"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.