A Jazz concert, a row and Tapas for dinner.

I have a better night and sleep through until six thirty and then lie dozing for a while, until I hear sounds emanating from the kitchen, getting up around half past seven. Graham says he and Liliane were awake again several times in the nightvand that he still feels tired, he certainly looks it, his whole demeaner seems subdued. He takes Frankie for a quick toilet walk whilst I have a mug of tea with Liliane. When he comes back we eat breakfast, Graham bought some German land brot in the supermarket for me yesterday, along with some tee wurst, so I eat a few slices of this for breakfast accompanied by strong black coffee. We are going to another free concert in Rotterdam, this afternoon, a famous jazz trumpeter, Eric Koeman, ( I think is his name), is playing accompanied by the organist of the Protestant church in the city centre. Graham plays a piece of his on YouTube, while we eat. His playing is very slow, quiet and soulful. After breakfast and a shower, Graham and I take Frankie for his morning walk, throwing the ball for him along the canals and crossing the bridge to the business park at Rivium, which is deserted because it is Saturday, we make our way back along the cycle path that we normally take to the Esch, the little Nature Park that lies next to the river Ijssel, across the road lies the Salmon House, a restaurant on the riverside, where we had a splendid lunch last year, when we visited with, Andrew, Jackie and Gino, Graham's friend, Sue, from the Shetland Isles was also there. It was a lovely sunny day and Kenny and Shalini arrived late. Shalini was a few months pregnant with Connor then and had had her passport stolen. Graham and I laugh as we recall the day and make our way back past an allotment, where some rare breed sheep are enclosed, before walking along the canal side, throwing balls for Frankie. A coot is sat on her nest in the water, Graham says he thinks her eggs are sterile, because she has been sitting patiently for weeks now. When we get back it is time for lunch and we eat a Caprese, which I made for them yesterday, and "cooked in the fridge" over night. Liliane is treating everyone to dinner at a Tapas Restaurant in town tonight, so a light lunch is in order. Afterwards Graham drives us in his car to the tram stop, which is less than a kilometre away, it lies at the other end of the path that we normally take to the Esch. The early morning cloud has now burned off and it is scorchingly hot, we park by some flats near the tram station and walk the short distance to the nearest vehicle, which we board, using my OV chipcard, which Graham gave me during my last visit and Liliane reminded me to bring. The tram waits for five minutes before starting, it is air conditioned, but all the windows are open, so hot when stationary, but OK once we are underway. The conductor comes and takes our chip cards away from us and then she swipes them at the terminal by the door, before returning them again, there has been some sort of malfunction but she assures us everything is now OK. It is a fairly short ride into the City centre and takes about twenty minutes, we get off at Blaak, remembering to swipe the chip cards as we get off, (otherwise you are charged for the maximum distance), and then make our way towards the church. It is market day in Rotterdam and the town centre is crowded, people dressed for the weather, in shorts, tee shirts and sun dresses. It is very hot indeed, we stop at a snack stall where I buy a bottle of water, to take to the concert. The church is almost a cathedral, much older than the Catholic Church we attended last night, the huge organ, on which the concert will be played, lies at the front, where the altar would stand  in a Catholic Church, and beyond the organ, rows of chairs are arranged. Although the church reflects the more austere style of Protestant decoration, the chairs are mercifully padded, and much more comfortable than those we sat on last night. The concert starts at two and we take our seats early, around twenty to the hour, securing a nice position, about four rows from the front and in the centre. By the time the concert starts, every chair is taken and quite a few people have to stand. The acoustics are wonderful, the bass notes from the organ vibrating through every cell in my body. The duet with Eric Vloiemans is spectacular. He appears on a platform about twenty feet in the air, to our right, opposite him, behind a glass window, we can make out the organist, only his arms and hands visible through the glass, as he plays the huge instrument from the keyboard which is located there. I close my eyes to concentrate on the music, the deep bass of the organ beautifully complemented by the haunting notes from the trumpet. A slow movement at the start reminds me of Genesis, the organ representing the waters that cover the earth, and the trumpet the Holy Spirit, that moves over them, like the first day in the life of the world. Later the music becomes quicker and more playful, before ending once again quietly. The response from the audience is ecstatic, the ovation rising and falling in waves. The compere announces that Eric Vloiemans has to leave now, as he is conducting the Dutch National Youth Jazz Band shortly. There are literally hundreds of musical events taking place in Rotterdam over this weekend for the North Sea Jazz Festival. The concert continues with just the organ, first we hear a rendition of the Jazz standard, "take the A train", complete with a pretty fair imitation of a train whistle. This is followed by "Bohemian Rhapsody", Queen's greatest hit, and brings the house down. I wonder what Father Roy might make of a piece by a gay rock star, which includes the line, "Momma, I just killed a guy, put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger now he's dead!" I can't see it happening any time soon in Saint John's, but it might at Beverley Minster, with the Reverand Jeremy Fletcher, who describes himself as the "Louche Canon!" For my part, I like to believe that the Creator would love the creativity and the joy with which the piece was played and received. It is three o'clock, the concert is over and we file out to the strains of "Amazing Grace", making sure to make a donation to the church on our way out. The last time I  visited Graham and Liliane, they took me to an avante garde jazz concert, which I also enjoyed and would never have encountered otherwise. My tastes are quite eclectic and you never know what you might like until you have tried it. Outside, in the lovely sunshine, it is decided that Graham and I will visit the market, to try to find a small milk jug and Liliane will wait for us in the library, as she becomes uncomfortable in large crowds. Rotterdam market is huge and there are lots of second hand stalls and bric a brac shops as well as the usual, meat, fish and vegetable stalls. We make our way along the aisles  looking out for a suitable jug and eventually finding one after about fifteen minutes. There are also lots of mobile phone accessory shops and I try to buy a "Power Monkey", this is a back up rechargeable battery for my iPhone. Although everyone in Holland speaks English, I have to ask Graham to explain in Dutch what I am after. When I go walking, I have an application, that links Google maps to GPS and shows me where I am and where I have been. It is a great app, but very power hungry and eats the battery charge completely in about four hours, so not much use if you are out walking for a day. We have no luck, it will have to wait until I am back in England, where I can buy one on eBay. We make our way to the library, where we find Liliane and then sit in the bar and order beers, Liliane has something non alcoholic. Graham chooses the beer, which is excellent and served in flutes, that hold about a third of a litre. The beer is nicely chilled and slips down wonderfully after the hot trek round the market. We have two or three and then it is time to make our way back, in order to allow Liliane and Graham time to rest and change before dinner. As we make our way back to the tram station, the conversation somehow gets on to the subject of Gay Marriage and the opposition by the Churches in England, both Catholic and Protestant, to the bill going through the Houses of Parliament at the moment. Graham and I end up disagreeing, which is strange, because we are both liberal minded and support the bill. Our disagreement stems from the fact we have differing positions with regards to people who oppose the bill. Graham thinks such people are intolerant bigots and that one should have no truck with them, my view is that, you cannot oppose intolerance with intolerance. Somehow Father Roy gets brought into the conversation, Graham knows he opposes the bill, because he and Liliane read my blog. Father Roy's position is that the Church has to stand against moral relativism, and sees this bill as a step too far, almost the end of civilisation. I don't happen to agree with him, but he is far from being a bigot and in my experience, hugely kind with a great generosity of spirit. The discussion ends, when I point out to Graham, that he is hardly in a position to pass judgement on someone he has never met. What happens next shocks me to the core. Graham launches into a very personal attack and accuses me of habitually humiliating and belittling him. I try to reassure him that this isn't the case it is just my joking, leg pulling, manner and no offence is intended, and if any has been caused, I apologise. The row, which is one sided, dies down as we board the tram and head home, I put it down to tiredness, stress, the effect of the beer and the "usual suspect", in relations between siblings, a bit of rivalry, so let the matter pass. On our way home in the tram we are sat near two women, they look like mother and daughter, both with black hair, and the older one sporting lots of tattoos. They have also been to market and as we approach our destination, the mother's shopping bag splits and several Cantaloupes roll down the tram, which Graham and I recover for her. They are also getting off at our station and I joke with the mother as we alight, that English men like ladies with tattoos. She falls for it and asks why? And I say because they like something to read after sex! She laughs and she and her daughter get off the tram and we make our way to the car. The atmosphere between Graham and I remains a little strained, but I say nothing and hope that it will pass. Later that evening Graham drives us back into Rotterdam, to the little tapas restaurant, which lies just round the corner from the Saint Lambertuskirk, Graham and Liliane tell me that it used to be a " poor student area", but has recently become gentrified, we manage to park within fifty metres of the restaurant and walk the short distance, in the golden glow of the late evening sun. The restaurant doors are wide open, due to the heat and we are shown to a table near the door, at an adjacent table three young men are about half way through their Tapas menu. The waitress arrives and Graham suggests we order the "House Special", mixed tapas, and he also orders a carafe of house red for us and some white wine for Liliane and a large jug of iced water. The meal lasts for over two hours, with different, delicious, Tapas dishes, both hot and cold, arriving every ten to fifteen minutes or so. The food is good, the atmosphere relaxed, and Graham says he brought Melanie and his granddaughters here during their recent visit, but it wasn't exactly their cup of tea, Alex and Hannah being more used to McDonald's, in Graham's view. I like it and I can see why it is Liliane's favourite restaurant. Liliane has a dessert and Graham and I order coffee, I have a small glass of Spanish brandy with mine, which I share with Liliane. I have promised to treat them both to dinner at the "Water Tower" next weekend, on my return from Lippstadt. We had a really fabulous meal there last November when I visited. It is starting to get dark as we leave and we arrive home by about half past nine, Graham and Liliane are tired after having had a poor nights sleep, so we all turn in early.

