No sooner were we back from one hotel than we were off to another: this time the King’s Head at Great Bircham. Our second visit: Dot was doing a church school inspection at the primary school down the road, and I decided to accompany her to the hotel because I like the area. I like the hotel too, though it’s a bit pricey. Lovely room with a huge bed and good food in the restaurant, though the service is sometimes endearingly and sometimes irritatingly amateurish. There is a new owner since our last visit, but there was no perceptible change.
While Dot was inspecting I headed for the coast – first at Holme, where I walked over the golf course to the beach and stayed for an hour; then at Thornham, where I walked along the coast path back to Holme Dunes nature reserve, which is run by our next-door neighbours, the Wildlife Trust. Bought a gooseberry ice cream at the visitors’ centre and then walked back, after a brief foray through the dunes and on to the beach. Both walks (together) amounted to about five miles.
Despite some threatening clouds, there was no rain until I was sitting in the car waiting for Dot to emerge from the school – rather later than expected at 4.30pm. Needless to say, she chose to come out precisely when the short shower was at its heaviest. So she, who had been indoors all day, got wetter than I did.
Since then we have been preparing for France – or at least, I’ve been preparing for France while Dot wrote her report. We’ve also worked in two visits to the dentist (one each, neither involving any work) and answering various questions from Phil about how the church hall radiators should be sited. I carefully took a radical view so that I can say “I told you so” when the majority decision goes horribly wrong. I now have to write a sermon to be delivered on Sunday week just after our return from France. I blame the organiser of the rota: yes, me again. It’s tempting to preach on radiator placement, but I shall probably resist it.
After a hot day yesterday, the weather has realised its mistake, and today it’s raining, quite hard in many places. The forecast is not good either, and at least two of our friends are camping this weekend. That can’t be good, can it?
Dave negotiates passage through a soggy cornfield on the way back from Baconsthorpe
Back from a weekend in Blakeney with the Evetts and the Towns, which left me shattered and cotton-wool-headed. Nevertheless it was a lovely weekend: it was just that for some reason I couldn’t sleep on the Sunday evening. On the plus side, the infection near the root of my tooth seems to be on its way out, which is as well, as I have just finished the antibiotics. Dot is already out taking a head teacher to lunch, and I’m catching up with various things before we both head out to another hotel – the King’s Head at Great Bircham. She is doing an inspection at the school there tomorrow.
The Manor Hotel at Blakeney was as good as ever, if you discount the handle of our room coming off when I tried to pull it shut. It turned out that the handyman had forgotten to put the screws back in after doing some repair work, but he quickly appeared and put it right. The food was good as usual, and the breakfasts exceptional: so much so that I have put back on the pounds I have been carefully losing. Unfairly, Dot has remained the same weight. How can that be right?
We arrived on Friday and had our usual afternoon tea at The Blakeney Hotel, though unfortunately not in the splendid upstairs lounge, which was full. On the Saturday, which was warm though a little breezy, we started with a rather prolonged visit to the village fete, during which all the women bought some jewellery. After a cup of tea we proceeded with the Evetts to the rather posh and lovely Bell at Wiveton, where we had starters only before hastening to Bodham for our walk to Baconsthorpe Castle. We did the full journey (about six miles), including a survey of the ruins and the loop through Baconsthorpe village.
On the way back to Bodham there was a brief shower, which had little effect on us till we reached a narrow path through a cornfield, when our trousers felt the full effect of water lingering on the wheat. Still, they had dried out by the time we got out to the car.
On the Sunday we started by driving to West Lodge, a house on the coast road at the bottom of Sheringham Park which was rented by the woman who sold us the jewellery at the fete (Liz Holman). Overnight she had been making a necklace for Julia and had asked us to pick it up there. Lovely job – and there was a bonus. We could leave the car at her house while we walked up into the park – which we did, and had a really enjoyable walk, taking in the Gazebo, which included a stunning view and four dogs (plus all of us and the owners).
No rain, but it was a bit cooler. Not too cool for a Twister (etc) from the rather cute Munch Buggy, manned by a woman very much like our friend Bridget. There is a beautiful new wildflower garden (The Bower) near the top, and we also called in at the visitors’ centre cafe for a drink. Some people had food, but I didn’t. Obviously that was a waste of care. We walked back to the car a different way and encountered the jewellery-maker’s husband in the garden. Had a chat and then drove to Holt station, where there was a display of classic cars and some very dark clouds, which however failed to deposit rain.
