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.