Bikes, Cane and a Concert.

    I drank too much tea last night and consequently rose twice to use the toilet. I also had a strange dream afterwards, I dreamt I was sat on the loo, with the door open, when a slim dark haired woman with glasses, dressed as women did in the 1940's or fifties, walked into the room. Before I had time to cover myself, or even feel embarrassed, she walked into the bookcases and through the wall in the lounge, at this point I realise that she is a ghost. It is a very vivid dream. Around half past six. I can hear noises from the kitchen and finally stir myself around seven, Graham has had another restless night and is taking Frankie for a quick toilet walk, before we eat breakfast, continental style, with salami, ham and cheese, Louis would love it here. After breakfast we take Frankie out properly, walking him past the allotment and alongside the network of canals and dykes, that one finds everywhere in Holland. Graham throwing balls for his dog to retrieve, Frankie is a border collie and so needs lots of exercise. The day has dawned cloudy and somewhat cooler than yesterday, but the cloud will no doubt burn off later. After our walk, it is decided we will go for a ride on our bicycles, I draw the short straw and have to ride a mountain bike, that used to belong to Kenny, Graham's son, who now lives on Osterwyck, about a hundred kilometres away. Lilliane hasn't been on a bike for ages, so we take it slowly, and she manages OK. The cycling set up in Holland is first class, with discrete cycle paths adjacent to the road on most highways. We cycle to Capelle, the nearest town and a suburb of Rotterdam, by a circuitous route and then sit outside in a cafe and order coffee, which we drink and watch the world go by. At the next table are two English women, a mother and daughter, the older visiting the younger, snatches of conversation are occasionally blown in by the breeze. I need some face cream and a few more pairs of short training socks and Liliane needs groceries and a birthday card, so we divert into an adjacent mall, where we find what we want, Liliane also finding a pair of sandals along the way. On our way back, we pass the swimming pool and Graham highlights the route for me, all the long roads are called lanes and named after famous composers and the streets that come off them, are streets named after instruments. We progress down Schonberg, Beethoven and Sibelius Laans, each connected by a mini roundabout with a statue of a musical instrument, a harp a trumpet and a semi quaver, (I think). It is a town planner's version of Trumpton, or else he or she may have been on some sort of benign chemical trip when they pulled it all together. Anyway it works, but if John Betjeman had homicidal thoughts about Slough, God knows what he would have called down here! Anyway we all arrive back at Graham's house unscathed and celebrate with more tea and the other half of the apple pie, which we eat sat outside. The cloud cover is starting to burn back, but it is still pleasantly cool. It is now midday in Rotterdam, but only eleven at Trent Bridge, so Graham plugs in the radio and we inflict the Test Match on Liliane. In a fit of enthusiasm, Graham planted some bamboo in a raised bed a couple of years ago, and it has now grown twenty feet high and very thick, he has made a start of hacking it back and the results are lying on the floor. When I was a boy I used to pick Rhubarb to earn extra pocket money, our area of West Yorkshire being the best rhubarb growing country anywhere, as it is very wet, and very cool, much like the foothills of the Himalayas, from whence rhubarb was originally imported. ( Being in the rain shadow of the Pennines). We used to stack the freshly cut sticks of rhubarb on tressles, before tying the bundles with string and the memory of this gives me an inspiration, could I make a tressle by tying bamboo canes together and then stack the cut bamboo on top, before tying them together with string? Between several mugs of tea, supplied by Liliane, I assemble a tressle, having to tie three or four canes into a bundle to make each part strong enough and then lashing all the parts together. It keeps me happy for an hour, while Graham hacks more cane, but while the principle is sound, my execution is lousy and the tressle collapses when any significant weight is added. Graham, having now grasped the principle, produces two tressles from the garden shed, they normally support a wallpapering table and these work wonderfully. We set up a production line, Liliane cutting lengths of string and Graham and I stacking and tying the bundles of cane, before storing them by the back gate. The sun has finally burned off the cloud and it is hot, but we decide to carry the bundles to Graham's allotment, where they can be stored for use or burning later. By now it is three o'clock and we make a tossed salad for lunch, using fresh produce that Graham brings from the allotment. The cricket has stopped for Lunch, Australia finally out with a fifty run lead. We are going to a concert tonight at Sint Lambertuskirk, the Catholic Church in Rotterdam, so after taking Frankie for his evening walk, we wash and dress before driving into town. Graham parks by the Botanical Gardens and then we walk the short distance to the church, which was built in the late nineteenth century of brown bricks. It is very impressive and recognisably monumental architecture from a very confident era, the first phase of globalisation, which terminated with the First World War and has only recently been renewed. It is of a similar architectural style and design to those other cathedrals of progress in the Victorian era, railway stations. It also has a beautiful white marble altar and impressive stained glass windows. We take our seats twenty minutes before the concert starts, in the centre of the church, the organ, on which the concert is being given lies behind us. The first piece is an original composition by the organist, composed in 1980 and is quite modern, with hints of Schonberg and the usual reference to Bach, this is followed by a piece by Faure, which is hauntingly beautiful during the adagio sequence and then another piece by a well known German composer, whose name escapes me. The only down side to the experience are the chairs, which are wooden and very hard. It is only during the interval that I have the inspiration to borrow one of the kneeling cushions for Mass and use it to protect my bottom, which is losing padding as I get older. The organists receive a standing ovation at the end, and half the audience move off to the Protestant church round the corner for the second half of the concert, which is, of course, pieces by the great Johan Sebastian Bach. Graham and Liliane are tired, so after a quick beer in an adjacent pub, we return to the car and drive home. Graham giving Frankie one last spin before bedtime. We turn in around ten thirty again.

Travelling to Holland

We wake at half past seven to another cool day, I feed Norman the last of the current box of Bakers and then make whole meal pitta bread with marmite for breakfast, having successfully run down the food in my refrigerator before my holiday. I just have time to shower and dress, before it is time to walk with Nellie and Betty, at a quarter to nine. She has a neighbour's spaniel with her, while they visit the Great Yorkshire Show. It is a lovely pedigree dog in mottled black and silver and moves with a graceful undulation. We have decided to take Normy all the way round the fields, as he is unlikely to get further than Seven Corners Lane with Sarah. The cooler weather suits the dogs and we chat as we walk, I tell Betty that Hanne Hamilton can't remember her and she says she isn't surprised, as it was thirty years ago, when they worked in different hospitals but for the same boss. We return home for ten and Betty gives Norman a biscuit and says she will see him in a week's time. She will look after him well and walk him with Nellie until I get back. I have an hour to complete my last minute jobs, putting my pots of herbs outside and throwing away the ageing house plants from the stand in the garden room. I also throw the milk away and then donate the remains of the remaining fresh salad to my next door neighbour, Kath, before loading Normy into the car, along with his bed. I have to call in at Tesco, in order to buy dog food for two weeks and leave the windows open for Norman while I shop and return within five minutes and then drop him off with Alice at North Bar. I leave Beverley at 11:30, on schedule, and follow the usual route through Howden to the M62 and on to Jackie's house in Birkenshaw. I settle into my energy saving driving routine, put the Test Match on long wave and settle down to listen to the commentary. Australia are batting and the English bowlers are on top, Anderson making the ball reverse swing and by eleven o'clock, Australia are 117 for 9 wickets and bring on their last batsman, a nineteen year old called Aggers. It looks like being all over before noon, but, by the time I arrive in Birkenshaw at one, the kid has scored forty runs and made it to the break for lunch. Gino is in the garden with Rebecca, she is off work with illness, and I join them sitting on the swing seat in the sunshine. I passed from cloud to sunshine at Howden. Jackie arrives home a few minutes later for lunch and we sit and chat for a while and then on impulse, I check the weight of my cabin baggage, I packed last night, when I was tired, so may have taken too much. It is 11.5 kilos, my allowance is 10 kilos, so I lose a couple of unnecesary sweaters, a tee shirt and a pair of casual shoes. The case now weighs exactly 10 kilos. The airline, jet2 is a low cost specialist and it could cost me an extra £50 if I am checked. Gino is driving me to the airport and then driving my car back to his house, where he will park it for me until I return. We decide to have lunch at the Mermaid fish restaurant in Morley, probably the best fish and chips in the world. The food is up to its usual exceptional standard and we leave happy and full at half past two, alowing an hour to drive to the airport, which is fifteen miles away. Gino drives, his father was Irish and is mother Italian, so he is only half Italian but he drives like a full blood, putting my Chrysler through its paces and rapidly destroying my frugality. The traffic is heavy, so we switch on the cricket, young Aggers has scored 92 and in conjunction with Hughes, has broken all the records for a tenth wicket stand, so from being seventy runs behind England, they are now fifty runs ahead. It is a fairy tale innings for the Australian teenager, and I suspect everyone watching and listening around the world, whether they support Australia or not, is willing him to reach one hundred runs. He gets to 98 and then is caught in the slips, before he can reach his century. Because of the heavy traffic, it takes almost an hour to drive to the airport, the latest scam is that you can't drop people off without paying a £2 parking fee, so I thank Gino for the lift and then pull my cabin bag on its wheels to the terminal. It is scorchingly hot, but mercifully I only have a few yards to cover before I am in the air conditioned terminal. Now that I know the ropes, security is a breeze, and I am through in less than two minutes, and soon sitting in the departure lounge waiting for my flight to be called. We take off at four twenty five, five minutes early and will be on the ground in Schiphol airport within the hour. For most of it we are bombarded with adverts and product promotions, by the poor Jet2 staff, but I still manage to strike up a conversation with the passenger in the next seat. She is a Slovakian, who works at Harvey Nick's in Leeds and is flying for two weeks holiday with her boyfriend in Holland, who is from her village and had to leave England when his job fell through. Young people are bearing the brunt of the economic crisis and many are worse off than Veronica and her boyfriend, at least they have jobs. We land five minutes early, Schiphol is my favourite large airport, and although there is a longish walk to customs and passport control, everything else runs smoothly and I am in the adjoining railway station, buying my ticket to Rotterdam, by five to seven. Despite the instructions in English, I still manage to buy a high speed supplement card instead of a ticket, but when I am suspicious as to the low cost, a friendly passing Dutch guy tells me where I have gone wrong. Fortunately I have time to buy a proper ticket before the FYRA, high speed train, arrives for Rotterdam, unfortunately there are no seats, due to the holiday tourists and I have to stand. The journey is not long at this speed, slightly over twenty minutes. I must be starting to look my age, because two young women offer me their seats, which I decline, as I have been sat in a car or aeroplane most of the day. I was advised by my daughter to switch off data roaming on my phone, before leaving England and now I can't ring my brother, Graham, to let him know I will be in Rotterdam Central for half past seven. We have arranged to meet in Starbuck's, where we met last time, so I will just head for there and wait. As it happens, he and his wife, Liliane are waiting for me when I arrive and after a cool drink, we make our way to Graham's car, which is parked nearby, and drive the short distance to Kralingseveer, where he lives. In the cafe he tells me that a colleague was murdered on Monday, whilst helping a client suffering from an acute paranoid attack. He died almost instantly, after being stabbed in the heart, his funeral is on Monday. Graham is a social worker, dealing with some of the most desperate cases, often addicts and many with psychiatric disorders. Graham's dog, Frankie, goes bonkers when he sees me, so after unpacking, we take him for his evening walk, past Graham's allotment, where he proudly shows me a impressive array of produce, broad beans, lettuce, pears, raspberries, potatoes and fresh coriander. Graham and Liliane have bought the best apple pie in Holland for me, so we eat half of it and chat over several pots of tea and then turn in around half past ten, as Graham, understandably, hasn't been sleeping too well and looks shattered.

