The magic of live theatre

We get up early again at six thirty, so I can take the dogs out and still make the Poppy Seed for half past ten, later this morning. I use the last of the cream cheese, with smoked salmon on rye toast for breakfast and Norman has his usual Baker's again, although I feed him snippets of salmon trimmings, which he wolfs down in one go. My back and shoulders are still a little stiff from last night's swim, butterfly stretches the latissimus dorsa muscles all the way to the buttocks. It is a fair but windy morning on the Westwood and our walk goes without incident until we approach Black Mill, where a herd of cattle are grazing, for some reason Teddy decides to round them up, and I have a hairy couple of minutes, until I persuade him to stop and then put him on the lead. For the last three years he has walked past the cows with just the occasional bark or growl, their return this year has probably been interpreted as an invasion of his turf. Tomorrow I will let him off first in the woods, as Dolly never bothers about them. We drop the terriers back in Cherry and drive to Beverley, parking at North Bar and walking the hundred yards or so to the Poppy Seed. As we arrive, Hanne appears on her bike and we enter the cafe together to find Felicity sat at the table by the window. She has been there since ten and is not in a great mood, but we manage to cheer her up and a few minutes later Thelma walks in as well. She asks how Felicity is and she tells her that she still has the district nurse coming twice daily to inject insulin. Hanne falls into the same trap that I did last week and asks when Felicity will take over injecting herself again and receives a blast of anger. The old girl is feeling sorry for herself and I suspect likes all the attention she is receiving, but is in danger of relinquishing her independence. The coffee morning unfortunately doesn't recover and I go to fetch the car to take her home, while she pops across the road to an ATM to withdraw some cash. When I return, Hanne waves me on, she is walking Felicity back to Albert Terrace. I drop Norman in Tickton, bring in some washing that I hung out after breakfast and then drive back to Beverley to collect Sam for the trip to Riverside School in Goole, where we are going to see Rebecca in their production of the musical "Oliver". Sam's dad, Mike, is also coming and we pick him up from his house, round the corner, before driving over the Wolds, through Etton and down Arras Hill to Market Weeton. The Vale of York spread out before us and the church on the hill at Holme on Spalding Moor, prominent to our southwest. We pass the hill later and follow the road to Howden and over the old Boothferry Bridge, that used to lie on the main road to Hull, before the M62 was constructed. I remember breaking down here on my way to the Ferry to Rotterdam, over thirty years ago. Once across the old bridge we have to drive under the huge Ouse Bridge that carries the motorway and then carry on to the village of Hook, Riverside School lies just beyond this village, on the outskirts of Goole. We are directed to park on the playing fields and then make our way to the auditorium for the show, buying raffle tickets for a prize draw as we enter. All the children at Riverside have special needs of some kind, although the range of disability varies widely, most of the audience are parents or relatives of the pupils, all of whom are involved in the production. The lights go down at about two o'clock and the show begins with an overture and then leads into the first number, "Food, Glorious, Food", which is sung with great gusto, I notice some movement behind me and see the choreographer, a blonde female teacher, stood on a bench demonstrating the dance movements, which the children on the stage can see, but the audience can't. The show rolls on at a lively clip and there are some inspired performances from the kids playing the Artful Dodger, Fagin, Bill Sykes and Nancy, and bucket loads of enthusiasm from the chorus line as well. The great thing about live theatre is the interaction between cast and audience and the magical spell it casts on both when it works well, melding us all into a single living entity. Perhaps it is the generosity of spirit extended by the audience and repaid many times by the performers, that made this a really special occasion. At the final number an encore was demanded and given, before the show closed to rapturous applause. While the children changed in preparation for home time, the headmaster drew the raffle, none of our party were in any luck, and then it was time to collect Rebecca, who was one of the orphans in the chorus and wore a white mob cap. I have never seen more happy children leaving a school, and the teaching staff had obviously enjoyed the production as well and must have put an enormous amount of effort into it. We drove back chatting about the show and singing some of the numbers, Rebecca correcting me when I got the lyrics out of order. I dropped them off about four o'clock and then drove back to Tickton to let Norman out and then make dinner. The marinaded chicken from yesterday was baked in a hot oven for fifty minutes and oven chips added on a tray with fifteen minutes to go. I ate it with tossed salad again and the last of the Chardonnay. The chicken was piquant, but not excessively spicy and the meal went down well, as I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Norman was too hungry to wait for me to cook and so had a dog tin earlier, but still managed to scrounge a little of my chicken. Around eleven o'clock Sarah texted to confirm arrangements for tomorrow, she is leaving Beverley at five thirty to drive to the airport, so I will need to be at her house for seven thirty, in order to make breakfast and take Louis to school. I turn in at eleven thirty and set my alarm for six.

Steak and chips in the sun.

Wake at six thirty and decide to make pancakes for breakfast, after first letting Norman into the garden. A mug of sifted plain flour, one egg, some LoSalt and a little milk, makes enough batter for four pancakes, which I serve with lemon juice and sweetener. After breakfast I drink my coffee in the Garden Room and have to pull the curtains, as the low, early morning sun, is shining straight into my face. After a shower, Normy and I drive to Cherry Burton for half past nine, collect the terriers and then continue to the Westwood. As we come down York Road, by the racecourse, we are held up temporarily as a small herd of young brown cows meanders across the road. The cows are back outdoors, albeit a little later than usual and in the field enclosed by the race track, a flock of sheep with young lambs are also grazing. It is lovely to see the animals back out on the common and I wonder if the ponies have also been released onto Swinemoor. We park on Newbald Road and proceed into the woods, it is a bright, sunny morning, but the westerly wind persists and it still feels chilly on the common as we walk towards Black Mill. We get back to Two Riggs for ten thirty and I take advantage of the fine weather to make more progress on the gardens, the lawns have started growing at a rapid pace and need mowing again, after which I begin the tedious work of weeding all the flower beds after the long winter. It is not too bad working in the sunshine and by noon it is so warm that I remove my shirt for the first time this year. The feel of the sun on my back and shoulders is very pleasant and helps to ease some of the stiffness that results from yesterday's swimming training. The twenty lengths of butterfly are the main culprit and I will need to repeat yesterday's four sets of five hundred metres medleys, before the Swimathon attempt at five sets on Friday. By half past twelve the bed is finished and I have a bin full of weeds and clippings. Norman is lying on his side in the sun, snoring gently, so I pick him up and carry the old boy back to the car, before driving back to Beverley and calling in at the supermarket for some shopping. The fresh air and exercise has given me an appetite and the special offer of a pound of rump steak at half price, is too good to resist. I had taken a couple of chicken fillets out of the freezer to defrost this morning, but they will keep until tomorrow. We arrive home around one thirty and I fry the steak with some onions, and serve it with a tossed salad and chips in the garden. There are conveniently two pieces of meat, a large one and one that looks Norman size, that I cut into small pieces for him. We both eat happily in the spring sunshine and then I read a book about time, written by the grandson of Evelyn Waugh, I spotted it on the charity bookshelf in the supermarket and bought it because part of it, at least, covers an aspect of science that interests me. At the quantum level, particles and waves are confused and interchangeable, but the shortest possible wavelength, has to be defined by the shortest possible distance, as determined by Max Planck, 10 minus power of 33 cms, a Planck length and the shortest time is the time it takes for light to cover this distance 10 minus power of 43 seconds. From this can be determined the highest possible frequency of energy and matter and from which, all other ranges of energy and electromagnetic radiation are decayed harmonics. It is exceedingly nerdy, but contains two universal constants, the speed of light and the smallest distance, but begs the question of whether space time can be bent at this scale and energy level. Perhaps this is what the guys at the large hadron collider are finding out? After lunch I try to book the safety awareness course that I have been offered by Humberside Police in lieu of a ticket and fine, I am tempted to go to court to contest it, but can't be bothered with the hassle and so decide to stump up the ninety five pounds that they are charging for the course. Every time I attempt to book the course online, I am returned to their login page, so I ring their call centre and am repeatedly told that all their operators are busy and to use the online booking system. In the end I fill out the form in ink and enclose a cheque, as it is the only form of communication that the police seem capable of dealing with, Plods doesn't even come close! After the frustration of this experience, Norman and I have a lie down and sleep until half past five, waking up full of energy and put on a load of washing, before marinating the chicken fillets in chilli, ginger and garlic and then covering them with cling film and storing them in the fridge. At half past eight I drive to the leisure centre, change and make my way to the pool for nine. The East Riding Swim squad have just finished their training session and I find an empty lane in the middle of the pool, which makes for easier swimming as you get less turbulence from the water bouncing off the sides. I swim four sets of 500m again, each set taking 12 minutes and forty five seconds, with a minutes rest for water between sets. It feels a little easier tonight, but unfortunately the pool closes at ten, so I only have time for a couple of lengths warm down. This is probably the last heavy training session I shall do before the Swimathon and three days rest will give my shoulder muscles time to relax and recover before attempting five sets, the hundred lengths, on Friday. I drive home and let Norman out into the garden while I make some drinking chocolate, the moon is just off the full and it is a bright, clear night. I go to bed around eleven thirty, but have to get up again at two to eat something and devour two ciabatta rolls with apricot jam.

