pool is taken up by Beverley swimming club and the other four lanes are quite busy as well. One of the lanes has two young guys swimming freestyle laps, and I judge that I should be able to keep up with them and slide into the water and push off. They must be forty years younger than I am, but I find I am able to maintain their pace, if I breath every two strokes, rather than my usual three. After 500m, the young guys leave and I switch to swimming medleys and manage a couple of hundreds, before two teenagers join the lane and start to swim breaststroke, so I have to adjust and pause between repeats and push off as they come into the end of the lane. In this way I can fit in the butterfly and backstroke legs, without risk to the other swimmers and complete another eight repeats in this way. At Nine the swimming club leave and I have a free lane at last and complete my programme. 2,500m but only 1,500m in medleys. I shower and drive home for ten and eat a little more toast and honey, with a glass of milk before turning in around eleven thirty.

Slow whippets and sponsorship.

We managed a lie in this morning and didn't get up until a quarter past seven, its Groundhog Day with the weather again, but at least we know what to expect. Boiled eggs and rye toast soldiers for breakfast this morning and Bakers again for Normy. He much prefers the kippers! We leave the house shortly after nine, me dressed in my thermals and Norman in his blue fur coat, to collect Louis and take him to Hull for his football coaching. Today he is delivered ten minutes early and runs off as soon as we enter the Sports Arena for a kick about with the other kids. Normy and I then drive to Cherry Burton, where we collect Dolly and Teddy for their walk on the Westwood. We were stood down by Pip yesterday, so the terriers probably haven't had a good run since Friday. The cold east wind is also very dry and the puddles and mud have almost completely disappeared in the wood and on the common, which makes it easier underfoot and keeps the car a little cleaner, although it is overdue a good wash and vac. Dolly and Norman are let off the lead first, and she scampers off after rabbits, while he sniffs the trees to see who has been by and then trots on behind Teddy and I. Later, when I let Teddy off the lead, he is checked out by a whippet, who is head and shoulders bigger than him and whom Teddy proceeds to chase. The whippet's owner and I laugh at the game, as the two dogs hurtle round us in a wide circle, the whippet obviously has the legs on Teddy, but not by much, although Ted has a much tighter turning circle and better stamina, eventually catching him and bowling him over, before starting the game again. The whippet's owner is incredulous and says he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes. I tease him by saying he must have a slow whippet! There is no swimming today, as I am calling in to see Felicity in Castle Hill Hospital, on my way into Hull to collect Louis, so we extend our walk and take in the woods at Limekiln Pits. The hollow tree where the owls nested last year shows signs of life, as there is evidence of new nesting activity, with twigs and dry grasses protruding from the hole. It would be nice to see another big, fat, fluffy owlet peering out from there again. After dropping off the terriers, we return home for noon, where I switch on the oven, before hanging out a load of socks that I put on to wash first thing. Once that is done, I put some battered frozen haddock in the oven and after fifteen minutes add some frozen chips, by a quarter to one Norman and I are sitting down to Haddock, chips, garden peas, tea with bread and butter. He much prefers my dinners to dog food. At ten past one, I put fresh water out for Norman and then drive down the bypass to the Hospital at Cottingham, where I arrive thirty minutes later, held up by the roadworks that have been going on for over a year. All of Felicity's children are with her when I arrive on Ward twenty one, Melissa and Stuart I have met before, but this is the first time I have met Richard, he is a big fellow, about six foot one or two. Felicity is a little better today and rational again, so we sit and chat between us for forty five minutes, until I have to leave to collect Louis. I promise to visit again on Thursday, if she hasn't been discharged before then, the doctors are saying that it is her low sodium and potassium levels that are causing the problems, but don't say what is causing them to be low. Her kidneys are the likely culprits. Louis is still happily playing football when I arrive and I suspect he would be happy doing that for the rest of his life. Before taking him home, we call at the doctors in Molescroft to pick up a prescription, I leave him in the car with a problem to solve, how many seconds are there in a day. He wants to be as good at Maths as his big brother, Clement, and he is still working on it when I get back and has got as far as 3,600 seconds in an hour, but is struggling with 24 times this, so I suggest we double it and times by twelve instead. The answer 86,400, is cracked as we draw up at Sarah's house, Louis runs indoors and finds a drink of lemonade and some crisps, while I chat to Alice. She has finished editing my Swimathon video and promises to upload it to YouTube tonight, so I say I will send her the URL for my Swimathon fund raising page later. Hanne texts to enquire about Felicity and I tell her she is improving and will tell her more when I see her at the Poppy Seed, in the morning. When I arrive home it is almost five o'clock and there is just time to bring my socks in off the line, before the five o'clock news starts. Norman says he is starving, but he always says this, and as I am having toast and honey for tea, he decides to opt for a dog tin instead. Later in the evening I text my brother in law, Gino, to see if he wants to go to see Hull v Watford next Tuesday, as Louis will be in Scotland and then set up my Swimathon fund raising page properly, before emailing friends and family the link and posting it on Facebook. My sister responds within seconds and donates £20, and we arrange to meet on Friday, at the Mermaid Fish Restaurant in Morley, near Leeds, which is a favourite of ours. Later I read some more Philip Roth and then turn in early, as I will have to take the dogs out at eight, before delivering Louis to Hull, if I am to meet Hannah and the others at the Poppy Seed later. Perhaps someone else wants to go to see "Alice in Wonderland", beamed from the Royal Opera House on Thursday evening, it would be nice to experience something light, funny and beautiful this spring.
The link for Marie Curie Cancer Care Swimathon is:-
Http:/my.artezglobal.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=423312

