Dot got back from Ipswich on Monday just in time to grab a lightning-fast bite and then head off to Cringleford for a meeting, while I headed in the other direction to the chess club, where I managed to win my game on Board 6 in a Norfolk & Suffolk Cup match against Yarmouth. Final score 5-1 to us, which makes a nice change. Finished reasonably early but stayed on to watch others after analysing the game with my opponent.
On Tuesday Dot was off to Suffolk again for a business meeting with Barbara, and I wasted far too much time doing too little, though I did write a poem I was quite pleased with. Sent it to my poet friend Joy, who was very nice about it. She is in a bad way with bronchitis, which is unpleasant enough in itself, but she has so much else wrong with her following a disastrous motorcycle accident. Have almost finished the Christmas service – a combination of poetry, drama, readings and carols, one of which I wrote the other day. In the evening we had a very good Tuesday Group meeting: seven seems to be the perfect number. Oh, and during the day I did an hour’s worth of leaf-clearing, much to my wife’s delight.
Today neither of us felt too well: a combination of headiness and slight nausea, but not enough to stop us carrying on. Dot even went to the dentist, though she was relieved when I offered to drive her. In the evening we went to a PCC meeting which happily lasted only half an hour. Good atmosphere. Both of us feel a bit better now and are about to round off the evening by watching a little television. Bit worried about grandson Oliver, who has a bad cold and has been sick a couple of times, but he seems to be improving. David has not been too good either, but he also seems to be better.
The walk into the city last Thursday turned into a bit of a disaster towards the end when for no apparent reason my ankle turned over on Castle Meadow and I fell headlong. Managed to avoid serious injury by turning it into a forward roll, but my ankle was quite sore for a while, though it ‘s much better now. Food from M&S went flying, but that too avoided serious damage. Got bus home and had worries over the weekend trip to Aldeburgh, but miraculously the ankle was nowhere near as bad as I’d feared and hardly affected what we did.
Gentle journey south on Friday afternoon, interrupted by calling at Marion’s in Alburgh to order a Christmas cake. Arrived at Blaxhall before the light failed and found our cottage – Nelson’s Studio – without difficulty. Very rural setting, out in the wilds, though only about three miles from Snape. It was about the tiniest cottage I’ve been in, but brilliantly organised and surprisingly comfortable. It was approached up a very narrow path of large pebbles that was not too easy to negotiate for someone with a dodgy ankle – or anyone else, for that matter. But you could walk on the adjacent grass. Inside there was a small kitchen, a compact living area and a normal-sized loo and shower. Extremely narrow stairs led up to a sleeping area just big enough for a double bed and small wardrobe. Sounds claustrophobic, but we enjoyed it, though we did wonder how anyone a bit wider or a bit less mobile than us would have coped.
After taking the small amount of luggage in, we drove to Snape and Aldeburgh to work out where the venues were for the Poetry Festival. Aldeburgh is a very attractive small town which has the feeling of being extremely vulnerable to the sea: almost no protection. Lovely old houses, many idiosyncratic, and a relaxed atmosphere. Great place to live if you were sure the sea was going to stay where it was. In the evening we had a meal at the Plough and Sail at Snape. I’ve always loved the setting at Snape, and the meal matched it: really delicious.
The next day we’d set aside for the poetry festival, and I’d bought tickets for three events (total £54 for both of us). The first was at a fairly civilised 10.45am, and we were so on the ball that we were first in the queue at the Jubilee Hall. The tickets did not reserve seats, so I was bit worried about getting a decent spot, but we did well each time. The first and longest session was a reading by three poets: Ciaran Berry, David Morley and Maureen Duffy. Berry was not a good reader, and his poems were a bit too prosey for my taste, though he had some interesting ideas and lots of content; Morley was the best reader of the three and very “poetic”, making fascinating use of the Romany language which, he told us later in the day when we bumped into him, has its origins in Sanskrit, the original Romanies being a Hindu warrior caste; Duffy was quite interesting, but did not make a huge impression – perhaps I was tiring.