Preparing for departure.

We sleep until seven and rise to a cool, cloudy, morning, the wind has swung to the Northeast and brought the haw from the sea again. I feed Norman with some Bakers and then make two boiled eggs, with rye toast soldiers, for me. I am shaving in the bathroom later, when the door bell rings, it is Betty, her trip with her daughter to the Great Yorkshire Show has been cancelled and she wants to know if I wish to walk Norman with her and Nellie. I tell her to give me ten minutes, and then shower and dress, before walking round the village with them. It has to be a foirly short walk, because I am due at the doctor's, down Manor Road, for ten o'clock. Betty's daughter, Sarah, has been to Krakow for the weekend and didn't feel up to the heat and queues of the show in Harrogate. We return for a quarter to ten and then I load Normy in the car and drive to the doctor's, arriving five minutes later. The practice Nurse, Sally takes the blood from my arm, we are old acquaintances, she has been doing this for me for almost twenty years. There was some confusion about the last reading, when I saw my consultant, so I ask Sally to check my records, and then write down the readings and dates. It shows my PSA has been rising very slowly since October 2011, when I had my annual MOT. climbing from 0.07 nanograms per millilitre then, to 0.9 a year later, when the alarm bells started to ring and since when I started to have quarterly blood tests again. Between October 2012 to January 2013, it rose again to 0.12 and rose a little further to 0.14 in March. The tumour, wherever it is, is minuscule, and at the moment undetectable, according to my consultant, the probability is that it lies in the prostate bed, from where the original tumour was removed, many years ago. If, or rather when, the PSA readings rise to 0.6 Ng per Ml, I will need radiotherapy, however at the current rate of progression, I should have two years grace, before this is necessary. In the meantime, I am healthy and well and intend to enjoy life to the full. Once my blood has been taken, Sally slaps a dressing over the needle mark, and Norman and I drive to North Bar, where we park and then walk to the Poppy Seed. Felicity is there already and as soon as we sit down the girls bring me a pot of strong tea. The artist John Geekie comes in with his wife and stops to chat and pat Norman. John is a Quaker, and I tell him that I like the idea of silent meetings and then ask him about his paintings. He tells me that he also has a blog and to check John Geekie Art, which I promise to do. John did the portrait sketch of Norman, last year. Annie arrives, shortly followed by Jill, who looks well but says she is missing her son, Tim, who flew back to Sydney on Monday. Hanne also appears, fresh back from her holiday in Denmark, and she is also looking happy and well, although she confesses that she has brought visitors back with her and says she could do really do with a little peace and quiet. Norman and I leave at a quarter past eleven, either Jill or Hanne, or perhaps both, will walk back with Felicity. We go to the bank to withdraw cash for my holidays and then go to Thomas Cook to buy Euro's, as my bank has exorbitant exchange rates. Beverley is quite busy, as it is the Wednesday Market, and traditionally people come to town for it, although Wednesday Market place is tiny and there are rarely more than half a dozen stalls. But that is the way Beverley is, traditionally people come to town on Market days, the big one on Saturday and the little one on Wednesday, and round here tradition rules! After completing our business, Normy and I walk back through town to the car and then drive home. I give the old chap some fresh water and biscuits and then pack my swimming gear and cycle back into town, to the leisure centre, travelling by the river and along Beckside. The pool is quiet and I find an empty lane, but resist the temptation To train strenuously as I still have quite a bit to do before my holiday. accordingly I limit myself to a gentle 2,000m, reprising last week's programme. Afterwards, I enjoy tea and a cherry scone in the cafe, guessing that Paul has baked the scones. Sandra asks how I know this and I tell her that Paul hates sultanas and therefore tends to make cherry or cheese scones instead. I cycle home for four o'clock, the sky remains overcast and the weather cool. When I get in, I check the weather forecast for Rotterdam and Lippstadt, they are both predominantly fine and warm for the next ten days, so I shall pack shorts and tee shirts, mostly. After feeding Norman, I mow the lawns and clear away the worst of the weeds, the hedges need trimming, but my heart isn't in to gardening tonight, so they will wait until I come back. Gino has sent me a copy of his appeal letter for me to check, which I do and then email my comments back, and later, Liliane updates me on events in Holland, and I tell her I will see them tomorrow. I also email my brother, Andrew, in order to thank him for finding such a good solicitor for Gino and then make dinner. I marinated a couple of small chicken breasts this morning in garlic and ground coriander, with some fresh coriander leaves, mainly for decoration, so I make a chicken Paella, with the addition of some Medditteranean vegetables from the freezer. While the rice is cooking, I fry the zucchini, I made last night, using the courgettes from Betty's garden and eat these as an Hors D'ouvre. The Paella is very filling, but Norman lends a hand and between us, we clear the plate. My daughter Sarah phones, to confirm arrangements for Norman, and I check to make sure she and the family are all well. When I get back, they will be in Portugal for a further week, so I shan't see any of them until then. Around eight o'clock, I wash the pots and then settle down with my book, "Suite Francaise", until bedtime.

Briefing Gino's Lawyer

I wake at six, having slept well in Rachel's Ikea bed, resolving to buy a new bed as soon as I return from Holland. Norman is still snoring gently on my dressing gown. I have woken with some more ideas and questions about the tribunal process and as my unconscious mind has always been smarter than me, I get up in order to write them down before they fade. Once I have done this, I collect Norman and let him run onto Gino's lawn to relieve himself, before making myself a large teapot full of strong tea. It is another glorious July morning, but there is a heavy dew on the patio furniture, which I have to wipe dry before sitting down. I check eBay for beds and find the identical one in which I have slept, up for auction in Leeds, the owner claims it has only been used twice. Perhaps I will bid for it and collect it, if I am successful, when I return from holiday. By seven o'clock I can hear my sister and her husband stirring and then the distinctive sound of the shower. While they are getting ready, I ring Felicity, as I know she is also up with the larks. She has made things up with her daughter, Melissa, but their "adult conversation", was disrupted by the arrival of the district nurse and is awaiting reconvening. I arrange to see her in the Poppy Seed tomorrow, our friend Hanne, the Great Dane, is also back from holiday in Denmark and will be there as well. I have to move my Chrysler, in order to let Jackie out to work at a quarter to eight in her VW Polo and my other neice, Rebecca, leaves ten minutes later in her Vauxhall Corsa. None of them eat breakfast, which is sacrilege to me, and I persuade Gino to make me some whole meal toast, whilst I take a shower and dress. He also eats a slice, as we sit in the garden, before setting off for the solicitors in Huddersfield, at a quarter past ten. I leave Norman in his basket in the kitchen, he has had a good run in the largish garden and deposited "treasure", which I have scooped up and flushed down the toilet. Jackie has booked time off work, in order to support her husband and we collect her from her office, which is only five minutes drive away and adjacent to the M62, the motorway provides the fastest route to Huddersfield. We arrive early, at twenty minutes to eleven and wait in reception until the employment specialist is free to see us. I try to keep the conversation light, but both Jackie and I can see that Gino is finding the waiting difficult. We are shown into a meeting room at ten minutes to eleven, our solicitor is a youngish chap, somewhat shy of forty and immediately takes charge. I have emailed him a synopsis and have brought Gino's file, but I am happy for him to run things his way, Gino is his client after all and if we decide to go ahead with this firm, he will be handling things from here. He is very impressive, finding his way to the relevant data/evidence and leading Gino, gently but firmly through the meeting. I had forewarned him that my brother in law was in a fairly fragile condition and he clearly has experience in situations of this kind. The meeting proceeds for two and a half hours, Gino and Jackie are happy with the lawyer, whose name is John and I concur. My brother Andrew did well to find this chap for us, through his union contacts. We leave with a clear plan of action, an agreed fee structure and confidence that we have done the right thing. When you are travelling through a jungle, an experienced guide is worth their weight in gold. We celebrate by having lunch together, in a pub near Jackie's office and then she goes back to work and Gino and I return to his house. When we arrive, I let Normy into the garden and then feed him, before helping Gino draft a letter to his erstwhile employers, along the lines agreed with John, our lawyer. This done, I load Norman into the car, say goodbye to Gino until Thursday, he is running me to the airport, and then drive home. I repeat my inside lane tactics on the way back, driving with all the windows down, as it is so very hot and arriving home for four o'clock, my Chrysler having averaged just over 70 mpg for the round trip, not bad for a car that is somewhat bigger than a Ford Mondeo. When we get indoors, I unpack my bag and then hang out the washing that hadn't quite dried yesterday. Norman is ready for his dinner, so I feed him and then make tea and rye bread, with some apricot jam for me and I eat this in the garden, while I start my new book, "Suite Francaise", by Irene Nemirovsky, which I have had for ages, but not yet read. The first chapters, which portray the events leading up to the fall of Paris in 1940, from the perspective of different families and characters, is very impressive. It is too hot to do much else, although a cooler day is forecast for tomorrow. I have a blood test tomorrow at ten, to monitor the progress of my prostate cancer, and then tea with Felicity and Hanne afterwards, in the Poppy Seed. I also need to buy Norman's rations for his stay with Sarah and Betty and some Euro's from the post office. Hopefully there will still be time for a swim in the afternoon and cooking with Laura later. I spend the evening catching up with my blogs and then go to bed at ten, with a sense of relief that we have found Gino a safe pair of legal hands. I have done my part now and I hope that everything turns out well for him and that the process is over fairly quickly.  