Blood and Football

Norman wakes me around ten past six, needing to go outside, it is a brighter day and the cold east wind isn't blowing quite as strongly. Nevertheless, the old boy doesn't dawdle outside and soon runs in and settles by the warm radiator, whilst I fry the kippers for our breakfast. Normy eats his over crumbled rye toast. After breakfast and a shower, I dress, with a layer of thermals underneath and then walk Norman down as far as the little bridge, before driving to Molescroft for my blood test. Sally, the nurse, who I have known for over twenty years, takes my blood pressure while I am there and it is perfect 134/78, and then draws blood from the vein inside my elbow. The result should be back for Thursday, after that the surgery is closed until the following Tuesday for Easter. I collect Louis from Sarah's house and drive him to the KC stadium for his football coaching. The people at the office at the stadium redirect me to the sports arena, where the training has been moved indoors because of the cold. Louis is taken by a young woman to his class and immediately joins in, I am told to collect him at three. Before driving back to Beverley, I call at the KC stadium ticket office, to see if there are any better seats than the ones we have got. Ideally I would like some on the lower, rather than the upper West Stand, in case my health deteriorates during treatment for the prostate cancer and climbing to the highest point in the stadium becomes more of an issue. Unfortunately we already have very good seats, on the half way line and there is nothing as good anywhere else, so I keep the ones we have for next season. I drive straight to the Leisure Centre for my swim, arriving at eleven O'clock, all the car parks are full and the road behind the pool is also full, so I am reduced to parking on double yellow lines, next to the football pitch, where we sometimes have to park when Louis has swimming classes. The pool is fairly busy, but the fast lane is a double with only two other swimmers in it, so I insert myself between them and manage to swim two sets of 500m in 100m individual medleys, before three more swimmers join the double lane. We have been swimming a rotation, up one lane and down the other, using the centre to overtake when necessary, but the extra swimmers mean I won't be able to swim fly or backstroke safely. Fortunately a couple using the next lane decide to leave, so I duck under the rope and manage a further two 500m sets in there, before warming down on 100m each, of easy freestyle and backstroke. Moving up from 400m sets to the 500m that I will need to do for the Swimathon, doesn't sound much, but it takes extra effort as a minutes rest and water break has been removed from the session. As it is school holidays, the pool will be busier than during term time, but I hope to be able to fit in three more sessions this week. I don't go to the cafe because of my parking situation and just return to the car and drive home. Norman is waiting for me and follows me into the garden, while I peg out a wash load of shirts in the cold, cold wind. The only thing it is any good for is drying washing, but there are flakes of snow in the wind as I peg out shirts. Normy has some Bakers and I make Panini and salad again for my lunch. At a quarter past two, I drive back to the sports arena to collect Louis, who is practising penalty shoot outs as I arrive. We kick about for ten minutes with two other kids and then drive back to Beverley, calling at Tesco for some washing up liquid, salad and some more kippers en route. Louis is starving, so I buy him some cheese and grapes in the a , feteria, which he says he wants, but then have to top these up with a chocolate muffin, even though he had a pile of sandwiches and fruit in his lunch box, which he says he has eaten. By the time we get back to Beverley it is almost five o'clock, Sarah is back from work, so I stop and chat for a minute or two, before driving back to Tickton, where I recover my shirts, before opening a tin of dog food for Norman. I put the oven on and set the timer for an hour and then place my Parmagiana on the middle shelf. While that is cooking I mix up a batch of oaties and slide these below the Parmagiana, both should be ready by a quarter past six. David Cameron is on the radio, talking about being nasty to immigrants, it is part of his response to the UKIP threat to the right wing of the Tory Party. His problem is, the tougher he tries to talk, the weaker his position is revealed to be. He is beginning to sound like a PR/Marketing bullshitter, and God knows I have met more than my fair share of those. Boris Johnson, the other great white hope of the Tory party, has been taken apart in an interview by Eddie Mair, on the Andrew Marr Sunday programme. They played a section on the radio tonight, it was devastating, with Johnson revealed to be a serial liar and cheat, which despite his usual blustering bonhomie, he couldn't manage to repudiate. My Parmagiana is very good and I follow it with some Black Forest Fruits and Yogurt for dessert afterwards. Hanne sends a text to say that she visited Felicity, who has been moved to Castle Hill, and reports that she was delirious and not making much sense. I have arranged to visit her tomorrow lunchtime, around 1:30 and stay for an hour, before collecting Louis from the arena again. John phones to say they want to fit the new parquet flooring in the hall on April 12th, I tell him that is fine. Later I read Philip Roth until bedtime, with Norman snuggled on my lap. To bed for ten.

Palm Sunday

The trend of waking earlier continues, and I get up shortly after six, leaving Norman asleep in his basket, until he smells coffee and toast and saunters into the kitchen for breakfast. I have visitors today, so kippers are on hold until tomorrow and I am having smoked salmon and cream cheese on rye toast again. Normy has Bakers, but I slip him some salmon trimmings, so that he doesn't feel left out. After breakfast, I put on a load of white towels and then shower, dress and give Norman a quick walk as far as the end of the cul de sac, until I come back from church. The North east wind is still blowing at almost gale force and the wind chill is punishing, but the dog does his stuff and then runs back to the house. I am attending early mass at nine o'clock this morning as I want to clear up before John Chapman comes to measure the hall for some parquet flooring. The carpet long being past its best. It is Palm Sunday today and today's mass recalls the Lord's Passion, we are all given Palm fronds to wave as the procession approaches the altar. I always find this ceremony ineffable moving and sad, as a father it is almost unbearable to think of looking on as your gentle son is tortured to death. I sing the hymns but leave speechless. Back home the towels have finished washing and I hang them on the line, the east wind might be vicious, but at least it can dry my washing, although each item has to be double pegged to stop it blowing away. Norman is waiting by the door, wagging his tail, so after wrapping him in his warm coat and putting on two woolly hats we venture out. He changes his mind when the reality of the cold wind hits him, but I insist we continue and we make our way through the snicket onto Carr Lane and head down to the little bridge over the drain. A young woman catches up with us leading a golden retreiver and a Bassett Hound puppy, who we have met before, his name is Bowie as he has two different coloured eyes, like the pop star. Bowie wants to play, but Norman is having none of it, and so he runs after his owner, his long ears bouncing out to the side as he runs. The farmer has grubbed out part of the hedge and the wind screams through gap, almost knocking me off my feet. When we get to the bridge we decide to explore "almost straight wood", as it is sheltered in there and Normy can have a good sniff and root about. He spends a happy half hour doing just that, before we turn tail and head for home. When we return indoors, I give him some biscuits and make a pot of tea for myself. Today is a fast day, I have settled on Sundays and Thursdays now and will keep this up until after the Swimathon, as I have to confess, I am feeling the benefits, although the unseasonable cold weather isn't doing my joints any favours. John arrives around one o'clock and soon measures up, there is still tea in the pot, so I pour him a cup and we chat for a while before he leaves. Later in the afternoon I drive to Molescroft Court to visit Felicity, taking Norman with me as she likes to see him. We seem to wait an age until the door is eventually answered and when I ask for her room, the attendant tells me she was re admitted to hospital yesterday. I expect Melissa had enough on her plate and forgot to tell me, so we turn tail and drive home, and once indoors, I keep busy continuing my ongoing spring cleaning. Not that the activity is any representation of the weather. Tomorrow I have a doctors appointment at nine twenty for a blood test and then taxi duty, taking Louis for his football training during the holidays, to the KC Stadium. I will renew our season tickets whilst I am there. I spend the evening cracking a fiendishly difficult killer sudoku, as I don't feel up to the bleakness of Roth's "American Pastoral", tonight. To bed at ten after a bowl of hot porridge with sweetener.

