The awareness of speeding.

We sleep in until almost eight o'clock, there is no sunlight on the bedroom curtains and the soothing sound of gently falling rain is the first thing I notice when I awake. Norman is snoring quietly in his basket, so I don't disturb him when I get up to make breakfast. We are having kippers this morning, which requires special attention, ie opening the kitchen window and closing the doors to all the other rooms, otherwise the smell of smoked herring will be enjoyed for days to come. Normy absolutely adores them, and as soon as I remove the fillets from their vacuum sealed wrapper, the aroma wakes him and has him trotting into the kitchen, with his tail wagging furiously. After breakfast and a shower, I pack my bag for the weekend, as I shall be sleeping at Sarah's house for two nights, while she and Richard go to London. My speed awareness course starts at 1:15, at Barton upon Humber, just over the Humber bridge, and I still have Norman to walk, so I load his basket and food into the car and then drive us both to North Bar, arriving at a quarter to twelve, with rain still falling steadily. Alice lets us in and after setting up Normy's bed by the kitchen door, I borrow a large umbrella and take the old boy for a toilet spin, around Seven Corners Lane. Norman is in no particular rush and lingers outside the Rose and Crown pub, that has just been take over by the people that run the Italian cafe inside North Bar. They are turning it into a sort of coffee shop/ Trattoria and I am sure they will be successful. After depositing treasure and emptying his bladder, we make better progress and I return him to Alice's care, before setting off for my course. The roadworks on the bypass have now been completed and it only takes five minutes to get to the roundabout at Willerby, where a man in a large four by four gets in the wrong lane and then tries to overtake me on the inside, as we go round the roundabout and onto the road to the Humber bridge. I have to accelerate fiercely in order to avoid being forced into the oncoming traffic and I pull away thinking that the wrong one of us is going to the driving course. The tolls on the bridge have come down, the last time I crossed they were £2.60p each way and now they are £1.50p, it must be marginal keeping the people employed in the booths to collect the money, but the government won't write off the debt owed by the councils on both banks of the river. The course is being held in an old rope factory, called the Ropewalk, which has been converted into an arts centre, and it can be seen from the bridge, through the mist and rain, right next to the yellow expanse of the muddy river. I arrive by five past one and then wait in an ante room, with all the other speeding offenders, although all of us were only marginally over the limit, or we wouldn't have been given this option. The atmosphere reminds me of Saturday Morning detentions at Batley Grammar School, over fifty years ago now, in that foreign country that was my boyhood. We are registered at a quarter past the hour, our identities checked against our driving licences and then the two instructors introduce themselves. They are both in their fifties, one an advanced driving instructor, the other a retired traffic cop and they are experts in drawing the resentment out of us, for having to attend the course. After telling us what we are going to do, the course starts a bit like an AA meeting, with everyone introducing themselves to the class and saying why they have been caught speeding. Just about everyone has been caught by a camera, some fixed, but most mobile and the group is also fairly evenly split between men and women. Our ages range from mid twenties to late sixties and we sit together in little groups, around tables, in the lecture room. Most of the women are sat together, on the table in front of me, but a lady with a hearing aid, who befriended me when I arrived, is sat with me along with a chap who got caught speeding on his second day home after working in China for a year. The afternoon is not at all what we expect and turns out to be more an exercise in Gestalt psychology. Gradually our perceptions of our offences are altered and our understanding of our driving behaviour, as we progress through a series of group exercises. These are punctuated by a tea break after an hour and a comfort break, about an hour after that. Outside the rain continues to fall steadily and those people who smoke, are forced to shelter under the eaves of the building, during these breaks. One memorable exercise, requires us to count the number of times a ball is passed between a team of people in white tee shirts, to make the task harder they are mixed up with another team of people in black tee shirts, also passing a ball. After the video stops, we are asked to state how many passes were made by the white team, and answers vary between five and twenty three, but we are all surprised when the instructor asks us if we saw the gorilla. "What gorilla?" Is the almost unanimous response, except for one person, who has seen the film before. The instructor replays the video and sure enough, a man in a gorilla suit walks from the left, into the middle of the group of people passing the balls, beats his chest and then walks off to the right, it is all done quite slowly and deliberately. So focused were we on counting passes, that we remained oblivious to his presence. By the end of the course our perceptions of our speeding behaviour has been totally transformed and the lazy habits, that we all tend to develop, of driving on autopilot most of the time, thoroughly exposed and challenged. In my case, putting my foot down to overtake a bus that pulled out "unexpectedly", is transformed into a new understanding that "moving buses tend to stop", and "stationary buses tend to pull out". My offence was due to lazy habits, lack of awareness and failure to "read the road". The proof of the pudding, lies in the way I have been driving since, more aware, more alert and more in control. I expect that the benefits may erode with time, but I hope not. I arrive back in Beverley for a quarter to seven, Alice and Louis have already eaten, so I make myself a mushroom omelette and a few slices of toast and then chat to my grandchildren about my interesting afternoon, until Alice takes Louis up to bed. Sarah has made up the guest bed for me in "the office", at the back of the house and I undress and attempt to read my new Patrick Gale novel "The Facts of Life", but find that I am too tired, so go to sleep by nine o'clock.

Ironing in the sun and cooking with Laura

We are up early, by six o'clock, to a warm sunny morning and as soon as we have eaten breakfast, hang out a line of white washing. I am still feeling more than a little stiff and achey in my lower back, whether a consequence of the adjustment to my new orthotics, or to the increased distance swimming butterfly yesterday, I don't know. After a shower, I start to move a little more freely, so set up the ironing board and run the iron on an extension into the garden, and start to work through my back log of clothes that need ironing. I listen to the news on radio four as I work and this is followed by Melvyn Bragg and "In our time". This morning they are discussing a Chinese, fifteenth century, classic novel, "The Romance of The Three Kingdoms", set in the distant past, around the first and second century BCE, and dealing with the tensions between the loyalties owed to state, family and personal friendships, during a time of civil war. It is fascinating and by the time it has ended, I have a neat pile of shirts folded on the garden table. I break off at this point, as Norman and I are due to walk with Betty and Nellie, but leave the ironing board, etc. still set up in the Garden, as I haven't quite finished and will pick up where I left off, when I get back. Betty and Nellie are waiting at the end of the cul de sac and Nellie runs over to give Normy a sniff and say hello. He pretends to ignore her, but a twitch of his tail gives him away, and so we set off for a walk around the fields. The morning has developed into a warm, bright, sunny day, with occasional clouds prompting breezes, that are pleasantly cooling and riffle the leaves on the trees in Carr Lane. We meet the man who lives in the end house on our street, returning from walking his dog, I know him by slight, but he and his wife are long time neighbours of Betty's, so he stops for a chat and tells us that someone has been shooting pigeons in his garden, either late last night or very early this morning. The evidence for this is a pile of feathers and a handful of pellets on either side of the fence, that separates his back garden from Carr Lane, which have fallen out of someone's pocket, as they climbed over, probably  in order to recover the dead bird. There are a plethora of pigeons around and country folk have no particular qualms about shooting them for the pot, but trespassing on someone's garden in the small hours, is a different matter. It makes me glad I brought my bike in last night, although Tickton is the most peaceable place I have ever lived. We walk all the way round the fields, taking it slowly, so that Norman can keep up, but he manages it easily. Betty tells me it is three years since her husband died of leukaemia, he and her were keen walkers in retirement and walked a lot of the places that Allan Ralph and I walked along the coast last year. We return home for half past eleven and after making a fresh pot of tea, I resume ironing, which I intersperse with computer tasks, downloading a copy of the 2010 Equality Act, printing my online boarding passes for my trip to Holland in two weeks and finally deleting some audio books, so that I can finally synch my iPhone and free up space for my camera again. By two o'clock I am ironed up, so put everything away and bring in my whites, before making a snack of marmite on toast, which I eat outside. I have decked the garden table in the red and white checked tablecloth, in the hope that Laura and I can cook and eat outside, we are making Calzone pizza today, but to the west dark clouds are gathering. I leave home at two thirty, calling at Tesco for some mixed ante pasta, with which to top the pizza and also buy some wholemeal bread, peaches and fresh yogurt, for dessert. I park my car down Woodall way and walk the short distance toMolescroft Primary School, putting my small umbrella in my back pocket, as rain now seems imminent. It starts to fall, very gently at first, just as Laura emerges from her class. She holds my hand, but then breaks off to show me a "gold medal", on a ribbon, that she has won for being first in her year for gymnastics. I am duly impressed, but also concerned, as she has a sore nose and a persistent cough. She tells me it started with a migraine on Sunday and has just got worse today. When we get home, I make her a drink of cider vinegar, sugar and hot water, in the hope that it will help her coughs and sneezes, but it doesn't. After washing our hands thoroughly and providing Laura with a clean handkerchief, we set about making the pizza dough, first mixing sugar, water and dried yeast with a little flour to make a "sponge", to activate the yeast, before setting this aside to do its  chemical magic. Meanwhile we prepare a mixed salad, I show Laura the "living salad", that I bought from the green grocer's near her school, yesterday. " I don't like those kind of lettuce leaves", she tells me, but agrees to try the salad when the leaves have been mixed with chopped tomato, cucumber and spring onions and dressed. We also finely slice a clove of garlic, which I explain is the worlds finest natural antibiotic and also keeps vampires away. "The only real vampires are bats!" She tells me and then proceeds to test the salad once it is dressed. The "sponge", seems to be taking forever to activate, so I let Laura eat the salad first, she finishes the lot, except for the lettuce leaves, which she says she really doesn't like, so I eat those, risking the contamination of her infection. Her forehead is warm and her nose sore from continued wiping. Her mum is attending a conference at the Spa in Bridlington and due to arrive at five, so we decide that the "sponge" has had long enough and mix in the rest of the ingredients and flour and then take turns to knead it, until we have a springy stiff ball of pizza dough. After giving the dough a coating of olive oil, we cover it with a wet cloth and leave it to rise in a cool oven. By a quarter to six, Sam still hasn't arrived and the dough hasn't risen, so I accept the inevitable and make Laura some Mozarella cheese and salami toasties on the sandwich maker, that Sarah bought me last year. While she eats these, I check my box of dried yeast and read the instructions carefully, it is not quick acting and the yeast should have been activated in warm water and sugar for an hour first. Sam arrives and shares the toasties that I had made for myself, these had sun dried tomatoes and roasted peppers as well, which Laura didn't quite fancy. We chat for half an hour over our sandwiches and I suggest Laura may benefit from a duvet day tomorrow, as she really seems under the weather. Her sister, Rebecca, is away for a two day camping holiday, with her school, at Hatfield near Doncaster, and I can tell that Laura would really like some quality time with her mum. Rebecca is autistic and also suffers from epilepsy, consequently family life has to fit around her disability to a certain extent. Laura is always exceptionally kind and caring towards her older sister, so I can understand the need for a little one to one with her mum. They leave at around a quarter to seven, and I arrange to collect her from school on Tuesday, after gymnastics, as the psychologist is calling in to see Sam and Rebecca again, only to remember later that I am already committed to go to Birkenshaw, to see my brother, Andrew. I have to text Sam later and apologise. After they are gone, I wash up and clear away, by half past eight the yeast has finally woken up and the dough is ready to roll out, but it is too late, so I grease a plastic bag with olive oil and store it in the refrigerator, for use later, perhaps at the weekend when I am looking after Alice and Louis. Before turning my laptop off, I print directions to Ropery Hall, in Barton on Humber, where my safety course is taking place, tomorrow afternoon and then catch up on my blogs. At half past ten, Sarah texts to say that Alice is taking Louis to school in the morning and asks if I can collect him from Hector's House, before six. I text back to say that I can't guarantee this, as I am not entirely sure when the course will end and will have to drive back through the Friday evening rush hour, on the A15 from the Humber Bridge. Sarah texts back to say that Alice will get him and I reply wishing her a lovely weekend in London. To bed for half past eleven.