After this we returned to the cottage to watch Norwich beat Paulton Rovers 7-0 in the FA Cup (the unintentional timing worked out surprisingly well) while having a snack. That was us having a snack, not Norwich City, though they could probably have managed it. After the first ten minutes or so, it was a bit of a stroll. We returned to Aldeburgh for the highlight of the festival for me – an all-new reading by Geoffrey Hill. He starts with the advantage of an amazingly rich, deep voice, adds to it poetry of huge depth and structural complexity (with obscure Eliot-like references, many of which he explained), and a wonderful sense of humour. An immense figure in the poetic world, and I was delighted to have heard him. I don’t know anyone who can compare with him.
Forgot to mention that we saw Caroline Gilfillan at the first session, and I was surprised she wasn’t at this one, but of course it was sold out. After the 35 minutes we headed into town and found an excellent fish and chip restaurant, the Golden Galleon, on the High Street. Good quality and amazing speed of service, giving us time to call into a couple of exhibitions, which were not exactly compelling (though the quality of the photography in one was first-class) but gave us a chance to see the other two venues: the Peter Pears Gallery and the Cinema Gallery. We then wandered up to the final venue at the White Lion Hotel, where we had trouble attracting the interest, or even presence, of a barperson, but eventually had a quick drink before hearing David Constantine talk compellingly on Brecht as a poet. Good stuff, but I’m never sure that translations of Brecht really work: he relied a lot on the poetic sound of quite ordinary phrases in German, and they don’t make the journey into English too well. The ideas are good, though.
Wandered out into the night (which was when we ran into David Morley and had a brief chat) and then drove home, noticing the startling brightness of the starry sky, first in Aldeburgh but much more so in Blaxhall, where there was practically no other light visible. Eventually went in and watched a film – Sex in the City – before catching a bit of football and then squeezing up to bed.
Dot at Orford: bright and breezyWalberswick
Rained hard in the night, but the next day, like the previous one, dawned bright and pretty much stayed that way, though the occasional cloud drifted across. In the sun it was warm, and we sat outside an Orford cafe for our tea/coffee and cake, served disturbingly by a guy with a bad cold. Took in the ambience of a beautiful little town and walked from the quay along the water’s edge before cutting back up to the castle. Shut, of course, but often they’re better like that, and its outside shape was impressive, like a high rectangular block. Bought some fresh cod from the quayside before heading north, past Leiston Abbey before arriving at Yoxford in a bid to find somewhere Dot and Barbara could have lunch on their way down to Ipswich – well, about now, actually. No luck there (the ideal spot turned out not to serve lunch on Mondays) so we headed north again and finally found the White Hart at Blythburgh, which was so ideal that we stopped there for a drink before heading to Walberswick for a stroll on the beach and around the harbour in perfect autumn weather. Then spent some time reconnoitering the route Dot would take today from Blundeston to Blythburgh to meet Barbara – before heading home via Beccles. Found that our Humax had failed to record anything and stuck itself again, which was a bit irritating. We tried to watch Merlin on BBC iPlayer, but that encountered bandwidth problems and I was invited to download the iPlayer desktop, which I did, successfully. Must have been magic. I blame Merlin.
Later, after I had gone to an excellent Ambient Wonder Remembrance event, we watched Garrow and Match of the Day 2 live to avoid any further problems, but naturally the Humax recorded them OK. And then stuck again at 8am today. Machines – don’t you love ’em? Dot has just rung to say she has arrived at the White Hart, so it was all worthwhile. Brilliant sunshine there, raining here.
My aunt Thelma (left) with her husband Paul and his sister Dorothea, sadly also no longer with us.
The funeral for my Aunt Thelma was held in South Park Church on Tuesday, just after lunch. The heavy rain turned into a downpour as the service concluded, and there was general reluctance to leave the church. Eventually I made a dash for the car, which I’d parked strategically opposite the door, and got the umbrella for Dot. We also gave a lift to Mitch, my cousin Stephen’s son, who needed to get to Unthank Road. The burial was at the Rosary (in Dorothy’s grave), and by the time we got there (I overtook the hearse on the way, which is probably a Bad Thing) the rain had dropped back to merely heavy, then steady. We had a brief few words around the grave from Jason Griffiths, the assistant pastor at Surrey, who had taken the service, and then went home. There was a very private “wake” at my cousin Mark’s, but only closest family were invited. Phil and Joy came round to ours for an hour or so. I would have liked more of an opportunity to talks to my cousins and to Catherine, Pat’s daughter, who we had got to know quite well at the celebration we went to in London. I would also have liked the chance to talk to a few of the congregation at Park, who I knew when I was very young, but it didn’t work out that way.
