Rattling around as usual

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Fireworks at the Castle, as seen from Aspland RoadFireworks at the Castle, as seen from Aspland Road

As I sit here writing this, my wife is mixing with Royalty. A governor of Little Plumstead Primary School, she is meeting Prince Edward (Earl of Wessex) as he visits the school as part of a Norfolk tour. She was panicking slightly as she left because she had just received an e-mail saying that all the parking places were booked and she should park at the church. She wasn’t sure where that was, but no doubt it all turned out all right.

The weather has remained fairly wintry – or at least autumny. I guess it will remain so till about next May. Not sure humans were ever meant to live at these latitudes. Things have been quite hectic, even without the royalty.

Last Saturday I secured an appointment with my uncle Paul and delivered a version of our family tree that he had requested. Needless to say, he didn’t remember requesting it, but he remembers very little nowadays except who people are. When I rang him to arrange the visit, my cousin Stephen was with him, and I had a quick chat with him. He was very upbeat, despite worsening MS. After a pleasant half an hour, I left Paul to his Wiltshire Farms meal and the opportunity to examine the tree. I’ve had no feedback yet, but he was very appreciative of all my efforts. I said I had enjoyed doing it, which was true.

In the evening we visited another Paul – Henderson of that ilk – who was singing in the Philharmonic at St Andrew’s Hall at the time. Good programme: Debussy’s La Mer (orchestra only), then Lloyd’s Mass, which was excellent. Afterwards Paul and Maryta came back for coffee as the rain beat down, and I drove them home.

Another busy day on Sunday: first the Remembrance Communion at church, led by Howard and with Eleanor officiating and preaching. Reading of the names was emotional as always. Phil had called off both church and the Seagull because of work pressures; so in the afternoon Dot and I drove to Aldeburgh to see James Knox Whittet’s exhibition of sonnets and pictures relating to Islay. Although we missed the opening, we were there in time to see James and his wife – and sample some Islay whisky.

We followed this with fish and chips next door at the Galleon (also excellent) and a brief walk on the seafront in the darkness before heading north to Lowestoft. Dot remembered where there was a Morrisons garage and so we were able to save some money on petrol (we had a voucher). We arrived in Pakefield early and so drove down to the harbour and got a drink at the Harbour Inn, which was unexpected and pleasant. Then on to the Seagull, where we rehearsed for a while. Very few people present; so I got an opportunity to sing three songs and read two poems. Dot accompanied me on two of the songs, but declined on the third.

When we set off for Norwich I left my glasses behind. After searching exhaustively for them at home on Wednesday (after managing without them for a couple of days, assuming they’d turn up) I e-mailed Ian, who not only had found them but was about to travel to Norwich; so he dropped them off yesterday afternoon, while I was out but Dot wasn’t.

Travelled to North Walsham on Monday for a meeting of the Paston Trustees, during which Lucy outlined plans for yet another grant bid – this time for a project that had to be completed by the end of March next year. I pointed out the ridiculously short time frame, but to no avail. She is bidding for the money.

In the early evening Naomi arrived to stay for a couple of nights while she completed some work at the UEA. She planned to leave at 8.30 the following morning, but it was after 9.30 before she appeared. Still, all apparently went well. In the afternoon I had my urology appointment at Cromer. They were running nearly an hour late, and none of the expected things like x-ray and scanning happened. I had a flow test, which was OK, and a bit of an examination, but failed to convince the doctor that anything was wrong. So no change there, then.

Yesterday we took the MX5  in to the garage because of a rattle that I had been worried about for some time. I went for a run with mechanic Wayne (nice bloke), who diagnosed it en route as a loose caliber pin sheath (not sure that’s the right word) on the left front wheel. We left it while he packed it with grease and made sure there was no risk of anything going wrong when Dot travels to Liverpool in about ten days. When we picked it up again in late afternoon, it was much better: Dot also got some new mats, which were remarkably cheap, given the cost of everything else with the name Mazda on it.