A long, busy day.

A weird alien voice disturbs me from my slumbers at two o'clock in the morning, it is the virus protection software on my laptop, which I have left on and tells me that I have one hundred and sixty nine problems that need fixing. Unfortunately the licence expired last week and I need to find my credit card to renew it, so it has to wait until morning. The phone wakes me at about a quarter past seven and when I answer, it is my granddaughter, Alice, asking if I will pick her up after an all night prom party from a farm near Woodmansey. After a quick wash and a glass of orange juice, I drive there, it is about five miles from Tickton and down a small farm track that leads to the house. In a paddock beyond the house, is a mini Glastonbury, where the girls graduating from Beverley High School have held their Post Prom all night party and boys from Beverley Grammar School and Longcroft college have also put in an appearance. Alice is sat in front of a pop up tent with three friends. "Grandad, could you give my friends a lift as well?" She pleads. By half past eight, Alice and her friends are safely home and I am able to address myself to the urgent need for breakfast for Norman and myself, which we eat in the garden, as it is turning out to be a pleasant day. I had planned to look in on my other granddaughter, Laura's sports day, before seeing Felicity and co at the Poppy Seed, but my schedule is out of kilter. I phone Sam and arrange to come to sports day for the prize giving, just before lunch and then drive to North Bar, where I park, before walking Normy to the Poppy Seed. Felicity is tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs when we arrive, but unfortunately for Norman, manages not to spill any today. Hanne is still on holiday, but we are joined by Thelma and later on by Annie. Normy and I take our leave at eleven, make our way back to the car and then drive to Molescroft primary for the last hour of Laura's sports day. The school gates are locked, but some departing mums tell me that the way in is through main reception, so tucking Norman under my arm, I make my way through the school. As I pass reception, a lady tells me that she isn't sure if dogs are allowed. "He isn't a dog, he is a pyjama case!" I plead and almost get away with it. All girls are suckers for Norman, but in between cries of "he is so cute!" someone decides to consult the head teacher and we get a very firm no. Poor old Normy has to be tied to the school railings, under the shade of a large willow tree, before I am allowed onto the sports field. I quickly find Sam and Laura, explain about Alice and Norman and then just have time to see my granddaughter compete in "tossing the basketball", before watching the final relay races. Before I leave, it is agreed that I will collect Laura from school tomorrow and that we will make Calzone Pizza for dinner. Norman is waiting patiently by the railings for me when I leave the school, and trots along happily by my side, as we make our way back to the car. When we arrive in Tickton, I give the old boy some biscuits and a large bowl of water, which he drinks completely. I put on some coloured washing in the machine and then read through the stuff I downloaded for Gino. Around two o'clock, I climb on my bike, in order to cycle to the leisure centre, after first hanging out my coloureds on the line. I arrive in the pool at half past two, the school children have just left and so I have a lane to myself. After a 400m mixed medley warm up, I swim 3 x 300m Individual,medleys, followed by 4x 100m IM and then warm down on an easy 400m split equally between backstroke and freestyle. I am starting to get the feel of the 300m IM, and my times are coming down, as I am becoming better at judging the pace, initially swimming too slowly on the butterfly leg, for fear of running out of steam. Gradually, as confidence builds, I am able to relax more and settle into the rhythm and cadence of the stroke. In the cafe, they are out of scones, so I have to fall back on my default snack of a toasted teacake. The cafe is full of young mums and their children arriving for swimming or gymnastics classes. Around half past four, I cycle into town and call into Boyes' store, where I buy a pack of three, secret trainer socks. These are the sports socks with virtually no ankles, which I am starting to wear with trainers, as I can't fit orthotics into the sandals, which I normally wear with shorts. I cycle home via Beckside and up alongside the River Hull, it is about a mile further than the more direct route, but in rush hour, much more pleasant. When I arrive home, my washing is dry, so after gathering it in, I decide to run the mower over the lawns. The grass isn't really long, but rain is forecast for tomorrow, I have my "safety awareness" course in Barton on Humber on Friday and baby sitting duties over the weekend, while Sarah goes to London. It doesn't take long and afterwards I make lamb burgers, salad and pitta bread for dinner, accompanied by a glass of Shiraz. Suddenly the long day catches up with me and I decide to lie drown for half an hour on the bed and then sleep soundly, until I am woken by my next door neighbour, Kath, who reminds me that I have left my bike unlocked, leaning against the wall. It is half past ten and almost dark, so I thank her, put the bike in the garage and then undress, put on my pyjamas, and go back to bed. Having first let Norman into the garden for a final toilet.

Productive pottering

We sleep in until almost eight o'clock, but I still feel stiff and tired when I awake, and so resolve to have an easy day. We finish Gino's sausages today, along with bacon, black pudding, tomato and fried egg, and just have time for a shower, before it is time for Norman's walk with Nellie again. Today we go further than the bridge and make our way through "almost straight wood", where I have to be careful to avoid the nettles at the start, because I am wearing my shorts. The weather today is clearer and warmer and as soon as we get back, I strip the beds and put the bedding into wash, before starting on the gardens, working my way round the flower beds, pulling out weeds and trimming the edges of the lawns. It is quite pleasant work, sat on my little tripod stool, in no particular hurry, just progressing steadily until the work is finished. Occasionally stopping to replenish my mug of tea from a large teapot, covered by an insulating cosy. By half past seven the gardens are finished, the bedding washed and replaced and I start to think about dinner. I have a tin of tuna in the cupboard, salad in the fridge and so, with the addition of a boiled egg and some new potatoes, that I cook in the microwave, I soon have a salad Nicoise. I eat this with the other half of Louis' baguette from yesterday. After dinner I download information about employment tribunals for Gino and then reply to my emails. There is one from Liliane in Rotterdam, telling me that Melanie and family have arrived safely and one from Jackie on holiday in Sardinia, where Gino is struggling to come to terms with his enforced early retirement. A day of productive pottering in the garden takes its toll and once again, I am too tired to read, so turn in at ten.

An intermediate distance

Monday dawns cool and cloudy and after breakfast and a shower, I take Norman for his walk with Betty and Nellie, as far as the little bridge. Betty seems to know everyone in the village, having lived here much longer than I have, and stops to talk to several people as we take our walk. She carries titbits in her pocket for Nellie and anyone who has food is a friend of Norman's, so he seems to be acquainting himself with them quite well. Around midday, I drive to the Leisure Centre for my swim and find the pool quite busy, but manage to squeeze myself into the end lane, which is a double, against the rope and complete a 400m mixed medley warm up. For some reason my lower back and legs feel unusually stiff and I put this down to the effects of Sarah's orthotics, perhaps causing me to use my leg and back muscles in a different way. After the warm up I swim 2 x 200m IM and feel much better, so try a 300m IM at a slow pace. I manage the three lengths of fly OK, the backstroke, breaststroke and front crawl being unproblematic. A further 300m IM, convinces me that my stamina can handle the butterfly leg OK and I resolve to make the step up to repeating 300m IM's for a couple of weeks before tackling the Olympic distance of 400m. Afterwards I have a tea aand a scone in the cafe, Sarah has made them again she tells me, but today they are magnificent, tall crumbly monoliths, with sultana protudences, that melt in the mouth. I leave at two thirty in order to allow time to call at the library to return "No Country For Old Men" and to collect a book about ADHD, and manage to squeeze into a parking space down Lairgate. As I approach the library, a traffic warden is writing a ticket for someone illegally parked in a disabled bay and I ask him if I am OK, because my front wheels may be outside the parking lines. He tells me that at least one whole wheel needs to be outside to be fineable and I am unsure whether I am or not, so rather than risk a ticket and a fine, I just drop off the book and hurry back to the car, only to find that I am, in fact, legally parked. Unfortunately there isn't time to go back to the library before it is time to collect Louis. I pick him up from school and drive him back to Tickton, where we let Norman out into the garden, before giving him his tin and then walking to the swing park on the other side of the village. I explain to Louis that I won't be able to play football today, as the orthotics his mum made still feel quite strange, but in the event no one has a ball, so Louis plays with the other children on the swings and roundabouts until it is time for tea. He has preordered ante pasta again, which we eat in the kitchen, accompanied by a baguette, and followed by peaches and yogurt for dessert. Later we walk Norman round the village, stopping at the shop, where I buy Louis an ice lolly, as a reward for his good behaviour. I take him home for seven and when I return, complete the weekend blogs and then have an early night.