The church was quite full for the service, with Molly Wurr on the organ. All Paul’s children were there, of course: Pat and her husband Brian; Stephen and his wife Anita; and Mark and his wife Julie. Some grandchildren too, notably Catherine and Mitch. Don’t really know the others. As well as Dot and I and Phil and Joy, Joe was there, as was my Aunt Kathleen and I think Aunt Josephine, though I’m not positive. During the morning it suddenly occurred to me that my cousin Barbara might not know about it, so I gave her a ring. She didn’t know, so I’m glad I got in touch. Paul gave a long talk which covered Thelma’s birthplace (Stapleford, in Nottinghamshire, which I think has connections with the Evetts) and the way they met, as well as their life together. Learned a few things: her middle name was Eveline, for instance. He concluded with an evangelistic appeal which only just stopped short of inviting people to come to the front and left me a bit worried about how Jason would follow that with the sermon. But he did very well.
Yesterday morning had a couple of long phone calls, from my cousin Ann in Liverpool and from our friend Sharon at Alpington, then another one in the afternoon from Anne Robinson. In between the piano tuner came, at a civilised hour for a change, and pronounced the machine in good nick. After lunch, which Dot spent with Carrie, Nicholas came round and discussed his book, as well as the situation at St Luke’s. Not sure I was too helpful in either case, though I was supportive. He does things completely different from the way I would do them, but I think he’s done really well and has some great gifts. Also he tries to see things God’s way, which can’t be bad.
Dot has just returned from Long Stratton and is planning a post-prandial stroll into the city, partly to buy a new pan and coffee-grinder. I might go with her.
Mileham Castle, in mid-Norfolk. That's nearly all of it, not counting the grass.
Dot disappeared for the day about 07.40 and has only just arrived in London. She has not been on the train all day (it could happen), but the train she did catch from Diss arrived in London about an hour late. Hopefully by now (19.15) she should be in the meeting in Piccadilly. Why did she catch the train from Diss? Because she spent most of the day at Garboldisham with Sue Eagle, delivering some Philosophy. Went very well, apparently. She got to Diss in loads of time, but the train was so late that she caught the one before it, which was so late that it was later than the one she should have caught. Are you following this? Makes you really want to use public transport, doesn’t it? It’s not that things go wrong, it’s that whoever is in charge is so useless at putting them right. [On the plus side, the train bringing them home was on time, and the day was a big success.]
Meanwhile, as it was such a sunny and crisp day (after an appallingly wet day yesterday), I drove out to mid-Norfolk, where I intended to find a ruined church near Litcham. I started walking up a farm track, but shots were fired, and I retreated. The shots probably weren’t fired at me, but it’s so easy to get mistaken for a pheasant. I then drove up a farm track in the hope of catching a glimpse of the ruins, but without success. So I nipped along the road to Mileham, where I eventually located the castle. Not exactly visitor-friendly. Nowhere to park, and no signs. However I tracked it down and spent about half an hour walking round, over, through and across it. It’s so much of a ruin that there’s barely a square metre of flint wall remaining. Well, maybe a bit more than that, but not much. Largely grass, trees and undergrowth, though I did see a rabbit and an awful lot of animal traces. The B1145 is quite a pleasant road. Pity you have to go out of Norwich on the Fakenham road to get to it: the part that goes through Taverham and Drayton has now been reduced to 30mph, which is so difficult to keep to that I nearly had two accidents because I kept looking at my speedometer. Whoever decides these limits is totally nuts.
The idyllic weather didn’t last. Today has seen a return to the dank and dismal, and we have not emerged from the house – though we did have our haircut this morning. On the plus side, Norwich won 3-1 away at Stockport, and Jenson Button is on what I believe is known as P5 for the final F1 grand prix tomorrow at the new £26 billion Abu Dhabi track. Good job the rest of the world is well fed and healthy, or that might have seemed a waste of money.