May the force go with you!

Monday morning is cool and overcast, a pleasant respite from yesterday's heat, but the low cloud, which has drifted in from the North Sea, ten miles away, is due to burn off by early afternoon. Betty and I have agreed to walk the dogs early again, in order to avoid the anticipated heat, so after a breakfast omelette for me and Bakers for Norman, we set off at a quarter to nine, just as the children are making their way to school. One of the little girls from Normy's fan club waves to us, as we head down to the snickett and onto Carr Lane. As it is so much cooler and fresher this morning, we walk the whole way round the fields and Norman handles it with aplomb. Already the wheat is starting to ripen and the farmers will be hoping the good weather holds, so that they can harvest it before the autumn rains arrive. It is late because of the exceptionally cold spring. When we get back, Betty invites me for a cup of tea, as she has written out her address and phone numbers for Sarah in order that she can be contacted when it is time for my daughter to deliver Normy, the day before she and the children fly to Portugal.. Betty's daughter is also called Sarah and is marrying for the second time in September. Betty tells me she ended up buying a wedding suit for her son, during the visit for Sunday Lunch, yesterday. Over tea she also shows me the brochures for the National Geographic, Antarctic expedition, that she is going on in January and tonight she has another kayaking lesson at Albert Avenue baths in Hull. I tell her about Jill's son from Australia and how he is also a keen canoeist. We arrange to walk the dogs together on Thursday morning at the same time, as I am away in Birkenshaw tomorrow and Betty is attending "The Great Yorkshire Show", in Harrogate on Wednesday. When we get home, I put on this week's washing and then iron a pair of chinos and a blue shirt to wear at the solicitors tomorrow, a little gravitas is in order for our first meeting. As it is Monday, I am due to collect Louis from Saint Mary's Primary School at 3:15, but I need to fill the car with diesel and wash and clean it before I go. Unfortunately there won't be time for a swim today, but I manage to vacuum clean the car before driving to Morrison's, where I buy a baguette and Grandad Pop for Louis and a pack of 480 tea bags to take to Holland for my brother, Graham. Whilst I am there, I fill up with diesel and then cheat by putting the car through the Polish, hand car wash, for £6 and even have time to drop a prescription at the doctor's on my way to collect Louis. We take the shopping home, let Norman into the garden and then walk to the play park by the village hall. The sun has now burnt off all the cloud and it is sunny and very hot. I have packed some pop and fruit for Louis, to keep him hydrated and fuelled until it is time for his dinner. He is having ante pasta again, what else! There are lots of children for him to play with and so I have an easy time, chatting  to other parents and grandparents, whilst sitting on a bench in the sun. After half an hour, a group of older boys arrive, their bus has just dropped them off, and they start a football match on the field. Louis leaves the toddlers and volunteers to play in goal for them, but they are between twelve and fourteen and he is only six, so they don't want him to play. Louis stages a sit in and squats in the middle of the pitch, telling them that they are mean, so I have to intervene and carry him, protesting, from the pitch, to the thanks of the teenagers. Fortunately two boys, about Louis' age, have arrived, who he knows. One is called Jack and the other Oliver and they agree to play football with him. Louis is in goal, as usual, and Olly and Jack take it in turns to shoot penalties against him. The only problem lies in the fact that Louis has chosen to use a section of the fence, that separates the playing field from the Village Hall, as a goal and inevitably the ball keeps going over. Fortunately Oliver is light enough for me to lift over the fence in order to retrieve it, but I also have to lift him back again afterwards, and as he weighs about the same as a sack of potatoes, by the fifth time, I am getting more than a little fed up. Fortunately Oliver and Jack's mums call them away for tea, it is five past five and we have to walk back home, eat tea and then pack Norman into my car, before driving to Jackie and Gino's. I planned to set off at six. In the event we eat our food in the garden and are on our way by a quarter past. I drop Louis with Alice, in North Bar and then continue through Bishop Burton, on the York Road towards the M62. I have told Gino to expect us around eight, so I have plenty of time, and repeat the experience of settling into the inside lane on the Motorway and putting the car in "cruise control" at around sixty miles an hour. I trundle along happily, keeping a hundred yards behind the lorry in front, adjusting my speed by nudging the cruise handle up or down a notch, as required. I arrive at my sister's house at a quarter to eight, feeling refreshed and having had time to think over the issues in Gino's tribunal appeal. He and Jackie looked tanned and relaxed and tell me the holiday has done them a world of good. We settle down with tea on their patio, the evening sun low in the sky, on a perfect summer's evening. Norman loves Gino, because he is usually cooking and always has food, so he deserts me and follows my brother in law around, like a little brown slave. After our tea, I take out my brief case and produce Gino's file and the three of us discuss the meeting tomorrow, what we want to achieve and how we will handle the lawyer. I watch Gino out of the corner of my eye, his leg is twitching up and down and his eyes are blinking rapidly, I can see he is becoming agitated. When you are forced out of a company that you have worked for for forty years, it is almost like a bereavement and as we discuss some of the key issues, I can see that he is reliving some of the more unpleasant experiences, it is akin to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for him. It will be quite a while before he recovers from this and the meeting tomorrow will also be a challenge. We finish by half past nine and then round off the evening with some wine and cheese with crackers. Of course Norman gets his fair share, and then we all turn in around ten thirty. I am sleeping in my niece's, Rebecca's, bedroom, on the ground floor. She is living in Spain at the moment, near Gibraltar. Norman is in his bed on the floor, but unused to the strange house, he whines to come on my bed and rather than risk him wake the whole house, I give in and make him a bed on top of my dressing gown, which I have fortunately brought with me. He is asleep and snoring gently within seconds of having achieved his objective. I can almost see the thought bubble emerging from his head, "The Force has a strong effect on the weak minded".

Gay Marriage and Marching Bands

We are up early, as Normy and I are walking with Betty and Nellie, before attending ten thirty mass. We cook Norman's favourite breakfast, kippers, and eat them in the garden. Already by eight o'clock it is very warm. We walk down Carr Lane and over the little bridge, Norman and Nellie, keeping under the shade of the willow trees and then running gratefully into the coolness of "almost straight wood", where I fall victim to a nettle sting and treat with a handily placed dock leaf. We only walk as far as the corner of the field and then retrace our steps, but this time walking alongside the wood, in the shade. Betty has brought a little bag with a bowl and some water for the dogs, as well as their usual bag of treats. She is going to visit her son for Sunday Lunch, he lives in a village outside Doncaster. We return home for ten. I leave Normy plenty of fresh water and the door to the garden ajar, before mounting my bike and riding to church. In this lovely summer weather, I much prefer the bike to the car and by twenty past ten, I have arrived at Saint John's and am locking up my bike, which I have leant against the wall of the church that lies in shadow. The church is little more than half full, perhaps quite a few people are on holiday. Then, during the sermon, Father Roy has to ask for the front doors to be shut, because the local regiment is marching through the bar with military band accompaniment. Today is "Armed Forces Day", in Beverley and perhaps people have attended other masses in order to watch the celebrations.Today is the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, my Buddhist practise of meditation has taught me to appreciate the ordinary in life. Father Roy has chosen well known, rousing hymns and although we are not many in number, we still sing boldly. I choose to attend the ten thirty mass because we sing the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei, in Latin and I find that beautiful. The combination of familiar ritual and thought provoking, often soul searching, sermon, is a powerful combination, repeated in many other places, theme and variation, structure and agency, to name just two. I also believe creativity to be a divine gift, from where else might creativity spring, other than the mind of the creator? After communion, I have a cup of tea in the meeting room, before cycling home in the heat. Father Roy has handed out leaflets asking us to write to our MP's and anyone we know in the House of Lords, in protest at the "Gay Marriage", bill passing through Parliament. I respect and like our priest immensely, but on this subject I think the church is just plain wrong, but there again I am also in favour of women priests. I believe that, as a society, we are too obsessed by sex, quite frankly what people choose to do with each other for a few hours a week, is of no great concern to me. But I do wonder, if the requirement for celibacy and a single male priesthood, isn't a major factor in the spate of child abuse scandals that the church has suffered. More openness and less cant and hypocrisy, would be my prescription. Marxist/Buddhist/Catholics aren't exactly thick on the ground, so I may well be a minority opinion. I cycle back along Swinemoor, the ponies are sheltering under trees and there must be a couple of hundred roaming free at the moment on the common pasture that borders the River Hull. As I change down to first gear on approaching the footbridge, my chain slips off the sprockets and I have to dismount, in order to put it back on, which I manage using a 75p off coupon from Tesco, that I find in my wallet. A small price for clean hands! I get back for half past twelve, the radio four news announces that Andy Murray is playing Novaq Djokovich in the men's singles final at  Wimbledon this afternoon, but as I don't have TV, I shan't be watching. If he wins he will be "Our Andy", in the tabloids tomorrow and " A Scottish Choker", if he loses. I hope he wins. When it becomes a little cooler, I make a salad Nicoise and eat it in the garden, the living lettuce I bought whilst collecting Laura, ten days ago, has regenerated, after I cropped it the first time, so I have kept it watered. Perhaps by the time I return from holiday, it will feed me again. I spend the evening putting the finishing touches to Gino's legal file and then catch up on my blogs until bedtime. I ring Gino around ten, to confirm arrangements for tomorrow, I am staying at their house overnight, before our appointment with the solicitor on Tuesday.