While the car was in the garage I paid some cheques in and then went to see The Pity of War, a short piece written by and starring David Newham on the friendship between Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen and including (of course) some of their work. While waiting to go in I bumped into Sue and Roger, and sat with them. Also said hello to Trevor Burton, another ex-colleague and actor, afterwards, as well as congratulating David.

Unfortunately, though, I had to rush off, because I had an appointment to meet Joy McCall and Nick Gorvin at 3pm to discuss plans for my Iona book, which Joy insists on financing. First time I’ve been to her house, which is impressive – especially the Garden Room. All specially adapted so that she can move around freely in her wheelchair. Also met her husband Andy for the first time and was able to check that he didn’t mind his wife spending her money in producing a book for me. He didn’t.

After some deep discussion and a brief chat about the book, I have agreed to make it thicker so that it can be perfect bound. Joy insists. I think Nick is a bit bemused by the whole thing. I suppose I am really.

Back in the tree again

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P1130104This is a historic day. From 10am St Stephen’s was closed to cars and, no doubt, even more traffic chaos will ensue elsewhere in the city. I popped out and took a bus to the top of the street three days ago and took the memorable picture above. Well, more historic than memorable.

Apart from that, not much physical activity from me in the past three days, but I have been putting quite a lot of effort into researching my family tree, having been nudged into it (see last post). Last time I saw my uncle Paul he said he would like me to do him a tree; so I have been trying to put together something coherent. Obviously you can’t get an entire tree on one sheet of paper; so I’ve compromised with several sheets and a couple of pages of notes. Will deliver tomorrow, having spoken to him (and Stephen) on the phone this lunchtime.

The research was interesting and sometimes exciting but mainly frustrating, because of course all the old records which could have included valuable information don’t. For instance, the omission everywhere of a mother’s maiden name is not helpful. Didn’t these people realise how interested so many people would be in where they came from? Oh no, they didn’t. Why should they?

Anyway, I’m now back to my great-great-great-great grandfather on my father’s side, which I suppose is something, though the earliest two generations are slightly speculative. They make sense, though. Nothing really too thrilling, though. About the most exciting thing I’ve discovered is that my great-grandmother was a servant at a chemist’s in Regent Street when she was 26 and unmarried. This also revealed the answer to the question of why she got married in London, when her home was in Northamptonshire and the groom’s home was in Huntingdonshire. So a small triumph there.

Meanwhile the weather has turned very wintry, not encouraging me to go out, though Dot has been to many different schools this week. Naomi has asked if she can stay with us for a while, and I’ve said yes.

Speculation about past

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Julia, Dot and friend in the Higbees' garden.
Julia, Dot and friend in the Higbees’ garden.

Right on schedule, the weather has turned wintry: it is, after all, Bonfire Night tomorrow. Happily the cold conversion was preceded by some unseasonably mild weather, during which Dot and did some tidying up in the garden. But yesterday I ventured into the city with some cheques (accompanied by Dot on a different mission to Dipples and Jarrolds) and a very dark sky presented us with some unpleasantly chilly drizzle.

Ah well: all good things come to an end, they say, and I have also come to the end of my Find-my-Past credits. They warned me their time was running out, so I had a blitz, during which I discovered some stuff about my cousin Brenda, who turned out to be older than I thought, and then a little about my grandmother’s family. I have now decided to abdicate from FMP and stick to Genes Reunited, where I have my Family Tree.

Further speculation about the past occurred last week, when Dot and I went with Judy to a talk at the Quaker Meeting House on fossil evidence for the Flood and a young Earth. It was interesting enough to get Judy and me to a debate two nights later (Friday) at the same place, where the original speaker debated with a vicar who championed Evolution. I had some sympathy with the former speaker, but I don’t think he quite understood that the Bible wasn’t written in English and that references to well known figures could be to legend rather then history. The other guy was more appealing but his dependence on statistics and consensus was not terribly convincing. As always, they didn’t really answer each other’s points.

