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.