A long good Friday!

We are up by six thirty, Friday is the day that I walk Louis to school and I need to collect him for half past eight. When I let Noman out into the garden, the sky is busy with rush hour clouds driving from southwest to northeast and a damp chill in the air. The weather seems to have settled into a cool, sunshine and showers, early spring pattern. I give Normy a little of the smoked salmon that I am having for breakfast, with my usual cream cheese and rye toast. He has had Baker's, but his eyes reproach me for not sharing the good stuff on a more equitable basis. We leave the house by a quarter past eight, only to find the traffic tailed back from the Swinemoor roundabout for a mile, fortunately it is moving and I arrive at the roundabout at eight twenty five. Rather than risk the level crossing and be held up further by a train, I turn right up the bypass and come into North Bar the long way, from Molescroft. It is two miles rather than one, but at this time of day much quicker. Louis is almost dressed when I arrive, and the addition of shoes and coat are only the work of a moment, before we are on our way to school, with a Norman on his lead. Louis tells me that his Mum has booked him on another football course at half term and that I am to take him in the morning and she will collect him in the afternoon. Half term starts the Monday I return from Austria, but I should be off the Ferry and home by nine thirty, so it may just be possible to handle it, but failing that, Alice will have to walk him to Beverley Grammar School, where the course is being held, on the first day. Louis gives me a hug and a kiss at the school gate and then runs off happily to assembly, Normy and I walk back up Bleach Yard and then down New Walk to the car and then drive to Cherry Burton to collect Dolly and Teddy for their walk on the Westwood. There are spits of rain in the air and I have brought a cagoule in a bag and an umbrella, in case it starts to rain in earnest, which it has overnight, but the ground is so dry that the moisture has just soaked in and been absorbed. The effect of the rain on the trees and grass is startling, they are noticeably more lush and green than even yesterday and the air has become softer and cooler, the smell of dust now completely dispelled. The cooler weather suits Norman and he keeps pace quite well, skirting away at a safe distance when the terriers meet and play with other dogs and then rejoining us once the boisterousness has abated. We drop off Dolly and Teddy by half past ten and then drive back to Tickton, where I set too to empty and then dismantle an old Schreiber wall unit, that I inherited from the old Ladies bungalow, that I rented when I first left Pip, almost three years ago now. It is solidly built, but matches nothing in the house and is of distinct 1970's styling. It may even be back in fashion soon. It actually takes longer to remove the pictures, books, coins and accumulated detritus, that includes passport, euro coinage, batteries and flash drives, than it does to unscrew and dismantle the monstrosity. Fortunately, reduced to its constituent units, it fits into the boot of the Chrysler, as long as I lower half of the back seat, in order to accommodate the longer pieces. It is now ten past twelve, and as the municipal tip is halfway to the leisure centre, I load my swimming gear onto the passenger seat and set off. The furniture I am buying from Leslie's daughter will be brought by her husband William and I on Tuesday afternoon, in a van I have booked for the purpose and I now only have to dismantle a cheap desk, that Clement used for homework in his bedroom, before he went to university and the front room will be ready for the new arrivals. The wood is quickly offloaded at the tip and I am changed and in the water for a quarter to one. The only other swimmers are Terry and his wife, so after a quick chat, I push off and repeat yesterday's session of 3 x 400m on each stroke except butterfly and then 4 x 200m individual medleys, but as the pool is quiet, I have the luxury of a long lazy warm down and swim a further 500m in mixed strokes. After changing, I decide to have lunch in the cafe, they are offering fish, chips and salad, with tea, bread and butter for only £4:50p, so it seems pointless cooking. Helen, one of the cooks, is back from holiday and gives me the £2 she owed from sponsoring my Swimathon, but tells me that Tania, who committed to a tenner, won't be back until Monday. I tell her not to worry, I am sending the money off to Marie Curie tomorrow, but will put in the money myself until I see her next. On my way home I call at Morrisons to do a little shopping and to buy Norman some eye drops, as he has developed conjunctivitis. As well as bread, salad and cheese, I also buy some freshly made pork sausages and smoked Wiltshire bacon, from the butchers counter. I figure Normy and I can have a couple of English breakfasts together before I go on holiday. After putting away the shopping, I read the instructions on the eye drops, they need administering every two waking hours for the first day, so I