Why was Dot not present at the debate? She had a ticket to watch Norwich City beat Bolton, about which there was no dispute.

Between these ventures into the past Dot and I had a meal with Angela and Rodney at Prezzo’s, who were understaffed and hard pressed. Still, the meal was nice enough, and it was a pleasant evening, catching up on Auntie Ethel’s latest confusions.

On Sunday, in the absence of Nicholas, en route to Aspen, I led a joint service at the hall. This was because St Luke’s had given the day over to a kind of installation in which people read from the Bible for 24 hours and there was a brazier outside (not sure why). After the service Dot and I went along to hear Judy read from one of Peter’s letters. Our service had 14 Augustinians joined by ten from St Luke’s, and Howard speaking on All Souls, All Saints and Hallowe’en, and suggesting we should pay more attention to All Saints Day.

In the afternoon Dot and I visited Jessie after calling in at a gloomy cemetery to drop off flowers – almost literally, as there was not much space for parking and we were late for Mason Villa. Roger was also with Jessie, and I talked to him quite a bit about his recent America trip and about the flow and power of showers. Nice afternoon. Sad news from Phil about Sam and Lucy, who is still very unwell. Phil and Joy have just spent two weeks with them.

Turner, but not Burma

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Poppies at the Tower of London: you can almost see them flowing out of the window.
Poppies at the Tower of London: you can almost see them flowing out of the window.

Quiet week last week, or maybe my memory’s gone. I see to recall attending a private view at the Theatre Royal for Martin Laurance and a couple of other artists (ML impressive as always), but the only person there I knew apart from Martin was Hilary Mellon. Dot was working hard at home: she has quite a lot on at the moment.

We were due to spend the weekend with the Coomes in London, but David was taken ill on the Thursday night with a bad bout of nocturnal epilepsy, which left him in a lot of pain. So instead we arranged to go down on the train for Saturday only and meet Kristine at Liverpool Street. The train was full and we eventually found ourselves sitting next to a very pleasant and interesting couple: the husband was an aerial photographer, and we learnt some intriguing things about CGI and created landscapes. He also showed us some pictures he’d taken from a helicopter of the 800,000 poppies at the Tower of London.

After meeting Kristine we took a tube to Victoria and eventually found a pub-restaurant she’d booked called The Phoenix, which was terrific, and took us although we were 15 minutes late. The food was first-class. We all had sea bass, and Dot and I shared some chips. Afterwards we tubed to Pimlico and walked to the Tate, arriving just before our allotted time of 3pm.

Not sure why galleries have to be so hot. After reaching the second room (of six) I had to go to the loo and take all my clothes off, but I did put my shirt back on again. Extensive show of late Turner paintings, and as I love Turner I could have stayed all day – but it was tiring, and we eventually repaired to the shop and then the cafe.

Kristine stayed on the tube while we changed for London Bridge, where we found it hard to find the river and ended up in the back streets of Bermondsey surrounded by massive construction works. But after inquiring of a construction guy we eventually hit the river by HMS Belfast, where we had a very expensive glass of wine (over £15 for two) on the upper deck of the cafe (not the ship). Still, no doubt we were paying for the view, which was superb.

Afterwards we proceeded to Tower Bridge and walked over it to the Tower of London and its poppies, which even in the dark of early evening were more than impressive. From there we intended to take the tube from Tower Hill to Liverpool Street, but the tube station  was closed, and a notice informed us it was a short walk – which, compared to the West Highland Way, it certainly is. I am used to walking between Liverpool Street and London Bridge, but wasn’t at all sure of myself here, and we had to ask a couple of people, both of whom were extremely helpful.

London seems to be covered by construction work at the moment. However, we made it in time for the 8.30pm train, which again was packed, and we dozed most of the way home.

Our unexpected availability on the Sunday meant we could not only go to church, but also re-insert an abandoned meal with the Greens and Barbara Vidion at our house, during which the visiting trio majored on Burma, where the Greens had just been, and which Barbara was due to travel to. Nothing that was said would have enticed me to visit Burma, but this is no doubt a deficiency on my part.

