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.