Yesterday the latest incarnation of the Paston exhibition opened at the tiny Griffon Gallery in North Walsham, and Dot and I made the journey. Not many attending, it has to be said, and we returned after about an hour, because I wasn’t feeling great. Not sure what it is: maybe a bit of a urine infection. Carrying on regardless, though pretty tired. Spent some time this evening recording some of my songs on Garage Band, the idea being to burn them on to a CD so that Matt can do something musical with them, like write proper music. Quite fun. Managed to work out how to double-track. Have also written part of the Christmas thing, in the form of an Under-Milk-Wood-type monologue, which I hope might be read by Ruth, who is Welsh.
Earlier yesterday had a lunch at Park Farm, then went to the tip (romance is not dead). The city was totally clogged up with traffic on the way back: Dot dropped me off in Theatre Street, and by the time she got to Castle Mall, I had delivered a couple of things to Prospect House and she was able to pick me up! Dot made some pumpkin soup, which was delicious, for the evening. She is feeling better after visiting the doctor (mainly for a minor skin complaint).
I’ve just realised it’s October 29 and not October 30, which means I have an extra day. Don’t know how that happened. Today has been one of those glorious autumn days that you want to last for ever – warm, but not too warm, absolutely still, blue sky, lovely autumn colours in the trees, everyone smiling. Dot had to get up early and go to the doctor’s, so when she returned we decided to go for a morning walk. I decided on Shotesham, because it had been recommended by Joy, a poet who I correspond with. We parked by the ruined church (St Martin’s) and had a quick look, staying safely clear of possible falling masonry (warning signs abound), then walked over to Shotesham St Mary Church and had a look inside. Amazing how all churches smell the same. This church is away from the main village but next to Shotesham Hall, which has a moat but is private. We walked along some footpaths along high ground – for Norfolk– saw a heron in flight and some geese around a pond, then emerged on to the Stoke Road. Walked back by quiet roads – a total of about 2-3 miles. Many pheasants around (we took a detour through part of a wood). After picking up the car we drove down to Shotesham Ford and took a few more pictures. Tried to catch a falling leaf, but failed.
Back at the house I finished a story I’ve been writing for Oliver for Christmas. Now have to get it printed in an acceptable form, though I guess he won’t need so many pictures now that he can read really well. Actually have two stories for him – discovered an earlier one not long ago, called Little and the Piece of Cake. Dot is feeling much better during the day, but coughs a lot at night. Needless to say, the doctor didn’t give her anything for it. She and Barbara are going to London on Monday to present their ideas to what sounds like quite a high-powered educational group. They are being fed, and their expenses are being paid. Only problem is that it’s at the end of a day when Dot and Sue will have been deliveriig Philosophy for Children to a school in south Norfolk. She will be feeling a mite tired at the end of it all, so I hope she recovers quickly from her current ailment.
I believe it's called an acer. It's in our back garden.
Odd feeling in the air. Dot is still under the weather with a cold and cough, but not enough to keep her in bed. Yesterday she went to see her aunt in North Walsham and had lunch in a pub at Gunton before going to see Carrie in the evening. Then today Barbara came round, and there was some pretty intensive work on Philosophy4Children going on. Now she’s tired out again, unsurprisingly. The weather has been weird too. The weather man was rhapsodising about the mild weather, but because it’s been so damp and overcast, it’s seemed chilly, and we’ve had the electric fire on upstairs as well as the central heating. Haven’t been out today at all, but will have to step out of doors in a minute to put the rubbish and assorted recyclable material out. Tonight’s Tuesday Group was cancelled because of Dot’s indisposition. Friend in Henley on Thames was going into raptures about the glorious autumn weather.
Yesterday afternoon I did venture out for a walk and found a road less than a mile away where I had not been before: unmade-up, but not private, cutting down from Cotman Road to Thorpe Road, with good views over towards Whitlingham, which seemed very close. It’s outrageous that there isn’t a way to walk to Whitlingham from Thorpe: it would only need a bridge over the railway and the river, and you’d be in the country in no time. Ho hum. In the evening played chess against Broadland and managed to score the full point after my opponent tried too hard to win a drawn position and put a knight en prise.