Friends and Family

We wake early around six O'clock expecting to find deep snow outside, but there is just a sprinkling, so we have been spared for now. The raw east wind has gained strength and it barges into the house, rattling the blinds and chilling the bare skin between my pyjamas and my slippers, when I let Norman into the garden to relieve himself. Even his double coat of wiry hair, is insufficient protection against its malevolence and he sprints back indoors as soon as he has completed his ablutions. I am having boiled eggs for breakfast, with rye soldiers, but there are only two of the giant pullet eggs left, so Normy has to have Bakers again. I will drive to the farm shop today, after morning coffee at the Poppy Seed and buy another dozen. Last night I peeled and sliced the Sicilian Aubergine, before salting the slices and then pressing the bitter juices out, using a colander, overnight, with a saucer and a two litre bottle of cream soda as a weight. This morning I rinse the salt off them, pat them dry with kitchen towel, brush with olive oil and then brown them in the oven for fifteen minutes, while I shower. After dressing, I construct a Parmagiana with alternating layers of Bolognese, Mozarella and Aubergine, liberally sprinkled with fresh Basil leaves. The completed dish is stored in the fridge, to allow the Basil to infuse for a couple of days before cooking. There is still enough of the Bolognese left to make a meal for one with pasta, so I store that in the fridge as well, covered with cling film. Hanne texts to ask if I will make the Poppy Seed, everyone else except her and Barbara have cried off, because of the weather, but I say I will be there in half an hour. Norman and I dress for the arctic, he in his blue coat and I in a thick roll neck sweater, over heavy winter pants and fur boots, with a warmly lined leather jacket and woolly cap. We drive to our usual spot down Norwood, near the Girls High School, park up and walk into town. A lot of cars are passing covered in snow, less than thirty miles away they have had over six inches overnight and the strong easterly wind has caused severe drifting. As we walk through Saturday Market, half the stalls are missing, presumably traders either unable or unwilling, to brave the weather. The wind chill is impressive, at least fifteen degrees in the biting, almost gale force winds. As soon as we enter the cafe, my glasses steam up and when I remove them, I find we are the first one's there, but Hanne arrives within a minute and Barbara follows shortly after and hands me an envelope containing the book she wrote for the Civic Society, entitled, "Beverley Pastures", there is a lovely view of the Minster taken across the common in summer, when it is golden with buttercups and inside the back cover is a stunning aerial photograph of Black Mill, Westwood and Beverley, also in summer, by Trevor Sanderson. Barbara tells me that there are only two copies left now of the initial print run of 500 and that another run has been ordered. Felicity is absent, admitted reluctantly to Molescroft Court Residential Care Home yesterday, I suggested to Hanne that I collect her and bring her to the Poppy Seed, but the Great Dane counselled against it, on the grounds that she needed time to settle in and once in my car, would probably have demanded to be driven home. She is probably right, so I shall visit her tomorrow, perhaps after church. A text arrives on my phone from Sarah, asking me to drop her spare keys in at the hairdressers down North Bar, where Alice has her Saturday job, as she has forgotten her set and Sarah, Clement and Louis are in Hull, attending a birthday party. I text back to say I will and then realise that I left the keys on the bedside table, so I need to drive back to Tickton to retrieve them. Norman and I walk back to the car and then drive home, where I give him a few biscuits and fresh water before driving to North Bar with the keys for Alice. Miraculously, someone pulls out of a parking space as I approach the hairdressers, so I am able to park within feet of the salon, and after delivering the keys, I wander into town. There is a new Delicatessen and cafe by the Market Cross, called Vanessa's, it was previously a news agents, but the owners retired, it is packed with shoppers and is really quite good, the meat counter is stocked with fresh local produce and when I enquire if they can get fresh veal, the butcher says he will enquire and let me know on Monday. As I still have a week of my meat free Lenten fast, I don't buy anything and there is little else that catches my eye, but I hope they do well. I potter around town for an hour and buy a few odds and ends, including a Birthday Card for Clement with a Dachshund on it, and then drive home via the farm shop, where the owner is just putting out trays of fresh giant pullet eggs, as I arrive. I buy a dozen for £3 and then drive home, looking forward to lunch and the warmth of the house. Once indoors, I make panini, one Haloumi with roasted onions and the other Mozarella with sun dried tomatoes with a tossed salad on the side and open a tin for Normy. After lunch, I make a fresh pot of coffee and then curl up with Philip Roth in the Garden Room, while the gale rattles the windows. After ten minutes a text arrives from Clement, he is getting the train back to London at half past six, and would like to meet me for coffee before he goes, so I arrange to meet him at Rolando's, in fifteen minutes. I dress for the cold again, fill out his birthday card and enclose some money and a book token and then drive back into Beverley, my luck is in again, as I find a parking space by the Beverley Arms hotel, which is just across the road from Rolando's. Clement is waiting for me inside, I order a coffee, give him his card, and then have a nice chat for an hour about graphene and diamond super capacitors and whether they could be engineered to form a battery with enough capacity to drive a car. Clement intends to work for a professor at UCL who is researching this area. Too soon it is time for him to go, so I give him a hug and tell him I will visit him in London, after my holiday in Austria. I drive back to Tickton and resume reading "American Pastoral", which keeps me occupied until bedtime. Norman snores happily on my knee, while I read. To bed for eleven.

The coldest day of the winter! Again

The alarm goes off at five thirty, outside it is just getting light, Normy snores on in his bed, so I make my way to the kitchen and make coffee and smoked salmon with Philadelphia cheese on rye toast, for breakfast. Norman saunters in, just as I sit down to eat, so I pour him some Bakers into his bowl. The radio says heavy snow is forecast for the south and west and will work its way to us by this evening. Today is a swim day, so I don't bother to shower and just shave and clean my teeth, before driving to Sarah's house down North Bar, Louis opens the door to me enthusiastically, Sarah, Alice and Clement are all in various stages of dressing for the funeral and I warn them to dress warmly, as the bitterly cold east wind is blowing a gale outside. They leave at a quarter past seven and when I ask Louis if he has had breakfast, he asks for a full English, so I put the skillet on the stove and cook him some bacon and eggs with baked beans and toast, there are no sausages in the fridge. After breakfast, I wash the pots and discover four cereal bowls in the sink, and when I ask Louis if he had cereal, be confesses he did, but was still hungry. It is a long time from half past six until twelve on a cold day, so I don't mind cooking an extra breakfast. He wants a bath, so I run him one and then shampoo and condition his hair and as I dry him, find rough skin on the back of his arms, so give him a coat of baby lotion, to make him "extra lovely". Today is the last day of term for him and he tells me he has to report to Saint Mary's Church for an Easter service at nine o'clock, so after dressing him, we take Norman for a quick spin down Seven Corners Lane and then we deliver Louis to the church. I have forgotten to bring my keys for Two Riggs, so drive back to Tickton to collect them and then pick up Dolly and Teddy and head for the Westwood. It is not too bad in the woods, but once we are in the open, on the common, it is bitterly cold, the thermometer on the car said one degree, but the windchill has knocked that down by a good ten degrees. I can't recall a colder day this winter and we are grateful to regain the shelter of the car. I say goodbye to the terriers until Monday and then drive to Morrison's, where I fill up with diesel and then do a little shopping, the usual stuff, bread, milk, fruit, salad and a huge Sicilian aubergine. I also replace the olive oil I dropped on the drive on Tuesday evening and buy some sheets of lasagna and a packet of frozen fish fingers and Black Forest fruits, as well as a Medeira cake to take to Felicity, as I know she loves them. We find the last parking space down Albert terrace and only by parking with the nose of the Chrysler a paint coat's thickness from the car in front, am I able to avoid overhanging the double yellow lines. The way my luck is running this month, I am taking no chances! Norman and I brave the wind and walk the fifty yards or so to Felicity's house, where I knock on the door and walk in, as usual, only to be met by her daughter Melissa, who tells me her mum is being examined by the doctor and asks me to call back. I tell her I am going for a swim and she says she will text me later, so I give her the Madeira cake and return to the car and drive to the leisure centre. I leave Normy asleep on the back seat and arrive in the pool at five minutes to twelve, it is quite busy, but one of the attendants tells me that a class of schoolchildren will be leaving at midday, so I sit on the lane end until it is clear. The session is the same as Monday, 5 x 400m in 100m individual medleys, followed by a 2 x 100m warm down on freestyle and back stroke. I still feel tired on the last set, but notice that my times have reduced by almost half a minute for each 400m. A good sign. After changing I return to the car and see I have a missed call and a voice mail, they are from Felicity's sister, Joy, informing me that her sister has gone into Molescroft Court for respite. It is a sensible thing to do, particularly if she can work on her mobility in there, I have almost a sense of déjà vu after my experience with Leslie, but I hope my foreboding is misplaced. Before leaving this morning, I set the Bolognese sauce in the slow cooker on low, and when we get in, I boil a kettle and then cook some spaghetti for ten minutes in a pan, before sprinkling it with black pepper and tossing it in a little butter, and serving it with the sauce and a generous helping of Parmesan. Norman has his in his little bowl, but he is a messy eater of pasta and there are soon strands of spaghetti strewn all over the kitchen floor. I am not concerned, because I know that once he has finished his bowl, he will recover every last bit of spillage. In any case, running the mop over the parquet flooring is only the work of a moment. The Quorn mince, has been utterly transformed over two days by the slow cooker and the Bolognaise is almost indistinguishable from that made with beef and pork. Well perhaps I exaggerate a tad, but after a morning in the cold and a strenuous swim, it certainly hits the spot. There is enough sauce left for either a chilli, with the addition of red kidney beans, or a Parmagianna, once I have prepared the Aubergine, or I could stuff some Cannelloni, or make a Lasagne. Choices, choices! After dinner, we have a lie down for an hour and then get ready to collect Louis from Hector's, but Clement phones to say that he and Sarah have picked him up early, so I am stood down. Outside, the wind howls around the building and at five I make a little rye toast with butter and honey, with a pot of tea. The news is still dominated by the banking crisis in Cyprus, I think if I were a Cypriot MP, I would have to think carefully about sequestrating Russian money in the banks, a lot of it is crime related and there must be a serious risk of getting whacked by the Russian Mafia, if you touch their loot without a sit down with Vladimir Putin first. The problem with cuddling up to the Russians, is that they don't cuddle you back, you tend to end up in a bear hug! Later I read a little Philip Roth and then turn in around half past ten. The snow hasn't arrived yet.