Mothers and Daughters

Saturday promises to be another warm day, by seven o'clock the sun is shining brightly from a clear blue sky. Dog roses have started to bloom in the hedge next to the field, they are a delicate pink when first open but then turn a buttery white with exposure to the light. I am now reluctant to trim the hedge, although the hawthorn shoots and twigs are almost two feet high and obscure my view. We collect Nellie and Betty from their house, as arranged, at a quarter to nine and then make our way through the snickett and on to Carr Lane. Because of the heat, Norman walks under the shade of the willows and once we are over the little bridge, he is glad to regain the shade of "almost straight wood". In the wood it is cool and shady and through the trees, we can see the green wheat in the fields beyond, it will soon ripen, if the summer weather persists. Betty and I talk about her upcoming trip to Antarctica in the New Year, last year she did a sponsored parachute jump, but tells me she wouldn't walk through these woods or Burton Bushes on the Westwood, at night. I tease her about the incongruity of her courage in large things and irrational fears of the familiar, everyday, risks we all face. "Surely with a bobby for a husband you know that the fear of crime is hugely exaggerated", I say. She laughs and tells me that knowledge doesn't necessarily make you feel safer. I suspect it is the media to blame, once we only got bad news from our local area, now we get it from all over the world. Later I wonder if her restless energy and bravado perhaps masks an inability to come to terms with her loss. A sort of displacement activity. We each cope with things in our own way. We return shortly before ten and I decide it will be too hot for Normy on the market today, so leave him with a plentiful supply of water and the garden room door open, before cycling into Beverley. It takes less than twenty minutes and the cooling breeze, produced by the speed of the bike, feels most pleasant against my skin. At the footbridge over the river Hull, I defy the bylaw and weave my bike through the barriers, without dismounting, as the bridge is deserted. On the riverbank are several anglers sitting in meditative stillness and further down the river several white rowing boats, that can be hired for £10 an hour, a recent venture by some enterprising soul, but I have yet to see anyone rowing. Perhaps £10 is a little steep. As I pass Swinemoor common, the horses and ponies are grazing in the water meadows, which are thick with yellow buttercups and a family of donkeys, including two foals, gaze up at me as I ride by, with their gentle, sad, eyes. The glorious weather has brought crowds of people to market, everyone in a sort of holiday mood, and a coach disgorges people outside the Poppy Seed, as I fasten my bike to the wall. It is race day and the first event takes place around two o'clock. By the sounds of the Geordie accents, this coach has come from Newcastle. Felicity is inside, her straw hat on the table and an empty plate of scrambled eggs waiting to be taken away. She asks about Normy and I explain it was too hot for the old boy and then we laugh as she suggests he could have ridden in his basket with a straw hat and some sunglasses, or better still a flying helmet, silk scarf and goggles, like Snoopy and the Red Baron, I quip. The girls behind the counter are used to our laughter and madness and bring me my usual pot of very strong English, breakfast tea. Felicities niece, Rosie, pops in to say hello, but declines my offer of coffee and tells us that her mum, Joy, thinks it is too hot for market. Felicity tells her that Melissa is due at eleven, with Ruby, Felicity's granddaughter, we all laugh, as Melissa's eleven o'clock usually means eleven thirty. Shortly afterwards, we are joined by Rosemary and moments later by Jill, who I haven't seen for weeks, accompanied by her son. He is a very fit, tanned and lean looking individual, perhaps a little younger than I am. Like his mother, he is an architect, but lives in Sydney and is over on holiday visiting his mum. Jill is also tall and slim and well into her eighties, the last time I saw her she was regaining her hearing after stopping taking the medication she had been prescribed after a TIA, which made her deaf. "I would rather be dead than not be able to talk to my family and friends," she explained. Jill, Rosemary and Felicity exchange gossip, while I chat to Jill's son, who is a keen kayaking fan, and this explains his physique. Half past eleven arrives with no sign of Melissa and Jill and her son leave, Rosemary follows them to the market and I can tell that Felicity is getting agitated, so I ring her daughter, only to reach her voice mail, where I leave a message and then start to text her, just as she arrives, accompanied by Ruby and another woman, who it turns out is an old school friend from years ago. Melissa is wearing a low cut summer dress and showing perhaps a little too much cleavage for her mother's taste and duly receives the force of her pent up anger, at being kept waiting too long. I try to mediate between them, suggesting that we all have lunch together, but alas it is no use, and Felicity asks to be taken home. I tell Melissa that I will accompany her mother, and guide her trilator to the door and then walk her back to Albert Terrace. She has spent almost two hours looking forward to seeing her daughter and granddaughter and now the day is soured for them both by this altercation, which is a regular phenomenon. Once we get back to Albert Terrace and I have settled Felicity into her chair, we have a chat, she is hurt by the apparent lack of care and concern shown by her daughter, whom, she claims, ought to know that she has been waiting at the Poppy Seed since ten and was bound to get tired. I concede she has a point, but the problem seems to me to be more the fact that each of them talks to the other as one would to a child, and this provokes anger. I ask Felicity if she has ever read Eric Berne's book on transactional analysis, she used to work in a psychiatric hospital and eventually remembers the Parent-Adult-Child model that he used. "It seems to me that if you spoke to each other as equal adults, a lot of your problems with Melissa would be resolved", I suggest, now she has calmed down, she can see the point and wants to ring her daughter straight away, but I suggest they need time to let things settle and ought to arrange a time, with just the two of them, to really talk things through. I propose that I act as a mediator and suggest this to Melissa, who I get on with well and Felicity readily agrees. When I make my way back to the Poppy Seed, they have already left and so I walk round the market, hoping to see them, stopping to buy some fresh broad beans and more salad, as I go. There is no sign of them, so I repair to the micro pub and let Ian recommend a half pint of Great Newsome bitter and then sit and drink it with an elderly chap called Frank, who is in his eighties. Frank tells me he has had to put his wife, who has advanced dementia, into full time care, as he was no longer able to cope and he is having a drink before going to see her. I tell him about my cousin Irene and then we chat for half an hour, before he has to leave. I decide to ring Melissa, as the fall out with her mum has clearly distressed both of them. She answers straight away and tells me she is on her way to meet someone, but is in Boots the chemists, down Toll Gavel, which is less than a hundred yards away. I persuade her to wait for me and walk quickly through Saturday Market, to find her wiping away perfume from her wrist, that she had just tried and decided she didn't like. We find a quiet corner in the store and I relay the conversation I have had with her mother and suggest that it would be worth trying, just to treat each other as adults. Melissa sees the point straight away, thanks me, says she will ring her mum later to arrange this and then gives me a kiss on the cheek by way of a thank you. I make my way back to my bike, which is still parked at the Poppy Seed, load my shopping into the basket and then pedal home. I hope my intervention does some good, only time will tell. Back home Normy is waiting for me, his tail wagging furiously in anticipation of lunch. After feeding him and making myself a pot of tea, I repair to the garden, move the reclining chair into the shade and then settle down to read my book. It is just too hot to do much else, and so I read the last two hundred pages of "The Facts of Life", finishing the book at around half past eight, with a break for dinner at six. Lamb steak, with onion gravy, new potatoes and fresh broad beans in a butter and garlic sauce. Gino and Jackie should be back from Sardinia by now, I hope the break has refreshed and renewed them both. I will ring them tomorrow. To bed for ten.