BurgerMeister

We rise early again at half past six, the terriers are still sleeping in the lounge, but wake up when I open the patio doors in the garden room and let everyone out onto a bright but chilly morning. Dolly and Teddy are going home today, they have settled in as if they have never lived anywhere else. After breakfast, Baker's for the dogs and smoked salmon and cream cheese for me, we set off for a walk round the fields. The terriers are on their best behaviour and come back when they are called, the wind is still quite strong, blowing out of the southwest and quite chilly, across the fields the dozen wind turbines at Esk are turning slowly, I find they have a strange, almost hypnotic beauty, the sails moving almost in synchrony. When we get back around eleven, I load the terriers straight into the back seat of the car, then leave Norman in the Garden Room and pick up my swimming gear, before driving to Cherry Burton, where I deliver the terriers back to Pip. Then I drive to Tesco's, to pick up some panini, in order to make something different for Louis' tea this afternoon before driving on to Saint Mary's school for cooking lessons with Class one. The other two adults from last week are waiting in reception, a grandmother and a Dad, who it turns out, is actually a chef. At five to twelve we are asked to make our way to the classroom and when we arrive, we find that three electric ovens have been set up and separated from the children by a row of chairs. Mrs. Wildbore and her assistants welcome us and explain that class one are to make hamburgers today. Louis waves to me and then comes over, as I am assigned to teach him how to make the dish. We all wash our hands, put on our aprons and then are given an onion to grate and about half a pound of lean beef mince in a mixing bowl. The children are warned to keep their eyes away from the onions when grating them and cautioned not to rub them if they start to water. Louis and I peel the onion, which he then grates enthusiastically, ignoring the advice about his eyes, which then start to sting and run, before he can rub them, I hand him a tissue from my pocket and tell him just to dab off the tears and that the stinging will soon go away. I finish off grating the onion, my eyes protected by my glasses, and then we put our hands in the bowl and break up the mince, before pouring in the grated onion and mixing it thoroughly with the meat. Mrs. Wilbore brings a dollop of ketchup which she adds to our mixture and a little salt and pepper, which we rub into our bowls. The class is then instructed to make patties from the burger mix by dividing it into six roughly equal portions, rolling these into balls and then patting them thin between flattened palms. I go first and show Louis how to do it and then he makes the rest. They look quite reasonable lying on the baking tray, the teacher brings a piece of paper with Louis' name on it, which she places on the tray and then the burgers are put in the ovens to cook. We all wash our hands and then the children eat their packed lunches, whilst the adults clear away and fold up the aprons. We are finished by twenty five to one and leave the children eating, the smell of cooking burgers wafting in the air. Next Monday is the last cooking class, we are to make a dessert. I drive to the leisure centre, change and enter the water by five minutes to one, the lunchtime crowd has thinned out and I share a lane with Terry, on the far side of the pool. There is enough room for me to swim medleys, so I put in another 2,000m, in 4 sets of 5 x 100m Individual Medleys, but make the mistake of setting off too quickly on the first set and then pay the price as the session progresses. Nevertheless, I get it done and then warm down with a couple of hundred easy metres on freestyle and backstroke, before changing and making my way to the cafe. The girls in the kitchen hand me my sponsorship form back and all of them have chipped in to support the Swimathon, after thanking them profusely, I order a pot of tea and a teacake, which I eat in the bar. A text arrives from Sam to tell me she has procured a ticket for me to see Rebecca in her school play on Wednesday and I text a thank you back. At three o'clock it is time to leave and drive back to Saint Mary's to collect Louis, I sit in the playground for five minutes, waiting for his class to be let out, the sky has completely clouded over and the weather feels cold and wintry again. Another grandfather, sat next to me, tells me he is on Warfarin for his heart and feels the cold quite intensely, he is about my age and tells me that he lives in Hornsea, which is twelve miles away. Louis emerges, dishevelled as ever, carrying a package which contains three of the burgers we have made. We drive back to Tickton and he eats a couple and gives me one to try, they are quite nice, but a little under seasoned for my taste. Louis plays a computer game called "Temple Run", that Rebecca downloaded into my iPad, while I make panini, with cheddar cheese chorizo and sweet peppers. After the burgers, one panini ought to be enough and is. As ever, Louis wants to play football, so we drive to the swing park but find it empty and drive on towards Beverley, but then notice some older boys kicking a ball about on the basketball court. We park up and I tell Louis to ask them nicely if he can play football with them. The boys are good natured and agree, they like the fact that Louis volunteers to be in goal. He plays happily for an hour, I join in from time to time, trying to run as little as possible, when the numbers of players fall low, but am rescued when two girls ask to play. They are very good and the kick about continues until half past five, when everyone has to go home for tea. Louis tells me his side won seven goals to three, I think he may have been the only one keeping score. We arrive at North Bar just before six and I hand him over to Alice, Sarah has still not got back from work, before driving back to Tickton. All the exercise and activity of the day catches up with me and after a tea of more panini and a glass of wine, I crash out around half past seven, apologising to Norman for missing his evening walk, he has to make do with a quick run in the garden tonight. I wake again at midnight and pour myself a glass of cream soda, which I drink in the kitchen. It will be a relief to get this Swimathon out of the way and to take things a little easier for a while.

Pancake Sunday

We wake up five minutes before the alarm goes off at half past six, I let Norman and the terriers out into the garden, to a bright, chilly, sunny morning and then make breakfast. Smoked salmon and cream cheese for me and Baker's for the dogs. As I drink my coffee, a text comes in from Sam to say that Laura has had a migraine attack during the night and that she will let me know later if they are going to make it. I reply, hoping she is better soon and then shower and dress. By eight o'clock I haven't heard anything, so run some hot water into a bucket and begin washing and cleaning the windows and paintwork. The work is pleasant enough at the back of the house, which faces east, into the sun, but significantly colder at the front, that is in shade. Around nine thirty, Sam texts to say they will be arriving in ten minutes, so I put away the bucket and my new telescopic squeegee, which works well enough, and return to the kitchen to make some pancake mixture. I sieve some plain flour into bowl, add some Lo Salt and then crack a giant pullet egg into the mixture and beat it into a batter with the judicious addition of a little milk. The batter is just about free of lumps, when the girls arrive, Rebecca runs into the house and Teddy immediately goes bonkers, he is so happy to see her, Laura still looks a little peaky, but says she can manage a few pancakes. The three of them then sit at the kitchen table, while I cook and toss pancakes, before serving them with a choice of lemon juice and sugar or strawberry or apricot conserve. The only setback being the loud sounding of the smoke alarm, which is particularly sensitive, and is soon solved by removing its battery, (which I replace afterwards). After the pancakes we clip the dogs on their leads and set off for a walk around the fields, Rebecca leading Teddy, Laura, Dolly and Norman walking with me. We follow our usual route down to the little bridge, where we let Dolly and Norman off the lead and then head into "almost straight wood". The early sunshine has been replaced by high clouds and when we are exposed to the southwesterly wind, it feels quite chilly. Laura is wearing the navy, quilted, body warmer that I bought her for her birthday and as it has no sleeves, she finds it cold, so I take off my brown blouson jacket and put it round her shoulders. Laura insists on putting her arms through the sleeves and it looks a little like the brown robe worn by Obewan Kenobe in Star Wars. I take her photo with my phone and she pulls a face in disapproval. We swap Teddy for Dolly off the lead, at the corner of the field and continue on our way, Rebecca striding ahead and obviously very happy, she is autistic and suffers from epilepsy and doesn't say a lot, but shrieks with laughter as Teddy keeps bobbing back onto the path after hunting up and down the steep banks of the dyke. Just past half way, Laura asks to be carried and so Sam picks her up, I ask if she wants to ride on my shoulders, but she is still a little fragile from the migraine and needs a cuddle, rather than a lift. After two minutes she asks to be put down and then walks quite happily, as we make our way back home, pausing at the farm to say hello to the Alpacas and waving at the stable girls, who are mucking out the ponies. We return home just after midday and Rebecca plays on her Nintendo DS, which she takes everywhere she goes, while Sam and Laura sit on the sofa and stroke the dogs. It seems obvious that any plans they may have had for setting off for the day are now gone, so I ask if they would like to have lunch, explaining that I have enough schnitzels for two and also a packet of chicken nuggets in the freezer. Sam seems relieved and accepts gratefully, so I ask Laura if she would like to help making a tossed salad and some oven chips to accompany the meat. We sit in the kitchen and I reprise my performance from Louis' school cooking class last Monday, although we chop the ingredients into smaller pieces and I make a vinaigrette dressing, which Laura finds delicious. The oven chips take eighteen minutes and the nuggets ten, so we set the timer on my phone for eight minutes, so that we will know when to add them to the oven. Rebecca only eats a limited number of things, but fortunately she likes panini bread and tortilla chips, which I have in abundance. We sit down to lunch, Sam and I eating schnitzel and Laura, nuggets, although she asks to try the pork, finds that she likes it and then shares ours and leaves most of her chicken, which is later shared out between the dogs. I pour a glass of Chardonnay for Sam and I and Laura and Becky have cream soda. After lunch I get out my water colours and some paper for Laura, who wants to paint, but needs some ideas, so I show her the pictures of the Westwood and Carr Lane that I drew using the app on the iPad. Laura wants to know how the app works, so I show her the basics, which she rapidly picks up, and then she spends an hour composing a picture, while I wash up and then chat to Sam and Rebecca. When Laura is satisfied with her work, she shows us her picture, it is a very decent portrait of a beautiful, rather idealised, blonde woman. Which we duly praise and then I ask if they would like to go to the cinema to see the new cartoon feature, "the Croods", about a family of cave people. The next showing is at three o'clock and it is now two thirty, so we pile into Sam's car and drive to the cinema, after first calling in at the Village Shop, to buy sweets, as the prices at Cineworld are astronomic. We arrive five minutes before the film starts, Sam insists in paying, as I have made breakfast and Lunch, and then we enter screen seven. After the obligatory adverts, which are targeted at children and consist almost entirely of promotions for sugary cereals and confections, the film begins. It is entertaining enough, a sort of twenty-first century version of the Flintstones, but with a contemporary American flip, that shows all the males as emotionally blocked idiots and the females as athletic super women. Laura claims she didn't like it much, which perhaps shows some incipient signs of taste, but the rest if us were more or less satisfied with the experience. We drive back to Tickton on the windy road through Wawne, and when we arrive back home, the girls help to feed the dogs, before giving me a hug and driving home to Beverley. The dogs and I take a walk down to the bridge and meet Bowie, the Bassett hound and his owners, on our way home. My plans for spring cleaning and gardening this weekend have been overtaken by events, but speaking for myself, there is nothing I enjoy more than playing with my grandchildren. My body might be ageing, but the spirit of my inner child is alive and well. The dogs and I have an early night and turn in at half past nine.