Sunday at the seaside

Norman and I are up for half past six, which gives us time for a full English Breakfast, eating half the free range sausages Gino donated on Thursday and then showering and dressing, so that we can be at Saint John's for nine o'clock Mass this morning. I leave Normy with Louis, after letting him have a quick toilet walk down North Bar first, and then make my way to the church. My usual pew is occupied, so I sit on the opposite side of the aisle and once I have located the opening hymn in the Missal and today's Mass, kneel down and say my prayers, before the service starts. Father Roy conducts the Mass and gives the sermon, which relates to the complimentary nature of the inward journey of the spirit and its outward manifestation in the way that Christians should relate to other people, showing forgiveness and loving kindness. The true greatness of Christianity, as a religion, is recognising and asking for forgiveness of our trespasses and then forgiving others for the trespasses that they commit against us. It is a religion of deep spiritual humility and very challenging for someone with a tendency towards arrogance, like myself. After communion, I walk the few paces to Sarah's house, to find my daughter and Alice dressed and ready to go. Louis and I walk Norman round Seven Corner's Lane and just about make it back, before a heavy shower comes down, dashing for the door under the pocket umbrella I have fortunately brought with me. Louis wants to go to the Leisure Centre in Bridlington, where the fun pool has a wave machine and some slides, as well as an adjacent 25 metre swimming pool. We drop Normy back in Tickton and leave him a full bowl of fresh water, before driving to the coast, which is just over twenty miles from Tickton. We make use of the park and ride facility, at South Shore, arriving just before midday, but unfortunately I haven't enough change and the little office is unmanned as are both the cafes near the bus stop. After asking about a dozen people if they can change a tenner, a kindly chap gives me a parking ticket, he tells me that he has a caravan nearby and buys a parking ticket for the bus fares to town and back. I thank him, put the ticket in the window of my car and then wait for the bus with Louis. It arrives within minutes, I explain to the driver what has happened and try to pay for two return fares into the resort, he refuses to take my money and gives us a complementary return ticket, saying that the office should have been open. Two kindnesses in as many minutes! The bus only takes five minutes, before dropping us off opposite Bridlington harbour, the driver tells me that this is where we must catch it when we return and that they leave at a quarter to and a quarter past the hour. The leisure centre is about half a mile from here, so Louis and I set off to walk, I am wearing the prosthetics that Sarah made for me on Friday, and wore them in around the house yesterday. As I walk, I can feel that I am now pushing off from my big toe, instead of the one next to it, but it feels somewhat alien and unnatural, after a lifetime of doing it the other way. On the other hand the pain in my left knee, hip and shoulder, has definitely diminished. Bridlington Leisure Centre is run by the East Riding Council, so my monthly pass works here as well, and I only have to pay £2.50p for Louis, before making our way to the changing rooms. He is desperate to get into his trunks and off to the pool, but I insist that he slows down, folds his clothes neatly and wait for me to change and put our clothes in the locker. Louis is always operating at one hundred miles an hour and just needs to slow down and develop a little patience. The fun pool is packed, the bad weather having driven people indoors, and there is a queue of about ten people waiting for the slides. The lifeguard is monitoring them to ensure that there are no collisions, releasing people two at a time, there are two slides, once the previous pair emerge into the splash down pool. I am seated in a chair at the poolside, with other parents and grandparents, watching proceedings. Louis is like a man with ants in his pants as he queues, hopping from one leg to another, and then taking the plastic toppers off the posts that support the chains that demarcate the queues from the pool and then replacing them. During the course of the afternoon, he must have had about thirty trips on the slides and each time he displays this extreme impatience, almost hyperactive. Nevertheless he has a great time, I accompany him in the wave pool and give him a ride on my back in the big pool, but mostly he is happy playing with the other children and I am happy to watch him from the comfort of my chair. Around half past three, he tells me he is hungry, so we retire to the cafeteria, where I order Aberdeen Angus beef burgers, chips and salad for us both. The menu here is identical to Beverley and the food and service equally good. We both clear our plates and then change, before making our way back to catch the quarter to five bus from the harbour. As soon as we leave the pool, a heavy shower comes down, so we walk together, sheltering under my little pocket umbrella. It manages to keep our head and shoulders dry, but our pants are soaked through. The rain stops as suddenly as it had started, when we are within feet of the bus, which is waiting at the stop. It is the same driver, and he notes our condition and then asks us if we have enjoyed our swim! I laugh and say yes, and then Louis dashes off to secure a place on the back seat of the bus. There is another shower as we drive back to Tickton, where we feed Norman, before loading him into the car for another walk round Seven Corners Lane, when we get back to North Bar. Normy duly obliges and produces "treasure", for me to collect and later deposit in a bin, Louis chattering away as we walk on his preferred subject, Football, "is Peder Czech a better Goalie than Joe Hart?" Alice and Sarah return home at a quarter to seven, piled up, with shopping, and after chatting with them for a few minutes, I excuse myself and take Norman home. I am too tired to start my new book, "The Facts of Life", by Patrick Gale, so read my emails and check the news on my IPad, before turning in around half past nine.

A day on the Tex/Mex border.

Wake around half past seven to a cool cloudy morning, and after breakfast, I phone Felicity who tells me she is waiting for another friend, Rob Byass, to drive her to Robin Hood's Bay. This is good news because, on Wednesday, she was having doubts whether she would have the confidence and stamina to go. I wish her well and tell her I will try to pop into see her on Monday or Tuesday, as I am scheduled to look after. Louis tomorrow, whilst Sarah takes Alice shopping to Meadowhall in Sheffield, to buy an outfit for her graduation Prom from Beverley Girls High School. Hannah is also on holiday today and as it has started to rain, I opt against going to the Poppy Seed this morning. When you live alone there is never a shortage of things to do, so after some washing and cleaning, I then settle down to Cormack McCarthy's "No Country For Old Men".  Although I have seen the film with Xavier Bardem, as Anton Chirugh and Tommy Lee Jones as the sherif, I still enjoy the author's masterly use of language and sentence construction, in order to evoke an atmosphere that recreates the austere desert landscape and the rugged individuals who survive there. Sometimes reading in the garden, when the sun comes out and sometimes moving indoors when it rains, I complete the book by nine O'clock in the evening. A day doing not much at all, apart from ringing Gino and Jackie to wish them "Bon Voyage", before they fly off to Sardinia, was just what I needed after a busy week, and before a full day with Louis tomorrow. To bed at ten.

To bed for ten. 

Rebalancer rebalanced

We are up early, as Friday is my day to walk Louis to school, and I need to leave the house by ten past eight. It is a fine, sunny morning, so I take my breakfast, smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye toast, into the garden. Norman's taste in fish extends from kippers, through cod and haddock to smoked salmon and may even include caviar, if he ever got the chance. We park at Sarah's house at a quarter past eight, Alice is still eating breakfast and smiles at me through her cocoa/orange, fake tan disaster, although it seems to have faded just a little. We take our usual route, along North Bar Without, keeping to the north side of the street, because it is separated from the road by a boulevard of trees on this side, where North Bar becomes New Walk, and then make our way down Bleach Yard, where the stable girls are mucking out the horses and preparing them for riding, before passing through the snickett that links to Eden Road and Saint Mary's Primary School. Louis has his usual million questions, "who is better, Wayne Rooney or Christiano Ronaldo?-", and "are wasps harder than bees?" I give him a hug by the school gate and he runs off happily into school. His teacher, Mrs Wildbore, must have the patience of a saint! Norman and I walk back the way we came, at a pace that befits two retired gentlemen, I biting on an apple that I had forgotten was in my coat pocket and saying hello to several harassed mum's, as they speed from the school drop off on to work, or some other task. We are walking with Betty and Nellie again at ten, but that leaves me half an hour when we return to Tickton, which is long enough to hang out some white washing and to put on a load of coloureds. Betty and I walk the dogs slightly further than the bridge, turning left and continuing as far as the end of the field, I think Nellie would have liked to stay out longer, but Norman has already walked to school and back. We chat about this and that as we walk and it emerges that Betty was brought up in an orphanage in Lincolnshire, her husband, who I believe died fairly recently, was a policeman. Norman is getting used to Betty and lets her stroke him when we get back to our street. We agree to walk the dogs together on Monday, as there is a little over two weeks until my holiday. The clouds are building to the west and look ominously dark, but I decide that there is probably time to bring in my whites and mow the lawns before the rain hits and run out the extension lead from the garden room. I have just completed the both lawns when a squall arrives, so help my next door neighbour, Kath, to bring in her washing, from the line. "Do you mind me handling your smalls?" I ask, " At eighty five years of age, I couldn't give a hoot what you handle!" She laughs. She is a fine old lady and a good neighbour. The squall passes and the sun reappears, so I ride my bike to the leisure centre and get caught in a light shower, fortunately I have my cagoule and hat with me, which keeps off the worst of the rain. Terry and his wife are booking into the pool as I show my card, but they are in a hurry and have changed and swum several lengths before I enter the water. They only have their lunch break. I warm up on 400 m mixed medleys again, but stretch the distances, swimming 100m of fly/breastroke and then the same on freestyle/backstroke. My intention is to gradually build stamina on butterfly, as I step up from the 200m Individual Medley to the 400m IM. The first stage will be next week, when I will add some 300m repeats and see how they go. Today, I feel a little stale, so limit my main session to 4 x 200m IM, but ease back a bit, to around seventy percent of race pace, and focus on trying to swim really loose and relaxed. It works, but I don't find yesterday's flow state, there again, I hardly expected to! Afterwards, I warm down with really slow and relaxed 4 x 100m IM and then have a tea and scone in the cafe. The scones are fairly flat and average and fortunately, before I can comment adversely, Sarah says she has made them, they taste OK, but are not the light, fluffy masterpieces that delighted me on Thursday. Around three o'clock I cycle into town and buy a few groceries, before calling in at Chequers, the micro pub. The landlord, Barry, I believe he is called, turns out to be a neighbour and lives a little further down Green Lane than me. He confesses to having seen me walking Norman and my various grandchildren, past his house. The great thing about his pub is that the real ales are always changing, he remembers that I liked the Holderness stout and recommends a similar beer from the Great Newsome Brewery. I try it and it is a lovely, creamy, nutty stout, almost a meal in itself, he also has a lovely amber Old Kentish bitter, so I have a half of that as well. The bitter has a light, but very hoppy, flavour, and where better to get hops than Kent. The two halves last me an hour and I cycle back to Tickton somewhat cautiously, as the weekend getaway has already started. My swimming togs and groceries are in the basket on my pannier, that usually contains Normy, a French Baguette protruding skywards. As I cycle away from the footbridge over the river Hull, Sarah phones, to say that she will be arriving at my house in ten minutes. She is going to treat a  big toenail on my left foot, that is starting to ingrow and needs to be sorted out before it gets any worse. I arrive home five minutes before her, let Norman into the garden and hang out my coloured washing. Louis is with her when she arrives, having collected him from Hector's House on the way. As ever, he is starving and has spotted the baguette, so I suggest I make ante pasta and that we all eat together in the garden, as the sun is shining and another shower does not seem imminent. First Sarah examines my feet, sorts out the ingrowing toenail and then tells me I have a more serious problem, both toes adjacent to the big toe, on either foot, have hard calloused skin on the ends. She tells me, that because of my flat, flexible, feet that I have had all my life, I am pushing off on my second toe, rather than my big toe and the stress is causing them to float upwards. She then asks me to stand while she looks at my feet from behind and then to walk in bare feet, too and fro. "Your left leg is longer than your right and the pain that you think is arthritis, is actually caused by the distortion to your gait this is causing!" She tells me with professional authority, after checking my feet for crepitus, which is a signature of arthritis and finding none. She pops out to her car, produces some orthotic soles in my size, 10 1/2, and then raises the heel on the left one until my legs are balanced. "Wear these in, an hour a day to start, and within two weeks, your so called arthritis, down the left side of your body will be gone." I am deeply grateful, this problem has been getting worse for years and has stopped me running. Sarah tells me she sees at least ten patients a week with the same problem. Afterwards, we eat dinner in the garden, I open a bottle of wine, but Sarah only takes a small glass, as she has to drive. Before she leaves, I thank her again and arrange to collect Louis after nine o'clock Mass on Sunday, so that she can take Alice shopping for her dress for the school prom next week. By the time I have packed everything away and washed up, it is half past eight, I feel too tired to start my new book, so I check my email, then do a little research for Gino and go to bed.