People and Chinoiserie

We get up at seven to a fine day, allegedly the first day of spring, but the endless winter continues and there is no warmer weather forecast during the rest of the month. We have kippers for breakfast, they have become Norman's favourites during lent and as I am sure I have mentioned before, his coat is becoming shiny due to all the fish he is eating. After breakfast I sort my whites out for washing and put them in the machine, before showering, dressing and driving to Cherry to collect the terriers. I call Felicity from the common, on my mobile, she sounds a bit weak and down but wants to be left "Quietly", today, so I arrange to call in tomorrow, after the dog walk. Today is a fast day, which I only remember after eating an apple and a mandarin orange during our walk. The east wind is still exercising its malevolent influence, but today it is not too strong. It seems to have been stuck in that direction for most of the winter, which probably accounts for the cold. Lets hope this isn't a regular change to the weather pattern. After returning Dolly and Teddy to Cherry, Norman and I drive home, where I make a pot of tea and then bake a fresh batch of oaties and season and oil some tortillas that I transform into nachos, as a chilli will be on the cards over the next few days. The trick with fasting, seems to be to keep occupied, so after baking, I clean the kitchen and run the vacuum cleaner through the house. In the wardrobe in the Garden Room are some six sheets of "Chinoiserie", wrapping paper from the V&A, I found similar paper in Laura Ashley last year and toyed with the idea of papering the sliding doors of the wardrobe with it in order to make the Garden Room, well more Gardeny! I even bought some lining paper and wall paper paste, but never got round to it. So this afternoon, I dig out a Prit Stick from Louis' Art box and stick the wrapping paper up as a set of six panels, to see how it looks and to see if I can live with it. It is hardly professional, but can easily be removed and made new with some soapy water and a sponge. When it is finished, I am ambivalent, the paper is beautiful, but if it were fully papered would I like it as a permanent fixture? I can't decide, so leave it up to see if it grows on me. Afterwards, I meditate for an hour and then ring Clement, to make sure he has arrived home OK. He is in the hairdressers having a haircut, before Huby Nana's funeral tomorrow and has Louis with him, so I don't need to collect my grandson from Hector's house tonight. I make a fruit salad, for dinner, with some brown rice a couple of dates, a banana and an orange and season it with lemon juice and sweetener. Thus fortified, I drive down the winding road through Wawne to Kingswood for the telecast of Alan Bennet's "People", from the National Theatre. The foyer is packed with middle class people, of a certain age, and mostly from Beverley. I spot Barbara English in the popcorn queue and ask her where Hanne is, who has my ticket. She points to the front of the queue and there is the "Great Dane", being served, she returns with our tickets and we make our way to screen four and eventually find three seats, one row from the back. Screen four is the largest auditorium in the complex and by "curtain up", is completely full. I say "curtain up", because we endure a loop of NT adverts for half an hour, before they get the satellite equipment to work and then watch the cast interviews in silent mode, until someone gets the audio to work. We are just in time to see Emma Freud, gushing enthusiastically about the play and managing to mention the sponsors name, Aviva, three times in two minutes, explaining that without their financial support the production wouldn't be possible. Some wag in the audience quips, that if the insurance companies paid their taxes, sponsorship of the arts wouldn't be necessary. The play starts at half past seven and the best that can be said for it is that it filled a couple of hours. If the playwright wasn't a "National Treasure", this would never have seen the light of day. It is ironic in a way, because the play is a cross between an old fashioned farce and withering social commentary. The problem with it, is that each facet undermines the other, the farce is too obvious and the social critique too laboured and laid on with a trowel. It is a full frontal assault on the heritage industry in general and the National Trust in particular. Bennet's thesis is that old things ought to be left to decline and not restored and frozen in aspic to provide edutainment. Which is precisely my critique of his playwriting in his seventy eighth year. Unless that is his point, in which case I bow down before his genius. I suspect no one liked it much, but didn't like to say so, as it would have been like criticising a toddler for giving a poor performance at a school nativity. After the show, I drive back home in the dark, the back road is deserted and I drive slowly, occasionally revealing a rabbit or a fox in my headlights, arriving home for ten. After letting Norman out into the garden for a last pee, I set my alarm fro five thirty and turn in. I am due at Sarah's house for seven, so that they can get away early, to drive to Huby for the funeral.

"There aren't any rules!"

