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.