A council of war

I wake at five, the things I read from Gino's paper work, still bubbling in my mind, but after a visit to the toilet, I manage to sleep until eight. When I wake up, I have a very clear idea of what needs to be done for Gino. I don't know about other people, but I find that if I feed problems to my unconscious mind and leave them time to cook, invariably I wake with some kind of viable solution. It doesn't always happen overnight, some problems take much longer to cook than others and to be fair, I have been mulling things over for Gino, since our lunch last Friday. After breakfast, I give him a call and we discuss the matter and it is agreed that I will ride over to West Yorkshire for late afternoon and meet with Gino and my sister, Jackie, who has also arranged for my youngest brother, Andrew, to be in attendance as well. I spend the morning doing some research and then cycle to the pool for a quarter past one. Timing my arrival to coincide with the end of the ladies aqua aerobics class. A group of school children are using the end two lanes, but the next lane is free and I am able to complete a 1,600m training session again. I warm up and warm down on 400m mixed stroke medleys and swim 4 x 200m Individual medleys, at about 80 percent of race pace. I am feeling really good since my holiday and enjoying my swimming. The 200m individual medley is the second most demanding Olympic swimming event, requiring high levels of technical skill, concentration, strength and stamina. The most demanding event being the 400m individual medley. As my strength and stamina have eroded with age, I have tried to compensate with much greater attention to technical skill in the four strokes and as I have said many times before, the swims have become active meditations.   On rare occasions, when everything comes together, I feel as if I am flowing through the water, without consciousness of any exertion. Today for a couple of repeats, I found myself in this "flow" state. Afterwards I ate a scone and drank tea in the cafe, chatting to the kitchen staff, who were having their lunch break, after the midday rush was over. As I cycle back to Tickton, dark clouds are gathering to the west and heavy rain seems about to arrive, but I get home before it rains, hang up my swimming gear and load Norman into the car for his trip to West Yorkshire. We leave at a quarter past three and arrive at Gino and Jackie's house, around four thirty, where it is surprisingly, still dry. Gino is in the garden, Jackie won't be home from work until after five, so we drink tea, give Norman the tin of dog food I brought with me, and chat until she arrives. At five O'clock, on the dot, it starts to rain and we just have time to bring in some of Jackie's dry washing, before the clouds open. She arrives a few minutes later, but my brother Andrew will be some time, as he is coaching the under eleven cricket team after finishing work, although the rain will surely have put paid to that. It is decided that I will drive us to "The Mermaid", probably the best fish and chip restaurant on the planet, for dinner and then meet up with Andrew afterwards. In thirty years of eating at this restaurant, I have yet to be disappointed and the food tonight was as excellent as on all the other previous visits. My sister and Gino are flying out to Sardinia on Saturday for a fortnight's holiday, so we discuss this over our meal. Gino's mother is from Calabria and the Sardinians always tell him that he speaks Italian like a Neapolitan. After dinner, we pop into the nearby supermarket, so that Jackie can pick up some last minute things for her holiday and then we drive back to their house, through a cloudburst. My brother Andrew arrives shortly after we get back and we hold a council of war. After almost forty years service with a major supermarket, Gino has been forced out of his job at their head office and has suffered some collateral damage on the way. Experiencing high levels of stress and depression, which were both cruel and unnecessary. My brother Andrew, who is a union representative and I, will start to prepare a case for an employment tribunal, while Gino and Jackie are on holiday and hopefully this will allow them both to benefit from some overdue rest and recuperation. Norman and I leave at half past nine and drive back to Beverley through the rain. Fortunately, at this time of night, the roads are quiet and we arrive home for a quarter to eleven. I feel thirsty after the fish and chips and so eat some plain yogurt and cold rhubarb, that I stewed in the slow cooker yesterday and was picked from my own garden. I let Norman out to toilet, and fortunately the rain has stopped, at least for now. When he runs back indoors, we both go to bed, for about half past eleven.

Another long lunch with Gino.

Wake at seven to another fine day, after breakfast and a shower, I practise my Tai Chi in the garden and then put Norman on his lead for his "get to know you" walk with Betty and her schnauzer, Nellie. We walk with them as far as the little bridge, with Normy taking his usual position about five paces behind everyone else, but he does seem happy to be back in a pack. Betty and I chat about our children and grandchildren as we walk, and the first outing passes without incident, so we arrange to do it again on Friday morning. When we return home, at a quarter to eleven, I provide Norman with fresh water and a few biscuits, then get on my bike and cycle to Rosemary's house in Beverley, where the Poppy Seeders are meeting for coffee. I arrive at ten past eleven, to find Felicity, Hanne, Annie and Thelma already in attendance. Rosemary provides me with coffee and a slice of excellent lemon drizzle cake, which she has baked specially. We are sat in the lounge, as the weather has clouded over, but the magnificent garden lies just beyond the window pane. A largish lawn gives way to bushes, several of them rhododendron with spectacular orange and lilac blossoms, behind which are mature elms, chestnuts and beech, that tower to almost eighty feet and lend the garden a degree of seclusion, shade and peace. The party breaks up at twelve and Hanne and I walk Felicity back to Albert Terrace, where I stay and have a cup of tea in shangrilala land, the name that Felicity has given to her pocket handkerchief size courtyard, which lies at the back of her house. The sun has now broken through and for a brief spell, it is hot. I had planned to swim today, but my brother in law, Gino, has phoned and wants to meet me at chequers, the micro pub, at half past one. I leave Felicity to her lunch at twenty past and cycle the sort distance to Swaby's Yard, arriving in time to order a half pint of the latest "Wold Top" real ale. Gino arrives at twenty to two and buys me another half, whilst ordering the same for himself and then sitting down beside me. He has been having a tough time at work and had a counselling session this morning, which focused his mind on priorities. Afterwards he decided, as the sun was shining, that this afternoon he would like to be in Beverley, so rang me and drive over. I took a couple of lamb chops out of the freezer this morning, to defrost for dinner, so suggest that we cook in the garden, as I have plenty of salad and some whole meal pitta bread. Gino has parked by Saint Mary's church, on a meter and only has an hour, which is long enough for one more half of Wold Top, before he goes to fetch his car and I cycle home, calling at the supermarket for some extra lamb steaks on the way. My house is two miles from the centre of Beverley, but by the time Gino has found his car and driven to Tickton, I am already home. For short distances, bike beats car every time. I run the extension lead into the garden, plug in the grill and the toaster and then we sit in the sun and prepare salad and a marinade for the meat, out of black pepper, salt, cumin and coriander, both powder and fresh leaves. During our last two family holidays in Holland, Gino and I have invariably done the cooking, so we are a well practised team , and by half past three dinner is ready. We slice open the toasted pitta breads and then load them with salad, grilled lamb, roasted peppers and top  off with mint yogurt. I still have three quarters of a bottle of my Father's Day, Chateauneuf Du Pape and the powerful red wine sets off the lamb to perfection. There are few things nicer than cooking and eating outdoors with friends and so we pass a pleasant afternoon eating and chatting, until it is time for Norman's evening walk. The old boy is in a very good mood, as he has had the fat and the bones from the lamb, in addition to his tin. We walk down to the little bridge, the sun still warm, even though it is already past seven, above our heads swallows swoop acrobatically, as they harvest the evening midges. Gino leaves about half past seven and after he has gone, I clear away the dinner things, wash up and then sit at my desk, reading through a pile of papers that Gino has asked me to look at. By half past eleven, I have had enough, my eyes are closing, so I call it a night and go to bed, after first letting Norman into the garden, for a final toilet of the day.

Constructing a happy day.