We wake to a miserable, cold, wet morning, poor old Normy braves the weather and trots stoically into the garden, while I make breakfast. We are having soft boiled eggs and rye toast soldiers, two for me and one for him, his chopped and spread over crumbled toast. After breakfast we listen to the news for a while and then shower and dress for our morning patrol around the Westwood with my wife's terriers, Dolly and Teddy. Today, March 20th is the vernal equinox, and also my mother's birthday, she would have been ninety one, but died fifty seven years ago on July 12th. The woods are wet and my old enemy, the cold east wind, is back and very much in our face as we wend our way from Black Mill back to the car. After returning the dogs to Pip, we drive back into town and park by Saint John's church, before walking the short distance through the Bar to the Poppy Seed cafe, to meet friends for coffee. Felicity has a hospital appointment and can't make it, but Hanne, Thelma and Jill are there. Jill is having to communicate by notepad as she has been rendered stone deaf, as a side effect of the Epylin medication, given to her after her recent TIA. She is well into her eighties and otherwise bright and alert, we discuss the trade offs between risk and treatment, Jill talking and the rest of us writing our responses. It raises the question, is it better to risk death from a further stroke and hear, or remain deaf and live? It is the old quality versus quantity of life argument. Speaking personally, I would tend to opt for short term intensity against long term dullness. Of course in Jill's case it depends how long she needs to take the medication, but no one seems to have told her, so she determines to ask her GP, Russell Martin, who coincidentally is also mine, when she sees him this afternoon. Hanne has a spare ticket for the telecast of Alan Bennett's "People", from the National Theatre, tomorrow evening and asks if I would like to have it. I like Bennett's wry humour and acute observation, so accept and arrange to meet her and the others, at the cinema. Norman takes all of this in, while he rests nestled in the crook of my arm and graciously accepts the odd pat from other Poppy Seed regulars as they pass our table. We return home for half past twelve, and waiting for me on the mat, is the notification of my speeding ticket. When I open it, alll that is required, at this stage, is to confirm that I was the driver and fill in my details. It says I may be eligible for a speed awareness course in lieu of points, I did one just over three years ago in order to keep my licence pristine, so I am not sure whether I will be offered another. In any case, I complete the form and after giving Normy a few biscuits and fresh water, post it en route to the leisure centre. The pool is quiet as the school children are having lessons in the little toddlers pool, so I am able to complete my 2,000m medley programme unhindered. It is broken into 5 sets of 4 x 100m continuous individual medleys, and as on Monday, I notice that the last couple of hundred metres are taking an extra stroke per length as I begin to tire. Still, all in all, I am pleased with the progress and will review my training regime after Friday's session. At the moment I am limiting training to three days per week, as I need a rest day between them, and will probably stay with this routine until I have built up to the 2,500m that is the target for the Swimathon. Health permitting, I should be there in two to three weeks. After my swim I drink tea in the cafe and eat the last three sultana oaties from the batch I made the other day. At three o'clock I drive home, hang up my wet gear to dry and then write a quick letter to my GP, explaining where I am at, regarding tests and appointments with the urologist, Mr. Cooksey. I drop this at the surgery on my way to collect Louis from Hector's House, I am baby sitting him while his Mum and sister, drive to Nottingham to see "One Direction". When we arrive at Sarah's house, they are all dashing around getting changed, before setting off for Nottingham, so Louis and I take Norman for his evening walk around Seven Corner's Lane and then afterwards walk into town to the "Works", where I am looking for picture framing kits. They are closing as we get there, at five thirty, but confirm that they haven't got what I want, Louis wants to call at WH Smiths for football cards, but is out of luck, as they are closed too. As it starts to become dark, the streets are cold and becoming empty and it is with relief that we enter the warmth of Harper's Fish and Chip cafe, down Lairgate, where we are having dinner. There are two other couples there, but the waitress, a young teenage girl, remembers us from last time and takes our order immediately. The place is becoming ever more popular and the "two for a tenner" deal has now been limited to Monday's and Tuesday's, but it is still cheap anyway. We both have haddock and chips with mushy peas for me and baked beans for Louis. I order a pot of tea to be brought straight away and Louis has a bottle of lemonade. The other couples are served first, but I keep him amused by looking through the photos on my phone, which include our recent circumnavigation of the Humber Bridge. Our meals duly arrive, the food is first rate, and we both clear our plates. To my surprise Louis tells me he has room for a chocolate cake, that is revolving in a display case, opposite our table, and the waitress brings it, along with some vanilla ice cream. We share the dessert, Louis eats the cake and I the ice cream, the waitress brings the bill, which even with a tip, is less than twenty pounds. We walk back to Sarah's through the dark streets and once indoors, I change him into his pyjamas and let him play a football game on his computer for fifteen minutes before bedtime at seven. Norman has settled in for the evening, on a cushion on the couch, and I am starting to feel the exertions of the day, by the time I take the little chap up the stairs to his bedroom. It is our tradition that Louis always has a "Grandad" story before going to sleep and he particularly likes stories of Beaverlee in the olden days, so I make one up about a Midsummer's day football match between Beaverlea and Wyke, (which is what Hull used to be called). North Bar becomes one goal post and I invent a South Bar, as the other goalpost, by the minster. Medieval football matches involved all the males in the town and were notoriously rough, but in ours Beverlea eventually triumph, with the help of Louis, Grandad, Clement and his semi mythical, great, great, great uncle Ted Fozzard, who played prop forward for Batley, when they won the cup in 1896, and was reportedly, "the man with the iron grip", as he was an industrial blacksmith by trade. The thing about the story that Louis likes best, is the crowd's response to any complaints of cheating by the opposing sides, who get up to all sorts of nefarious tricks. The crowd chants, "There aren't any rules"! "There aren't any rules"! It appeals to Louis' inner anarchist and mine. By eight o'clock he falls asleep and I follow suit, waking at half past twelve, half an hour before Sarah and Alice arrive back from their concert. Normy and I then drive back to Tickton and are back in bed by half past one.