Beware of sleeping friends.

It is eight o'clock when I wake up to a lovely spring morning, the dogs run out into the garden, where I feed the terriers, with Baker's dog food, before pouring Norman's into his bowl in the kitchen. I make rye toast and a Yorkshire Kipper fillet for my breakfast and carry this into the garden, with a large mug of black, Italian coffee. As I drink the coffee, after breakfast, my eyes wander to all the little jobs that have been awaiting the arrival of spring and warmer weather. The windows and paintwork that need washing, flower beds to weed, and the hedges and bushes to prune. In good weather this is pleasant work, as I like being outdoors and I should be able to make a big dent in it over the weekend. At nine o'clock, I phone Felicity and apologise that I won't be able to see her and our other friends at the Poppy Seed, as I still have the dogs to walk. She has her son, Richard, staying with her for the weekend and tells me she has already been out on the Westwood. I promise to call in later in the day and ask if she needs anything from the market, and am told to bring sausages and a few bananas. After a shower, the dogs and I set off for our walk round the fields, Dolly and Teddy pulling on their leads, eager to be off the leash and chasing rabbits and once we are over the little wooden bridge, I unhook Dolly and Norman, before taking the path into "almost straight wood". A young pine tree has blown over during the high winds and lies across the path, I step over it, Dolly and Teddy leap it easily and Norman runs underneath. Being low slung has its advantages. There is still a cooling breeze from the southwest, but the weather is ideal for walking, in the woods several trees have been bark stripped by deer and the bales of fodder placed at the corner of the plantation favoured by them, has been well eaten down. By the next dyke, I sit on a fence and wait for Dolly to come back to me, as we have reached the half way point. She sees me waiting and continues hunting for a moment, but then her conscience gets the better of her and she returns, obedient and submissive, to be reattached to her lead. Teddy dashes off at high speed once released and Dolly and I follow, with Norman jogging along happily behind us. The old boy likes walking with the pack and seems to find extra energy from the companionship, it reminds me of middle distance racing and the universal truth for runners, that it is easier running in a group. If you drop out of the group, you are quickly left behind. As social animals, people and dogs must share some common group psychology. I call Teddy back to the lead, as we complete the loop and approach the little bridge from the east, he comes back immediately and the four of us walk down Carr Lane, past the farm, where the small flock of alpacas are chewing their cud. As we approach the stables, a young girl of eight or nine emerges, astride a sturdy brown pony with a lovely bushy black mane and tail. She is in full riding gear, hat, jacket, jodhpurs and boots, her back straight as a ramrod, hands loosely holding the reins and her young face a study in concentration. I pull the dogs off the path and quieten them, allowing her to walk past at a stately gait, she gives me a nervous smile and whispers, "thank you", I suspect it is her first solo ride out. We return home around a quarter to twelve, I give the dogs some fresh water and then leave Norman in charge, while I drive into town to the market. I park on Sample Avenue, on the Swinemoor estate, a few yards from the level crossing which leads into town and then walk the quarter mile to Saturday Market, which is packed with shoppers, brought out by the fine weather. It feels strange to be on the market without Norman, but it is also somewhat of a relief, as I don't have to be alert to the constant risk of him being stepped on. The farm shop has sold out of pork and mushroom sausages when I arrive, so I buy pork and Bramley apple instead and then pick up a small hand of bananas from the fruit stall at the end of the row, before making my way through Turner's Yard and up Greyburn Lane, to Felicity's house on Albert Terrace. She is resting on her bed in the kitchen, talking to Richard, when I get there and tells me she has walked all the way to the Poppy Seed and back again. A feat that was beyond her last Saturday, slowly but surely, she is regaining her mobility, but it has obviously taken quite a bit out of her, and after a few minutes she closes her eyes and appears to have dropped off to sleep. Her son, Richard, works for Heinz and is a business process expert, flying round the world trouble shooting, we have met a couple of times before, but never had the chance for a chat, so I try to put him at ease by asking about his job and we end up comparing our experiences of implementing Total Quality Management systems, these are accredited under ISO 9,000 international standard. We are laughing and agreeing, that unless and until, the people within the process, take ownership of it, it achieves little, when Felicity opens her eyes and tells us both firmly, that we are boring the pants off her. Clearly she isn't asleep and equally clearly she is somewhat tired and more than a little grumpy. I take this as my cue to leave, say goodbye to them both, Richard mouths a silent, "sorry" and then I make my way back to the market. My next door neighbour, Kathleen, was cleaning her windows with a telescopic mop and squeegee as I left and I look in vain on the hardware stall for one, but am out of luck, so decide to wander through town to Wednesday Market, in order to see if Beverley's answer to Harrod's, (Boyes department store), has one. Down Toll Gavel, a South American Indian quartet are playing salsa music, that makes my hips want to sway, and just beyond them, the Methodist Chapel has a bring and buy table set out to raise funds for the church. Mooching about to music, in the sunshine, on a lovely Saturday afternoon, what could be better? The only thing that I remotely need, is a canvas belt in navy blue, that can be worn with jeans or denim shorts, so I buy it for a pound and continue on my way to Boyes. The pavement cafes in Wednesday Market are packed with people having a snack or lunch, the sudden onset of fine weather has put people in a bit of a holiday mood, and the happiness is infectious. In the store, I quickly find what I am looking for, a small telescopic window cleaning tool, and also a khaki baseball cap, to protect my head from too much sun, when I work in the garden. As I am queuing to pay for these, my phone rings, it is Sam, my daughter in law, enquiring if it is OK to call in with my granddaughters this afternoon, they usually spend Saturdays with their dad, at Pip's house in Cherry, but he is on his way to Las Vegas and Rebecca wants to see Teddy, who is her favourite. I tell Sam that I will be home for half past three and that they are most welcome to visit. On my way back to the car, I bump into Tracy Belotti and her daughter, she is looking after Felicity as a mobile care worker and is also baby sitting Molly, the older of the two dogs. I enquire whether she may be interested in looking after Molly longer term and perhaps taking her to see Felicity from time to time. Tracy explains she has four children and another dog, so it really isn't practical, and also that Melissa, Felicity's daughter, has asked her not to take Molly back to her mum. I tell her that I understand, and that Richard has a possible alternate home for Molly with some neighbours, and then make my way back to the car, stopping to buy some beef tomatoes and buffalo Mozarella en route. I return home for five past three, let the dogs out and just have time to prepare a Caprese, Mozarella and tomato salad with olive oil and basil dressing, before Sam and the girls arrive. We sit in the garden and drink cream soda, Rebecca has orange juice, and then plays naughty puppies with Teddy, while Sam, Laura and I sit and chat. Sam wants to change the arrangements for tomorrow and wonders if she can bring the girls for breakfast and a walk with the dogs, before they set off for the day. Originally I had a agreed to call at their house after church, but I can easily change my plans and go to Mass this evening instead. The girls leave around a quarter to five and ask if I can make pancakes for breakfast? I tell them to rely on it, wave goodbye and then feed the dogs and take them for a walk as far as the little bridge. It is a lovely warm afternoon and people are outside gardening and chatting to neighbours, as we make our way back home. Once indoors, I wash and change, before driving to Saint John's for the six thirty service, arriving ten minutes early and making my way to my usual pew. I have a little ritual of opening the hymn book at the first hymn and then finding the appropriate service in the prayer book, today's service is the fourth Sunday of Easter, before composing myself and saying prayers for friends and family, with a special mention for Aunty Dorothy. I ask that her courage and optimism can be sustained in the last few months of her life, and that I too may be saved from that cancer of the soul, known as self pity, the most deadly of all diseases. The service tonight is conducted by Father David, and when I look up from my prayers, I notice the hymn numbers have now been removed, singing is off the menu for tonight. He conducts the service at a fair old clip and it is all over by ten past seven, the sermon having been replaced by a letter from the bishop regarding vocation. I emerge from church feeling somewhat deprived, I have grown used to the sung Mass on Sunday morning, and feel that the communal singing of hymns and the singing of the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus and Agnus Dei, are only surpassed by the beautiful mystery of communion. In a very deep sense, all life is sacrificed for each other. It has been a long and eventful day, and I decide to eat my Caprese for dinner, as It is too much effort to cook the schnitzels, that are wrapped in cling film on a plate in the fridge. To this end, I call at the Asda store down Norwood and buy some ciabatta rolls and a bottle of Shiraz. Back home, I let the dogs out for the final time and then settle down to dinner. Eating the salad and mopping up the juices with bread, as I sip a glass of wine. We all turn in around ten and I set the alarm for six thirty, in order to be up and ready before the girls arrive for breakfast.

Great expectations and sober reality.