We are up for seven thirty, to a bright sunny day and after breakfast, I write up yesterday's blog, which takes a while, as it was a long and eventful day. Around eleven o'clock, Norman and I walk down as far as the little bridge over the dyke again, chatting to several neighbours along the way, who are also walking their dogs. It is another pleasantly mild and warm, late spring day, with the sun occasionally burning through the high cloud and lifting the temperature by ten degrees, temporarily, before becoming obscured again. We return home for noon, I give Normy some biscuits and fresh water, before driving to the leisure centre for a swim. The pool is fairly quiet again and I am able to secure a free lane, where I run through my medley programme, warming up and down on 400m mixed stroke medleys and then swimming a set of 4 x 200m individual medleys, as the main session, two fewer than yesterday, as I am collecting Louis from school this afternoon and need to preserve my energy. There are freshly baked, sultana scones, in the cafe again, but when I start to congratulate Danny, one of the other chefs, tells me she has made them. She is a young, shy girl, so I tell her that her scones are every bit as good as Danny's and she blushes with pleasure. Of such small, human interactions are happy days constructed. Before collecting Louis from Saint Mary's Primary School, I call at the supermarket to buy Parma ham, Bavarian smoked cheese and a large baguette, for his ante pasta tea, which we will eat in the garden. Whilst I wait for him, sitting in the sun in the playground, I ring Felicity, to confirm that we are both going to Rosemary's, instead of the Poppy Seed, tomorrow. All the usual suspects will be there and I tell the old girl that I will walk her back home afterwards. Rosemary lives round the corner from her, in a large house with a lovely garden. Louis emerges from his class and shouts to his teacher, Mrs. Wildbore, that he can see his grandad, so she lets him out through a little gate, into my custody. As usual, he wants to play football on Tickton playing fields, but has forgotten to bring his ball. "Never mind, perhaps one of the other boys will have brought one, when we get there." I tell him. First, when we get home, we unpack the shopping, let Normy into the garden and give him some fresh water, and then walk back to the playing fields, through the snickett, at the end of Green Lane. When we arrive, the play area with its climbing frames, swings and roundabouts, is packed with children from the local Primary school, but none of the boys has a football, so Louis and two other boys, play a game of racing each other to the far end of the field, about a hundred yards away. The sun is shining brightly and it is now very hot, so I take a seat beneath a tree in the shade and watch them, marvelling at their energy. After ten minutes the other boys have to leave with their mum and so Louis asks to play with some children who are on the roundabout. Unfortunately the roundabout only has four seats and there are about ten children who want to play, so I intervene and suggest a game. I will push them round quickly for a few minutes, until they are dizzy and then they have to walk round the climbing frame and return. The last two have to give up their seats to the next in the queue of children waiting. The kids love the game and stagger drunkenly when the ride stops, laughing out loud if they topple over. Of course the game has to be adjusted for the smaller children, but everyone plays happily for a while, until the numbers dwindle down to three. At this point, I sit in the fourth seat and propel the roundabout using my feet, when it stops, I don't even attempt to stand, as I am sure I would topple over. Fortunately the sun has retreated behind the clouds again, so it is not too hot. We finish off our hour's play on the balancing snake, which is a combination of walking along a rotating wooden log and then stepping on to a tubular frame with foot plates, shaped like a snake, about six inches from the ground. Everything for Louis has to be a competition, so we play the first to walk across it, without touching the ground three times and when I win, we make it the best of five and this time I  make sure I lose. There are two little girls playing on the climbing frame, a series of metal ladders that rise eight feet from the ground before descending to the floor again. Louis joins in and although one of the girls is only a year younger, the other is barely four years old and both are tiny, compared to him. He shows them scant regard and starts to bully his way past them, ignoring my requests to play nicely and be gentle with them. Intervention is necessary again, so I squirt him with the plastic water bottle we have brought, catching him full in the face. The girls roar with laughter as he shakes the water out of his hair and now that I have his attention, I insist that he plays nicely, or we will leave immediately. He does and we are about the last to leave the swing park, around a quarter past five. Back home he plays "Temple Run", on my iPad, arguing that the ban imposed by his mum applied only to his epad, and that the three day ban applied to Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, and as it started on Sunday tea time has expired at the same time today. Of course his maths are faulty, it is only two days, but it keeps him out of mischief, whilst I lay the table in the garden for our ante pasta and slice the French stick. We are both starving and between us we eat all the food on the table, feeding the occasional titbits to Norman, who has also had his dog tin outside in the garden. Louis plays on the iPad again whilst I clear the dinner things away and then we walk Norman down to the little bridge again, pausing for Louis to climb, the old hollow willow tree, that has two holes in its trunk, like port holes, that Louis has christened his "Pirate Ship". When we arrive at the bridge, he pays at being a troll and Norman and I have to be "Little Billy Goats Gruff," before making our way back and playing the "Praise and Pat," game with Normy. It is almost half past seven when I deliver him back to Sarah's house, his mum is in the bath and Alice is in the dining room, looking sheepish, her face a weird cocoa/red colour. She confesses that she has been experimenting with fake tan and overdone it a bit. She is sixteen and only finished her GCSE exams last Friday. "Don't worry, it will probably have worn off a bit, by the time you start college in September!" I tease and she has to laugh. Sarah's friend, Richard, is in the lounge and we chat for a minute, I gather he and Sarah will be going out later, and then it is time for me to go home, as the events of the day are catching up with me. I arrive back in Tickton at eight, try to meditate for a while, but promptly fall asleep, so put on my pyjamas and have an early night.

Wicked Great Uncle, David!

We are up for seven and eat breakfast in the garden, the sun is shining and it is a lovely morning, but to the West clouds are gathering on the horizon again, so we could have showers later. TheTai Chi beginners class starts at nine twenty, and as the weather is fine, I decide to go on my bike, leaving the house at ten to nine and arriving at the Memorial Hall, where the classes are held, at a quarter past. I pay my £3 joining fee and then make my way to the class, there are about twenty, mostly retired women, but there is also one other man, whom I recognise, his name is Crispin and he is also a swimmer. Crispin is very tall, at least 6' 6"", he says hello and asks me why I have come. I explain about the arthritis and the recent research recommending Tai Chi. Janet, the instructor calls me over, vaguely remembers me from last week and gives me hurried instructions, "don't try to do too much", she says, and then we are into the warm up. She zips through it at a very brisk pace, about ten times as fast as my previous Tai Chi classes, but slows down when we start the exercises properly. It emerges that she is also somewhat of a comedienne and has a kind of dual personality, one half, calm, graceful martial artist, the other more Dawn French, doing her Vicar of Dibley thing. After the class, I cycle back to Tickton, down past Beverley Beck and alongside the River Hull, using the single track road, there are hundreds of horses and ponies on Swinemoor now and several are stood on top of the opposite bank, watching me as I pedal by. Norman is waiting patiently for his morning walk when I return and we make our way down Carr Lane, as far as the little bridge, people are taking advantage of the fine weather and working in their gardens as we approach the snickett. The sun is not too hot, being mostly screened by a thin veil of high cloud, but this suits Normy, as it can get hot close to the ground. We get back by noon and I give the old boy some fresh water and a few biscuits, before grabbing my swimming things and climbing back on my bike in order to ride to the leisure centre. It is a quarter to one when I emerge into the pool, which is fortunately quiet, and I share a double lane with Terry, who is a regular. After a 400m mixed medley warm up, I am feeling strong and well, so repeat last week's  6 x 200 Individual Medley session, trying to stay relaxed and fluent, and gratifyingly the times are ten seconds faster than Friday, so warm down with a very relaxed 400m mixed medley and then enjoy a tea and scone in the cafe. As I leave, Sam waves, she is sat in some sort of conference meeting with a group of women, about her age, she tells me that Andrew is taking the girls swimming on Wednesday and so they won't be able to come for tea. I tell her to text me to arrange another convenient day, as I can see she is busy, and then make my way back to my bike and cycle back up the riverside again to Tickton. It is three o'clock when I arrive home and I am due at Irene and David's house at half past four, so after hanging out my towel and costume in the garden, I quickly pack some overnight things and then load Norman and his basket in the car. We skirt round Beverley to the York Road, driving through the village of Etton and emerging on the top of the Wolds, the Vale of York spread before us, as we descend the hill towards Market Weighton. The drive takes exactly an hour, Irene is having an afternoon sleep and David also working in his garden, when we arrive in Copmanthorpe, Normy greets him enthusiastically, as he remembers that David always seems to have meat somewhere. He isn't disappointed, a piece of boiled ham is found from the fridge. While David showers and wakes Irene, to get ready, I give Normy his dog tin and then take him for his toilet walk, as far as the village centre, about half a mile away. He does his duty and when we get back Irene is up and dressed and presents me with a coffee and some shortbread fingers, which I accept gratefully, as it could be eight o'clock before we eat dinner. We leave at half past five, Norman remains in Irene's kitchen, in his basket, a fresh bowl of water at his side. The drive to Birkenshaw, where my sister, Jackie, lives, only takes half an hour and is mostly on Motorways, the M1 and M62. Although it is rush hour, the traffic isn't too bad and the notorious roundabout, where the M62 and the M1 meet, has mercifully now been replaced with a flyover, so we encounter no hold ups. Gino and Jackie have never met Irene and David, as they are part of the Oldroyd side of my family, Irene is my mother's sister's daughter and Jackie's mum, Mary, was my stepmum. Introductions are made, then Gino and David compare notes on form masters, as they both attended St Bede's Grammar school in Bradford, David ten years before Gino. Jackie and Gino are collecting my youngest brother, Andrew, before meeting my niece, Melanie and her family for dinner at Aldo's, an Italian Restaurant in Cleckheaton, about a mile away, so we arrange to meet them there. We drive through Gomersal and when we get to the Town Hall car park in Cleckheaton, arrive simultaneously with Gino, and Melanie. I haven't seen my niece since her wedding day, sixteen years ago, and consequently have never met her two girls, Alex and Hannah. After an initial hug with her and a handshake with her husband, David, she introduces them, Alex, is thirteen, slim, tall and athletic and already a young woman. Her sister, Hannah, is ten, stick thin and slightly gawky, she is also very shy and hides behind her mum, but laughs when I adopt a pretend, evil, Russian accent and tell her, " You do good to hide! Wicked great uncle, likes to eat leetle girrrls!" After this, the ice is broken and we become great friends, playing with her iPhone, which has an app that allows you to take photos and then manipulate them, too alter the eyes, nose, mouth and hair. Taking photos of each other and then turning them into suitable scary monsters. Aldo's is packed, unusual for a Monday evening, until Gino says the restaurant does "early bird", specials to drum up trade. It Is run on similar lines to Florio's in Scarborough, where my cousin Beverley's 60th birthday was held. Italians have a genius for relaxed, friendly, family orientated restaurants. My other brother Chris is already there, with his wife Michelle and their children, Danny, who is about twenty two, Emily, who is sixteen and Lorna, who is Michelle's daughter and about the same age. I introduce Irene and David to everyone and quip that it is a bit like, (Meet the Fockers!) Soon we are absorbed with the business of ordering and eating and exchanging family news. Hannah shows me the pictures of her house in Vancouver, that her dad built himself, it is large by English standards, about six bedrooms, but normal for North America. She has pictures of it emerging through blueprints to foundations to roofing and then completion. In the summer and deep in snow. Although Alex tells me they only had one day of snow this winter, thanks to global warming. Hannah also has a picture of Alex receiving a prize for skating, the athletic physique presumably a result of hours of practice on the ice. I expect that the next time I see Hannah, she will also have metamorphosized into elegant womanhood. After half an hour, I notice Irene and David are a bit isolated, they are sat opposite Chris, who is naturally very quiet, so I change places with Jackie and go to sit next to them. Danny is sat next to his dad and tells me that he is flying to Paris in the morning from Manchester and that Chris is running him to the station for half past five, in order to catch the train to the airport. Danny is a lovely young man, openly and happily gay, with a degree in theatrical make up and a current job on Harvey Nick's makeup department, in Leeds. Between us we get the conversation going at this end of the table and soon I am joined again by Hannah, who wants to play some more. It seems I have another friend. Kids and dogs seem to like me. The party breaks up at a quarter to ten, Aldo giving us his Frank Sinatra routine, singing along to the background music and then we are all outside making our way to the car park to say our goodbyes. Hannah wants to be carried, so I lift her onto my shoulders and pretend to be a horse. Gino tells her that she can steer me by pulling on my ears on the side she wishes me to go, so I am steered back to the car park, where we all hug and kiss and wish them well. Melanie. David and the girls, are flying over to Amsterdam, later in the week and being met by her dad, my brother Graham, who will drive them to his house in Rotterdam for a few days, before returning to England and then flying back to Vancouver. It has been a long, happy and eventful day, I drop Irene and David back in Copmanthorpe, collect Norman and then decide to return home, as I don't feel too tired and the roads are now quiet. We get back around half past eleven and by midnight, are both fast asleep.