"Summertime and the living is easy",

It turns quite warm in the night and I throw off the blanket that I have been wearing over the lightweight, summer duvet, but despite shedding a layer, I still spend a restless night, finally settling into a deep sleep around five o'clock and waking in the grip of a nightmare. A monitor lizard has emerged from its burrow under the roots of a tree and swallowed Norman and I am trying with all my might to force its jaws open, in order to get him out. When I am fully awake, I look over to his basket where he is gently snoring, oblivious to the peril from which I had so recently been trying to save him. The upside of an uncomfortable night, is a beautiful summer morning, and we eat breakfast in the garden, smoked salmon on rye toast with cream cheese. Normy savouring a few morsels of salmon trimmings added to his Baker's dog food. Later on we collect Nellie and Betty for our walk round the fields, it has become a regular thing now, the dogs like the company and so do I, it is better than walking alone. Betty has been widowed about three years, her husband, Geoff, died quite quickly of Leukaemia. He was a policeman, before he retired and they have a son and a daughter, who live quite close and grandchildren, one of whom is autistic, like Rebecca, so we have a fair bit in common to chat about as we walk. Although I suspect Betty is much more right wing and orthodox in her views than I. We get back around half past eleven and I suggest that we go earlier tomorrow, as it will be cooler for the dogs and it is also "Poppy Seed Day". We agree to walk at a quarter to nine. Although I have plenty to do, I really want to swim today and as the weather is so lovely, I decide to cycle to the Leisure Centre. So, after leaving Norman plenty of water and some biscuits, I cycle down the road adjacent to the river, before cutting through the industrial estate and onto Beckside, on my way to the pool. My friend, Terry and his wife, Jill, are sharing a double lane and invite me to join them. Jill tells me she has only two more lengths to do, so I let her finish and then push off for my swim. I just fancy a nice relaxing, easy, swim today, so swim 400m in back, breast and front crawl, slipping into a "flow", state of meditative swimming, sliding easily through the water, with a minimum of effort. Someone else has replaced Terry in the double lane, I recognise her as one of the aerobics instructors, a woman in her forties, but very fit. So I confirm that she is happy for us to continue with a lane each, rather than swim in a clockwise rotation, at least until someone else joins the lane. She agrees and continues swimming an awkward breaststroke, as she keeps her head high out of the water, presumably in order to keep her hair dry. I mentally categorise such female swimmers as "Barnett Swimmers", from the old Cockney rhyming slang for hairdo's, Barnetts, derived, God knows how, from Lady Isobel Barnett, who was on TV in the nineteen fifties. Feeling good after my four hundreds, I swim a couple of two hundred metre individual medleys and once again, these feel effortless and then warm down with 200m backstroke and 200 m freestyle. This type of swimming, twice a week, can only maintain fitness and not improve it, so any ambitions to develop to 400m Individual medley repeats, are probably on hold until after my holiday. The aerobics lady has left by the time I finish the warm down, and after a shower, I make my way to the cafe and order a pot of tea and a teacake. Novak Djokovich is having a hard time against Del Potro, in the Wimbledon men's semi final on the TV. Andy Murray is playing a six foot eight Polish guy later, in the other semi final. After my tea, I cycle into town and park my bike at Ian's micro pub, before pottering round town for half an hour. When I return, a chap who is also called David, who I talked to last week about books, is there, so I ask Ian what he recommends and then take my half pint of beer and join him. The great thing about this pub is that there are different real ales every time you visit and Ian seems as knowledgeable about his beers as a good sommelier would be at Claridges. Gradually I am growing an ability to appreciate the subtleties in flavour of the differing brews. It transpires that the other David, like me, is separated from his partner, who he tells me is a psychiatrist and she has stayed in the place they had together on the Scottish Borders. He is originally from Beverley, but has travelled extensively, he appears about my age, but has white hair and a full set beard. We chat for half an hour and then I cycle home and phone the solicitors, as I still haven't heard anything back from them. I speak to one of the lawyers, who tells me her partner is dealing with our case and will get back to me, and I tell her it is quite urgent, as we need an appointment for early next week. A few moments later my phone rings and it is the other partner, he tells me he rang earlier, but I have no record of this, nevertheless we arrange an appointment for Gino and myself for Tuesday morning at eleven at their offices in Huddersfield. I take his email and contact details and agree to send the synopsis that I have drafted, offering to drop the file off before the meeting, but he tells me he will be unlikely to have time to look at it before Tuesday and that the synopsis will suffice for now. Later, I notice a couple of 150 numbers on my phone and realise that this is my voicemail telling me I have a message. Sure enough, when I check, it is the solicitor, so when I email him, I apologise for the misunderstanding. I email Jackie and Gino with the news and suggest I drive over on Monday evening and stay overnight with them, prior to our meeting with the solicitor the next morning. It is now five o'clock and I am starving, so I put some oven chips and fish fingers on to cook, microwave some garden peas and then slice some bread and make a pot of tea. Norman and I then have our dinner in the garden, basking in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. A line from "Porgy and Bess", running through my mind, "Summertime and the living is easy!" It will be autumn and then winter soon enough, but this summer weather is very welcome indeed. After dinner, Normy sits on my knee and we spend the hours until bedtime reading Patrick Gale. To bed for eleven.

Pizza in the garden with Laura and an attack of homophobia.

The improvement in the weather continues and I have a pleasant breakfast in the garden, boiled eggs and rye toast soldiers, Norman has to make do with Baker's dry dog food. After a shower we walk round the fields again with Nellie and Betty, risking "almost straight wood", after the rain on Tuesday but cutting in further down, in order to avoid the boggy bits. Norman and Nellie are firm friends now and Betty has found the way to the old guy's heart, through his belly. Each day is getting warmer now and the tabloids are forecasting a mini heat wave from tomorrow. Once the temperature gets over 25 degrees Celsius, it is too hot for me and I tend to avoid the hotter parts of the day. Today, however, the weather is perfect, about twenty degrees, so when we get back from our walk, around half past eleven, I run the extension lead into the garden and set up the ironing board and iron all of my clean washing, whilst listening to radio four. Once the ironing is finished and cleared away, I ring Sam to check what time I am due to collect Laura from school and she tells me half past three. It is already two fifteen, so I take the remaining pizza dough out of the refrigerator and leave it to warm through and rise again by the time we get back. Jackie has emailed back from holiday in Sardinia to say that Gino is happy with the synopsis, so I ring the solicitors and leave a message with a secretary for someone to ring me, before driving to Molescroft Primary School to collect Laura. I call at the doctor's surgery on my way there, to book a blood test for next week, to see how the prostate cancer is developing, hopefully not much! The only time they can fit me in, is next Wednesday morning at ten, the day before my holiday. The arrival of summer, at last, has improved everyone's mood and relaxed the dress code, all the mum's are wearing summer dresses or shorts and tee shirts, but a few of the dads are fashion disasters, the long, long, shorts not flattering for the older, fuller figure. Laura runs to me when she emerges from class, her cold has cleared up completely from last week and she looks the picture of health. We call at the supermarket on our way home in order to buy more salad, and pick up a bottle of tropical lilt for Laura and cream soda for me, (grandad pop). I ask Laura if she would like an ice cream, but she chooses Moo frozen yogurt instead. They are quite expensive, about £1.75p each but there is a special offer, two for £2.50p, so we have one each and then discover that there are no little spoons in the lid. So we take our yogurts to the supermarket cafe, borrow two spoons and eat them there. The fact that we are not supposed to eat our own food in the cafe, simply makes them taste better, and they are extraordinarily good. Whilst we eat them, Laura and I discuss the possibility of making our own. The idea tickles Laura, so we save the cartons and lids and as soon as we return to Tickton, we wash them out and then prepare our own recipe. First we chop up half a tin of peaches and mix this with some plain yogurt, then we add vanilla essence, some artificial sweetener and stir it all together, before spooning it into our Moo cartons, replacing the lids and putting them in the freezer to set. Laura wants to see if our recipe can fool her mum. This done, we set the oven to to 220 degrees Celsius, and while it is warming up, roll out our pizzas and then coat them with tomato purée, before adding slices of Mozarella and salami. Our next job is to make a tossed salad, which Laura particularly enjoys, so we take a chopping board and bowl into the garden, where she proceeds to prepare the lettuce, tomato, celery, spring onions and cucumber. No sooner have we started, than Sam and Rebecca arrive and when I check my watch, I find it is already five o'clock. We all sit in the garden, with Laura and I popping in and out of the kitchen, as we load the pizzas onto a baking stone and then fish them out of the oven fifteen minutes later, when they are done. We eat a sort of rolling pizza and salad dinner and almost forget the frozen yogurts, until Sam and the girls have to leave, around half past six, but recover them from the freezer before they go. The yogurts are not quite set, so it is decided to take them home and complete the process there. When everyone has gone, I clear all the pots away from the garden, Norman helping out by hoovering up any pieces of remaining pizza and then pile them all in the sink to soak. I flop in the armchair in the garden room and read a few chapters of Patrick Gale's "The Facts of Life", it is a very good book, but for some reason I am quite shocked by explicit descriptions of gay sex, when equally explicit sections on straight intercourse don't bother me at all. As a straight guy, can I be worried that they may turn me gay? I don't think so, but unconscious prejudice sometimes catches one out. Before turning in I wash up the pots, dry them and then stow them away in the cupboard. I treasure these visits from my grandchildren and easy days spent outdoors in the summer. To bed around ten thirty. Perhaps I will find time to swim tomorrow.