Prostate apocalypse

After a breakfast of smoked salmon and cream cheese and rye toast for me and Bakers for Norman, we set off to collect the terriers from Cherry Burton. It is a fine day, but the Westwood is still sodden when we arrive, so we find a new way into the woods, sticking to the grass. Out of the wind, in the sun, it feels pleasantly warm and birds are busily singing and collecting twigs for nests, dolly comes hurtling towards us, closely following a fleeing squirrel, which scrambles up a horse chestnut tree to safety. On the common there are luminous barriers on the path to Black Mill, which Teddy goes to investigate, I follow, my curiosity piqued, and find an open trench with a yellow gas pipeline revealed at the bottom. A sign says that the pipeline, which runs underground from southeast to northwest, is being repaired. The fine weather lifts my spirits and there are little after effects of yesterday's training session, other than a little stiffness across the shoulders, which results from the twenty lengths of butterfly. After dropping the dogs at Two Riggs, we return home and make a Bolognese sauce, using some soya mince and transfer this to the slow cooker, before changing and driving into Hull to visit Felicity at the infirmary. She is on ward 10, which is on the 10th floor and when I find her room, she is dressed and sitting on her bed and tells me she has been discharged and Melissa, her daughter, is due to collect her at four o'clock, when she leaves work. I offer to take her home in my car, but she is reluctant to change her daughters plans, so we laugh and chat for a couple of hours, until I have to leave or risk a parking ticket. Before I go, I source a wheelchair for her, so that Melissa can wheel her to the lift and then to the car, and promise to ring her the following day. After returning to the car, I drive the two hundred yards to St. Stephens shopping centre, where I buy a tea in Tesco's cafe and then do a little shopping, including more kippers for breakfast and a bottle of olive oil along with some tins of soup, chopped tomatoes, red kidney beans and cream soda. After stowing my shopping in the Chrysler, I return and look in TK Maxx and Sports Direct for a pair of swimming trunks, as the chlorine is progressively eating the pair I have. Tucked at the back of the rail of mens swimwear in Sports direct, I find a pair of black, Calvin Klein trunks, with a deeper side, as I am too old for skimpy speedos. Discretion prompts me to try them first, and when I put them on in the changing room, they are still a little too revealing and reluctantly put them back. I drive back home for seven, It is almost dark when I arrive, and as I make my way to the door, the plastic shopping bag splits and my bottle of olive oil breaks and deposits its contents on the drive. The oil quickly spreads across the Tarmac and as soon as I have safely deposited the rest in the kitchen and fed Norman, I take a mop and bucket with a bottle of washing up liquid and clear up the mess. Later I make a couple of panini for dinner, with cheddar cheese and sun dried tomatoes and accompanied by a pot of tea. After dinner I read Philip Roth's American Pastoral until bedtime, the book's narrator, Skip Zuckerman, has suffered a catastrophic prostatectomy, and been rendered impotent and incontinent, which flatly contradicts my own experience and it gets worse, the subject of the novel, Swede Levov, dies of metastatic prostate cancer, by chapter three, along with another three classmates from his high school reunion party, that Zuckerman attends. Roth is famous for exploring the dark side of human nature and has been accused by feminists of a certain mysogyny, but is also an acute observer of contemporary life. If his novel is an accurate reflection of American healthcare, then thank god for the NHS. I still like him though. To bed for eleven.

Designer Jackets for Clement and Ante Pasta for Louis.

I slept well again last night and woke refreshed to a wet morning, Norman braves the rain as he trots into the garden while I make breakfast. I have only whole meal pitta bread left, I should have shopped for bread yesterday, but somehow couldn't be bothered. I decide to grill the pitta bread and stuff them with some goats cheese and some marinated peppers and then place them in the sandwich grill, that Sarah bought me for Xmas. I pour Normy some Bakers dog food, while my Italian coffee percolates and fills the kitchen with its aroma, within ten minutes my pitta/panini are ready, but I have to wait for a few minutes before eating them as the cheese is molten and very hot. They taste OK, but because they lack the absorbent quality of real Panini, are a little greasy on the surface. After breakfast we listen to the news, it seems that the conservatives have decided to cooperate with labour and the lib dems on the Leveson report after all. Harriet Harman appears on radio four to say a deal has been done, the new press regulator will be established by Royal Charter, but with statutory underpinning. This way everyone can say they have won, but the reality is that Cameron blinked first, faced with the choice of alienating the press or losing a motion in the Commons to a Lib/Lab coalition, he chose the least worst option. He is damaged goods and no one is fooled by the charade and the poor sod still has an inevitably bleak budget to come on Wednesday, it is still two years until the election, can he survive that long? Can the coalition? We leave the house, around a quarter past nine and drive to Cherry Burton, where I intend just to walk the dogs round the village because of the rain, but the rain has eased by the time we arrive and as the terriers will not have been let off the lead over the weekend, I decide to take them to the Westwood and give them a run. The common is sodden when we get there, small and large ponds have formed on the lower ground and the path we usually take into the woods is a quagmire, so we climb higher up the hill and find a different way in. This path is still muddy, but less temp and lethally slippery as the ones lower down. The outside temperature gauge on the Chrysler was reading 2 degrees as we drove in, but it feels colder because of the damp and a steady wind from the Northeast. Nevertheless the birds are singing their hearts out in the woods, spring and nesting can't be cancelled just for a bit of rain. Dolly dashes about the woods, relishing her freedom and Teddy can hardly wait for his turn to be let off the lead. Meanwhile, Norman jogs along ten paces behind us, keeping out of trouble, but enjoying the walk and the company of his two friends. On the open ground, I switch the dogs off the lead and Teddy hares off and sprints for a quarter of a mile before looping round and hurtling back to us before charging off again at right angles. Dogs were born to enjoy freedom, and Norman and the terriers live for this hour in the fresh air, on the Westwood, each day. We head diagonally downhill from Black Mill towards the car, with all three dogs walking nicely on their leads, now that their excess energy has been expended. After dropping them back at Two Riggs, Norman and I return to Tickton, where I dry him and leave him some fresh water and some biscuits, before gathering my swimming gear and some Ian Rankin books for William and driving to Leslie's house. William and Margaret are already there and have made a start, sorting things out. I give William the books and pack the espresso maker that I had given to Leslie in a bag. Margaret shows me around the bungalow, which I had seen before, but not recently as most of my meetings with Leslie were held in the kitchen over coffee. Margaret has three jackets that she wants me to try, I know Leslie was a forty two chest and I am forty four, but try them anyway, the first two a navy Crombie blazer in black is too tight, as is the second a navy Armani blazer, but the third, a light wool sports jacket in oatmeal, fits perfectly, so Margaret insists I keep it. Although I have at least half a dozen similar coats in my wardrobe that only ever get worn for church on Sundays. Then I remember that Clement is coming back from UCL on Thursday for Huby Nana's funeral on Friday, and that he is a forty two chest, designer jackets worn over jeans are quite in, so I ask Margaret if I can take these for him. The valuer is coming out to value the house contents later in the week and I tell Margaret that I would like to buy some light wood bookshelves and a desk from the office and she says she will save them for me. I leave around half past twelve and drive to the leisure centre for a quarter to one, the pool is quite busy but someone leaves the end lane as I arrive and I am able to find enough space to practise my individual medley drills. I complete five sets of 400m, with each set interspersed with a minutes rest for water. By the last set I am starting to feel a little tired and the last three IM's are taking an extra stroke for each length. Still I am quite pleased at the progress, the five 400m sets, will need to become five 500m sets by the time of the Swimathon, but that is almost six weeks away, so health permitting, should not be a problem. After the swim, I have time for a pot of tea and some oaties in the cafe, before driving to Tesco to buy some more bread and milk and Louis' ante pasta. I collect Louis from school at a quarter past three, he emerges marginally more clothed than in previous weeks, his teacher, Mrs Wildbore, laughingly tells me he has made a special effort after PE, so that grandad doesn't have to dress him. After a minor adjustment to his winter jacket, we walk to the car, which I have parked in New Walk, and drive back to Tickton. The football obsession shows no sign of slacking, so when we return indoors, I find the BBC football web page for him on my iPad, and he reads all the weekend results to me, while I assemble his tea. He is having, Parma ham, Chorizo, smoked cheese, olives, tomato and cucumber and a buttered bread roll, as well as a glass of grandad pop, low sugar cream soda. There is nothing that beats motivation when it comes to learning, and Louis can read the names of every one of the ninety two clubs in the league, as well as work out their goal differences and points differentials. Not bad for a five year old. We sit and chat while he eats, I have also opened a tin for Norman. Louis has reconciled himself to missing the Watford game, while he is on holiday in Scotland, but tells me he will be back for the game against Middlesborough the following Saturday. We leave Tickton at twenty to five and drive to the leisure centre, where I change him into his shorts and deliver him at five o'clock to Debbie, his swimming instructor. After buying a drinking chocolate from the cafe, I settle down to watch Louis' lesson through the window, next to reception, behind me Tom is "beasting" a spinning class. At half past five, I collect Louis, dry him and dress him in the changing room and then drive him home for six o'clock. Alice lets us in and tells me my video will be ready by Friday, she is being driven to Nottingham on Wednesday to see a pop group, "One Direction", by Sarah and Richard, her friend is also going with her. I am baby sitting Louis and having him again on Friday, while everyone else attends the funeral. Next week he is on holiday and Sarah has to work, so she has booked football training with the outreach team from the Tigers for him. It runs from ten until three at the Grammar School and I am on taxi duty and baby sitting afterwards. We are very close, but I also need to spend some time with Andrew's girls, who I haven't seen for a couple of weeks now. When I get in, I fry the remaining asparagus in a little butter and olive oil and boil pasta in a pan, which, after draining, I toss in the wok and then plate and season with Gran Padano and black pepper. After dinner I start my new book, "American Pastoral", by Philip Roth. Turning in around ten. Tomorrow, I will visit Felicity in Hull Royal, if she is still in hospital.

