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.