Friends, haircuts and briefs

Wednesday dawns bright and clear and, after breakfast and a shower, Normy and I once again walk with Nellie and Betty. We have arranged to leave earlier this morning, as I am meeting Felicity in the Poppy Seed around ten thirty. After the rain, we avoid walking through "almost straight wood", as the going underfoot may be boggy. The rain has been most welcome for the gardens and the plants, as the cold spring has also been very dry. The air is much cooler and softer this morning and the birds seem happier somehow, their voices united in a chorus of birdsong. We get home for ten, I bundle Norman into the car and then we drive to Tesco's, where I manage to find a place to park. It is not too far away from the Poppy Seed and we walk the quarter of a mile or so in a few minutes, to find Felicity just In the process of finishing a plate of scrambled eggs. There is just a scrap left, which she gives to Norman, before remembering my previous admonishment, that eggs give the old boy the squits. I reassure her that such a small amount is unlikely to have any dramatic effect. Felicity looks much better today and tells me that she feels better and has been walking more, which was exactly what she needed. Her daughter, Melissa, has also booked a holiday flat for them at Sewerby, near Bridlington, over the August Bank Holiday weekend, which gives her something to look forward to. They went to the same place last year and I paid them a visit. Hanne is on holiday in Denmark and neither Thelma or Annie appear, so at half past eleven I walk Felicity back to Albert Terrace, she has been dropped at the Poppy Seed by Liz, her Australian "Sherpa", and brought her trilator, a sort of Zimmer frame on three wheels. It takes a while, but she gets back OK and after settling her into her armchair, Norman and I make our way to Tim's, in Windmill walk, for my monthly haircut. Paul is just about to turn the open sign to closed as we approach, Wednesday is their half day closing, but he lets us in because my trim never takes more than a few minutes. The sole remaining customer quips about which of the two hairdressers are going to trim Normy, but I tell him that they aren't up to it, so I do it by hand myself. Ten minutes later we all leave together, the two hairdressers for lunch and Norman and I to return to the car, as our parking time is up. When we arrive home the sun is shining, so after making myself some tea and a sandwich, I work in the garden, pulling together a file of Gino's documents for the solicitor. I emailed him and Jackie this morning, in order to bring them up to speed and I am waiting for them to authorise my contacting the lawyer. It is simple enough work, but made more complicated by a mischievous wind, which occasionally sneaks in and steals a document. By half past four the file is ready and all the relevant documents sorted into categories and date order, so I break for a meal, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. I make a salad Nicoise, boiling a few new potatoes and an egg in the microwave and after cooling them down, slicing them and adding them to a tossed salad with tuna. The weather is warm and pleasant, as my garden is mostly shielded from the wind. After dinner I check my email and there is a confirmation from Jackie of their agreement to instruct solicitors. I reply and tell her and Gino that I will put together a synopsis of the main events, as a brief for the lawyers and mail that too them for their approval. After dinner, I boot up my laptop, open a "word" document and then spend a couple of hours pulling this together, before mailing it to my sister on holiday in Sardinia. The fresh air has made me tired, although I haven't swum since Monday, as I want to conserve my energy, in order to deal with the more urgent matters in hand. Perhaps I may get time to swim tomorrow? To bed for ten.

The slow lane to Birkenshaw

Tuesday dawns cool and cloudy, but so far without rain, although some is forecast around lunchtime. After breakfast, Norman and I walk with Nellie and Betty round the fields, which are sown with wheat, the ears quite well formed now, but still very green after the cold spring, everything remains about a month behind the normal schedule. When we get back, I work on Gino's file at the desk I bought from Leslie. I am driving over to Birkenshaw this afternoon, for a meeting with my youngest brother, Andrew, to discuss how we might progress matters. It is a while since I have done anything analytical or clerical in nature and it takes me longer to pull things together than I anticipated. On the other hand I have had plenty of time to think things through and have a pretty good idea now of what is relevant and important. Around two o'clock, I break for a pot of tea and a sandwich, which I eat in the garden, as the threatened rain has still not yet arrived, although dark clouds are massing to the west. At three o'clock, I load Norman into the car and then pop back into the house, in order to fetch a dog tin, in the event that the old boy's dinner time takes place in Birkenshaw. I drive to the M62, via Cherry Burton, Market Weighton and Howden. It is the shortest route, but also one that can be prone to delays, due to slow tractors, as it is very much an agricultural landscape. As we descend from the top of Arras Hill into the Vale of York, I can see the rain marching across the fields to meet us and by the time we reach Holme on Spalding Moor, the windscreen wipers are working hard. Fortunately the road is fairly clear, but I am driving "speed aware", and also cost consciously. My Chrysler has a two litre Volkswagen Diesel engine and at a steady 55 MPH it will deliver over 60 miles for each gallon of fuel. We join the motorway at Howden, where the bridge spans the river Ouse, before it merges with the Trent at Goole to form the River Humber. The motorway isn't too busy and as I am not in any particular hurry, I settle into the slow, inside lane and maintain the same 55 MPH speed, positioned safely a hundred yards behind a group of lorries. Occasionally someone pulls in in front of me, but I just drop back to re establish my safe distance. It is very relaxing driving this way, and as the statistics from the course last week showed, Motorways are the safest places to drive, as all the traffic is travelling in the same direction. When we get to Castleford, I have to slow down to 50 MPH, as that is the speed limit, there are continuous roadworks from here for the remainder of my journey on the Motorway. Despite enjoying life in the slow lane, I arrive at Andrew's house by four thirty, where it is still raining heavily. So, tucking Norman under one arm and with my umbrella in the other, I make my way to his door. Andrew has just got in from work, and is ready for a pot of tea, which he makes for both of us and gives Normy a bowl of water. After chatting about his cricketing activities and the chances for Bradford City after their promotion to League one, we settle down to discuss Gino's case. It seems clear to us both that our brother in law has been subject to very unfair treatment, but the legal case for a claim to a tribunal rests on a single issue, whether his recurrence of depression can be classified as a disability under the 2010 UK Equality act. To do so the illness must have lasted, or be likely to last twelve months and be sufficiently acute to affect his everyday ability to function. After checking the medical records we believe he qualifies, but neither of us are employment lawyers and we both feel that it is time to seek expert legal advice. Through his union, Andrew has secured a recommendation for a good local firm of solicitors, with expertise in this area, and it is agreed that I will contact them on Gino's behalf, after first seeking permission from him and Jackie to do so. We also agree that I should try to collate all the relevant evidence, in order to save the lawyer time and my brother in law unnecessary cost. The work done, we celebrate with another pot of tea and then I feed Norman with his tin and set off for the return journey, around a quarter to seven. It is still raining heavily, but by the time I rejoin the Motorway, the rush hour traffic has subsided, so I settle back into the inside lane and use the time driving home, to think about our next moves. We arrive home, around a quarter past eight, after a wet, but uneventful journey, I don't feel motivated to cook, so eat some bread and Camembert accompanied by a large glass of red wine and then turn in around ten.

Louis' Olympic Legacy Sports Day

Norman and I lie in until a quarter to eight and then eat a leisurely breakfast, outside it is a bright morning, with low clouds occasionally obscuring and then revealing the sun. Shadows and breezes chase each other across the meadow beyond my garden, which is almost obscured as the hawthorn hedge has grown a foot in the last six weeks and will need cutting before I go on holiday next week. Around half past eight, Sarah sends me a text to ask if I can go to Louis' sports day this morning, I text back to say that I will, but won't be able to get there until eleven, after I have taken Normy for his walk. I shower and dress, pack my swimming gear and then tidy up, before meeting my neighbour, Betty, to walk with her dog Nellie. Normy is getting used to them, aided by the fact that Betty always carries dog treats in her pocket and Norman loves anyone who caters to his belly. We walk down Carr Lane, over the little bridge and make our way through "almost straight wood", before doubling back along the side of the dyke. Betty has another kayaking lesson tonight at Albert Avenue baths, in Hull. This is in preparation for her National Geographic cruise to Antarctica, next January, I offer to reciprocate and look after Nellie for her, but she already has arrangements in place. When we get back, I give Norman a few biscuits and some fresh water, before driving to Manor Road and Louis' sports day. When I arrive, it is not at all what I expect. The children have been grouped into teams comprised of pupils from each year and given the national flag of an Olympic national team. Louis' team is Kenya. The teams then progress around more than twenty "sports taster", stations, where they spend five minutes trying a new activity and are given points for how well they try to learn. A loud klaxon sounds to indicate when it is time to move to the next activity. I find Louis and we share a hug, before he runs off to his next station and then the final klaxon sounds, just after half past eleven. The head teacher tells the children that the points will be added up and the results declared later in the week, then after thanking the teaching staff, who manned the stations and the parents for their support, the children are lead back to class for their lunch by their respective teachers. Louis waves me goodbye as he goes. I am reliably informed by a departing parent that this has been an "Olympic Legacy Sports Day". Afterwards, I make my way to the leisure centre for my swim. The pool is very busy, so no chance of swimming medleys today and I settle down in a double lane with four other swimmers and warm up on 400m freestyle, which I follow by 400m freestyle. Two swimmers leave the lane, so I turn on to my back to swim 400m backstroke and by the time I have finished this, the adjacent lane becomes free and I fit in 4 x 100m Individual Medleys, before more swimmers arrive, so warm down on 400m split between backstroke and freestyle. The guys in the kitchen tell me that they haven't yet had their delivery of flour today, so there are no scones, and I have to make do with a toasted teacake instead. After watching Laura Robson break her blonde opponents service and then lose her own service and eventually the first set at Wimbledon, I drive to Morrisons, where I buy some more fruit, salad and bread, before driving to Saint Mary's to collect Louis at a quarter past three. It has started to rain as I park up down Manor Road, but fortunately I have my cagoule-in-a-bag with me, which I pull over my head and my little black umbrella. The rain stops as suddenly as it started and I start to cook inside the plastic coat, so as soon as I have settled Louis into his car seat, I take it off again. After driving home and unpacking the shopping, Louis and I walk through the snicket to the playing fields by the Village Hall, leaving Norman in the garden sleeping in the sun, which has started to shine brightly. Fortunately there are lots of children at the park and they are starting to get to know Louis, the girls especially seem to like him, so I am able to sit on a bench and observe proceedings with the minimum expenditure of effort. After an hour, Louis challenges me to a balancing competition on the snake, we have to walk its complete length and return, without falling off. He wins easily, but I manage it eventually, on the third attempt. When we return home, I make pizza for us both, using half the dough that I mixed with Laura and saved in the fridge, we also make a tossed salad with fine slices of Gran Padano, to accompany this. The pizza turns out OK,  now that I have allowed more time for the yeast to work. After dinner, we walk Normy, down as far as the little bridge and Louis climbs into the hollow willow tree, with holes in the trunk that look like gun ports, and that he has christened his "Pirate Ship". We play the "praise and pat", game with Normy on the way back, it is a lovely warm summer's evening and my neighbours wave to us from their gardens, as we make our way home. It is almost half past seven, when I drop Louis off with Alice, Sarah is due home imminently, she had two private patients to see to after work. Alice gives me the four piece set of Viner's stainless steel cutlery, that her mum bought as a thank you present for looking after Louis for the weekend. I thank her and then drive home, where I read a few more chapters of "The Facts of Life", before turning in.