An ill wind

Wake after a sound night's sleep around seven and after releasing Normy into the garden, I fry the smoked mackerel bought from Morrisons for breakfast, with rye toast and strong, black, Italian coffee. We don't have to rush this morning, so we can enjoy a leisurely breakfast. The mackerel are slightly more oily than herring but this makes them more succulent and tasty. In addition to a fillet, Norman also receives my skin, with all the oily fish we have eaten during lent, his coat has taken on a glossy shine. After breakfast I drink coffee and read the paper on my iPad in the Garden Room, outside a late hunting barn owl takes a young rabbit in the field beyond the garden. I am attending ten thirty mass, so shower, dress and then take Norman out for a toilet walk, before driving to Saint John's and parking by Seven Corner's Lane at a quarter past ten. From the car I phone Felicity, in order to see how she is feeling and to arrange to call in to see her after church. There is no reply, so I leave a message to say I will ring again after church and then turn my phone off before the service. The children are taking first communion today, so the church is full, with lots of young families, but I manage to find a pew, one row back from my usual place. After praying, I sit and think about the new pope, Francis, he was profiled on radio four's Sunday program and it seems my prayer last week for a more catholic and less Roman pontiff have been answered. A church for the poor is precisely what the world needs right now and he seems to be leading by example, which, quite frankly, is the only way to lead. It is a beautiful service this morning, Father Roy's sermon is a good humoured and good natured dialogue with the children, he is trying to elicit the answer, "Passion Sunday" to the question "what day is it today?" He gets a variety of answers, ranging from "Saint Patrick's day", which it is, to Palm Sunday and Good Friday, which it definitely isn't, but like the great showman he is, it doesn't matter and he leads them gently to his point, that Jesus hates the sin but forgives the repentant sinner. Not bad, when the scripture was about the woman taken in adultery, and you are speaking to seven year olds. After communion we all sing "Fight the Good Fight" and emerge afterwards feeling better people, at least for a while. I switch the phone back on and ring Fliss, but get her answer phone again, which is unusual, so I ring her daughter Melissa to check she is OK, as Melissa was with her yesterday. Her phone also goes straight to answer phone, so I leave a message to say I am going round to check on her mum and drive round to Albert Terrace. The front door is locked, which is unusual, but her dogs, Sam and Molly, bark when I try the door, so I go round the back to see if  she is in the kitchen. The back door is also locked, but the kitchen light is on and her bed is unmade, she has to sleep on a single bed in the kitchen, as the stairs are too much for her. Clearly no one is home, she may have gone to her sisters, or perhaps Melissa has picked her up. I drive back to Tickton and take Norman for a proper walk round the village, the sky has become overcast and drops of rain start to fall as we approach home, it is still quite cold and a suspicion of a wind is blowing gently from the east. Once indoors, I give Norman a few biscuits and then make a pot of tea and settle down to some admin. I phone Margaret to tell her and William what a good job they did for Leslie's funeral and arrange to call at Leslie's bungalow to collect the espresso maker I gave him, as they don't want it and it will be one less thing for them to get rid of. Next comes the road taxing of Pip's car and mine, it is very easy online, now that the cross referencing with the insurance companies and the DVLA is done automatically. The government website invites me to become an organ and tissue donor, I have been a kidney donor for over forty years but fill in the online application anyway, if any of my remains can help someone else, then they are most welcome to them. There are a few other odds and ends to sort out, but within an hour they are all done, and I am just settling down to read my book when a text arrives from Melissa, to say that her mum has been taken in to Hull Royal Infirmary with an acute urinary tract infection, and that she is comfortable and that she will ring me later, after she leaves the hospital. I text back my best wishes and enquire if she is on ward 70, the geriatric ward, in case she needs me to visit. Later Melissa phones to say that her mum had become delirious overnight with the infection and so she called an ambulance and they took her into hospital, where she is being given antibiotics. Melissa asks if I will visit tomorrow afternoon, and I say I will, but have to text her back later, as I had forgotten that I have Louis on Mondays after school. I say I will go on Tuesday instead. I finish my book, an historical fictionalised account of the siege of Fort George, in what is now the state of Maine, during the American War of Independence. Today is a fast day, so later in the evening I eat some brown rice with the last of the vegetable chilli and a little salad, and then crack a tough killer sudoku before bedtime. Leslie had a urinary tract infection that got onto his lungs and failed to respond to antibiotics, I pray that Felicity fares better, but she is quite frail and her health has been declining these last two years. Sufficient to this day is the evil thereof! To bed around ten thirty.

A busy, busy, day!