Spent some time looking at the cars and trying unsuccessfully to work out the categories. We also had a look at a steam train and took some photographs of that, plus a movie. Afterwards we went into Holt town centre and had tea and cake at Byfords. It was suspiciously quiet.
After another good meal at the hotel and a woeful failure to sleep on my part, we took leave of the Towns and strolled round Blakeney in spitting rain until we met the Evetts and had lunch with them at Wiveton Fruit Farm. This consisted for me of a rather chunky coronation chicken sandwich and ginger beer. After driving them back to the hotel to pick up their car, we set off for home.
David and Kristine Coomes during their recent visit. Dot is pointing out local landmarks from St James Hill. At least, I assume that’s what she’s doing.
England duly exited Euro 2012 by managing to stop Italy scoring for 120 minutes but then, as usual, losing on penalties. The guilty players on this occasion were b0th called Ashley, which should have been warning enough. Young hit the bar and Coles’ effort was saved comfortably. Last night Spain beat Portugal on penalties after another 0-0, with Portugal playing above themselves and Ronaldo doing the opposite: he didn’t even take a penalty (one assumes he was meant to go fifth, but it didn’t get that far).
We’ve had some warmer temperatures, but the BBC is having trouble coping, today their website has golden suns all over it for Norfolk, but it’s cloudy and looking as though the threatened “showery rain, sometimes heavy” might well materialise. Hopefully it’s a bit sunnier in London, where Dot and Anne are having fun (one assumes).
Spoke on Sunday about being people after God’s own heart and not worrying about superficial issues: seemed to be well received. Monday night’s PCC was genial and quick, with only Dot and I representing St Aug as usual.
The other major meeting this week was yesterday afternoon: the Paston Trustees. The four of us who made it (Rob was working in London) got through the agenda in about a couple of hours, which I suppose is not bad. Lucy is in one of her rare “quite well” phases, but Jo is looking ill and showing no sign of cutting down on her work: offered the chance of giving the Pensthorpe event a miss this year, she was determined to do it. However, she does want to step down from the not-very-onerous job of being chairperson, so I volunteered Rob in his absence and also offered to help with the newsletter. If Rob isn’t keen, I may get the chair as well.
I arrived early so Lucy took me up on to the roof to see her alpine garden. Impressive, as is the view, especially on a still and warm day. A few inches higher and they would be able to see the sea. Apparently.
My pessimism about England’s football team has so far proved unjustified, but now they’ve reached the quarter-finals, the hype resumes and the players are vowing to put their lives on the line. No, thanks, it’s still just football. Good game, but not war. In further catch-up news the antibiotics haven’t exactly got rid of the tooth infection, but I’m still optimistic.
The weather hasn’t exactly been summery, except for Wednesday, when the sun came out, the temperature rose and we dropped everything and drove to Blakeney, which was basking brilliantly in the unexpected warmth. We had our usual scone and tea in the Blakeney Hotel lounge and followed up with a walk out on to the marshes. I am tempted to use the word idyllic: there, I have. On our return we bought some picture frames in a craft fair and then drove to Cookie’s, where we had a late lunch, followed by a short walk in the Cley nature reserve, where we saw a couple of marsh harriers, among other birds. We returned home in time for a visit from a surveyor who was looking at our house with a view to giving us free insulation. Unfortunately, as I predicted, the operation would have been too tricky and disruptive. End wall too close to neighbour, half of loft too inaccessible.
I completed Rupert Sheldrake’s book (The Science Delusion) in time to hear him speak at Mangreen on Monday evening in the company of Tim Mace and Judy Reynolds: Dot was occupied elsewhere, to her annoyance. The room was full, and Sheldrake spoke very well. Some of hiss ideas are extremely interesting, and it is hard to dispute his basic premise that science is a method of inquiry and not a belief system, though it tends to be portrayed as the latter. The title of his book is clearly designed to create sales by mirroring Dawkins’ The God Delusion, which may alienate some scientists, though Sheldrake himself is a distinguished scientist and does not attack science as such. Good evening, but it’s a pity that the questions, as usual at such events, were really excuses for the usual suspects to put forward their own philosophies instead of querying relevant points.