However, the feeling is shared by Julia Higbee, as was revealed when we visited her and Allan for lunch yesterday at Newton Flotman. Dot drove; so I was able to indulge more than usual, and we had a lovely meal and conversation. Autumn is drawing on, but the weather is good at the moment: crisp and mainly dry, with plenty of sun.

I should mention that on Monday I obtained £300 in dollars as a gift for Nicholas from St Augustine’s congregation. Dot and I delivered it to him in the afternoon, and he was effusively grateful. He is already looking American. While on the theme of travel, Dot and I have just committed to a week in the South of France with Fred and Sue next May, travelling from Luton airport. Fred is making all the arrangements; so I am quietly confident.

Here and there in Herts (and Beds and Bucks)

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Sunset from Dunstable Downs.
Sunset from Dunstable Downs.

Back in Norwich, with plenty of sleep to catch up on. Not Amy’s fault: she was a model child, and could probably have looked after herself if she could drive. It was the early mornings and the multiple journeys: I seem to have covered a good chunk of Hertfordshire, plus pieces of neighbouring counties.

Friday was an interesting day. The journey to school was smooth, with none of the problems of the previous day. Dot settled down to cleaning limescale off the shower, and I did a bit of reading. We picked up Amy at 4.15pm, and I saw Becky (Amelie’s mother) arrive and meet her parents, who appeared to be taking Amelie’s brother Sebastian somewhere while Becky waited for the girls. We decided to take Amy home and collect a change of clothes (as a precaution) before heading towards Felden, just the other side of Hemel Hempstead.

The M1 was fine, but the bits before and after were crowded, and we seemed to take an age getting through Hemel Hempstead with its famously weird (but efficient) roundabout. Amy was worried about being late, but in fact we arrived ten minutes before Becky and the other girls and chatted to Becky’s parents or sat quietly in the car, depending on who we were.

Not wanting to go back on to the M1 on  a Friday evening in rush hour, we reset the satnav for “shortest” instead of “fastest” and ruled out motorways. At first this backfired badly, as it kept returning us to where we started, but in the end it guided us through some side streets and on to the Leighton Buzzard road, when we arrived quickly and surprisingly at Water End, not far from Beechwood Park. Dot started on cooking the lasagne, and we decided it was best if I picked up Oliver from the Travellers’ Rest.

This went well, and I delivered him back to Caddington for his meal. I had a bite or two before setting off for Felden again, using the new route, which again worked well. I was only a minute or two late to pick up Amy at just after 8.30pm. I was invited in: the house was beautiful and in a lovely setting on Felden ridge. Becky chatted for a while about schools and other things, and then Amy and I drove back again to Caddington, where I fell upon my lasagne and, shortly afterwards, into bed.

Not quite such an early start on Saturday. We were at Dunstable Leisure Centre in good time for Amy’s swimming lesson at 9am, followed by Oliver’s at 9.30. We met Claire, a chartered surveyor, whose son James is in Oliver’s group, and enjoyed a  hot drink. Afterwards we returned to Caddington, where Amy unwrapped her presents and got a visit from Grace. Amy seemed to like her sponsored snow leopard. I found that Grace had also sponsored one; so snow leopards are safe in Caddington.

Next up was the birthday lunch at Flamstead Harvester. Very pleasant, though it’s hard to resist eating too much of the free salad. The waitress was excellent. Returning to the house, Grace came round again, before heading off to Dubai. Amazing. The four of us then set off for Aylesbury, following the satnav route until it was overruled by Oliver directing us to his school, which we caught a glimpse of as we turned back to Vicky’s house.

We found this with the combined help of Oliver and the satnav, and Vicky invited us in for a cup of tea. The children invited us to look round the house, and then we had a viewing of the rather frightening video of Oliver driving a Ferrari at 100mph. It was nice to see where the children spent half their time.