We are up early, before the alarm rings, at a quarter past six. After a breakfast of soft boiled eggs and rye toast, I shower and dress, before taking Norman for a quick spin around the village and then setting off for Hull, just after eight. Jordan's garage is on Witham, and I drive there via the winding road through the village of Wawne and the North Hull estates. When I arrive in reception to hand over the keys to the Chrysler, it resembles a doctor's surgery, with a young man and an Asian family of young girls, sat on the sofas waiting for work to be finished. There is a spare chair between them, so I sit down and take my library book out of my shoulder bag and settle down to read, after first ringing Right Car, where my vehicle failed its MOT. The failure certificate states, that there will be no charge if the car is re-presented within ten days with the fault fixed. It is dated March 6th at 17:30 and today is the 16th, so my call is to arrange a re-inspection, which they are able to conduct at half past twelve. This means that I don't need to pay Jordan's £40 for another MOT, and therefore I cancel that part of the work, the fitting of the new shock absorber is scheduled to take an hour, so with luck, it will be finished for ten o'clock. I phone Felicity to see how she is and she tells me that she is waiting for the doctor as she is still in pain. I promise to call in to see her tomorrow. Hanne also texts to ask if I am going to the Poppy Seed, so I tell her that I am too busy and also explain that Felicity can't make it either. The work on the car is completed on time and £180 later, I am on my way back to Tickton and congratulating myself for saving £40 on an unnecessary MOT, when a bus pulls out from the kerb, where it had been picking up passengers. This road is a dual carriageway, that narrows to a single lane in order to go under a bridge, about a hundred yards further on, so I accelerate to overtake the bus and then get flashed as I pull back in, by a speed camera. When I look at my speedometer, it reads 35mph and I am in a 30mph zone. Goodbye to my MOT savings! It is my own fault, I have a lot to do today, but there was no real need to get past the bus. I arrive back in Tickton for eleven, and an envelope is lying on the mat, it is the appointment for my MRI scan, and it is scheduled for Monday April 8th at twelve noon. With a bit of luck, I might have an appointment with Mr Cooksey within two weeks of this, and then, hopefully, the diagnosis, prognosis and recommended treatment. I am taking Louis to see the Tigers against Nottingham Forest this afternoon, so in the hour before I am due at Right Car, I make our half time picnic, smoked cheese and Chorizo on rye for Louis and the same for me, ( but without the sausage, as it is Lent), an orange, banana, some oaties and a flask of tomato soup. Somehow all of this fits in my shoulder bag, along with a kitchen roll for spillage and his "magic blanket", as it can be cold sat up in the "Gods", just under the roof of the KC Stadium. Before leaving, I let Normy into the garden and then leave him fresh water and some Bakers and then drive the two miles down the river bank, to Right Car. The re-inspection, is the testing station's last job before the weekend and I have hardly started to read my book, before they are calling me to say the job is done. Now that both cars have passed their MOT's, I can renew their road tax online. Louis is waiting for me when I arrive and Sarah is making a sandwich for his lunch, so I have a word with Alice about not washing his face yesterday morning. She tells me she wiped it with a wet wipe, because of his bruise, which he incurred from a fall in the playground. When I look carefully at him, what I had assumed was dirt, was actually a dark bruise, which I had tried to rub off with my handkerchief and a little spit. No wonder he howled a bit! Richard, Sarah's boyfriend for the last couple of years, is coming with us to the stadium, he is meeting a business colleague there in the hospitality suite. We retrace the route I took this morning and park in Linnaeus Street, outside Mark's flats, where a workman is fitting a pair of electronic gates, we will need the entry code the next time we park here. Mark hasn't yet arrived, he is collecting his son, Jamie, who is at Manchester University, from the station, so we set off and walk to the KC stadium, passing through the grounds of Hull Royal Infirmary on our way. I can't help but think about Leslie as we go past, but Louis' infectious cheerfulness soon dispels any black clouds. He must have asked a thousand questions of Richard and myself, before we arrive at the turnstiles and part company. Louis proudly presents his season ticket to be scanned, I follow and then we begin our long climb to the upper West Stand, the weather has brightened and the sun is shining on the pitch momentarily, as both teams go through their warm up routines on the pitch. Our seats are on row X, just one further row separates us from the journalists, who are situated under the roof, around the half way line, to commentate and report on the match. The players retire, the pre match music, excerpts from Nabucco's "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves", booms out, with the intent to intimidate the opposing fans, but it doesn't seem to work, Forest have brought four thousand fans and they completely fill the North Stand to our left. Since their previous manager, Billy Davis, returned, they have won their last five games and they don't intend losing today either. The match kicks off on time at three and it is a sizzling encounter, with both teams straining every sinew to win. The tigers have the best of the early encounters but Forest gradually claw their way into the game and are marginally getting the best of things, before George Boyd scores, three minutes before half time. He celebrates by miming a pair of spectacles over his eyes, the significance of this is that he was supposed to be signed by Nottingham Forest under their previous manager, but after he was sacked the deal was cancelled at the last minute, on the pretext that Boyd had failed an eye test. Hull City have never lost this season after scoring first, so it is two happy and confident Tiger's fans who tuck into their picnic during half time. The second half is even better than the first, as Nottingham throw everything, bar the kitchen sink, at the Tigers, to try to even the score. The game flows end to end but Hull create the better chances, before Forest equalise from a cross and a shot that bounces off the crossbar, before Darius Henderson puts it away. It seems impossible, but the intensity of the game increases, as both teams go flat out for the win, City have shots hit the bar, cleared off the line and the Nottingham Forest keeper makes three world class saves, but in the end, luck intervenes on Forest behalf and they score again with ten minutes to go. Steve Bruce makes two substitutions, bringing on extra strikers in Jay Simpson and Nick Proschwitz and the last ten minutes are like "Saving Private Ryan", as the Tigers lay siege to the Forest goalmouth. Yellow cards are flying everywhere, and with a minute of extra time left, Gedo is through on goal with only the keeper to beat from six yards out, but blazes his shot over the top. The referee blows his whistle on the best game of the season, City have lost after being in front for the first time and Forest have won six games on the bounce for the first time since Brian Clough was manager. Before we leave, Louis reads the announcement on the video screen, which says the next home match is April second, against Watford, at a quarter to eight. I tell him that, as it is the Easter Holidays and he has no school the next day, he can come. It is only later, after we have driven back to Tickton, fed Norman and then taken him for a walk round Seven Corners Lane, that Sarah reminds me, that Louis will be on holiday in Scotland during Easter Week. Louis now says he doesn't want to go to Gleneagles, so I am in the dog house for a while. I leave about seven and arrange to drive back and pick up Alice at a quarter past nine, to do the video shoot for the Swimathon at the Leisure Centre, although after a long day, I could well do without it. Back home, I fry half a dozen sticks of white asparagus in a little butter, sprinkle them with black pepper and grated Gran Padano and eat them with freshly cut slices of rye bread, mopping up the melted butter and juices as I go. I had intended to make spaghetti, but time constraints forced something simpler. I put on my swimming shorts and last years Swimathon tee shirt and then slip a track suit over the top, before collecting Alice and driving to the Leisure Centre. The pool is empty, apart from another group who are also making a video, theirs is of a girl in a flowing white dress immersed in the water, but as they are on the opposite side to us, they are easy to keep out of camera shot. Alice takes a clip of me wearing my tee shirt explaining what I am doing and then she videos me swimming the four lengths in each stroke, that constitute the 100m Individual Medley. She says she will edit this down to a few strokes of each style, and then the final shot is my appeal for sponsorship in the water at the lane end. After I have dried and replaced my track suit, she says she isn't entirely happy with the sound levels on the first shot and so we repeat it, with me standing in front of the pool window in reception. Alice says she will do the first edit over the next few days, some of her friends are going to help and once I am happy with it, post it onto the Marie Curie web site and also Facebook and Twitter. I tell her that I don't have a twitter account, but she says not to worry, as she will use hers. I drop her off around ten and then drive home, where I drink a glass of milk and eat a couple of oaties while I read another chapter of my book, in order to unwind, before turning in around eleven thirty. It has been a busy, busy, day.