Father's Day in Hornsea. (Sunday June 16th)

Norman wakes me at six thirty and tells me that he really needs to use the garden, so I get up and let him out, to a clear, sunny morning. After relieving himself, he sprints into the kitchen and I give him some Baker's in his bowl and then go back to bed. I am awoken at eight by the phone, it is my cousin Michael, ringing from Erlangen, in Germany. We chat for twenty minutes, but the line is bad, so he says he will call back next week. He wants me to fly over in October and go walking again in the Alps. After he has rung off' I fry kippers for breakfast and then eat them in the garden, sitting in bright sunshine. As they are Normy's favourites, I save half a fillet for him and then we sit for a while, I drinking coffee and Norman taking in the rays, lying on his side. Out of curiosity, I check flights to Munich in October, and if I book early, it could be done for less than £100 return but that is just the flights. After a shower, I dress in shorts and a polo shirt and walk Norman round the village, on our way back we bump into Betty and Nellie, her schnauzer, going the other way and firm up on the arrangements for her to look after Norman for the second half of my holiday in July. We arrange to walk the dogs together on Wednesday, so that Normy can get used to her and Nelly. After we arrive home, I drive to Saint John's for ten thirty mass and leave Normy with Sarah. She, Richard and the children are still eating a late full English breakfast and  Louis is back to his usual, larger than life, boisterous self. We all have a good sing at Mass and we even try hard with the final hymn, which is a modern tune, that nobody likes very much. Afterwards, I collect Norman and firm up with Sarah on the arrangements for Father's Day, we are going to Hornsea, for an afternoon on the beach and then we are having a fish and chip tea at Sullivan's. Sarah collects me at one and we are on Hornsea beach by a quarter past, it is a little over ten miles from my house. Hornsea is a nice little seaside town, with a steep pebbly beach, and soggy, black, wooden tidebreaks, every hundred yards, and stretching away to the north towards Bridlington Bay. There is also a large lake, Hornsea Mere, a quarter of a mile inland, where there is a sailing club. We park on a side street, less than a hundred yards from the beach and quickly make our way there. Although it is Father's Day, it is also a Louis seaside day and he has brought his football and four little yellow plastic cones, to indicate the goalposts. It is almost high tide, so the beach is narrow, and slopes steeply to the sea, at an angle of fifteen to twenty degrees or so. Within five minutes, the ball has rolled into the sea, so I have to remove my sandals in order to retrieve it. Unfortunately this means that I have to walk across the rough pebbles in my soft, bare feet and it is not a pleasant experience. We persevere for half an hour, but after the umpteenth recovery of the ball from the briny, I have had enough. My ball control isn't brilliant and Louis's is worse yet, so we build a castle instead, but out of pebbles, scouring the beach for large, flat ones. Me trying to remember how to build a dry stone wall, from a memory of an old dalesman, showing me, when I was stationed at the Royal Signals training centre in Catterick, all of forty years ago. Anyway it keeps Louis amused, and gradually our pebble castle rises from the beach, looking exactly like a cairn, which is what it actually is. Louis keeps breaking off from the construction work for a paddle, but brings a few more pebbles, each time he returns. The weather is fine and warm, the sun occasionally breaking through the low cloud. Sarah and Alice seem happy sitting on their blanket, watching the sea and the trickle of other day trippers, who wander across our bit of beach, occasionally bringing me a polystyrene cup of tea. Louis' excursions into the sea grow ever more daring and his mother is getting stressed, but I tell her to relax, I can be in and fish him out within seconds, if he slips or gets washed out to sea. He can swim well enough to stay afloat for five minutes, although the North Sea at this time of year is freezing. He does in fact eventually slip and go under, but quickly finds his feet again and gets back up. Eventually the water is too cold even for Louis and he runs to Sarah to be towelled dry and put on his clothes again. The castle/cairn is finished, it is not very high, standing about a metre tall, and I persuade Louis not to demolish it immediately, to see how long it might last. Above us, on the promenade, is a small cafe with tables and a paddling pool, so we adjourn there for half an hour. In the centre of the pool is an island and Louis decides to see how many times he can run round it, splashing some girls, who are also paddling quietly, as he does so. They get out of his way and as they pass me, I hear one say to the other, "boys are so annoying!" Louis, in full flow, certainly can be. At half past four, we make our way to Sullivan's, where they are doing a brisk trade, because of Father's Day. At a table behind us, a woman, about my age, is struggling with her elderly father, who has quite severe dementia. My heart goes out to them. It takes a while before the meals arrive and Louis is becoming bored and fidgety, despite threats of an epad ban from his mum, he finds it almost impossible to sit still, but eventually, mercifully, the meals arrive. The food is excellent and our appetites have been sharpened by an afternoon on the beach, so we all clear our plates. Once the meal is over, Louis begins to perform again. All six year old boys are easily bored, Louis more than most, he gets told off by me and receives a 3 day epad ban from his mum. Not wishing to inflict him further on the other diners, we leave the cafe and then take a slow walk along the promenade, our castle has been reduced to a smear of pebbles on the beach, a group of small boys are playing in incriminatingly close proximity. sittiing in the car while Sarah drives us home, Louis attempts to plea bargain his epad ban down to one day, but Sarah threatens him with a whole week unless he desists and he finally admits defeat. She tells me that Louis is much brighter than Clement was at his age, and he is about to enter the third year of an engineering masters degree at UCL. I hope Louis' attention span improves somewhat, as he gets older. When we arrive back in Tickton, I invite them in for coffee and a piece of the cheesecake that Sarah gave me for Father's Day, along with a nice bottle of Chateauneuf Du Pape. She declines, telling me that Louis is past his "sell by date", and needs to be taken home. I give her the cheesecake back, as I don't really have a sweet tooth, and as it will go off before it is eaten at my house. Indoors, Norman is waiting for his dinner, so after persuading him to go to the garden, I feed him a tin of dog food and settle down to read the last four chapter's of Patrick Gale's, "Rough Music". I finish it by nine thirty, a deeply satisfying book, although the content is disturbing. I like his writing and consider it better than Philip Roth's, his subjects are the English middle classes, rather than Roth's Jewish Americans, but his writing seems less self indulgent somehow, more nuanced and restrained, but perhaps that is just my English sensibility, or prejudice. To bed for ten.

Things to do between showers (Thursday June 13th)

We are up by seven and after feeding Normy, I settle into my new early morning routine of cider vinegar in hot water and Tai Chi in the garden. It remains cool and cloudy this morning and rain is forecast for later, so after breakfast and a shower, I make a Lasagne, using the last of the pasta sauce made from the lamb mince, laying fresh basil leaves between each layer and topping it with freshly grated cheddar, as I have run out of Mozzarella and then put it in the fridge for the flavours to infuse until dinner time this evening. Then I take Norman for his walk, but only as far as the little bridge, as he seems quite unenthusiastic. When we return, I decide there is just time to mow the lawns  and repair the damaged patches before going for a swim. I do this and then put a cover of cling film over the seeds and peg it down with tooth picks. I find this helps to stop the birds eating the seeds and also provides a temporary greenhouse effect, which accelerates germination. The cover is flimsy and only will only last for four or five days, but usually that is enough to get things started. It begins to rain as I pull into the  leisure centre car park, so I hurry to reception, arriving around midday, but the filtration problem has not been resolved and the pool is closed until at least 4PM. Time for yet another of Danny's scones and a complementary pot of tea in the cafe, where I have a laugh with Paul, one of the coaches and personal trainers, who, like my daughter Sarah, supplements his coaching salary from the council, with private clients. We are laughing about the film "True Romance", a Tony Scott film, with dialogue by Tarantino and its outrageous, non PC take on the modern fairy tale. It also boasts the best cast list of any film I have seen. As well as Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette in the lead roles, there are cameos, from Brad Pitt, Gary Oldman, Samuel L Jackson, Val Kilmer, Dennis Hopper, Christopher Walken, Chris Penn and James Gandolfino. Later I drive to Tesco and buy a small bag of  compost, with which to pot the geraniums I bought yesterday from Laura's school and also a bottle of Cabernet Shiraz, to accompany the Lasagne, I made this morning. There are people crowded into the supermarket doorway, sheltering from the heavy shower, but I have my umbrella and the rain is hardly likely to spoil the compost, or the wine, so I push through it to the car and drive home by half past three, just as the school run is at its height in Green Lane. Once indoors, I give Norman a few biscuits to keep him going until dinner and then meditate for an hour. Around six thirty, David phones to confirm arrangements for Monday and a few moments later, the phone rings again, this time it is my brother in law Gino, he has a day off tomorrow and wants to come over and go out for lunch. We arrange to meet at my house, around midday. Finally, I receive a text from Sarah, asking if I can come an hour earlier tomorrow morning, in order to get Louis ready for school, as Alice has her last GCSE exam and it is mathematics, so she needs a stress free breakfast time beforehand. I text back complying, set my phone alarm for six and then put the Lasagne in the oven on a timer, catching up on some more blogs/ journals while it cooks. The result is very pleasing, lamb, tomato sauce, Basil and cheddar combine well, helps by the wine and a ciabatta bread roll. Norman approves as wellbut became somewhat impatient,  as we had to wait of it to cool before it was safe to eat. After dinner I read another couple of chapters of Patrick Gale and then turn in around eleven.