Managed to write a few pages of a new Little story for Oliver. At the moment she’s on a sand dune near Blakeney. Or is she? In that case, where did the dolphin come from? I may have written myself into a corner, as Snoopy used to say.
Strange weekend. Dot was in bed most of yesterday after going to a meeting at Hempnall the day before and feeling rough. It was the sort of day that wouldn’t persuade you to get up, if you were in any doubt: dark and damp again, with only a Norwich win to lighten the gloom. I slipped out to the supermarket, and for the first time in living memory couldn’t find a parking space until I’d cruised round a while. Cooked a chili con carne on my return, which went down quite well. The clocks went back to confirm that this really was winter approaching, and then as if to dispute it, today was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Went to church, where Phil survived my usual attempts to slaughter the rhythm of a hymn or two, and in the afternoon drove out to A Ethel’s at Hethersett to deliver a letter from my grandson, thanking her for his birthday present. This was much appreciated. On the way home stopped off by the river at Cringleford and took a few nice watery photographs. One of my favourite spots: my mother used to play there when she was a child, which is nearly a century ago. While I was taking pictures a couple of girls were also doing the same – possibly university students. This evening Dot and I watched Deja Vu, and I’m tempted to say we’d seen it before, but we hadn’t. Good film, but required quite a suspension of disbelief. That’s OK. I can do that. Excellent Thought for the Day from Clive James this morning on the merits of scepticism, with special reference to climate change and golf ball crisps.
Dot has been a bit of a sick bunny over the last couple of nights, coughing and spluttering and generally much less than her normal bouncy self. Yesterday she stayed in bed much of the day, but today she was up and out before 11 and is still not back at 3pm, despite saying she was not feeling at all well as she left. She is at Sue’s, discussing philosophy for children, so she has probably decided to be philosophical about it. Yesterday was dark and dismal, as well as very wet, which made staying in bed much easier. It became a little more dismal when my uncle Paul rang to say my aunt Thelma had died. She was 88 and had been in a bad way with Alzheimer’s for a long time. The funeral is on November 3, despite what the EDP said this morning (23), though there is some doubt at the moment where the service will be held. Very sad how we deteriorate with age, but Paul seems immune: still fit and healthy in his late eighties. I hope it rubs off on his nephew.
Much brighter and more pleasant today. Postal strike, so drove up to Archers’ to deliver a Happy 5th Anniversary card, then to Brian’s to try to catch him in, but no reply again. Collected repeat prescription from chemist’s. Lot of fuss last night about appearance of BNP’s Nick Griffin on Question Time. Not a nice man, but his opponents do him a huge favour by protesting violently and ranting at him instead of calmly taking his arguments apart. How many will vote for him because they don’t like the way he’s treated? Frightening, I call it.
Granddaughter Amy gets to grips with Bewilderwood while waiting for the boat
The concert by Stuart Townend was announced as something different. I was dubious at first, but it turned out to be exactly that, as the first half-hour or so was taken up by jazz from Mark Edwards and band: superb stuff, very high quality. The musicians generally were top-notch, adding another dimension to Stuart Townend’s fairly straightforward Celtic-inspired hymns and songs. Some of these were extremely good (In Christ Alone is still the best); others were merely good. He did a great deal of talking too, and the concert lasted for three hours, including a 20-minute interval. Bridget and David were there, and Harriet, who took Vicky’s place when she realised it would be too much of a rush after spending the day in London. Holy Trinity was packed, of course.
Dot had just finished a tiring afternoon delivering some philosophy for teachers at a school just outside Norwich. We were both feeling a bit shaky, but it was worth making the effort. Today is wet and dismal, and Dot has gone off to Diocesan House for a conference for aspiring heads. She is giving one of the talks. She is actually a bit of a star, but of course I always knew that. I have one or two things lined up: I am writing a story for Oliver for Christmas, a Christmas dramatic poem for church, a course for editors of church magazines on behalf of the parish pump website and some material for the Paston website to bring it up to date.