Heading back to Caddington, we had to divert when police blocked the Whipsnade road where, it transpired later, a motorcyclist had been killed in a crash. This just put us back on to the road over Dunstable Downs, where I got some quite nice pictures of the sunset.

We set off for home just before 7pm and had an easy journey – Dot driving – arriving about 9.15pm after calling in at the Hitchin garage for petrol, food and flowers (a bouquet for Heather the next day). Both totally shattered when we got to Norwich: watched a bit of TV and didn’t unpack till today…

…missing out Sunday completely. But we still had to get up reasonably early to reach St Luke’s by 9.30am for a rehearsal with their worship band (four guitars, keyboards, flute, violin, viola – and that was without Phil, who didn’t make it). This Communion service was the final appearance by Nicholas before his departure for Aspen at the beginning of next month, and included a bring-and-share lunch, for which Nicholas sat me next to Stuart, presumably so that I could talk to him. Other than playing our instruments, we didn’t take any leading role in the service, but being in such a big music group was fun.

Afterwards, with autumn hastening on, we more or less collapsed into the sofa and watched lots of television. Today we were late up and have been slowly unravelling. Although it was tiring, we loved being with Amy and being part of her routine, and spending a day with Oliver too.

It’s now raining, and there is the promise of strong winds later. I got out just in time to pay in some church cheques, and Dot picked up her pills. David no doubt is recovering from his journey. We spoke at length on FaceTime yesterday, and he seemed pretty well. Today is Amy’s birthday, but we have been unable to contact her yet.

Hockey near Otterspool

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And here we are in Caddington. Amy is programming something on Google, Oliver is on Facetime from Aylesbury and Dot is cooking fajitas. I have just finished a John Le Carre book, which ended up in a predictably depressing way that I guess is realistic as far as the Congo is concerned. I picked it up at Edingthorpe Church while showing Dave and Julia one of the Paston walks.

We drove down here yesterday, stopping off to see Aunt Ethel on the way. She was healthy enough but a bit concerned that she and John were being asked to take on the running of the home following their arranged marriage. Interesting idea.

We arrived in plenty of time to have a bite to eat and then drive down to Aldenham to watch Amy playing hockey at Edge Grove School. We met Emma and had a chat, than after the game – in which Amy looked pretty good to me – all the parents / grandparents were invited for  a match tea: sandwiches, cakelets and hot drinks. Very civilised.

On the way home we drove in to neighbouring Wall Hall College, which is now private roads and pricey dwellings for the super-rich. Once back on the M1 we could catch a glimpse of Otterspool, which I understand has suffered much the same fate.

We got home to Caddington around 4.45pm, and Dot cooked chicken chasseur with pasta. Then, following a plan we had only just found out about, I drove to the Travellers’ Rest at Edlesborough to meet Vicky (and Oliver) and take delivery of various bags of clothing and other items. By now it was raining hard as forecast, but this had dispersed by the time we woke up this morning, shortly before 7am.

We were more or less spectators as Amy got herself breakfast, and we left around 7.40pm. Despite being held up by a rear-end shunt (not us), a traffic jam on the A505 and a bin lorry in the narrow streets of Markyate, we made it to school in good time, and Amy disappeared in search of her school shoes which she – in common, it turned out, with several other girls – had left behind when setting off for her hockey match the day before. These duly turned up, but she is now minus a sock.

We turned up early to meet Amy out of school, and the journey both out and in was uneventful. Grace popped round for a bit, then Amy went to hers, then Grace came back … and eventually was fetched by her father. Amy had a bath and we watched some catch-up TV on Dot’s laptop; then had an early night. Earlier in the day we had visited Sainsburys and spoke to a woman who had to get up at 5am to get her granddaughter to school. Going a bit far, in several ways.

Before our journey south, on Monday we were given a lift by the Archers to Judy’s for our occasional cake and compline. In a later e-mail David A said he had felt “below par” and thought I was too. I didn’t know that.