Another talk on Tuesday, this time by Bishop David Atkinson at the Norwich Christian Resources Centre. Much smaller audience – about 25-30 – and I attended with Tim: female members of the Tuesday Group were at Vicky’s talking about bags. Bishop Atkinson was promoting his new book on Healing in the Church, aiming for a much wider interpretation of healing, which he identified with the Hebrew idea of shalom: inner wellbeing and peace. He focused on the New Testament ideas of love casting out fear and truth setting you free. Here the questions were much more to the point. I bought the book afterwards, but I haven’t read it yet, though I am using one or two of his ideas in my sermon tomorrow!
On Thursday I was disturbed to learn on Facebook that Mark Tuma was heading for Lincoln, as he and his wife were due to come round for an evening meal. I texted him and received the reassuring reply that he fully intended to do both – and he did. Amazing what some people can fit into a day. I bought some rather nice stuff from the supermarket, and we had a good evening.
Dot has had a very busy week writing reports of one kind and another, as well as visiting various schools. On Friday she went for a meeting at Little Plumstead school, where she is going to be a governor. I saw the name of the current chair of governors and deduced that she was a former subs’ runner of mine called Jo Rokahr (now Quarterman). I told Dot to ask her if she played the bagpipes, and it turned out that she did – one of Jo’s more unusual talents. There was a certain amount of reminiscence. Also on the staff is a very nice member of St Luke’s Church who we sat next to at the last joint lunch. Dot also really rates the head teacher, so maybe her governorship could be a good move, though I’m trying to get her to cut down on her work.
She does “relax” sometimes, but when she does it can prove expensive. We are in the process of buying new curtains for the living room (I’m not even going to write down how much that will cost), and this will of course also involve repainting the room. Aargh. There is also going to be some work done in the garden in July. Happily our Devon holiday is now paid for, though there was a nasty moment after I transferred the money and couldn’t get in touch with the owners: their e-mails bounced back, and their phones went to voicemail. Could it be a scam? Well, I suppose it could have been, but it wasn’t. I eventually found a different e-mail address that worked, and all is well. Especially as I’ve now written a tune for Far Cry, my latest song.
Amy hands the crabbing net to her assistant during our visit to Sheringham earlier in the month
Four years ago I was coming out of hospital after my radical prostatectomy operation and feeling very fragile. I would like to say I’m now fighting fit, and indeed a blood test showed last week that there is no sign of the cancer re-emerging. A further test also revealed that my blood pressure has fallen dramatically to 140/75, which is not far off normal. So of course I have to keep taking the pills. But I’m also taking antibiotics at the moment , following root canal work last Tuesday. That seemed to go OK, but the infection still appears to be there; so I thought I’d give the pills a go. Not sure if that was the right decision. What can you do?
Just back from a foray into the city to pay in some cheques and cash for the church. This morning’s rain has gone, and the temperature definitely rose between my leaving the house and getting back again. So perhaps we’re due for another dash of summer. Ran into Sophie, who is resplendently pregnant and looking wonderful, and then the Eagles, who were looking pretty good too and searching for a pirate ship birthday cake. Well, you never know when you’re going to run into one. In fact, I see form the website that M&S sell them, but as I don’t have the Eagles’ mobile number I can’t let them know.
Yesterday we went straight from church to North Walsham, taking in Sainsbury’s, the cemetery and Jessie, in that order. We ate our sandwich lunch in Jessie’s summerhouse with her tea and cakes, which was extremely pleasant, then on the way home we put some flowers on my parents’ grave at the Rosary. Earlier in the week (Monday) I had visited my aunt Josephine, who was on quite good form but looking a little frailer than before Joyce died. On the subject of death, Pete S rang me after I e-mailed him following Jan’s death, and we had a chat.
It was a busy week for Dot, who stayed overnight at The Old Bell at Grimston on Wednesday before inspecting the village school at Ashwicken. B&B highly recommended. She also had various other schools to visit during the week and has just returned from one at Bradwell. Meanwhile England are still in Euro 2012, having beaten Sweden unexpectedly 3-2 and drawing 1-1 with France. Of course when they lose to Ukraine tomorrow, they will still have to go home. In other news, wrote a new song called Far Cry. Quite pleased with it.
And so we emerge from a hectic week…into another one. Dot is already out visiting schools, and I have a visit to the dentist tomorrow and to the doctor on Thursday. The latter doesn’t sound much, but it looms pretty large. There is a root canal involved.