Slept well and woke at half past six, to the alarm on my phone, outside the day has dawned fine and clear and I feel well, although I can't be fully sure of recovery until I see how my stamina holds up as the day unfolds. I make a quick breakfast of rye toast with cream cheese and smoked salmon, Norman has his usual Bakers, slowly, gradually, he is becoming less portly. I am showered and out of the house for eight and driving to North Bar to take Louis to school, as I do every Friday. Today I have to return home for nine, as the man from Express Windows is coming to change two double glazed frames that have blown, a small one in the kitchen, and a large one in the lounge, consequently I have left Norman at home, as the old boy doesn't do quick walks. Louis is excited about going to his first night match this evening, Hull are at home to Bristol City, who have already been relegated and if we beat them, we are almost certain of promotion to the Premier League. Louis tries to persuade me to override his mum and collect him from school, but I tell him that he is going to the after school club and Sarah will collect him this evening. He and I are setting off for the match at half past six, Kick off is at a quarter to eight. I leave him in the playground under the watchful eye of his friend's mum and make my way back to the car, before weaving through the rush hour traffic and arriving in Tickton on the stroke of nine. In the event, the window guy doesn't turn up until twenty past, and has removed and replaced both windows and is on his way again by ten to ten. Normy and I then drive to Cherry Burton in order to collect Dolly and Teddy, who are staying with us until Monday morning, Pip is visiting her brother in Huby, on the other side of York and Andrew is flying off to Las Vegas for a corporate Jolly, courtesy of Cisco Systems, with whom he does much business. We walk round our usual loop on the Westwood, it is a clear, bright day and pleasantly warm now that the Westerly wind has faded away. As we come out of the woods onto the common, we meet John Trainor, with his baby son, George, in a pushchair and their wire haired dachshund, Poppy, who is a long time friend of Norman. We walk round the common together and part company by Newbald Road, where I have parked the Chrysler, arriving home for noon. The terriers dash into the garden and then run about the house, sniffing everywhere for five minutes and before they settle down, Dolly in her basket and Teddy on the couch on a blanket. The tiredness bug, or whatever it was, seems to have gone, so I leave Norman in charge and drive to the leisure centre to train. The pool is quiet when I get in and the end lane is free again, so I decide to attempt four sets of 5 x 100m individual medleys, promising myself that I will stop if I feel too tired. As it happens, I am fine, and am just taking an extra stroke on butterfly and breastroke on the last two one hundreds, before completing the practice. Afterwards I warm down on two easy hundreds, on freestyle and backstroke, before showering, changing and making my way to the cafe. If I had to, I could have done the extra set today, but then not done anything else. The planned day for the Swimathon is next Friday. The menu of the day, is haddock, chips and salad, which I order with tea and bread and butter, this will save me having to cook lunch and allow some time for rest and meditation before taking the dogs for their evening walk and going to the match. Sandra serves me and tells me she never realised my name was David, until she saw the sponsorship form, everyone here knows me as Louis' Grandad, or Sarah's Dad, even though I have been using the place since it opened twenty some years ago. I arrive home for half past two, to be greeted by three wagging tails and after letting the dogs out into the garden, I cover my bed with a blanket and lie down to rest, knowing full well that I will instantly have company. When I am in the house, during the day, the dogs are always in the same room. As I lie there with my eyes closed, Teddy across my knees and Dolly and Norman on either side, I am reminded of Bruce Chatwin's book about Australia, "The Songlines", an aborigine's description of a cold night, is a "three dog night". The bond between humans and dogs stretching back into prehistory. I manage to rest and meditate for an hour and a half, feeling refreshed when I get up. It is half past four and time to feed the dogs and take them for their evening walk. I feed Norman in the kitchen and Dolly and Teddy in the garden, immediately they have eaten their own food, they scurry round to see what everyone else has had. I walk them as far as the little bridge over the dyke, a few feet short of "almost straight wood", and then retrace our steps back to the bungalow. On the telegraph wires by the farm, two swallows are perched, so I try to photograph them with my phone, but it isn't quick enough and they soar away. We saw one yesterday, and two more today, perhaps three swallows make a summer? In any event it is a lovely warm and sunny evening, as we make our way back for five thirty, leaving me exactly enough time to make a flask of tomato soup and smoked cheese and salami ciabatta sandwiches, for our half time snack. When I arrive at Sarah's house I am in trouble, Louis told everyone that I was collecting him after school and then he kicked off in a big way when he had to go to Hector's House. Of course this isn't true, just wishful thinking on Louis part, and he owns up when he comes downstairs in his pyjamas, having also had a rest for an hour before the match. We leave on time and arrive in our seats above the half way line, in the upper west stand, a full half hour before the kick off. I have parked in the stadium car park this evening, as it is easier for Louis and for me, after a long day. Burnsy and Swanny, our match commentators on Radio Humberside, are predicting 2:0 and 3:0 to the Tigers, respectively and the stadium is packed out with expectant Hull City fans, poor Bristol have only managed to bring about fifty supporters with them. The stage is set for a glorious victory and promotion for the Tigers, but unfortunately, no one has consulted Bristol about this and for the next ninety minutes they put every player behind the ball, and defend as if their lives depended on it. The longer the game goes on with no score, the more desperate the Hull City players and fans become, our usual crisp, flowing, attacking football, becomes an error strewn fiasco. The match ends 0:0 and an entertaining spectacle it certainly wasn't, although we are now seven points clear of Watford, with two games left to play, although Watford have a game in hand, as they play Blackburn at home tomorrow. It takes us a quarter of an hour to leave the stadium, by which time Louis is asleep in his car seat, and I then make the mistake of thinking that the Willerby bypass will be quiet, despite the roadworks. The new road construction has taken a year and is due to complete in May, unfortunately the cold weather has lead to them being behind schedule and as a consequence, they have closed off every lane except one, for overnight working. This lane carries traffic alternately in both directions and holds us up for half an hour, eventually I drop Louis off at Sarah's at half past eleven, and help Alice to put him to bed . I return home ten minutes later, feeling in need of a drink, so I eat a ciabatta roll with some Camembert and wash this down with a generous glass of Shiraz. Only Norman wakes up, the terriers sleep right through my return. To bed around twelve thirty.

A weird tiredness bug.

We sleep in this morning, until we are awoken at eight by a call from Felicity, she has done something to her cordless phone and can't get it to work again. I say I will call in after taking the dogs and then get up and let Norman into the garden, it is another bright but windy day. Normy is looking a little portly, so I am restricting his food intake, as best as I am able, and limit him to a handful of Bakers dry dog food this morning. I have soft boiled eggs with rye toast and my usual black coffee. Due to the late start it is ten o'clock before we collect the terriers for our walk on the Westwood, it is a typical April day, sunshine and showers, apart from the fierce wind from the northwest, which must eventually blow itself out. In the woods the wood anemones are in full bloom now, they are also known as wind flowers, which seems appropriate. The first blossom has appeared on the blackthorn and a solitary swallow swoops over the meadow in search of insects. "One swallow does not a summer make", according to the old proverb, but it might go some way to making a spring! Out in the open the wind is even stronger than yesterday and is gusting to gale force at times, making it cold and miserable but with a spectacular display of clouds fairly racing across the sky. We drop the terriers back at Two Riggs by half past eleven and I warn Pip that we will be late in the morning, as the window fitters are coming at nine to fit two new panels. I call in at Albert Terrace to see Felicity and meet her sister, Joy, on her way out. Joy tells me the mobile phone is working again and she thinks it is a big improvement for her sister. Felicity is resting, lying on her bed, so I make tea and then we chat for a while, she is feeling a little more optimistic, but I can see her confidence is still low. We leave and return to Tickton for noon and I put the Parmagiana, that has been marinating in the fridge, to cook slowly, on a low heat for a couple of hours. I feel suddenly very tired again and opt to rest, rather than swim, I can train later this evening at nine, when the pool is quiet, for the last hour. I eat the Parmagiana with a side salad and ciabatta rolls and then mow the lawns, front and back, before settling down to a little pruning and weeding. After half an hour I have to give up, I feel exhausted, something is not right, but when I check my blood pressure it is 128/72 and my pulse is 57, both normal and perfect for me. Clearly swimming training tonight is out of the question, so I settle down to some admin, reading my gas and electricity meters and submitting the results online. I have less success trying to register for a "Safety Awareness Course", with Humberside Police, their server either doesn't respond or times out, each time I try it. It is the same if you ever try to phone them, they seem to want as little contact with the public as possible. I will try again tomorrow and failing that, call into the traffic warden's office down Lairgate, where the courses are organised. Around seven, I call Sarah, in order to warn her I am feeling under the weather and to make arrangements for Louis for tomorrow. She tells me she has had the same bug, the only symptoms seem to be tiredness and low energy, lets hope it clears in a day or so. I shall have a hot bath and an early night to see if that helps.

Medieval Football again.

We are up by seven to a bright but windy morning and after another breakfast of rye toast and honey for me and Bakers for Norman, we leave the house shortly after nine in order to collect Dolly and Teddy, having first pegged out a line of white washing in the garden and put on a wash load of shirts and socks. In Newbegin Pits, white, wood anemones are coming into bloom and sheltered from the wind, amongst the trees, it feels quite pleasant, but once we emerge onto the open common and face the full force of the northwesterly wind it is cold again. Today is the first race day in the Beverley calendar and already cars are arriving and parking on the common, opposite the grandstand, which stands on the Hurn, adjacent to York Road. I drop the dogs back at Two Riggs for a quarter past ten and then drive to North Bar, parking outside Saint John's, before walking to the Poppy Seed, where I find Felicity reading the Yorkshire Post. Hanne, Thelma and Annie arrive shortly afterwards and the topic of conversation flows from advice on my parking ticket from Thelma, "Pay up its less hassle", to the funeral of Margaret Thatcher, " nobody liked her much, but it is unchristian and in poor taste, to disrupt her funeral". By half past eleven Felicity is visibly flagging, so I fetch the car and drive her home. No parking spaces are to be had down Albert Terrace, as it is Wednesday Market Day, so I double park outside her house, until I have seen her safely indoors and then drive to Morrison's, where I do a little shopping. Pork steak is on special offer, so I buy a packet and when we arrive home, hammer it into schnitzels and then dip them in egg and breadcrumbs. The sun has come out again and I take my lunch of fried schnitzel, tossed salad and oven chips, into the garden and eat al fresco again, washing the food down with a glass of Pinot Grigio, which was also on special offer. I am baby sitting Louis at six thirty, while Sarah and Alice go to see Richard's daughter in a play, so I put my feet up after lunch and read my book. Somehow I don't feel like swimming today, although the information pack from the Swimathon people has arrived in the post. At six o'clock, I gather in my dry white washing and then Normy and I drive down to Sarah's house, arriving around twenty past to find Sarah still in the bath and Alice sitting with Louis, whilst he practises reading from a school book. He performs rather well, reading the required four pages quite fluently, he is obviously over the initial hurdles and will have mastered the art before his sixth birthday, in June. Sarah and Alice leave before seven and at half past, it is time for Louis to go to bed, he wants his usual Grandad story and asks if he can have the one about football in the "olden days" again, when there weren't any rules. In this story medieval football has evolved, there are three rules now, no punching, no kicking and no biting. Tonight's match is between the scholars of Beverley Minster and those of York Minster, for the Yorkshire championship and takes place on the Westwood. The Louis character, is called Chuggleston Venard and plays in goal for Beverley, who surprisingly win 1:0 , largely due to the skill and bravery of their goalie, who despite being battered from breakfast to sundown, manages to keep a clean sheet. Louis likes this story and drops off to sleep, dreaming of football glory, by half past eight. Norman sits on my knee as I read my book, until Sarah and Alice return home around half past ten. We drive home, make a sandwich and go to bed just after eleven.