Answering sculpture call

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Organ recital at Paston Church, with just a hint of medieval wall painting in the background (right).
Organ recital at Paston Church, with just a hint of medieval wall painting in the background (right).

The scaffolding has departed, the roof seems secure, and a cheque for over £2000 will shortly be winging its way to the builder. So that’s all right. Meanwhile, David is in Canada for Thanksgiving, and I have written three more Iona poems in the hope of getting a book together and keeping Joy happy: she wants me to publish a book of photographs and poems.

On Wednesday I went to see the doctor, who seemed fairly happy with me and in a bit of a hurry for a training session. He is going to book me in for an ultrasound check on my upper stomach/large bowel, but he says my other symptoms (virtually none) make it unlikely that it’s anything too serious. This is not as reassuring as he might have intended it to be.

I left my glasses behind, which he didn’t notice as he flew out of the room, but when I got home, I realised what I’d done. I rang the surgery, to be told it was closed for training. I drove back anyway and found it was indeed closed, which is a rare example of joined-up thinking at Thorpewood. So I had to do without my glasses until the following  morning, when I picked them up from reception.

Later that day, we had our hair cut after a postponement from last week. This is normal – even more normal that postponing a meeting with the Coomes.

Yesterday was the much-heralded Open Day at Paston Church, organised largely by the PCC but partly by the Paston Heritage Society. Dot and I drove out, enjoyed an organ recital, and I took Penny back to North Walsham so that Rob could continue in role as John Paston in a funny hat. On my return there was a talk on medieval wall paintings, which was more interesting than it sounds. Peter was there showing an updated version of the DVD in which Rob appears with animation of a reconstruction of Paston Hall. Impressive, actually. Lucy was there for quite a while, feeling considerably better than of late. Refreshments were superb as usual, despite Brigette being called away because her no-longer-secret barn had flooded.

We called in on Jessie on the way back, adding to our refreshment, and after our return tho Norwich (through a considerable thunderstorm) we got a call from the Hendersons halfway through our mussels. As a result recalled round for champagne and a view (through the darkness) of the new sculpture, which was nicely placed and looking good. We took some cakes, which turned out to be mouldy. Ah well.

Today was Nicholas’ last communion at St Augustine’s, which attracted a motley crew of more than 30 people, including Vicky and Amy and others less distinguished. All very jolly, with excellent cake from Anna and apparently some wine, though this did not reach me. I had a nice cup of tea, though.

Karen and Julia at UEA

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Dave, Dot and Julia at the start of the walk, near Paston Great Barn
Dave, Dot and Julia at the start of the walk, near Paston Great Barn

The roof has been restored – we hope. It’s raining today, and it rained more on Saturday: no evidence of water getting in, but we’ve had nothing like the downpours that caused the original problem.

Builder Bert finished on Thursday – earlier than we thought and his departure coincided  with the appearance of the window cleaner; so I didn’t have a proper discussion with him. Later I noticed that some leading around the chimney was loose; so I contacted the scaffolders, who I thought were going to remove the scaffolding on Friday. They said they weren’t, and  they’d get Bert to ring me, but nothing happened.

I rang them again on the Saturday morning and left a message asking for Bert’s phone number (which I’d lost). They rang back with it, and I was eventually able to speak to him. He came round on Sunday morning and repaired the leading – all of this fitting in neatly with our other weekend activities centring on the visit of the Evetts. The scaffolding is still there, but it should go tomorrow. The Evetts are in St Albans, on their way to pick up Amy.

Before they got here, on the Wednesday, when it was still warm, I visited the dentist, who cleared me at a cost of £98, and then Geoff Saunders, who had had a recent seizure problem resulting in a sudden visit to hospital. This turned out to be more spectacular than serious, and he was quite chirpy. His right side had improved a lot, and he said his feet were getting better. HIs carer, Lisa, was there, and we all had a cup of tea and biscuits.