I was in the sunny city, paying in church money, on Wednesday, when Dot called me to say Oliver and Amy wanted to come to us a day early. Naturally, a plan was quickly devised, and with Dot busy finishing a PIB (pre-inspection briefing), I set off to meet David halfway just outside Newmarket near Snailwell – a spot identified on Google maps. All went well, except that halfway there the warm and sunny day evaporated into heavy rain, and I realised I hadn’t brought my anorak or taken my guitar out of the boot. No worries, however: the rain turned back into sun before we met, and there was plenty of room for the children’s luggage.
We had a great three days with the children, despite a bad weather forecast. On the Thursday we went to Sheringham, where it was mild enough to have a picnic on the beach after Oliver and I had climbed Beeston Bump (calling in at Fred’s caravan on the way and finding Liz in situ) and Dot and Amy had done some shopping. We also did a little crabbing, and after I retired defeated, the children “teamed up” with another family, who had bait. As a result, Oliver netted one.
Oliver at the summit of Beeston Bump
We then drove (as a result of a miscalculated and rash promise made earlier) to Winterton, in time to have a quick game of hide-and-seek in the dunes before the rain started, and a few drops quickly turned into a downpour. We repaired to the cafe for refreshment and then rushed wetly to the car. We had taken Dot’s car for a service earlier in the day, but it was now too late (and too wet) to fetch it; so I left it till the next morning. The next morning was also very wet, as was the whole day, and we spent most of it in the house or garage, where Oliver showed an amazing aptitude for table tennis. As he’s very competitive, this wasn’t enough for him: he wanted to win every game too. Meanwhile Amy made a den under the table and did some cooking indoors. We finished the day off with a 6pm meal at Prezzo’s: the children are a real joy to take out – or actually do anything with.
David arrived at lunchtime on Saturday, after being held up because the police had shut the southern bypass after a fatal accident. We had roast beef for lunch, and Oliver did his best to beat Daddy at table tennis when Daddy wasn’t tackling my computer. I popped up to St Peter Hungate at 3.30pm to check that the afternoon session with the visiting viols was going OK. I spoke to Lucy and Jo, both of whom seemed very ill, but didn’t hear the viols, who were taking a break. I went back at 5pm for the rehearsal with Rob, Caroline and Kay, and it went well, so I returned home to say goodbye again, picking up the poetry books I’d forgotten at the same time.
I also went and picked up a music stand from the church hall, at the same time replacing a notice which had either blown off or been ripped off, or both (the wind had been very strong the day before). The evening performance – Heroine of Hungate – took place as David and the children were driving back to Caddington and Dot was cleaning up the house: it did go well, but the audience was very small – only a dozen, including relatives and friends. Hilary came, as did Catherine Mapes. I blame the poor publicity because the viols messed us about (no, we don’t want to perform; yes, we do; no, we can’t do it in the evening….)
Felt totally shattered yesterday morning, but had to leave at 9.30 for the Archdeacon’s Visitation at St Luke’s and a combined service and bring-and-share lunch. Worship music went well, and Dot and I were able to sing three of my songs for the Communion service. The archdeacon, the Ven Jan McFarlane, did a brilliant sermon about writing people off by labelling them: it sounds fairly ordinary, but she did it exceptionally well and brought in all kinds of other stuff.
In the evening our family’s hobnobbing with the senior echelons of the Church of England continued when Dot went to the commissioning service for the new director of Norwich Youth for Christ and met the Bishop, with whom she’s pretty chummy. She pleaded with him not to become Archbishop of Canterbury, and it would indeed be a big loss for Norwich, though probably brilliant for the country at large. I have a great admiration for him (as you probably noticed). She really enjoyed the service, at St Andrew’s Eaton, which I had given a miss in the hope of getting some rest – almost certainly a bad choice. I make a lot of them.
Tenuous royal link: rumoured to be Prince Charles' favourite spot, only a mile or three from his house near Ballater, the Falls of Glenmuick.