Keeping an eye on Alice

We sleep until eight and after breakfast, collect the terriers from Cherry Burton for their walk on the Westwood. The fine weather continues, but the westerly winds have increased in strength and the branches on the trees are bending against its force. The dogs don't mind the wind and as usual, enjoy their time off the lead. By the corner of Newbegin Pits, we meet a group of dog walkers, they are all Westwood regulars and their dogs well known to us. Teddy plays roughy, toughy, terrier games with a Westie, called Rocky, who's owner is Di Fairhurst, who seems ageless, but must be at least seventy five. Then we make our way across the open common to Black Mill, where I shelter in the lea of the wind, in order to put Teddy and Norman back on their leads. The wind is behind us now as we make our way diagonally downhill, to the car, which is parked in the usual place, down Newbald Road. After returning the terriers to Two Riggs, I drop Norman back home in Tickton and then drive to the leisure centre, arriving shortly after noon. In the changing rooms I discover that my swimming trunks are still wet, as I forgot to dry them last night and when I pull them on, I lose the drawstrings again. Unwilling to repeat last weeks performance, I take them off again and then have to poke and fiddle about for five minutes, before I finally manage to fish out the ends. By the time I enter the pool it is half past twelve, but the end lane has just been vacated, so I slide into the water and push off swimming freestyle, having decided that I will take it a little easier today, as I was tired to the point of exhaustion last night. I swim 500m each, in freestyle, breaststroke and backstroke, before warming down with one 500m set of medleys. The pool clock says it is 1:30pm, I have an hour to shower, change and eat a snack, before collecting Alice from the girls High School at 2:30. In the cafeteria, I order a toasted teacake and a pot of strong tea, one of the kitchen staff, Helen, brings it for me and then chats for a while, as it is her break time. She asks about the Swimathon and I tell her I am almost ready and will probably tackle the swim next week, and show her my sponsorship form, which she says she will pass round the staff of the leisure centre, all of whom know me and Louis, from the days when he used to go in the crèche, while I swam in the pool. I arrive at the High School gates a few minutes early and phone Felicity while waiting for Alice, agreeing to see her at the Poppy Seed in the morning and to take her home again afterwards, Liz, the Sherpa, will drop her off for ten. Alice arrives promptly at half past two and we drive down Norwood to the new hospital on Swinemoor, where we have to park round the back, in the overflow car park, as the one at the front is full. The reception is much smaller than the one at Saint James' Infirmary, but the contemporary open plan, design is quite similar. At the reception desk we are redirected to the children's outpatient waiting area, as Alice was still fifteen when the appointment was made, although she turned sixteen on the eleventh of this month. Alice is 5' 8", blonde and well built. She looks like a giant alongside the other children, who are mostly toddlers, waiting with their parents for an appointment with the ophthalmologist. After fifteen minutes, we are called forward by a nurse, who gives Alice an eye test and then we wait another quarter of an hour before we are shown in to the doctor. Alice has had a sty, that became a lump which has stubbornly persisted for six months. The woman doctor says it will probably go away on its own, within the next few months, but offers the option of a minor procedure, under local anaesthetic, to remove it. She cautions that the procedure is painless, but the injection to numb the lid isn't. Alice and I discuss her options and decide it is prudent to wait to see if the lump will heal naturally first and only to opt for the surgery, if it doesn't. The doctor concurs and an appointment is scheduled for early September. It is now almost four o'clock, so I drop Alice back home and then drive to Tickton, which is in bright sunshine and where the wind has dropped a little. A quick check confirms that the Bolognaise sauce in the slow cooker, has reached the requisite state of perfection and fifteen minutes later Norman and I are sitting down to our pasta in the garden, which is sheltered from the remaining westerly wind and bathed in warm spring sunshine. Dinner is accompanied by ciabatta rolls and a glass of Shiraz. Afterwards, I read until the sun disappears behind the roof of the house and then return indoors. Later in the evening I listen to Wolves v Hull on the radio, they are fighting relegation and we need to win to secure promotion, but either luck or desire is on their side, as we lose 1:0. In the end it isn't too bad, because Watford, the only team that can catch us, also lose. The tigers are six points ahead, with three games left, surely we must pull it off and gain promotion to the premiership once again. Before turning in for the night, I put on a load of white washing and then read for half an hour, and then turn off the light.

The Grate Grandad.

I am up around seven again and make scrambled eggs and rye toast for breakfast, Normy has his usual Baker's. Over coffee the telephone rings, it is Sarah asking if I remembered anything about helping Louis with a cookery class at school this lunchtime, it is the first time she has mentioned it, but I agree to attend Saint Mary's Primary at twelve, to help out. It is another bright day, but the strong Westerly winds persist and there are still no blackthorn blossoms on the Westwood yet, although the ash and horse chestnut leaves are beginning to unfold in the woods. The terriers take it in turn to chase the many rabbits and squirrels, having a rare old time, but fortunately failing to catch any. I have to keep a special watch out for Norman, as the strong sunlight on his cataracts, means that he can see very little. We keep doubling back to make sure he maintains contact with the pack and I can tell he is relieved when I clip him back on his lead at Black Mill. I drop the terriers back in Cherry and then take Normy home, where I give him a few biscuits and some fresh water before reporting for duty at Louis' school. There are two other adults assisting, one dad and a grandmother, we are given aprons and listen attentively as the class teacher, Mrs. Wildbore, explains that we are making egg salad. Various bowls are placed on tables around the room and different salad vegetables are allocated to be peeled, chopped or grated, in a kind of mass production set up. But first the children and we adults, all have to wash our hands, Louis chooses to slice cucumbers, under my supervision and I tell him they are best between an eighth and a quarter of an inch, before I remember that they are using metric and I correct for ten to twenty millimetres. It doesn't really matter, as I slice the first two or three to demonstrate the technique and width, he does his best, but the slices alternate between wafer thin and half inch wedges. His face is a study in fierce concentration and he doesn't want to relinquish his task before his classmate, Oscar, has a go. The children progress from station to station, having a try at all the tasks, parents and grandparents too, I graze a knuckle grating carrots and joke with Louis that I am now a grate grandad. By a quarter to one, all the salad and eggs are chopped and then the adults carry the bowls around the table and the children sprinkle handfuls of each ingredient into their plastic containers, after which they take out their packed lunches. The salads are to take home for tea, possibly to encourage healthy eating habits in parents as well. The children wave goodbye to us and as we leave, Mrs Wildbore tells me she looks forward to seeing me next week. Apparently the course runs for three consecutive weeks, today was a salad starter, next week a main course and the final week a dessert. I don't really mind, what better things could I be doing! I drive to the pool and enter the water at half past one, limiting myself to three sets of 500m individual medley's, as I need to eat something before driving back to Saint Mary's to collect Louis at three fifteen. The swim goes OK, but I feel a little tired on the last couple of fly legs, despite not doing as much distance today. In the cafeteria I order a toasted teacake and a pot of tea, which I have time to enjoy, before leaving at ten to three, I intend to park in town at Tesco and walk the half mile to school, as I need to do some shopping before taking Louis back to Tickton. It is only five past three when I return to the school playground and spend a pleasant ten minutes sitting in the warm spring sunshine, until Louis emerges from his class, clutching his yellow book bag, lunch box and, of course, his plastic salad bowl. We chat about the Manchester City and Chelsea game, which Louis also saw on TV and agree that Chelsea's only goal, scored by Demba Ba, was the best goal of the match. In the supermarket, we buy a crusty baguette, some Parma ham, ice cream and some grapes and a packet of football cards for 50p, before driving back to Tickton. As we pass the park, Louis spots some boys having a kick about and wants to join in, but first we need to unpack the shopping, otherwise the ice cream will melt. We do this within a couple of minutes and then drive back to the play area, next to the village hall, the boys have gone, but there are a few toddlers playing on the swings and roundabouts, so Louis decides to stay and have a play. There are some metal bars arranged in ladder arch, which rise about ten feet from the ground. Theoretically it is possible to walk all the way up and down the other side, whilst remaining upright, although I have never seen anyone do it. The children tend to climb over using hands and feet, which is OK going up, but means that you have to descend head first, which isn't possible, as gravity intervenes. Louis negotiates this by doing a 180 degree turn at the top before coming down feet first. Unfortunately he slips and bangs his shin on the last rung and begins to cry. I walk over and congratulate him on making it all the way over the top, he tells me his shin stings and I agree it is sore when you bang it, but remind him that he has conquered the obstacle. He stops crying and does it again twice more, this time without hurting himself, having decided, that sometimes you need to be prepared to take the odd knock in order to make progress. Just as we are about to leave, some older boys arrive with a football and start a kick about and Louis pleads to stay, so I tell him he can, if the boys will let him join in. They are about ten years old but agree to let him play in goal, I suspect because they think that will make scoring goals easier. In the event Louis conducts himself well, making several fine saves by diving at the boys feet and grabbing the ball in his arms, winning their respect in the process, but also letting a fair few, fierce shots past him. We arrive home around five thirty, the evening sun has set behind the house and the garden is in shadow, but Louis wants to have his favourite tea outside. We carry out the salad in its Tupperware box, Parma Ham, Salami and Bavarian Smoked Cheese and the baguette, cut up into slices with butter, with glasses of grandad pop, (AKA, cream soda). Tough as he is, Louis decides it would be better to retire indoors for the ice cream, I have bought a tub that is half chocolate, Louis' favourite and half vanilla, mine. Norman has had a tin of dog food and whatever scraps of meat or cheese that found there way onto the lawn. At half past six we drive back to Sarah's house and meet Linda at the front door, she has brought chocolate eclairs, on her way home from work and is calling for coffee with Sarah. She promises to save a pastry for Louis, while he and I take Norman for his evening walk around Seven Corners Lane. When we return, Linda tells me that she and Mark are driving to Edinboro at the weekend to visit her mum, who is very ill and has lost fifty pounds in weight since Xmas, it doesn't sound good. Her mum, Peggy, is about my age and I have met her many times in the past, so I send her my best wishes and then Norman and I drive home, but not before Sarah asks me to take Alice to the cottage hospital on Swinemoor tomorrow afternoon, for an eye appointment. I arrange to collect her from the High School at two thirty. When we arrive home, I flop gratefully into my chair and then remember that I have left my wet swimming gear in the car, so get up and go back outside, where I find Louis' book bag and lunch box in the boot next to my swimming bag. I am too tired to drive back to Sarah's house, so I text her to say that I will drop them off at Saint Mary's in the morning. The phone rings as I renter the house, it is Pip, wanting to know if I can have the terriers from Friday to Monday next weekend, while she visits her brother, Charlie, and of course I agree, only later remembering that I am taking Louis to Friday night football and on duty as the char wallah at church on Sunday. Those are problems I will solve tomorrow, but for now I need to rest, five year old grandsons are delightful, but somewhat energy sapping, so I lie down and sleep until ten. I feel better when I get up and also hungry, so I finish the last of the baguette, with some Camembert and a glass of Shiraz. I read for an hour or so and then turn in, after first checking on a Bolognaise sauce, that I knocked up this morning and left to simmer in the slow cooker. It needs another day, but should be cooked to perfection tomorrow.