A smorgasbord of a Saturday. (Saturday 15thJune)

We get up early again after a restless night, I made the mistake of eating a cheese and tomato sandwich before going to bed at eleven, not being hungry earlier, because of our late lunch. By way of compensation, it is  a sparkling morning, the strong sunshine reflecting from millions of raindrops, like so many diamonds, in the hedges and on the flowers. My garden blackbird is singing is head off and goldfinches are flitting and twittering in the bushes. Before seven, I have hung out a line of washing and had breakfast in the garden. Around eight, I phone Gino, with some more ideas about the things we discussed yesterday and then ring Felicity, to see if she is going to the Poppy Seed. She is and asks if I will walk her down to the Georgian Quarter exposition this morning, I say I will, but caution her from doing too much, as it is an extra quarter of a mile from there back to Albert Terrace and she struggled last week, just getting back from the Poppy Seed. She gets quite shirty and says I mustn't tell her what she can't do. Before setting off, I make a Caprese and put it in the refrigerator to cook until this evening and then shower and dress. There is just time to run through my Tai Chi exercises for ten minutes in the garden, before driving into town. I try to park down North Bar, so that the car is handy, in case Felicity runs out of steam visiting the Georgian Quarter, but there is also first communion for the children at Saint John's, and as a consequence, I have to park down Norfolk Street, almost on the Hurn. It takes a good fifteen minutes to walk Normy to the Poppy Seed from here, but it gives him ample time to deposit treasure and empty his bladder on the way. We arrive shortly after ten thirty, to find Jill, Hanne and Felicity at our usual table, the old girl is just polishing off a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, and luckily for Normy, has spilt some on the floor. Joy, Felicity's sister, arrives and sits next to me and Rosemary turns up ten minutes later. Joy tells me that Felicity's daughter, Melissa, is also coming and that she is taking Felicity home. Felicity is both angry and embarrassed when Joy tells me this, as she had made no mention of Melissa when she spoke to me earlier, although it was arranged yesterday. It seems she is only relaying bad news to her friends at the moment, perhaps to elicit more sympathy. There is a degree of hilarity, as various luminaries from the town keep popping into the cafe, in order to avoid the heavy showers, that seem to be occurring every quarter of an hour. The weather has its own view about the Georgian Quarter Exposition! Melissa arrives, around half past eleven and shows me the scar on her foot, where she had a large ganglion removed, but tells me that she is now able to walk perfectly normally, although, sensibly, she is wearing flat shoes for a change. During her convalescence, her brothers, Richard and Stuart, who both live over the Pennines, in Lancasire, have taken on the role of looking after their mum. Melissa has managed to park a little way down the road, right next to the exposition, which she wants to see as well, so I let her take her mum and Normy and I pop into the market to buy fruit and vegetables, before retracing our steps to Norfolk street, where we are limited to two hours parking. There are large puddles in the market and I have to guide Norman round them, but we manage to complete our shop and get back to the car, without getting soaked. I had meant to buy a cagoule in a bag from Boyes, as mine disappeared in Austria and another small umbrella, as I lost my little black one yesterday, when I was out with Gino. In showery weather, I take a little bum bag, in which I can store, the cagoule, a brolly and a hat, as well as a small tube of sun block. This way I am prepared for all eventualities. By the time we arrive home, just before one, both Norman and I are starving, so I make a three egg omelette and chop up some smoked salmon, which I sprinkle liberally, before folding it. I eat this with rye toast and accompany it with strong, black, Italian coffee. Norman has to make do with Bakers, but I let him have a few morsels of salmon as well. In between the showers, I manage to read another chapter of my book and then replace the inner tube of my bike's front wheel with a new one, before being driven indoors by another downpour. With nothing else to do, it is impossible to avoid doing some admin, so I take out one of the drawers of files from my old wall unit and refile all the correspondence into the filing drawer in the desk I bought from Leslie's daughter, Margaret. The empty green files in the desk drawer, still have the tabs with his file titles on them, so I have to replace these, one by one, as I set up my filing system, writing tabs, for bank, insurance, pension etc. etc. There are still two more drawers to do, but there are also lots more showers forecast. The job is neither difficult, nor tiring, but it is excruciatingly boring, although necessary, if my affairs are to be kept in order. Around four o'clock, I suddenly realise that Norman has no dog tins, so drive into town and park at Tesco's. Temporarily the weather is fine, so I walk through town to Boyes in order to buy another cagoule in a bag and a brolly. They only have cagoules in blue in my size, but fashion isn't the main consideration, my old one was green, but blue is OK too. As soon as I emerge from the store, the skies open and I erect my new umbrella and walk smugly past those poor souls caught in the open without one and now dashing for cover. As I cross Swaby's Yard, on my way back to the car, I pass the little Micro Pub, that is actually called Chequers, and decide to pop in for a half pint of their excellent Holderness Stout. In fact it was so good, they have sold out, but fortunately they have another milk stout instead, so I try that. It is also very acceptable, but not as good as the one yesterday. I ask to join a couple sat on a bench against the wall and they welcome me readily, soon they are telling me about a recent holiday in Oman and ask if I know where it is? " I ought to", I reply, " I spent six weeks patrolling it, from top to bottom in 1970 !" We then spend fifteen minutes chatting about the changes in Muscat, Ibri and Salallah. Finally I buy Norman's tins in Tesco's and drive home, arriving about six and feeding him, before settling down to my tomato and Mozarella salad, that has been cooking in the refrigerator since this morning, I eat it with a fresh baguette and a glass of the Cabernet Shiraz. Afterwards, I reply to an email from my sister in law, Liliane and then finally get up to date with my blog/journal. Catching up has been a bit of a love/hate process, necessity and compulsion. My sister, Jackie, has Facebook and I have this. I harbour delusions that, perhaps, my grandchildren will read it at some future date. Although watching Margaret dispose of Leslie's effects, has dispelled quite a few illusions. At least a digital archive is easier to dispose of than a paper one. It can be done with a single stoke of the keyboard! A comforting thought, perhaps I can now get on and finally finish my Patrick Gale book!

A lovely, long, lazy, lunch with Gino (Friday June 14th)