A memorable few days watching other people celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. David and Kristine duly arrived on Saturday, having been held up by the usual tailback at Elveden, and we had a late lunch followed by a walk along the river bank, then up on to St James Hill and back through Lion Wood and the Rosary, trying to avoid street parties in deference to our guests’ preference. The weather was cool, but dry, as it remained following our meal for the walk up to the Maddermarket to see Alan Ayckbourn’s play Time of my Life, with the cast including both Trevor Burton and David Newham, former colleagues at the EDP. Excellent production, ending to David’s mortification with the singing of the national anthem! He suspected I had arranged it, but sadly this was not the case.
We took our guests to church for a relatively jubilee-free service, then had lunch at jubilee-free Prezzos. Following this we caught glimpses of the River Pageant, sloppily covered by the BBC, who told you everything you didn’t want to know and nothing you did. The weather got worse and worse, and it was not much fun for the surprisingly upbeat spectators, one of whom was another former colleague, Ian Bullock. He related (on Facebook) that he stood for for hours on the Embankment, getting colder and wetter, and then when it was all over found that both the Embankment and Charing Cross tube stations were helpfully closed and everyone was converging on Leicester Square. I don’t even want to think about it.
Through it all the Queen was serene and the Duke of Edinburgh was becoming ill. He ended up in hospital on the Monday with a bladder infection, which is not surprising, and missed the Jubilee Concert, which (inevitably, I suspect) was a collection of mediocre songs by people who used to be quite good. It says something that Tom Jones stood out. Felt sorry for Paul McCartney, who looked ill and bemused and was not in good voice. On the plus side, Madness on the palace roof (“Our House”) was a nice idea, the rain had stopped, and Prince Charles (who came out of the whole thing very well) made a speech that was about as good as it could have been. The Coomes had left on Sunday evening after tea.
The thanksgiving service on Sunday was splendidly and traditionally done and went without a hitch, though the Queen looked lonely without the Duke, who was still in hospital. Excellent new anthem – Call to Wisdom – by Will Todd, but as a writer I felt rather annoyed that the author of the words, Michael Hampel, was barely mentioned – rather as no-one knows (or mentions) who wrote the words to The Messiah. All right, I know they’re both basically biblical texts, but they still need to be compiled in some sort of poetic order. The Messiah libretto was written by Charles Jennens, by the way. I expect you knew that.
The Archbishop gave a good sermon on the theme of dedication and commitment, and the hymns were pretty dull, as expected. If you can have a new anthem, why can’t you have the odd modern hymn? The service was followed by a couple of receptions and a lunch, and then a carriage drive to the Palace, a balcony appearance by the Queen, Prince Charles and Camilla, William and Kate and Harry only. Despite gathering rain clouds, the air force did manage a fly-past with the usual beloved suspects. Those Spitfires are really something.
Dot and I watched all this on and off. I slipped out to Morrisons to buy food for the Tuesday Group, which eventually consisted of only six people. Harriet arrived late (no buses) and Vicky left early but had nine hours’ sleep unbroken when she got home. Dot had prayed that she got more sleep. This morning Barbara is here working with Dot, who has a huge amount to do during the next two or three weeks.
Feeling strangely calm. The sun is out, Land of Hope and Glory is playing upstairs, and we are awaiting the arrival of David and Kristine from London. There is the slight worry that they may get delayed by bunting and street parties, but on the whole, I am optimistic. This is despite my incipient abscess, which necessitated a visit to the dentist yesterday. No pain, but definitely something odd going on up there – not at the dentist’s, but in my mouth. The dentist agreed and has booked me in for root treatment. Oh, joy. Still, it’s ten days away. Can’t think about that yet.
Dot has spring-cleaned the entire house, and we cleaned out Waitrose yesterday. I’m not normally tempted by food, but Waitrose is another matter. It all looks so interesting. Before that we visited the charity shop, the tip and the East Europeans who run the car wash on Aylsham Road. The latter are frighteningly efficient: they also vaccuumed the interior, and all in about 15 minutes. While we were there an expensive car drew up and three sinister men emerged. Made me wonder if the advertised “Polish Protection” was what it seemed.
I should explain that there was a free Elgar CD with the Telegraph last weekend. The funeral of Dot’s friend Jan was in Reading yesterday. Keep thinking about her husband Pete – a really nice bloke. Spent some time trying to find an obituary notice online, but in vain: eventually Dot rang the house and spoke to someone (possibly Pete’s father) to discover that they didn’t want flowers. So will be sending a donation to charity instead.