Visiting Aunty Dorothy

We are up for seven o'clock and wake to a lovely spring morning, my resident blackbird is singing his head off and the sun is shining brightly into the Garden Room. I have toast and honey for breakfast and Norman eats his usual Baker's, then I listen to the news, while I drink my usual Italian coffee. This morning I have to be at Saint John's for ten, as I am helping with tea and coffee after mass and being shown where everything is before attending the ten thirty service. At nine, Norman and I have a walk down Carr Lane, as far as the little bridge that spans the dyke. The ditches are fully dried out now and some of the fruit trees have begun to burst into blossom. The alpacas are chewing their cud in the pasture beyond the farm and watch us contentedly as we pass. Norman is looking a little shaggy, as I haven't stripped his top coat during the long hard, winter, it is another job to be tackled in the next few days. When we return home, I leave him some fresh water and then park outside Sarah's house, calling in briefly to present Louis with his football albums. Sarah is making a full English breakfast for them all, and Alice is sat playing with her air book. The coffee room in the annex is empty when I arrive, apart from a lady in red, who I know as she usually sits in the row behind mine. Father Roy's wife, Sue, arrives and shows me the ropes. It isn't rocket science and within a few minutes I am familiar with the procedures and know where everything is. It is the third Sunday of Easter and the priests are still dressed in their golden robes when they enter the church to the sound of the bell. We sing the opening hymn and then the comforting and beautiful ritual of the Mass begins, I have said prayers for Aunty Dorothy when I first entered and also for Felicity and all those that I usually bring to mind. Father Roy's sermon is unapologetically taken up with the church funds, we are a little over spent this year and like many churches have more long term maintenance work than we have funds to carry out the work. After communion I make my way back to the meeting room and help to dispense coffee and tea, while chatting to fellow parishioners, who stream in in threes and fours, once the service ends. At noon, I excuse myself, as it is time to collect Norman and drive to Irene's house in York, and collect a gift aid form from Father Roy on my way out, the church can recover my income tax, which will provide a little help for the funds. A strong westerly wind has blown up and as we come down Arras Hill, overlooking the Vale of York, I can see dust storms blowing red brown top soil off the fields. It looks like a scene from John Steinbeck's, "Grapes of Wrath", Oklahoma in the 1930's. We have had no rain for eight weeks and until the last few days a cold, dry, easterly wind has dominated the weather. We arrive at Irene's house in Copmanthorpe, a village on the outskirts of York, at half past one and then drink tea with them, before we set off for Saint James's Infirmary, in Leeds, known to everyone as Jimmy's. David, Irene's husband, drives us, eager to show off his new 4 x 4, a Hyundai Santa Fe. We will be driving from Rotterdam to Austria in it next month, after catching the ferry from Hull. The hospital car park is full, but someone leaves and David squeezes the huge vehicle into the space and then we give Norman a quick toilet walk on the grass before putting him on a blanket in the boot to sleep. The oncology wing at Jimmy's is brand new, airy, light and with chairs and couches grouped in little islands adjacent to the three sets of lifts. We take lift C to the high dependency unit, where Aunty Dorothy is recovering after surgery on Friday to remove a secondary tumour on her kidney. When we arrive in the high tech ward, we are told she has just been transferred to a normal ward, which is a good sign, and we are directed to ward 83, which is on the same floor around several corners. A nurse is just settling Dorothy into her bed space, but as my Aunt spots us, she raises her arm and waves. We fetch some chairs and sit around her, she tells us that she feels a little woozy from the epidural line that is delivering morphine, and is under the control of a handset by her side. I had the same set up after my prostatectomy eight years ago, but only needed it for 24 hours. We chat about all the things that families usually chat about, relatives long since dead, holidays and weddings that we have attended together. Dorothy casually slips into the conversation the fact that she has refused chemotherapy, more interested in the quality of her remaining days than their quantity. The surgeon has told her that she should be ready for discharge on Friday and I tell her we will drive to Scarborough and take her to Mother Hubbard's for fish and chips when she is feeling better. We leave at four O'clock, visiting time is over and she is very tired. As we leave I recover my earliest memory of her, we are involved in a church pantomime, my mother is playing the Dame and I have to sing " I am a lonely little petunia in an onion patch", I am five years old, Aunty Margaret plays the piano and when I finish, Aunty Dorothy comes on and sings in a beautiful soprano, she is twenty years old, petite and dark, looking like Snow White. She always blushes when I mention this, but I suspect she is secretly pleased. In all the years I have known her I have never heard her complain, she is always positive, optimistic and takes everything in her stride. A lovely and remarkable human being. I take Norman out of the boot and he sits on my knee as we drive back to York. David suggests we buy fish and chips from another branch of Harper's, opposite York Racecourse, which we take back to their house in Copmanthorpe to eat. David has bought Normy some haddock pieces, which he serves in a bowl on the floor. After the meal, I take my little dog for a walk round the village and he duly performs his duty before we return. David has the FA cup semi final on the television, Manchester City are playing Chelsea, so we sit and watch the game with him. City win 2:1, but it is a pulsating match. Irene's son, Andrew and his partner Karen arrive, they have been staying at the flat in Scarborough and have their large greyhound with them. Norman takes a dislike to him, despite being about a tenth of his size and growls from a position of safety on the settee. Andrew and Karen live in Oxfordshire and leave around seven and we follow them ten minutes later. David and Irene are coming to the second Catholic Mass to be celebrated in Beverley Minster in the last five hundred years. It is taking place on Sunday the 4th of May, to celebrate Saint John of Beverley's day. Saint John was Bishop of York and when he retired, founded a monastery in the great wood of Deira, in the seventh century, in the lea of the beaver. This became Beverley, his hand carved stone throne can still be seen in the Minster. We arrive home for eight, the car covered in red dust from the numerous dust storms. I read for an hour and then go to bed around ten thirty.

Cordless phones and short fuses.