In the evening, while Dot was at orchestra, I visited the Arts Centre for a performance of The Shipwrecked House by poet Claire Trévien. It opened with some new poems from Martin Figura, and I found myself seated next to his wife, Helen Ivory; so I couldn’t heckle. As if: one or two of the poems, on politicians and machines, were quite good. The main event was disappointing, despite its glowing reviews. I probably should have read the book before I went, because it was hard to make out what was going on, and she wasn’t easy to hear in the face of the sound effects (sea, storm etc). 

The next day I was picked up fairly early by Rob Knee, and we visited Karen Smyth at UEA to talk about a big research project relating to the Pastons that Karen would like to get money for. In the afternoon Dot and I were supposed to have our hair cut, but when it became apparent that Linda wasn’t coming, Dot rang her, and she said she’d sent me a message on Facebook. I then discovered that she had, but for some reason it hadn’t reached my e-mail inbox. Ho hum.

Dave and Julia arrived about 1.30pm on Friday. We had lunch and then walked the riverside path up to the art school, followed by tea and coffee at Costa’s in London Street. It was warm enough to sit outside, and it was still pretty warm the next morning when Julia went off to a conference at which she was speaking at UEA and we took Dave (via bus and the rail bridge) to walk round the new broad at Whitlingham, plus a bit of Thorpe Green.

After lunch we took the bus again – this time to the Sainsbury Centre for a superb exhibition entitled Reality. Some really mesmerising  paintings, including a couple by Kate Coleman. Particularly liked Clive Head and John Keane. During this the forecast rain arrived, and the temperature fell. Julia emerged from her conference and joined us for a drink in the restaurant, and then we took the bus home – a 70-minute marathon during which we waited interminably on Foundry Bridge to turn right into a road packed with stationary cars. The bus was jammed, but at least the rain was stopping.

In the evening we walked up to Jamie’s for an excellent meal: our waiter was Steve, who we had had before. He was first class.

On Sunday it was dry, but with some chilliness in the air. After Bert fixed the leading round the chimney, we drove to Mundesley for scones and tea, and then did a shortened version of one of the Paston walks, starting at the church and visiting Edingthorpe after doing a bit of blackberry picking on the way (crumble for supper later); then completing the circle. Just over four miles, and we popped into the recently repaired church before we returned to Mundesley for tea and cake.

In the evening we watched the Japanese grand prix, the result of which we had been keeping from Dave all day.

Oxnead event fulfils hope

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Oliver at the wheel of a fast-moving Ferrari.
Oliver at the wheel of a fast-moving Ferrari.

After months of planning, the big Paston event at Oxnead Hall slotted neatly into place on Friday. The weather was fine – often sunny – dry and warm, and the 80 or so invited guests were able to explore the extensive gardens without recourse to umbrellas or wellington boots. They were welcome by Rob, sitting by the car park, checking them off his list – one of his few moments of relaxation.

Interestingly, the Eagles arrived very early, largely because they had the time wrong. But many others drove in before the official start time, including some distinguished Paston experts like Jean Agnew. So much like Jean Agnew, in fact, that it was Jean Agnew – author of A Whirlpool of Misadventures, a collection of Robert Paston’s letters.

We arrived at 10am, helped with the setting up and did a full rehearsal at 11am, which went pretty well, under the watchful eye of Dot. Among our friends who attended: the Hendersons; the Archers; Jessie, Roger and Jude; Claire Carrington; the Kibbles; the O’dells; Lucy Edwards; Karen Smyth and Liz McDonald from UEA; and of course the Eagles. Not the band.

We had forgotten to bring a packed lunch; so at about 1pm we nipped into North Walsham to get some sandwiches from Waitrose – and used the opportunity to purchase a bouquet for Penny (we had already got four other bouquets for Lucy, Oxnead owner Beverley Aspinall, Ann and Ruth at Rob’s request).

