None of these penguins are in my family tree, as far as I know. There were some nesting in bushes, however, which is unusual for penguins. This colony is on the shores of False Bay, South Africa.

The Christmas drama turned out well, amazingly, in view of the lack of rehearsal. It was almost as if some of the actors had read the lines earlier. The weather now is extremely wintry, with the temperature hovering around freezing. Typically, the change coincided with our central heating breaking down, leaving us huddled in front of a blazing fire on Sunday evening. The rest of the house was extremely cold.

The man from British Gas came to fix it on Monday afternoon, replacing the pump but then discovering that there was a blockage. Beyond the call of duty, he put that right too, and the house began to warm up gradually, but not before I slipped out to play chess. First against Steve Moore – the second replay of our knockout match, this time at 30 mins each. We drew again: he had an advantage out of the opening, but I got some play and managed to hold it despite dropping a knight for his outside passed pawn. We were both down to a minute when he offered a draw.

This was followed by the jolly Christmas handicap tournament, in which I scored 4.5 out of 8. Two of my wins were at 2 mins against 8, which was quite impressive. One was at 5:5 and the other at 4:6. Started with two losses and ended with two wins.

Last Saturday (yes, we’re working our way backwards) Dot and I went to north Norfolk to drop off presents at Paston and North Walsham. While Dot went to a public meeting aimed at saving North Walsham hospital (apppalling that such a meeting should be necessary), I drove to a spot just outside town on a road called Field Lane (which I was informed by Dot’s uncle later is actually Hog’s Loke, and only called Field Lane by foreigners and the local council). It was an idyllic afternoon. I parked on a hard standing at the head of a farm track at a high spot looking south-east over the valley of the North Walsham and Dilham Canal and towards the coast. The sky was blue, and the sun was sinking to my right, casting shadows on to the field in front of me. I half-wrote this poem, which I finished yesterday:

VIEW FROM FIELD LANE

And now gulls circle,
ice from the sun beneath their bodies
sheer blue overhead
swooping above brown speckled waves
where the land dips toward the canal
skeleton trees prick the sky
leaves ripped away in yesterday’s storms

pools quiet on the field’s edge
here on the ancient path
naked, shining, cold
a stranger at unexpected crossroads

like longships, shadows slide across furrows
hard by the forgotten wood:
in a viking landscape like this

you can see across the miles where you’ve walked
and something of where you’re headed
though the path dips to the south through trees
beyond the low sun’s reach

stick to the ridge
march through the mud, or fade
into the valley

there is no talk here,
everything is clear
everything still
sharp edges for the eager soul to brush against

cut by a heavenly light
the sky starts to burn
the birds return, doodling on the disappearing page
spinning out time before evening

baptised in this bright long year before night
I see the horizon creep toward me
glowing, its ragged edge
ripped from eternity

This is most of the InPrint poetry and visual arts group at the Playhouse in Norwich, where our poetry vending machine was on show in October. The four poets in the foreground – Rupert Mallin, Caroline Gilfillan, Lisa D’Onofrio and myself – had just given readings. Two of the artists – Annette Rolston and Mike Fenton – were there in support. Mike had done the artwork on the machine itself, and he is in the process of extending this.

Today we have a meeting here and are expecting most members of the group to turn up. Dot and I have just about finished writing Christmas cards and wrapping presents, though I have one or two still to buy. This is an unprecedented position to be in with 11 days still to go to Christmas.

I’ve been putting the finishing touches to the drama for Sunday, trying to make sure that everyone turns up and knows what to do. Tricky, as I’m not sure I know what to do…

My son and grandson, getting down to some serious computer work. It was my mother’s birthday a couple of days ago: she would have been 95.

Very busy the last three days, wrapping up presents and writing Christmas cards. We also ventured into the city on Saturday morning, which was surprisingly successful. We bought a large coffee table for the living room from Country and Eastern, then some other things here and there and ended up with a sandwich at a coffee bar in Mountergate at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Good sandwiches.

The Government would apparently like to close about 7000 rural post offices, though it will probably end up at 3000 so that everyone thinks it could have been worse. Of course 3000 is at least 3000 too many. I attempted to buy some stamps for cards going abroad at the post office in Castle Mall, and there were huge queues. I eventually gave up and went somewhere there were none, but not many people know about it. But if you keep shutting post offices, the queues will grow and grow. Perhaps this is what the Government wants: no travelling and no posting letters. They want us to just sit quietly at home, paying tax.

Went into the office today to internally verify some NVQ portfolios with Martin T. Good to see him again – he’s been laid low with a bad back. This morning we had some of the worst weather this winter – loads of rain, windy and pretty cold too, but it’s improved since. The heating chose that time to pack up, but I fiddled about with it before going out, and when I got back it was working.

Tonight I’m playing chess against Yarmouth. It’s about time I won a few games.

We had an event at church today to celebrate the beginning of Advent: theme was a community of hope, and everyone was supposed to bring something that symbolised hope for us. With typical lack of imagination, I took this picture. Dot took a lovely picture of our grandchildren that was much more to the point.

However, there is something about the Cape of Good Hope that I do find uplifting. It’s beautiful, combining rugged rocks with stunning coastal scenery. Even better, we were able to climb up those rocks by a steep path and perch up there on the most south-westerly point in Africa. Despite a number of other people around, the feeling of remoteness – emptiness – was tangible: and that’s something I love. And of course there was a paradox too: everyone thinks it’s the most southerly point, but it isn’t at all. Remoteness, mystery, a twist – irresistible. What more could you hope for?

It’s been very wintry here recently: high winds and quite a bit of rain. At 9 this morning it was barely light. Only three weeks and the days will be lengthening! On Friday we helped our neighbours to move up to Christchurch Road. It started easily enough, but when we got to unpacking the van it started raining persistently, and we ended up pretty wet. Worth doing, though.

The other day I found an old notebook of my mother’s in which she kept notes of holidays in Tintagel (1934), the Isle of Wight (1935) and Harlech (1936) with her fiancee, David – my father. They married in 1937. While staying in Harlech they climbed Snowdon twice, once in quite bad weather and once – five days later – in much better conditions. They also did a lot of walking to various places.

While they were staying in the Isle of Wight, she wrote this note: “Man and woman, boy and girl from Broadstairs came to stay here unexpectedly, so they have meals with us – drat them!” Clearly she liked to be alone with her boyfriend…

Incidentally, the picture of their car which appears earlier in this blog (13 January) must have been taken on the Harlech trip.