I am up early on Saturday and put out a line of washing before breakfast, which is just toast and honey this morning. Before leaving the house, I pack Felicity's new phone into a bag and find a telephone socket splitter, so that her cordless can sit alongside her existing corded phone, in case she can't actually use it. After breakfast I programmed in some numbers for her, those for her daughter, sister, some friends and Hanne and myself. Norman and I park in the Greyburn Lane car park, which is only minutes from Albert Terrace, and then make our way to Felicity's house. She is in good spirits when we arrive and actually manages to use the cordless phone, as soon as I am able to set it up. Which I am only able to do by unplugging a digital radio, which her son bought her and which she says she can't use. In a stroke of genius, I tell her to ignore all the program keys at the top of the phone and just use 0 to 9 to dial and the send button with its green telephone icon and the end button with it's red icon. She masters this quickly and phones a couple of friends, I then call her from my mobile, but she says it doesn't work, until I realise she is holding the send button down permanently, once this is resolved she can both send and receive calls on her cordless phone. I decide this is enough for now and we set off for the Poppy Seed, Felicity wants to walk, as it is another fine morning, this soon turns out to be a mistake, as she only gets fifty yards or so before she needs to rest. She has been in hospital for almost four weeks, apart from a couple of days in the care home, and hasn't walked more than this short distance in all that time, but by taking frequent rests, and sitting on a low garden wall, down Wood Lane, she gets there somehow. All the gang are waiting and delighted to see her, but after a few minutes she realises she can't find her shopping bag, which contains both her house keys and her purse. I leave Norman in Hanne's care and retrace our steps, finding the bag, untouched, by the wall Felicity sat on down Wood Lane. I return to the cafe and give her the bag and then settle down to drink tea, by now it half past eleven and Felicity realises that a carer from Independent Living is coming at midday, to give her lunch. She also needs to go to the Beverley Building Society in the Market Place, to withdraw cash. It does not compute, the car isn't allowed in the Market Place on Saturdays and she is both too weak and too slow to walk there and home in the time available. The problem is solved by me fetching the car for her and giving her £40, for which she writes a cheque. I deliver her back to her house and help her onto her bed, which is in the kitchen, she is absolutely shattered, the carer arrives and I leave her in charge, before walking back into town, having by pure luck been able to park outside Felicity's house. Norman and I potter around the market, where I fail to find an electrical adapter, the man on the hardware stall tells me he stopped selling them because Wilco's could do them much cheaper. Wilco's is on the end of Toll Gavel, so Norman and I walk there and I tuck him under my arm and enter the store, asking a woman assistant where the adapters are, she tells me they are upstairs, but also that dogs aren't allowed. The force can have a strange effect on the weak minded and I convince her that Normy is really a pyjama case. Either that or she decides it isn't worth the hassle arguing with an eccentric old git. The adaptor is really cheap, a four socket extension lead, with a metre long cable, for only four pounds. We make our way back to the Market Cross, where I have arranged to meet Hanne, we are going to discuss if there is some way of helping both Felicity and Melissa. We walk to Swaby's Yard and sit outside at Perk U Later, where Norman and I share a sausage sandwich and Hanne has a mineral water, as she is a FAST diet convert. Hanne has known Felicity for over thirty years and her view of the problem between mother and daughter, is the same as mine, Felicity won't/can't communicate with Melissa on an Adult to Adult basis and alternates between parental and childish modes, a la Eric Berne. The result is frequent fall outs, but getting in the middle of that is highly problematic, so we decide to see how things progress over the next few days. Melissa has to have a minor procedure on her foot next weekend and we can step in and help then, if required. Hanne goes home and we return to Albert Terrace and fit the extension lead, and then set up the digital radio. It really is difficult and has no preset buttons, a tiny dial and minuscule controls. I set it to radio four for her and leave it at that. I bought a Madeira cake on the market and suggest we sit out in Felicity's small patio garden, as the weather is so nice and eat tea and cake. The table and chairs haven't been wiped down since last autumn, but that doesn't take me too long and soon we are drinking tea and chatting, Felicity returning to the theme that Melissa won't tell her what she is doing. I suggests she asks Meliisa to sit down and then have an adult to adult chat about things. She agrees to do this, her daughter is due about three and she tells me the district nurse is also coming at three to inject insulin, which Felicity has previously done for herself, for at least the past two years. When I ask her why the nurse is doing this, she says it is because they are establishing a new regime. "Couldn't the nurse watch while you inject yourself a few times, until she is happy you can reassume responsibility for yourself?" I ask. The old girl gets up and storms back into the kitchen in a temper. Herein lies the problem, she wants the attention and some control, but not the responsibility, and I have called her on this. I let her stew for a few minutes and then take her tea and cake indoors and quietly tell her that tantrums won't work on me, as I am not family and therefore not manipulable. She is still sulking when the nurse arrives, which I take as a cue for Norman and I to leave. She will come round, but I doubt that this behaviour will ever change, at seventy six, it is extremely unlikely. In all other respects, she is a lovely, kind, creative person, but there again which of us is without fault. When we get in, I switch on the radio, the Tigers are playing Ipswich away, and we listen to this while I fry a rump steak, which we share with oven chips and a tossed salad, and eat in the garden accompanied by a glass of Shiraz. Hull City win 2:1 and Watford, who are in third place, lose away at Peterborough 3:2. With four games to go, we are six points clear. Surely the premier league beckons. Later in the evening, my cousin Irene's husband, David, phones to tell me that my remaining aunt, Dorothy, is in Saint James' hospital in Leeds and has had a kidney tumour removed on Friday. She had part of her bowel removed two years ago, due to cancer, and a secondary tumour removed from her lung six months ago. Clearly time is running out and so I arrange to drive to York after church, in order to meet up with Irene and David, before driving to Jimmy's for afternoon visiting. Aunty Dorothy is old school, sharp as a tack, and never, ever, lets anything get her down. She will be eighty three in August and is highly unlikely to see eighty four. One thing is certain, however many days she has left, she will make the best of them. To bed at eleven after reading for an hour.

A fishy Friday

Friday dawns bright and clear, after letting Norman out and then giving him his Bakers, I make smoked salmon and cream cheese on rye toast for me and take it into the Garden Room to eat. The sun is shining into my face for a few minutes but then moves behind the garage and it is a little more comfortable for me to sit and eat, whilst listening to the news. More fuss about Margaret Thatcher's State Funeral, which is being spun furiously by both her admirers and detractors, it typifies the class divisions that still define us English. Walking the dogs is a real pleasure in the finer weather and in Tickton at least, the blackthorn is blooming and I now have a fine show of golden daffodils in the garden. On the Westwood, which is more exposed to the wind, nothing is yet in bloom, but the hawthorn is showing the first signs of tiny green leaves. When we return home after dropping off the terriers, a parcel is waiting for me, it is the big button, cordless phone, that I ordered for Felicity. I open the box and find that it looks every bit as chunky and easy to use as it's picture on the computer. It is a task of only seconds to put in the batteries and plug in the base station, I phone my iPhone from it and it works perfectly. After putting the handset onto the base station cradle, I leave the phone to charge fully, before driving to the leisure centre for a swim. The pool is fairly quiet and I have a lane to myself, but vary my routine today, swimming 500m repeats, except for butterfly, which I break up into 10 x 50m and then warm down on an easy 500m, on a mixture of front and back crawl. After showering and dressing, I eat a toasted teacake with a pot of tea in the cafe, before driving into Beverley for my monthly haircut. The barber's is quiet and Paul has me in the chair within minutes and back on the street in five more, having discussed the Tiger's promotion prospects whilst he snipped. Beverley is full of lunchtime shoppers who are taking advantage of the sudden arrival of spring. One of the many charity shops down Butcher Row is displaying a book sale, and amongst the books is a 2013 football album, it is in graphic novel format, which Louis should be able to handle, so I buy it for him. The volunteer tells me that it is three books for a pound, so I scour the box and find another football book for Louis and an illustrated book about the Victorians doing the Grand Tour, which I select for Felicity. By the door, is what looks like a small wooden side table, but on closer examination it turns out to be a sturdy, folding stool. It is only £3, so I buy it for Felicity, to put by her new reclining chair, which also has a matching footstool. I noticed the other day that she has nowhere to put a drink, as the footstool is angled at about fifteen degrees. Armed with these treasures, I walk up Greyburn Lane to Albert Terrace, and pay the old girl a call. The stool/table fits between her recliner and the wall perfectly, it has a little hole drilled in it and we speculate as too its purpose, a commode perhaps for a man with a very small willy, or more likely somewhere to hang it from a hook against a wall, as it has probably been used in a buttery or churn room, somewhere. Felicity is grateful, but remains unconvinced, that she will be able to use the cordless phone, as she is a committed technophobe. So I leave her at half past four and promise to deliver the phone in the morning and show her how to use it, before I take her to the Poppy Seed to meet her friends. She is still at odds with Melissa over the control of her budget and the selection of carers and I try, unsuccessfully, to reassure her that her daughter will restore things back to the way she likes, when she has some breathing space from teaching at the weekend. I return home for five o'clock and feel very hungry after my swim, there are some prawns and mussels defrosted, that I removed from the freezer this morning, along with some diced peppers and garden peas. It only takes half an hour to transform these into a seafood paella, which is washed down with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Later Norman sits on my knee while I read my book, as dusk settles on the field beyond my garden, a large white barn owl hunts for mice. To bed for eleven.

Soul Food

We get up around seven to an overcast morning and after wishing Norman a happy birthday, let him into the garden, I pour some Bakers for his breakfast and then make rye toast and honey for myself. Over coffee, I read the paper and then speak to Felicity on the phone, she is a bit down, as she has had words with Melissa again, this time over the carers her daughter has selected. Felicity wants the carers back that she had before, as they have become friends, I tell her that I am sure her daughter will do this, but probably hadn't time, when she had to arrange emergency care when Felicity was discharged from hospital. I arrange to call in and see her at lunchtime, after first taking the dogs out. We leave the house at half past nine, collect the terriers from Cherry Burton and then walk on the Westwood. In the woods I let Norman and Dolly off the lead, and Teddy and I make our way down the path. Teddy has found a tennis ball, that some other dog owner has dropped and walks happily with it in his mouth, until he somehow drops the ball down a steep banking and strains on the lead to recover it. The bank is at least fifty feet deep and it is easier to let him fetch it than for both of us to scramble down, so I let him off the lead. He rockets down the banking, grabs his ball and then zooms off with Dolly, who has appeared from the bushes, in hot pursuit of a rabbit. It is my practice, born of long experience, not to let the terriers off the lead together, as they form a pack and once hunting, are difficult to return to the lead. As Norman and I progress through the woods we occasionally encounter Dolly and Teddy crossing our path at high speed, their tails up, in pursuit of either rabbits or squirrels. I start to fear the worst, as we make our way onto the open common, but Dolly comes back to me in her usual place and is promptly clipped back on the lead. I notice I have a missed call on my mobile phone from Hanne and call her back, she has spoken to Felicity, who feels she is losing control of her life. Hanne has told her That Melissa is just doing her best and might just be a little over protective. I suggest that Hanne joins me when I visit Fliss and that we take her to Harper's fish and chip cafe, which is a short walk from her house on Albert Terrace. At Black Mill, I put Teddy back on his lead and we return to the car, drive back to Two Riggs and drop them off. I find a place to park down Albert Terrace and make my way to Felicity's house, Hanne arrives a few minutes later and we all sit and chat for a few minutes before Fliss shows us her care itinerary, which has three care visits from a company called " Independant Living", that Leslie also used, and two district nurse visits in order to inject insulin, as she is diabetic. Felicity says she is quite capable of injecting herself and could manage quite well with help from Liz, the Sherpa, and possibly Tracy, who is looking after her dog, Molly. The other dog, Sam, having been re homed to Ossett in West Yorkshire. Hanne and I suggest that some middle ground might be reached, which allows Felicity more autonomy, and eases the burden on Melissa, if the two of us help Fliss to manage her own affairs, with her daughter having budgetary oversight. Over the last few months she has also lost quite a bit of mobility, a consequence of illness and the long winter, and her major requirement is to regain the strength in her legs and the confidence to walk again. To this end we decide to walk to the cafe, but need to notify a carer, who is due to arrive at five to twelve and help with lunch. We wait until ten past but the lady doesn't show up, so we leave a note on the door to say that Felicity's friends have taken her out for lunch to Harper's, just down the road. Felicity has a trilater, a three wheeled walking aid, and she uses this to walk to the cafe, where we order haddock, chips, tea, with bread and butter. It is amazing to watch her spirit rise and her optimism improve, as she realises that it is possible to return to an acceptable and enjoyable independent life. We take her home for one o'clock and feed Norman on some haddock we have saved for him in a doggy bag and then we let Felicity put her feet up. I return home for two, give Norman some water and then drive to the pool, where I put in another hundred length medley training session. Afterwards I have a drinking chocolate in the cafe, before driving to Tesco and doing a little shopping. I have toast and honey with tea and read my book until past eleven, realising as I went to bed that I have to be up early in the morning in order to take Louis to school.