sit the old boy on my knee and pop the drops in each eye. He seems to know that I am trying to help and sits quietly through the procedure and is then rewarded by his tin of dog food. I make myself a pot of tea and check my email, as well as the usual spam, I have mail from Haus Sonnenschein, confirming that their location is in Bad Waldliesborn and not in central Lippstadt and offering to collect me from the railway station and loan me the use of a bicycle for my stay with them. The second email is from my brother, Graham, who is kindly offering me the use of his VW Golf, for my trip to Lippstadt, as he commutes to work on his bike in the summer and won't need it during the week. The Golf is automatic and easy to drive, and as I spent the first ten years of my driving career in Germany, it is an ideal solution. I reply, accepting gratefully. Herr Rupp, the owner of Haus Sonnenschein, has written to me in German, so I reply in the same, thanking him for his kindness and explaining that I will now be arriving by car, but will still take up the offer of the bike. My German is colloquial, rather than grammatical, but I am sure he will understand. By now it is a quarter to seven and I remember that I have an invitation from Hanne to the Beverley Film Club, they are screening a film called "Shadow Dancer", with Clive Owen and Andrea Risborough, that I meant to see at the multiplex last year, but somehow missed. I throw on a coat, drive to Beverley, park up and make my way to the Masonic Hall, just off Eastgate, by seven o'clock. A middle aged lady, whose face is familiar, writes down my name and email address, and asks for four pounds, which I pay before making my way to the bar. A man called Kevin and his wife are serving and there are sounds of furniture being arranged in an adjacent meeting room, whose doorway is concealed by a thick, black, velvet curtain. After ascertaining that the draught bitter is chilled, I opt for a pint of Guineas instead and am surprised when Kevin's wife takes a can of stout from a refrigerator behind the bar, pours this into a pint glass and then sets it on a stand, behind what looks like a Guiness pump. The black liquid quickly starts to effervesce and transform itself into an impressive facsimile of draught Guiness. " How did you do that?" I enquire. "There is an ultrasound transmitter in the base that warms and stirs the beer", she explains. Whatever will they think of next! Bemused I take a seat against the wall and wait for Hanne, the screening I am told, is scheduled for seven thirty. Two middle aged and obviously gay men enter the bar and comment on a portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth, posed against a stormy sky, at first they think it is Margaret Thatcher and I quip that it looks a bit "Götterdämmerung", but either my politics or sexuality are not to their liking and they make no response. At twenty past seven, I text Hanne to make sure she is still coming and receive an immediate response. She is in accident and emergency, in Hull Royal Infirmary, with a heart problem, waiting to see a doctor. I text back saying that I hope she is OK and ask her to let me know which ward she is on, if they admit her. She replies and says she has had a scare, but feels OK now and will let me know when she has seen a doctor. We are called into the screening room promptly just before half past and I take my seat, about three rows back, with half a pint of Guiness still nestling in my hand. A youngish, blonde woman, whose English is too precise for her to be a native, introduces the film and tells us there will be no intermission. The film is the story of a relationship between a young mother, a Republican activist, whose family are all IRA members and her M I 5 intelligence handler, who blackmails her into being an informer. It is set in Belfast in the early nineties, in the period prior to the peace agreement. I quite liked the film, the acting was solid and very British, the cinematography and direction, very artistic, portraying visually, the isolation and compartmentalisation necessary to conduct a double life, with several long shots through doorways and gateways. The only dissonant note to the film was the lack of gallows humour, that always accompanies people in a wartime situation of extreme stress and danger. Other than that, it was pretty good, although just over an hour into the film, I was starting to question the wisdom of my pint of Guiness. When the lights went up, I was the fourth man into the toilets, which fortunately, were generously supplied with urinals. I didn't stay for the subsequent discussion of the film, for the same reason I don't like book clubs, that combination of people stating the obvious and the inevitable presence of people whe desperately need to be heard. Outside I switch my phone back on, but there is no further news from Hanne, so I drive back home. After letting Norman out into the garden, I put drops in his eyes and then make supper. Ciabatta bread and Camembert, with a glass of wine, which I eat while I read another chapter of Patrick Gale, before going to bed around eleven.