Tottering Tigers scrape a win.

We get up at seven to a fine day and when let Norman out into the garden, there is mercifully no wind. I make toast with honey for breakfast, with the usual Italian coffee and then read the paper for half an hour, before showering and dressing. We leave the house around nine thirty, as I need to shop before meeting friends at the Poppy Seed later for coffee. First we call at the farm shop at Walkington Manor, for more free range pullet eggs and then we drive to Morrison's where I buy some kippers, smoked salmon and also roast beef slices and fresh bread rolls, to take to the football match this afternoon. I also stock up on cleaning products and specifically a mould and mildew spray to kill off an outbreak of black mould that has erupted around the bay windows in the lounge, which was only revealed when I drew back the louvred blinds this morning. We drive into town and I find a free space down Albert Terrace, right outside Felicity's house, the poor old girl is still stuck in hospital, under quarantine until the Norovirus outbreak subsides. I phoned her last night and she was quite down, but hopefully she should be out next week. It is only a short walk down Wood Lane to the Poppy Seed, and our table is packed with the usual crew. A space is made for us and the waitress brings me tea, as soon as we are seated. Felicity's sister, Joy, is to my left and Hanne to my right, Joy is visiting Fliss tonight and I ask her to say I will visit on Monday, after my MRI. Jill, Barbara, Annie and Ruth are also in attendance. They are all widows, and most are in their eighties, but tremendously kind and supportive to each other. Norman and I are like honorary nephews. John Geekie, the artist who sketched Norman, drops by and gives Hanne a print of one of his watercolours, it is a view of the Minster from the Westwood with meadow flowers in the foreground. It is Felicity's birthday on Tuesday and it is agreed we will pay for a luncheon at Norwood House for her, as it will give her something to look forward to, while she endures her quarantine. We leave around midday and drive home, where I boil some water for spaghetti, which I serve with Bolognaise sauce and eat in the garden, Norman has his in a little bowl, with his pasta chopped up. The garden needs a good clear up after the long winter, but that will have to wait for another day, I am collecting Louis at half past one for football and that leaves me just enough time to make soup and sandwiches and then to spray the lounge windows with mildew treatment, before setting off. Louis has mislaid his Tiger's hat, so I lend him mine, rather than spend ages trying to find it, as the traffic is likely to be heavy, with about twenty thousand fans heading for the match. We park at Mark's flats down Linnaeus Street, and he and his son Jamie, walk to the match with us, we are playing Middlesborough today and despite being early season favourites for promotion, they are in a miserable run of form, so we are hopeful of a win. Mark and Jamie part company with us at the stadium, they being in the lower West stand and we in the upper, arriving in our seats with five minutes to spare. We all stand up as the teams come out onto the pitch and cheer as our team players are announced, at exactly three o'clock the match kicks off. Middlesborough are the better team, we look nervous and a little disjointed, our team depleted by injuries and tired from three games in eight days. It is scoreless at half time, the game has not been much of a spectacle and Louis is getting bored, but cheers up when I pour out the soup and share the beef rolls. In the second half, our free kick specialist, Robbie Brady, miss hits a free kick, which bounces in front of the Middlesborough goalkeeper and then somehow slips through his hands into the goal. It is the only goal of a scrappy match, but with five games left, we are four points clear in second place in the championship, although Watford, who are third, are playing against the top team, Cardiff, at tea time. There are only two more home matches left, one against Bristol a week on Friday, in the evening and the final match of the season against Cardiff on the first Saturday in May. Louis is already looking forward to seeing Manchester United and Chelsea next season, if we get promoted, but on current form, it is by no means a certainty. I drop Louis back home around six and then drive back to Tickton, where I make a pot of tea and then wash and clean the lounge windows. Later I drink a glass of wine and eat some bread and cheese, Watford have drawn nil nil with Cardiff and are still three points behind Hull. To bed around eleven.