The performance itself went smoothly, and I felt reasonably confident in my 17C costume (a sentence I never thought I would write). Dot and I combined well on our song, and we got some good responses afterwards. We also got some amazing PHS food – a veritable high tea which included a chocolate and rum cake made by Dot. Rob gave a brief speech and I trotted on with the bouquets, including our surprise one for wardrobe mistress and set designer Penny. Lucy came with Naomi for the last half-hour or so: she was quite ill and should have been in Papworth, but it was good that she was able to put in an appearance, what with her being the PHS founder, and the event being (among other things) a celebration of its 21st birthday.

After chatting to as many people as we could, we spent quite a long time clearing up, which included chair removal, washing up and transferring a great deal of stuff into waiting cars. Felt pretty much exhausted at the end.

The next day Colin gave our hedge a good cutting, and the garden looks much more attractive. Dot couldn’t resist a great deal of tidying up in his wake (not that he left it in a mess: he’s very thorough), and I’ve cut back the foliage around the kitchen window. Dot has also bought some new plants, mainly for the front garden.

On Sunday Nicholas made one of his last appearances at St Augustine’s. He’s just received the go-ahead for his visa, and should be leaving in early November. Afterwards we called on Elvira at her invitation for a cup of tea, but largely so that she could show us her new flat. Later still we had a meal at Prezzos with Neville and Mary Thrower (Neville is a former CNS contemporary, and Mary is in the orchestra with Dot). Very enjoyable, but I’m a little worried, because all three of them were getting over bad colds, which naturally makes you feel you’re catching them.

Meanwhile the scaffolding in our back garden awaits the arrival of the builder to work on the roof. Dot is out all day at various schools, and Barbara is due to visit after that for a P4C consultation. In other news, I have put together the bones of a book on Iona featuring poems and pictures, and Oliver has driven a Ferrari at 100mph, apparently earning praise from his tutor. It was a birthday present from his mother (I think). What a star! As long as he doesn’t get too much of a taste for fast cars…

I don’t know why

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The visit to Pinkys in Halesworth nearly didn’t happen. I dawdled over my egg curry and left myself with little time to get to Halesworth and then find the cafe. I took the back route and arrived at the car park I knew with about eight minutes to spare. I walked through the middle of town in what I thought was the right general direction and happened on the cafe  just in time. The room was already full, but I found a seat somewhere in the middle (not my favourite position) and bought a pot of tea. I don’t know why.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the evening followed the Seagull format, and I read three of my poems in the first half: Distant Funeral, Old Pictures and three tanka I’d just written on the theme of injured angel. They seemed to be well received,  and I had a pleasant chat during the break with a couple from Woodbridge who were sitting opposite me. Some of the usual suspects from the Seagull were there, including Kaaren Whitney  and Elizabeth Bracken. Oh, and Oonagh, who doesn’t write poetry but likes to read poems. I don’t know why.

To my astonishment the evening had ended by 8.45pm, and I made my way home through very misty Suffolk lanes and only slightly less misty Norfolk ones. I caught Ann and Jim before they went to bed, and we talked until 11.15, which is ridiculously late for them. I tried to explain how something could be poetry if it didn’t rhyme. I don’t know why.

The next day we celebrated Joy’s 60th birthday, nearly three weeks too late. The party was at Joe and Birgit’s in Hethersett, and we picked up a Northern Irish woman called Kirby (I think) from Douro Place. Other guests at the party included several Surrey regulars, plus – to my surprise – Sam, Lucy, Elliott and Helen( Lucy’s mother), with whom I had a longish chat while feeding Elliott with German cheesecake. We helped clear up and took Phil and Joy home afterwards. I don’t know why.

The next day I preached on grumbling. I was against it. I do know why.

On Monday, while Dot was at a P4C meeting in Metfield, I caught up with some church treasurer work and walked into the city to pay in some cheques. On the way I bumped into Nicola, Anna’s sister, who was cycling to meet her boyfriend at the station. In the evening I played what may be my last game of chess for some time, losing to Jeff Dawson in the club knockout tournament. It was a good game, quite complicated, and not one I minded losing, but there were some possibilities in it for me, and I just didn’t have the stamina to concentrate at the end. I don’t know why.