Dot's college friends pictured by Pete Stokes at our ruby wedding anniversary. Jan (Pete's wife) is fourth from the right.
Not a happy start to the week: Liz Stabler rang as Dot was leaving the house on Monday and told us that Dot’s college friend Jan Stokes (formerly Kidd) had died 0f cancer. Huge shock: we didn’t even know she was ill. Apparently she herself didn’t know about the cancer until a couple of months ago.
Then we discovered that our nephew Joe has multiple sclerosis: fortunately the less severe kind – intermittent instead of progressive – but still a tremendous blow for him and Birgit, and for his parents.
Third, and rather less seriously, I got a phone call late in the evening from Lucy to tell us that the consort of viols from Cambridge had decided not to play in the evening on June 9, but in the afternoon, thus making a nonsense of all our publicity. Ironically I had distributed some flyers to the tourist information centre, St Peter Mancroft and several businesses on Elm Hill when we checked the venue on Saturday. Ho hum.
The three of us met (with Kay) at Fakenham today to decide what we’d do about it and – mainly – to rehearse the script. The latter went well – Caroline had written a new song – and we decided to just forge ahead and do our own thing in the evening on the 9th, letting the viols get on with it in the afternoon. Out, viol spot.
Dot hasn’t been well, but is now better. We went to a concert by Duke Special at the Open on Sunday night, and she felt ill on the way there and the following day. The concert was nevertheless brilliant: DS is a great live artist and a top songwriter. The Cracknells and Heybournes were also there. We got there about 7.15, but there were two support acts before DS took the stage at about 9.15pm. One of them was local and not my kind of thing at all; the other was Foreign Slippers, who were quirky and pretty good. Great evening: even made Dot feel better, though she relapsed afterwards.
Had our hair cut yesterday, and in the evening Steve Fiske came round to sort out the worship songs for June 10, when the Archdeacon is paying a visit and we have a joint service at St Luke’s. Brought back memories of when we used to play together at St Augustine’s.
After several days of warm sunshine,today is cooler, with rain promised.
When we were in Scotland, the average temperature was around 6-8C. This week 26C has been recorded at Aviemore, and it was 24C yesterday at Aboyne, where it was snowing less than a week ago. But it’s warm and sunny here in Norfolk too, ever since they fixed the power cut. Odd, Holmes.
I’ve had a blood test followed by a visit to the doctor, with the result that I have an extra pill to lower my blood pressure. Good news on that front: it’s down to 152/94, which is a considerable improvement.
The power cut did rather hamper my compilation of a financial report for the DCC, but I suspect that my version of a financial report (description of how we’re doing) is not the the kind of thing required (forecast of what we’ll have at the end of the year). Yes, I could make a guess, based on what is coming in and what is going out, but since that could fluctuate wildly, I don’t see how it would be much use. I mean, what if we only had a few loaves and fishes?
In much the same news, I paid in quite a large number of cheques to the DCC’s bank account on Tuesday and then dropped some Paston flyers off at St Peter Mancroft Church, where I had a very pleasant conversation with a woman from Kingston on Thames (originally). I then popped into the Forum to see the Norwich 20 Group exhibition and ran into Hilary Mellon, who was pretending to be a steward. Also left some flyers at the Tourist Information office.
On the way home ran into swathes of Celtic supporters, up for an Adam Drury testimonial match. I observed on Facebook that I was OK, since my wife was born in Glasgow, which elicited astonishment from my nephew Sam, who didn’t know his aunt was Scottish. I think I’ll leave him thinking she’s Scottish – at least until he reads this.
On Wednesday evening we went to a Norfolk and Norwich Festival concert at St Andrew’s Hall which was notable on several counts. First, there was a long queue to get in, which in view of the fact that we had paid a considerable amount to get tickets about two months ago, is pretty miserable organisation. It also started nearly 15 minutes late and was about the shortest concert I’ve ever been to, finishing around 45 minutes later. I worked out that it cost us, as a couple, over £1 a minute.
The music – Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony – was good, by Spira Mirabilis from Italy, who operate without a conductor and are extremely excitable, as you might expect. But I thought it poor return for the money invested and was rather disgruntled. We went home and watched an episode of Lewis, which was much better value.
During the power cut on Monday Phil and Joy lent us a flask of boiling water. I walked up to their house yesterday to return the flask (a convenient distance). Trying to keep my blood pressure down.