Let's do it all again Grandad!

Louis wakes even earlier this morning, creeping into my bed at half past five and despite my best efforts, resists all attempts to get him off to sleep again. Fortunately Norman spent the night in his own bed and yawns at me sleepily, as I make my way into the kitchen to make breakfast. The sink is full of dirty pots, left behind by Alice, after she made dinner for herself last night, so the first task of the day is to wash these up, before putting on the frying pan for Louis' full English breakfast. When I check the fridge, all the eggs have gone, so it is a full English, without the eggs. After breakfast, I shower and dress and then run a bath for Louis and afterwards dress him in clean clothes, before sending him upstairs, in order to rouse Alice from her slumbers at a quarter to ten. She eventually appears, on the hour and I pass the guardianship of my grandson to her, while I walk Normy round Seven Corners Lane again. It is a pleasant day, quite warm out and already there are people playing on the courts at Beverley Tennis club, no doubt also enthused by the success of Murray and Robson. I return Norman to Sarah's, before walking the fifteen metres to Saint John's for ten thirty mass. The attendance seems a little thinner this morning, as we celebrate the apostles, Peter and Paul, nevertheless, those of us who attend, give a good account of ourselves over the hymns. Father Roy, asks me how I am on my way out and I tell him, a little frazzled from baby sitting Louis, "You poor thing", he says, his voice heavy with irony. His front room window looks on to North Bar and he frequently sees me collecting or delivering my grandson. When I return to collect him, he says he wants to go to the Doctor's park, to play football, but first we are taking Norman and my overnight gear back to Tickton, I have negotiated with Alice to look after Louis until half past five and then she can take over until her mum gets back. After dropping Norman off at home, Louis changes his mind and wants to play tennis at the courts in Tickton, which were deserted as we drove past. They are still empty when we return, so we knock the sponge ball back and forth over the net, with the plastic racquets Louis bought with his spending money yesterday. He firmly resists all attempts at coaching, but there again why should I fare better than the tennis professional at the club, who attempted in vain to impart a vestige of technique into my grandson last year. After paying for six lessons, every Saturday morning, we gave it up as a lost cause. Fortunately some older boys arrive and start a kick about on the five a side pitch, so Louis hands me the tennis kit and runs off to join them. I have a blissful hour, sitting in the sun, doing absolutely nothing, while the boys play football, Louis, inevitably, plays in goal. Around three o'clock everyone goes home, and Louis says he is starving, so we drive back to my house, where I make a late lunch. Louis wants a hamburger with cheese, salad and whole meal pitta bread, so I run the extension into the garden, plug in the grill and we cook in the sun. He really likes Haloumi cheese, grilled, on top of his burger, which I cut in half and insert into two toasted pitta breads, resting each half on a bed of tossed salad. Unfortunately we only have two pitta's left, so I eat my burger between slices of toasted whole meal bread, also on a bed of salad, but that works OK as well. Poor Norman has to make do with a dog tin, as both Louis and I clear our plates, for dessert we finish off the last of the peaches and yogurt. After allowing half an hour for our meal to digest, I run Louis to the Doctors park, where he is in luck, the boys he played football with yesterday are back and they let him play in goal, while their five a side kick about takes place. I drop my grandson back home just before six, Alice tells me Sarah will be back in ten minutes, so I ask her to wash Louis and dress him in his pyjamas for bed, before driving home to Tickton. It is a lovely, warm evening, the sun still shining on the last third of the garden, so I stretch out in the recliner and read my new book, a pot of tea at my elbow. Norman begs to be lifted onto my knee, gives a sigh of deep contentment and then promptly falls asleep. We are both very glad to be home. Six chapters later, around a quarter to eight, the sun finally sinks behind the house and we return indoors. Sarah phones to thank me for baby sitting and tells me that she has bought me four settings of cutlery, as a thank you present. She tends to buy me things for the house, as most of my stuff is hand me downs, having left the house and all its contents with my wife, when I departed, almost three years ago now. It was a decision I should have made at least twenty years earlier, but better late than never. I manage to write a blog before bedtime and then turn in around ten thirty.

Football and Tennis in the sun with Louis

I am woken at six, when Louis climbs into my bed and tells me is hungry and wants breakfast, before stroking Norman, who has also inveigled his way aboard, during the night. Bowing to the inevitable, I get up and start to make a full English for the three of us. Louis and I both donate half a sausage and some bacon to Normy, who is waiting impatiently for his share of the spoils. After breakfast and washing the pots together, we shower and then I walk Normy round Seven Corner's Lane, Louis preferring to play "Temple Run", on my iPad. Norman and I meet Jan Morrison and her little dachshund, toffee, as we make our way back to the house. Toffee is now two years old and replaced her previous sausage dog, who like Norman, survived to sixteen years of age. Jan says it is quite an adjustment from an elderly dog, who just wants to sleep and eat and the hyperactivity of a puppy. I laugh as I equate that contrast to Louis and myself! We get back for a quarter to ten and I leave Louis in Alice's care, while Normy and I walk through the Bar to the Poppy Seed cafe. Felicity is already there, drinking a coffee and waiting for the delivery of a plate of scrambled eggs. She looks a little better and tells me that the fine weather has encouraged her to walk a little more often and a little further. Her sister, Joy, arrives and they discuss a garden party they are attending tomorrow at, where else, Jan Morrison's. I pretend offence at not being invited by Jan, but when I see they are taking me seriously, I laugh and say that I can't think of anything more likely to destroy the event, than me arriving with Louis, who would just want to play football. Later, we are joined by Annie and Barbara English, but Norman and I leave at a quarter to eleven, as we are only allowed to park outside Sarah's house for two hours on a Saturday. The traffic wardens start work at nine. Louis wants to play football, but first we need to drive to Tickton, where I change into my shorts and transfer my orthotics to a pair of old, but very comfortable, Ecco trainers. I leave fresh water and some biscuits for Normy and the garden room door open, so that he can go outside, if he needs to. We drive back to Beverley and park near our doctor's, a football field and children's playground lies just across the road. It is now midday and the sun is shining from a clear sky and it feels quite hot, but fortunately we have brought a bottle of water and some fruit. Unfortunately the park is deserted, because it is lunchtime, so Louis and I play football on our own. He playing in goal and me shooting at him, fortunately for me, a group of older boys, about twelve or thirteen years of age, arrive after half an hour and they allow Louis to play with them. I retire to a park bench and sit in the sunshine and watch them play, grateful that I remembered to apply plenty of sun block, after showering this morning. Around half past two, the game breaks up and the boys leave. Louis and I drive to Norwood and park up, before walking to Saturday Market, where we buy some more salad and a large, whole meal loaf, before stopping at the micro pub, where Louis has an old fashioned lemonade, with ginger and I a half a pint of Newsome bitter. On our way back to the car, we stop at Tesco, where Louis buys a plastic tennis set, with £5 from his spending money. Back in Tickton, Louis wants his favourite meal, ante pasta, which we eat with fresh crusty bread, sat in the warm sunshine, in the garden. Around four o'clock we set off for the play park at Tickton, which has a pair of tennis courts, this playground is barely a hundred yards from the one we normally frequent, next to the village hall. It is designed more for older children and teenagers, apart from the tennis courts, there is also a basketball court and an adventure playground. When we arrive there, the tennis courts are both occupied and I have to restrain Louis, who wants to join in with the adults who are playing a game, no doubt encouraged and enthused by the successes this week of Andy Murray and Laura Robson at Wimbledon. Whilst we wait for a court to be free, he plays with some other children on the slide wire and an adventure climbing net. When a court eventually becomes free, Louis plays tennis with another little boy, around his age, who is also accompanied by his grandparents. The other boy's grandmother attempts to show them how to hold the racquet and serve the ball, albeit underhand. Being boys, they won't listen and just want to hit the ball past each other, so she eventually gives up and leaves them to their own devices. Neither boy manages to make an effective serve, much less a return of serve, but it keeps them amused for an hour, until the little boy and his grandparents have to leave. Louis and I drive back to North Bar, arriving at Sarah's house around six o'clock, where I hand Louis over to Alice, who washes him and puts him in his pyjamas, while I feed Norman and then take him for his evening walk, around Seven Corner's Lane again. Louis goes to bed, around half past seven, his day of playing football and tennis in the sun, having taken effect. Alice goes to her room and I watch a film on TV, Ridley Scott's Prometheus, which I saw two years ago at the cinema. I feel too tired to read and sit, with a cold beer, until eleven o'clock, when the film ends. It is even less impressive for a second viewing than it was the first time. To bed for eleven, where I fall asleep immediately.