The alarm rouses me at six, no time for Tai Chi first thing this morning, so after breakfast and a shower , I am on my way to Sarah's house. The cool, showery weather continues, but the sun shines brightly as I pull up outside her house, at a few minutes before half past. I have remembered to bring my keys today and so let myself in and am amazed to find Sarah still there. She tells me that Louis woke with a temperature and now cannot walk.  He looks well enough, sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast cereal, and when Sarah disappears into the lounge, I ask him to stand up and then try walking a few steps, which he does, but then collapses and has to crawl, the minute his mother reappears. Sarah examines his lower legs and feet minutely and can find nothing wrong, but research on the Internet suggests that some viral infections can result in precisely this kind of paralysis in boys of his age. I am unconvinced, it is too convenient an illness and in precisely the area in which his mother specialises. It is also a paralysis that leaves him blithely unconcerned, happily playing away on his epad. I take Sarah to one side and suggest that this could be psychosomatic, but as a mother she can't take any chances, so she cancels all her appointments for the day and takes Louis to A and E at Hull Royal Infirmary. Later after spending the best part of a day queuing to be seen, my suspicions are confirmed and by early afternoon he has miraculously recovered. Before I leave Sarah's, I give Alice a good luck hug, before her maths GCSE and then walk Normy round Seven Corners Lane. It is brightening as we walk and once the sun comes out, the temperature rockets by a full ten degrees, we are nearing the solstice and the solar radiation is intense. After his walk, I drive Norman back to Tickton, ring the Leisure Centre to see if the pool is open, and when they confirm it is, set off to drive back to Beverley, in order to fit in my swim before Gino arrives at midday. Any hopes I had of the pool being quiet, because people might think it still closed, are soon dispelled when I arrive, a few minutes after ten. The pool is busy, every lane with at least four swimmers in it. Undeterred, I join a double lane in the centre of the pool, where the swimmers are following a clockwise rotation and somehow manage to fit in a 400m mixed medley warm up. This comprises two lengths of two strokes fly and two strokes breaststroke and a further two lengths of three strokes front crawl and four strokes back crawl, repeated four times. Swimming fly and backstroke with other swimmers about is difficult, but this way, changing every few strokes, I am able to see them and swim around as I overtake. A one to one swimming class in the end lane finishes and I move into the vacant space and am able to swim 6 x 200m individual medleys and then warm down with another 400m mixed medley. I complete the session by eleven and have time for a pot of tea before driving back to Tickton to meet my brother in law, Gino, having first apologised to Danny for not ordering one of his scones. I arrive home just before noon and receive a text from Gino to say he will be another half hour, the sun is shining brightly, so I open my bag of compost and pot the geraniums from Laura's school. I am just finishing when Gino arrives, so I switch on the coffee filter and make a large pot of strong, black, Italian coffee. We sit in the sun drinking it, whilst Gino asks my advice about some work related problems he is having. Around half past one, we decide to drive into town and have lunch at Rolando's, a bakery, cum cafe, cum Italian restaurant, that we both like. We park at Tesco's, (three hours free), and then walk into town, stopping in Swaby's Yard, to try the new "Micro Pub", that has just opened. It sells real ale and inside it is really nice, seating about twenty at a maximum, but there are tables outside as well. Gino orders a half pint of Wold Top bitter and I have a half of Holderness stout. Both beers are excellent. From a business point of view, it makes sense, low overheads and relatively high margin, speciality real ale. We walk through Saturday Market to Saint Mary's and then down North Bar Within to Rolando's, which is just before the Bar, a fifteenth century brick gateway to the town. Black clouds are gathering and another heavy shower seems imminent, so we opt to take a table inside, rather than one of those on the pavement. By now it is a quarter past two and the lunchtime trade has mostly passed, so we have a choice of tables, Rolando himself is in attendance, so I give him a book that I have been promising him, that Gino has just brought back. It is called "Heat" and records the experiences of the author, Bill Buford, when he takes up the challenge from a guest at a dinner party he is giving, in New York, where he is working. This guest is called Mario, "The Iron Chef", famous for his programmes on TV in the USA. The challenge is to try and survive in a professional restaurant kitchen for six months. The kitchen in question is the one in which Mario's restaurant food is cooked. The book records Buford's experience and not only does he survive six months, but actually continues for a whole year and then goes to Tuscany to research the origins of Italian cuisine. Here he works for a specialist butcher, discovers the "Slow Movement" and explores the origins of French Haute Cuisine, that apparently date back to the marriage of Catherine de Medici to one of the Louis, I think Louis the fourteenth. Apparently she took her chef with her. Anyway it is a great book, beautifully written and researched and brimming with lovely titbits and insider secrets about Italian food and cuisine. I first read it three years ago and bought another copy for Leslie, who also loved it, he bought another four copies and gave them as Xmas presents to foodie relatives and friends. Gino and I settle to a really long, late lunch, order an ante pasta platter for two, a pile of bread, a bottle of house red and a bottle of water to go with it and then chat and eat slowly until five o'clock. Outside the sun is shining brightly again, so we order lemon sorbets and take them outside, having to dry the chairs with napkins, as they still have pools of water from the last shower. Another old friend, Nico, Rolando's Albanian/Italian chef, comes and sits at the next table with his girlfriend, he asks about Louis, who he has known since a baby and asks if he is bigger than me yet. I tell him he was six last Saturday, but won't grow past me until he is at least eight! After the sorbet, we finish off the meal with coffee and while we are drinking it, a dog walking friend of mine comes and joins us. Her name is Danaila, and she hails originally from Bulgaria, so I always call her Sophia. She is joined by another friend, who owns the fine art gallery and we all chat and laugh in the warm sunshine for five minutes before it is time for us to leave, our three hours free parking at Tesco is about to expire and there is a £70 fine if you exceed it. I know, I was caught out a couple of years ago! We get back to Tickton for six, feed Normie and then walk him down to the little bridge. On the way back, I show Gino the "praise and pat" game. He leaves at seven, after allowing plenty of time for his half bottle of wine to wear off. We have had a lovely afternoon, and he says it is like a little holiday, getting away from the densely populated, sprawling conurbation of  West Yorkshire, that is home to five million people. Later, I write some more blog/journals, with luck, I will have caught up by tomorrow, and then manage another chapter of Patrick Gale before bedtime.

Lamb pittas with Laura

During the night I have to shed the blanket over my duvet, as it has become much warmer during the night. When we get up, around seven and I venture into the garden to repeat my Tai Chi exercises, the wind has swung to the south and it is much, much, warmer. I also repeat my early morning dose of hot water and cider vinegar, which tastes quite nice, with a little sweetener added. My arthritis feels better this morning, much less stiffness in my hands and feet, but whether this is my remedies, or the change in the weather, is anyone's guess, but more likely the latter, after such a short time interval. After breakfast, I phone Felicity, who sounds much more cheerful and says she will try to make the Poppy Seed this morning. We leave the house at ten and it is cloudy and spotting with rain, but undeterred, I load Norman into his pillion seat in the basket on my bike, padded out with an old embroidered cushion, that I inherited from my last bungalow. We set off and are soon pedalling into a brisk headwind, nevertheless it still only takes a quarter of an hour to cover the couple of miles to the cafe. I park the bike outside and enter, expecting to find Felicity, but once more I am the first to show. Hanne arrives after five minutes and tells me Felicity has had a tumble between some dustbins, outside her house. She is mercifully unhurt, but felt a little shook up and decided to stay at home. Hanne is driving her to the diabetic clinic after lunch. Annie is dropped off by her daughter, Pippa, who is visiting until Friday and Thelma arrives five minutes later. Hanne has been fascinated by a TV programme which covered the recent scientific breakthrough about the ability to hide, or cloak information, in a fibre optic light stream, and proceeds to enthral the others about it. ( I read about it in the Guardian Science section, a few days ago). She is also going to see Helen Mirren, in a telecast of "The Audience" tonight, but I don't fancy it, having seen Mirren do the Queen before. Norman starts to get restless about half past eleven, so I say goodbye to the girls and take him for a quick toilet walk to the market square, where he empties his bladder, and then we ride home. The sun has come out and it is hot, so I have to shed a couple of layers, the warm westerly wind is now behind us and so we fairly fly home, arriving just before noon. It is so warm that I take off my jeans and change into shorts, before driving to the pool, needing the car in order to collect Laura from Molescroft Primary later. When I arrive at the Leisure Centre, I am told the pool is closed, because of a problem with the filtration system, but that it should be OK by three. This is no good to me, as I have to collect Laura by half past, so I make my way to the cafe for a tea and one of Danny's scones, as a consolation prize. Sandra, on the counter, tells me a fresh batch of scones are in the oven and that they will be ready in ten minutes, if I am prepared to wait. I concur and also receive a free  pot of tea, as a compensation to swimmers, because of the pool closure. Generally, I refuse to eat warm scones in cafes, because of the practice of freezing them and then thawing them out in the microwave, but Danny's are freshly baked, aromatic and superb, almost making up for my frustration at not being able to continue my run of good form in the pool. I use the time this has freed up, to drive to Morrison's, where I buy some more flowers for the Garden Room, roses, carnations and a couple of pot mums and then purchase a lawn repair kit from Pound Stretcher, next door, which is half the price of the supermarket, in order to make good Norman's urine burns on the grass. This done, I have just time to put the car into the Polish hand car wash, before collecting Laura. The economy must be picking up, because the Polish guys have put their price back up to six pounds, they had to reduce it to five when the recession first hit. I sit in the sun, on a wall in the playground, waiting for Laura, the children are selling garden plants, to raise funds for the school in the playground, and when she emerges, we buy the last four geraniums for £2, before making our way to the newly gleaming car. I ask her if she would prefer to plant the flowers first, or to cook first and she opts for the latter, as she says she is starving. I have prepared the garden, with all the cushions on the chairs, bench and sun lounger, as well as the red check, Dutch, table cloth which I have pinned into place, against the wind. Laura tests the sun lounger, which she says is better than a bed and then wraps herself in a fleecy blanket, with a Burberry, plaid pattern and pretends to fall asleep. "It is so comfortable!" She squeals. We then run through our routine for cooking, washing our hands thoroughly, wiping down the cooking surfaces, and then assembling all the utensils and ingredients. We are making lamb pitta breads with tossed salad and oven chips, but as I had to use up the lamb mince yesterday, I have simplified the recipe by buying lamb grill steaks from Morrison's earlier. We put the oven on to heat to 220 degrees centigrade, and then run the extension lead to a little round table, next to the larger rectangular one, in the garden and plug in the grill and the toaster. While the grill is warming up, Laura prepares the salad and I have to persuade her to persist in the right way to use the paring knife to peel the cucumber, supporting the vegetable with her thumb, while pulling the blade towards it. It takes a little while, but she gets there in the end, I have also introduced, red, yellow and green peppers, to the usual tossed salad mix of cucumber, spring onions, tomato and lettuce. We also make larger chunks of peppers, to cook on the grill, with the lamb. When the salad is ready, we put some chips on a baking tray and place them in the oven. We now have twenty minutes in which to grill the lamb, toast the pittas and make some mint yogurt, with which to accompany them. I have brought a brush and some olive oil, in order to coat the grill and Laura does this, before putting the lamb and peppers on to cook. Then she mixes a little mint sauce with some yogurt and we add a few leaves of torn, fresh coriander, for extra colour and flavour. We have just plated the lamb pittas and salad, when the oven alarm rings, to tell us the chips are ready, so I go indoors and fetch them from the hot oven and then carry them to the table, using an oven glove. Everything is now ready and dinner is served. Laura isn't greatly enamoured with the mint sauce, but as she has tried it, I swap my second Pitta for her first, as it still undressed and I simply adore lamb with salad and a mint yogurt dressing. The sky darkens from the West as we eat, but it doesn't start to rain, until we have eaten dessert, fresh strawberries, also with yogurt, just as Sam and Rebecca arrive. They help to clear the dishes to the kitchen sink and put the various cushions back in their box in the airing cupboard, before the skies fully open and the rain pours down. Sam has brought some chicken nuggets and some dough balls for Rebecca's dinner, she is autistic and very particular in what she eats. I ask Sam if she has eaten and she confesses she hasn't, so Laura and I reprise our routine, but have to replace the lamb with a quarter pounder beef burger, the rain stopping just in time to reactivate the grill. Rebecca and Sam eat dinner, while Laura and I prepare more strawberries, then once everyone has been fed, we retire to the front room and chat until it is time to go home. Laura says that schnitzels are still her favourite and I ask if she has made any yet for her mum, she says no, but Sam says she has some pork steak in the refrigerator, so I give Laura a tin of breadcrumbs and lend her my tenderising hammer. Next week, she wants to make Calzone Pizza. She also tells me she has the chance of learning to play the Cello at school, so I play her Julian Lloyd Weber's "The Swan", and she is enchanted for a moment by the beauty of the music. " I didn't realise Cello music could be so lovely!" She sighs. "And you haven't heard Jaqueline Dupres yet", I reply. Too soon it is seven o'clock and time for home, we have had another lovely time together. I hope these are memories of our times together that she will treasure, long after I have gone. Later, I wash the pots and manage to read for half an hour, before tiredness catches up with me and it is time for bed.