An afternoon in the garden.

We are up by seven to a brighter morning, I have rye toast and honey for breakfast and Norman has Baker's dog food for seniors, after which we listen to radio four, while I drink my coffee, the news is full of the death of Margaret Thatcher. In death, as in life, she continues to polarises the nation. I tend to judge politicians on their actions rather than their words, I thought she was a "useful idiot", for the vested interests in the City of London, and bought into the simplistic ideology of neoliberal economics in a huge way. She was, however, a good wartime leader, because in a war things are simple politically and confidence and decisiveness are everything. As a peacetime leader her economic and social policies were disastrous, wiping out huge areas of the economy and burdening the country with a massive bill for welfare, as unemployment rose and older workers were allowed to be classified as disabled. We have never recovered from her poisonous legacy, she singlehandedly destroyed the postwar consensus of trust between the workers/voters and the bosses/government. She was the author of a doctrine of fear and greed, fear at the bottom of society and greed at the top, but she was also a product of that society. She married into money and became the spokesperson for it. The biggest mistake Cameron can make, is to wrap himself in her legacy, it will be his political shroud. As you can gather, I didn't much like her, her policies, or the people she represented. Anyone who has Rupert Murdoch and General Pinochet for friends, can hardly be said to have sound judgement. Hanne texts to say Felicity is at home, so I call the old girl and find her in poor spirits, which is surprising as she was really looking forward to going home, apparently she has had a fall out with Melissa, her daughter. She doesn't feel up to going to the Poppy Seed, so I promise to call in later in the afternoon. We collect Dolly and Teddy for half past nine, I tell Pip that I will come back at lunch time and mow the lawns, before wet weather sets in that is forecast for later in the week. Our walk round the Westwood is largely uneventful, the cold easterly wind is, perhaps, moderating a little, which means it doesn't feel quite so cold today. After returning the terriers, Norman and I drive to Beverley, park outside Sarah's house and then walk through the Bar to the Poppy Seed. Hanne, Thelma and Annie are in attendance, so I pass Normy to Hanne, while I go to use the toilet. When I return the waitress has brought my tea and I pour myself a cup, before Norman returns to sit on my knee. The women all want to talk about Margaret Thatcher, they all loathed her and Annie is singing "the witch is dead", which I find in poor taste. Even though I loathed everything she represented, her family will be mourning her and their grief should be respected. Annie and Thelma agree to sponsor my Marie Curie Swimathon, but I limit them to 2p a length as they are OAP's and live on a limited income. The party breaks up at eleven thirty and we drive back to Two Riggs to attack the lawns, which haven't been touched since last November. My first task is to collect all the dog poo that has accumulated over the winter. Neither Pip nor Andrew have seen to that either, fortunately six weeks of desiccation from the east wind has made it dry and odour free, although there is rather a lot. The petrol mower fires up after a little coaxing and within an hour the job is complete, although this task marks the opening of my gardening season, and there will be much weeding, pruning and trimming to do over the next few weeks. Once I am on top of the gardens they can then be managed with a few hours a week. The wind has dropped, the skies cleared and the sun is shining, by the time we arrive home, so I take advantage of the fine weather by making Mozarella and sun dried tomato Panini, with fresh Basil and a tossed salad, that I take and eat in the garden, Norman has some more Bakers. After lunch, I sit and read in the spring sunshine until the clouds reappear, about four o'clock, and then I give Normy his tin of dog food, before driving into town. We park at Tesco's and then walk through the Market Place and across Lairgate to Albert Terrace, where we visit Felicity. She is definitely a bit glass half full today and looks tired, but subsequently tells me she has taken two diazepam, after her argument with her daughter. The tablets calm you down but they also lower energy levels, however after half an hour or so, she starts to lighten up and by the time we leave she is much more like her old self. The problem with Melissa, it appears, is that the nursing home that was due to take her mum for respite on discharge from the hospital, refused her admittance, because she had come from a ward with a Norovirus outbreak. Consequently poor Melissa had to put an emergency care package in place at very short notice. She is a single mum, with two children and a full time teaching job, so she has her hands full at the best of times. Melissa is also due to stay over this evening and I counsel Felicity to avoid confrontation, as they will both be tired. We leave around a quarter past six and make our way back to the car, calling at the cashpoint to withdraw money for Alice's birthday, which I place into her card. As we approach the Chrysler, Sarah passes in her Peugeot, with Louis in the back, they have just been to do some shopping, so I tell her we will be coming to see Alice directly. The door is opened by Linda, Sarah's best friend, who is married to Mark and mother to Jamie, as well as Stephanie and Samantha. She has also called in to give Alice her birthday present, and like me, has given her cash. We stay until seven and then leave as Sarah and the children are going to Pizza Express and Linda is driving back to her house, which is about eight miles away. When we return indoors, I make tea and more honey and toast, the stuff is quite addictive and then read until bedtime.

Flashing down the pool!

We have no deadlines to meet today, so we lie in until a quarter to eight and then I make kippers for breakfast, these are fast becoming Norman's favourite breakfast, he has half a filet crumbled up with rye toast. After breakfast I try to read the paper online, but the children are back to school today and are probably hammering Facebook before they leave, so the BT Internet is down and will stay down until after nine. We leave the house for ten and then drive to Cherry Burton, where we collect the terriers to take them for their walk on the Westwood. The east wind is still casting its malign influence over the landscape and the blackthorn bushes, which should be in full bloom are yet to show a single flower, but high in the trees, magpies are nesting, so spring might return soon. We meet Elaine Julien and her Jack Russell, Milo, by the edge of the woods and she tells me it was her late husband's birthday last Sunday and she and his family, went to Fraisthorpe beach, which was a favourite spot. She is looking much better and says she has run a few races with the athletic club and is also going to Robin Hood's Bay tomorrow for a few days holiday. We complete our walk by half past eleven and I return Dolly and Teddy to Two Riggs, noting that the lawns will need to be mowed before the warmer, wetter, weather, that is forecast for the end of the week, arrives. I have packed my swimming gear in the car and so drive directly to the leisure centre, leaving Normy with a bowl of water on the back seat of the car, while I go to train. The changing room is full of buggies again, so there must be a mother and baby session in the training pool, I change quickly pulling on my new swimming trunks, which are a perfect fit and suitably modest for the older athlete, but the draw string on the left hand side has slipped back into the waistband. Despite several attempts, I fail to retrieve it and decide that the elasticated waistband is probably sufficient tight to keep them up. The fast lane is free when I emerge from the showers, so I slide into the water and push off on the first 100m medley, swimming butterfly, the trunks hold up, I hope to complete a hundred lengths today, as a dress rehearsal for the Swimathon. At the end of the first length I flip over and push off on my back and immediately I can feel the water on my bare buttocks, the trunks have slipped, I use one hand to pull them back up and at the end of the length, I fold the waistband over to provide more support. I muddle along like this for four hundred metres, even pushing off slowly from turns to try to keep them up, but in the end have to admit defeat and climb out of the water and return to my locker. In the cubicle, with my glasses on and trunks off, I eventually hook out the end of the drawstring with my car keys and am then able to fasten them properly. When I get back to the pool the fast lane is still empty, but as I put my water bottle on the lane end a young woman ducks under the rope and takes possession. There is a sign saying that swimmers in this lane must swim anticlockwise, so I agree this with my new companion and explain what I am doing and that I will make sure that I will time my butterfly so as not to collide with her. She is swimming freestyle, but is not very quick, so I wait until she is about eight metres from the turn before I push off underwater and pulse half a dozen kicks before surfacing beyond her and starting the arm stroke. This arrangement works fine, but means I have to take more frequent rests than I will be allowed on the sponsored swim, as I have to adjust to her speed. By the time I have completed eighty lengths she has left, so the last twenty lengths of medleys are more relaxing, as I am not constantly having to monitor where she is, or adjust my pace. After completing the hundred lengths medley, I warm down on 200m easy freestyle and backstroke and then shower and change and make my way to the cafe, for tea and a toasted teacake. Norman is asleep on the back seat of the car when I return and has left a little water in his bowl, which I toss out, before driving home to Tickton. I have saved some spring greens and jacket potatoes from Sunday, so decide to make bubble and squeak and fried eggs, as a late lunch. I haven't eaten bubble and squeak for fifty years, but it isn't exactly rocket science, although I modify the recipe slightly. The jacket potatoes are cut into slices , which I fry in a little butter and olive oil until they are nicely browned, then I fry the greens and sprinkle them with black pepper and Parmesan cheese, before topping them off with a couple of fried, double yolk, pullet eggs. After a very long swim I guess anything tastes good, but I think the modification to the recipe works well. Later I get a text from Hanne to say Felicity is being discharged and is going home. Norman spends the evening sitting on my knee while I read my book and then we turn in around ten thirty after a supper of bread and cheese.